He nodded to the barkeep and left some to pay for his “experience,” lest the woman call him a fare evader. He walked out of the inn, angry with himself and trying to process what had happened. What had he told her? Did he tell her anything important? Was she really a siren?
There was nothing to be done for it now. But how did Umber know where to find him? Then he remembered their encounter with that foul man, Ebonaar, earlier in the day and assumed he must have been followed. Did that mean his enemies now knew where he was staying? Even so, he assumed he and Zach would be fairly safe at the Widow.
A great sense of shame and disappointment washed over him as he thought about what had happened. He felt used and vulnerable at being so easily overcome; he worried he could be consumed by his passions again. To be taken advantage of so plainly and so boldly terrified him to his core. He tried to blame the siren, assuming she had been using witchcraft against him. Perhaps she had been, but he could not escape what lay hidden in his own heart. He would have to examine his inner feelings to avoid falling into another trap such as that.
And that was not something he cared to do.
Night had come to Dockyard City in full, and Carym sensed many eyes watching his movements. He cursed himself for a fool for ever leaving the Widow Inn, and decided to make his way hastily back. He kept one hand on his sword as he made his way down the main dock way back toward his inn. Many people were about, although he sensed a change in the makeup of those who wandered the streets now. Still, he made the short walk to the Widow unhindered and proceeded to the common room where he could hear an assortment of instruments playing a merry tune. He needed to calm his mind before even considering going to sleep.
He found a comfortable booth near the hearth with cushioned velvet seats. A pitcher of cool water was already on the table and he poured himself a glass. Three men performed some lively music on the stage nearby and Carym tried to lose himself in the lively tune.
“A meal, sir?” asked a finely dressed servant whom Carym had not even noticed until now.
“Yes, please,” he responded, still watching the musicians. He ate his meal, wallowing in self-pity as he dwelt on the day’s events. A siren? He shook his head, wearily. What’s done is done, although he didn’t feel any better about it. The fact that he had truly enjoyed his tryst is what really bothered him.
But why should it bother me? He thought irritably. He survived the encounter and had learned from it. What more was there to do?
After dinner he remained seated in the common room into the long hours of the night, listening to musicians and watching jugglers. Finally, as he was about to leave and try to get some much needed rest, he spotted a man wearing impeccable black and crimson attire sitting calmly across the room. The Crimson Elf! He kept moving, not wanting the man to know he had seen him, and his heart raced. He walked casually toward the exit, pondering why this man would follow him. Was this another of the Dark Lord’s minions sent to harass him? But, he had never heard of an evil Crimson Elf and that thought reassured him, some. Certainly, many Crimson Elves were self-absorbed and disinterested in the affairs of men, but truly evil? It was hard to fathom. But, he reminded himself, so was encountering a siren.
So was this whole damn quest!
The next day Carym awoke long after the sun had risen, cursed his slothfulness. He had always been an early riser and was disturbed to find Zach had already gone, likely off to find the Marineer and secure their passage across the bay.
***
Zach had indeed risen with the sun and was gone from their room shortly thereafter. He descended to the main level and met with the innkeeper, slipping him another spider emblazoned silver piece. “What news?” he asked quietly.
“Your friend made his way to the Starlight and made himself comfortable with a siren known to work there,” the man began quickly. Zach’s jaw dropped, he had never known Carym to be the type! People change, he mused with a grin. “Your privateer left port yesterday in advance of the arrival of the western lord known as Shugu Wysari of Kamato. Apparently, the Shugu, in addition to being the most powerful warlord in his land, is also a wizard of no small status. His navy, deadly enough to rival the Arnathian Navy, would like nothing better than to sink your privateer’s ship; preferably with him shackled to the bridge.
“The Shugu was offended when he learned that your man slipped through one of his naval blockades without detection while delivering Arnathian weapons into the Shugu’s dominion. When he demanded the privateer come before him to explain this feat, Yag ignored the Shugu’s summons and fled!”
