Toria looked up at Taggart. “So, Pan it is then.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
Dwan and the other women were chased up the ladder from the bilges and led through different deck levels and crew spaces, ignoring the leers and catcalls of the pirate crewmen, until they were finally prodded out onto the main deck. Blinking furiously at the brightness of the sun they could see that the ship was now tied up to a floating pier. A rolling gangplank was already in place, and the women were prodded across it with long sticks, much to the amusement of the pirates and the people on shore. After so long in the near-blackness of the bilges the sun itself was a torture. Dwan did her best to keep everyone on their feet and away from the jabbing sticks.
After disembarking they were taken through the middle of a highly populated area. When she was able to open her eyes against the glare Dwan saw that she was in a port that was similar to Aspell except that it was larger. There were at least twenty ships tied up to the piers, and cargo was being unloaded from most of them. The area through which they were being taken had wooden walkways and some crushed shell roads. Each street was lined with well-stocked stores and shops.
While plenty of onlookers joined in with their captors at shouting obscenities at the prisoners Dwan also saw at least as many that were observing with expressions of disapproval. As they passed one angry looking young shopkeeper he shook his head and pointed at the women.
“So we’re slavers now? Is that what we are?”
Their captors ignored him, and the man was soon left behind them.
Several hundred yards further on a group of women were gathered at the intersection of two streets. The ladies made no secret of their disapproval of what they were seeing. Several rushed into the street to point fingers into the faces of the newly-arrived pirates while shouting their objections. Several more ran over to offer jugs of water to Dwan and her group.
The pirates were undeterred, however, and eventually the women were all herded into a large building made of some sort of a hardened crushed shell mixture. The heat of the sun was replaced by the cool interior of the edifice. The women were paraded through a large main room and then down a flight of stairs. The area that they ended up in was larger than the bilges of the ship and adequately lit by glow bulbs and wax candles. The candles were something of an oddity to the women who had been accustomed to using the glow bulbs almost exclusively.
They were left in the cellar room with no explanation of what was to come. Dwan looked about herself and saw that the place was furnished only with rag bales and several large pads which she eventually figured out to be communal sleeping cots. There were barrels of water and a plank shelf which contained bread and wheels of cheese. Though the accommodations were Spartan at best they were head and shoulders above what they had experienced on the voyage. At least they would be dry. True to her nature, once they had been left alone Dwan began to search for a means of escape. She examined every corner and seam.
One of the women sat on a bale and watched her with a derisive expression. Finally she spoke. “What do you hope to find? An unlocked door? Even if you found one we are in a pirate city in a land that is unknown to us. Where would you go? Accept it, we are slaves now. That is our new life. Make the best of it.”
The others stopped their muttered conversations and turned their attention to the two women. The one who had addressed Dwan was called Dayel. She had been an apprentice healer in Aspell and had lately been voicing her opposition to the leadership that Dwan had been exercising over the others.
Dwan stopped her actions and looked around at the others then over to Dayel. “You are free to take whatever actions you choose, Dayel. As for me, I will never accept slavery. I will fight it for as long as I am here.”
Dayel looked incredulous. “As long as you are here? You are here forever. There is no one coming for us, Dwan. How would they even know where to look? We are lost. We will never see home again.”
Some of the younger women began to cry and were comforted by the others.
Dwan crossed the room to where Dayel sat. “You may be correct, but the truth is we just don’t know. How could they find us? I don’t know, but with everything I’ve experienced in the last few seasons I don’t put anything beyond being possible. So, as I said, if you wish to accept being a slave, that is your choice. If I die on this island when I am old and white haired I will die knowing that I never accepted what I was forced into.”
***
The seas were almost impossibly calm. The surface of the water could have been a giant mirror for the way that it reflected the moons and stars. Taggart stood on the main deck near the forecastle and listened to the creaking of the rigging and the winding noises of the davits which were being used to lower the boats into the water. Because of the fortunate conditions Captain Fauwler was able to drop his stern anchor and take the ship in as close as two hundred yards from the white sand beaches. The moons were both in crescent which reduced the chances of their being seen, but the clarity of the night unnerved some of the crew.
Taggart saw Fauwler and Mal approaching.
“Well, Tag, it would appear that we are being blessed with good seas. Almost unbelievable good seas, in fact.”
Taggart nodded. “One might suspect that our efforts are being aided by a higher power.”
The pirate smiled. “Perhaps. I am not ignorant enough to deny the possible existence of things that are greater than myself. Whatever the case, we will almost certainly get all of your men ashore now.” He broke off briefly to point at a binding rope line. Mal nodded and headed off to fix it. “I assume you have committed everything to memory?”
“I have. Once we get over the cliff face we look for the three humps off to the south. We keep the middle one in sight as we make our way through the swamp. When we come out on the other side of the swamp we will be two days travel to the elevated defenses. Have I left anything out?”
The captain gave a sly look. “Not unless you would like to leave your little white friend with me. I would very much enjoy having such a companion.”
