A Tide of Shadows

by Tom Bielawski

  One shop in particular, a self-proclaimed magical supply shop, attracted Carym’s attention. The shop had been painted black and the door was crimson with an array of strange symbols. The two windows had been painted over with black paint and the sign over the door simply had a symbol of a hand, palm up, with a flame suspended above the hand. Carym suspected proximity to Arnathia, where the use of magic was outlawed, was probably good for business.

  He began to walk toward the door when suddenly it opened and two very diverse looking men walked out and stopped in front of the door, engaged in conversation. One man was dressed in a blue robe with red and silver symbols and designs. Carym felt Zach’s hand on his elbow steering him away from the shop and Carym did not resist. He continued to study the men as they passed by, however. The first man appeared old and wise with silvery hair and pale skin. The second man was dressed in exceptionally clean black trousers and black shirt with crimson bands at the sleeves and crimson epaulettes on his shoulders. He was wearing a crimson trimmed cloak clasped at one shoulder with a silver brooch, and wore a sword whose blade was red! The man had short, nearly shaved jet black hair, which revealed small cupped ears. The most striking characteristic, however, was that the color of his skin was red!

  “Stop staring!” hissed Zach. “They’re spell casters!”

  Carym agreed it was probably unwise and turned away, but not before the crimson skinned man cast him and Zach a wary glance. A Crimson Elf? he wondered. Considering the transient, mercantile nature of this city he supposed it really wasn’t that surprising.

  After an hour of walking, the men reached Hospitality Center where they searched for the only inn Zach knew would offer some protection.

  “Ahh,” Zach steered Carym toward an incongruously clean inn. “This inn is owned and operated by the Spiders. If anyone hunts for us here, we will be protected.”

  Carym felt relieved at the notion, but, at the same time, he felt as though he were betraying his principles by accepting help from criminals. He was thoroughly confused about his old friend’s association with the Spiders. But, as he walked through the richly designed doors and into the posh lobby, he was reminded of an old saying among the Eastern Kingdoms that bordered Hybrand; “The enemy of my enemy is my friend.”

  Once inside the richly decorated lobby of the aptly named Widow’s Inn, Carym and Zach approached a counter of polished wood with an intricate silver bell sitting atop. A series of small cubby boxes with room numbers and keys faced them from the wall behind the counter. Above that was a lifelike portrait of a strikingly beautiful woman, a widow Carym supposed, although he saw no other references to spiders. The floor was wood and highly polished like the counter, and adorned with richly designed rugs from far off lands. The paneled walls held portraits of various people whom Carym did not recognize. After a moment, Zach rang the bell and a man stepped out from a nearby door.

  “What can I do for you gentlemen?” said the elderly man dressed in very formal looking silks, his nose veritably twitching above a pencil thin mustache.

  “A room, please. Overlooking the main dock way,” stated Zach as he handed the man a small silver coin with a spider’s effigy. The innkeeper very quickly pocketed the coin and withdrew a coin from another pocket placing it on the counter. Saying nothing more, the man turned and removed a key from a cubby behind him and handed it to Zach. “Also, I need to know when the Marineer returns to Pier 25.” The man nodded crisply.

  “Number twelve, sir. Upstairs; down the hall, second door on the right,” the man said with indifference. “The dining room is behind you, meals are included with your room, gentlemen. Entertainment will be provided this evening.” Zach nodded to the man, saying nothing and turned to head up the stairs. Carym nodded and followed Zach up the carpeted spiral staircase to the second floor landing. There they walked down the hall to the second door, number twelve, and went inside.

  “How do the Spiders maintain such wealth?”

  “Perhaps one day I’ll tell you.”

  Carym didn’t press any further, Zach had been very tight lipped around Carym these last months.

  Their room was as richly furnished and decorated as the rest of the inn; tapestries, polished wood floors, expensive paneling, and two very comfortable looking beds, filled the room. There was even a balcony with two comfortable chairs. Carym would hardly expect to see such luxury in the houses of the nobility, never mind an inn in Dockyard City.

