by Blink, Bob
“It’s still taking on water,” he decided aloud after a couple of minutes, “but slowly enough that I think it will be okay. Let’s get a couple of those wooden bowls from the cabin and bail it out.”
“I never had much to do with boats,” Kaler admitted as they slowly bailed the seepage and Rigo used the wooden tiller to guide the boat downstream and across toward the far side. They were halfway across now, and if the rest of the way mirrored the first half, they would have traveled more than a mile down river while working their way across. Hopefully they wouldn’t encounter the next village before they made it all the way to the Lopal side.
Luck was with them, and they reached the far bank without encountering anyone. They ran the boat ashore into a cluster of thick bushes that hung over the bank and into the water. The brush entangled the craft bringing it to a stop allowing them to clamber out onto shore. It was simple enough to pull the craft deeper into the greenery and hide it from view of anyone on the river.
They were in Lopal, and hopefully safe from the Duke and his guardsmen. It was unknown how the locals would react to their presence, but one might assume that along the river at least, it wouldn’t be that unusual for people from the two countries to mingle. They would just have to wait and see.
Together they worked their way away from the riverbank and farther back into the forest that bordered the river. It would be tougher going on this side. Already the mountainous nature of Lopal was showing itself. The land was relatively flat for less than a hundred paces before a very noticeable increase in the slope was observed. Off to their left the land rose sharply with thickly forested hills extending as far as they could see both up and down river.
Kaler pointed down river, and the two adventurers began the tricky task of walking over random rocks and around the trees while trying to avoid the thick underbrush. Clearly this wasn’t an area that had seen much use by the citizens of Lopal.
Just before noon they passed by the village on the far side of the river where they suspected more guardsmen might be located. The river was wide enough here that they could barely make out the small figures on the wooden docks across on the Branid side, which meant they would be invisible as they moved through the trees well away from the water. There was no city on the Lopal side of the river, and they continued until dark without seeing anyone. As the sun prepared to drop behind the mountains, they found a comfortable spot for a camp that was well hidden from the water. Rigo started a fire and they spent a rather comfortable evening, even enjoying a bit of wine that had been in the water skin of one of the guardsmen.
Two days later they reached the outlying areas of the two villages of Yerma and H’awir. The two villages were located at the fork where the river split. The west branch of the split which carried away more than a third of the flow was renamed the Triempol River, and would eventually reach the Great Western Sea. Continuing southward the Great Central River was reduced in size for the next couple of days travel until it was re-supplied as more smaller rivers once again merged into it. The fork provided a natural spot for the villages, with the mountains receding leaving an extended plain for building. On the Branid-Kellmore side of the river, for the Triempol River formed the border to the two countries, the village that grew was named Yerma. Across the river in Lopal, the village that had actually been the first to be established, was named H’awir.
As they had hoped, the people of H’awir paid them little attention, other than to note they were obviously foreigners. Their dress was different, and when Rigo stopped and asked directions he discovered the language here was spoken with a sharp accent and there were words in use he’d never encountered before. The changes were not enough to make communication impossible, but more attention had to be focused on the speaker’s words than usual. They purchased a pair of the local jackets and slipped them on replacing their own, which allowed them to blend in better. Anyone examining them close would see they weren’t from Lopal, but at a distance, they would be hard to pick out.
They found an inn close to the waterfront and arranged a room for the night. The food offered contained several items neither had encountered before, and the ale here definitely contained a higher percentage of alcohol, not a bad thing. If war was brewing between the two lands, there was little sign of it here. A busy port, goods were obviously being exchanged between the two lands and people regularly crossed over the river border. Hopefully that freedom of access didn’t extend to the guardsmen they were trying to avoid.
They spent almost a week in H’awir. By then Kaler had become fond of the very spicy foods that the inhabitants of Lopal seemed to prefer. Rigo was less enthused, claiming the spicy foods made his bowels burn, and had elected to stay away from some of the more exotic dishes. They had become accustomed to the odd pointy structures common on the tops of most of the larger buildings, and no longer saw the oddly angled swords carried by the citizens as unusual.
Evenings were usually spent in one gambling establishment or another. Rigo and Kaler walked separately, thinking it better to be seen as individuals than a pair. It also allowed Kaler to provide better backup for Rigo since no one would be watching him knowing the two were friends. By the end of the week Rigo had increased their holdings so they had more than enough to cover the costs of a trip on one of the smaller passenger craft that would be heading south.
All of the boats carrying passengers and most of those carrying goods were owned and operated by the citizens of Branid and Kellmore. The people of Lopal were not water-centric folk, and other than small fishing craft had not elected to build their own river boats. They appeared satisfied to allow others to work the river, so long as their goods were able to reach the desired markets. The downside of this for Kaler and Rigo was the need to cross over the river to the Yerma side on the day they were to board the craft. They were able to purchase passage on this side of the river, but the boat was docked on the far side.
