The Mark of Gold

by A. S. Etaski

  I glanced away. “Your teeth are mundane. Eyes are brown and white. You should not frighten anyone.”

  Gavin nodded acceptance.

  “Any preference?” Mourn asked me then.

  “Not the youngest of all aboard,” I answered firmly. “Not ugly, but not too pretty. No copper-red hair.”

  The mercenary smiled with amusement—he knew exactly what I meant—and agreed. “Male or female?”

  I squinted in thought. “Do women sail?”

  “They do. Not as many, and not every Human vessel welcomes them. Some groups of men consider them too weak, or distractions, or just ‘bad luck’ and ban them from working their ship, though they may accept female passengers with coin. But this one has three women as sailors, another five as traveling traders.”

  “Three of how many?”

  “Twenty-eight.”

  “Only three?”

  “It is worth noting they are not pretending to be men, as some do on other ships. The men will accommodate them aboard this ship. I selected this one so you may appear the same if you prefer to remain female.”

  I blinked at him, taking some time to sort that out in my head. Humans were complicated, and the half-blood had been walking unseen among them, studying them for a long time. I was fortunate he could distill and guide me in this way. I had already stumbled and broken into one town. Despite being so small, it had been as threatening as Sivaraus.

  “Are you suggesting, as the innkeeper did, that I would not move like a man if I wore his face?”

  Mourn’s tail moved in that precursor to a carefully chosen answer which was becoming familiar. “Correct, but it is less a masculine way of moving and more Elven, but Yungar would not know how to interpret this except to wonder if you are pretending to be a man.”

  “Hm. Very well. A woman, not too pretty or too young. No copper hair. In fact, make it brown like Gavin’s.”

  “Done.”

  He used the same words again in his spell, and in the span of a deep breath, I beheld rougher, pale hands which pulled a light brown braid forward. Strange. I wore a shirt and pants under my cloak; thank Goddess he did not change it to one of those “skirts” worn by the women in Troshin Bend. The appearance was not of leather but a rough-woven, grey-brown cloth. My weapons and pouches remained where I could feel them, but they were masked in the illusion to not appear at all except for one sheathed dagger.

  Gavin approved. “Good. The same blue eyes, I would know you, but with rounded ears and this face, you should not draw the eye of those collecting beautiful women.”

  Those collecting…?

  Mourn beckoned, turning toward the faintly lightening shore. “Dawn comes soon. We should be on board before sunrise.”

  The dirt roads leading into the small city grew wider and chunkier as a greater number of shelters surrounded us. I guessed this was from more animals landing their dung upon it plus regular churning of the mud by many feet whenever it rained. This close to the water, I imagined it must rain readily. With some grim amusement, I noted damage caused by a recent storm and imagined it was the same one which had driven us quickly into Brom’s Inn.

  I was less amused that the clouds covered the stars as the dawn arrived as a dark grey. Please, no storms while I’m on the boat.

  Some early-working townspeople noted us walking by but quickly lost interest. We had enough stores on Nightmare not to have to barter, so Mourn simply led us to the subtly leaning docks and its array of smells. While the environment had similarity to the underground lakes large enough to ferry small boats, there was greater variety and complexity in what grew or lived there.

  As with everything on the Surface.

  I was sniffing the air, detecting both fresh and rotting at once, considering these Human-built wooden planks beneath my feet. They hovered over the water but would likely remain in place for only a few decades. Perhaps Humans were used to rebuilding things frequently or never noticed doing so with their short lives.

  We stopped by a boat with a lantern lit; it was too small to carry the three of us and Gavin’s horse. There was also a man wearing thick, dark clothing, preparing things.

  “This is Parey,” Mourn said in his Noiri disguise; his polite, smiling voice wasn’t as low as normal. “He will take us out to the Trickster of Isles.”

  “Mornin’,” the man said neutrally, better securing his warm, clinging hat before shifting a bulky bag to one side, rocking his boat. He was dressed in old layers of clothing and smelled of sweat, salt, and oil.

  “Trickster…?” I began.

