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Back to the previous chapter: Rescues
Second Draft
It was early evening four days later when the party crested the last hill before Armagh.
Bilbus chuckled to himself as he saw the smoke curling out of the Ithell manor house's kitchen chimneys. "Just in time for dinner."
Breanna stopped her horse next to Eric's. "Eric, do you think Lord Ithell would be upset if I brought my father to dinner? He really should meet you. All of you, I mean. I sort of left unannounced." She paused for a moment. "I also need to fetch a few things from my home for the trip north."
Eric looked at Breanna. "Father won't mind. I'd like to meet your father, anyway. I think it's been at least ten years since I saw him last."
Breanna smiled to herself as the party rode towards the manor house. She parted company with the rest of the travelers outside the low wall of the Ithell's manor so she could stop by her house and her father's house. The rest of the party rode on into the manor compound.
Servants rushed forth to take care of the horses, while others carried saddle bags into the household for the party. Bilbus followed one of the servants up to a guest room, then waited for the servant to leave so the mountebank could peel his dirty, sweat soaked armor and riding clothes off.
He checked in the spacious armoire in the guest room and found a silk robe. He slipped into the robe, leaving his dusty leather armor and sweaty under shirt on the bed. He then strolled downstairs to the smaller kitchen, where he found Eric talking to Meko.
Meko regarded Bilbus, wearing a fine silk robe even though his face was still covered with road dust. Talking rapidly in her native tongue, she grabbed Bilbus by the scruff of his neck and hauled him away for a bath. As he left the room, Bilbus looked back at Eric and winked.
When he returned twenty minutes later, Bilbus had a different robe. His hair was still wet, and the dirt was gone.
Eric glanced up at the mountebank. "Better, Bilbus?" The explorer returned his attention to his travel journal.
Bilbus nodded, still grinning, and took a seat next to Eric.
Meko entered the kitchen a moment later. In the Karasimian tongue, she addressed Eric. "Son, your friend likes these baths. I do not have time to care for him like a child, so I will let servants care for him in the future. Some may not be as gentle as I."
Eric laughed to himself. He remembered the times servants had to bathe him because he was unwilling to clean himself. A number of abrasive scrapes from the cleaning stones had given him a desire to bath himself.
Bilbus looked from Eric to Meko and back, noting the mischievous grin on her face and the slight wince on his. "What?" the mountebank asked.
Bilbus realized belatedly that he needed to dress for dinner. He ran back up the stairs to the guest rooms, nearly bowling Eric over at the top of the stairs.
"Eric! I'm glad I found you. Can I borrow one of your shirts, please? One I can wear to dinner?" Eric nodded acquiescence. "Good. How about some nice trousers, too. And maybe a vest."
"I suppose you need some clean smallclothes, too?" Eric asked with mock impatience.
Bilbus looked aghast. "Don't be disgusting." He decided to explain. "All I have are my traveling clothes. My good stuff is still in Londoun. I figured we should at least try to look presentable to Lord Ceiturin. His little girl is traveling with us, remember?"
Eric cocked his head at Bilbus. "You will dress up for Breanna's dad, but not for my parents?"
"I thought you were an explorer," Bilbus protested. "Your dad is used to seeing working clothes. He understands."
Eric sighed to himself. "Very well, Bilbus. Come with me. I'll see what I can manage." He started to lead Bilbus towards his room, then stopped and turned around to face the thief. "One other thing. I want you on your best behavior tonight."
"We've had this discussion before. Wasn't it last time we came to Armagh? I seem to recall promising then that I would be the best that I could..."
Eric rolled his eyes. "Behave as you would expect me to want you to behave."
"Just what does that mean?" Bilbus wondered, puzzled.
"Agree, or I will not lend you my clothes."
Bilbus sighed. "Fine, fine. Whatever."
"That's better," Eric said.
Eric led Bilbus into his private room, on a separate wing from the guest rooms. The explorer looked through his armoire until he found a fine silk shirt and trousers that were close to Bilbus's size. Bilbus took the clothes and tried them on. The fit was not perfect, but it was close enough for Bilbus's interest. Once the mountebank was dressed, the two went downstairs to the mansion's atrium.
Bilbus fussed with the shirt once more. Eric was a little taller than Bilbus was, and the sleeves of the shirt bunched at the wrists. Bilbus admiringly ran a hand along the silk finery as he waited impatiently for dinner to be served.
Sturm moved close to the mountebank. In a low growl, the Sun Knight said, "Bilbus, if you can behave yourself tonight, we'll go to a pub after dinner."
Bilbus rolled his eyes. "Sheesh. What is it with everyone? I wasn't that bad last time, was I?"
Sturm stared levelly at the thief for a few seconds before walking away.
Someone rapped on the front door a moment later. A servant near the door opened it quickly. Breanna stepped through, wearing an emerald green silk dress that highlighted the reddish-brown in her hair.
The servant announced her: "The Lady Breanna Ceiturin of Armagh."
Breanna walked towards her friends as a man stepped into the doorway. His temples were graying, and he had a heavier build than Breanna, but Bilbus could still see the semblance in the shape of his face.
The servant announced, "Lord Adair Ceiturin of Armagh."
Breanna curtsied towards Janus and Meko. "Lord Ithell, Lady Ithell, you know my father, Adair."
Janus nodded in greeting towards Lord Ceiturin. "Adair, it is good to see you again. How is business?"
"As well as I could ask."
Breanna turned to her father. She gestured at Rishala. "Father, this is Rishala of Orkney, in Caledonia. Rishala, this is my father, Adair Ceiturin.
Rishala bowed to Adair, flourishing the wool of his kilt as he did so. Adair nodded slightly to Rishala in acknowledgement, with a slight frown of disdain. Breanna frowned to herself, but took a few steps forward to stand near Sturm.
At the end of the receiving line, Bilbus muttered under his breath, "Typical lord. Commoners aren't fit to lick his boots, even. How can someone like her come from someone like him?"
Eric kicked Bilbus's leg, but otherwise did not react to the comment.
Breanna continued introductions. "Sir Sturm Sunblade, of the Order of the Knights of the Sun. My father, Adair Ceiturin."
Sturm bowed slightly to the noble.
Breanna stopped next in front of Bilbus. "This is Bilbus..." She was uncertain how to introduce the thief. "Bilbus, my father, Adair Ceiturin."
Adair looked at Bilbus. "Bilbus? What house are you?"
Bilbus smiled smoothly. "I am Lord Bilbus del Qui..." Eric kicked Bilbus. "Del Cartach," Bilbus corrected. He flashed a glare at Eric as he pointedly displayed the signet ring he wore. "My Lord Ceiturin." Bilbus bowed deeply. "It is truly an honor to meet a fine noble such as you. Your daughter has regaled us with many a tale of your wisdom and benevolence."
