III. The Language of Ice

He was led into the village and he immediately fell in love with it.

Sarfan was small and beautiful like many of the old Plains villages were, with its scattered assortment of oak and cobblestone buildings. It was, in fact, one of the smaller villages of the pre-Imperial times; around fifteen to twenty buildings are estimated to have been built by the time Alexius had come, mostly small houses for one or two people. It had a small tannery, a blacksmith, and other assorted job structures. Flat wooden enclosures had raised farm beds on them, where the farmers grew wheat and carrots.

There was also a larger building of cobblestone and stained glass, with a crenelated tower that spiked up towards the sky. This temple—whose foundations can still be seen today in the White Palace—was in front of the central meeting place of the villagers, the axis of which was marked with two bells and a great oak tree, and it is said that Alexius took a special liking to this building from the moment he saw it. While he was riding down the roads of Sarfan for the first time, accompanied by the curious crowd and by Sev the Cleric, he pointed to the structure and called it "church". The Cleric responded to this by telling him the native word for the building, Ajor, which means temple. Alexius repeated it slowly and rode on.

It is true that Sarfan-on-the-Plain was not the best location for building a great city, something the Emperor had wanted from very early on, perhaps even from this point. The Central Plains (which they then called the Western Plains, for they were west of the River Mer and followed the setting sun), vast and stretching as far as the eye could see, were hardly defendable, and indeed were a breeding ground for monsters to emerge from at night. To the east of Sarfan was a birch grove, where the trees grew so tall and so thickly that monsters could come out during the day in its darkest patches. The River Mer itself was barely a stream then, three blocks deep at its deepest and amounting to little more than a minor obstacle for the zombies.

Nevertheless, Alexius loved this small hamlet, or at least grew to love it throughout the years he was to spend there. Perhaps it was for its original beauty, the likes of which can still be seen along the abandoned villages of the East Coast. Or perhaps it was for the company. But he compelled himself, either way, to stay in and protect this village on the outskirts of the Central Plains. And, soon enough, he would prove it through the sword. But for now, the village regarded him with wariness.

Blinded by the light of the sun, they had not seen the stranger's features closely; in the shade of the trees, the people realized that this Alexius was no villager or Wandering Trader. He lacked the protuberant nose and the green eyes of the other villagers, even those from great distances away; his skin was tanned by the sun, and on his face was a scruffy brown beard. Because his skin was tan and not gray, and because his eyes were blue and not emerald, they could tell that he was not a Pillager, either; and at any rate, his armor was so clearly of villager make that they were all convinced that he had purchased them, at a hefty price, from one of the larger trading centers, perhaps from the forges at Market Hane.

They were fascinated by his blue eyes and flat face, the likes of which they had never seen before, and indeed would never see in another man again. They were equally fascinated with his armor, and because of this they were convinced that he was a very rich man with a great store of emeralds. One of the children reached out to touch his skin, and it is said that Alexius's mere glance was enough to make the child shrink away in fear, so great and terrible was his authority.

Sev the Cleric led Alexius to the stables, where he dismounted and allowed his steed to be leashed. The crowd was ordered to disperse, and, grumbling and whispering to each other, went back to their activities in groups of two and three. Truthfully, despite their fascination, they were still afraid of this man who brought fearsome weapons and came to their village unannounced on a white steed.

Together with Spayer the Armorer and Hava Yal the Fletcher, both learned men of the village, Sev the Cleric attempted to communicate with this iron-clad stranger, telling him to speak of his origin and intent. Hava Yal demanded to know if the Pillagers had sent him, or worse, if the beasts of the night had created him to destroy the village. He was clearly not a Pillager himself, he declared, but perhaps he could be an emissary. Spayer asked him how he had crafted his armor. Sev the Cleric pointed at things and told the stranger what they were called.

Alexius looked utterly baffled, and the three men realized that this stranger was from a truly distant land, perhaps even from beyond the Western Plains. For most of the villages of the Plains could communicate with each other to some degree, though their tongues were not necessarily equal; only men from truly distant lands could be fully uncomprehending of their language. They came by now and then, Wandering Traders from beyond the Plains who rode wooly llamas and spoke of great snow-capped mountains in stuttering tongues.

Sev pointed at the Western Plains and made a questioning noise, which the stranger Alexius understood, for he replied with a word they had never heard before, "English". And he brandished his axe and carefully laid it on the ground before the three of them. That message was easily understood.

Hava Yal was greatly excited by the mention of this novel word, and he quickly realized that Alexius was indeed from the distant Western Mountains, for he had said himself that he was "E glesch", "from the ice". The three men talked hurriedly in low tones, and it was decided that Hava Yal should fetch Saracid the Librarian, who was the most learned man in Sarfan. He of all people would be able to understand this stranger and to communicate with him.

It was also decided that Ramaf the Cartographer should join them so that they could understand exactly where the stranger Alexius came from.

Alexius sits in a small room filled with bookshelves and smelling of old paper. He has taken off his helmet and, still exhausted from the journey, wolf down two, then three loaves of bread. Two men stand in front of him, one with a kind of stylized hat made to look like a book on his head, the other with a single gold monocle. Both look equally concerned at this strange alien devouring their meager gifts. He must have been starving, they think.

At last the stranger Alexius stops eating and looks towards them. They shift uncomfortably in their seats; they are not yet used to those blue eyes, so alien and unnatural. This foreigner still instills a little fear into men as learned as these.

Saracid—for that is the name of the Librarian of the village—finally speaks up. He points to himself and slowly says his name. He points to his companion and, equally slowly, says, "Ha Ramaf et." He glances at Ramaf the Cartographer and adds, "Ya Chartafact et."

Alexius looks at the Librarian and sees a vivid image of a baby learning its first words. This'll take a while, he thinks, and sighs deeply. He pushes the thought aside and carefully replies, "Saracid," making sure to enunciate the syllables as much as he can. Looking at the Cartographer, he says, "Ramaf." He bows with what he hopes is politeness at them both. They seem to take it to it kindly.

Saracid the Librarian gestures to Ramaf the Cartographer, who gently pulls out a great map from one of the shelves, vibrantly colored and marked with little banner symbols. He lays it onto the table and points to one of the banner symbols on the edge of the map, right next to a thin blue line and a dense mass of green. He points to it and then points to the ground repeatedly. Alexius sees the blue line, sees the barely discernible outline of the village, and understands.

"He Sarfan et," Ramaf says, "Sarfan." And Alexius, who wants to make a good impression on his hosts, points to the ground and says, "Sarfan?" They nod eagerly. So that's what this place is called, he thinks. Sarfan. Not a bad name for a village.

Saracid drags his finger from the banner leftwards, where there is a vast, empty space of green, dotted sparsely with multicolored banners. The green plain is bounded on two sides by dense greenery that stretch equally vast distances towards the bounds of the map; towards the bottom, it ends in blue. On the far left of the map is the thinnest trace of gray with white.

He taps on the point and asks, "Et ta e he?"

Alexius shakes his head and points towards the dense Western Forest, between the Plains and the Mountains. He's fairly confident he spawned in there, and, tapping the paper twice, he guesses on a word: "He."

Saracid and Ramaf shoot glances at each other: not from the Mountains, then. Saracid bows a little at this iron stranger and repeats, "Alexius." His syllables are long and uneven, but it is a start. All three of them in that little room think: I can work with this.