There is no greater honor than to die in battle by the hand of a greater foe. To have fought valiantly, with all the courage and strength that your heart and arms could muster. And the greatest honor that a slain warrior can bestow upon his slayer is to know the warrior's name. To slay one's enemies, and to scream the blood name that one's own comrades have showered upon him in his moment of greatest triumph is to become one with the gods, and to feel the strength of one's ancestors burn in their blood hotter than forge fires.

Such is the mantra that is nursed to the sons of Taurassian with their mother's milk. The teaching of strength, of courage, honor, valiance and ferocity are the greatest virtues. The teachings of harmony, the way of the weak and spineless ponies of Equestria are to be shunned. For through those laughable virtues, a minotaur warrior has only bound himself to a name of shame, to be forgotten in song or writings and for the warriors of his clan to shun as a failure in the eyes of the lords of the empire.

And once the mantras of blood and honor have succeeded in creating a warrior spawn of a warrior race, a minotaur calf is taught that the greatest honor aside from shedding the blood of another is to stand above all others as a lord. Station is the bread upon which a noble born minotaur is fed; be it station of wealth, station of honor, station of power, and foremost, station of respect. To kill and die with honor is the greatest offering one can sacrifice to the mighty god which rules so haughtily over his chosen people. And to kill for the White Bull, the great and godly beast which sprang from the loins of the Mother Sea to rule as a god over his chosen warriors, is to gain his favor, and station will follow.

Honor and blood please the White Bull Aeukos, and those who can provide the most are the most rewarded.

The winds of the Inner Sea lay still on the vast waters. Nestled between the bosom of the great desert continent of Zebrica, and the wild, untamed northern continent of Maerasia, this great sea was connected to the endless blue of the Great Ocean by only a single inlet. A place often fought for and died for. For control of the seas was paramount to more than one civilization of the Inner Sea.

Sweat poured down the brow of Shipmaster Telen, and he covered his eyes as he muttered both curses to the great fiery sun in the sky and silent prayers to Aeukos to bring wind to his sails. Sixteen long days his great galley had been at sea, and while his holds carried enough stuffs and supplies to last another eighty days, the honored Shipmaster of House Ilium had accursed luck with the winds. For this, the early days of summer, the winds were meant to be stiff and carry even the most laden ships across the seas with haste. And with no winds at his back, Shipmaster Telen was likely to lose his commission when he and his crew arrived several full days behind schedule in Knossos. But losing his position of honor with the noble House Ilium was not the only thing Telen feared with such still winds leaving him and his crew so vulnerable and appealing to any passers-by.

The Shipmaster turned his scorn away from the sun and the dead winds, pacing down the deck of his galley to bark orders to his crew. "Astenos, raise the mainsail, there's no point leaving a flag for our foes to spot from afar," Telen bellowed.

"Aye, Shipmaster!" the bullish sailor responded, immediately scrambling up the rigging with a deftness and speed that belied his race's clumsy and slow movements on land. It was a simple truth and odd paradox of the minotaur race. With their heavy hooves and long strides, many would expect the mighty minotaur to be more at home on the open plains far to the north near the borders with Rus, but the sea was and had always been their home. And many races across the ages had found the spectacle of a thick and heavy minotaur expertly weaving and scrambling through the tangled web of a ship's rigging comparable only to the ease that a pegasus walked among the clouds.

"All hands to your rowing positions! Ethanos, set the pace! We must be in Knossos before the dog star rises!" Telen shouted to his crew. Dozens of minotaur sailors filed belowdecks to their rowing benches, and within a minute the ship was propelled forward across the water by the strong backs and powerful muscles of nearly fifty rowers set to a steady beat from a drum.

With the ship tearing across the waters, a cooling breeze came with its passage, and Telen could have simply basked in it as it mopped away his sweat. But he had more important matters to attend to belowdecks. Taking the short stair down into the enveloping darkness below the deck, he produced a scroll and a quill from the pouch on his belt, taking an oil lamp down below the rowers decks and into the pitch black of the cargo hold, sweltering in the summer heat below the waterline of the ship.

The Shipmaster began to take inventory of his hold, carefully counting the crates of ivory from Zebrica, urns of spices from Saddle Arabia to the east, several dozen tall vases filled with olive oils and chickpeas from the mainland holds of some lesser nobilities. And the most precious of all, something that could either make his coffer overflow with gold should he deliver it on time or completely destroy his fortune if he were to be late, twelve bolts of silk from the mysterious land of Qin. Only the highest concubines of the palace or the wives of the greater nobles would even dream of wearing such fabric. Telen grinned, knowing that he could possibly buy himself a better position in House Ilium, possibly even a fine concubine of his own, should one of the bolts of cloth mysteriously "disappear" from his cargo hold.

