Firehurler (Twinborn Trilogy)

by J. S. Morin

  Instead they found themselves saddled with sleepy horses who bore increasingly sleepy riders, with no roof to be had close enough at hand to be of use. Brannis found them shelter near the Stoneflow River, where the steep bank was set back away from the low waters with enough room for a proper campsite. The bank was high enough that it shielded even the horses from the worst of the frosty night winds.

  Brannis saw to the horses after the others had all dismounted in various states of physical distress. He found a root from a tree along the bank where it had grown out through the surface, and used it to tether the horses. He set about unpacking the small, individual-sized tents that each horse carried, and turned to suggest someone start looking for firewood.

  He realized his folly immediately when he saw the sorcerers he traveled with. They had already levitated dozens of medium-sized stones from the riverbed to form a circle around the campfire, which they had already lit. The fire was large enough to warm a feasting hall, and crackled merrily away burning absolutely nothing.

  I spent too much of the day remembering that I traveled with a bunch of soft, complaining, useless fops, and forgot that I was traveling with sorcerers. I may as well have asked a town crier, “What news?” as asked sorcerers for fire.

  The tent-setting went similarly. While Brannis had initially resolved himself that he was not going to put up Juliana’s tent for her—let Iridan be chivalrous if she needed the help—the four sorcerers each managed their own in no time at all, using telekinesis to arrange the little poles and ropes and jam the stakes into the cold hard ground. As Brannis went about setting his own up the more traditional way, he felt it pulled from his grasp.

  “Sorry, Sir Brannis. I just could not watch that any longer,” Ruuglor said, avoiding Brannis’s gaze as he set it up for the grand marshal in one-tenth the time it would have taken Brannis by manual labor.

  They took their evening meal hot. It was little different from the midday meal, except they were able to add bread and melt the cheese onto it, making the two hard foodstuffs each more palatable. There was also wine to be had—Brannis truly wondered if the palace stewards had any idea how to properly pack for the road—and there was a small, somber celebration of the fact they made it through their first day on the road.

  Upon retiring to their respective tents for the evening, Brannis could not help but notice that Juliana, at some point, had managed to set hers up right next to his own. He was too tired to do anything about it that night but resolved that he would choose his tent site last at the next place they stopped for the night. It was just one further thing he wished he did not have to worry about, but he was hardly eager to get between Iridan and Juliana.

  Chapter 27 - Foreign Markets

  Kyrus stood at the railing, seeing a foreign cityscape for the first time. The day was warm and bright with sunshine, and the light fog that had hung over the harbor on their approach in the early morning had burned off, leaving a blue sky filled with a scattering of grey-white clouds and the cries of thousands of seagulls.

  The weather had warmed in the four days since they had set their course south from Acardia. While the chill of late autumn was icing the air above Kyrus’s homeland, it seemed much like a fine spring day in the waters of Ganaad Bay, the gateway to the free city of Marker’s Point.

  Marker’s Point was a small series of islands in the shape of a crescent moon, with the open side facing to the east. The separation of the islands varied with the tides, with interconnections between many of them appearing at low tide only to disappear upon the tide’s return. Aside from the main passage in from the east, there was no draft deep enough for seagoing vessels between any of the islands. The whole of the landmass was populated aside from the short, craggy volcanic mountains that predominated the outer side of the crescent. Much had been built out into the shallow waters of Ganaad Bay itself as well, with buildings supported on stilts to keep the floors above the high tide.

  In the early days of seafaring exploration, the once-barren island formation had served as a waypoint for voyages across the great expanses between continents. Initially used as a navigation aid—a landmark in an otherwise sparse area of the Katamic—ships would occasionally take shelter in the calm waters of the bay to anchor for repairs or to wait out storms. Eventually the explorers of the early seafaring age gave way to the second wave: merchants. It became apparent to anyone of a mercantile bent that the island chain made an ideal trading post for the various nautically inclined peoples whose shores touched the Katamic. It was not long before it was settled by various shipping and trading concerns. Many were more than willing to cut half the time off their journey to get paid for their wares at Marker’s Point instead of their final destination, even if it meant taking a smaller cut; more voyages in more familiar waters made profits quicker and safer than longer voyages across open sea.

