City of Jade: A Novel of Mithgar

by Dennis McKiernan

  The river rose over the next four days as the upstream runoff found its way to the course, and throughout those same four days, sailors and warband laded precious jade into the ship’s holds.

  The Eroean set sail on the outflowing tide of the swollen river the next morning.

  She was on her way to Arbalin.

  52

  Homeward

  ELVENSHIP

  LATE AUTUMN, 6E9, TO EARLY SPRING, 6E10

  James died of his wound six days after leaving the City of Jade behind. The Rûcken arrow had borne a festering disease, and a terrible dark rot had set in. There was nought Desault could do to stay the dark putrefaction, though poppy juice held back the pain somewhat. Ere James became too weak to talk, he had said to Aravan, “Cap’n, I’ve spent nearly all of my life asea, and so let it have me when I am gone.” And so, when he died, they sewed James in canvas weighted with a ship’s ballast stone, for that was what he wanted, and they gave him over to Gralon, god of the oceans.

  Noddy was devastated, and during the ceremony he reverted to his East Lindor accent, saying, “He taught me everything Oi know, fro’ the settin’ o’ th’ sails t’ get th’ most outta th’ wind t’ th’ blowin’ o’ th’ poipe. ’N’ e’en though Oi allus wanted t’ be head bosun on th’ Eroean, Oi allus thought it’d be when James took t’ th’ land, ’n’ not loik this, oh, no, not loik this.”

  In these same six days, one sailor lost a foot to the Rûck-arrow blight, and another his left arm, Desault wielding his bone saw to save the lives of these men.

  The wind was too strong for even the Eroean to make passage around the Cape of Storms, and so they came about and headed for the Silver Straits, which at this time of year was passable, for it was the warm season in the south.

  They stopped off at the Great Isle in the Silver Sea to take on fresh water and provisions, after which they sailed onward, entering the South Polar Sea on Winterday.

  Sailors warned the Warrows about the Grey Lady, and Binkton scoffed, while Pipper’s eyes grew wide in wonderment. But then he said, “Oh, Bink, I’ll have nightmares about a ghost ship, her sails all tattered, and a crew of lost spirits aboard.”

  “Pip, you’ve already faced the worst wraith you’ll ever see, and look what you did to it. So, if any ghost ever tries to get you, just remind it of the fate of the Shade, and the ghost’ll run away screaming in fear.”

  They sailed the Silver Straits without incident.

  At the Calms of the Goat they spent nearly three weeks rowing through still air, and two weeks crossing the Midline Doldrums, and then another three weeks at the Calms of the Crab.

  But finally, the wind returned and the Eroean sped across the water, to finally come to the Straits of Kistan and the Avagon Sea beyond.

  Six days later and running before a westerly wind, the Elvenship Eroean came on and on, churning a white wake astern, with every bit of silken sail she could fly—mains and studs, jibs and spanker, staysails, topsails, gallants and royals, skysails and moonrakers and starscrapers—filled to the full. Eastward through the indigo waters of the deep blue Avagon Sea she ran, bearing some points to the north, the strong driving winds on her larboard beam aft. No other ship in the waters of Mithgar was faster; no other ship even came close.

  Above the waterline her blue hull bore blackened smudges, as if she had taken damage from raiders, as of fireballs cast upon her. And indeed she had been set upon by a fleet of the Rovers of Kistan in the perilous long strait north of that isle. But she had given better than she had gotten, for three of the crimson-sailed dhows now lay at the bottom of the sea, while two others drifted aimlessly in the waters, their masts and sails and much of their decks in ruin, their foolish captains dead.

  Yet that had occurred some two thousand sea miles astern, though it was but six days ago.

  At her helm stood Aylis, brown-haired and tall and slender, a sprinkle of freckles high on her cheeks. Now and again she made slight adjustments in the set of the wheel, as if an occasional minor movement in response to a twitch in the wind kept the ship running swift and true.

  Standing back on the aft deck and watching the lady helmsman maintain the course of the ship stood Fat Jim, his left arm in a sling, for it had been shattered by a hurled slingstone. Even so, still his hands twitched in synchronicity with each slight shift the lady made, and he nodded vigorously in agreement at every small turn of the wheel.

  Aft of them both and with one elbow against the taffrail lounged Aravan, his tilted, sapphire blue eyes atwinkle, a slight smile on his face as he watched.

  In the late-afternoon sunlight lying aglance ’cross the waves, up the ladder to the aft deck came Long Tom, tall and sandy haired and as broad as a great slab of beef. “M’lady Aylis,” he said as he passed the helm, but she was concentrating on the wind-ribbon above, high atop the raked-back mizzenmast, and she did not reply, but made another slight adjustment instead.

  “Fat Jim,” said Long Tom, nodding to the rotund Pellarian, the Eroean’s first steersman.

  “Tom,” replied Fat Jim, without looking at the big man, but instead shifting his gaze from the streaming ribbon above to watch the lady’s corresponding nudge of the helm.

  “Cap’n Aravan,” said the huge man.

  “Long Tom,” replied Aravan, shifting his attention to the first officer.