One of Bilbus's companions coughed.
Bilbus straightened from his bow. Adair had puffed out proudly and smiled widely.
In a loud whisper, Adair said to Breanna, "I like this lad. Very proper."
Breanna ushered her father away from Bilbus, ostensibly to continue the introductions.
Once the introductions were through, a servant entered the atrium. Standing by the hallway that led to the formal dining room, she announced, "My Lords. My Ladies. Dinner is now ready."
Janus and Meko led their guests to the dining room. Outside, they removed their shoes before passing through the open door to the hardwood-floored Karasimian dining room. Janus and Meko took their places at the two ends of the table, sitting on the cushioned pillows that marked their seats. The rest of the guests took cushions along the sides of the tables. Breanna sat across from Eric near the head of the table, and Adair took the seat adjacent to his daughter closest to Janus.
Throughout the early courses of the dinner, Bilbus watched Eric and Breanna. Breanna would stare at Eric when he was not looking, and Eric would do the same to her. Bilbus grumbled to himself about the sappy behavior of the two nobles, then decided to play with them a little.
In a lull of the dinner talk, Bilbus leaned forward a little so he could address Adair. "Good Lord Ceiturin," Bilbus said. When Adair stopped to look at him, he added, "Did Lady Breanna tell you of the time that Young Ithell here rescued her from the pack of wild dogs?"
Eric looked towards the ceiling, his face scrunched as he tried to remember the event. Bilbus saw the explorer mouth "Wild dogs?"
"Why, no, Lord Bilbus," Adair replied.
"Oh, my," Bilbus began as he quickly tried to fabricate the story. "We were traveling to Saltcliffs, as I'm sure you know. We were set upon by a pack of dogs after we had stopped for the evening. There must have been a dozen of them, all ferociously howling. Eric must have slain half of them with that deadly bow of his." He stopped for a moment, as if remembering more details. "Perhaps they were even wolves, now that I think of it.
"But Eric was quite the hero. And Breanna had the opportunity to repay him in kind just a day later. Eric may have drowned, had she not been there. The ford across that river did not seem too treacherous when we tried to cross. Quite a team, those two." Bilbus beamed in satisfaction.
Bilbus's companions had stopped to stare at the mountebank. The looks of disbelief ranged from bemused to annoyed.
Unfazed, the mountebank continued to speak to Adair. "I'm trying to decide how to invest this year. Do you think meat cattle or dairy cattle will be more of value come fall?"
Adair smiled. "I raise dairy cattle. They may not pay as well per pound, but they last longer than a meat cow, you know. The overall return is much better, I find."
Eric shook his head. He had to stop Bilbus before the thief really got obnoxious. "Yes, well, really, Bilbus. Discussing business at the dinner table. Why, let us tell other tales." He looked towards the ceiling for a moment. "Yes, I remember a story my mother told me long ago about the greatest archer in Karasimi."
Eric had the guests' attentions.
"He was the greatest archer ever to walk the lands. It was said that he would never miss a shot, if he didn't wish to miss. Some said even that the gods themselves had blessed him. In spite of his skills, though, he lived in a humble house with his wife and children. He refused the offers of gold from nobles who wanted him to lead their armies, or to compete in games.
"One truly harsh winter, the archer and his family had no food upon the table. Game had been scarce in the forests, and even the pantry was empty. The children were crying from hunger. The archer took his bow and a single arrow -- for he never needed more than one -- and walked out into the cold day. The clouds overhead were thick, for it was going to snow again soon.
"As the archer walked away from his home, he heard geese overhead. Looking, he couldn't see it, for it flew in the clouds. Still, the archer drew his only arrow and aimed into the clouds. He watched the arrow sail into the gray above, disappearing. Then, he saw a goose falling, with an arrow through its chest. The archer brought the goose back to his home, and his wife and children dined well."
Lord Ceiturin laughed quietly to himself and nodded. The dinner continued, with no further interjections from Bilbus.
At the end of the meal, Adair thanked his hosts for their hospitality, then took leave to return to his home. Breanna loitered for a few minutes, but likewise returned so she could get her travel packs ready for the trip north. The rest of the party retired to their rooms for the night, but Eric loitered to speak with his father.
Once the guests had all left, Janus asked Eric, "Who was that in your borrowed shirt?"
"Bilbus? You met him, father. He's dined twice with us already."
"Are you sure?" Janus looked towards the empty doorway. "He seems much different today."
"He made an effort to be better behaved. Besides, he avoided the plum wine."
"That must be it," Janus decided. "But you did not stay behind for that reason."
Eric shook his head. "No, father." He reached into a vest pocket. He held a folded piece of paper. "We found this note in a witch's tower near Hillsdale."
"Witches, now? First orc, now witches. What's next?" Janus wondered.
"Centaurs," Eric answered matter-of-factly. "But I'll explain that in a moment." Eric unfolded the paper and offered it to his father. "This note suggests that the witch or someone working with her tried to talk you into supporting their cause. Do you remember anything of the sort?"
Janus stroked his chin. "I remember an odd man visiting a few weeks ago. I did not think much of it at the time."
"What did he want?"
"He was not very clear. He was trying to use innuendo, and he evaded me every time I tried to get him to answer me directly. He claimed he and his companions were very powerful."
"Do you remember his name?"
"I think it sounded Deutsch. Franz something-or-other." Janus shrugged. "Sorry, son. I did not put much thought into it at the time. Now, what is this about centaurs?"
"Sturm -- the Sun Knight -- was struck with a cursed blade from a thing called a 'Shadow Kindred'. Rishala says the wound will only get worse, that it will never heal, unless we seek the cure from the centaurs of the Nomad Steppes. We are traveling there to find the cure."
Janus rubbed his chin. "I remember meeting centaurs during my journeying days. The tribes of the Nomad Steppes are insular people, and the centaur tribes were less open than the human tribes." He studied his son's face. "Do you think they will help?"
"If they do not, Sturm will die. He does not talk about it, but I see it affecting him. He treats his right arm more tenderly than he did."
"I wish you luck on your quest, Eric."
"Thank you, father." Eric turned to leave, then paused. "What did the man look like who tried to get you to join his organization?"
"He had short, brown hair that was curly. He dressed like a successful merchant, not a noble. He had a Deutsch accent, but he had a Kelltic accent, not a Brythokelltic accent, so I would guess he was from Londoun. He never did tell me where I could find him."
"I will keep my eyes open for him," Eric offered.
"Do so." Janus stood and stretched. "You should go ahead and retire for the evening. You still have a lot of journeying to go."
Eric took his leave and retired to his room for the evening.