  “The spiders spare no expense, eh?” he asked his friend, smiling. Zach ignored the comment and strode to the balcony, peering down at the streets below. Seeing nothing of interest he returned to the room, closed the balcony door, and lay upon one of the beds.

  Carym sat on the second bed and marveled at how soft it was. He knew that if he dared rest his head, even for a moment, he would be lost to the world. Somehow, he wasn’t quite ready to face the demons that would surely haunt his sleep just yet. He pondered the significance of the giant orok and the Skull Commander, Ebonaar. What is a Skull Knight, anyway? Was Umber really trying to capture him? Why him? What was so special about Carym of Hyrum? Perhaps it had something to do with the way he thwarted Ebonaar’s spells. He had passed through the druid’s magical stone door, that was something to consider. But, truly, what else about him was so special that warranted the attention of the darkest god with dominion over Llars? Was it their quest to the Everpool? Did Umber want to stop him from reaching that sacred place? If so, then why not just kill them instead of two attempts at capture? He sighed, and decided to find someplace to more suitable to someone of his station where he could relax and eat; he just didn’t feel comfortable in this place.

  “I’m going out, Zach. I’ll be back later.”

  “Please, stay out of trouble,” he replied, dozing off to sleep.

  Carym dropped his backpack on the bed as well as his bow, arrows, and other supplies, keeping his sword strapped to his hip. Taking the key to the room, he walked downstairs and outside onto the main dock way. He decided to turn left, because he had not been that way yet, and wandered along the main dock way passing a number of inns and shops. He found another inn, a bit more modest than the Widow but clean and somewhat more agreeable to his idea of what an inn should be.

  As he walked inside the Starlight Inn, he found it to be much like Raffo’s place; well-kept, modestly decorated, and quiet. The room was comfortably lit, and the chill of the autumn day was abated by a fire in the hearth. A few men and women sat at the bar and a smattering of patrons were seated at tables, eating or drinking. A bard sat near the hearth and was playing a very soothing tune on an instrument very similar to a flute. He sat at the bar and asked the barkeep for a cold ale, foregoing the choice of sobriety once again. In Dockyarder style, the barkeep provided Carym with a stoppered ceramic bottle containing a golden brew, cool with condensation. He paused a moment before removing the stopper, reflecting on his years of drunkenness and debated whether to follow through. Finally deciding he could handle it, Carym popped the stopper and took a long drink from the bottle.

  It was cold and it was good.

  A dark skinned beauty seated herself at the bar next to Carym, her heady perfume wafted to his nostrils and he breathed in her sweet scent. He ordered another beer and looked at the beauty who sat next to him. The barkeep smirked as he placed another stoppered bottle on the bar and took the empty.

  “My name is Zarflour,” came the musical voice, her thick Amberlouvian accent interacting with the powerful Dockyard beer. “’Ow do you do?”

  Carym found himself gazing into the deep blue almond shaped eyes of an auburn-haired goddess. He felt giddy, and a little bit shaky, and chalked it up to the powerful Dockyarder beer. He smiled at the woman and she put her hand over his, the act sent a thrill charging up Carym’s arm and made his heart quicken.

  “Uh, I’m Carym,” he said thickly. “Pleasure to meet you.”

  “Non, the pleazure ees mine,” she said, stroking his hand.

  Carym told the
barkeep to get her whatever she wanted and he was surprised when she asked for a shot of Vaardic Vodka. She tossed it down like it was water! Carym sensed a surge of energy as she placed the shot glass down on the bar, she was still holding his hand.

  “Are you from Amberlou?” he asked, recognizing her accent. This woman was positively charming, he decided. He always thought Amberlouvian women were more beautiful than any other. Did he? That just didn’t seem right. He fought down an urge strike the woman – he was shocked at himself for thinking such a thing. He shook his head; this was all very bizarre. He had never in his life thought of striking a woman!

