Bart left the camp for Powyss in the pre-dawn hours and secured passage across the Straits to the mainland and Myrnwell. Due to the sinister nature of that city the bard felt that solitary movement would attract less attention. Upon his return, the companions broke camp and marched quietly through the Ckaymrish wilderness to a road which eventually led them to the Port of Powyss.
It was one of the larger cities on the isle, a place of bustling trade and high crime. A city ruled nominally by one of the Tywyss’ appointed lords. In truth, it was ruled by one of the more powerful bandit gangs on the isle: the Red Dragons. In fact, the Port had begun to be called the City of the Red Dragon by many more than those who stubbornly clung to the city’s true name.
The Red Dragons were a vile bunch, mostly human. Among their number were thieves, assassins, robbers, highwaymen, smugglers, shamans, and even a few magicians. They were the scum of the prisons of this kingdom and of many others, some freed from their bonds only on the condition of their service to the Red Dragons. They were well paid and highly skilled. The Red Dragons maintained harsh discipline among their ranks. They all wore the mark of the Red Dragon somewhere on their person, usually in the form of a sash or headband, when they patrolled the streets.
Apart from collecting taxes, tariffs and levies for the Rhi, the Red Dragons also operated their own money making endeavors. Checkpoints existed throughout the city and countryside to exact tolls from citizens as they moved about. They created artificial “days of tribute” forcing everyone on the street to pay an extra coin in taxes. They patrolled the harbor and exacted heavy fines for contrived grievances unless the victim agreed to pay a heavy bribe.
The port city of Powyss was very large and had a massive wall constructed around its perimeter with watchtowers interspersed along its length. The companions approached one of those towers on the road that led to the main gate to the city, Dragon Gate. A row of archers stood menacingly on the wall overlooking the gate and the road, fingering weapons as they talked amongst themselves. Osprey drifted in lazy circles high in the sky above.
On either side of the raised portcullis, were four armed guards, each wearing a burnished cuirass with a red sash across their midsections, each holding a wicked halberd. A line had formed to await entry and the companions took their place in it, expecting to wait at least another thirty minutes before their turn to enter finally came. Carym and Hala took the opportunity to mingle among the folk awaiting entry into the city, hoping to catch snatches of conversation, and news from other parts of the region.
As he mingled among the folk in line, Carym heard the familiar accent of someone whom he thought might be a fellow Hybrander and engaged the man in conversation. He was instead from the kingdom of Herkenberg, but considered himself a Hybrandese Cklathman like most Herkenbergens did.
“Glad I’m gone, says I!” the man said in earnest. Carym noted with small amusement that the man changed from the proper form of Cklathish spoken by most Herkenbergers to the traditional accent and way favored by the Ckaymrish. “Them hurkin are gaggling on the Plains, they are! They’ve already trounced all them Ashen barbarian tribes, says the king. And if they could do, whew, Herkenberg’ll be next! Took me wife and kids and heading north. S’long as we can get ’round this mess.”
“The hurkin have massed on the border of the Eastern Kingdoms? Are they planning to invade?”
“Thinks they’re planning to do just that, says I! Just that. No help from Arnathia, says they. What good are they, then?” the man shook his head, his singing accent making it difficult for non-Hybranders to understand whether he was making a statement or asking a question.
“I am sorry,” said Carym.
“For what?” asked the merchant, incredulous. “Got nothing there now. Me family and possessions ’re here with me, so they are. To hell with the king anyway, says I.” Carym smiled and nodded. The King of Herkenberg was a villain, and one whom many would like to see overthrown.
“Good luck and safe travels to you, sir.” Carym shook the man’s hand and continued to mingle, but most of the crowd in line were keeping to themselves and minding their own business. He knew that too much walking about would make him look suspicious, so he gradually moved back to his place in line.
