“Four people, five horses. We can be ready to go within the hour.”
“Then make ready, Sevenlander. I plan to cast off the first chance I get. Things seem a little troubled in Ferolan lately, I’ve heard enough stories about the City Watch dragging people off in the night for no better reason than who they know, and I would like to put in at a friendlier port as soon as I can,” Roldo stated impatiently.
“Then we shall meet again before one hour has passed,” Dormael nodded in a businesslike manner, and melted back into the crowd. He hurried back to his vantage point across the street, careful to stay out of Roldo’s sight and that of his men as well. Reaching the dark alley, he turned back to the sailors to watch them depart.
Roldo was reprimanding his mate and the two sailors who had been waiting just out of earshot for not seeing Dormael approach them, and Dormael imagined he was a little unsettled himself at being taken so off-guard. Dormael was well practiced in stealth, as all field wizards needed to be, and his hunting expertise helped him a bit with that as well. All Sevenlanders were hunters of one sort or another.
Roldo spoke sharply to the two sailors, and they hurried back down the harbor steps to the docks, undoubtedly to make ready to sail. With one last look around, Roldo turned back to his mate and conversed with him as they strode down the harbor steps and into the darkness toward the docks, following the two running sailors. The captain looked over his shoulder more than once as he strode away, though, and his expression was one of troubled foreboding.
Dormael waited until the men were gone a full minute and well into the darkness before setting back out himself, making his way quickly but inconspicuously back toward D’Jenn, Shawna, and Bethany who were waiting for him on the northern end of Whiskey Row. He ducked into a few alleyways to avoid the patrols of City Watchmen as they strode self-importantly down the seaside street, but their presence was not as thick has he had expected. Not for the first time this evening, Dormael began to get the distinct impression that something was wrong. Where were all the Galanians? Where was the search for Sevenlanders that the Red Swords were supposed to be conducting? They had navigated the city tonight with a little trouble, but Dormael and D’Jenn had expected a good deal more trouble than they had encountered. It had all been too easy, and Dormael didn’t trust anything that was too easy.
He made a quick decision to leave Whiskey Row and take to the alleyways and smaller connecting streets that would lead him back to his companions in a different direction than he had left them. If they had been ambushed, and Dormael hoped they hadn’t, then their captors would be expecting him to come from the direction of the sea. He wouldn’t make it that easy for them.
He hurried along dark alleyways under the cover of deep shadows, his footfalls, though not completely silent, were close to it, even in his quickened pace. His senses were heightened now, and he was more alert than he had been the entire night. Making his way back to his friends, he began to feel like a quarry that some great predator was stalking through the city. The thought didn’t leave him very comfortable.
Rounding a corner back toward the street where he and his companions had parted ways, he spotted D’Jenn leaned nonchalantly against the wall of another alleyway. D’Jenn had seen him only a split second afterward, though he gave no outward sign in his body language that he recognized Dormael. D’Jenn also was very practiced in stealth. Naturally, D’Jenn had expected Dormael to come from another direction, and as Dormael passed him into the alleyway he was guarding, D’Jenn’s hands flashed to him the simple sign all is well. Dormael met Shawna and Bethany further back in the alley, and D’Jenn joined them a few seconds later.
“I’ve met our friend Captain Roldo, and I must say, he is a sour sort,” Dormael began, “nothing was outwardly amiss, but he was definitely anxious to leave. To tell you the truth, I can’t blame him for that.” Shawna gave a small grunt and nodded in agreement, and D’Jenn sighed in reply. “I told him we’d be ready within the hour.”
“Something is wrong here, cousin, I can feel it,” D’Jenn asserted, and Dormael bit his lower lip and nodded lightly in reply, “The Galanians are nowhere in sight, and the City Watch are acting completely complacent when they should be on a state of alert. None of this makes sense. If you were Lord of Ferolan in this situation, what would be the first thing you did?”
“Place the harbor under military control and search everyone coming in and out. It’s the quickest route of egress, and anyone in our position would naturally look for passage out of the country the fastest way possible. Here we are, right on cue,” Dormael replied a little sardonically.
