“I will do what I can here, you have my word,” Alton promised.
“Good. In that case, let us make ready to leave, coz,” D’Jenn said.
Dormael nodded back at him, and the two wizards and Alton rose and left the study for the upstairs hallway. They made their way down to the servant’s quarters and out of the back entrance to the stables. The horses were already saddled and loaded up, so the cousins donned their flowing black cloaks and began to check the horses over for last minute corrections; tightening lines here, and adjusting straps there, all the while making small talk with Alton, who watched it all with a longing sort of expression on his face.
Finally, the sun dipped slowly below the horizon, becoming nothing but an orange haze just beyond the west. The shadows lengthened and eventually night took hold of Ferolan. Lanterns were lit and placed in sconces on the walls of the stables and outside along Alton’s garden wall, as was customary at nighttime. The cousins and Alton stood in the stables conversing and waiting on Shawna to appear. Bethany, now with shoes and a thick woolen cloak to keep her warm, kicked at the straw on the floor, yawning and rubbing the tiredness from her eyes. Every now and then a horse whickered in a nearby stall, and Bethany would give an involuntary giggle. Dormael found it funny that Bethany was giggling at the horses, so when any of the horses made a noise it was almost echoed by Bethany and Dormael. D’Jenn just shook his head.
Finally, Shawna and Nan came from the servant’s entrance into the stables, Shawna wearing a rueful and somewhat cautious expression on her face, and Nan beaming in triumph. Shawna’s hair was a deep bluish black, and even her eyebrows had been dyed, leaving her appearance startling to the companions, who were used to seeing her with a flowing head of red-tinged blonde. Dormael bowed to her and began a quiet applause, which was taken up by D’Jenn and Alton, and finally Bethany who was staring open-mouthed at Shawna.
“Riverroot pulp,” Nan stated matter-of-factly to the trio awaiting their arrival, “girls from Cambrell have been using it for years. I warn you though; it will only last about a week, especially in this wet weather. I’ve given her some extra, and she knows how to apply it. Now you run along, dear, and may Evmir and all his Sons protect you.” She hugged Shawna as a mother would hug her child, and surprisingly enough, Shawna returned the gesture whole heartedly.
Nan then went around shaking the hands and kissing the cheeks of the departing men, offering pearls of wisdom and well-wishes. She crouched down and smothered Bethany in a hug and kiss, which made the girl giggle yet again, and handed her something wrapped in cloth. Whatever it was, Bethany hid it under her cloak like a thief, but she was unable to keep the smile off of her face. Dormael pretended not to notice it, and that made Bethany smile all the more.
“So now we must go, my friend,” Dormael began to Alton who nodded back, “but we have one last order of business. Call it a parting gift, if you wish.” Alton nodded but held a look of confused interest on his face as Dormael and D’Jenn walked outside the stable doors and stood facing each other in the rear courtyard. The rest of the small gathering followed in curiosity.
Dormael and D’Jenn closed their eyes. Dormael stood with his good arm crossed to his slung right arm, and reached down into his Kai for the magic he knew would be sleeping there. He was suddenly connected, feeling everything as if his senses had only just come alive, feeling the life in the trees nearby, lying dormant until the springtime. He felt his friends standing there near him like pulsing beacons in the night, and D’Jenn was a raging wildfire in a world of darkness. The two wizards reached out with their magic and interlaced their power, and Dormael felt like he and his cousin were the center of a hurricane. Together, the cousins began to hum; D’Jenn in a deep baritone, and Dormael in a ringing tenor.
Soon, the intonated harmony became a minor harmonic melody, Dormael singing out louder than before the upper melody, while D’Jenn flowed flawlessly note to note in a bass progression. The song was without lyrics, but the sadness of the melody needed no spoken words to invoke its feeling. The magic responded to the song immediately, rising with the pitch and ringing with the bass, flowing and understanding what the two wizards intended. The magic sank into the earth around them, flowed into the grasses and the sleeping trees, imbued itself into the brick house and the stone of the wall, and rose, spinning with sadness into the air above. There was no explosion, the magic made no sound as it did its work, but a soft blue light had spread outward from the cousins, falling as if it were mist into the ground until it reached the inner side of Alton’s wall. When the light reached that point it disappeared completely, and as the cousins ended their melody, words in a flowing script began to appear on the inside of the walls, shining like fire all around the manor. When it was complete, the words also disappeared as if they had never been there.