The party reached Londoun a day and a half later. As they reached the edge of the sprawling city, Bilbus exclaimed triumphantly, "Londoun!" He looked at his friends, then added, "There is nowhere like it, nowhere better than it. Except, maybe, Arabel Cinlu."
Rishala looked around at the crowded buildings and myriad of narrow roads. "I don't know, Bilbus. It is awfully crowded, and there's nothing but city for miles."
Bilbus nodded. "Nothing but juicy marks with fat purses."
Rishala laughed to himself. "I need to get some warm coats for the trip north, and there are a couple of people I would like to look up while we're in town. There's no need for everyone else to wait for me while I'm doing all of that, so where would be a good place to meet this evening?"
"Adria's place," Bilbus offered immediately.
Sturm asked, "And for those of us who don't know where Adria lives?"
"Do you know where Falagos Square is?" Bilbus asked. When the Sun Knight nodded, Bilbus explained, "She lives about a block away from the square. If you wait near the fountain in the square, Rishala or I can meet you there. We both know where she lives..."
"Lucky me," Adria muttered loudly.
Bilbus was nonplussed. "...so we can take you to her flat from there."
Sturm nodded, then looked down one of the wider avenues that crossed the Via Avillonia the party followed. "I need to check in with my commander. I will see you this evening." His warhorse quickly trotted down the avenue, away from the party.
Rishala watched the Sun Knight leave, then said, "I'll meet you at Adria's this evening. I need to catch up on news and get those coats." He took a different cross street.
Kasey took his leave next: "The commander is probably furious. I was just supposed to head to Armagh for a party, and that was a month ago. I also need to check in on Merek. Falagos Square?" Bilbus nodded. "Okay. I'll see you then." He clucked to Farran, who sped to a fast trot and weaved between carts and pedestrians on the main road.
Bilbus looked at Eric. "Let's find a ship. I need to catch up on goings-on in town anyway. Besides, you can get your own spyglass from one of the glasswares shops near the docks. Shall we?"
Eric replied, "It's your town, as you said. Lead on."
As the two men rode away, Adria watched Breanna dreamily staring after Eric.
"Breanna." There was no response. "Bree!"
Breanna sat up quickly and turned to Adria, her face flush.
"Breanna, why don't we get you some traveling clothes, and maybe some more fetching dresses."
Breanna tilted her head. "More fetching dresses?"
Adria sighed. "Trust me."
Breanna nodded and smiled as Adria led her towards the seamster's quarter of town.
The Knights of the Church maintained a strong presence in Londoun. Their imposing castle was adjacent to the second largest Kelltic cathedral in all of Avillonia. Only the Cathedral Kells, the home of the Kelltic Church, was larger. The Church presence in Londoun was near the old center of the city, a few miles south of the Vasmar coast, along one side of the largest square in Londoun.
Kasey rode past the grand entrance to the Cathedral Treasa. A towering pair of bronze doors, each fifteen paces tall and four wide, invited all who passed to take solace within the enormous cathedral. The twelve broad stairs leading to the portals were empty, save for a dozen pigeons strutting about and cooing quietly. Far above the pigeons, at the top of a sharp tower over the entrance, was a gold-plated orb three paces in diameter, marking the location of the cathedral for anyone who could see the skyline. It was the tallest structure in the city.
At the front gatehouse of the Castle Treasa, Kasey jumped from Farran's back and walked forward on foot. Farran followed at a few paces distance, laying his ears back at the two pages assigned as gate guards. Neither one made an effort to stop Kasey or Farran -- both were painfully familiar with the foul-tempered warhorse, and Kasey was easily remembered thanks to his Javik Raider armor and his very tall stature.
Inside the outer grounds of the castle, Kasey flagged down three pages who looked idle. The three ran to the knight and stood in a line, ramrod straight at attention.
"You and you." Kasey pointed at two of the pages. "Tend to Farran. He needs brushed down well, and his shoes need checked." Kasey turned back to Farran, who had stopped two paces away. "Farran, behave for these two." Farran snorted and laid his ears back at the two pages, who cautiously approached the destrier. To the third page, Kasey said, "I need to see the Commander. It is urgent. Run ahead and tell him that Kasey Bittrand of Sulster is on his way up now."
The page sighed with relief as he watched his two comrades struggle with Kasey's warhorse. He then saluted Kasey and ran towards the commander's day offices. Kasey followed at a fast walk, giving the boy a chance to get to the offices before he did.
Inside the Church Knights' command building, Kasey strode up the stairs to the second floor. He passed numerous ancient tapestries that documented the Knights of the Church of Kells that hung on the stone walls, for once not stopping to look at any of them.
At the commander's office, Kasey found the door open. He strode in, not slowing, until he stood in front of a desk centered on a large run in the middle of the room. Opposite the desk sat a muscular man. His silver hair just touched his shoulders in back, and his mustache hung to either side of his lips, giving Kasey the impression of a silver lion.
Sir Mikall Fletcher, the Commander of Castle Treasa, greeted Kasey. "How goes your travels, Sir Knight? The celebration in Armagh must have gone well. You have been gone for over a month."
Kasey saluted stiffly. "It does not go well, Sir Fletcher. I bear bad news."
Fletcher leaned against the back rest of his chair. "If it's about the dwarves, Kasey, we've heard. Unless you have specifics. None of the reports have any specifics."
Kasey looked puzzled. "Dwarves? No, I didn't see dwarves. I saw orcs. We fought some orcs in an abandoned house near Saltcliffs, and we fought a large number of them at the mines of Hillsdale, in the southeastern Dales."
Fletcher's eyebrows arched. "Hillsdale? I thought you took leave to attend the Beltane Festival in Armagh."
"We were," Kasey protested. "I was just going to a party..." He glanced at the chair on the near side of the desk.
"Go ahead and sit, Kasey. I have a feeling this will take a while."
Kasey happily sat down. "See, my friends and I were going to Armagh. We found these highwaymen attacking this merchant -- he was really strange, I think Rishala said he was a gnome. So we fought the highwayman and rescued the funny man. I think he was a gnome, now that I think about it... But, anyway, the bad men had this note about getting some gold or something, and they were supposed to go to Saltcliffs when they were done."
Sir Fletcher was jotting some notes. When Kasey stopped, he looked up. "Was that all?"
"Oh, no, sir. See, when we went to Saltcliffs and we found their hideout, we found some orcs, and some more bad men were smuggling weapons to the orcs. The orcs were from Hillsdale. Well, really, they were near Hillsdale, not from it. But we took the bad guys ship, and then we went to Hillsdale, and we fought a witch. Well, Sturm -- he's a Sun Knight -- fought the witch, but Bilbus and Eric helped. But first, orcs attacked Hillsdale and took the blacksmiths. So we went to the tower and fought the witch, then went to the mines, and we sneaked in and found where the miners were. Then we came back and killed the rest of the orcs, then rescued the miners and blacksmiths. Then we came back here, because we have to go to the steppes and find centaurs to cure Sturm, because Sturm was hit with this evil sword that the Shadow Kindred had."
