"Scared they cower behind rotten walls. Ever vigilant looking over the sea, always in fear that the boats of men might appear on the horizon. How foolish. Do they not see? What is left of mighty Kition, but foulness? Who might pillage such rotten waste?"

- correspondence from a traveling merchant

The tempest lashed Apollas face, tearing at his drenched robe and biting the exposed flesh beneath. Through the rains heavy curtain he pressed forward, clutching the canvas bundle hiding the golden sword.

The storms on the mountain plateau were infamous. The people of Kremnos suffered from diseases of the lung and a shortened lifespan. The price for the mountains safety.

This storm however was not of natural origin. Apollas knew it was summoned by the swords curse. A tempest send to halt him. But he would not be stopped.

He remembered what the accursed sword did to him once before. The kings curse never stopped ringing in his ears. Someone knew of it. Someone found the sword and the bull and send them his way. An impossible task for a man not aided by supernatural forces, but that was not whom Apollas was expecting to face. He knew only a man of great power was able to visit Taishs punishment upon a devoted follower such as Apollas, a devoted follower who already had already paid penance for his sins.

As Apollas came closer to Kremnos he left the road and started crossing a field of mud and jutting stones.

If the guards at the gate were awake Apollas knew he would not be allowed to enter. The city dwellers were suspicious of anyone trying to enter under the cover of night. The penalties for corruption at the gate were raised sufficiently for the guard to not take the risk being caught taking money from strangers. But What was lost in bribes was quickly made up by confiscations. Many a unwitting farmer found himself stripped of his wares and coin.

Luckily Apollas knew of a place along the wall which could be easily scaled even in this weather.

His hand at the wall he walked along the edge of the ditch around the wall. The protection from the wind and rain the wall offered was bought with the danger of slipping. Apollas had to tread carefully around the wet stones and branches scattered along the wall. It might not be a deep ditch, but in the pitch black darkness of the night a misstep among the jutting stones could mean a broken leg.

Slowly Apollas made his way to the little mount at the low part of the wall. His fingers numbed by the cold searched for a little hole drilled into the stone. Luckily Apollas didn't have to find it for the first time. When he finally did, he slowly kneeled down to recover the wooden rod hidden between the rocks. It was just big enough to fit into the little hole and just strong enough to carry a persons weight for a moment. The rain wetting the stone and rod didn't ease things for Apollas.

Thank the gods for unruly boys, in their ignorance they made a hidden way into the city. Smugglers would have drawn attention, children on the other hand were easily overlooked at times were so many little dirty feet were coming and going with every year.

As Apollas scaled the wall, he came upon a flimsy wooden roof, leading into the small yard of a blacksmiths workshop. He had to crawl slow and carefully, as it was in poor condition and wouldn't support his weight for long.

As he descended he found himself in a little courtyard. Dirty furnaces dug in the ground, barely capable of producing copper of any worth. Uncleaned and broken molds for cheap tools were laying all around.

Judging by the state of the smithery and the two houses at either side of the yard one could conclude the city was deserted.

Most houses in Kremnos were made of clay bricks plastered over. Cracks were common and the orange plaster had turned to dark shades of grey and fallen off exposing the bricks to the ravaging winds of the sea.

Where wood was used it had turned black. Where damage was substantial, shoddy repairs could be seen. Only increasing the impression of decay.

In their pursuit of safety the displaced masses and survivors of Kition grew diseased hiding on their barren cliffs and mountain tops. Not only in body but in mind.

Apollas spat out, Kremnos had always disgusted him. It was only fitting that the source of his curse had came to a foul place like this.

It was the most troubling thing of all. Who was capable and interested in bringing back the wretched curse?

It must have been somebody who was on that boat that night. The night Apollas took the young kings head. A court magician perhaps? Vengeful after all these years, being deprived of his estate and freedom. But Apollas knew Taish did not choose favorites and he knew how to earn his favor.

Through the rains gray mantle Apollas saw a dim light radiating from weary woods cracks. It showed him the place where he hoped to learn the identity of the mysterious man who had gone through all the troubles to reunite Apollas with the golden sword.

It was a rank old tavern in the middle of the craftsmen quarter. A place were the old, lazy and crippled met. Men escaping their families and responsibilities, always eager to complain and gossip about the happenings of the city. If anyone noticable had entered the city, these men would know. All Apollas had to do was listen.

Upon entering the tavern an odor of urine and alcohol greeted him, making an almost convincing argument for the cold rains appeal. Defying the smell Apollas set foot on the blackened and sticky floor. Counting the bartender only four people were present, all falling silent as Apollas entered.

Even though the thought repulsed him, Apollas knew he had to order something, to avoid suspicions. He approached and leant on the counter, carefully leaning the sword on it.

The counter shared the floors properties. Jet black, sticky and covered with crusted blood, beer and things beyond mentioning.

"Beer." Apollas demanded without hesitation and unconcerned by the stares.

"We've got no beer. But I've got a nice and warm brew of Labda."

Apollas removed his hood.

"Do I look like a Keshen? Just give me a beer."

The bartender produced a rank smelling wooden cup filled with a almost clear liquid, there were traces of foam and little chunks of something whirling inside.

"Have to be careful, a stranger in disguise, with a hood and all."

"It was a bad season, it's only right to not waste it on alcohol." Apollas took a good sip from the cup and struggled to not pull a face. It wasn't the strength but but the brews taste.

The other men laughed, as did Apollas.

One of them slapped the counter.