Zach sighed. This was getting complicated. Yag could be risking war between Arnathia and the Shugu of Kamato, especially if the Arnathians were implicated in the delivery of said goods beyond the Shugu’s blockade. He may have to consider finding alternate passage.
“Has the Shugu left?” he asked.
“He leaves today, apparently none the wiser for your pirate’s absence. I expect the Marineer will return promptly tomorrow morning, safely behind the Shugu’s departure.” Zach nodded. It would have to do.
“Artem, my friend; I am going north across the sea.” Artem rolled his eyes, of course the old Spider agent already knew what his friend’s mission was.
“Any intelligence from our network across the sea would be most helpful.” Artem turned abruptly and went into the small office behind the counter and Zach followed, closing the door behind him.
“It would seem,” he began, taking a seat behind the large desk. “That the Nashians have begun their move on the Northern Continent. This information is highly secret, sir, and extraordinarily fresh. It is given strictly for your own protection and to aid in mission accomplishment.” The man gave Zach a meaningful look.
“I understand; failure means disgrace and death.”
“Exactly right, Spider. Exactly right!” he said, satisfied Zach understood the consequences of failure. He nodded and continued, “The Nashians are led by a powerful wizard who disguises himself as the Prophet-General, recently returned to lead their nation to glory. They worship the god known to them as Ilian Nah, who is celebrated as the god of Justice and War. But we know Ilian Nah by another name here.” The man gave Zach a steady and appraising look.
“Who then, Artem?”
“Umber.”
“Umber,” he repeated, considering the implications. Umber was the darkest, most powerful force for malevolence on Llars. And the Nashians thought he was the god of Justice?
“In perhaps one of the greatest deceptions in the history of the world; Umber moves a force of fiercely dedicated and honorable warriors into position to conquer all of the Northern Continent.” Artem began laughing, he always enjoyed irony in his reporting. “However, it is the will of the Spider leadership not to interfere with this conquest.”
“Indeed,” he said, not particularly caring who ruled the north, except perhaps, the Kingdom of Brythyn. He didn’t want to risk a run-in with the conquering forces of a dark wizard disguised as a hero serving a dark god disguised as a god of justice. He shook his head. “What do I need to know, friend?”
“Steer clear of them at all costs! In fact, there is some reason to believe that advance parties of Nashians will be dispatched to seek the Everpool as well. You must reach the pool before they do, at all costs for they are likely to destroy it!” Zach tried to absorb the enormity of his task and heaved a great sigh.
“Do they know how to find the Everpool?” he asked.
“They do not. Our organization is considering an alliance with the Nashian forces in order to obtain their assistance in expelling the Arnathians from Hybrand. We will not likely move on the matter until your quest is complete. However, should the larger picture dictate an alliance sooner rather than later, that necessity will trump your quest and you could very well be disavowed if you are found out!
“It is entirely possible that the leadership will provide the location of the Everpool to the Nashians, and also how to get past the tra
ps. You may be undercut before you even reach it if it is bartered as collateral for assistance in our war with Arnathia. I would not expect such an alliance to take place before the spring, however. Within the month the Nashians will have conquered the fragmented Vaardic tribes, within two they will have likely reached the ogre lands. Beyond that, it is unclear if they plan to move through the dead of winter or hold until spring thaws the passes beyond and into the Cklathish lands. Of course, there is the neutrality of the Ogres to consider as well. Throughout history the Ogres have avoided taking sides, but there can be no certainty.
“While the main forces will not likely stray into Cklathish lands, those seeking the Tomb will certainly be close to finding it by then. Be swift, my friend. The leadership has chartered the privateer to get you quickly across the bay, and your contact in Caelambra is well known to me. He is reliable and skilled.”
Zach considered the implications of having a competitor; it never boded well. Usually, both sides ended up reaching the goal at the same time and that was when conflict ensued, he wanted to accomplish his task and return triumphant. Unless alliances could be made before hand; there was much to consider. But, he was definitely cheered by the prospect of a powerful ally coming to aid Hybrand in its fight for independence.
