“Hi, I am Maerek. Your father sent me to ensure your safety and the Seer is going to try to kill you tonight. Oh and by the way, will you be my mate?” Maerek laughed at himself as he spoke the words aloud, but behind the humor, there was a sense of urgency, or reality, or infatuation, he wasn’t sure.
“If I could only sing to her, she would understand,” Maerek said to himself, realizing at the same time that singing to her could be dangerous. The song of a dragon was very distinct to human ears, and if hunters were in the area, they would come searching for him. He would have to lure her outside of the port city, without speaking aloud of who he was or what his intentions were. And then there was the issue of trust.
Maerek stared blankly ahead at the horizon as he pondered how he could develop enough trust for her to go outside of town with him so that he could sing to her. Maerek was able to outwit the Seer, make relatively safe passage through the Broken Blades, and kill a man who supposedly could not be killed. But when it came to developing trust with Mearto, and knowing what she had gone through, being her kin didn’t feel enough of a reason to place trust in him.
Two weeks passed and Maerek was still without a substantial meal suitable to assuage the Instinct completely. He decided that was what caused his judgment and mind to be so clouded. He recognized it as such as he thought back to his encounter with Vilheim.
“I was rather aggressive,” he said to himself. Though Maerek was not hungry yet, he needed to be at his best mental performance if he was ever going to figure out how to convince Mearto of the truth. He scanned the ground, searching for any type of prey. The rolling sand dunes were bare of suitable prey. Insects and rodents crawled in the slim vegetation or sprinted across the cooling sands. There had to be something out in the desert, as the predatory lindworms seemed to thrive in the climate. Maerek thought about hunting one of the lindworms, as they traveled in groups commonly referred to as banks. There was a possibility that they might turn on him for taking one of his own. He knew that he would survive such an attack, but it wouldn’t be the best use of his time.
The fact that he couldn’t come to a quick decision confirmed his belief that he needed to find prey and quickly. An air ambush on a lindworm he figured would be the best and quickest means of getting a quick meal. As far as he knew, the lindworms were not accustomed to being hunted from above, and a quick snatch from the ground, would mean certain death for whatever was in his claws.
Maerek began to circle the area, scanning the ground from left to right as he gained elevation, searching for the smallest sign. He focused in on the paths between the rolling hills, thinking that any creature would travel those paths to conserve energy. As he circled, he continued to carry a south by southwest direction, continuing toward the Port. A strong tail wind also helped push him toward his destination without much energy. Below him, at the start of a rolling hill, he saw a fresh, single file trail of a larger creature. The sand and impressions were already starting to fade in as the wind blew over the tracks. Maerek lowered altitude slightly and circled once and searched both ends of the trail. Out by the horizon, Maerek could just make out a group of creatures heading west. They weren’t lindworms, but they seemed large enough to suffice for prey.
When he came close enough to see his prey clearly, he winced and turned hard to the south. The trail he followed was a group of nomads. A few suon traveled with them, pulling a couple wagons, but they traveled in a single file, one person right behind the other. As he turned south, he also saw three lindworms, scuttling just out of sight and sound of the tribe. Each was focused on the nomads and had not yet noticed Maerek flying above. Maerek smiled and turned toward his newfound prey.
As soon as he was lined up behind the lindworms, he chose the one furthest on the right, tucked in his wings, and dove toward the target. The lindworms turned and barred their fangs, and Maerek smiled. He brought his claws up and clamped down on his target by the torso and around the neck. The squeeze broke bones and killed the lindworm instantly. The other two lizards hissed and chirped at Maerek as he flew away. Maerek stayed low to the horizon as he flew, trying to hide his shadow in the rolling dunes. There was some hustle over by the caravan and someone mentioned the word lindworm and wings.
Maerek flew faster with his prey in his claws. Blood was oozing out of the puncture wounds, down his nails and onto the sand. The blood trail would be easy to follow. Maerek shook his head. Now he was certain that he was hungry. If he had a full stomach, he would have known only to crush the prey, not puncture it.
