“Don't you like it under here?” Yneris asked. At a puzzled look from Zya she continued. “A fear of confined spaces, especially the underground, and you would definitely have that in such a place as this, even if it is wide open.”
“I have never gotten used to this city.” Zya admitted.
“Ah don't worry lass, it all takes time,” Darrow reassured her. “We will get you out of here and back to the city if that is what you wish.”
Zya caught Lorn's eye, and she could see from his face that he shared her sentiment. She turned to face Yneris and her husband. “I know our paths will cross again, sooner than we may think perhaps, but for now, I would ask that you grant us the freedom to find the answers that we still seek.”
Tarim and Lorn agreed with nodding heads. “When the time comes, we will do for you what we can.” Tarim said with a handshake to the pirate.
“I will ask my father, if I can get word to him.” Lorn promised. “But you know him well, and the tribe is his main concern.”
“That is all we ask of you, lad,” Darrow replied. “The Gods willing we are wrong, and overcautious. Something is not right here.”
“If I may suggest something.” Interjected Yneris. “I feel that it might be useful to pool information from time to time. We know this city better than anybody, and you seem to be dragging incident after incident wherever you go. It might help us.”
“That it might,” affirmed Tarim. “We would want to know about that guild at the very least, and how we could get somebody inside.”
“Leave that to us,” Darrow replied. “There are many ways to gut a fish, as they say over the water. We will find out if there is indeed a problem. It may turn out that we need nobody's help at all.”
“And where would that leave us?” Lorn asked.
Darrow boomed a laugh out loud. “Lad, I really need to speak to your father, get him to tell you a few things. I owe your family more than a dozen lifetimes could repay. This is the least that I could do, isn't it my lovely?” With that he looked at his wife, who just smiled. Zya just could not accept that she was the captain and he the first mate.
They left the pirate couple to their business, finding themselves escorted back to the surface by the same man that had guided Tarim and Lorn already. They skirted through the house, and the warren of narrow streets that guarded it. This was all new to Zya, who felt unease at walking so fast so quickly after her enforced slumber. They eventually ended back up in the bakers, and from the view onto the street Zya recalled exactly where she was, and shuddered at the thought of the alleyway and what it led to. There were tables and chairs in the bakery, despite its lack of room, and some of these were free. “Will you take a hot cup of something with us?” Tarim asked of their escort.
“Ahm, sorry pal, but I cannae stop fer pleasantries.” The man replied with a grin that was more toothless than anything else. “Ahv got work tae do. But iffn ye come back to the boss, I'll be here tae guide ya's.” And with a brief shake of hands the man disappeared out the back of the bakery.
“The strangest accent.” Lorn observed as he sat down with cakes and the hot bitter drink preferred by the city folk. “I just can't place it.”
“It's Qua'Cliran.” Tarim replied.
“You have been there?”
Tarim sipped at his drink, giving nothing away. This was one of those times when Zya saw her father at his most evasive. “Let's just say that I have known a few of the islanders in my time, and leave it at that.” He clearly did not want to be probed any more on the subject, and Lorn was too honourable to pursue the matter.
Zya had her own questions. “Try this one then, father. How long was I asleep for?”
“Ten long days, my daughter.” Tarim replied, his dark eyes piercing hers, as if to search for answers in the hidden depths of her mind. “I hope that it will not always be like this.”
Zya shrugged, considering the time well worth it if it would give them any sort of an advantage, even if she could not yet see the path. “No, I do not think that it will ever last that long again. The worst is over.”
“Is that what they told you during your teaching?” Lorn popped the question suddenly.
“I could not answer that question Lorn, as you well know. You will not get an answer out of me with clever timing.” She looked at him, a challenge in her eyes. He would accept that challenge without a doubt. There were interesting times ahead. Biting into her cake, she was pleasantly surprised to find honey dripping out amongst the sesame seeds that were contained therein. “Oh my favourite, thank you both.”
Tarim smiled, the first unforced smile of pure pleasure she had seen from him since her awakening. It was a reassurance to say the least.
“We had them made for you. We have had cause to be in and out of this bakery a fair bit of late, and we have come to know the baker.” At the word 'baker', a huge man turned around from behind a counter. It was the same man that had bellowed at them when they blocked the street. He gave a grin and a wave to Tarim and Lorn and continued about his business. “He has certain ah… 'enterprises' that are common with our pirate friend shall we say.” Her father looked around in case anybody was listening, but they were alone as they could be in a crowded shop. People minded their own business when in this place.
“Right. Tell me what we are going to do about Venla and the others.” Zya's tone of voice changed and her face took on a serious mien.
“I don't know too much, except that they are nearby.”
“Nearby where? A league? A hundred?”
“To the south of the river, maybe ten or twenty leagues. They have been spotted by tribal trackers.”
“Are they safe?”
“They are moving in funny directions, as if they are looking for something. That is all I know. Do you want to go to them?”