Bart had been about gathering information as well and he shared what he learned. “It seems that Tywyss Rhi has aligned himself officially with the Prophet-General, and by extension Hessan the Headless Rider. It seems as though the Nashians have been busy. The rumors are true, they have settled at the base of the Ogrewall Mountains, preparing to wait out the winter, so they are. Might be that the Nashians have plans for the ogres, but that remains a mystery, so it does.” Bart lit a small pipe, puffed out a smoke ring.
Carym shared what he learned about the forces of Hurkromin massing troops on the Ash Plains to the east of Hybrand. That news disturbed him greatly. He had not truly given up thoughts of returning to Hybrand, and he worried fiercely what would become of it should the hurkin Horde invade; and the Arnathian Empire had become far less concerned with the plight of its outlying territories.
“This is too much of a coincidence,” said Ederick. “Hurkromin has been content to wage war with the other dark nations in the shadows beyond the Rift for so long it seems odd they should now decide to expand west. Arnathia will not help your people, Carym.”
Carym nodded, his thoughts far away. He knew Ederick was presenting an unspoken way out, a chance to return to his homeland. As much as the thought wrenched his heart, Carym could not shake the feeling that his destiny was elsewhere, his purpose greater.
Finally the companions had their turn at the gate, paid the exorbitant entrance fee, and entered with no questions asked. Carym found the Port of Powyss was much like modern cities in the Arnathian Empire with tall buildings, throngs of people, and wide avenues. A plethora of alleyways branched from the main avenue, incongruous with the city’s precise and orderly appearance. There were shops of every type imaginable from every place imaginable along their route to the port itself. Kharbandese vendors stood on corners assailing passersby to come into their shops for “special deals.” Volan weapon smiths sold their legendary arms and armor. There was even a shop selling fire ore from Alfheym. Fire ore was a metal found only in Alfheym, legendary for its lightness and strength used in the making the most magnificent and expensive weapons and armor available anywhere. Carym hoped one day he would possess the king’s ransom required to purchase a weapon made from such ore.
The main street was very busy with crowds of people, horse and ox-carts, and wagons all vying for ownership of the road. There were no checkpoints set up on this main boulevard, but Carym saw down side streets where red-sashed men sat and blocked roads with horses and wagons, exacting tolls from passersby.
Ederick was in a dark mood, the lawlessness perpetuated by the actions of these hired strongmen was galling him. He wanted nothing more than to bring down the Red Dragon Band, but he knew his purpose was greater. He could not stop to help the people fight this injustice right now, but there would come a time, a reckoning, he promised himself. Then again, he thought with a grim smile, the Nashian’s under Hessan may just give these Red Dragons a taste of their own medicine. Although, he could not decide which evil would be worse for the poor Ckaymrish people who lived here.
They reached the Port of Powyss proper as the main boulevard ended at a “T” intersection; another boulevard lay from right to left with the piers before them. As Carym suspected, there were checkpoints to the right and left, guarding both directions, and one directly ahead. Bart led them through the port checkpoint and down the main pier to a waiting fishing boat. The boat was a typical fishing vessel. It was not meant for long, sustained sea journeys but could handle an overnight journey from Powyss to Obyn. It was equipped with vast nets, large swing arms, lobster and crab traps, and even fishing rods. The captain of this boat knew dozens of ways to bring in a catch and he knew ways to make his money without bringing in a catch. He was a w
ily old man and knew how to deal with inquisitive Red Dragons who, thus far, had no real fleet of their own.
Captain Yan Trelwigger sometimes took passengers or cargo across the sea to Obyn. At times he would stay a night in Obyn then return the next day with plenty of money to pay the dock bribes. Trelwigger was known, oft as not, to proceed directly to Obyn and sell his catch there for a higher price than he could muster with all the tariffs in Powyss. Thus, going to sea and returning with no catch did not arouse the suspicion of the Red Dragons, who would certainly want a cut of his profits if they knew he was hauling cargo and not fish. It was a trend that was becoming more prevalent among the fishing society of Powyss, and the Lord of Powyss didn’t realize the economic impact it was having on his merchants.