Maerek landed quickly and then tore at the lindworm, devouring scales, crushing bones and talons, and savagely tearing away mouthfuls of juicy flesh. Only the head and a portion of the neck was left behind which Maerek promptly buried. The slight hunger that impeded his judgment abated, and he took a deep, a mentally cleansing breath.
In an instant, he knew that he wouldn’t need to sing to Mearto to prove a point, but that as a dragon, it was his nature to be honest. If her traumatic experiences led her to mistrust him, a song would suffice. He was also assured by Vilheim’s words. He had to trust him, not simply because they were the words of a dead or dying man, but because of risk and chance. If Vilheim was telling the truth, then he was saved precious days to find Mearto. If Vilheim lied, he was no better off than if he hadn’t met Vilheim to begin with. The chance that Vilheim told the truth, even if it was small one, was what Maerek had to take.
CHAPTER 18
The lindworm was enough to last Maerek through the rest of his journey. Maerek stopped his flight as soon as he could see the ocean on the horizon and the grey landscape and skyline of Port Rasmú. The sun was beginning to rise and there were no suitable places to hide his massive figure. Quickly, he shifted into his human form, put on the clothing that the nomadic tribes had given him, and walked toward the city. He kept a brisk pace and arrived at the city gates a couple hours later.
The city was surrounded by a thick, grey cement wall. A few sentry houses were placed on the wall near the gate. Archers in various colored tunics and metal breast plates looked out with a barbed arrow resting on their bow with and many more arrows in the quivers on their backs. Maerek thought it best not to draw too much attention to himself and continued to walk westward, hoping to find the entrance to the city that was slightly less protected.
“Ho’ there!” one of the archers called. Maerek turned back to see one of the archers with an arrow pulled back on the string and another archer pointing down to Maerek. “Who are you and ‘ere you goin’? Y’ain’t been out scroungin’ have ya?” Maerek thought it best to mimic the accent and listened carefully to the tone. Scrounging didn’t seem too much of a crime, but more like a disappointment, an action of sever distaste in this city.
“Scroungin’ as best I could,” Maerek called back. “Y’know how things be.” The guard who questioned him nodded to the archer, who lowered his bow and shook his head.
“Y’from the capital ain't ya?”
Maerek nodded.
“The east entrance is that way,” the archer said, pointing in the opposite direction that Maerek was walking. “Try not to forget it next time.” Maerek nodded again and turned to walk the other way. The archer that had so quickly drawn an arrow and aimed it at him turned and spat at the ground.
“Blasted refugees, leeches, disreputable they is,” he said to his companion in a hushed voice, but Maerek heard it clearly. The discontentment had with the current citizenry and those who had migrated from Noiknaer was a key piece of information Maerek thought he could use to his advantage later.
The gates were heavily guarded, more so than what he anticipated or expected. Twenty archers lined the wall at the gate and another twenty sword and spearmen were at its base in constant formation. The leader, or ranking official, stood out in front of the group was marked with a three, downward pointing pronged insignia sewn onto the right sleeve of his uniform, and a similar mark painted on his breastplate. He took one look at Maerek, shook his he
ad, waved down a few over eager guards and then waited until Maerek approached the gate.
“What are you doing outside the gates this time of day?”
“Out late scroungin’,” Maerek said, mimicking the accent. “O’er slept I suppose. Chance you lettin’ me in?”
“Any luck scroungin’,” the leader replied, and Maerek detected a tone in his voice that hinted at a request for a bribe, or payment.
“Ain’t nothin’ but sand,” said Maerek softly and with a twinge of disappointment.
“You’ll be waitin’ for a while till the next batch comes in.” Maerek nodded, and, not wanting to draw too much attention, walked over to the wall, and sat down in the sand. The sun continued to blaze down as the day waxed on, but the cool breeze from the ocean helped alleviate the discomfort. An hour or so passed, and Maerek continued to sit where he was, not speaking, not moving, but thinking.
