by Red Culver
The caravan lay along a short quay near the city wall, where a massive iron gate, red with rust, allowed the river to flow through but blocked boat passage. About a dozen modestly-sized rowboats, three catamarans, and one large houseboat bobbed in the gentle waters of the river. Each one was decorated with awnings, flags, and banners in a riot of colors. A mix of masska sailors and dockmen of various other races worked together, loading and unloading. Cerissa stopped the first masska we passed.
"Good winds, friend," she said. "We're looking for the don of this dowt."
"Calm seas," replied the masska. Unlike Bell, the tawny cat-man had a thick accent like a Russian in a spy movie, and I had to focus to understand him. "You want White Lantern. On the barge."
Cerissa nodded her thanks and led us to the houseboat, which occupied a prime space at the center of the quay. Looking again, I could see how the various other boats seemed to cluster around the barge, which formed the center of gravity of the little riverborne community. The ship was basically flat, with a large cabin sitting in the middle, taking up most of the deck space.
Two tall, male masska stood eyeing us from the deck. They were both mostly black, but one had a white mark that ran up his nose and split into a Y shape across his forehead. They both held long boathooks, though it was clear from their attitude that they could use the things as weapons if needed. Cerissa stepped boldly onto the deck and we followed.
"We've come to make a deal with Don White Lantern," she said to the guards. "We have money and skills to trade." The tall masska shared a look, then stepped aside. As we passed, the one with the white mark watched Bell keenly. She kept her eyes on the deck.
We passed through a heavy canvas curtain into the cabin. It was dim inside, lit only by a few slatted windows, and it smelled of incense. A few giggling masska children— kittens?— rolled on the floor, play-fighting. We moved gingerly around them and approached a large bed, where an ancient masska lay.
He had been white once, but had yellowed with age, especially around his eyes, where his fur had gone almost orange. The eyes themselves were pale and bleary. The masska yawned, and I saw that he was missing more than a few teeth.
"Don White Lantern?" said Cerissa. "We've come to deal."
The don's pale eyes flickered over me, lingered on Bell, and finally landed on Cerissa, who didn't flinch. The cat-man sat up, propping himself on a low stack of pillows.
"What have you?" he asked in the same heavy accent as the masska who'd given us directions.
"We have some money, and skills," said Cerissa.
"And you want...?" asked the Don.
"We request passage down the river for our friend, Bell. Safely delivered to Seaspahn." Cerissa took a breath. "And we request that you treat her as a member of your dowt, as far as any non-masska are concerned."
The don laughed, a sort of rough wheeze. "Non-masska... includes guard, customs inspector, tax-man, yes?"
"Especially those," said Cerissa.
The don's lips pulled back, exposing what pointy teeth remained. I wasn't sure if it was a smile or not, but based on my experience with Bell, I didn't think so.
"You ask me to betray dowt. No." He shook his yellowed head. "Is not done."
"We can pay," said Cerissa, but the don shook his head again.
"Coin is not worth like honor," he said. "Go now."
"Let me speak plainly, Don," said Cerissa, putting her hands on her hips. "I know this caravan has been in the city for weeks. No dowt would stay in one place so long without cause. Anyone can see how empty your boats are. You've sold all your goods. You have no reason to linger. In fact, you're bleeding money sitting here paying dock fees day after day.
"Now, my friends and I are problem-solvers. No questions asked, no moral judgments. Surely there's something we could do for you, which you can't or won't do yourself? In return, all we ask is safe passage for our friend. You don't have to welcome her into the dowt. I don't care if you're nice to her. Just get her to Seaspahn and we'll be even."
The don's toothy grimace increased, and I heard a low growl deep in his throat. I tensed, wondering whether to reach for my sword and dagger. Then White Lantern waved his hand as if brushing away Cerissa's insulting words like flies.
"You are observant one, elf," he said softly. "Yes, we wait. One of ours is missing. I say we wait, but my sons say no, no, we must go. Finally, I must listen. We leave tomorrow. If you find missing one before tomorrow, you come."
"You have a deal," said Cerissa.