  “Cap’n,” said Long Tom, “th’ crew has cleaned up the last o’ th’ damage done to th’ decks, and they’ve replaced the two silks what was ruint by the bluidy Kistanee-flung fire. An’ Brekk says that th’ ballistas are as good as new, him ’n’ his Dwarven warband settin’ them t’rights. Th’ only thing left is t’take th’ soot ’n’ smudge off th’ sides o’ th’ hull and t’lay on a bit o’ fresh paint, there where th’ other fireballs struck. Soon as we drop anchor in Port Arbalin, I’ll see the men get right to it.”

  Aravan shook his head. “Nay, Tom. After those yet injured are taken ashore and put in the care of the healers, as soon as the cargo is unladed and we moor in the harbor beyond, we’ll take some time aland—a moon and fortnight at least, mayhap more—for this voyage has been hard on us all, and we deserve a goodly rest and time for wounds to heal, both those we can see and those we cannot. Hence, apart from a watch, we’ll set the crew to shore leave, rotating the ward until all have had a fine fling, and until those with the most severe injuries and who would sail on with us have had a fair chance to recover.

  “And we’ll have to wait for Brekk to ride to the Red Hills and recruit eight Drimma to replace those we lost, and that will take three fortnights in all for the trip there and back.”

  “Cap’n, Oi’d loike t’help sign on th’ Men we’ll need t’ bring th’ sailor crew up t’ full complement.”

  “Fear not, Tom, for when it comes to recruiting more Men for the crew I would have thee at my side along with Aylis, for I would have nought but the best; hence, I’ll send word to thee.

  “But as for staying aboard the ship, I know thou wouldst rather hie to that redheaded wife of thine, as well as thy boy Little Tom, and I would not deny thee that.”

  “Cap’n, Larissa understands Oi’ve a duty t’th’ Eroean.”

  “Mayhap . . . yet I think Little Tom doesn’t.”

  A great smile of relief lit up Long Tom’s face, and he said, “Oy, naow, Oi do b’lieve y’r roight about that, Cap’n. Oi do b’lieve y’r roight.”

  Aravan stepped forward and surveyed the main deck teeming with sailors and warriors at the last of their chores, some of them, as did Fat Jim, yet bearing the remnants of hurt. In addition, Binkton and Pipper and Lissa were adeck, doing what they could to help with the cleanup and repairs. And belowdecks and under the care of Desault, there remained several of the more severely wounded, some who couldn’t seem to recover from the Rûcken arrows, yet they had none of the rotting blackness; still, three couldn’t quite get a full breath, while two others had numbness in arms and legs. And then there were those who were yet knitting severely broken bones. However, t
he majority of the cuts and bruises and punctures the crew had suffered had healed on the voyage home.

  “We’ll put up at the Red Slipper,” said Aravan, turning once again to Long Tom.

  “Oy, th’ crew’ll go f’r that,” came the reply. “Oi mean, we’ve been asea a goodly long spell, ’n’ they’ll welcome some toime wi’ th’ laidies o’ th’ Slipper.”

  “I ween the ladies themselves would welcome that as well,” said Aravan, and he glanced at Aylis.

  A low, throaty laugh was her response, but she took not her eye from the wind pennant above as she made a minor adjustment in the wheel, Fat Jim behind her twitching his hands in concert, the hefty helmsman’s mouth pursed in concentration.

  “Besides,” added Long Tom, stepping forward and looking down on the main deck, “they c’d use some gaiety to help ’em get over their grievin’ for good comrades lost, ’n’ t’ help ’em forget our bad toime ashore.”

  “Land ho!” came the cry from above. “Port Arbalin dead ahead!”

  As Second Officer Nikolai came up the ladder to the aft deck, Aravan said, “Stand by to hale in the studs and full reef all others; we’ll take her in on nought but the stays.”

  “Aye, Kapitan,” replied Nick, and he called orders to Noddy, bosun of the fastest ship in the world, and Noddy piped the commands to all.

  And as the crew made ready, swiftly did the Eroean cleave the indigo waters of the deep blue Avagon Sea.

  In gathering twilight, the elegant Eroean slid into the harbor, now running on staysails alone, and then even these were loosed to luff in the wind, and dinghies were lowered and towropes affixed to hale the Elvenship to dockside.

  There she would deliver her wounded unto the care of healers, as well as off-lade the hard-won treasured cargo she held in her hold: prized, precious, translucent stone the crew had wrested from a ghostly foe in the long-dead City of Jade.

  53

  The Red Slipper

  ELVENSHIP

  SPRING, 6E10

  The crew put up at the Red Slipper, the large, rowdy inn and bordello a favorite gathering place for warriors and sailors and travellers of all sorts. At times Elven warbands would come through, or battle-hardened Dwarves. Fjordsmen, Vanadurin, Gelenders, occasionally the dark men from the far south, as well as others of various nations seemed to cluster here on their way to or when returning from distant realms. Traders, trappers, hostlers, shippers, merchants, minstrels, Mages, tradesmen, even passing royalty: all seemed to make it a point to stay awhile or even to just stop by. And whenever the Eroean was in port, townsfolk themselves came to spend an eve, all to see and hear of the adventures of the Elvenship’s crew.

