"Look," Amber said, "the city!"
The buildings were multihued like those Miro had seen at the Ochre Isles. The city spread arms around the harbour possessively in a way that made Miro think these people prized control of the seas over anything else. It rose in tiers, continuing higher and higher to a tall summit.
The building at the city's highest point could only be a palace, but with its ivory spires and turquoise domes it was like no palace Miro had encountered in all the lands of the Empire.
The sky grew dark as they approached, and lights appeared at the city's innumerable windows. The lights twinkled in a way that told Miro these people used fire.
"Have you noticed," Miro said. "These people use no lore."
"We don't know that for sure," said Amber.
"Commodore Deniz has a beautiful sword, some of the best workmanship I've seen. Not a rune on it. Those lights at the harbour front — you can't tell me they're from nightlamps."
"You may be right," Amber said. "We'll see."
They were soon unable to grasp the size of the city anymore; the ship was now too close to the dock. Deniz carefully piloted the Seekrieger past ships large and small, finally finding his place and hitting the wooden pier with the gentlest of nudges.
Miro waited with Amber while the crew tethered the ship, wondering what would happen next. Eventually Amber gave up watching, resting on the bare wood of a bunk bed while Miro looked out the window. She finally sat up. "What's happening?" she said.
"I can see Deniz standing beside the ship and speaking with someone in a uniform," Miro said. "Something tells me he's talking about us. Now the man's gone, and Deniz is heading back to the ship."
Moments later, the door to the cabin opened. Miro and Amber's questions went unanswered as they were bundled off the ship and taken to where a contingent of soldiers with black uniforms waited.
The soldiers surrounded them, and then Miro heard a voice.
"Barbarian," it was Commodore Deniz, the soldiers parting as he approached. "Welcome to Emirald, capital of Veldria. I wish you luck. If you are allowed to live, and the Emir is generous enough to give you your choice of posts, choose the navy."
Deniz touched his feathered hat, and then turned away, while the soldiers reformed around their two prisoners. Without another word, Miro and Amber were marched away. Miro's suspicions were confirmed when they were taken onto a winding path leading upwards.
They were being taken to the palace.
~
THE SOLDIERS marched in a tight formation, with the prisoners on the inside so it was difficult to see through them, but on the way to the palace Miro saw a prosperous city of cobbled streets, well-dressed people and flickering lanterns at every corner. The windows all had glass, while the vivid colours of the facades were only matched by the shades of the people's clothing.
Miro could see they were indeed a seafaring nation, with chandlers, sail-makers and rope-makers in abundance. Sailors strolled on the streets and drank in the taverns, and looking back the way they'd come, Miro saw the massive harbour revealed in all its splendour.
Against the clatter of marching soldiers' boots he heard the sounds of revelry, voices and warbling music carried on the evening breeze.
"What's going to happen to us, Miro?" Amber said.
"I don't know," Miro said.
"No talking!" a soldier growled.
The palace was even bigger than Miro had originally thought — a series of buildings rather than a single edifice. He saw little of it, however, besides the heights of the domes and towers.
Miro and Amber were separated, but he was relieved when he saw they were taken to separate entrances of a bathing hall, with hot and cold pools beckoning seductively and braziers to warm the night air.
Miro was told to undress, and his clothing was taken from him — guards standing close by but looking studiously away. A silent older man led him to a pool and handed him soap. The man refused Miro's efforts at conversation, but wasn't content until Miro had passed through all three of the pools. The old man then made Miro lie on his stomach while he rubbed fragrant oil into Miro's back.
Even as he worried, Miro felt the cares of the journey melt away under the old man's hands, and sighed in pleasure. Finally, Miro was clothed in loose white garments — billowing trousers and an open-necked shirt. He was given soft boots to wear, and the old man combed another kind of oil through his long black hair, tying it with a cord at the back of his head.
Miro was then handed back to the guards and taken outside the bath house. Amber waited also under guard. She looked clean and beautiful, clad in a white tunic, but her expression was apprehensive.
"Your woman will be looked after," one of the soldiers said, "but an unmarried woman should be kept apart from the men."
"She's my wife!" Miro said, scowling.