Ioth, City of Lights

by D P Woolliscroft

  She circled over the green idyll that rose from the sea, a little piece of paradise in a world of blue. Cliffs and rocky outcroppings surrounded the island, grass and little white balls of sheep inland. The sea was a shimmering aqua around the island; the water was shallow, the island much greater underneath the surface of the sea than what peaked up into the air. There was one main town on the island, the place that lent the island its name; square buildings constructed of the same pale-yellow limestone as the cliffs ringing the harbor, and up on the hill above the town sat a stone keep, a single tower rising high above its fortifications.

  If a bird could smile, she would have grinned from ear to ear. A tower. It looked out of place next to the square keep, the crumbling stonework next to the neat sandstone blocks of the keep belied its relative age. Maybe it was Starras.

  Neenahwi flew close to the keep, circling above the tower, conducting an on-the-wing inspection. It didn’t look like the tower in Redpool, but she had not seen another similar construct anywhere on the island. Starras could be hidden but this was the only inhabitation larger than a village on Hyfil too, and people had definitely been drawn to build around the tower back in Redpool. The windows were shuttered and there was a closed trapdoor on its roof, so she couldn’t see inside, even though she realized the inside could be nothing like the outside. As she landed on the wall of the keep opposite the tower, she briefly considered changing back to human form and trying her chances of entering, but there was enough human activity around to make her wary of just walking in. It was clear she was being watched too; one boy in the courtyard was trying desperately to throw rocks at her though his arm was too weak to be a danger. She needed another plan; one that didn’t involve barging in.

  Taking to the air from her perch, she flew to a secluded part of the island and transformed back to her usual form. Then the exhaustion hit her. She had not slept in more than a week, and weariness had soaked into her bones. Neenahwi made it to a quiet, unoccupied cave and settled down to rest. Tomorrow she would work out how to access the tower, but for now she thought on her father’s advice to take the initiative, all the while redirecting her mind away from his other advice to keep Motega close.

  The next morning, she woke feeling groggy from a deep sleep that left her hair plastered to her face.

  Neenahwi had never been to Hyfil before. She knew it had a king, if you could call the ruler of this small patch of rock a king, but that was a remnant from centuries ago, the legacy of a time when Hyfil was a much more important waypoint to the oar powered ships that once traversed the Sapphire Sea. She did not know if her father had ever been here; but where his reputation had spread everywhere, she was still an unknown to most. That was the way she wanted it anyway. It didn’t do to be calling Pyrfew’s attention to herself as she scrambled to identify Llewdon’s motivations. Who knew, maybe she would be lucky and get a step ahead of him.

  So, she would tread lightly. Knocking on the front door of the keep was unlikely to result in a stranger-king showing her around his home. She would need to illicit an invitation.

  Setting out on foot, dressed in her customary robes of purple with only her small satchel made for flying slung over her shoulder, she made for the town. Coming across a farmstead she dipped into the supply of gold coin she had brought with her to significantly overpay for a horse, bringing delight to the farmer and his wife at their sudden windfall.

  Hyfil was a town that began at the harbor and spread organically up into the green hills. Large villas with well-tended gardens ringed the outside of the settlement, which then became stone houses, increasingly packed together as she neared the harbor. There was no wall about Hyfil, and no one to ask her questions as she entered, though she did receive the attention of those she passed going about their business. Neenahwi asked a woman, seemingly as ancient as her house and who sat on her front step working on her knitting and soaking up the late morning sun, for directions to the best inn in town, and it was to that she made her way.

  The Strawberry Wine was situated on the square overlooking the harbor, where small fishing boats bobbed in the water having just returned and in the midst of unloading their catches. It was a two-story building, constructed in much the same way as the rest of the town, though a strain of strawberry plant had been trained to grow up its front. Neenahwi paused just inside the doorway and looked around. It appeared clean and comfortable, but without the rich trappings of the finest lodgings in Kingshold; and it was quiet, only a few people in gentle conversation scattered around the room. This would do fine.

  Neenahwi approached the man behind the bar who was cleaning bottles of various colors, arranging them in a rainbow on a shelf next to a tapped cask of wine, and asked for lodging. He showed her three rooms; she chose the largest that had a vast bed and a separate cushioned seating area. The barkeep didn’t talk much as he showed her around, not until they were back down in the common room and the price was agreed, a shiny gold Kingshold crown for the next five days.

  “Would you like me to help you with your luggage, ma’am?”

  “This bag is all I have, so I am quite fine, thank you,” she patted the small satchel that she had placed on the chair next to her. His eyebrows raised at the lack of a change of clothing. “But I will be needing the services of a tailor. Would you recommend one and have them come visit me here?”

  “Aye, I’ll send for Aggie Dudas. I, er, don’t mean to pry,” he said, prying. “But where did you come from?”

  “That’s quite alright,” she said, doing her best to play the role she had chosen; Lady Grey seemed to be an appropriate model for her mannerisms. “My name is Meredith Rastlyn, from Kingshold. It seems like my luck has finally turned. I was on my way to Carlburg when my ship was attacked by pirates. I, of course, jumped overboard to avoid whatever fate they would have planned for me. Thankfully I had the wherewithal to toss a barrel overboard for flotation.” She was aiming for nonchalant but still believable. Pirates were not as numerous in the Sapphire Sea as the North Sea but they were still a menace. “It seems that Arloth was with me though, because I washed up on this little paradise.”