“Exactly,” D’Jenn said, “So where are they?” Dormael, D’Jenn and Shawna looked at each other grimly as the question stretched out between them. “There’s only one reason that the City Watch and Red Swords would be behaving this way. Think about it. We’ve basically had a clear way from Alton’s to here; we’ve been lured into a state of complacency. The only reason they wouldn’t be trying to catch us in the streets is - ”
“- is if they know exactly where we’re going, and they’ve set an ambush for us,” Shawna finished for him, darkly. The silence that followed Shawna’s last statement pressed down upon the companions as the notion sank in, and the cold certainty of it rang in their heads. Dormael’s gaze followed Shawna’s up the cliff face, back toward Alton’s manor. Lord Eric would undoubtedly be trying to set an ambush for him as well.
“There is one way to find out for sure,” Dormael stated, and D’Jenn looked at him intensely, his bright blue eyes burning with anger at this turn of events. “I’ll Mind-Fly down to the harbor, to where the Squidchaser is supposed to be docked. I’ll have a look around and see if I can break up the party a bit. Then I’ll send word to Alton that he needs to act quickly and send to the King for aid. Don’t worry about him,” he interjected at Shawna’s retort that had only just begun to escape her lips, “the spell D’Jenn and I left for him will keep him safe. No one will be able to get to him.” Shawna’s face still had a worried expression as she gazed up in the direction of Alton’s manor.
“That still leaves the question of how we’re going to leave the city. We still need to get across to the Sevenlands and into Ishamael,” D’Jenn stated.
“Right,” Dormael agreed, “We’ll have to go where they won’t expect us. Trying to find another ship to buy passage on now is a little too chancy and I don’t think I’ve got the gold to pay for it,” D’Jenn grunted in agreement, “So, that leaves us with a direction: North or south?”
“South leads us right into the Galanian Empire, into old Shundovia. The closest port lies just less than one hundred miles inside the border. They could snatch us up at their leisure,” Shawna offered.
“Then we shall go north, to Borders, and cross there,” Dormael decided.
“Borders?” Shawna whispered in protest, “The Maelstrom Field will drag us under the sea! We already have the storms to deal with, let’s not make it worse than we have to!”
“Would you rather we continue north into Dannon, and try to get a ship through the Ice Forest? We would lose weeks attempting to do so,” Dormael argued. D’Jenn rubbed his chin and nodded in agreement.
“The Maelstrom Field can be navigated; there are a few hardy ship captains that brave it year-round. It would also deter any pursuit, and any ship’s captain that puts in at Borders is a much better sailor than anyone the Galanians can hire out of Ferolan. Dormael, act quickly and put a thorn into their plans, then warn Alton. We go to north to Borders as soon as you return,” D’Jenn stated, putting an end to their discussion. Shawna still appeared apprehensive, but she saw the logic in the wizard’s arguments.
“I’ll return shortly,” Dormael stated, and then his mind was flying over the rooftops of Ferolan, headed south and then turning east out towards the docks. Orange candlelight and the ruddy glow of streetlamps shone like small beacons in the night, passing beneath him as he hurried out to the wharves. He flew a low pass over the running dock, chec
king the numbers of mooring spots as he hurried past. Finally, he came upon dock sixteen.
Roldo stood on the deck of his ship, the Squidchaser, which was a small merchantman. She was stained with a dark finish, and had been painted with a white line just under the rail that bore her name. The paint was in ill repair, however, and was peeling in many places. There was only a single oil lamp burning on the ship, and a single one burning on the wharf by a stack of crates where a few crewmen were tying a harness to them to have them hoisted into the cargo hold. Dormael hovered over the scene, searching for something that was out of place.
There were several crewmen standing on the deck, just out of reach of the lamplight, who appeared to be doing nothing more than huddling against the sides of the rail or lounging against piled ropes. Spiraling downward to get a better look, Dormael noticed the crossbows that were cocked and ready to use, and the furtive glances the crewmen kept giving the running docks, where Dormael and his companions would inevitably have come from. Climbing back into the night sky, he noticed something else that he hadn’t thought of on his way here.