A stunned silence followed the wizards’ performance, and the melody seemed to hang in the air as if it was reluctant to leave. The cool night air misted before the faces of the entranced listeners as Dormael and D’Jenn lowered their hands and turned back to their gathered friends. Bethany was awed and was running her hands back and forth in the air as if she was trying to catch the magic that had just flowed there. Dormael took a deep breath and spoke up, breaking the silence.
“It’s called Sanctuary,” Dormael explained in a quiet, almost reverent voice, “This place is tied to you now, Alton. From this point on, anyone who means you harm will not pass into your home. They won’t be able to go past the street. They could try, but it would be very painful for them. It’s about all we have to offer you as a gift, my friend. I hope it suffices.”
“That’s…that’s probably the most wondrous thing anyone has ever done for me,” Alton replied confusedly.
“It doesn’t mean that enemies cannot come into your home,” D’Jenn explained, “but anyone meaning you immediate harm will come to a painful end before they make it ten steps onto your grounds.”
“I don’t know what to say,” Alton said, laughing a little in embarrassment.
“Nothing needs to be said, my friend,” Dormael replied, waving his hand in a dismissive gesture, “We watch out for our own.”
“It’s time,” D’Jenn declared, looking at the stars in the night sky, “we must make our way down to the Docks.” Hasty goodbyes were made as the three companions mounted up, Shawna on her Charlotte, Dormael on Horse with Bethany, and D’Jenn on Mist.
“Remember, I expect to see you three back here as soon as you can make it,” Alton said.
“When this business is over, we’ll come back and finish that bottle we started this evening. Until then, my friend,” Dormael replied, bowing slightly from the saddle.
“Until then,” Alton said, inclining this head. With that, Dormael nudged Horse into a walk, and the small group of friends left Alton’s manor by the back gate and clopped out into the cobblestone streets of Ferolan’s Merchant’s District.
Dormael took the lead and led his horse at a walk down the hill towards the Docks with Shawna behind him. D’Jenn brought up the rear with the two pack horses. Bethany wrapped herself in her little woolen cloak and leaned back on Dormael who then wrapped her in his large Sevenlander cloak. She snuggled to him, grateful for the warmth, and Dormael smiled inwardly at her display of affection. The little girl was starting to grow on him.
The ruddy orange glow of oil lanterns threw splattered reflections across the cobblestones of Ferolan’s streets as the four companions made their way slowly through the city. The rain from the night that Dormael and D’Jenn had snuck into the castle hadn’t burned off in the cool autumn sun, and it made some of the steeper inclines treacherous despite the improved city streets. Dormael led them on, slowly and carefully meandering through the city toward the harbor.
They kept to backstreets and alleyways when they could, though the horses sometimes made that impossible. Their path inevitably led them through some of the city’s seedier districts, hugged along the northern cliff face that the Merchant’
s District was built upon. It almost gave the impression of being underground, especially since the moon seemed to be hiding behind cloud cover and the only light were the orange oil lanterns, which in the slummier parts of town became more and more frequently torches soaked in pitch, which gave off a foul, dirty smell.
Every now and then the group passed a squad of the City Watch, but whenever they came within sight Dormael would turn down a side street to avoid them. It may have lost them a little time, but the sacrifice was worth avoiding awkward questions and a possible open conflict in the streets. Such things could ruin their entire chance of escape.