Fauwler had become quite fond of Tinker during the voyage. He would bring her a handful of legumes every evening when he, and Taggart would stand on the main deck and watch the beauty of the passing night sea. Surprisingly, Tinker had accepted the pirate’s attention, though the legumes certainly had something to do with it. It was her demeanor around the seaman that convinced Taggart of his sincerity.
Taggart laughed. “My friend, even if I were willing to part with her, which I am not, she chooses where she goes and to whom she gives her assistance. Besides, we will need her abilities if that swamp is as lethal as you describe it.”
The captain’s face grew serious. “If anything I have understated the peril, my friend. Pay special attention if you find yourself in water higher than your…that is to say a normal person’s waist. There are large reptiles in the swamp that are capable of walking on two legs. They rise up out of the water suddenly and rush at their prey at unbelievable speeds. If you are attacked by one don’t spend your efforts on attacking their body. Only massive head injuries will stop them. When you see one you can be certain there are others nearby.”
The two men talked as the boats were loaded with warriors and gear then sent ashore in shifts. Mal came back and joined them. It was an easy and lighthearted conversation considering the venture upon which they were embarking. Finally a crewman approached them and whipped off his stocking cap to tell them that the last trip to shore was being loaded.
The three looked at each other quietly for a moment. Then they all smiled.
“My father once told me that a boring life was no life at all,” Mal said. He offered his hand, and Taggart gripped it at the wrist. Mal walked away.
Fauwler also grasped Taggart’s wrist. “My Friend, I don’t know what will happen in the coming days. I don’t even know if we will survive, but I will always consider you and your people to be my friends.”
“I feel the same. If t
his thing goes sour on us, you and your men will always have a home in Olvion.”
With that said Taggart climbed down the wet rope ladder and into a wetter boat. He took two of the oars and, with others of his party, started to row to the beach.
***
Tinker and Pan were on different boats in the last wave headed into the beach. Tinker, as was her custom when Taggart’s situation required more than the usual physical exertion, rode in a shoulder pouch made of a light cotton-like material. It was wonderfully dark and warm inside. She swung and swayed constantly now as he helped row the boat ashore.
Pan rode in Toria’s jacket again. The garment had a stiff leather belt wrapped around the outside of it to prevent him from falling through. Toria had taken up the habit of frequently reaching her hand inside the jacket so that she could stroke the fur of his back. He was having more success in exploring her mindscent, especially when she slept.
In the previous night Pan had submitted to the affectionate attentions of the many female humans who shared their sleeping quarters. He did not especially enjoy their petting and cooing, but it was not unpleasant either. Besides, it had become obvious during their voyage that a certain amount of attention was simply demanded by the situation. These brave human females were mostly confined in the small crew space, and Pan was the only real source of distraction for them.
Every evening when they all finally settled in for the night and Toria’s slow and rhythmic breathing signaled that she was sleeping he had relaxed his body while keeping his mind active. Mountain Children were unique in having this ability. They could actually sleep while improving and refining their connection to their assigned host. It was much like having full mental control while in a dream state.
Toria’s mind was wondrously complicated. For convenience he pictured it as a large human residence like the type they built on their large tracts of land which they called farms or ranches. He envisioned it as being constructed of wood and having numerous hallways, rooms and hiding places. He designated one of the rooms as the repository of her confidence. Opening the door he was amazed at the size of it. He saw a vast floor surrounded by soaring walls and a ceiling of clear glass. He stood at the threshold for a moment before deciding that there was nothing he could do there. Confidence was not even remotely a problem for his human.
Next, he opened the doors to her happiness, her sense of contentment and numerous others. None showed any areas where his assistance was needed. Pan was perplexed because it was as yet unheard of for the subject of a tasking to require no personal assistance. That was the only reason that for a Mountain Child to be sent to them. A human or other creature who needed no help would have no need of their special abilities, but he kept searching, pleased that this young woman seemed to be so content with her life and the world around her.
Pan found a small room that represented her hopes for mating and emotional involvement. It was not something that was pressing on her, but it was getting closer and would soon be a more serious concern.
As he continued visualizing himself traveling through the hallways of the imagined human residence he finally arrived at a door that was narrow, short and cracked. It stood in stark contrast to the rest of the house. He slowly willed the door to open. Inside was a windowless room the size of an ursu’s winter den. It was dark, and the floor boards were warped. Pan’s imagined image of himself sat and examined the room from the entryway. He emitted waves of feelings and senses which would be absorbed by the image of the room and reflected back to him. He waited while all of the senses were received. Then he evaluated. It took him several minutes, but he eventually opened his eyes.
Patience. Here then, was the reason that he was tasked with assisting her. Her patience was almost non-existent. For her entire life she had dealt with it, trying in vain to overcome it when it was needed. She was rarely successful. This trait was both a blessing and a curse.
The blessing was the manner in which it constantly propelled her forward in life. She incessantly worked her body, rejecting and eventually overcoming any physical limitations. No work ever went unfinished, and every limitation she encountered was eventually overcome.
The curse was the constant compulsion to act now, regardless of the circumstances and possible bad results. Throughout her life she was always able to find a path through her obstacles to reach her intended goals. The tasking upon which they were now embarked, however, would present situations in which an impulsive and lightly-considered act might result in not only her death, but that of those who were depending on her.
