by Jean Rabe
3
Camilla
"It's so beautiful." Camilla Weoledge stood on the bow of a small carrack as it eased up to the dock.
"Indeed it is a most lovely town, Commander." The Solamnic lieutenant at her side snapped to attention as Camilla strode past him down the gangplank and onto the dock, not waiting until the ship was properly moored. Her boot heels clicked rhythmically over the weathered wood, and her lieutenant hurried to catch up.
The port town of Schallsea was waking up around them. Merchants were on their way to their shops, bundled in coats on this early winter morning, walking with shoulders hunched into the wind, the ends of their scarves waving behind them like colorful pennants. Outwardly, they paid the knights little heed—that is, until they were safely past and could gawk from a respectful distance.
Chimneys were puffing smoke, tingeing the air with the scent of wood and cinnamon and bacon. Camilla inhaled deeply, finding the scents pleasing. Someone nearby was baking bread, and it sharply reminded her she hadn't eaten since early yesterday.
"Willum, I've visited many port towns, but…" The commander found herself at an unaccustomed loss for words as she stood on the shore and glanced up and down the streets that radiated outward from the docks like spokes on a wheel.
"But seldom one so tidy, Camilla."
"Tidy. Yes, Willum. Schallsea is quite tidy. I like that."
The port was large enough to accommodate warships, even several at a time. Steep granite cliffs protected the bay from storms. The buildings closest to the docks were made of stone with thick slate roofs, designed to keep the occupants safe from invading armies. The population of Schallsea had burgeoned during the War of the Lance. A large group of settlers had been the Solamnics' dark-armored enemies who used the port as a base for raids, primarily against Abanasinia and Southlund.
The streets of the walled city were remarkably clean. They were not of dirt or gravel as in most port towns in Ansalon's southern hemisphere. They were made of cobblestones, a mix of gray and rose stones, all of them looking as if they'd just been scrubbed. The storefronts were in good repair, with no peeling paint on shutters, no debris out front. The bright colors of the buildings seemed to complement each other.
As Camilla and Willum walked southwest through the town, two dozen knights marching behind and nearly a hundred soldiers trailing them, they noticed the residences were tidy and well maintained, from the modest cottages of the shopkeepers to the handful of sprawling manses with manicured lawns and sculpted evergreens.
"The citizens obviously take pride in this place," Willum observed. "It's an honor to be stationed here, Commander."
Camilla did not reply. She pointed at a keep perched on a hill at the southern edge of the bay. It was the most notable landmark in Schallsea.
"Our home," she said tersely. "At least for however long the Solamnic Council decrees we stay here."
"Quaint." Willum drew his lips into a narrow line and squinted. "Look there! Complete with ballistas and catapults to protect the harbor."
"Let's hope we won't need them." Camilla stared at the structure. The masonry had been severely weathered by the salt air. "Krynn has seen too many wars, Willum. I hope we never see another one in my lifetime."
"The battle here went well enough for us."
"I suppose, in the end, but that was a long time ago."
Willum made a humming noise in his throat. "The Dark Knights were kind enough to leave us a place to stay. It's defensible for certain."
Camilla nodded. "The Sentinel, it's called."
"Unfortunate for us they didn't finish it. Look there! Only three sides to the rear section."
She shook her head. "Actually, I consider it most fortunate they were not afforded the opportunity to finish it, Lieutenant." Camilla knew well the history of the Sentinel, eventually abandoned by the besieged Knights of Takhisis in the year 352 A.C., one year before the War of the Lance officially came to an end.
Willum adopted a cheerful tone. "Well, Commander, perhaps we will have a chance to finish it. We could import some stone, obtain the services of some builders. It's rather small, after all. Certainly not up to the usual Solamnic standards. I would think if we—"
"I have other things to worry about than bricks and mortar just now, Lieutenant."
Willum's lighthearted demeanor turned instantly serious.