They rode in a tense silence, Dormael’s eyes sweeping the road ahead with Bethany trying her best to stay warm in front of him. Shawna had a look of hard concentration on her face, and even in this cold weather there was sweat beading up on her brow. Judging by the stiff way she was riding, Dormael concluded that her wound was probably causing her pain. The girl was too stubborn to admit it though, and too determined to let it stop her, and Dormael couldn’t give her any grief for that. D’Jenn kept his eyes open as well, and Dormael could feel him reaching out with his magic from time to time, searching for any possible threats. Dormael didn’t know what D’Jenn thought he could find with so many people around them, but he trusted his cousin with his life. D’Jenn had his ways, and they had kept the both of them alive numerous times.
After about an hour of snaking down back alleys and taking detours, they had managed to make their way down to the harbor mouth. The sea rolled black and menacing in the moonlight as the ships bobbed with the ocean in the harbor, like so many twigs caught in a stream. Dormael had never liked the sea. It was a bit unnerving for him to jump on a boat when in the grand scheme of things it was akin to a flea riding around in a giant pond. Shuddering at the thought, he stopped the slow procession and dismounted to discuss the next course of action with his companions. They all followed suit, save Bethany who simply pulled her cloak a little tighter and hunkered down against the cold night air.
“Ok, from here on out the rest of you should find a place to sit out of sight, while I go meet our sailor,” Dormael said in a low voice.
“Oh yes,” Shawna remarked in a sarcastic tone, “in front of the Happy Lad. Don’t have too much fun while we’re waiting, magic-man.” D’Jenn scoffed a bit at her tone, but Dormael heard the sarcastic humor in her voice and simply gave a low laugh to her in return. D’Jenn nodded after a moment and relaxed, but his hands began to signal as soon as Shawna turned back to her horse.
Have you noticed that we haven’t seen any Red Swords yet tonight?, D’Jenn asked.
Yes, it has crossed my mind more than once, Dormael signaled in reply.
I don’t like this, cousin. It feels wrong, and traps usually feel wrong, D’Jenn signed.
I realize that, but what choice do we have?, Dormael’s hands asked.
Just be careful, cousin. With that, D’Jenn turned and remounted his horse, taking up his position as sentinel once again. Dormael handed Horse’s reins to Shawna and drew the deep cowl of his cloak up over his head to immerse his face in shadows. Nodding at his companions, he stepped from the back alley where they had stopped and strolled in an easy fashion down towards Whiskey Row.
Since they had stuck more or less to the northern side of the city, just under the cliff face, Dormael had a little walking to do before he made it down to the Happy Lad. The brothel was just on the southern side of Whiskey Row and at this time of night with the number of ships in the harbor there would be many sailors out merrymaking. That would make it easier for Dormael to blend in, but it also meant a stronger City Watch presence down along the street to keep order. He would just have to keep his head down and try to be as nondescript as possible.
Puddles of yellow-orange light shone down into the cobblestones from the many pubs and inns scattered along the seaside street, and pools of sound filled with the noises of drinking men laughing, singing, and fighting seemed to accompany them. In the harbor mouth the air was a bit cooler, what with the wind coming off of the sea and blowing right through the valley. It was also more humid, as seaside air always tends to be, and the combination made for a very uncomfortable walk. His Sevenlander cloak kept the wet off of him well enough, though, and that was winning half of the battle. He couldn’t do much about the wind except hunker down and push on through it, so he steeled himself and kept on walking.
He passed groups of singing seamen, too drunk to let the cold night air seep into their bones. Every now and then he passed a group of men who were dragging one or more drunken sailors down to the harbor, undoubtedly crewmen who had missed their casting-off time. Dormael would’ve laughed to himself at any other time, but tonight he was concentrating on escaping the city. He could laugh when they were well out to sea.
After about ten minutes of walking through the night, Dormael saw the three-story brothel ahead of him. Light from its many street-side windows shone like beacons in the night, and every now and then he saw a curvy silhouette pass by or lean out of one of the windows. He walked on a little closer to it, and stepped into an alleyway to observe the scene and decide on his next move.
