Islands of the Inner Sea

by L J Chappell

  ‘Very well,’ he agreed, and waved the merchants and their wagons past the perimeter guards. ‘You and your companions come with me,’ he told Slorn.

  The guardsmen had their own wagon, mainly carrying a mix of supplies and weaponry but also a small chest of documents, both completed and blank. In five minutes they had concluded their business and agreed fees and terms. From what Lanvik gathered, they overpaid on the escort fees, but saved most of that by not purchasing a Transit Authorisation in Harrata.

  ‘If you need to feed and water your animals, you had better hurry,’ the officer told them. ‘We break camp in ten minutes.’

  In fact it was closer to twenty minutes by the time the escort had corralled the various groups and individuals together and started eastwards again.

  The jungle road was narrow: just about wide enough for two wagons to ride abreast, with their wheels almost touching, but none chose to. In this convoy, at least, every vehicle was driven along the middle of the road. Some of those on foot walked alongside the wagons, but many also chose to walk between them instead, also in the middle of the road. The result was a long, snaking procession which was presumably the easiest configuration to attack, and the most difficult to defend.

  Lanvik wondered what happened when two convoys passed each other – did one leave the road altogether and wait? Or did the convoys push out to the opposite sides of the road, the extremities, and the wagons pass each other one by one? From what he had understood, there was so little traffic at this time of year that it was unlikely to happen during this crossing.

  He spent his idle time counting – the majority of people were on foot, around two hundred of them, and there were a further eighty or ninety spread across the twenty-six drawn vehicles. Accompanying the caravan was an armed escort of thirty-four men, including one Commander and his Deputy – it was the Deputy Commander whom they had talked with earlier. In addition to the weapons that the escort carried, at least a quarter of those on foot were visibly armed, displaying their blades prominently. Despite their chaotic formation, it would have taken a large and well-organised group to successfully ambush and overcome them.

  Despite this reassuring conclusion, Lanvik felt unable to relax: the noises of jungle animals became gradually louder around them, and he had an uncomfortable feeling that they were being watched … by people or unknown creatures, or both. That tension was compounded by the constant gloom and shadow cast by the high foliage of the surrounding trees. Not only was the absence of direct sunlight both oppressive and depressing, but he noticed that the guardsmen kept glancing up into the high branches from time to time. Presumably danger sometimes came from above, as well.

  Another thing he noticed about the guardsmen was that they comprised soldiers in three distinct liveries.

  ‘Practical considerations and profit can sometimes overcome local enmities and feelings of ill-will,’ Vrosko Din commented when he mentioned it: ‘no matter how long-standing those might be.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘There must be a dozen city-states up and down the Isthmus, and they mostly hate each other. They have hundreds of tiny territorial claims and disputes stretching back centuries, and they fight wars over them from time to time. But they all work together to keep the roads safe and open. Otherwise, the Empire or the Confederacy would be eager to step in under the pretext of making the area safe for travellers, and none of the local kingdoms want that. When it comes to resisting outside interference, they have more in common than the things that separate them.’

  4

  The caravan had apparently taken almost four hours to complete the first leg of their journey, and since starting again their pace seemed achingly slow. Almost every one of them could have moved far quicker, but they were restricted to the speed of the slowest wagons. As the hours ticked by and the afternoon drifted on, there was soon no direct sunlight overhead and the road began to get cooler and darker. Lanvik’s unease and gradually increasing sense of danger didn’t help his frustration with their pace.

  After four hours, some of the travellers starting complaining that they needed to stop again: needed to rest. Thankfully the escort wouldn’t hear of it. It seemed that the caravan had already made poor progress today and, if they stopped now, night would fall while they were still some distance from their overnight stop. When some voices became more strident and insistent, the Commander in charge of the escort threatened that he would simply leave them behind – the safety of the greatest number was more important than the comfort of the slowest and least able. The complaints and requests stopped after that.

  Their second leg eventually lasted almost six hours and ended half-way across the Isthmus, some twenty or twenty-five miles from each coast. The road entered an immense clearing that let in far more light than the road: at its centre was a walled fort. The gates had already been closed for the night, Lanvik assumed, unless they normally stayed closed through the day. They were pulled open from inside to allow the caravan inside, one sluggish wagon after another.