"One more word," said White Lantern. "This business of taking in a masska outside my dowt. I do not like. Masska without dowt is without honor. I do not trust. So. You, elf, and you, human." He turned his pale eyes to me. "You will come also. Call this... insurance."
We pushed our way through the canvas curtain and out into the bright sun. Bell had been uncharacteristically silent through all this, and she remained so as we headed for the quay. Armed with only the missing masska's name and description— Axehead, a black-and-white male— we had the entire city to search in a night.
"Wait," said a voice behind us. I turned to see the tall masska with the white Y on his face. He came close and leaned down to speak quietly. "Don White Lantern asked you to find Axehead, yes?"
"That's right," said Cerissa, looking up at the cat-man's slanting green eyes.
"I am Zephyr. Axehead is my brother. I tell you, do not bother."
"And why not?" asked Cerissa.
"Axehead is not missing," said Zephyr. "He has made a new home at the Two-Legged Mermaid."
"The brothel?" I said, and the masska nodded.
"He prefers drink and women to the hard work of the river and sea." Zephyr shrugged. "I do not approve, but I understand. I have tried to talk sense into him, but he will not listen. I am sure you will have no better luck."
"I don't plan on talking to him," said Cerissa.
As a city bell tolled midnight, I found myself clinging to a window of the Two-Legged Mermaid twenty feet above the dirty cobbles of an alley, wishing I'd spent some XP on the Dexterity skill. I'd heard the Mermaid referred to as the nicest brothel in Gate, and the room we peered into was certainly plush and clean, but the alley still smelled like puke and B.O. I had no desire to lose my grip and fall into the dubious garbage piles scattered along the street.
Inside, tangled up in red silk sheets with one arm flopped over the side of the bed and almost touching the floor, slept Axehead. Apparently old White Lantern had good genes, because if Zephyr was tall, his brother was enormous. He was black and white like Zephyr, with a line of missing fur where a long scar cut down one side of his face.
Whatever prostitutes had entertained the masska that night were gone, leaving him to sleep alone. I still had a bad feeling about waking him up, and I said so to Cerissa, who stood on the window sill next to me, unbuckling her climbing harness. She put a finger to her lips, then turned away to try the window. It was unlocked, and swung into the room with a faint squeak. Cerissa put her hand out, indicating that I should go first.
Axehead groaned and turned in his sheets, then began to snore noisily.
I took a breath and stepped into the room. My feet were mercifully silent on the plush carpet. I drew my weapons, and felt my nerves settle a bit as the familiar neon letters appeared in my vision.
Short Sword +1 equipped!
Attack Bonus: +4 (Duelist)
Damage: 1d6 + 1
Dagger equipped!
Attack Bonus: +3 (Duelist)
Damage: 1d4
I hurried over to the bed and stood above Axehead, watching him snore and imagining I could feel his breath on my face. Cerissa was close behind me, already reaching into a pouch on her belt. She drew out a pinch of a crumbling reddish powder and blew it into Axehead's face.
Nothing happened, and Cerissa and I shared a nervous look. The sleeping powder was supposed to keep the masska fully unconscious while we manhandled him out the window and back to his dowt, but there was no way to be sure it had wo
rked since he was already asleep.
Axehead sniffed, coughed twice, and sat bolt upright.
His eyes opened and he lashed out with an arm like a tree trunk. His hand closed around my throat, and he stood, lifting me into the air. The silk sheets slipped off him, revealing a body crisscrossed with white scars.
"Who are you?" Axehead growled. Cerissa's powder made a ridiculous little red mustache on his upper lip. He held me loosely enough that I could breathe, but it was obvious that if I struggled at all, he would close his hand quicker than I could escape. My weapons dangled from my nerveless fingers.
With a dull clonk, Cerissa slammed the pommel of her dagger into the back of Axehead's skull. The masska dropped me and whirled on her as I hit the rug with a gasp. He struck Cerissa across the face with a backhand that sent her staggering back into a low side table.
Attack Roll: 14
Hit!
Damage Total: 6
I blinked in confusion.
Flik, what am I seeing?
