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Some distance away from the southern tip of Korda’s cliff, a merchant ship called Das Läuferin, or The Runner in common language, approached quietly beneath the clear blue skies belying the tension that the ship’s crews felt towards the place.
“There is Korda, lad,” said the captain, pointing out the land mass to Aryn. “I do not see why you would want to go to there. They say that the devil himself rules it.” With those words, the captain spat over his shoulder.
Aryn looked at the graceful blue mass that appeared to grow from the sea. “I just want to accomplish something for my father,” he told the captain.
“Some last wishes?” The captain raised his eyebrows at the young man.
Aryn shrugged. “Something like that.”
The captain nodded. “Well, we’ll bring you to a pirates’ cove by boat. That will be as far as we’ll take you.”
“That’s fine, thank-you,” Aryn told him not letting his eyes leave the land.
They took him to the cove, where they said that people hardly go there because of the high tide. It was a small semi-circle of shore, composed of smooth rocks polished by the pounding of waves and salt. Its arms of rock appeared to embrace a small body of water that was lapping at it. When the boat gently bumped against an arm, Aryn cautiously stood up and carefully stepped on to the wet rock, taking his sack of possessions with him.
“You see that cave entrance? Enter there and walk straight ahead. From there you should be able to find your way out,” one of the sailors advised him.
Aryn thanked them for their hospitality. The sailors wished him luck as they rowed away from the cove. He watched them leave until they were in the distance. Turning to the cave opening, from his pocket he took out a candle he had received from the sailors and lit it with tinder. With the candle in hand, he entered the cave.
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