“No, I think not. The time is not right. At least they are near should we need to find them. That is a comfort.”
They finished up, and after quickly thanking the baker, and accepting a basket full of the cakes, which incidentally had begun a new craze in that part of the city, they made their way very indirectly back to the tribal quarter of the city.
“Will your father help Darrow?” Zya asked of Lorn as they passed down a boulevard that was far too sparsely populated for anyone to overhear them.
“It is hard to say,” he admitted, “since I do not have the slightest clue as to why he would suddenly want members of a nomadic tribe that spends their life in a climate ten times as cold as this to up roots and aid merchant wagons. It may be that there is a hidden message in there somewhere, and if so, that is between him and my father. He has done enough to convince me that he is genuine, and he knows things about the tribal chief that only the closest of friends could have known.”
“The problem seems to stem from that mercenary guild.” Tarim mused as he walked. “If what you say about O'Bellah is correct, and he has had dealings with mercenaries, this could spell trouble.”
Zya snorted and shook her head, hair flying out behind her in the breeze. “All this trouble from a man that we have never met.”
“And do not ever want to meet, judging by your reactions,” Lorn observed.
“Well that is just wishful thinking,” she replied, her voice full of disdain, unwilling to admit to them that she was sure a meeting was in the offing. “Our paths have almost crossed too many times already.”
“Do not worry yourself needlessly, Zya.” Said her father from in front. “If it is meant to be then it will happen.”
“It is the nature of such a meeting that worries me, father.” She admitted. “Would we rather come upon such a man in the middle of a city, or in the wilds, where we could not escape him?”
“I think that the wilds would be an easier place for us to escape, unless he has my level of tracker's knowledge,” Lorn replied.
“It won't help.” Zya said ruefully. “Either he is a magician, or he has access to one for I can feel his passing in the very rock b
eneath our feet.”
“The stories never told of any wise woman feeling the travelling of any one person before.” Lorn said this after a pause, showing he had been giving it careful consideration.
“Maybe you just never heard the right stories,” Zya replied, knowing that he was fishing for information. She had been taught that the wise women held themselves apart from the tribe more or less, but only now was she realising just how different first hand access to such a person, albeit a novice was for Lorn. “Look I will tell you this. Tribal seers dream to see their way. None have ever seen what I see. That is why I think there is more to be learned. That much is safe to say because it has never happened before.”
Lorn stopped in his tracks. The street loomed around them, closing in towards one end as the boulevard narrowed to a point where the houses crowded together once again. Tarim walked on, and then realising that there was nobody beside him, also stopped and turned around. “What is it?”
“We must be very careful in guiding your daughter, Tarim,” Lorn said quietly. “She may be more than just a novice seer.”
“What do you mean?” Zya asked, curious, and not a little afraid by Lorn's ominous tones.
“We heard a story once of a seer who could do more than just dream. She was the one that led a portion of the tribe to their doom inside the boundary that marks the edge of the Raessan enchantment. They were all lost, because they believed in her dreams.”
“You seem to have heard a lot of stories. Hang on a second,” Zya argued, “how do you know that I am anything like that? What does this all have to do with me?”
Lorn walked to the side of the street, away from any passers-by. Zya and her father followed closely. “She claimed to have followed the path of somebody she could sense. A man that had been plaguing our tribe, trying to remove any that claimed a magic of sorts. The man they long ago called the Witch Finder. He lived in Raessa, and claimed every man and woman that was caught in his trap. Some say that he feasts upon their powers, and not just a parent warning off a naughty child. It was the very reason that I caught you before you strayed too far beyond the boundary. It is the same reason that I counsel you now. Do not follow the trails of this O'Bellah too closely, Zya. It is perilous.”
Zya smiled with confidence born of one who was beginning to understand her fate. “Well I will try to stay away from his snares if at all possible. I value my freedom too much. But it seems that him and those like him are everywhere.”
“Vigilance never hurt anyone,” Tarim offered in the way of advice. “Now I think a vigilant person would want to get out of the public eye with such a conversation. Even in the shadows voices can be heard.” Zya and Lorn both realised that he was right, and not a word more was said. They returned to the tribal quarter, and once they were within the area, a calm settled over all of them. It was the feeling that spread throughout the nomads of the north, and was indescribable. “Much more like home.” Lorn stated in approval of their surroundings.
“You miss it, don't you?” Zya saw the feeling behind his eyes.
“It is enough to know that my own kind are around. I have nothing against the city folk of Bay's Point, nothing against any man for that matter, but since living in the city, the feeling of the tribal quarter is what keeps many of us from bolting for the gates every single day.”
“We all need that sense of security, son.” Tarim was speaking to all of them. “It is because you know that we can trust every single tribesman around us.”