Dormael rubbed his aching right shoulder and flexed his tattered hand inside the bandage as he surveyed the street in front of the brothel for the sea captain they were supposed to meet. There were men in the street, and a good many of them could have been sea captains, but most were yelling up to the windows of the brothel at the whores; shouting obscenities and making sexual promises they probably couldn’t keep, all the while counting the coins in their purses. Some of them were beyond drunk already, swaying in the sea wind and shifting their feet to stay upright. He looked for someone who seemed out of place, and scanned beyond the pools of window light that the brothel cast into the street for possible threats. After a few seconds of searching, he spotted Roldo.
The man was standing on the harbor side of the street, leaning on a wooden railing, peering impatiently around while drumming the fingers of one hand nervously against the railing’s weathered wood. He was wearing the thigh-long leather coat that sailors usually wore in this wet, cold weather, and he had a wide-brimmed hat pulled low on his forehead. A shaggy brown beard curled unkemptly from most of his face, and greasy hair lay lankly down to the sides of his chin. He had beady little eyes that peered out from a deep-set brow that gave the impression of constantly squinting. If the man weren’t a smuggler Dormael would have found his appearance ridiculous, but somehow it just seemed to fit him. Roldo stood with his right hand resting on the hilt of a long dagger that was sheathed on his belt, looking first up and then down the street for the mysterious Sevenlander he was supposed to meet.
He had a man standing next to him, probably his first mate, who leaned facing outward toward the harbor. Dormael couldn’t see his face, but he had a brown swath of cloth tied around his head and a matching scarf around his neck to shield him from the cold. He wore no coat, but a baggy off-white shirt beneath a dark leather vest, and his pants were wide and equally baggy. His boots were brushed black leather, which looked out of place with the rest of his shabby attire. He had a wooden baton hanging from his belt, undoubtedly his weapon of choice for keeping stowaways a good distance from the ship’s loading ramp when it was in harbor. He was lounging idly, but he kept glancing down the street to the south.
Following his gaze, Dormael spotted two more men who were pretending to lounge along the harbor side railing as well, these two had belted cutlasses. Their clothing and appearance were much like the first mate’s, and they were not giving a very convincing performance at appearing nondescript. Something was definitely wrong, but Dormael wanted to get a feel for what was going on, and he couldn’t fault the man for being cautious. With that thought in mind, he strode back out onto the street and walked in the same idle stroll he had been using down towards the brothel.
“Horrible weather,” Dormael said to Roldo from the depths of the hood drawn low over his head. Roldo gave Dormael
an indifferent grunt in answer, peering past him up the street at first, and then looking at him. Roldo gave a light start at Dormael when he noticed his appearance, and the fact that Dormael had walked right up to him without attracting his attention. His first mate and the two makeshift bodyguards were still none the wiser, the former gazing out to sea, and the latter staring up at the brothel windows with hungry expressions.
“Do you usually bring this many men to meet with your passengers?” asked Dormael with a sweeping gesture at Roldo’s retinue, his tone conversational but slightly threatening.
“Dark times, these,” replied Roldo evasively, understanding dawning on his sea-weathered features, “passage across the Sea of Storms in the dark, the names and number of passengers unclear and the payment more than sufficient. I am not a stupid man, Sevenlander, but I do what’s best for the Squidchaser and her crew. If that means a bit more caution at times when I sense something that’s a little out of the ordinary, then so be it.”
“I cannot fault you for that, captain. Well then, Alton vouched for me, did he not?”
“Aye, he did indeed,” Roldo nodded, though appearing a little troubled by it.
“Then why don’t we just go ahead and discuss the details of our arrangement. This doesn’t have to be painful or awkward for either of us, captain. I assure you that myself and my companions mean you no harm, and since you have been paid in advance there isn’t a chance for you to be cheated,” Dormael stated in a pleasant tone, “Where, captain, is your ship?”
“She’s moored down on sixteen,” Roldo replied, jabbing his thumb towards the southern wharves where, Dormael noted, few oil lamps were burning, “How many are with you?”
The Sentient Fire (The Seven Signs) Page 13