To Giask - Part II
It was set to be a short journey across the eastern, smaller stretch of the Euschean Sea. The Myrmidon was a repurposed warship, made obsolete by naval advancement. It provided an efficient - if not comfortable - ride. The waters appeared calm enough, giving the blessing of smooth sailing. Askileon was quickly shrinking in the distance, left behind. The arrival at Giask drew ever closer.
Nicholas explored the ship, driven by a restless nervousness. He had given the Swords leave to entertain themselves during the trip. For their dutiful marching, they deserved the rest. It would not be appropriate for him to lose face before them, though a lump had continued to persist at the back of his throat. Giask represented everything he had been prepared for. Everything he had been trained for. He was acutely aware that any failure to match the lofty heights of Luria’s greatest city would not serve him well.
Deep breaths, he reminded himself. Nicholas gulped in the fresh sea air, pausing as he looked out across the azure waves. His bout of panic began to subside and his good sense once more prevailed. He sighed; this kind of weakness he would have to set aside once he arrived at the capital. The knight shook his head, dark tresses windblown by the gusts. It was ridiculous - he had faced numerous men more skilled and more experienced at arms without flinching, but the idea of a banquet caused him to panic.
Nicholas squared his shoulders and returned indoors to the Swords, who raised their mugs and tankards in salute. Giask awaited.