Mikall stopped writing. "So you rescued a merchant, fought smugglers, fought orcs, fought a witch, fought a Shadow Kindred, and rescued miners and blacksmiths... You are not making this up, right, Kasey? It isn't one of your jokes."
"No, sir! I swear on my family's name, it all happened. I can get my friends to come here to tell you, too."
"That will not be necessary, young Sulster. Not yet. Let me get some other knights in here who will have more questions. You will have to start again on your report."
"Oh, that's okay."
Fletcher left the room for ten minutes. When he returned, he had the six senior lieutenants of the castle with him. At Mikall's prompting, Kasey retold his story.
By the time Kasey finished his retelling, and had answered innumerable questions trying to extract details from it, all of the knights were agitated.
"Mikall, we must do something" the eldest lieutenant insisted. "Orcs kidnapping people, bandits in league with the orcs... Is this not the purpose of our order? 'To defend the Church and Her people', as the motto goes."
Fletcher raised a hand to stop the knight. "Sir Connail, wait. We will never make it to Hillsdale to stop the orcs. If Kasey's right, they may have been there already. We can hope the Knights of the Sun dealt with them." Mikall looked at Kasey. "Young Sulster, in light of the news you bring us, on top of the problem in the dwarven kingdom, I really hate giving you leave to travel to the Nomad Steppes. I do not know if all of these troubles have been following you and your companions, or if you have just had an incredible run of luck, but I hate having too few knights." Before Kasey could protest, Mikall made his decision. "However, this Sun Knight is in serious trouble, and it is always worthwhile to have eyes and ears abroad. Tell the personnel clerks that you are on extended detached duty, with no scheduled return date. I will make sure they have recorded it correctly later. Good speed."
Kasey stood and saluted. "Thank you, Sir Fletcher." He began to leave, then paused. "What is the problem with the dwarves?"
"We received reports from merchants that the dwarves have mobilized for war. None of the reports have details, and we thought initially to discount it, but we have seen enough reports from different dwarven port cities to believe that something drastic is happening in Clemendeev. Unfortunately, we still do not know what it is."
Kasey nodded as he mulled over the news. Finally, he asked, "With your leave, Sir Fletcher?"
"Go ahead, Sir Bittrand." As Kasey reached the door, Mikall added, "You might want to take your armor this time, just in case."
Kasey turned to protest, but thought better of it when he saw Sir Fletcher's expression. Instead, he bowed respectfully and left for the personnel offices.
Hold Londoun, the Londoun stronghold of the Knights of the Sun, was no less imposing than Castle Treasa. There was no ornate cathedral next to it, and the square facing the entrance was not as large, but the Hold Londoun left no doubt that it was a functional military facility. The walled compound surrounded what would have been several city blocks had they been outside the walls. Inside was the castle proper, surrounded by several separate barracks buildings, a large stables, and a parade/inspection ground.
Sturm rode towards the open portcullis of the gatehouse. Four guards stood at attention, two to either side of the breezeway. The keystone of the arched entryway had a sunburst cast in relief upon it, the only external identification that this facility was part of the Order of the Knights of the Sun.
The guards snapped salutes when they recognized Sturm. Sturm ignored them as he scanned the parade grounds for signs of activity.
Hold Londoun showed signs of disrepair. Most of the barracks buildings were empty, since the high commanders of the order found little reason to keep a large number of troops this far from orc activity. The Middle Ranges, where most of the orc raids originated, were several days' ride south of Londoun. The skeleton garrison in the hold kept the facility maintained, but their primary purpose was recruiting. Sturm often had to hide his contempt for the poor discipline in the hold. Most of the training equipment was unused, with rotting wood and rusted iron. Many of the knights in the facility were the least combat-ready of the order, placed in Londoun to keep them from getting killed fighting orcs along the Middle Ranges.
Several younger pages rushed towards Sturm. They had not been transferred to the Sunkeep for proper training yet -- the order sent new recruits south to the Sunkeep four times a year -- but they were receiving rudimentary training.
Two of the pages took Sturm's warhorse to the stables. Two more loitered nearby.
One of them addressed Sturm. "Sir Knight, may we escort you to the barracks?"
"No," the Sun Knight growled. "I need to see the commander. Inform him that I am on my way."
The pages bowed, then ran towards the castle. Sturm followed them at a purposeful stride.
The offices of the garrison commander of Hold Londoun were as spartan as the rest of the castle. The lone table was bare, and the two chairs in the office were simple wooden structures, devoid of even the most rudimentary cushions.
The commander of the Sun Knight hold was a grizzled veteran whose health had deteriorated to the point he could no longer lead men into battle. Sir Ianto Gittoes now spent his time directing an under strength garrison hundreds of miles from the nearest orc raid. He was staring out a window at the parade grounds when Sturm entered.
The commander turned to greet Sturm. His eyes were a pale steel blue, and what hair remained on his head had long ago become silver. "Sir Sunblade."
"Commander Gittoes," Sturm greeted in return.
"What news is so urgent after being away for a month?" Sir Gittoes asked as he gestured towards one of the seats next to his desk.
Sturm remained standing. "Orcs are on the move, away from their traditional strongpoints." Ianto took a seat while Sturm started his narrative.
Sturm related the attack on the merchant that he and his comrades had stopped, and spent a little time describing the abandoned house that the smugglers were using. He detailed the evidence the party collected about the smugglers supplying the orcs arms. Sturm spent most of his time describing the orcs near Hillsdale, highlighting their apparent objectives and alliance with the witch Axransa. He finished his report by detailing the fight he had with the Shadow Kindred.
"You were hit?" Gittoes asked.
"Yes, sir," Sturm acknowledged. "Lady Breanna Ceiturin, an apothecary traveling with us, can not heal the wound. We have learned that the centaurs of the Steppes know of a cure for the wound, so I need to have leave to travel to the Steppes."
"Of course, Sir Sunblade." Ianto took a deep breath. "It appears we have bad news on all fronts."
"Oh?"
Ianto nodded. "The dwarves of Clemendeev have mobilized. Merchants arriving in Londoun have told us that the dwarven coastal cities are practically deserted, and I have seen the dwarves in the Alien Quarter here in town packing and preparing to travel northwest."
Sturm paced. "Orcs are becoming more aggressive in the Middle Ranges, raiding areas that have seen no orc activity in centuries. Dwarves have mobilized in the north. There is a network of people trying to damage the Kingdom."
Ianto nodded. "Next thing you know, someone will tell us the Dark One himself has escaped." His laugh was humorless.
Sturm took his leave, wanting to have time to get his cold weather clothing from his room in the barracks.