  “The ship’s name.”

  Of course, it has a name…

  “Trickster?”

  “Nearly ran tah rocks thrice, milady,” said Parey in the boat. “She’s a lucky one to be on passin’ through in the archipelago.”

  “Good crew,” Mourn added with a smile. “Light and swift design.”

  The sailor shrugged.

  “How will we get the horse onto the vessel?” I asked, deciding not to share her name.

  “We remove her pack and saddle.” Our guide indicated a ramp leading down into the water farther along the pier. “She can swim out alongside the boat, and the crew can use ropes and a harness to lift her up. Common enough.”

  “Huh.”

  I exchanged a look with Gavin. A good thing he had spent all this time grooming her to look alive.

  Nonetheless, Parey squinted at her behind us. “Calm one. Heard th’ hooves behind me but fergot she was there.”

  “Well trained,” Mourn assured him. “Are we ready?”

  “Aye. Climb aboard, milady. We’ll catch yer man at the end of the ramp with the horse.”

  Gavin turned his head away, probably to roll his eyes without being observed, before stepping to Nightmare and removing her present burdens. I accepted those holding the food before turning to climb down the ladder into the boat.

  “Here, hand ‘em to me,” Parey said, holding out his hands.

  “I am balanced,” I insisted, my boots finding the sturdy rungs. “These are mine.”

  The sailor dropped his arms and stepped away. “As you like. Just saying… odd yer manservant made you work an’ you said nothing.”

  I stood on the boat, feeling it weave side-to-side as we adjusted to my presence. Gavin did not protest this incorrect assumption, but his back was as tense as any time he was around other Humans.

  “He is not my manservant,” I said, carefully resting my food supply where it wouldn’t get wet.

  “Ah.” A pause. “Husband, then?”

  Gavin made a noise. I tried not to laugh.

  “Why does it matter?” I asked, deflecting his prodding.

  Parey looked at Mourn, who shrugged, offering no guidance. The bearded man licked his lips nervously. “Manalari women don’t travel alone. Your brother?”

  I sighed. “Yes. My brother.”

  The man’s curiosity wasn’t sated. “Is he mute? He ain’t said a thing, you do all the talking.”

  “Your questions annoy me, marine descito,” Gavin said, having loosened Nightmare’s saddle. Mourn offered to take it; he accepted. “Mind your business.”

  Parey blinked, at least confirming we had the same accent and that the death mage had ears. “Er, ‘pologies, sir.”

  Mourn joined me in the boat with the heaviest of the tackle, and Gavin led his horse by the reins toward the ramp while Parey unmoored his boat. The boatman settled down with one oar while the Dragonblood in disguise took the second without remark. They pushed off, and I quickly sat down, gripping the wooden bench.

  At the end of the ramp, Gavin climbed in last, retaining hold of his horse’s lead, and she willingly entered the chilly water and began swimming behind us. I watched Mourn while trying not to smirk. In this form he deliberately held his strength in check, to match the stroke of the Human man.

  We’d be going in circles, otherwise.

  Parey grunted
as he pulled at the oars, “Horse jus’ followin’ ‘long in dark water withou’ even a snort.”

  “So?” Gavin asked, annoyed from the sound of it.

  “Horses with water legs are rare. Don’ sell ‘er cheap.”

  The mage grunted. “I will not.”

  We made steady progress toward the ship, and other sailors were ready to lower down the canvas and pulley for Mourn to wrap beneath the horse’s belly in the water.

  “Come on up,” someone above us called, throwing a rope ladder over the side. “In case the horse kicks, don’ want tah be ‘neath!”

  Nightmare wouldn’t kick unless Gavin told her to; we both knew that.

  “Make her kick,” I whispered near his ear as I stood up to balance the saddle packs over my shoulders.

  A brief nod, and I began climbing first while the males held the boat steady, scaling the rope ladder with considerable ease. I probably should have slowed down when one of the sailors was taken aback seeing me peeking above the ship’s railing.

  “Ah! Oh, here, milady, let me help you.”

  He reached for the food packs.