Trelwigger made the companions welcome and led them to the hold where his cargo would have gone. The wooden deck in the hold was damp and sticky and small lamps hung on hooks that would swing with the motion of the waves. The hold was equipped with net hammocks for them to sleep in with little fear of falling out during heavy seas.
Trelwigger demanded his passengers stay below for their entire journey, lest they arouse suspicion from any other ships in the area, especially some of his more fearsome competitors who may wish to tell the authorities of his private doings. Ederick thought that was a sensible decision so the companions agreed, and remained below.
They reached Obyn by nightfall the following day.
C H A P T E R
11
Arrested.
The Hand of Zuhr.
The Port of Obyn, in the peninsular nation of Myrnwell, was a city very much like Powyss. Similar in size, appearance, architecture and people. Merchants from around the world sold their wares here, as in Powyss, but one thing was noticeably different: the city Constabulary maintained a positive presence throughout the town. No checkpoints, no bribe dealing, no rampant criminal activity feeding the government. The peacekeepers here were respected and professional.
The people of Obyn were warm and inviting, much like those in his homeland of Hybrand. He felt at home here. The food, drink, customs and language were very similar to that of the Hybrandese Cklath. While the people of Ckaymru were also similar to his own, there were glaring differences. Ckaymrish folk were inherently mistrustful, inhospitable to strangers and volatile. Doubtless a result of the tyranny of their land by various monarchs and bandit lords.
Carym and Ederick arranged for rooms in the inn known as Tyntagyl. It was seated atop a hill in the center of what was the old city of Obyn. The inn was built on the ruins of a keep, the seat of power of an ancient king who ruled so long ago most had forgotten his name; some insisted his name was Dafyd, others Arfyr. All agreed that there was a powerful wizard who was the king’s closest friend and advisor and that the tombs of these great - but forgotten - people were hidden deep in the earth below the ruins called Avelyn.
While Carym enjoyed learning about the history of the region, there were more important matters to consider. They all felt more relaxed now that there seemed little threat of pursuit by the minions of Hessan. Though the farther the companion’s traveled from Ckaymru, the farther they travelled from their friend, Kharrihan. They all felt the pang of that loss, though none more so than Bart. The companions did not speak of this, however, as they knew their mission must take them farther still from helping their friend.
“I admit I have a small confession to make, so I do,” said Bart suddenly, as the men settled into their large room. “I did tell you I am welcome in many courts of the land. And, indeed, so it is. Although I prefer to think my welcome is due to my bardic talents,” he paused with a small sigh. “I know it’s more to the fact that I am a prince in my homeland of Ayre.”
“A prince?” Carym closed his eyes a moment, smiling as he tried to imagine the stern bard in his princely attire attended by lords and ladies of the court. Ederick was not amused.
“Aye, so I am. And for that reason, we will go to the court of my cousin, Delfyd Rhi, and he will welcome us and order a grand feast the likes of which you’ll have never seen.” The bard’s mood picked up. He and his cousin had been the best of friends growing up. There were many journeys made between their neighboring nations during his youth and more than a few adventures shared.
“Forgive our ignorance, Your Highness,” said Ederick in a strained voice as he bowed. “We could not have known.”
“Nonsense,” the bard replied lightly. “I kept it from you. Friends we have become, and friends we remain. There is no need for formality.”
“Why do you wander the realms as a bard, if you are the Prince of Ayre?” asked the knight.
“Truth be told, I detest the formalities of office, so I do! I’m not much of a politician, and I hate the duties of royalty. My good brother, the Boru, was kind enough to grant me exception from my duties as Commander of Arms knowing I wouldn’t be very good at such an important job, such as it is. I prefer to see myself as a wandering ambassador of the good will of Ayresmen!” he finished with a laugh and a grin. If there ever was a people who exuded good will from their pores, it was the people of Ayre.
Carym did not look forward to meeting the Rhi of Mrynwell. He was never very comfortable around folk of such high stature and rank. But Ederick seemed to think their chances of success would be greater with the involvement of royalty of any type.