That's the big guy's attack on your elf, boss. It was good to hear Flik's voice, even if he sounded a bit like he was suppressing panic. Des and I are in contact, remember? I can show you some of what she's seeing, though not her personal stats.
Keep it up, I thought as I pulled myself up on the edge of the bed. I tightened my grip on my sword and dagger. Cerissa had said she had thirteen hit points, so she was already down nearly half. I was astonished at how much damage Axehead had done without a weapon, but there was no time to ponder it.
"Hey, asshole!" I shouted. As Axehead turned, I feinted with my dagger, then lashed out with my enchanted sword.
Attack Roll: 8 + 4 = 12
Hit!
Damage Total: 5
The short sword sheared into the masska's side, then sprayed an arc of blood over Cerissa as it came free. The niflung smith who'd sold it to me had promised it was enchanted to cut through flesh and armor with unnatural sharpness, and I was pretty sure his claim had just been verified.
Axehead moved even faster towards me than he had toward Cerissa, as though the gash in his side was nothing. As the cat-man's huge fist slipped through my hasty defense and crashed into my face, I was reminded of my brief Karate Champ fight with Meghan, the girl from the Game Cave Arcade, a lifetime ago. As I hit the rug for the second time her voice rang in my head: "Sorry, slick, I only go with winners..."
Attack Roll: 16
AC: 14
Hit!
Damage Total: 6
Remaining HP: 8
From my comfy vantage point on the floor, I saw Axehead's feet turn and head for Cerissa. I knew I should help her, but I was feeling sleepy...
Get up, boss! snapped Flik.
Don't want to, I replied.
By all forty-four flaming wings, you idiot, you've got more than half your HP left! You're fine!
Something in Flik's voice— probably the obvious disgust— prodded me to get to my feet. The ringing in my ears had stopped and now that I thought about it, I actually felt fine. It was as though I'd only reacted so strongly to Axehead's single punch because that's how I expected my body to respond. My head was clear, my arms strong, and both my weapons in hand.
I almost killed him, I think. In the fury of the fight I'd forgotten that Axehead wasn't actually our enemy, just a wayward son we'd been sent to retrieve. He had his back to me, and my sword was ready to dive into his flesh when I realized what I was doing. Instead, I stole a page from Cerissa's playbook and brought the pommel of my sword down on his head as hard as I could.
Attack Roll: 13 + 4 = 17
Hit!
Damage Total: 4
Luckily, this time it worked.
CHAPTER THREE
Skalds and Shadows
AS DON WHITE Lantern's caravan made its way through Gate's western river gate, Cerissa, Bell, and I sat on the prow of his barge enjoying the morning sunshine. The sky was broad and blue, and both of Borealis's moons were visible as pale white crescents near the horizon. The guards who sleepily watched us pass out of the city showed no recognition of Bell.
I'd meant to get some sleep, but the combination of the bright sun and the noise of the barge getting underway made that impossible. We'd been up most of the last night. With Axehead finally unconscious, we'd dragged him across the room, strapped him into Cerissa's climbing harness, and lowered him out the window of the Two-Legged Mermaid. Bell was waiting in the alley with a wheelbarrow, which we dropped Axehead into. Once the masska was nicely covered with a few old mushroom sacks, the three of us maneuvered the wheelbarrow down the shadowed city streets to the waiting river.
Axehead had not yet emerged from the don's cabin where he'd spent the night, and I wasn't looking forward to meeting him. Still, I tried not to let my fear of the huge warrior cat ruin my otherwise spendid mood. I'd won a tough fight, and I was about to explore more of the fantasy world I'd landed in.
The River Traun was almost as slow and broad as the Mississippi, and it made for comfortable boating. To the west of Gate, it wound through a flat expanse of farmland that stretched as far as I could see to either side. Far ahead of us, the peaks of the western mountains were just visible over the horizon.
"Cerissa?" I said. She lay stretched out nearby, her eyes closed and her hands crossed on her chest. She opened one big purple eye, then rolled onto her stomach to avoid looking straight into the sun.
"Yeah?" she said, blinking.