The morning they were scheduled to depart, the two men booked passage across on a small ferry that made the trip several times a day. On the far side they separated, and watched the riverboat for any sign of someone examining departing passengers, finally boarding only shortly before the boat was scheduled to depart. They met in the small cabin they had arranged for, one of the smaller accommodations in the back of the boat on the lower level. Rigo had arrived last and Kaler was about to greet him when they heard a low moan from the small storage space along the back bulkhead.
Swiftly Kaler drew his sword, and the two men advanced on the source of the sound. Throwing back the separator, they discovered the body of a young lad curled up in the darkest corner of the small storage space.
“He looks hurt,” Rigo said, noting the gaunt smooth face and dark hollows in the cheeks. The face appeared young and the youth’s eyes were closed. He was either sleeping or unconscious. Rigo suspected it was the latter.
“There’s blood on his tunic,” Kaler observed, putting his sword away and bending down to get a closer look. He was careful to look for weapons and watch the hands. He noted a knife near the hand that at first glance appeared to be of excellent quality. Carefully he reached out and touched the lad’s shoulder.
“He’s out,” Kaler announced.
“Check the wound,” Rigo suggested, and Kaler nodded his agreement.
The garment worn by the lad was of excellent quality. It was of a high grade of material, smooth and loose fitting. The tunic was a pullover without fasteners and overhung the trousers below, which were made of the same odd gray to black material. The exact color was difficult to determine. As Kaler tried to lift the shirt to get a look at the wound, he discovered that the shirt had been carefully designed to conceal a long slit on either side which would allow the wearer to slip his hand inside and access whatever was underneath. Kaler was finally able to get enough of a purchase to lift the shirt up. He peeled back the garment to expose the bloodied skin underneath.
Three things were immediately apparent. There were more weap
ons. Half a dozen more knives were held in place in cleverly positioned sheaths. Whoever this was, clearly was skilled with edged weapons. Secondly, the wound was bad, and had turned. It was obviously infected, the angry reddened skin oozed a foul smelling pus, and dried blood had scabbed and broken away from a gash that extended almost a hand’s length down the person’s left side. Finally, and most unexpected, this was no boy. A pair of surprisingly full breasts were displayed by Kaler’s raising of the shirt.
“It’s a woman,” Kaler said.
“Clearly,” Rigo replied noting the obvious clues at the same time as his friend. “But who is she and why is she in our cabin?”
Chapter 17
Her name was Nuiz, not that she would have been likely to tell them even had she been able. What they also couldn’t know was that when she wanted, she was as deadly as anyone alive. You wouldn’t have thought so to look at her. She could have been anything. One would never guess her secret. Small and petite, with her light brown hair cut boyishly short, looking innocent and far younger than her twenty-one years, she was certainly attractive enough, with a figure that was alluring and frequently attracted wistful glances. She was still remarkably beautiful, so long as one didn’t mind the odd scar or two. One of the more obvious ones cut across her left cheek and disappeared into the hairline above her ear. Another wrapped around the circumference of her throat, although that one could be easily enough hidden by a high collar if the need was there. Usually she didn’t bother. The scars didn’t bother her. She had won them honestly. She was an assassin after all.
She hadn’t planned for such a life. There was a time she was a normal young girl with the same dreams as everyone around her. Life has a way of changing what one plans and wishes for. For the first fifteen years of her life, Nuiz had lived happily with her family and two siblings in the prosperous town of Roin. Located in the far south of Kellmore, Roin was the second largest port in the country. It was a rich city. To the south was the range of mountains that separated the rich farmlands from the teeming jungles. Being so far south, the climate in Roin was distinctly tropical, allowing the growing of exotic fruits that were much in demand both throughout Kellmore and in foreign lands. Over seventy percent of the product produced was shipped out of the country. Because it was a port, every kind of foreign good that the people of Kellmore longed for was available readily. Finally, everything else that Kellmore produced for export also passed through the city. The inhabitants had readily available to them anything they could want.
While it was far from the capital, and therefore the King and most of the nobles, Roin was still ruled by the privileged class. There was a Duke who oversaw the city and the surrounding lands for the distant King. He was supported by a number of nobles of various ranks. They saw themselves as the equal of their counterparts far away in Pagner, and sometimes even their betters as a portion of the wealth that flowed through the city by way of the ships had a habit of sticking to their fingers. Many became very wealthy, and the same jealousies and the corruption that were common among the wealthy and nobility elsewhere existed in Roin as well.
Nuiz’s father was a tradesman. He wasn’t anyone special, and labored long days to make a slightly above average living for his family. Her mother had taken to working at the home of an Earl as a servant to earn additional coin. The added income from her labors helped make their life comfortable, and for a number of years all was well.
Then, by sheer chance, disaster struck. Her mother had been ill and while mostly recovered, was slow in performing her assigned duties at the estate of the Earl. She was still finishing cleaning up in one of the rooms of the Earl’s eldest son when she heard the man returning, speaking with another. The son was rude, impatient, and treated the servants poorly. Knowing she would be the recipient of his anger if he were to find her still here, she hid in the wardrobe hoping his visit would be brief and she could escape unseen as soon as he left.