  The fort’s design was brutally square and unnatural, as if in deliberate opposition to the sinuous chaos of the jungle that surrounded it: the walls were made from stone, topped with wood, and there were high towers at each corner and flanking both gates. A number of smaller bastions jutted out at intervals all the way round. The stone was pale grey, quite different from the baked clay walls they had seen in Harrata: it would be stronger and presumably easier to defend. In front of that long outer wall was a deep ditch, the sides of which were densely planted with sharpened wooden stakes.

  The jungle had been cleared back at least fifty paces from the ditch but, because of the high overhanging branches that leaned inwards towards the fort, the shadows and therefore the jungle itself seemed much closer than that. The clearing was dotted with old tree stumps, pale and grey, and most of the ground appeared to be at least partly scorched, as were a number of the trees around the edge: obviously the vegetation was burned back from time to time to keep the area clear.

  All these defences looked fearsome and somehow disproportionate to the size of the fort itself, but any thought that they were excessive or over-stated were belied by the fact that the walls were damaged and blackened from fire, and from the varying pattern and quality of the stonework it was obvious that a number of stretches had been hastily repaired in the past. The garrison numbered almost three hundred men and each one of them had a tired and hunted look.

  It was almost dark when they arrived, and large fires were already burning within the walls. Dozens of smaller braziers had been set up along the walls, and many of these had also been lit. Once they were inside, different groups picked different locations around the fort to spend the night, many simply pulling their wagons alongside one of the larger fires and parking there.

  The gates thudded heavily shut behind the last wagon.

  For anyone not sleeping in their own vehicles, there were several buildings available. Most were simple wooden structures, raised a little above the ground, with a number of posts supporting the roof rather than continuous walls. They boasted fine netting hanging down the sides to keep the jungle insects out. For a fee, there were a number of more elaborate accommodation options in the fort: more defensible, more enclosed and presumably with better facilities. These featured the same fine netting across the windows and doors.

  The Company chose to occupy one of the simpler buildings. With netting instead of walls, they would be able to watch over the animals and the wagons from inside: they had very little privacy, but that was true of everyone else.

  Long before the caravan had arrived, and despite the netting, a respectable and varied population of local insects seemed to have taken up residence in the building. Many of them were as large as Lanvik’s hand.

  ‘They come from underneath,’ Thawn explained, ‘through the boards. The nets are only effective against the ones that fly.’

  The Company unloaded a number of simple sheets for sleeping unde
r: most of them would use their packs as pillows. They also brought out a bag of slow-burning incense wood from one of the trunks: its smoke would apparently repel most of the common jungle insects. Ethryk lit several handfuls of the bark chips at intervals around the building.

  ‘Ah, Derranwood,’ one of the merchants remarked. ‘That’s a good choice.’ By an unspoken agreement, Anslak’s men joined them in the same building: their wagons, with the Company’s trunks, were drawn up alongside. Two of his men tethered the draught animals and saw to their feed.

  Lanvik accompanied some of the others around the building with daggers, dispatching a number of the larger and uglier creatures. The merchants seemed largely unconcerned, so they were probably harmless, but since the Company would be sleeping on the floor that night, everyone felt more comfortable after it was done.

  The fort had kitchens, which travellers were free to use, but there were only supplies and provisions for the troops so the Company and their temporary companions pooled what they had brought. Bane and Vorrigan had found a mix of items in Harrata, and Anslak was carrying a small supply of meat, bread, vegetables and wine in the wagons. When everything was put together, they had good quantities for a wide and varied meal.

  They ate and they drank plenty water, to offset the amount they’d perspired in the heat. There was a slightly sticky taste to everything which, after a while, Lanvik realised was coming from the Derranwood smoke.

  After they had eaten, there was nothing really to do in the fort.

  There was a block for washing, but the charge for fresh water was steep: everyone seemed to prefer washing their faces and hands with whatever water they had brought with them. Members of the garrison were stationed on the walls of the fort, and others conducted regular patrols around the inside: even so, Kiergard Slorn, Bane, Ethryk, Thawn and Garran arranged shifts between them to stay awake through the night as well. They were in a strange place, surrounded by people they didn’t know.

  Despite walking for much of the day, Lanvik found it difficult to sleep after he lay down. The night was hot and humid and, despite the fact that the jungle had been burned back to give clear sight all the way round the fort, the tiny noises of thousands of unfamiliar animals filled the night. After lying still and quiet for almost an hour, trying to dose off as best he could, he eventually left his bed, pulled his shoes back on and went outside.

  Ethryk, who had taken the first shift and was sitting just inside the netting at the front, nodded to him as he passed.