Stacked on the large running dock that connected the various wharves where ships put into port, were large formations of crates. As the night wind blew a frosty gust in from the sea, Dormael saw one of the crates wobble with the wind. Crates full of cargo weren’t lifted by the sea wind. Rushing around behind them, Dormael spotted what he had been expecting to see. Huddled within the spaces behind, between, and around the crates where they would be out of sight, were twenty or more Galanian Red Swords, lying in wait for the companions to come along so they could block the escape.
They wouldn’t be so lucky tonight.
Rising in a right spiral back toward the Squidchaser, Dormael floated down and solidified his phantasm-self into a standing position in the middle of the ship’s deck. A few crewmen gave startled gasps at what they saw: a black-cloaked and deeply hooded man appearing suddenly on the deck of their ship. Dormael smiled inwardly at his entrance.
“Roldo!” Dormael shouted over the wind that was whipping the sails and the sailor’s clothing, but did not touch his cloak, “It seems that you have betrayed me.”
Roldo had jumped and spun on Dormael’s phantasm, eyes burning in surprise and indignation at Dormael’s accusation. Roldo glanced down at the docks, and then around the deck of the ship, looking for horses or Dormael’s companions. Finding none, he turned his confused and angry gaze on Dormael, a low growl rising in his throat, almost like a dog that was cornered. He made no intelligent reply.
Dormael stood with his arms folded into the deep sleeves of his dark Sevenlander cloak, his face shadowed by his deep hood. The effect was that he appeared to be some demonic ghost to the sailors, who were obviously entranced and terror-stricken by the sight of him. Dormael began a long, slow chuckle from the depths of his hood, and used his magic to make it echo through the night. The crewmen all jumped at once.
“I will not kill you for your betrayal, Roldo, even though it is a despicable move to make,” Dormael began, menacingly, “But mark my words, and mark them well, Roldo. For the rest of your days you will be hounded by misfortune. All ventures that you undertake will fail. Women will shun you. The days will pass by and soon you will become sick, and you will die a painful and disgusting death.”
“Kill him!” Roldo ordered his men, and there came an uncertain twanging of bowstrings as a few scattered crewmen fired their crossbows. One man gave a low shout, and Roldo began backing away when the bolts found nothing but air, and passed straight through Dormael’s phantasm. Dormael laughed a long and maniacal laugh, which echoed once again through the night. The Red Swords had come out of their hiding spots to see what was happening and were milling about on the dock, unable to get a good look at what all the commotion was about.
“Your punishment,” Dormael stated to a wide-eyed and terrified audience, “begins now.”
Suddenly the Squidchaser’s sails sprang into fountains of bright, orange flame. Men were running for the docking ramp, screaming and dropping their weapons as they went along. Roldo only stared, transfixed at his burning ship. There was a great creaking which ended in a loud crack as the ship’s hull opened to the churning sea below. The Squidchaser lurched as the ocean entered its bowels, and some of the crewmen who hadn’t made it off the sinking merchantman were thrown into the cold, black sea.
The Red Swords waiting on the docks below were staring in consternation at this unexpected turn of events, and at the sailors who were running pell-mell from the docks. Roldo turned one last accusing and pain-stricken gaze at Dormael’s phantasm, but it was already gone.
Dormael was flying once more, invisible, into the night sky. Spotting the empty crates that had been stacked on the running dock and now abandoned by the Galanians, he took advantage of the opportunity for a little more fun. Using his magic once again, Dormael flung the crates in a loose pile at the beginning of dock sixteen, effectively blocking the exit for the Red Swords and the sailors who were milling around on the wharf in confusion. With another rush of his magic, he set them ablaze. That should hold them long enough for him and his friends to leave the city. Leaving the scene with more than a little satisfaction, he flew quickly northwest towards Alton’s manor.