He thought of Mearto, and his promise to Boshk, that first and foremost, he would save her. That was his promise, and that the courting, if they found each other desirable, was between the two of them. But as he reflected on the memories Boshk shared with him, more and more, he knew he loved her. He wanted to court her, and he wanted to be found desirable by her.
Traditional courting was one of an adventure, of chase, a large game of cat and mouse that in some grand circumstances, circumvented the planet and touched on every continent. There would be a hint of her musk on a bridge, a note tied to a tree, and it was up to the male to ask around, to find her as she serenaded her way onto ships, flew across forests, ran through prairies, and hid in mountains. It was a game of wit, of riddles, and of skill. That was how the female knew and tested to see if the male was desirable, was if he could find and or outsmart her. Of course, at the mating ceremony, the female would often playfully admit that she left large clues for the male to find and took it easy on him.
But this was different. This was not just a game of chase or chance. Her life and his were both in danger, and perhaps the time for courting would not be until the threat was gone. Things were moving too fast, and Maerek was certain that it wasn’t the time to court her. He would approach her as a friend and would tell her his story at the Kelp’s Catch. To help solidify the point, he would only sing three notes, but those notes would be enough to show the picture of Moving Mountain’s ambush, the promise he made with Boshk, and the meeting with Vilheim. Just the images alone should be enough to earn her trust.
After another hour, someone from just inside the gates blew a long clear note from a deep brass instrument. The note signified the changing of the guard and the gates began to open. The gate was comprised of large pieces of wood that extended from the top city wall down to the ground. Each piece of wood was connected to the other by slabs placed crosswise onto the boards and nailed into place and finally sealed with s type of pitch or tar.
Instead of the gate swinging open, or lowering down, the gate was slid in between the city walls, revealing a wrought iron cross bar gate that slid in the opposite direction of the wooden gate. Portions of the iron were well rusted and peeled away from the lattice work as it moved. When the gates were completely open, Maerek stood and entered the city with the rest of the guardsmen that stood without the walls and continued into the city.
“Would you know where Kelp’s Catch is at?” Maerek asked to a younger guard who walked next to him.
“You ain’t planning on seein’ some scenery are ya?” the young asked with a smile.
“How do ya mean?” Maerek asked.
“The new waitress there of course! Hair like fire, eyes like the sea, a real beauty she is.” Maerek smiled. He was relieved to know what Vilheim had told him was true, but at the same time worried as it also meant he would have to confront the Seer. “If you follow this road all the way to the bay, it will put you at slip 43. You’ll want to turn right and until you come to slip 115. Kelp’s Catch will be just across from it. This is where I break off.”
Maerek nodded to the young guard and continued into the city. The smell of ocean water and human waste was almost nauseating at first, but he slowly became accustomed to the scents. Children dressed in nothing more than burlap sacks and oversized shirts sat along the walls of the buildings, and hands upturned to the street. Maerek faltered for a moment, seeing how thin each was. Some looked up at Maerek as he walked by, their eyes sunken and shaded in deep purple, cheek bones protruding from malnourished and yellowed faces. Maerek couldn’t find the words to say and continued to walk toward the ocean.
Children weren’t the only ones lining the streets. There were women old and young, and old men who seemed as thin and infirm as the children. Some of the women sat with infants in their arms, staring down at the ground with an outstretched arm. One woman was clothed in a tattered brown, almost see-through robe with a soiled blue shawl that was placed over her head. Maerek paused again and looked down at what he thought was a poor and helpless creature. The woman looked up at Maerek and then quickly averted her gaze. She reminded him of a wounded creature in the woods, awaiting death openly, praying it would take her soon. Her skin was tight against her bones, and cheeks were sunken in with the tell-tale mark of prolonged starvation. Maerek kneeled down on one knee across from her. He undid his sandals and placed them between him and the woman.
