‘Yes, Commander.’
Roul claimed to be twenty, but Harlan guessed he was closer to eighteen. ‘Good.’ He continued walking. ‘Over the wall, down the cliff face, then you must navigate your way to the port borough, where you’ll exit the water via the beach.’
‘Isn’t that quite far?’ asked one of the younger boys.
Harlan turned to look at him. ‘That a problem?’
He had been in the training role for less than two weeks, and every man before him had been a defender for around the same amount of time. They were as fresh as they came.
The defender who had asked the question shook his head. ‘No, Commander.’
‘I’ll be there to hold your hand if you need it,’ Harlan said. The other men snickered. ‘I have extra training for the final two out of the water, so make sure that’s not you.’ He jogged off in the direction of the wall. ‘Let’s move out!’
The young defenders sprinted after him, some overtaking him in their eagerness to be first over the wall. They would be spent by the time they reached the water—assuming they made it that far. Harlan said nothing because it was the best way for them to learn.
Set a pace. Stick to it.
They reached the ropes along the wall and climbed. Skin and muscle burned. It was the kind of pain that quickly became addictive.
One recruit beat Harlan to the top, his face set with determination. He was halfway down the rope on the other side when he prepared to jump the rest of the way. Harlan thought about warning him, but he was not the young man’s father. There was a cry of pain as feet hit the uneven ground below. The recruit grabbed his ankle as he rolled onto his back, cursing.
Harlan shook his head and looked up at the defender guarding the wall. ‘We’re going to need the medic down here.’
The defender gave him a knowing grin before walking off to fetch him.
Harlan clapped the injured recruit on the shoulder as he passed. ‘Just sit tight.’
The cloud was low and thick, completely covering the water below. Waves slammed into the rocks. The recruits hesitated—except Roul, who lowered himself over the edge without speaking a word.
Harlan followed.
Some of the men would freeze with fear halfway down. Some would change their minds and try to climb back up. Some would tire and slow.
At least one would fall.
Harlan took his usual route, a path he had perfected over the years. It was not the most direct way down, but it was the safest—and ultimately the quickest. His feet were first to hit the rocks at the bottom. Roul’s were second.
Harlan took a moment to study the water patterns. ‘The safest way through will be to swim farther out away from the rocks.’ He knew many would struggle to navigate their way through them.
Yet another lesson to take away.
Harlan dove beneath the waves coming at him, eyes open and one arm extended in case of rocks. When he was out past the white water, he rolled onto his back for a moment to rest, floating until his heart slowed enough to begin the long swim. The recruits popped up around him, waiting to see what he would do next.
He began to swim, and the others followed closely.
They were about halfway to the port beach when something snagged Harlan’s vision. He stopped to tread water, peering through the mist. It was likely one recruit trying to be clever and overtake him out of sight.
‘That a fishing boat?’ Roul asked behind him. ‘Should we warn them we’re in the water so they don’t accidentally hit us?’
Harlan narrowed his eyes. ‘Chadorian fisherman know better than to venture this close to the rocks.’ All it took was one rogue wave and the vessel would be smashed to pieces.
Harlan glimpsed the stem post of a boat through the fog and stilled. It was not a fishing boat. He turned to the men, signalling for them to be quiet. He pointed to his eyes, then behind him.
‘Sea warriors?’ Roul whispered.
Harlan nodded and indicated for everyone to be alert and listening.
The other men were looking between themselves with slightly panicked expressions when a boat cut through the fog nearby.