  “How terrible, ma’am. Should I have a physician come and attend to you?”

  “Oh, no. I am quite fine. I’ve always been a strong swimmer. And there was a lovely family on the north of the island who helped me initially. They directed me here to the town to be able to arrange onward passage, but I think I shall take some time to rest and collect myself.”

  “Well that’s lucky, because there’s no ships here now, other than the fishing boats. But the big ones come through pretty regular.”

  “I am in no immediate rush. Travelling this fair isle has sparked some ideas about potential business opportunities. Do you happen to have pen and ink that I could borrow? And do tell me, what is your name?”

  “I am Karole, ma’am.”

  Neenahwi demurely shook Karole’s hand and thanked him for his help. He returned with writing supplies and a glass of strawberry wine, then resumed his cleaning duties. It was sweet and pink, and went to her head a little after days of living on squid and minnows. She noticed him looking at her as he worked, his eyebrows knitted together in intrigue at this strange woman who claimed she’d washed up on their little island. Realizing he’d been spotted he hurried off to busy himself in another part of the bar, but his passage often took him by her. That was good. She wanted the attention. With any luck, she would be the talk of the harbor before nightfall.

  Later that day the seamstress visited and measured her for two sets of clothes. She declined the offer of pretty dresses and instead opted for attire that was more functional for roaming about town. The seamstress left her with a pair of trousers and a blouse. Dressed in something more appropriate, she took the opportunity to walk around the town, stopping to talk with various shop keeps, buying small items and sharing her coin around. She made a show of pausing to look at various buildings from different angles. One unoccupied stone structure in partic
ular, a former warehouse by the looks of it and probably constructed when this town was a central hub for trade in the region, she gave more deliberate attention.

  That evening she returned to the Strawberry Wine and ate her dinner alone. The inn was busier, populated by a mix of well-to-do locals and some other travelers. She was surprised and gladdened by the quality of the food; grilled fresh fish with baby turnips and carrots, all lovingly smothered in butter. Once she had finished, Karole retrieved her plate and lingered for a moment to talk with her.

  “Did you have a good afternoon?”

  “I did,” she gushed. “What a beautiful place. Everyone is so friendly. Tell me, do you have many visitors here on Hyfil?”

  “A few, I guess. Are you looking for someone?”

  “No. No. I know I must seem quite strange coming here with a tall tale following me like a shadow. But let me tell you, Karole. I think Arloth brought me here for a reason.” She leaned in conspiratorially, dropping her voice to bring him into the fold. “I’m a merchant in Kingshold. Many of the people there are tired of the constant hustle; the dirt, the bad winters, and all the people. I think they would love to visit your beautiful island. And they have more money than they know what to do with.”

  She leaned back in her seat. Karole blinked. And blinked again.

  “You mean, you’d bring them here?” She could tell he was already imagining the tinkle-tinkle of falling coin as he’d count his takings after a day of rich foreigners drinking in his establishment.

  “Yes. But hush. I need to work some things out first.”

  “Of course! I shan’t mention a word of it.”

  Neenahwi climbed the stairs shortly afterward for an early night, safe in the knowledge that she had sown the seeds. The soft feathered bed was a wonderful boon after her travels and the hard cave floor of the previous night, and the next morning she awoke fresh to find her new clothes tied in a string bow and resting on a chair outside her door. Breakfast was bread, cheese, and olives served with a side order of people who wanted to talk with her. She drank her coffee and listened to the succession of tradesmen and individuals who professed their knowledge of the island and how well connected they were to the people that mattered. Karole looked sheepish as he collected her dishes.

  “I’m sorry, ma’am. I don’t know how they found out.”

  She smiled a genuine smile at him. “Oh, no matter, Karole. It’s time to get to work after all.”

  For the next four days she met with the owners of various empty buildings around the city, haggling over suddenly inflated prices. She had builders and carpenters accompany her as she made a show of explaining the potential in the stone skeletons they inspected. At the end of each day she returned to the Strawberry Wine and talked with the increasingly excited locals, learning of their hopes for a more prosperous future for their children. Karole bounced around his common room, happy at the sudden uptake in business.

  On the fourth day after she had arrived in Hyfil, Karole greeted her at the door to her room, a sealed message in his hand.

  She opened it, to find an invitation to meet with the King.

  Just what she had been waiting for.

  Chapter 11

  Famous

  Edland’s Pride was not their usual haunt. But Motega, Trypp and Florian had come to this particular establishment in the Redguard district so they could have a little peace. An hour or so to talk, away from the gaze of Jules and her staff at the Royal Oak where they still lived. The Pride was populated by a smattering of customers as they maneuvered past the mix of craftsmen from the nearby Lance and military from the barracks that originally gave the district its name. All talking about their own business and paying the friends little regard.

  Unfortunately, the tavern owner had recognized them.