  “Yes, from Amberlou. Owever, I am stranded ere in zees city. The ship that brought me ere was confiscated by the Merchant Guard weeks ago and I desperately need ’elp to get ’ome.” Carym’s eyes lit up, he and Zach were experienced adventurers and veteran Roughneck sailors. He finished another cold beer and began to offer his assistance when he realized he hadn’t asked for that beer. How many is that? Whoa.

  “You are trying to get back to Amberlou?” he asked, thinking to offer her a space on the Marineer.

  “No, I wish to go Caelambra. Perhaps ewe ’ave ’eerd of it?” she said, coyly stroking his hand.

  Her touch was positively intoxicating, he thought. Carym nodded dumbly, tapping his empty bottle on the bar. Caelambra sounded familiar, anyway. The barkeep slid another one down to him and he placed a coin on the bar for payment. He drained it quickly, enjoying that familiar numbness that came with being drunk.

  “My brother, the Prince of Amberlou, made me Ambassador to Caelambra. I was on a diplomatic mission to Arnathia Proper, but wee ’ad to stop ’ere for supplies. And, when we did, the dastardly Merchant Guard of Dockyard City, confiscated my ship! My crew ’as since deserted me and, alas, I am stuck ere.”

  “You are a princess?” he asked, incredulous. She nodded gravely, her emerald eyes seemed to possess their own innate light. However, having had a now unknown number of drinks, Carym was willing to chalk that observation up to the booze.

  “Why don’t you go upstairs, Zarflour?” the barkeep asked, with heavy stress on her name. “This man’s just trying to relax. Isn’t that right, sir?” Why was the man getting into his business? Carym shook his head at the barkeep who shrugged and walked away muttering.

  “Would you like to come upstairs, mezur?” whispered the woman in a husky voice heavy with desire. “We can talk in private, and you can tell me ’ow you are going to help me get ’ome.”

  Carym nodded dumbly, tossed a handful of coin on the counter, and let himself be led upstairs. Carym found that he could think of nothing else but this amazing woman -a princess!- in front of him and his desires to please her. He pictured himself a hero, bringing this woman home to her powerful family and the rewards he would surely receive. Certainly her affections were worth more treasure than he could imagine. It was an oddly gratifying thought, thinking of all that treasure. He had never before considered wealth for the sake of acquiring it, but now he knew why it was so appealing; wealth meant power and no one knew that better than Amberlouvians.

  In mere minutes the pair was inside a room and Carym was laying face down on a bed, with his shirt off! He couldn’t even remember getting undressed! Carym reminded himself to be wary of the strength of Dockyard City beer. Soon, the woman sat astride his back and began working the stiffness from his muscles, he vaguely wondered how his muscles had become so knotted.

  “What brings you ’ere, Carym?” she purred, kneading and working his back and shoulders. He was acutely aware of her hands, and of his desire for her to use them. However odd he thought the situation, he found himself oddly powerless to stop her. Somewhere in the back of his mind came a warning not to tell her the truth, that a princess shouldn’t be massaging his shoulders, but he found this woman so compelling.

  “I’m on a quest,” he whispered, lamely.

  “That sounds so dangerous! What sort of quest?” she asked, caressing his body in ways and places that kept his mind off balance. Carym wondered why she didn’t have much of an accent anymore. He assumed that either he was getting used to her voice (how could a man not) or, the alcohol was affecting his hearing.

  “To find,” he paused, his mind spinning. Should he be telling this stranger? Not a stranger, a princess. One with a wealthy and powerful family!

  “Yes?” she prompted, her breath in his ear, her lips tickling his flesh. Suddenly he realized the woman had removed her top too, and he could feel her bare skin touching his back softly as she leaned over him.

  “The Everpool,” he said finally. There, it was out. The woman stopped, deathly still for a moment. And, in that moment, Carym experienced a startling clarity of mind; he found himself wondering what had happened to him and how the hell did he get upstairs? Just as he was about to push away from the woman she began kissing his neck.

  And he forgot all about clarity.

  The woman began doing things to him that he knew he should not allow, felt like he should say no. But, at that moment, he was powerless to do or say anything. Somehow, the woman managed to ask him trifling questions as she continued her mind-numbing caresses, and somehow, he managed to answer.