"Have the men unload the arms and equipment, then get them settled in their barracks." She eyed the rank of knights and selected six of them. "You and I and these men will visit our charges. I'll meet you at the northern edge of the city in one hour. Make sure everyone gets something to eat. We've a hard march ahead of us." Camilla acknowledged the salute of her knights and pivoted sharply on her heels. She had just enough time for a quick tour of the port town. She heard Willum call that she should get breakfast herself, but she had other concerns. She suspected that food would only further upset her already churning stomach.
She walked purposely up and down the side streets, noting that there did not seem to be a single empty residence. A few clipped questions confirmed that all the boarding houses were full. An abandoned temple had been recently turned into an apartment building, and a kindly woman outside the entrance said many of those rooms would be filled with the next boatload of newcomers. Did she need accommodations? Camilla shook her head and moved on.
The knight commander saw that despite the cold Schallsea's carpenters and masons were doing a booming business, scrambling to finish a new row of houses before winter set in. At the edge of her vision, stakes and ribbons hinted that other streets were planned, extending eastward into the heart of the island. Gray and rose cobblestones were piled nearby, indicating they would be improved soon. Schallsea was growing rapidly, perhaps too rapidly. A shiver danced down her spine.
She paused outside an establishment called The Cozy Hearth, a sunny-looking hostel with butter-colored eaves and shutters painted seafoam green. A sign rested against the windowpane: Pilgrims Welcome. In smaller print, it announced, Comfortable beds, Rates reasonable, no one refused. Iryl Songbrook, proprietor. The knight's scowling image was reflected in the window.
Camilla's hair was boyishly short, her tight mahogany curls looking like a cap. Her nose was slightly hawkish, her cheekbones high, and her eyes a bit too large for her face. She wasn't unattractive by any means, but in her opinion she was a little too tall and hardly beautiful. She did little to improve her appearance or to make herself look feminine or appealing. She had more important things to address. She let out a long breath, turned away from the window, and continued her tour.
It was easy to see which buildings had stood since the War of the Lance. They were of thick stone, squat and looking a bit like the shells of tortoises. The newer buildings, mostly farther from the harbor, were two and three stories tall and were made of a combination of stone and wood. Most had sod roofs. Though the majority of the businesses were close to the harbor, other establishments were scattered here and there along the side streets: bakeries, weaponsmiths, clothiers, grocers, leather workers. They were practical businesses, catering to people's needs, nothing prone to much extravagance such as a jeweler's, florist's, or an art gallery. It was a simple town. The larger Schallsea grew, the more it would change.
Camilla hurried toward a stable at the northern end of town, realizing her tour had taken much longer than she expected. It was one of the new buildings, judging by the men still painting it, and considerably larger than the stable near the docks. She spied Willum talking to a thickset man with red paint smudges on his shirtsleeves. Her knights, their duffel bags at their feet, were leaning against the corral, admiring the horses snorting in the chill air.
"Commander!" Willum snapped to attention when he spotted her, and the knights immediately drew themselves away from the horses and formed a line behind the lieutenant.
She nodded curtly to them and started walking down the path that led out of town. Willum rushed to walk at her side, awkwardly shoulderi
ng two packs. The knights followed in single file.
"I've made arrangements for the horses coming with the next ship," he began. "The stable near the harbor was—"
"Already full," she finished for him.
He made a humming noise in his throat. "Yes. Well, it looked like there was a stable at the Sentinel—rather run-down, however. If we are stationed here long enough, perhaps we can repair it and keep most of the horses there."
"If we're here long enough."
He made the humming noise again. "I took the liberty of having your belongings placed in the Sentinel's tower room. It has a nice view of the harbor and the docks, and I unpacked a few things for you."
"Thank you, Willum."
"The people in town say it is a few days' walk. Bread?"
She took one of the satchels from him and effortlessly slung it over her shoulder, and he passed her a roll. Obviously it had come from one of the town's bakeries. She paused as if inspecting it, then ate it slowly as they fell into an easy gait. The town of Schallsea grew smaller behind them.