“I will see to it that you are well funded and supplied,” the old man said. Zach stood and shook hands with his friend. “Farewell, Zach. May the goddess watch you on your journey!”
“Farewell old friend!”
After checking in with Zach and learning there was another day to be spent in dreadful Dockyard City, Carym decided to spend the day walking the shops and the bazaars of the nearly lawless town. With his sword secured at his hip, he set out for Karbander Bazaar. The stroll down the rickety dock ways of the seaside town gave him time to think about the last few days. What a shock it had all been! One day, which he had begun as a law abiding citizen like any other, ended in chaos with him branded an outlaw and murderer. From there it had been a wild few days until finally reaching a moment of calm amidst the chaos. Chaos, he suspected, that would only become worse.
Carym watched a group of seagulls diving down to the water below the dock way, fighting and squawking as a fisherman cleaned the day’s catch and chucked fish guts into the sea. The gulls of Dockyard City were large and fierce and had been known to attack people carrying food. They were brave birds, and it was not uncommon for a scavenging gull to find its way into a shop or inside a home to steal food; and they would fight fiercely to protect whatever prize they stole! Carym gave the scene a wide berth, choosing to avoid the gulls at all cost.
Farther down the dock way, oceanfront shops appeared. He wandered into and out of several of each as he passed, finding little of interest to him until he came to a fishing supply shop. In Hybrand most folks made their own fishing tackle and equipment, so the idea of finding a shop dedicated to selling such supplies intrigued him. Most of Hybrand was covered with lakes, streams, and rivers and fish were abundant in all of them.
The shop was small and there were trophies of many kinds of fish mounted along the open spaces above the shelves. The shelves were lined with jars of various types of bird feathers, animal hairs, hooks, silk strands, thread, needles, knives, and small hand tools used to make put all these pieces together. There was a large rack with several rods in one corner and in another corner he saw some walking sticks and a net. Other shelves had small boxes containing artificial fish lures that resembled flies, dragonflies, ants, worms, and other tasty meals favored by just about any kind of fish found in this part of the world. He picked up one that looked like a tiny blue riverfly and pictured it floating gently down a run, curling about a jutting rock, and sweeping into an eddy as a trout surged out of the water, fooled by the handmade bug.
“That’s a good one for specks,” came a voice at the end of the shop.
Carym peered over to see an old man upon a stool behind a desk with a magnifying glass, his hands moving deftly beneath, wrapping tiny strands of silk around a small hook. “You Cklathmen call ’em speckled trout, I believe.”
“This is an amazing blue riverfly, sir. I’ve not seen the like in all my years,” said Carym respectfully, recognizing a master at his trade.
“You won’t either,” the man said, chuckling. “Have a look around, please. Those twitch rods over there are made from the finest Komato bamboo stalks; they’re light and very strong.” The shopkeeper picked up an olive colored rod with silvery hoops that were fastened to the rod by finely wrapped strands of silk and covered with a strong resin made from beeswax and a few other secret ingredients that the man would not reveal.
“A trade secret!” Carym said with a wink, marveling at the finely balanced lightweight rod. “We call these ‘fly rods’ where I come from.”
“I know, lad. Been knowing them as twitch rods my whole life, not about to change now,” the man said with a genuinely pleasant tone. “That one you’re holding is my favorite design. I call it the ‘Speck Stealer!’ And, if you look closely, I made it so you can take it apart in four pieces; makes it easier on you traveling folk!”
Carym had never seen such craftsmanship and decided to purchase the “twitch rod” as the man called it.
“One more thing, young man. My latest invention!” the man said, as he disappeared into a back room and reappeared a moment later. He held aloft a small, metal, barrel shaped object with a handle on one side. “Ever seen one of these, young man?”
“Yes, sir. It looks like a spool.”