Rishala found the small cafe that he had frequented when he first arrived in Londoun. It had a comfortable atmosphere, and several of the local storytellers frequented it. Rishala wanted to catch up on news in the city, and fellow storytellers were often the best source for that news.
The Caledonian tied his horse off to a post outside, then went in to take a seat and grab a quick bite to eat. Once in the cafe, Rishala spotted someone familiar. The man wore the colorful patchwork cloak of a street entertainer, and his pale blond hair was carefully groomed to appear as chaotic as possible. Rishala had seen his acts several times during the weeks he was in Londoun, and they had struck up something of a friendship.
Rishala approached the man. "Seregai? You remember me, right?"
"Rishala of Orkney!" Seregai called. "And here I thought you had left for home at last. How are your stories?"
Rishala dropped into the empty seat across the table from Seregai. "You would nae believe them if I told you," Rishala assured Seregai. "But what news is there? I have been out of the city for a month."
"You know of the dwarves?"
Rishala shook his head. "What of them?"
Seregai's jaw dropped. "Have you been in a cave?"
"The Dales, actually," Rishala admitted.
Seregai sniffed derisively. "Close enough, my friend." Seregai leaned close to Rishala. "The dwarves have gone to war."
"War?" Rishala exclaimed. "Against whom?"
"No one knows," Seregai admitted. "A merchant ship that sailed into town earlier this week had been in a port town in Clemendeev -- Spire's Mouth, he said. Some dwarven soldiers marched into town and read some decree, then most of the adult dwarves -- men and women -- dropped what they were doing, went home, then assembled in the town center wearing armor and carrying axes and the like. Nearly the whole town left right then, except for invalids, the elderly, and those with young children. Even older children left town!
"The merchant's crew had to load the ship on their own. None of the dwarves explained what was happening, and the dwarves who stayed behind wouldn't talk to any of the men."
Rishala whistled. "That is news, if it is true."
"I think it is," Seregai said. "I have heard other merchants report the same thing, from other port cities. The dwarves have mobilized nearly every citizen in their country. Even the dwarves here in Londoun are packing up like they are leaving town."
"Incredible." Rishala paused a moment to think. "You wouldn't believe the stories I have to tell about this last month."
"Try me," Seregai challenged. "I have told a few tall ones, you know."
"These are not tall tales. I've been face to face with orcs down south."
Seregai guffawed. "Rishala, you are not going to try to pull the wool over my eyes again. I remember your tales of Phaeree."
"Aye, and these tales are as true as those."
Seregai chuckled. He did not believe Rishala's other stories, either. "Okay, Rishala. Let's hear these tales of orcs."
"Well, a month ago, I left for the Beltane celebrations. On the way, my companions and I rescued an al-Rhayidhian gnomish merchant from highwaymen. It turns out that the highwaymen were smuggling arms to orcs near Hillsdale, in the southern reaches of the Dales. And those orcs were trying to enslave the village of Hillsdale to work the mines to make weapons, perhaps for another orcish uprising..."
Rishala finished sketching his narrative to his listener, then went back to complete the details and embellish them. It was early evening before he realized how long he had been talking, so he quickly took his leave to head for Adria's flat.
Bilbus and Eric walked through one of the run-down areas of the Londoun sprawl. The screech of seagulls along the nearby coast created a disturbing undercurrent to the constant noise of the city. The occasional terrified squeal of a rat broke the constant din, often followed by delighted shouts of children who ran by, their fresh kill hanging by its tail from one of their hands.
Eric looked around self-consciously. People watched him -- some openly hostile, others less blatantly. "Bilbus? Why are people staring at me?" he asked. "More than usual, that is." His Azirian features were distinctive in the Kelltic lands, enough so that he had grown used to a certain degree of staring.
Bilbus glanced at Eric before returning to a wary scan of the street. "Look at the way you're dressed, Eric. You could clothe a dozen of these people from the money they would get selling your shirt."
"If they are so poor, why do they not get better jobs?"
"Better jobs? Eric, a lot of these people do not have jobs, or they have few coins left by the time the nobles are done squeezing taxes out of them. Not everybody has a home with servants and the coin to afford it all."
"Armagh does not have this problem," Eric protested.
"Armagh is a small town." Bilbus stopped, blocking Eric's way. "Are you going to tell me that in all the exploring you have done, you have never seen poverty? The effects of money hungry nobility exploiting the peasants?"
"I have seen poverty," Eric said. "But often it was because of hardships outside the control of the people. Droughts, or fires, or war. Londoun is one of the richest cities in the world, with abundant crop lands, bountiful fisheries, and more trade opportunities than any city I can recall. That there are so many poor in this city is very strange."
Bilbus moaned to himself and kept walking until he reached the tavern he wanted to visit.
Eric studied the sign over the door. It showed a white-colored anchor surrounded by the words "Salty Anchor".
"The 'Salty Anchor'?" the explorer asked.
Bilbus moaned again. "I can not believe I am taking you in here, Eric."
"What do you mean?"
Bilbus fished around in his travel bag. He produced a tattered cloak. "Here. Put on this cloak."
Eric took the cloak and inspected it, disgust showing on his face. "You are kidding, right? It's filthy."
"No, it isn't," Bilbus said hastily. "It just looks filthy."
"Why should I wear it?"
"Remember what I said about your shirt buying lots of people clothes?" Eric nodded. "Some people in this bar may not hesitate to take your shirt. And maybe a few other things while they're at it. If you at least make an effort to blend in with the people here, you may be all right."
"Fine, Bilbus." Eric draped the cloak on his back and fastened it around his neck. "Anything else?"
"Yes. Remember two things: don't look at Pete's left leg. Don't mention anything about sharks." Bilbus paused at the door. "Oh, and if anyone asks, say, 'I'm Bilbus's patsy'."
Eric gave Bilbus a level look. "You are kidding."
"Come on. 'I'm Bilbus's patsy'."
Eric rolled his eyes. In a mocking voice, he parroted, "I'm Bilbus's patsy."
"Good, good. One last thing. If in doubt, do this." Bilbus raised his right hand just above his shoulder, arm tucked against his chest. He curled his hand into a fist, but left the index finger sticking out. He curled it and straightened it repeatedly. "Try it."
Eric did as he was told, but his eyes rolled as he flexed his finger.
"We might pull this off." Bilbus turned back to the door of the tavern. "Follow me." He swung the door open and boldly walked in while looking around the room with a practiced caution.
The interior of the tavern was smoky, thanks to a too-small flue above the cook fire in the back room. Years, if not decades, of soot had covered the ceiling and the tops of the walls, giving the tavern a very dark feeling in spite of the bright, smoky lanterns competing to contribute to the foul air. The sour smell of working bodies drifted in the room, revealing the years of working-class patronage.