The clank of the knights' armor drowned out the whistling of the cold breeze as they made their way along the winding path leading northward. A rut ran down the middle, the original trail that led out of town. As more and more people had used it, the path had widened and pushed back the vegetation. There was evidence of wagon wheels and shod horses at the outer edges. Some of the tracks were very recent, making slight impressions despite the winter-hard ground. A mix of pines and shaggybarks sheltered the inland side of the trail. Low bushes, their leaves long since chased away by the cold, were set back from the western side of the trail, and through gaps in the scrub the knights spotted the sea in the distance.
The sky was gray, the color of Camilla's eyes, and she cast her head back to watch a lone gull fly to the west and drop toward the water. The air was crisp, laced with the scent of salt water and pines, and the clouds overhead hinted of snow. The padding beneath her armor, coupled with her red wool cape, kept her warm, though her fingers stung a little from the cold air. She flexed them in time with the knights' steps and watched as her breath formed a misty cloud in front of her face.
Willum walked with a stoic gait at her side, his face twitching. He hummed in his throat and concentrated on the trail ahead.
They paused briefly at noon, then resumed their trek, stopping again at sunset to set up camp. In the morning, Camilla afforded little time for breakfast before they were off again at a brisk march. Two hours into their journey, a scream cut through the wintry air.
Camilla sprinted ahead. Willum and the rest of the knights trailed after her, the clamor of their armor practically drowning out what sounded like a battle ahead. She dropped her pack and churned her legs faster, rounded a turn in the trail, drew her sword, and instantly assessed the situation she saw ahead.
One man lay dead at the side of a large wagon, a thick spear protruding from his chest. A thin elven woman was at his side, glancing furtively into the trees on the inland side the path. A dwarf stood with a hammer held high in one hand, the reins of a quartet of dappled horses in another. He was trying to keep the animals from bolting and taking the wagon with them. Near the dwarf was another elf, this one a lanky man in black who was weaving a sword back and forth in front of him and peering intently into the trees. On the seaward side of the wagon, more than a dozen townsfolk crouched for protection.
There was no immediate sign of the enemy, save for several spears lying on the ground. The attackers must be keeping to the trees. As Camilla closed the distance, the knights coming fast behind her, another volley of spears streamed from the trees, followed by the screams of frightened townsfolk. Three spears landed several feet short of the wagon, a fourth cleared the wagon and elicited another scream from a young woman when it fell near her. The last two spears shot toward the dwarf, who was still trying to keep the horses under control. At the last moment, the dark-clad elf knocked the dwarf aside. One spear lodged deep into the elf's thigh and pinned him to the ground. The other bit into his shoulder.
"Gair!" the dwarf hollered as he dropped the reins. He started toward the downed elf just as the lead horses reared. The dwarf cursed himself and made a grab for the reins, but the horses were already charging forward, the wagon clattering behind them.
The elven woman left the dead man's side and rushed toward the other townsfolk, yelling at them to get down, pushing them onto their bellies.
At the same time, Camilla cut toward the dwarf, motioning for her men to follow. Arrows rained from the trees, most of them striking the ground or bouncing off the knights' armor, but some finding their marks among the townsfolk.
"I don't know where you Solamnics came from, but praise the memory of Reorx that you're here!" the dwarf huffed above the cries of the townsfolk. He was on his knees next to the male elf, who was trying futilely to push him away.
"Jasper," the elf groaned. "I'm all right. See to the others." His dark eyes were demanding. "I can heal myself. Help them."
"Don't have to tell me," the dwarf grumbled as he pushed himself to his feet and whirled to see two men with arrows in their shoulders. The female elf was ordering the others to keep their heads down.
"They'll live!" she called to the dwarf. "Look out!"