But then, the port authorities of House Arnsul would certainly notice its absence once Telen pulled his ship into port. And since all the goods in this hold were technically property of the Royal House Arnsul, Telen could lose far more than just his title and his standing with House Ilium. Such thievery in the past, or even the accusation of thievery, was justified cause for dishonorable execution, and if a single scrap of cloth was unaccounted for in the ship's manifest, the port authority had the power to execute him on the spot.

Such a rich cargo, and such a disadvantage with no winds at his back. Telen muttered a quick chanting prayer to Aeukos, hoping that it would fill his sailor's bodies with the vigor to reach Knossos by nightfall. For though Telen's ship was fully capable of holding its own against another vessel in combat, his galley wasn't outfitted for war at the moment, and he only had a small handful of actual warriors aboard. The Inner Sea was a place littered with watery graveyards of ships sank both in storm and in battle. And while only a few of those ships were of minotaur make and crew, Telen could not take the risk of being caught in the open by Taurassian's greatest enemies, the Roamans.

Of all the dangers that prowled the Inner Sea, be it flesh-hungry sea monsters, roving fleets of pirates, storms that could strike on a whim, or even the pillaging ships of a rival House, none were deadlier than the Roamans. A civilization of ponies that shared the Inner Sea with the minotaurs, they claimed the entire western seas and all the islands within it as their own. The Roaman ponies based themselves out of their shining city of Roam, and their insatiable craving for new lands to call their own clashed with the similar interests of the neighboring Taurassian Empire. An ancient colony of Equestria, the Roamans had seceded from their ancestral homeland and taken up the ways of both commerce and conquest. And while minotaur ships ruled the open oceans and the high seas, the shallower draft and lighter, longer build of the Roaman's triremes made them lethally fast and maneuverable, making them deadly in the shallows closer to land.

And with the Roaman Legion being so adamant about using the pegasi legionnaires to control the weather to their whim, it wouldn’t surprise the Shipmaster if this heat wave was a result of their often poorly planned weather tampering. Such tactics had always been the Roaman’s preferred method of warfare; slowly wear down the enemy’s strength and morale, then march in the Legions.

Shipmaster Telen finished his check of the material inventory, marking down each little good as he was required to do several times each trip out of port. One could never truly trust that the sailors on his ship were not either spies or thieves for another House, and the inventory had to be meticulously checked. And if a single olive was missing, the ship dropped anchor, and each and every crew member was held at swordpoint until there was no doubt he did not do the thieving.

Not a single grain of barley was out of place. His ship and crew would make their deadline as usual, and with his perfect timing despite the setbacks, he would become a much wealthier bull for it. But he was not finished with his check of inventory. He had done the material goods, now he had to check on the live goods.

Slipping the cargo manifest back into his pouch, Telen withdrew his passenger manifest. Climbing out of the cargo hold, he passed by the lower deck of rowers to the cramped passenger quarters at the stern of the fat bellied galley. His manifest only listed one passenger, and he had not shown himself since their departure from port on the mainland. Most likely seasick, he thought to himself. He couldn't quite wrap his mind around the idea that some creatures took ill simply by taking to sea, to the minotaur the rolling waves of the ocean are always a comfort.

Telen pushed open the door to the passenger's quarters, and inside the solitary passenger looked up in apparent surprise and annoyance, slipping something in his claw back into the folds of his cloak. A gryphon, a member of a fellow warrior race, and one of the few races that minotaurs openly welcomed as brothers in arms. The passenger manifest listed him as 'Adawulf', and nothing more. His rusty red fur and snowy white feathers were obscured by black leather armor and a thick cloak, despite the often overwhelming heat of the Inner Sea. Though he trusted gryphons above most other races, he had to wonder why Adawulf was never seen without his armor.

"Is it not custom to knock?" the gryphon said in his thick Gryphonian accent. He spread his wings in agitation, and Telen knew for certain that he had interrupted the gryphon during something very important.

"The Shipmaster does not need to announce his presence aboard his own ship," Telen refuted. "I am required by the laws of my people to assure both your continued presence and your safety, good sir Adawulf. My crew members tell me that you have not left your quarters since our departure. Nor taken any of our offered rations. Does the sickness of the sea afflict you? Or perhaps you are stricken by something a little more sinister?" the Shipmaster asked inquisitively. If the gryphon carried some kind of plague, spreading it onto Knossos could potentially wipe out entire swaths of the population.

The gryphon shook his snowy feathered head. "Ja, it is a good thing, to follow ze laws. Vhere vould ve be without zem? I carry no illness, good Shipmaster. And as for ze food, I bring my own. Minotaur fare leads mein stomach afoul." Adawulf absently waved a talon to a satchel filled with dried meats and fruits, showing that he indeed did not need to deplete Telen's shipboard rations through his presence. "How far is Kun-noes-oes?" he inquired to the captain.