  Thus the city of Marker’s Point had grown up to be inhabited by moneychangers and warehouse owners, shippers and fishermen, fugitives and itinerant sailors, tavern-keepers, pirates, and whores. Few were born in the city—at least outside the brothels—and few spent their whole lives in it. Those hardy few formed the backbone of the island’s society, though: the Lord Pon-Aeric Halahari and his family, the Tide’s Watchmen who patrolled the waters and kept order, and the Hwann family, whose bank financed most of the major deals in the city.

  Kyrus had never seen such a place before, and had only heard it referred to in storybooks and tavern tales as a place of mystery and intrigue, where deals were made in shady dockside saloons and pirates walked the piers.

  I suppose the latter is true at least, or will be once they let us dock.

  They had been under surveillance by one of the three massive lighthouses that surrounded the islands ever since the fog had cleared. Shortly thereafter, a small single-sailed harbor vessel had intercepted them, and one of the Tide’s Watchmen had come aboard. Kyrus had been expecting trouble, considering that they were, after all, pirates. However, the watchman cleared them once he was satisfied that the ship was no longer a part of the Acardian Navy. There were few rules that the Pointers enforced, but “no naval vessels” was one they clung to dearly. It was an unpopular rule among the kingdoms whose subjects might flee to the city, but they felt it was essential to keep trade flowing freely—and they had enough cannons to enforce their decree.

  Once the watchman had Captain Zayne’s word on their lack of affiliation with Acardia, they issued a reminder that open gun ports in the bay were forbidden. After that, the small harbor ship merely escorted them toward the docks.

  Kyrus watched the shore as they neared the berth they had been assigned. The city was vast, sprawling, built entirely around the periphery of the bay and filling any surface that could conceivably support a structure. It would only take a few minutes to walk from the inside beach to the outside beach in most parts of Marker’s Point, yet to walk one end to the other might require overnight accommodations. Ferries ran crisscross between various docks along the inside face of the city at all hours of the day and night. Kyrus’s eyes were drawn up as well, as many of the buildings were tall, spindly affairs, made from imported stone and winding their way up into the sky to make the most of the scant land available.

  Kyrus could only begin to guess how many people lived in the city. Golis was the largest city in Acardia and held over fifty thousand. He might have supposed Marker’s Point was thrice that at the least. Kyrus could recall the sights and sounds of Kadris from his dreams—a city the size of Marker’s Point and Ganaad Bay combined—but the visceral feel of approaching it was like nothing his dreams could prepare him for. They had not even reached the dock when the clamor of the throngs on the dock reached them. Ships were being loaded and unloaded, with longshoremen shouting at one another in a dozen languages. Trading ships came and went in the harbor, with smaller boats darting in and around them, containing fishermen, city officials, peddlers who rowed from ship to ship pressing their wares on newcomers before they even rea
ched port, and countless others whose occupations Kyrus could not gather upon cursory examination.

  The men of Captain Zayne’s crew were nearly all on deck, waiting for their chance at shore leave. Not all would be granted the privilege, as men were needed to guard the ship—Kyrus could not imagine why—but most would be making for the city proper with all haste. Scar Harbor was a large enough city by most standards, but the stuffy, parochial attitudes of the locals kept much of interest from happening beyond the dock ward.

  Kyrus expected that he would be allowed to leave and take in the sights. Captain Zayne had granted him two full shares of loot, so he was obviously not quite subject to the same rules as the rest of the crew.

  After all, he knows my secret, and he saw what I did on the docks at Acardia. It is not as if I would disappear into the city and hide away.

  Under Captain Zayne’s expert hand, the former Harbinger—which had yet to be renamed—slid smoothly into its assigned berth. There was a flurry of activity as sails were furled and lines pulled. Men down on the pier shouted up and requested mooring lines be thrown down. Kyrus could hardly contain the wide, childlike grin that was spreading itself over his face. He had never been much of anywhere in his life, and now here he was in Marker’s Point.