"I'll be on my way then. Wouldn't want to waste anymore precious grain."

Again all laughed.

"Not a Keshen then? I can see that. So where are you from then?"

"The coast. Beyond the island of Taish. Working a bit of land on Larna. Here to sell woven baskets and wool. Buy some grain. Get away from the wife." they laugh.

"You aren't the eremite? Are you? Heard stories about sacrificing children to the statue of Taish."

"You think it's true?"

"I think a man living out there alone is a nutter. But I don't think he's stealing babies in the night."

One of the patrons butted in.

"I've heard the stories too, Sandar swears he saw the eremite coming down the cliff carrying a baby."

"Sandar sleeps in the sun at noon, wine jug in his arms. He's more of nutter then the sodding eremite."

"Your just angry because he ratted you out to the Keshen."

"Of course I'm still angry! The dogs beat me up proper. Poured it all into the sea!"

"They would have kept it for themselves if it didn't tasted like piss."

The other, former silent, patron threw in.

Both men laughed and the bartenders face flushed red.

"You're idiots as well, if you throw your lot in with that wastrel Sandar."

Appeasingly one of the patrons raised his hands.

"We're just joking. Of course Stealing babies is an old wife's tale. Sandar the old bastard is a drunkard, don't get angry."

"Right. Remember were the whole talk came from? The thing at the statue years ago."

Nestar the barkeeper had already calmed down, he seemed to be excited by the chance to tell a well rehearsed story.

"That's right. Must have been ten to fifth teen years ago now."

The men shifted closer to Apollas.

"A gruesome affair the whole city talked of nothing else for year."

"I was a young man then, everyone said it was a bad omen."

The bartender leant towards Apollas.

"You haven't heard the story by any chance."

Apollas felt tension in the air.

"Can't say I have."

"I didn't think so."

He stared into Apollas eyes.

"What's in the bag?"

Before Apollas could reach for the sword, the two patrons had already grabbed his shoulders and pressed him to the counter, he struggled, but Nestar grabbed his head and smashed it into the counter.

The world turned black, all Apollas could hear were distant voices.

"Don't kill him Nestar."

"He won't die so easy."

"When's Anosh back with the Keshen? The guys a killer, wouldn't mind a little help when he comes back."

Then the voices faded away and all was pitch black.

Hot tears were running over Eliyanas cheeks, though she couldn't feel them. Her cheeks went numb long ago.

She felt she had reached the end of her strength. The Ferryman insisted on helping her, but he was old.

Together they forced the heavy chart up the cliffs winding trail towards kremnos. It was a miracle they survived the raging sea, but the cliffs seemed indomitable.

The track to kremnos was a thin edge by design, wide enough only for fighting men to advance single file. The fall was deep with a reception of jagged rocks at it's bottom for the unlucky souls who fell prey to the treachery of this steep trail and its slippery basalt footing.

It could be dangerous for a man to scale the path in the light of day, but at night, with the smooth basalt covered in ever pouring rain? As if the gods stood against Eliyana and her boy.

Only inch by inch she and the Ferryman pressed onward. Lifting the heavy cart when a cruel ledge rose forth from the stone, praying each time that their feet's purchase might be firm. Their knees were numb, their hands bloody and swollen, every inch of fabric on their bodies drenched and freezing. Eliyanas hair knot had long since opened and her hair was getting caught up in the carts planks. She didn't care anymore, a quick pull and the trapped hairs were ripped from her skull. If she had the time she would have taken a knife and cut it all off.

Eliyana permitted herself a peek down the cliffs, to see how far they had come, she had to close her eyes and clench her teeth as she saw that they weren't even half way there yet.

She could feel her knees shake, all she wanted to do was break down and scream, but she pushed on for there was only one way. Even if she wanted she couldn't go back, a safe descent with the cart was impossible, the weight could not be controlled.

Something cold and wet touched her shoulder, she opened her eyes and saw the Ferryman's hand, he looked at her with questioning eyes.

"Stop pushing, we need to lift the cart!"

He screamed over the roaring rain.

Eliyana didn't even notice the cart wasn't moving.

Anger build up inside her stomach.

"Couldn't you have told me earlier!"

He looked apologetic at her and then turned his gaze downward.

He saw her hands and the wooden splitters caught in her flesh.

"You have to wrap them again, your hands are all bloody."

"I can't get a good hold with them on. What is it to you!"

For a moment Eliyana lost her footing, a shock ran through her, a brief pain in her head, the smell and taste of cooper in her mouth and when it was over she felt her feet slipping over the basalt, only for an inch.

The donkeys scream could be heard from the front, the cart started rolling, her feet didn't find purchase. The Ferryman was caught off guard, the brief second Eliyana had lost her footing was too long for him to stem the weight alone. Now they both were desperately pressing their bodies against the wagon.

Mercilessly the cart pushed on down the slope while their sandals kept sliding over the smooth stone towards the pitiless dead drop at the cliffs edge.

In her desperation Eliyana slipped of her shoes exposing her already sore flesh towards the stone, she didn't feel the pain, but she felt the extra grip, the Ferryman followed her example.

A few inches before their fall the cart stopped, Eliyana and the Ferryman legs fully extended pushing against the wagon. They had almost reached the cliffs edge with their bloodied feet.

"What ever you are atoning for old man, the gods will forgive you."

There was no response, but Eliyana could see a deep sadness in the old mans eyes.

The Ferryman lowered his head and carefully contracted his legs, Eliyana did likewise and again they pushed the cart towards the city looming above them.