Nothing seemed amiss as he rose over the outer wall into the gardens. The light from Alton’s study was shining into the night from the window in the small room. Dormael flew in through the window, and sure enough, Alton sat scratching a letter with quill and parchment by candlelight at his desk. Dormael solidified before him.
“Alton,” he began, the urgency leaking into his voice. Alton started heavily at hearing his name and sat back in his chair to regard Dormael with a surprised glare. He looked around for the rest of the party, and seeing none, gave Dormael a confused look.
“Dormael, what’s going on?” Alton queried.
“I don’t have much time to explain, dear friend, so I’ll make this quick,” Dormael continued, speaking hurriedly, “Roldo has betrayed us to the Galanians, but we foiled their plans and are not captured. Right now we’re heading north toward Borders to buy passage over to the Sevenlands.”
“Borders?” Alton asked dubiously.
“Aye, we think we can make it out of the city fine, but I want you to watch yourself. Lord Eric undoubtedly knows about you now, and he will try and get to you. The Sanctuary should keep you safe as long as you are on these grounds, but you should get word to the King as soon as you can. Have him send some troops to oust Eric.”
“I’m writing to him now.”
“Good, and for Eindor’s sake, Alton, don’t leave the manor if you don’t have to. You’re safe here, but we can’t help you anywhere else. Trust the spell, it will protect you. I have to go now, my friend. We’ll write to you from the next village and send a pigeon. Until then, may the Gods watch over you,” Dormael concluded. Alton nodded to him, chewing his lower lip in consternation. Waving, Dormael vanished once again and hurried back to his body near the harbor.
“Alton’s been warned,” Dormael said to his anxious friends as his body sprang back into life, “and Roldo has been taken care of. We may have around twenty minutes or so to make it out of Ferolan safely.”
“Good,” D’Jenn nodded, steadying Dormael with his right hand, “Then let’s make haste to the North Gate.” After Dormael regained full control of his functions (he was always a bit dizzy after a Mind Flight) he mounted Horse, following his companion’s lead. Bethany scooted forward to make room for him in the saddle, and then scooted right back against him once he was settled. Soon they were all ready to ride, and they set out up the street they had came down to make it to the harbor, backtracking the path they had taken earlier in the night.
The air seemed tenser this time around, and the companions jumped at every small sound or movement that caught their eyes. Dormael didn’t notice any more of the City Watch than before, and the Red Swords weren’t in the streets either, but the anticipation of making it o
ut alive and unharmed seemed to burn in everyone’s eyes, quickening their steps and heightening their senses. The only one who seemed unconcerned was Bethany, who was slowly drifting to sleep next to Dormael.
The party passed from the decrepit, ramshackle parts of town into a mixed residential area where two-and-three-story tenements built of timber and slate rose into the night. Candlelight shone out of various windows, casting a warm, yellowish glow upon the streets and alleyways the companions passed through, which were considerably cleaner in these areas of the city. Silhouettes passed mysteriously behind some of the shining windows, and here and there someone leaned out and watched the strange party ride by, though no one seemed threatening.
After working their way carefully through these small city streets and down boulevards where scattered shops and inns dotted the scene, the companions began to snake up the northern side of the valley, back into the Merchant’s District. Soon the large manors of wealthy merchants were lining the streets along which they rode, and they continued north, toward the gate that led north from Ferolan. All three of the adults in the group gazed toward the west, where Alton’s manor lay further into the quarter, and as one they all looked northward again, toward the gate that was coming ever closer.
Soon the grey stone of the city walls came into view, towering over the wealthy mansions and small palaces that some of the more successful merchants resided in. Dormael could see a pair of torches burning brightly alongside the entranceway, and another pair further up in each of the twin guard towers that flanked it. Suddenly it occurred to Dormael that Eric had most likely augmented the guards at each gate; it would be the natural backup plan if his ambush failed. Signaling to his companions, he led them down a side street before they were in sight of the guards, and halted when he felt sure they weren’t being watched.
“It looks as if there’s going to be a fight,” Dormael began, quietly.
“What do you mean?” asked Shawna.
The Sentient Fire (The Seven Signs) Page 14