  * * * * * * * *

  Denrik steered the ship into port easily. Even with years between him and the last time he had piloted a ship, and with the unfamiliar feel of his new vessel, the mild waters of Ganaad Bay made for easy practice.

  “Welcome to freedom, lads!” Denrik called out to the crew, to a general cheer.

  Stalyart took over the details, directing the flow of the frenzied work on the deck as experienced sailors made ship ready to moor. The green ones had the sense at least to stay out of the way, even Andur, and the work went quickly even with the short crew.

  Eager to be ashore, Denrik thought. I suppose I can understand why. Were it up to me, I would never set foot on dry land again. I did my time in the dirt on that forsaken rock of Rellis Island. We need crew, though, and this is the place to find them.

  Denrik made his way down to where his men were laying the gangplank. Before any of his men made it down, though, first there was someone who insisted upon coming up.

  “Who is the captain here?” the man asked.

  He was a man of perhaps thirty years by his lack of grey hairs, but a hard thirty. He bore a pair of scars down the right side of his face, yet had been spared the loss of that eye. He walked with a cane, which thumped hollowly on the deck of the ship as he approached Denrik on a hunch. The man was clad in the blue-and-green livery of the Tide’s Watch, but the heavy gold medallion hanging from his neck marked him as a harbormaster.

  “I am Captain Denrik Zayne. This is my ship,” Denrik informed the harbormaster proudly. There were times to conceal one’s identity as a pirate and other times to wear one’s name as a badge of honor. This counted as the latter.

  “Well, the rumors are true, I see. I had heard the scuttlebutt that you had been among a group of escapees from the New Hope colony. This is quite a fine vessel you have acquired. I must admit, we were skeptical when we saw the Harbinger approach. Our records show that the Harbinger is registered to the Acardian Navy. When you did not fly your Acardian colors, however, we suspected something amiss. I trust that this vessel and the Acardian Navy are no longer associated …” the harbormaster left the implied question hanging, waiting for Denrik to explain himself.

  “That it says ‘Harbinger’ on the side is clearly an error. I intend to see it corrected before we shove off,” Denrik said, crossing his arms in front of him.

  “It is now my duty to ask you: how long will that be?” the harbormaster asked.

  “Two days. Maybe four. Maybe a week. I am in need of crew, and it will take how long it takes gathering a good one,” Denrik replied.

  He would rather have gotten in and out of Marker’s Point in a day or two, but he knew better than to take just any man who volunteered. He would interview men and find out what ships they had served on, who their captain had been, and what other skills they possessed. Sailing with the Pirate King ought to carry some prestige, and he hoped to attract the best crew he could lay hands on.

  “Well, we will require an advance of a week’s berthing fees. If you depart beforehand, one of the harbormasters will be sure to reimburse you for the unused days remaining. The seven days will cost you fifty-six thousand zimbals,” the harbormaster said.

  Men nearby gasped in shock at the expense, but that was mostly because they did not understand just how worthless a zimbal was. Those who had been to Marker’s Point before, or who had traveled to Feru Maru where zimbals were the legal tender, expected to pay as many as a hundred zimbals for a pint of watery ale.

  Denrik paid the man in trade bars equivalent to the barrel of zimbals he had requested. He was not at all certain he had gotten a good exchange rate on them, but this was port and he was a pirate. There was a certain cachet attached to being able ignore the minor details in financial transactions such as this. He was out to find himself a crew, and being found to count zimbals was not going to help his reputation any. A captain hard on his luck was not a man would-be pirates wanted to sail with.

  When the harbormaster had been satisfied, the gangway was clear and the men started pouring off the ship, jostling and shoving to get down first. He noted with a lack of surprise that Mr. Hinterdale was off to the side, waiting out the press of bodies.