  And the ladies of the Slipper—Yellow Nell, Dark-Eyed Lara, Laughing Jane, and the others—enjoyed the company of these men, especially the crew of the Eroean, for they seemed the best of the lot.

  Burly Jack, owner and bartender, always had a tun of the Vancha Dark held in reserve especially for this crew, and he had a standing order for kegs of ale from the Holt of Vorn to be delivered on short notice whenever the Elvenship came to port.

  And the local cadgers were happy to see the Eroean moored in the bay, for Captain Aravan’s crew loosened their generous purse strings. And this time, on the day the Elvenship was sighted, Dabby the Cadger, making his way around a barroom brawl in the Red Slipper’s common room, was the first to report it to Burly Jack, and received the reward of a mug of the Vornholt for the welcome news.

  And so, that eve, after off-lading their wounded and the cargo of jade, and after mooring the Elvenship in the bay, the crew descended upon the Red Slipper and procured rooms and hot baths and laughed and drank and partook of the other amenities of that splendid inn.

  But though they seemed joyous at being in port again, there lurked in the backs of the eyes of some of the sailors and the Dwarves and the two Warrows, as well as the captain and his lady, a painful memory or two, something it seemed they’d rather not discuss. And the only glimmering of what it might be was when the captain called for quiet, and when it fell he raised his glass and said, “To absent friends.”

  And so said they all.

  Some of the patrons not of the crew found it odd that Captain Aravan seemed to have a pet fox—“A marvelous ratter,” declared Burly Jack, hastily adding, “Not that the Slipper has rats, mind you.” But now and then those who worked at the inn would glance from the fox to a small cluster of darkness lurking here and there, and they would nod to themselves and say nought of the shadow to others.

  The crew spent nearly the full of the spring resting, relaxing, and celebrating. And every night, it seemed, a small group of them gathered about the fireplace and told tales to one another until the wee hours of morn. And the next day patrons would overhear references to Gelvin’s Doom, and a wyrm in a well, and other such mysterious things, yet what they might be about, none but a few of the crew seemed to know.

  Four signal events occurred during the stay of the captain and his mates, each of which caused ripples of excitement to flow through the town: the first was when Bair and his sire and dam and his truelove came sailing in one day, for Bair was known as the Dawn Rider, the one who brought the Silver Sword to Mithgar, and that was the sword Aravan used to slay Gyphon. His sire and dam—Urus the Baeran, and Riatha, the legendary Dara with the darksilver sword—were also famous in Mithgarian lore, and Jaith, Bair’s truelove, was a bard beyond compare. The Red Slipper was packed night after night to hear their tales and to listen to Jaith sing. And many citizens dropped by during the days on the chance they might catch a glimpse of these famous folk.

  The second event of note was when Dalavar the Wolfmage and his pack of Draega came to call, the ’Wolves as big as ponies. He stayed but two days, and he and the captain were as thick as thieves, and with a few others they sat in a far corner and spoke quietly to one another. What they said, none of the townsfolk knew, but when Dalavar and his Silver Wolves left, they took Bair and Jaith with them. And just after they were gone, Urus and Riatha sailed away, heading for Caer Pendwyr, or so someone said.

  Over the next days the captain and a small circle continued to talk together quietly, while the crew of the Eroean relaxed and fought and gambled and sang and drank and dallied with the ladies of the Red Slipper.

  As for the arc of friends at the hearth, they continued to gather each eve, and they spent a moon and a sevenday telling tales in the wavering candlecast shadows. Toward the mid of this time, Urus and Raitha returned from Caer Pendwyr and rejoined the hearth-tale group.

  The next event of note was when Aravan and Aylis and Long Tom spent the afternoons meeting with the glut of men who wanted to sign aboard the Eroean and fill any of the positions now open on the sailing crew. One by one they came into a small room, where Long Tom and Aravan asked each of them questions as to his experience and skills. Aylis sat apart and jotted notes in a journal as she peered intently at every one of the applicants, and each of them felt as if she were seeing to the depths of his very soul.

  In the latter days of the interviews, the fourth event occurred: a ferry from Merchants Crossing arrived, and with it came Brekk and eight Dwarves, enough to bring the Eroean’s Châkka warband up to the full strength of forty. And one of these Red Hill Dwarves the Warrows seemed to know—’twas the Châk named Brekka, apparently an acquaintance of old.

  Finally, in concert with Long Tom, and relying heavily on Aylis, Aravan chose the men to fill out the remainder of the crew.

  The dreadful events in the City of Jade had taken their toll, yet once again the Elvenship was up to her full complement of sailors, forty men in all.

  Aravan settled the bill with Burly Jack, and a hefty sum it was, and he left a generous bonus for each member of the staff of the infamous inn—cooks, maids, and bottle washers all, including the Red Slipper ladies.

  Then the crew entire—warriors and sailors and scouts—spent the next few days aboard ship.