“If I had to give, I would, but I do not,” Maerek whispered. The woman didn’t speak but smiled as she took the sandals. Maerek thought that perhaps she could sell it for bread, or at least clothing for herself and her infant. She would probably wait until dark before she would change. Without another thought, Maerek continued his walk down toward the ocean.
As he neared the docks, the people who worked the street changed from beggars to merchants, artisans and craft and tradesmen. The first few shops were run and operated by younger men and women, more than likely fresh out of their apprenticeships selling meaningful wares such as barrels, tools, clothing, vases, carafes, and other wares that fit their purpose, but lacked the higher end quality of a well mastered hand. There was a handful of shops that sold what looked to be scrap salvaged from some portion of the city.
Maerek noticed that there was a hierarchy amongst the individual shops on the street. The prime spots of trade, which were closer to the docks, were filled with more veteran individuals, and not just in age or experience. There were still a few young men and women that worked as an apprentice in one of these shops, either repairing tools that had been too long out at sea or tending to the master craftsman as she or he worked, fetching tools, cleaning scrap, or visiting with customers. Maerek was surprised to find a few young adolescents whose craftsmanship in various trades alone earned them a place closer to the docks. Those who were not as skilled, or novices to the market place were placed further into the city and closer to the gate.
Maerek looked at the barges and ships that were docked in the harbor. Large, muscular suon pulled on ropes that ran through pulleys and lifted heavy cargo out of the ship’s hold. Clerks from various trading parties stood on the docks with a board, paper, quill and inkwell, checking goods against cargo manifests. Crewmen of the ships hung from the bow, mast, and other areas of their ship, repairing and refurbishing portions of the vessel before its next departure. Workers would call orders down to boys who stood at the docks, requesting for a part to a pulley, or a length of rope, wooden nails, rolls of thread, or other materials needed to keep up a ship. Once the orders were finished, the boys would sprint down the dock to the main thoroughfare of the town, huddle briefly, and then scatter, stopping at the closest vendors asking for the materials. The merchants shouted to get the boys attention, easily hearing the supplies shouted from the sailors in the rigging. Competitors insulted each other, sometimes even starting an open bidding war while a boy stood between the two shops.
Entertaining as it was to watch the events of business take place, Maerek continued on through the intersection, and started to walk to slip 115. Just as Vilheim and the guard mentioned, Kelp’s Catch was t
here. The sign and scenery were just as he remembered from the events of that night in the desert. Maerek knew he could trust what Vilheim said, but Maerek decided he couldn’t trust his intentions.
“Perhaps Mearto would have some insight,” Maerek though, staring up at the sign as he walked toward the tavern.
“Aye lad, you be lookin’ for work?” someone called out to him.
Without looking, Maerek gave a short and sharp “No,” and went into Kelp’s Catch.
CHAPTER 19
Her smell of lilac and sea salt filled the small tavern. It was a gentle smell, a calming smell, not overpowering, neither faint or weak. Small clusters of cut lilac flowers was hung about the windows and placed in various vases about the bar. Odd, Maerek thought, considering the name was Kelp’s Catch. He expected to see more of a rough, ocean motif and décor.
As Maerek sat at the bar, muscles that he had not recognized as being tense since the ambush on his keep instantly relaxed and a calm, oozing, slightly drowsy feeling swept over him. The feeling wasn’t enough to put him to sleep, but it did make him strongly consider it. There were other scents in the tavern as well, ale, human sweat, breads, seasonings, yeast and hops, fresh fish, and a stew of pork and vegetables simmering in a pot near in kitchen.
There were other people in the tavern too, all which looked like sea-going folk. Drab, brown bandanas were wrapped around shaved, wrinkled heads that had seen too much sun and too little soap. A few gentlemen sat in corner booths together and wore freshly pressed white shirts and thick leather boots with a pointed toe. Blue jackets with gold stripes down the sleeves and accenting the cuffs were draped over the backs of the booths, with black boat cloaks draped over the jackets in a casual manner. A map of some sort was draped over the table and each was crowded over it, measuring distances with the length of their hands and discussing storms and routes. Their discussion was purely business.
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