  “Mr. Stevin,” Denrik pulled the young man aside as he brushed by his captain on the way to the gang plank.

  “Aye, Captain?” the boy said, looking confused. He had been just paces shy of total freedom before getting waylaid by Captain Zayne.

  “I want you to stick by Mr. Hinterdale today and see that he stays out of trouble,” Denrik ordered.

  Stevin cocked his head and gave him a puzzled expression. “Aye, sir. O’ course. Ya don’t mind me ask, but what trouble? I hear he take half da crew off da old ship and burn another,” Stevin said.

  Rumors had passed to every man on the ship about Kyrus’s exploits on the night of the liberation of the Harbinger. Accounts varied—as they always did—in the retelling, but all accounts gave the very clear impression that Mr. Hinterdale was rather capable of looking after himself.

  “Oh, our wizard may be all that, but he is an easy mark here nonetheless. You speak all the languages around here, true?” Denrik asked, and Stevin nodded in the affirmative. “Well, that lad there speaks Acardian and probably nothing else. He is going to lose all his money and very likely cross someone with a short temper, a sharp blade, and poor social skills today. This place is thick with them. By the waves, it is why we are here! I need those sorts to make pirates of.

  “Now you just stay close to him and be his guide for today,” Denrik said, looking into Stevin’s eyes to make sure the boy knew he was serious.

  “What if he don’t want me with him?” Stevin asked. “I gotta sneek ’n’ watch him?” The boy raised an eyebrow skeptically.

  “I would not worry overmuch about that. The lad has never been away from home before. I doubt very much he relishes being on his own anyway,” Denrik said.

  * * * * * * * *

  Kyrus had watched as Captain Zayne had negotiated some sort of payment with the harbor officials, but could not understand a word of it. The harbormaster was speaking something that he could only guess was the language of Feru Maru. After that, the men stampeded for the gangplank, an activity Kyrus saw no reason to put his life at risk for, with only the gain of a minute or so to be had for it.

  As the crowd thinned, leaving only the handful who would stay behind on guard duty, Kyrus made his way down himself. He held his arms out to the side to balance himself as the gangplank swayed slightly under his footsteps. When he reached the pier, he turned back to look at the ship. He had yet to get a good look at it, since they had boarded it at night and he had been on it ever since. It was an elegant vessel in Kyrus’s eyes, well care
d for and lovingly detailed, obviously built by shipwrights with a sense of pride.

  A hand on his shoulder caused Kyrus to twist around suddenly. He found that the hand belonged to the exotic young sailor, Stevin.

  “Oh, that was just you,” Kyrus, feeling relieved.

  “Cap’n said I go with you. You don’t speak the tongues here,” Stevin told him, nodding.

  Stevin then pressed a sword belt into his hands, which he had been carrying in the hand that was not on Kyrus’s shoulder.

  “And you do speak all the languages they speak here?” Kyrus asked, skeptical.

  “You think I speak Acardian first?” Stevin asked, smiling lopsidedly. “But no. I not speak every tongue here. They speak everything here, but I speak a lot, see?”

  “Well, thank you, I suppose. Are you sure you do not mind acting as my interpreter?” Kyrus asked.

  “Don’t matter. Cap’n says, Cap’n says.” Stevin shrugged. “Cap’n says clean deck, I clean deck. Cap’n says haul anchor, I haul anchor. Today, Cap’n says follow Mr. Hinterdale.”

  “I … suppose. What is this for then?”

  Kyrus held up the sword belt. It was one of the ones they had brought with them on the initial raid on the Harbinger, a saber, Kyrus believed.

  “Less trouble with you carrin’ a sword, hmm? Lotta rough guys around this place. See an easy mark, they get ya,” Stevin said.

  Kyrus left it at that and buckled on the belt. The weight of the sword felt oddly reassuring at his side, though it was awkward bouncing against his leg, and he could feel the offset weight of the belt already starting to cause it to chafe against his side after the first few paces. Kyrus tried resting his hand on the hilt to steady the blade and lessen the discomfort.