So he had been working on her. The room was growing a little larger each night. The walls expanded, and the floors stretched. With enough time he would be able to heal this shortcoming. He hoped there was time enough to accomplish it before it was needed.
His thoughts went to another topic: Pan! He loved his name. Finally, after enduring the looks of so many of his kind he had a name. His connection to Toria’s mind instantly revealed the source of her choice. The Pan after whom he was named was a wonderful human who had the power of flight and the friendship of many other amazing creatures and people. He used his gifts to rid his friends of a terrible evil that was very much like the pirates they were now moving to confront.
Pan, like all white Mountain Children, abhorred violence and avoided it whenever possible. That was not to say that they were incapable of it. Nature had equipped them with claws and teeth that could be employed should a confrontation demand it. He was not excited about the impending death and pain that would inevitably result from the actions they were taking, but the Awareness had sent him on this journey so he was confident that their cause was just. He was ready to give his life should it be required for the accomplishment of the tasking.
***
King Ruguer handed his reins to a squire and dismounted his charon. He bowed himself backward, stretching his back after the long ride. He saw several high-ranking warriors approaching him from inside the Northland castle area. He looked about himself. Northland, like all of the Coastal Kingdoms, had been built on the shores of the Sea of Panoply. There was a large walled area within which was contained the castle and several hundred shops and fabricating facilities. It also housed the military component of the Northland Warriors. Ruguer saw a huge complex dedicated to the barracks and officer’s quarters. The streets were topped with crushed shell and coral.
While approaching the castle stronghold Ruguer and his bodyguard of twenty warriors had been challenged several times by Northland patrols. He had initially been courteous and respectful of their orders, but eventually his temper rose, and he would simply point to his banner without saying anything. The royal standard for the King of Olvion should have been more than enough to explain their identity.
During the last twenty minutes of the approach to the castle gates his procession had been flanked by mounted cavalry. It was with great restraint that Ruguer kept himself from rushing up to the commander of the mounted troops and demanding an explanation for their actions. He was certain that he would be told that it was an honor guard even though he got the overriding feeling that his party was being viewed with caution.
Now here within the walls he turned to see one of the approaching warriors sporting a small silver sword on his tunic. This then, would be Portus, the Sword of King Minos.
“Ah, you would be Ruguer,” Portus said, extending his hand. “Welcome to Northland. King Minos has been advised of your visit and is awaiting your arrival in his reception chamber. If you would follow me.”
Portus’ expression changed from indifferent to irritation when his offered hand was ignored. He finally turned and started off toward the meeting site. He caught himself up short when he realized Ruguer was not following. Perplexed, he returned to where the king of Olvion still stood.
“Is there a problem?” he asked.
“A problem? No. A lack of respect? Yes. I’m waiting to be received in the proper manner for a monarch of the four kingdoms.”
> A crimson flush spread over Portus’ cheeks. He was a man who was accustomed to receiving respect, not giving same. In truth he considered himself to be the equal of the four kings.
“I…uh…” his anger made him stammer.
“The words you are looking for are ‘My apologies, Lord King Ruguer. Northland welcomes you and is honored by your presence. My Lord King Minos has been advised of your arrival and is awaiting you in his reception chambers... If you would please be so good as to follow me.’ You will then execute the customary warrior salute and hold it until I return it.”
The blush on Portus’s cheeks spread from his cheeks over the bridge of his nose and his forehead. He shifted his eyes from Ruguer to his hulking bodyguards clustered about him.
“I…my apologies Lord King Ruguer. Northland welcomes you and is honored by your presence. My Lord King Minos has been advised of your arrival and is awaiting you in his reception chamber. If…if you would please be so good as to follow me.” The words came very near to choking him. He then put his clenched fist to his chest, the Olvioni version of a salute.
Ruguer smiled. He waited a full thirty seconds before returning the salute. “Of course Lord Portus, please lead on.”
As he followed Northland’s Sword of the King, ` Ruguer reflected on the behavior he had just witnessed. As kings go, Ruguer was not one to stand much on ceremony. The attitude that had been displayed by a person of such high rank was very telling. This kingdom used to be one of the three on the coast of the sea which relied upon Olvion for protection. On every prior visit Ruguer had received the respect that was due a Sword of the King of Olvion. Now he was a king and being treated, at least by this Warrior Commander, as an inferior dignitary. Ruguer wondered if this was a reflection of a major change of attitude toward Olvion now that they had lost so many warriors in the Great War.
Portus led them into the castle proper and through an elegantly appointed entry all. The rooms they passed had been redecorated since the last time Ruguer had visited. Much treasure had been expended to give the castle a richer look. They halted at a set of carved wooden double doors. There were eight warriors at guard there, and all were in garish gold brocade uniforms instead of the normal warrior attire. The eight guards came to attention and saluted Portus, ignoring Ruguer and his entourage.
The Coastal Kingdoms of Olvion: Book Two of The Chronicles of Olvion Page 29