"How are we moving?" The question had been bothering me since the night before. We were headed for Seaspahn, a small city perched on the rim of the mountains that ringed in Aventura almost completely. That meant that the edge of the island was at a higher elevation than the center, where Gate sat, giving the whole island a sort of bowl shape. That alone was unusual, but the river was impossible: it apparently flowed out from Gate and up into the mountains.
"Current," Cerissa said through a yawn.
"But it flows uphill," I insisted.
"Yeah?"
"That's impossible."
Cerissa sat up. "Are you on the river now? Is it flowin' towards the mountains? Yep and yep. So obviously it ain't impossible."
I chewed that over for a while, until Cerissa spoke again.
"How do rivers flow where you're from?"
"Downhill only," I said. "They start in mountains and end at the sea."
"They start in mountains?" Bell chimed in. "How? Where does the water come from?"
"Uh," I said. "Rain? I think?" Sixth-grade science class was a very long way away.
"Rain?" laughed Bell. She'd wiped away the worst of the white chalk that had disguised her as we left the city, and tied her bandana back onto her head. "Enough rain to make a river like this? I think not!"
"Well, where does all this come from, then?" I asked in annoyance.
"The ocean, obviously," said the masska. "The Great Lake outside Gate pulls up water from the sea, and then it flows out to the mountains. At the mountains it makes waterfalls, so it goes back into the ocean. It's really pretty simple."
"This place is crazy," I said.
"Well, what's so great about where you're from?" asked Bell. "You left, didn't you?"
I caught Cerissa's eye, hoping she could read the question on my face: Can I tell Bell about Wayfarer? Whatever the elf thought I was asking, her response was a tiny shrug. I sighed.
"You're right," I told Bell. "I came here from very, very far away. There... wasn't all that much for me at home. In terms of prospects, I mean. There's a lot that's great about Earth."
"Earth," repeated Bell. "That's your island? What's great about it?"
I leaned back and let the sun warm my face, which was still sore from Axehead's fist. Since I'd taken the damage after midnight, I hadn't even healed my single hit daily point yet. My nose didn't seem to be broken, though there was a funny whistle whenever I breathed through it.
"The music," I said at last. "You wouldn't believe the music."
I closed my eyes and ponder
ed how to describe it. During our rich weeks, Cerissa and I had seen a few bards and troupes come through the Red Donkey, wielding an array of instruments ranging from lutes and lyres to leather-skinned drums to rasping bowed things that were like the annoying younger siblings of violins and cellos.
"Imagine a musical troupe. One plays drums, but a whole set of them at once, to create a beat that makes you have to move your body. Two of them have lutes, sort of, but one of them is big and low. Not lutes, exactly, but... so much louder. Like lutes powered by lightning, as loud as thunder. And over all of it someone is singing. But not like bard songs that tell old stories from history— songs that talk about love, and death, and everything it feels like to be alive."
"You sound like a skald," said Cerissa. I opened my eyes to see both her and Bell watching me closely.
"What's a skald?" I said. I looked down into the river, embarrassed. "I was a musician, back home. A wannabe bard."
"A skald is sort of a warrior bard," said Bell. "An old human tradition, from Brinegar, in the Inner Ring. You don't run into them much, but when you do, you hear very different songs from what the bards sing."
We lapsed back into a contented silence as the caravan made its slow way down the river.
Hey Flik, I thought.
Yeah, boss?
Have you heard of skalds? They're not in the Rules, are they?
Nope, Flik said. That sounds like it would be a path, but there's no such thing as a Skald path.
Thought so. I yawned. Thanks.
I sat for a while, watching the river roll by. I liked it in Borealis. It was beautiful, the people were good, and I was enjoying the lazy life of a thief. Still, I would have paid all my gold for a record player about then. I began to hum to myself as the gentle motion of the barge on the water lulled me, and soon, despite the sun, I fell asleep.
I awoke at sunset to a large hand on my shoulder. I opened my eyes blearily and saw the scarred face of Axehead glaring down at me. I immediately tried to scramble away, only to find the edge of the boat behind me.