Ûrikali

On a clear and cloudless night, I stood on a long white quay below the Harbor-Master's Tower. Silver moonlight shimmered on the waters of Abamâtu as I looked to the bay; a sea of stars twinkled in the heavens above. Hundreds of ships floated peacefully on the water; the proud dromonds anchored toward the sea-gate looked as small as the toy ships that sometimes drifted on the Baths of Ilmai Iforikh. The usual cacophony of the docks, a riot of voices in what seemed as many languages, was blissfully absent.

"Niluzîr? Where are you?"

My voice echoed into the hollow dark, thinner and more tremulous than I remembered; no answer came back to me. Niluzîr had vanished, leaving me to wonder what horrors could befall a man in these catacombs where even the bravest explorers of Ordâkh were forbidden to go.

“Northern merchants say that none are swifter than the wild horses of Râbâzayan. That is a lie. Fastest are the winds of vengeance, the same which bore Castamir south before Vinitharya's horsemen could seize him. He sailed to Umbar Baharbêl, where he was known by the name Balakhôr Ship-lord. When his ship sailed into the haven, bright as a pearl on the water, he was hailed by the northern sailors who had long swelled the ports of Umbar with their ships.