As she hoped his visit was brief, but during the few minutes he lingered speaking with the unknown man that accompanied him, Nuiz’s mother overheard the son’s plans. His intention was to have his father killed so that he could inherit the family wealth. As the eldest son he was first in line, but his father was in fine health and would more than likely live for many years. The son was impatient to succeed to leadership of the household, especially since he and his father had been of increasingly divergent ideas on how matters should be run of late. The man was to carry a sum of coin to those who would perform the removal of his parent.
Silently and with great fear, Nuiz’s mother had slipped away when the opportunity presented itself, spending the rest of the day afraid that her presence during the discussions would be somehow discovered. That night she told her husband of what she had learned, who cautioned her to speak to no one. They would keep the secret. Becoming involved in the affairs of the nobles was always dangerous. What happened, happened. She would need to continue to work at the estate, lest someone wonder why she suddenly quit. Perhaps with time, she could withdraw, claiming one infirmity or another.
Unfortunately, Nuiz’s mother had left behind one of her cleaning implements, a small duster that would normally not be used in the wardrobe. This was discovered by the Earl’s son the following morning, and while it might mean nothing, he couldn’t help but recall what had been discussed in that very room the day before. He made a point of seeking out the servant, and while he didn’t accuse her of anything, merely requesting one task or another, the fear he detected in her eyes was enough to tell him what he suspected. That very day he arranged for additional killings.
The killers came in the night. Four of them, all trained for this kind of foul work. They cared little for who they were to kill and knew nothing of the reason. Gold had been paid for the deed, and that was all that mattered. This was too easy. Unlike the guarded estates they more commonly had to infiltrate, the small house of Nuiz and her family lacked even a lock. The parents died first, their throats cut while they slept. At least they didn’t know what was coming. Next were Nuiz’s elder brother, who awoke to see death coming, and finally her younger sister. Nuiz escaped death because she wasn’t there. The assassins didn’t realize their mistake because no one had told them how many were in the family. The instructions had been to kill everyone. It was assumed that the entire family would be home asleep that time of night. Since Nuiz shared a bed with her younger sister, they didn’t realize someone was missing.
At fifteen, Nuiz had discovered boys. Normally an obedient child she had slipped away after everyone had gone to sleep to visit a two-year older young man who lived several streets away. She was with him until shortly after midnight, when she reluctantly left the warmth of his bed and headed back home. She arrived to discover several strangers slipping quietly out of her house, and she hid in the bushes along the back wall. While she waited, scared and fearful of what might have happened, she heard enough to know who was behind the men’s presence. When they left she hurried inside to find what she had feared.
More frightened than anytime in her life, and knowing that she would have shared the fate of her family had she been home, she fled back to the home of her boyfriend. She told him what had happened, and he in turn, went and woke his father.
“You must disappear girl,” the father had told her. “Soon enough the murders will become known and the word will spread how a daughter escaped. They will come looking for you.”
“Where? Where can I go,” she cried in confusion and fear. She had no relatives closer than the northern border of Kellmore. Somehow she didn’t think it would be wise to go there even as far away as they were.
“I have a friend who is close to the Wanderers. He owes me a favor and I am certain they will take you with them when they learn what has happened. They are always at odds with the nobles anyway. First, we must change how you look. Until you are far away, you must not appear how those who know you would expect.”
They had chopped off her waist length hair, one of
her most cherished attributes. Now her brown shortened hair looked dull and unappealing, rather than long and flowing, with soft waves. They dressed her in poor, third hand clothes, more as a boy than a girl. Satisfied that she wouldn’t be easily recognized, they gave her a boy’s name, then her boyfriend’s father left to contact his friend. By morning she was on her way out of town in the back of a Wanderer’s wagon. The couple that she rode with had a number of children of their own, and she slept in the back of the wagon with them. They would become her new family.
The Wanderers came by their name honestly. In the more than two years that Nuiz traveled with them she never knew them to stay more than a week in any given campground. They moved freely whenever and wherever they wanted. Countries and borders were not recognized by the People, as they often called themselves, and certainly they felt no allegiance to any King of any land. Nuiz traveled from Kellmore to Branid and back again dozens of times. They even traveled part way into Lopal on several occasions. She really liked Lopal. The people there were more like the Wanderers than anywhere else, being fiercely independent. She also loved the beautiful ranges of mountains, and had spent many happy months in the wilderness.
Over time Nuiz learned she wasn’t the only child who had been rescued by the Wanderers. Another traveled with the band she had become attached to and she met others during the annual grouping, where the bands met for a week of swapping tales and news. The annual gatherings were always at different locations and Nuiz wondered by what network the word passed as to where it would be. It was the orphans like her who gave rise to the tales she’d heard in the past how the Wanderers would steal careless children and carry them away. In fact, they were rescuers.