  “Three of our best ales for the heroes of Kingshold,” he exclaimed loudly, as he placed the mugs of frothy beer down on the table with a thud. The landlord half turned as he spoke, raising his voice so he could speak to the room at large. “On the house! If it wasn’t for you two,” he gestured to Motega and Florian, ignoring Trypp, “we’d still have our arses full of pirates.”

  A few other patrons raised their cups in salute, but most went back to whatever mundane business they were contemplating.

  “Thank you,” said Motega by way of dismissal, but the tavern keeper remained where he was standing, the excitement of a child on his face.

  “You are very welcome, sirs. It’s the least I could do. I’m going to have to tell the missis that you’re here. She’ll be so excited.”

  Trypp’s eyes rolled and his fingers drummed the table. It was not the first time that word had got around quickly and before they knew it, they would have a gaggle of locals crowding them, eager to touch or talk to them. There had been more than one marriage proposal, and more than a handful of proposals to skip straight to the procreating. Motega had to admit he usually enjoyed the attention, but this was not the time.

  “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t let anyone know we’re here,” he said. “We know the Pride is a better class of tavern where our privacy would be respected. You know what I mean?”

  “Oh, of course.” The tavern keeper nodded. But still stood there staring at him and Florian. Motega was afraid he was about to pull up a chair.

  “We need some privacy,” added Motega gently.

  Motega almost heard the noise as the penny finally dropped. “Oh! Do forgive me. Don’t want to be disturbing you. I’ll keep the riff-raff away as well.” The landlord hurried away, shooing perplexed punters from the nearby tables.

  Trypp shook his head. “You two better enjoy it while it lasts. You’ve got another month of being the darlings of Kingshold.”

  “Why only a month?” asked Florian.

  “The Wintertide pig chase. The winner always drinks for free until spring comes.”

  “That doesn’t sound as impressive as saving the city from invasion.”

  “You’ve never tried catching a greased pig,” countered Trypp.

  Motega laughed, absentmindedly rubbing at the scars on his face etched there by the talons of the eagles. Trypp noticed.

  “Do they itch?” he asked.

  Motega nodded and shrugged at the same time, “They’re not too bad.”

  “That’s why I wanted us to talk somewhere private. Though this seems to be the best we could manage. Let’s see, in the past few weeks, you’ve been eaten by an eagle,” Trypp pointed at Motega before turning the digit to Florian, “you’ve been run down by horsemen and skewered in the gut, and I’ve had twenty stitches from that evil fucking shape-changer.” Trypp leaned back in his chair, arms crossed and forehead furrowed. “So, there’s one question that’s been bothering me that we need to discuss.”

  Florian nodded along, apparently untroubled by his recent injuries, but Motega knew he wouldn’t let it show even if he was. Florian had not enjoyed being laid up for a few weeks and he didn’t want to rest anymore. “What’s that then, Trypp?” he asked.

  “Why are we doing all this?” Trypp waved his hands broadly at everything, but Motega knew what he meant. “We’ve had more injuries in the past few months than we’ve had in years. And there’s no profit in it. So, why are we doing it?”

  “Not everything is about money,” said Motega. “These are our friends.”

  “I’m all for supporting friends. I’ve been looking after you two idiots for long enough.” Motega and Florian exchanged toothy grins. That was true. “But we’re not soldiers, remember. There is only one ex-soldier among us. With the emphasis on the ex.”

  “For good reason, too,” said Florian.

  “Exactly!”

  “Are you proposing we leave?” asked Motega. “I know for a fact that Neenahwi will hunt me down if I’m not here when she gets back.” Florian snorted into his tankard in agreement.

  “I’m not saying we run away. I’m not that much of a shit. But let’s not take a step forward the next time Uthridge is l
ooking for volunteers. Why can’t we get a nice diplomatic posting? Fine wines, parties. Little cheese nibbles on silver plates.”

  “You don’t like any of those things,” Florian said bluntly.

  “I like it a lot more than cavalry charges and monsters,” argued Trypp. Motega considered this. He could understand Trypp’s point. They’d all agreed to go along with the election and see where that would end up, having no idea that there would be an invasion by pirates on the back of a Draco-Turtle. Since then they’d given no real thought to where all of this was going. He knew that Neenahwi had her new purpose in life to stop Llewdon, and he would be there shoulder-to-shoulder with her when the time came, but she didn’t know what to do yet. There must be a way to be helpful to their friends without being at the forefront of any armed struggle.

  All that thought process swirling around his mind manifested in a shrug of acquiescence. Florian did likewise.

  “Good. Let’s formally vote on it then. All in favor of talking to Mareth about a cushier job say…” Trypp tailed off as a young boy approached behind Motega, stopping to tap him on the shoulder.

  “’Scuse me, mister. I got a note for you.”

  Motega took the folded piece of paper and immediately recognized the palace seal on it. Was somebody listening to them? What was going to be next? He sighed and passed it over to Trypp without opening it. “How did you find us?” Motega asked the boy as he turned to leave.

  “Just asked around. Not hard to find the heroes of Kingshold!” The boy smiled and ran for the door.

  Being identified so quickly and so easily was not something that any of them were accustomed to. In fact, it could be quite an issue in their typical line of work.