Of course the tribal quarter was not exclusive, and many other merchants and peddlers hawked their wares here as much as anywhere, but here the population was concentrated more towards the tribes, many of them coming and going through the gates that while not as imposing as the Southern gates, were still an ominous prospect for an assaulting enemy. They made their way through the side streets rather than the middle of this part of town now, for they wanted to attract as little attention as possible. The usual sneak thieves and pickpockets did not tend to hang around in the tribal quarter, so it was generally considered safe to wander in the gloom of the dank streets with their rubbish and dirt paths. Eventually they had no choice but to brave the wider streets of town, as they began to run out of shadows to hide in. The three of them emerged onto the main street to the North gate from the East, and made their way towards the carpentry, passing taverns and armourers, both of whose owners were known to them, and shouted greetings that were heard dimly amongst the noise of the general populace, and responded to in kind. The blood was different, but the habits of the people were the same. Bay's Point was a good-natured place for the most part.
Zya stopped, and turned to Lorn. “So what are you holding back from me?”
“Excuse me?”
“When you mentioned our companions, you did not tell all.”
Lorn looked slightly offended. “I am no liar.”
“I did not say you were, but nonetheless, you held back something. Lorn, you couldn't fool me before, and you certainly can't now. What is it?”
Lorn took a couple of slow breaths before continuing. “They said that some of them had been taken to a camp, that they had been captured by mercenaries.”
“Do they know who?”
“A couple of women and a man were all that they said. There were others that joined them not long after. That is as detailed as it gets.”
“Women…” Zya mused aloud. “There were only Venla, Anita and Ramaji. Mavra is too young. As for the men it could be any one of them but I would guess not Cahal or Jaden.”
“They would go down fighting rather than be captured alive.” Tarim agreed.
“Not if ordered by Venla.” Zya countered.
“Perhaps. Remember they are only paid mercenaries themselves.”
“No they stopped being that a long time ago. The question is what are we going to do about them?”
“Well what would you have us do?” Lorn asked. “We are here at your behest. Will leaving here mean that you will miss out on whatever you came here to find out?”
Zya thought about it. “Nothing tells me that I shouldn't. I have no feeling against it.”
“So should the three of us just up sticks and head out again?”
“That wouldn't be wise,” Tarim cautioned. “Let me look into the state of things before we move. Lorn, you find out anything else you can.”
It did not take long for them to reach the carpentry, and as they did so, the scribe from the next shop but one hailed Tarim, and approached him.
“How goes it with you, friend?” Tarim asked with a bow.
“It goes well, good carpenter,” he replied amiably, the brown robes of his trade folding out with the exertion of the stranger's own bow. He stood, and held his hands in front of him, the fingers interlocked. “I happened to be walking by when I saw a man sneak into your carpentry around the back entrance. I just thought that you should know.”
“This man, was he armed?” Asked Lorn, already suspicious at what had happened to them in the city.”
The scribe looked skyward as he recalled the person. “Not that I could recall. He was slight of build, with dark robes, but nothing obvious. Is he known to you?”
“We will see when we get in there,” he answered ambiguously. “But my thanks for the warning.”
“My pleasure neighbour.” The scribe hurried off, with the huddled gait of somebody perpetually in a rush to be about places.
“I don't know why the scribe would be interested in our goings on, but I see no problem in answering such as him.” He said by way of explanation. Tarim leaned close to the door, listening for any obvious signs of noise within. Hearing nothing, he opened the door almost silently, while Zya and Lorn looked on. Without knowing it, Zya had her dagger in her hand, and Lorn had also drawn a knife. With a flash, Tarim swung the door open, lunged in, and in one swift movement had reached and unsheathed his sword, bringing it to bear against whoever their mystery opponent might be. Zya jumped in next, and Lorn followed, clo
sing the door behind them and bolting it. Zya felt stronger waves as soon as she entered. She closed her eyes, rubbing at her forehead. Something seemed to be pressing at her, but what was causing it was unclear.
“What is it?” Lorn asked, obviously aware that something was affecting her.
“I don't know,” she replied, unable to look up. “It is as if the feeling I had outside the mercenary guild has returned, but it has none of the ill-feeling that stank of O'Bellah.”
“It is as if something speaks to you, is it not,” said a light and yet gravelly voice from a shadow in the corner of the room.
“Yes, that is exactly it,” Zya replied without thinking.
In an instant, so much happened. Tarim and Lorn both whistled their blades towards the voice, light flared into the room, and Zya let out a scream as the pressure in her head bordered on pain. Something tested her. As the shutters flew open, a man was revealed from the shadows. He was not a big man. His eyes were no higher than Zya's shoulder. He was balding, and had the wisps of hair that were left brushed forwards and sideways to hide the shiny reflection of light from his skin. He was attired in the dark clothes the scribe had described, making his pale skin ghostly in comparison. He looked up at them, and the one thing that struck all three simultaneously was the fact that he looked straight at them with one eye, and the other looked off to one side.
The Path of Dreams (The Tome of Law Book 2) Page 20