  “How will you find it?” her silky voice seemingly demanded answer.

  “A guide will take us there,” he whispered. Somewhere in his mind, he was beginning to get annoyed - Why does she keep talking?

  “Oh, is someone else traveling with you?” he thought it odd she was so curious, but he still could not focus his mind enough to analyze the thought.

  “Yes.”

  Suddenly she flipped him over onto his back and he was shocked to see she had shed all her clothes, and any sense of inhibition he had was gone. In moments, he found himself entwined with her, their bodies doing what Carym long felt should not be done so casually. Yet here he was and it was hard to care because he had been so alone for so very long.

  “Will you take me with you?” she asked very quietly. He couldn’t understand why she kept talking, it was becoming a distraction. As he decided to ignore her, an overwhelming desire to please her in every way overcame him. “I can help you on your quest.” Then Carym could think no more.

  Carym awoke later in the arms Zarflour, her mesmerizing green eyes again locked onto his own. Yet, something felt different now. Her eyes seemed darker, and her beauty now seemed hard and edgy, rather than soft and feminine. He felt like a spell had been lifted and he was seeing the woman differently now. Had he promised her something?

  “Do you remember what you were about to say, Carym?” she whispered. He felt himself slipping again as his body responded to her touch.

  “I don’t know,” he said, suddenly getting up from the comfortable bed and startling the woman enough that she pulled back from him. He cursed himself for a fool and threw the covers to the floor, trying to find his clothes, desperately hoping he hadn’t revealed anything important.

  She kneeled up on the bed with total disregard for modesty, which Carym suspected was intentional, and he found himself desiring her physical beauty yet again. “You men are so quick to leave a girl,” her demeanor changed to pouty and sulky. “Don’t you like me?”

  “Yes, I do,” he began, lamely. “It’s just that I shouldn’t have-” he stopped mid-sentence and resumed dressing realizing he was falling back under her control, whatever it was. He turned away, refusing to look at her lest he succumb to her charm again. Then he said, “I have to go.”

  “So you don’t you want to rescue me?” He paused a moment, and found himself facing her again. “Won’t you take me with you?”

  “Look, I am sorry,” he began lamely. “I mean no offense, it’s just that I have to go.” He found himself trying to find her eyes again and shook his head. Why was it always so difficult with women? Silently cursing himself, he finished dressing and grabbed his weapon. He turned to say goodbye and saw what seemed to be dark fingers of smoke swirling around the woman. Suddenly fearful of what he had fallen
into, Carym just backed up to the door, opened it, and walked out. Her voice followed him out the door.

  “Good bye, mezur!” she said, in the heavy Amberlouvian accent once again, laughter trailing him.

  Carym raced downstairs and into the common room wondering if this had been another attempt by the Dark One to capture him. If so, it almost worked! He strode up to the bar and hailed the barkeep. “What is it, lad?” the man asked with a smirk. “Zarflour didn’t treat you well?”

  “Who is she?” he demanded, still out of breath, head still spinning from alcohol.

  “That was Zarflour. She works here,” he said grabbing another cold bottle of beer from under the counter. “You look like you could use another, lad.”

  “No, thank you. I’ve had enough, apparently.” The barkeep shrugged. Then Carym looked pointedly at him and said, “She works here?”

  “She’s a good lass,” he said with a wink. “Hope you tipped her right! She keeps men comin’ back here.”

  Carym nodded dully, reality sinking in. “Where is she from?”

  “From?” the man scoffed. “From? She’s from the sea, lad! A siren if there ever was one!”

  A siren. A mythical race of beings who live in the sea and charm sailors to their deaths with their beauty and magical spells. How preposterous that would have seemed only an hour ago. “A siren,” he repeated, weakly. He poignantly recalled the druid’s warning that Umber would be sending his minions to try to convert him, tempt him with power, or simply kill him. He was thoroughly grateful that, if this was one of the Dark Lord’s minions, she hadn’t tried to kill him. If she had, dead as a doorstop would he be.