  “No!” I barked, and the scruffy man withdrew in a second surprise. “Let me be. I can do this.”

  Like Parey, the man backed up to make room, helping instead to get the horse on board as the sky had overtaken the paltry light of two hanging lanterns. A few grunts of effort, a word of warning when I saw Gavin gesture, and the horse simultaneously kicked and snorted in a believably frightened manner, but otherwise it was smooth and successful. Mourn was the last to join us aboard a moment later.

  “Thank you, men.” The mercenary passed a pouch of coin to one in a thick, dark blue coat.

  “Welcome aboard the Trickster of Isles,” he responded, accepting. “I’m Kelli Tremain, the Captain. You are the last passengers, so just waiting on one boat of supplies. We’ll set sail soon as they reboard.”

  Human Mourn nodded. “We will wait in the hold with the mare.”

  “The lady, even?”

  “We’d accept spare blankets if you have them.”

  “Sure thing. We’ll call when the cook has the stew.”

  Gavin was hunched over again, disguising his usual height around these non-Ma’ab Humans, and seemed shorter than Mourn’s Noiri form at first glance. Curious eyes were on me rather than him; they tended to look at him next if they looked at all. We said nothing and were guided to the ramp that would get the horse down below.

  The ship assailed me with scents of close-working Humans, of dank wood combined with something like burned sap, of old fish, urine, and vomit. It was far more pungent than Brom’s Inn, but no worse than the dungeon below the Palace in Sivaraus. Better than a greasy-bearded Dwarf with his trousers down, pressing me to the stone and breathing in my face.

  Fuck.

  I grimaced at the unbidden memory jog, wondering how long it might be before my nose became inured. As the large ship swayed and groaned upon the lake, as my legs constantly fought its tilt, I knew I would have preferred the fresher effort of traveling in the mountainous forests on solid ground.

  I reminded myself that this was the fastest way to reach Augran, the fastest way South, with many potential eyes and ears who might have seen or heard of Jael. I had to secure a deal with the half-blood, of course. Somehow.

  It’s impossible to walk away.

  We settled down in the hold to wait for the anchor being pulled up, listening to the men’s thumping footsteps above us and to the ever-creaking wood. A low, constant shush of sound on the other side confirmed I must be below the level of the water. I could only hope that the workmanship of the Human builders was competent, and the vessel would hold up in rougher waters.

  If not, I am sprinting topside at the first sign of a leak.

  Mourn was watching; I must have seemed as tense imagining the deep waters outside as Gavin was around other males. He rumbled softly before speaking privately. “In the event of a storm, staying below the top deck would be safest for you.”

  I gave him a skeptical look, my eyes squinting.

  “You can be easily thrown overboard by a wave of water or sharp tilt,” he said. “The sailors know how to secure themselves.”

  “What if the wall leaks?” I asked, pointing at it. “Or breaks wide open?”

  Mourn looked. “If it does, the situation is dire. Leaks, we can do something about. If a breach, I could not save the horse, but I would aid you and the Deathwalker.”

  “How?”

  “It depends on what is happening, and speculation would not help right now. I have experience with sinking boats and storms on the Great Lake, but you would have to choose to follow my direction under pressure. I cannot make you do this, Red Sister, but know I am not trying to kill you or watch you drown, and I have agreed to help Gavin reach Augran.”

  I could appreciate his plain-speak. He was like Elder Rausery, leaving it open that I could follow those with greater experience or not, even to my detriment. Cris-ri-phon would have said he knew what was best and would protect me no matter what, as every pregnant Davrin needed it for some reason. Mourn didn’t mention it either way.

  “Will the sailors get too curious?” Gavin asked, looking behind him at the three empty stalls filled with cargo, the fourth containing Nightmare.

  “I have requested privacy as part of the bargain with Captain Tremain, though there is another exit to the deck at the far end.”

  The death mage grunted. “Good to know.”

  “I saw your escape from the second floor of the inn,” Mourn said, “so I know why you ask, but try not to overreact. I have used this ship for passage into Augran before. Crews change but the Captain is the same. He is discreet.”