Telen could have laughed at the gryphon's thick accent and his stumbling pronunciation of 'Knossos'. Clearly he had never been to the Empire, and his readings had left him lacking. Even those foolish Roamans knew not to pronounce the 'K'.

"If our backs stay strong, and if Ethanos can keep a pace for once, we should reach port in Knossos," the minotaur emphasized, "within two days time. I trust your associates will find you safe harborage within the city. You of course have contacts within the city?"

"I hold no connections to Knossos," Adawulf replied, withdrawing deeper into his hood, and the Shipmaster could almost feel a small inflection of denial in Adawulf's response. Telen noticed a small movement near the gryphon's hip, as if Adawulf was caressing something with one of his talons.

Telen raised his eyebrow, curious as to why this gryphon, obviously not a merchant or an ambassador, was headed to the minotaur capital. That need to protect his ship and his crew from controversy pressed Telen to further interrupt the gryphon's privacy. "If I might inquire, what purpose do you have in Knossos? None of the cargo in the hold is under your name, and by the lightness of your pack, you do not carry much gold on you. What, if I may ask, is your profession?"

Adawulf peered out from his hood, his piercing eyes coming to rest on Telen's face. And instantly, Telen could see the soul of a warrior in his eyes. Cold, steely grey, and utterly devoid of the shimmers of mercy or love. "I offer many... services, to zose vith ze gold to afford zem," the gryphon said, his voice seeming to hiss like a serpent preparing to strike its prey.

The honored Shipmaster grimaced. "Do I need to know about the nature of these "services" that you offer?" Telen grew in his suspicions of the gryphon. He came aboard his ship with nothing but a pack that he kept jealously private, he always wore that supple leather armor, and he kept to himself. And now he spoke out to the captain about going to Knossos to do deeds unknown. Adawulf, Telen concluded, was up to no good. House warfare was common, and utilizing certain hired parties, though frowned upon as dishonorable and underhanded, was not unheard of in the lower houses. But if Adawulf was a mercenary, why was he here alone? In these dangerous territories, there was no such thing as a lone merc plying his trade. Every thought only added more questions about the gryphon.

Adawulf chuckled to himself, grinning to the Shipmaster. "No, you do not. Perhaps, vun day you may find yourself in need of my services. On zat day, remember your good friend Adawulf."

Something about that gryphon made Telen shudder. Even when he sat still as a stone, Adawulf always seemed poised to strike like a serpent. And the few times he had seen the gryphon move, Telen had been amazed by the way he seemed to slither from one place to another. Telen noticed that Adawulf's patience for his presence seemed to be wearing thin, the gryphon's talons clicking and drumming on the edge of the table. The Shipmaster promptly muttered something about increasing the pace, and he turned about and left Adawulf's cabin.

Finally back in his solitude, the gryphon shed his cloak, relieving himself of the burdensome and oppressive heat that came with this infernal sea. With his free talon he slid open the porthole, letting in the salty breeze. Adawulf stifled a sneeze as the scent of brine struck him, truly despising the odd passion the minotaurs had for the sea. Like all his hybrid race he preferred the high, snowy mountains far to the north. Another thing he despised, the horribly brutish politics of the minotaur. Not a single thought of subtlety in those horned heads. Adawulf had to wonder why the aerie lords of Gryphonia held such close alliance with the Houses of Taurassian.

He brought his occupied talon out from the hidden pockets of his leather jerkin, holding in it a cooing pigeon with a tiny letter cylinder clasped to its leg. Reaching out the porthole, he released his messenger, the bird immediately taking wing towards the island of Knossos. He had let slip a little white lie about his history on the island to the Shipmaster. He did have friends within the city, very wealthy and powerful friends with a bone to pick.

He reached once again down to his side, grasping the handle of the serpentine dagger at his belt. A dagger only seen in the talons of the deadliest rogues and court warriors of the gryphon kingdoms. For Telen's suspicions had been correct, the gryphon was a blade to be hired, and someone as yet unnamed had paid such a hefty price to bring the most feared blade in the Innung des Mechal, the most secretive and successful guild of assassins in all Maerasia, down to this hopelessly backward kingdom.

"Indeed, remember your good friend Adawulf," the gryphon murmured to himself.

Author's Notes:

A few notes:
-The W in Adawulf's name is pronounced like a V, in the German style. That being said, I will try to imply that he speaks with a Germanic accent.
-The title of Shipmaster is equivalent to anything between a captain and an admiral.
-The reason why they do not go by names like 'Iron Will' will be explained in the next chapter. It is all a part of a heavy system of protocol and honor.
-There will be very few ponies in this story. Those that even get dialogue will be antagonistic.