“What assistance do you hope to obtain from your cousin?” he asked.
“I think Delfyd will provide us with all that we need to speed us on our way to the borderlands, so he will. Should we desire it, a company of men-at-arms could be spared, of that I am certain.”
“That would only slow us down and draw attention to our passing,” offered Ederick, albeit politely. “Our best chances lie with speed and stealth.”
“Agreed,” said Carym.
“Then I am sure my cousin will provide us with fast horses, supplies and weapons, and we will ask him to dispatch a runner to the border on our behalf. One doesn’t cross into the lands of the Jaguar Tribes unannounced.”
“For now, have a good meal and clean yourselves up. Then we go to meet a king!”
Carym had a nice lunch with Genn, Sir Ederick, and Hala in the common room after getting cleaned up and changed into some new clothes brought in by the inn keeper at the bard’s request. Following lunch Sir Ederick left to find the Zuharim barracks of the city while Hala sought the ambassador’s quarters. Carym and Genn decided to go and see some of the city before their meeting with the Rhi later in the evening.
The pair wandered among the city streets for a time, visiting various shops and enjoying the warmth and friendliness of the people. It was pleasant for him to be in the company of a woman he had become so fond of, forgetting the trials of their journey and enjoying each other’s company. In fact, for nearly two hours the pair said nothing at all of their quest, walking hand-in-hand at times, acting as though the world was none of their concern.
They decided to stop at a small cafe, with chairs and tables set upon the street. They enjoyed several of the tasty spirituous beverages and delights made with Mrynnish Cream and watched as the world walk by.
“What will become of us, Carym?” Gennevera asked, hinting at the dire reality that was their quest. For a moment Carym said nothing as the weight of the world resumed its precarious seat on his shoulders, darkness crept back into his soul.
Finally he spoke. “I do not know. We have a great responsibility before us, Genn. It was nice to forget it for a small time, and enjoy your wonderful presence. Alas, we have work to do now. I think, perhaps we should simply enjoy each other’s company, such as it is, in the small moments of our journey. We must not distract ourselves from the gravity of our situation. The time will come when we may be free to think of ourselves.” Carym paused for a few moments, and continued. “You can stay here, you know. The Rhi will make sure you are comfortable. This quest will be very dangerous, and I would feel better knowing you are safe.”
She cast
him a dark look and scowled at him. “How very noble of you. However, I haven’t endured all this danger to simply abandon you when you need me most. I know I cannot offer much in the way of magic anymore, now that I no longer serve Grymm, but I have become a better fighter with the cudgel and I can fire a short bow well enough. Don’t presume that I am so innocent and naive that I cannot contribute. I will not simply wait here for you, hoping you come back alive, with no resolution to the question that is ’us’.”
Carym threw up his hands quickly, smiling. “I concede! Your value as a member of this team has been inestimable!”
“My value to the team?” she asked quickly, her eyes flashing.
“And to me,” he said quietly, seriously. “And to me.”
With that her temper subsided and a playful smile danced around her lips and Carym knew he had been had. She forced him to admit his feelings to her, in however small a way he had done so. He stood and tossed some coins on the table, his head swimming momentarily from the drink. Genn placed her hand in his as they walked back toward the inn.
“Look at that magnificent temple, Carym!” Carym looked up the street and wondered for a moment, how he could have missed such an amazing sight.
“The Temple of Zuhr,” he whispered, feeling himself called there. The Temple of Zuhr in Obyn was a wondrous structure. There were tall towers with domes, pointy spires with flying buttresses that soared between great towers; a “cathedral” it was called, yet it seemed more like a palace. There were several large and small buildings, each with domes and spires, and even a military barracks. Was this the barracks of the Zuharim that Ederick was seeking? The Temple of Zuhr was like small a city unto itself with a massive courtyard flanked by buildings on three sides, and the main street of Obyn on the fourth. Tall statues of ancient heroes adorned the tops of the buildings facing the square.
The Black Keep (The Chronicles of Llars) Page 26