A second volley of arrows came from the trees, one striking the female elf in the leg. Jasper rushed toward her as more arrows arced from the trees. "They've got us pinned down," the dwarf called to the Solamnics. "Can't see 'em. Don't know how many there are."
Camilla could barely hear him. She was charging toward the trees, feet pounding, armor clanking, peering into the shadows as she ran, trying to locate the archers. Willum and the other knights were fast on her heels, spreading out and batting away arrows with their shields.
She hollered, "Find the archers! If we can engage them, they can't fire on those people! Move!"
Camilla and her knights thrashed through the woods, sending a cloud of birds erupting from the trees. The knights were shouting, but the noise of their armor and the breaking branches muffled their words.
"They move fast! Can't make them out!"
"Find them!" This came from Camilla. "Spread out, but try to stay in sight of your comrades!"
On the trail, Jasper's thick fingers worked quickly, prodding the female elf's leg. At the same time, he told the other townsfolk to watch the trees and stay low. Two men ignored his advice and helped him stop the elf's bleeding.
"This'll hurt," the dwarf said as he gritted his teeth and pulled the arrow out. The elf cried out and fell back into the arms of one of the men. "Not too deep. Nothin' too serious."
"See to the pilgrims first," she pleaded.
The dwarf muttered, "Fine. I'll get right back to you. Press down on the wound," he said as he moved toward the injured men. "An' keep your head down!"
"This'll hurt," he repeated twice more as he pulled arrows from the men's arms. Blood flowed freely from one man, and Jasper held his hand over the wound, closed his eyes, and mumbled something in his native tongue. The words weren't necessary for the spell the dwarf was invoking. They merely helped him focus his thoughts. He reached deep inside himself, visualizing his heart, concentrating on his heartbeat, feeling a warmth spread from his chest and down his arms, centering on his hand and flowing into the wound. "The power of the heart," Jasper whispered. Goldmoon had been teaching him to nurture his healing power.
"Not too good at this yet," he told his patient. The words came haltingly as he continued to concentrate on the enchantment. His hand was warm and sticky with the man's blood, warmer still from the energy of the spell. He deepened the enchantment and felt the heat leave him and radiate upward from the wound. "That should do it."
Slowly Jasper opened his eyes and saw with considerable satisfaction that the wound had closed and the man was breathing regularly. "Rest," he said. "An' keep your head down." He pushed himself to his feet and tended to the other man's arm. Then he cast a glance at the trees. "Don't know whe
re those knights came from, but it's a good thing they came." Or we might all be dead, he added silently. He closed his eyes and felt for the warmth.
The knights continued to thrash about in the woods, spreading out and searching for the archers. Camilla snatched up an arrow and inspected the ground for tracks. The frozen ground was too hard for the attackers' feet to leave an impression. She cursed softly and started scanning for broken twigs, disturbed leaves, any signs of the attackers' passing.
Willum, a skilled tracker, was having no better luck. "Trevor saw someone—or something." He stopped his nervous humming to call to her. "He's gone after it!"
She knelt by the exposed roots of a ginkgo, found a small piece of fur. "Which way did you go?" she breathed. "And who are you?"
"Stay still, Mr. Andersen," Jasper urged. "Almost finished." He felt the warmth radiating from the second man's wound, could tell without looking that the flesh was mending. "It'll be sore for a while, but it shouldn't bother you too much. You'll be good as new soon." Much softer, he added, "If Goldmoon was here, she'd fixed you up like nothin' had happened." He returned to the female elf and frowned when he saw her bloodstained dress. He shook his head as he knelt at her side. "Told you to keep pressure on it."
I did, her eyes told him.
"Will she be all right?" asked the man holding her.
"Tell us she'll be well." This came from the man at her other side. There were more words of concern from the rest of the townsfolk.
The dwarf nodded reassuringly, then admonished everyone to continue to keep their heads down. There had been no more arrows or spears coming from the trees for several minutes, but the attackers could still be out there.