A smooth wooden floor, worn from years of shoes, not from polish, was surprisingly clean, in stark contrast to the ceiling. The tables and chairs were likewise far cleaner than one may have expected, betraying what appeared to be a carefully manicured but artificial aura of filth in the tavern.
As Bilbus continued his visual sweep of the tavern, his eyes settled on a corner table near the back of the room. The mountebank walked straight to the table, smiling broadly when the two men recognized him.
"Twitchy! Peg-Leg! How are you two rascals?" Bilbus asked cheerfully.
The shorter of the two stood, leaning across the table to grip Bilbus's forearm in greeting. He had a jutting mouth with a thin wisp of a mustache on the top lip, and pinched eyes. When he spoke, his voice was just a tinge high in pitch, and very fast. "Bilbus! Howareyou? IwasjustsayingtoPegLeg. Iwassaying, 'PegLeg,IwonderifBilbusisstillalive.' Iwas. Youare!"
Bilbus nodded. "I am still kicking. Oh, Twitchy, Peg-Leg," Bilbus gestured towards Eric. "This is..." He paused to think of a pseudonym. Even if Twitchy and Peg-Leg were friends, they were still thieves. "Slant-Eyed Slim. He's with me, so don't think about doing anything funny. Slant-Eyes, this is Twitchy the Rat and Peg-Leg Pete."
Twitchy lifted both eyebrows, giving him a startled expression, and looked at Eric. Twitchy's fingers tapped rapidly on the table top as he studied the Azirian.
Eric nodded in greeting. "Ahhh, I'm Bilbus's patsy."
Twitchy convulsed with laughter, doubling over until his head nearly hit the table. Peg-Leg regarded Eric with a cool expression that was nearly hidden by the unruly bush of a beard that he wore.
In a deep tenor voice, Peg-Leg said, "You're pretty funny, Slim. Sit with us." He glanced at Bilbus. "Both of you."
Eric sat opposite Twitchy, and Bilbus took the chair next to Eric's. Bilbus immediately started asking Peg-Leg and Twitchy about different people they knew, then paused and looked at Eric. "Hey, Slim. Go get a couple of mugs of ale."
Eric nodded, then walked to the bar as Bilbus kept questioning his friends in a quiet voice that disappeared quickly in the noise of the tavern.
Eric approached the bar and waited for the barkeep to notice him. As he waited, he looked at the decor behind the bar. Most of the wall behind the bar had bottles of various types of liquor, and a partially-obscured mirror gave the people at the bar a view of the front of the tavern. In the middle of the wall was an old ship's anchor encrusted with white blocks and crystals.
"Whatcha want?" the barkeeper gruffly asked.
"Oh, I need two mugs of ale."
The barkeeper wiped the inside of two mugs, then filled them from one of two large kegs behind the bar. He set the mugs in front of Eric.
"That'll be a Noble."
Eric fished one of the copper coins from his coin purse and put it on the bar. "How did you get that much salt on the anchor? Did you dip it in brine?"
The barkeeper looked over his shoulder at the encrusted anchor. "No. It was the anchor of the Rising Wave. Captain Rankeillor, the former owner of the ship and the owner of this bar, pulled it out of the Vasmar like that."
"The Vasmar is fresh water," Eric said. He knew when someone was playing him for a fool.
"Aye," the barkeep agreed, "but there are certain places where sailors fear to tread. The Great Whirlpool in the Brythomar, it hunts ships and sends them to the Nine Hells. The Eastern Tammar, from where no ship has returned. The Center of the Vasmar."
Eric was accustomed to sailors' superstitions. Still, he wanted to know how such thick salt crystals could grow on the anchor of a ship in a fresh water sea. "So this captain sailed to the center of the Vasmar?"
The barkeep nodded. "He told me this story one night, when I took him the coin from the day's business. A storm raged that night, as if the hells themselves had escaped and ran through the sky. Captain Rankeillor had tipped the bottle early that night, and he was barely able to open the door when I knocked on it.
"'Man,' he said, 'never sail to sea. There are places we were not meant to go, and I went to one of them. The Vasmar is not a loving sea. It is a spiteful sea, and it has an appetite.'
"He then told me of the last time he put to sea. Storm clouds kept forcing his to sail southwest. His first mate warned him not to sail that direction, for it would take the ship through the Center of the Vasmar. Any man who sails to the Center of the Vasmar is forever changed, and never for the better."
Eric nodded, intrigued by the story.
"But the captain ignored his mate's advice. One morning, when Captain Rankeillor came up on deck, his ship was becalmed. There was no wind, and the ship was dead in the water. The crew were worried, for the storm clouds that had forced the Rising Wave to sail this route were gone. Not a cloud was in the sky. And what's more, the sea was green."
"Green?" Eric arched his eyebrows curiously.
"Aye. Fresh water is blue, but where his ship had stopped was green. The captain kept his crew busy for the entire day, but they did not move even a foot.
"It was that night when the Vasmar struck. The captain was awakened by a noise on the decks, and he ran out there to find one of his crew standing over the first mate. The ship's anchor had dropped, even though the sea was too deep for it to take. The first mate was dead, and he had been cut open like a carcass. The crewman was throwing the mate's guts overboard to feed them."
"Them who?"
"He never told me. Captain Rankeillor stopped the crewman by shoving him overboard, and he saw them drag the crewman under the sea to their city. When the winds came back, he sailed his ship directly to Londoun. He took the anchor and sold the ship, then bought this tavern and swore never to take to the sea again."
"That is quite the story," Eric allowed. "I have never heard of a city under the sea or of a danger in the middle of the Vasmar. Maybe I will have to find this place for myself some day."
"I would not, if I were you," the barkeep advised. "You will never find a crew who will take you there. Look on any map of the Vasmar. There is always a city drawn in the middle of it, a city of strange shapes. Sailors know, and they will not go there."
"Well, I thank you for the story. I need to bring my friend his ale." Eric grabbed the two mugs and took them back to the table.
Bilbus stopped talking to his two friends when Eric set the mugs down. The mountebank eyed the mugs suspiciously. "Which keg did he draw these from?"
Eric thought for a moment. "The left keg, I think."
Bilbus leaned back to look at the two kegs. He shook his head slowly and clucked. "Don't drink it, Slim. The left keg is bad. That's the one they reserve for new people."
"I am new people here, Bilbus," Eric retorted.
"I know. And, if you drink that ale, you will spend the evening in the privy." Bilbus pushed the mugs towards Eric. "Take these back to him and tell him Bilbus the Great says for him to give us fresh mugs drawn from the right keg."
Eric sighed as he picked up the two mugs. He carried them back to the bartender.
The barkeep looked at Eric. "What?"