  Gavin grunted. “And where will we be let off?”

  “The Trickster’s route will see us leave the Great Lake and sail inland by river, through the city, to Yong-wen. We will disembark there.”

  “Yong-wen?”

  “Yes. The Yungian enclave.”

  Mourn looked at our faces and seemed to realize we didn’t know anything about the city. “Apologies. Let me begin again. Augran is the largest Human settlement I am familiar with, larger than Manalar, Yong-ch’hai, and even Ennikar, for it has four quadrants, each a city unto itself, but they have grown enough to merge.”

  I was about to ask for details when Gavin interjected skeptically, “Are you ‘familiar’ with Ennikar?”

  Mourn shook his head firmly. “No. I am familiar with Manalar and Yong-ch’hai. I have run the perimeter of Ennikar without getting caught. I have also visited Yung-An and their cities on the Sea of Fish, and Noiri Dargevold along the Dragon Coast.”

  Dragon Coast. He must enjoy that.

  “Are there a lot of Dragons along the ‘Dragon’ Coast?” I asked.

  Mourn smiled. “No. Just a lot of stone.”

  Hmph.

  Abruptly, the shouting and thumping boots above us heightened, and I tensed as several loud noises I couldn’t identify captured all my attention.

  “We are setting sail,” Mourn told me.

  Just as the boat tilted and groaned, I grabbed on to a crate and asked for distraction. “What about Taiding? Have you been there?”

  “I am familiar with the Dwarven city. With all the big cities on the Lake’s shore.”

  “Have you been everywhere?” the Deathwalker asked.

  The Dragonchild’s Human smile seemed genuine rather than threatening, like he was pleased to answer. “No, but I have kept myself busy the last three centuries. I have yet to reach the cities of the Southwest, Break Water and Salton Deep, but Ahj-Zayr on the South Sea has been relevant to travel to recently.”

  I watched Gavin’s face as he removed his grimoire and blue-light knucklebone, opening the book to turn a few pages like he was checking something. I had to take it on his superior knowledge of the Surface world that this covered immense distance and yet still didn’t cover the land as an
yone knew it.

  As water shushed outside and the ship drifted and settled down, I tried to picture this Surface if I had a larger map made by Shyntre. One place was missing. The Sorcerer said it was to the Southeast.

  “What of the Red Desert?”

  Mourn’s smile faded. “I have seen it briefly. There are no cities of appreciable size.”

  I squinted. “You like ‘cities.’”

  “I do. I am drawn to them.”

  “Why? You’re curious?”

  “There is that.” Mourn shrugged. “I can spend time alone out in the wilderness as needed, but I always feel the urge to locate and explore a settlement. I have no cause to resist it.”

  Not with his illusion ability, no. I smirked. “Not a Druid, then.”

  “Absolutely not,” he agreed. “It is difficult to drag a Druid into a place the size of Augran.”

  I bit my tongue rather than draw the obvious comparison between him and Tamuril’s mysterious sister. “And Augran is essentially four cities in one, you said?”

  “Yes.” He extended his fingers one at a time. “Alran, Bor, Niss, and Yong-wen.”

  We both noticed Gavin making a quick cross shape in his book and taking notes. I leaned to watch him draw the square; Mourn waited until Gavin paused and looked up before continuing.

  “Alran is the Northeast quadrant, most heavily used by the Dwarves and Noiri Humans. To be expected, as it rests on their side of the Great Lake, North and East.”

  Gavin’s quill scratched across the page.

  “Niss is the opposite side of the shore, Northwest, and heavily Paxian. Recent escapees, exiles, or the excommunicated from Manalar are showing up there. This part of Augran is changing quickly right now.”

  “Hmm,” the scholar grunted without looking up.

  “Bor is Southeast and tends to be a mix of older traditions of Paxian and Noiri and some Dwarven.” Mourn paused. “At times, Kurgan also come off the Steppes from that direction.”

  Gavin’s quill stopped, and I looked at Mourn.

  “What?” he asked.