Chapter One

A Ferry Crossing
The rain was falling that night, caught somewhere between a drizzle and a full-on downpour as
the ferry made its way across the dark water of the river.
Illuminated by torches strung from either side of the decking the small boat drifted with not so
much as a splash through the light mist and the silvery reflections of the moon. There were a
few clouds dispensing the moisture within the air, but not as many as the weather shamans had
predicted, who had testified that this year’s harvest could be ruined by the onslaught of rain that
was to fall.
This year’s summer had been a hot one, but had been punctuated with heavy rain and all the
farmers were hoping for a good crop this year, as they had done the year before and the years
before that.

As the Captain steered the ferry in the direction of the next guiding lamp with his sea-salt
cracked hands from his days in the Navy he looked around at the strange assembly of
characters upon his deck. There, sitting on a step just next to him was Ala’Karim, a famed
alchemist from the land of Mantazarin which sat midway across the globe, where the locals
wore strange headwear made of linen, carried curved swords and spent their days counting
numbers, mixing potions and, rumour had it, trying to disprove the idea of ‘God’. Such a thing
was blasphemy of course in the Captain’s mind, and he sneered slightly as he gazed upon the
large blue turban sitting upon the man’s large, round bearded face. His clothes were made of
what seemed to be fine silk and probably cost more than what the Captain had made in his
lifetime. Ala’Karim’s fingers were adorned with huge gold rings, the ones on his left hand
interlinked as though webbing upon his fingers. At his waist was a stumpy curved sword, which
the Captain recognized as being a scimitar from his days fighting fleets of pirates off the coasts
of Mantazarin, and upon the foreign man’s feet were shoes that curled up at the toes and were
an amazing flash of orange and red, though were stained with grey from the cigar he had been
puffing on when he stepped onto the ferry the other side of the river. When he had spoken his
accent had been thick and strange, as though the Captain’s ears had been held in a barrel of
treacle.
Sat next to the alchemist was his assistant Jahide, a scrawny young boy who couldn’t be more
that fourteen years of age. Jahide was as dark skinned as Ala’Karim, but his eyes were sunken
and he seemed to have a look of constant anxiety about him. He carried the bags (of which
there were no less than six, two of which were almost as big as the boy himself). He currently
sat upon one of the large bags, with the other resting upright which he was using as a pillow as
he lounged with his tatty cloak pulled over him to guard against the cold rain. Other assorted
bags were at his feet, but it was the box that hung by a shoulder strap that intrigued the Captain;
it was made of an orange metal and even though it was only the size of a closed fist it had
impressed black locks running along every edge yet no keyhole. No doubt there had to be
magic involved, thought the Captain, frowning as he remembered the times the Navy would
bring the Hydro Sorcerers onto the ships in case of bad weather, as though they weren’t a bad
omen in themselves.
Across the other side of the boat, standing next to Jerry, the only other member of crew upon

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the ferry, was the young Initiate Peter. The Captain knew him well for they were related through
marriage; his daughter Poppy has married Peter’s eldest brother Maurice who was the leader of
the Watch in the town. Peter had his back turned to the alchemist, as it was known by the
Clergy that an alchemist could cause your mind to become intoxicated with a long stare. His
hood was drawn up over his head and his hands were stretched out in front of him upon the
railing and every so often the Captain heard some muffled retches. The Captain shook his head;
Peter was the runt of the litter in his opinion, with his tiny frame, his wispy ginger hair already
deserting his head even though he was only into his twentieth year and his sea sickness. Thank
God Poppy had married the strapping, rich and sensible Marcus instead of this brown robed
nobody who couldn’t even climb up the Clerical ladder despite having been an Initiate since his
fifteenth birthday.
Further down from the sad figure of Peter was a young boy dressed in tatty rags and who was
just sitting on the decking in front of the bow of the ship where he had immediately sat as soon
as he boarded the ferry, staring forwards silently as though willing the boat to go faster so he
could get to the other side, or, get away from the previous side. He had no hood and his curly
shoulder length blonde hair was drenched and blew around his head in matted clumps. Laid
next to him was a small knapsack and a shepherd’s crook. The Captain had seen many a young
herdsman on his ferry over the years, usually trying to make it in the city as a groundsman for
the wealthier families or just as runaways from cruel masters. Though which this young boy was
doing the Captain couldn’t guess.

As the ferry passed the last guiding light Jerry began ringing the bell for the docksman to hear.
Through the mist cam a bell back, and through the ghostly sheen of mist and rain the lights of
the city in front started to come into view.
Casglave wasn’t the biggest city, but it was certainly a busy one, sitting alongside the river
Glave the city had massive farmlands around it in almost every direction. The main city bustled
with life from the small port upon the river, where fishermen and merchants came to sell goods
and food, and where the boatyards busted with the production of pleasure boats for the wealthy
or small fishing boat fleets for the fishmongers. In the centre of the city was the Church of His
Holy Father, where the inhabitants flocked to every Sunday and even for some, several times a
week. Surrounding the church was the Merchant’s Plaza, where there were stores for fabrics,
paintings, carpentry and everything a person could need.
North of the Merchant’s Plaza was were the rich and successful folk of Casglave lived, the
Mayor Samuel Lystor and his wife Charlotte occupied the massive white fronted mansion that
connected to the City Hall and the members of the Privy Council lived in the surrounding
houses, all made of white stone with pillars and spectacular engravings of justice and religious
symbols.
The eastern and western areas of the city were filled with long terraces of houses, taverns and
yet more shops with more modest prices. In the eastern district stood the imposing Watchman
Tower around which the large brownstone jail wrapped in a half crescent. Opposite the Tower
was Marcus and Poppy’s home, a large three story building crafted from wood and stone and
topped with an old thatch roof.
The Captain smiled as the boat sidled up to the jetty and the strange ensemble of passengers
started to stand and ready their belongings. Ala’Karim struck a match and lit another cigar as he
watched Jahide swing the two massive bags onto his back and secure the smaller bags around

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his waist. As Jerry threw the mooring ropes to the docksman on the jetty Peter still stood by the
railings his knuckles white and his face, which had turned slightly towards the Captain, was
tinged with green. The young herdsman at the bow of the ferry was now standing, leaning over
the railing, seemingly trying to take in all the sights, smells and sound of the port in at once. It
was a few moments after Ala’Karim had managed to clamber down onto the jetty with Jahide in
tow that the young boy turned round and ran for the plank down to the jetty, almost slipping on
the wet deck in his haste, his shepherd’s crook in one hand and his knapsack thrown over his
shoulder.
As the Captain started extinguishing his lanterns and torches for this had had been his last trip
of the day, Peter finally let go of the railing and stumbled towards the gangplank, hiccoughing
and clasping his hand over his mouth. As he reached the jetty he gave one last big retch and
vomited into the water much to the amusement of the young boys unloading a merchant’s boats
on the next jetty over. With their leers and shouts behind him Peter staggered down the jetty
and soon disappeared into the crowd.
The Captain extinguished the last torch at the bow of the ship and exchanged a glance with
Jerry, before departing the ferry himself and heading off through the drizzle home to his wife
and hopefully a big bowl of venison broth.