Eric raised his right hand and wiggled his finger like Bilbus had demonstrated outside the tavern. "My friend, Bilbus the Great, and I would like fresh mugs, drawn from the right keg, please."
The man looked at Eric's wiggling finger. A half smile crossed his face as he took the two mugs. He laughed, then said, "I wouldn't kill you, and neither would the drinks. It would be bad for business." The barkeep put the mugs into a bin, then grabbed two new mugs and filled them.
Eric stopped wiggling his finger. "I don't understand."
"Of course not." The man winked conspiratorially. "That'll be a Noble."
Without thinking, Eric dropped another coin on the bar. He returned to the table with the foaming mugs.
Bilbus had stood up. He glanced at the two mugs. "We don't have time for those, Slim. Let's get a ship before it gets too late." He glanced back at his two fellow thieves. "Oh. Twitchy, Peg-Leg, I'm looking for someone. Goes by the name of 'Jerryn'. He's probably a mercenary, arrived from the Dales. He may have done some freelance work."
Twitchy bobbed his head rapidly. "Heoweyasomething,Bilbus? Thistheguywhotriedtotakeyouout? What'shelooklike?"
Bilbus tried to remember if Adria had ever described her trainer. The description he had was pretty sketchy, but he relayed it to Twitchy. "He doesn't owe me anything. I'm looking for him for a ... friend."
"Okay,Bilbus. We'llkeepourearsopenandletchaknowiftheguyshowsup."
Eric nodded to the two seated men. "Good to meet you two. Bilbus has interesting friends. I am sorry we did not get a chance to talk." He slid the mugs towards Twitchy and Peg-Leg. "Have these drinks on me. They're from the right keg." Eric winked to the two men.
Twitchy laughed hysterically as he grabbed the mug. "Bilbus! He'skillingme. ThisisthefunniestguyIthinkIevermet! Where'dyoufindhim,really? Huh? Huh?"
"You know I can't tell you, Twitchy." Bilbus leaned close to Twitchy and lowered his voice. "He's not Guild, and they may not like a pair of us freelancers working together in town, you know?"
Peg-Leg Pete clasped Bilbus's forearm. "Good travel, and watch your back, Bilbus."
"Why do you think I bring him along?" Bilbus jerked a thumb towards Eric. "Comic relief?"
Eric once more wiggled his index finger.
Twitchy laughed so convulsively that he fell out of his chair. "Youtwoarethefunniest! Ican'tbelievethis! Haveyouthoughtofdoingsomestreetacts?"
Bilbus shook his head and left, with Eric close behind.
Once outside, Eric removed Bilbus's cloak. "Honestly, Bilbus, what does this mean?" He flexed his index finger.
Bilbus glanced at the explorer. "It means 'Don't kill me'."
"Sure it does, Bilbus."
"Hey, you asked. Don't believe me if you don't want to." He turned down a larger street towards the docks.
The late afternoon breeze carried the stink of shore through the dock districts. Coupled with the smells of this part of town, it created a rank odor that almost had a life of its own. The cacophony of the birds overhead and the men and beasts working in the dock district competed with the stink in its own way, creating a foul noise that was entirely fitting. Bilbus led Eric along the broad, cluttered dock-side avenue, looking for promising ships.
Eric stopped and grabbed Bilbus's arm. "Do you see that ship?" He pointed at one of the countless ships on a dock several dozen paces away. "That is the Sea Ghost, right?"
Bilbus looked at the familiar hull. "So it is. You know, it would be cheaper using our own ship instead of hiring a ship for a month or two." He grinned. "Shall we talk to Brule?"
Eric nodded. "We should."
The two climbed the gangplank to the ship a few minutes later. A dark-haired man wearing the greatcoat that was popular among captains on the Vasmar blocked their way. He studied them with a practiced scowl before voicing, "Aye?"
Eric gestured to the man. "Good day, captain. We wish to take the Sea Ghost to Kieta, on the Nomad Steppes."
"I know where Kieta is. Who might ye be?"
Bilbus took the opportunity to answer. "We are the owners of this ship. I am Bilbus the Great."
"Ah. Brule mentioned you," the captain admitted. "Kieta, you say?"
"Yes," Bilbus answered. "Where is Brule?"
"Brule remembered why he hates sea travel. He left me to run the ship for him in his absence. I am Captain de Peltier."
Bilbus extended a hand. De Peltier took it. "Well met. As I said, I am Bilbus. This is Eric. Did Brule manage to sell the cargo on the ship? He owes us our share of it."
"He ran into trouble trying to sell it here. He did find someone to take the cargo, and he has the payment by now." He released Bilbus's hand. "How many of you are there going to Kieta?"
Bilbus made tallying gestures. "Less than twelve, plus one horse."
"A horse?" Eric blurted.
Bilbus glanced at Eric. "Do you think Farran will stay here?"
"You have a point," Eric acceded.
Captain de Peltier rubbed his beard. "My men will not take care of your horse. They have enough to do taking care of my ship. If you bring a horse, you will have to care for it, and supply its provisions."
Bilbus agreed. "That will not be a problem, Captain."
"Well, then," Captain de Peltier took a look at the sun. "When do you need to set sail? I need to call my men back from shore leave and provision the ship, and I want to make sure I have cargo that will sell in ports east, so the trip is not a complete loss."
Eric glanced at Bilbus, who shrugged. "How soon could we sail?" the explorer asked.
"Tomorrow morning is the earliest I can be ready. The tide will be high two hours after sunrise."
"Excellent," Eric said. "We will see you in the morning, about sunrise."
Bilbus and Eric walked back down the gangplank, heading towards Falagos Square.
Falagos Square was a large square surrounded by densely-packed buildings, most of which were three floors tall. Shops filled the ground floors, with flats on the floors above the ground level. The center of the square held a fountain and pool that still operated, even though it was centuries old. On the north end of the pool was a pedestal that had the feet of a statue of the man after whom the square was named. The statue had been destroyed decades ago by a combination of weather and vandalism. Throngs of people moved through the square, making way for the frequent horses and less-frequent wagons that used the major roads feeding into the square. This late in the afternoon, the square was emptying quickly as people hurried home for evening meals.
Bilbus led Eric towards the fountain, looking for any of their traveling companions who needed help finding Adria's flat. When he found no one familiar at the fountain, he instead veered down a narrow side street. Eric rushed to keep pace with the mountebank.
Bilbus wound his way from the narrow alley to a wider street surrounded on both sides by more ornate apartment buildings. The area was clearly a richer part of town. Down a narrower cross street Bilbus strode, ignoring the odd looks of the wealthy merchants and minor nobles who were the majority of the people on the street.
A small crate crashed to the street thirty paces ahead of Eric and Bilbus.
"Hey!" Bilbus shouted as he started jogging forward.