“Ahh,” the man said with a sly grin. “A spool it has, but a spool it’s not. Give me that twitch rod of yours and I’ll show you what it does!” The man removed the rod from Carym’s hands and placed the device up against the base of the rod. Two metal feet pointing in opposite directions on the device slid into a pair of metal collars on the rod. Then, the old man twisted the metal collars until they were tight against the rod and unspooled a length of silk line. He ran it up through the hoops, which he said “guided” the line, until the line exited the top of the rod. Then he took the blue riverfly and tied it to a nearly invisible strand of horse hair and tied that to the silk line.
“Come outside with me, young man.”
Carym followed the man outside and to a staircase that led down below the dock way. At the bottom of the stair was a small dock where a rowboat had been secured. The men climbed into the boat and Carym suspected he was going to be given a fishing lesson by the old man. He was ready for something positive after the events of the last few days and was eager to see what the old man was going to show him.
“What’s your name, young man?” asked the older man.
“Carym, sir.”
“Carym, I am Neboneezer Troggins. Well met!” said the old man as Carym took the oars and pulled until the boat sailed out from under the dock.
“Where to, sir?” he asked, pleased that the old man let him take the oars.
“Not too far, just away from this here dock way. That’s it. Now, out beyond the main dock way.”
Carym rowed until he had navigated out from under the maze of dock ways and platforms, soon the men were stopped a dozen yards into the bay facing the man dock way. The man gently lowered an anchor into the water and waited until the slack had run out and the line stretched taut. Then he stood in the boat and stripped away several loops of the silk line from the reel and held them in his left hand, and began swinging the rod forward and back several times, each swing fed more line out of the hoops. After just a few swings, the man made one final pitch forward and grunted with satisfaction as the line danced out from behind him, through the air above, and settled the little blue riverfly gracefully onto the water.
“It floats!” he remarked. “That is an accurate tool you have there, Mr. Troggins!”
“Indeed. The reel, as I call it, allows you to play out the line as you need it, making your casting more accurate.” Neboneezer turned the handle on his spool and Carym watched as the line was drawn neatly
back in and onto the spool. A simple, yet incredibly useful creation! He handed the rod to Carym who expertly copied Neboneezer’s actions taking several loops of line from the reel and swung it back and forth until the line was out and the fly was sitting atop the water where he intended it to go.
“So, there is no need to retrieve the line with every cast. Just ‘twitch’ the rod back and then forward again and the fly goes where I want it to go!” said Carym with amazement as he practiced placing the fly next to a post holding up the main gangway. Carym spent the next hour with the old man, learning how to properly use the reel, or rather to avoid using the reel when retrieving smaller fish. As Carym learned, the reel was mainly an invention for carrying a lot of line and being able to spool it up neatly. Nebeneezer showed Carym how to clean and oil the reel and how to treat the silk line so that it wouldn’t become brittle and crack. Finally he handed Carym a small vial with a pasty substance in it.
“That, my boy, is how you keep your bug on top of the water!” he whispered conspiratorially. “It’s just soft beeswax. You just take a pinch and rub it into the fibers of the bug and the wax makes it float!”
Carym was thrilled. The idea of floating tackle was not unheard of, but it was unusual for his own people who preferred the sinking variety. After the two returned to the store Carym purchased the finely made twitch rod, an assortment of bugs and a cedar box to put them in, and the reel. He knew that he had a long journey ahead and hoped that this fine purchase would come in handy. He was pleasantly surprised when old Mr. Troggins offered to buy Carym’s own rod from him, which Carym politely declined. He stayed and chatted with old Naboneezer for nearly an hour more, discussing techniques and trading stories. Finally, Carym decided it was time to move on and see if there were any other items he might find useful for his journey.
He desperately wanted to find a shop with magical supplies, fondly remembering his adventuring days following his service in the Arnathian Fleet. While he never desired to study the arcane arts, and would have been hunted and persecuted if he had, he had always been fascinated by enchanted items. He had seen enchanted potions put to use, armor enchanted to protect the wearer from harm, weapons enchanted to strike twice as hard as any other, and even some very plain looking rings that could perform wondrous feats!
A Tide of Shadows Page 20