From a second-story window jutted the familiar golden tresses of Adria's head. She shook her head to get the strands out from in front of her face. She spotted the mountebank approaching and displayed a mocking smile. "Why, Bilbus! So kind of you to show up! I am cleaning my flat."
Bilbus pointed at the shattered wooden box. "That was my box!"
"Oh, was it?" she asked innocently.
She disappeared back into the flat for a moment. She returned to the window holding a bottle.
"No!" Bilbus shouted as he started running.
The people on the street scattered away from the open window as the bottle sailed over the cobblestones. Bilbus was too late to save it before it shattered on the stones.
"Adria! That was expensive wine!" Bilbus was furious.
She stuck her head out of the window again, this time pulling her hair back with one hand. "Was it? How about this one?" She tossed another bottle out.
Bilbus seriously considered trying to save the bottle for an instant before he came to his senses. He watched it instead smash into the cobblestones, sending shards of glass in every direction and leaving a deep red puddle to seep away quickly between the rocks. The mountebank shouted wordlessly.
Adria stared at him, anger on her face as well. "This may be a new idea for you, Bilbus, but this is my apartment, not one of your loot stashes."
Bilbus glanced around at the merchants on the street, all of whom were now staring worriedly at him. "Can we discuss this in private?"
"Discuss what, Bilbus? Anything I find in here that I like, I will keep. The rest will go on the street."
Bilbus pointed to the remains of the two bottles. "You threw out two bottles of Eiresudian wine!"
Adria shrugged. "I kept the rest. It is a little sweet for my tastes, though." She glanced back into her flat. "There is a bottle of Caledonian spirits in here. Rishala should like it." Bilbus whined in protest. "Stop whining, Bilbus. You must be used to losing things from time to time in your line of work."
Bilbus could feel the stares from the people around him. To assuage their fears, he said, "I run an import-export business. I got a few samples in of some wines I wanted to evaluate, but I didn't have room in my own flat for them." To Adria, he pleaded: "Can we discuss this inside?"
Adria smiled with a false sweetness. "Certainly, Bilbus. Come on up." She disappeared back into her flat.
The crowd began to disperse as Bilbus led Eric into Adria's apartment building and up the flight of stairs. The door to her flat was already open, and she stood waiting a couple of paces away from the door.
As soon as Bilbus was through the threshold, he started chastising her again. "I can not believe you threw out two bottles of Eiresudian wine!"
Adria crossed her arms. "What are you complaining about? You didn't pay for them in the first place."
"Yes I d..." Bilbus reflexively argued. He paused. "Maybe I didn't. But still, you threw them out! It was a good vintage!"
Before Adria replied, someone knocked at the door to the flat. Adria called out, "Lady Breanna, would you mind watching... entertaining the guests? We have a visitor at the door."
Adria walked past Bilbus and Eric, heading for the door, as Breanna rounded the corner of one of the other doorways. She wore a low-cut midnight-blue silk dress. Her auburn hair was elaborately coiffed behind her, leaving one curling lock to lie alone on her bare shoulder. Around her neck was deep blue silk choker that matched the dress, as well as an intricately-wrought silver necklace whose sapphire pendant dangled just above her bosom.
Bilbus realized that he was staring at Breanna, so he shook his head. "Ow! I think I bit my tongue."
Eric still stared. In a distracted voice, he said, "I bit my tongue, too."
"Bree can heal it." Bilbus stuck his tongue out. "Kiss it where it hurts?"
Breanna blushed, but she was not looking at Bilbus. Her eyes were fixed on Eric.
"What's this about kissing?" Rishala called from the doorway.
Bilbus tore his eyes from Breanna and turned around. Rishala stood by the entrance, his saddle bags slung over one shoulder.
"You remembered how to find her apartments. Good," Bilbus said.
"Aye. It was easy. I followed the shouting."
Bilbus snorted, then looked at Adria. She stood next to the door, arms crossed, studying Breanna approvingly. "Not bad," she muttered quietly.
Bilbus grinned. "I should have recognized that style of dress. It's not Bree's normal fashion, don't you think?"
Adria glanced dismissively at Bilbus, but kept her attention on Breanna and Eric.
Rishala watched Eric and Breanna talking, then turned back to Bilbus. "Where did you two go?"
Bilbus waved vaguely. "We went about. I took Eric with me to the Salty Anchor."
Adria's arms fell to her side. She and Rishala both said, "You took Eric to the Salty Anchor?!?"
Alone, Adria continued. She lowered her voice, but still spoke harshly. "Are you insane?" She turned to Eric. "You didn't mention sharks, did you, Eric?"
Eric turned around to face Adria. His face was dazed, but he managed to raise his hand up to wiggle a finger.
"How cute!" Adria exclaimed. "You taught Eric a new trick." She once more lowered her voice. "I can't believe you took Eric to the Salty Anchor."
"What?" Bilbus said defensively. "He's okay. Twitchy and Peg-Leg think he's great."
Adria glared at Bilbus, then grabbed Bilbus's forearm. She also grabbed Rishala by a sleeve. "Come along," she commanded as she dragged the two men to a sitting room, giving Breanna and Eric some privacy.
When Adria checked on the two nobles a short while later, they were still standing in the atrium, making smalltalk about the weather and the city of Londoun. They stood on opposite sides of the room, four paces apart. Adria sighed and returned to her two guests.
Sturm invited a number of his fellow Sun Knights to the Morning Bar. They were not really Sturm's friends, but he had never known anyone whom he considered a friend. The festering wound from the darkblade was getting increasingly worse, to the point that he was aware of it when he was at rest. As much as he wanted to deny Rishala's diagnosis, the Sun Knight finally admitted that the wound was getting worse. He hoped that spending an evening with fellow knights carousing in a tavern would help keep his mind from dwelling on the wound.
A week ago, the wound was an annoying cut that was little worse than any number of nicks Sturm had received during full-contact sparring. But this wound never closed, and it seeped a little, forcing Sturm to change bandaging frequently. Worse yet, the wound looked worse than it did a week ago. It was just a little deeper, and a little redder, but the change was far too easy for Sturm to see.
Sturm drained his third mug of stout ale, then turned to his fellow Sun Knights. Two of them arm-wrestled over a table in the center of the room. One of the knights flinched, and a corner of the table broke as the other knight slammed the first's fist into the table. The other knights cheered wildly.
The bartender opened his mouth to protest the abuse of his furniture. Sturm dropped a handful of coin on the bar. "I'll cover the damages, keeper. Just keep the taps flowing."
The barkeep filled Sturm's mug, then the Sun Knight joined his companions at their tables.
Back to the previous chapter: Rescues
Continue to the next chapter: Detours
Back to the Book I Index.
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Second Draft 26 April 2002
Original Draft 27 December 2000
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