  From inside, the fort seemed huge – much larger than it needed to be and much larger than it had seemed when they arrived, in the light. Even with almost six hundred souls, including both the garrison and the caravan, the fort felt spacious. It was sized for at least twice that number. This was the middle of winter, of course: perhaps caravans were larger during summer, or more than one left each day. Or perhaps convoys crossed here, so people travelling from both shores might stay at the same time. But Lanvik couldn’t see why the season would influence the traffic – although this was the middle of winter, the days were hot and humid, and there was plenty of daylight. There seemed to be none of the harsh conditions that affected travel and trade elsewhere during the winter months.

  Perhaps the route had been busier in the past. Or perhaps there were more dangerous times of year, when they needed far more soldiers and larger escorts …

  He climbed a ladder to the walkway that ran around the wall and looked out over the top of the parapet. It was immediately obvious how much of the jungle noise was actually muffled by the walls of the fort: up here it was loud – so loud that you would almost have to shout to be heard.

  The wall stood as high as a two storey building, but Lanvik could still only see the surrounding trees in every direction, so he climbed one of the corner towers, joining a sentry at the top. Here, he was higher than all but the tallest trees and, through breaks in the foliage, could see the dark green landscape rising and falling away. The road was obvious where it left the clearing, to the east and the west, but was almost immediately swallowed up by the jungle; there was no obvious snaking line leading away through the trees.

  His attention, though, was held by a red-purple glow on the far horizon to the south. That would be the Spoiled Land. The light was not constant or static, but was shot through with brief sparks and streaks of brighter white and light blue. The jungle in that direction was bathed in the dim purple light, and the trees cast weird shadows in strange colours, like a nightmare.

  Gazing out at the jungle, Lanvik found himself strangely frightened by the half-darkness – the unseen and the unknown together. He shuddered slightly and climbed back down to the enclosed yard. It was no wonder that the soldiers stationed here had a frightened, desperate look.

  He was not the only one walking around – as well as the armed patrols, there were plenty of figures picking their way between the makeshift camps in ones and twos. It was still before midnight, and many people were sitting together in groups around the fires, either unable to sleep like Lanvik or simply intending to turn in later. Some were singing, some eating and drinking, most were only talking – he couldn’t tell if they were from the same or different parties, perhaps meeting for the first time or catching up after time spent apart. Some groups had wagons and were camping beside them, near the open fires: others were travelling on foot, with or without their own bags.

  While he’d been walking through the day, there hadn’t been much to do except look at his fellow travellers and he recognised a number of faces from the road. He greeted some with a raised hand, a little wave or a nod – most smiled or nodded back. One group, with two small wagons parked behind them, smiled widely and beckoned him over to their fire. They were Humans – a man, a woman and a boy, perhaps twelve years old. Presumably a family.

  He hesitated.

  Was he really ready to talk to Humans? He had raised Captain Redwolf’s suspicions almost immediately, with his complete ignorance of geography. Surely with other Humans the situation would be worse – there would be so much he would be expected to know, so many references: even how to interact appropriately or politely with them. But, then again, this was just a family of traders. What would it matter if he had to admit his memory loss to them? How would that be a problem? At worst they might try to scam him or trick him or take advantage in some way.

  All these thoughts ran through his head as he walked over.

  He was also wondering about the best way to greet them, but apparently a greeting wasn’t necessary: ‘You’re with a party of Elves, aren’t you?’ the woman asked him directly, with a broad inquisitive smile. ‘Some Light and some Dark?’ She waved at him to sit down beside them.

  Lanvik hesitated again for a moment – if he was travelling with Elves, would that affect what they thought of him? And if it did, did that matter?

  The boy added: ‘We’ve seen you. You have three carts.’

  So the woman’s question had actually been a greeting, not a genuine request for information.

  ‘Yes. Yes I am.’ He tried to answer slowly, with reflection, as if to disguise his earlier hesitation as a mannerism. ‘But the three carts aren’t ours. We’ve booked passage with them, that’s all: they’re carrying our luggage and letting some of us ride.’

  ‘Ah,’ the man nodded. ‘That explains it. I thought I’d seen them before, but not you. They’re from one of the islands, I think. I’m Panat, by the way; my wife Limenith; and our son Geitar.’

  ‘Lanvik,’ he introduced himself.

  ‘You’re not traders,’ Panat continued. Like the woman’s greeting, which had sounded like a question, his comment sounded like a statement but was more than that. Lanvik realised that both were actually prompts: openings for him to talk, to share information if he wanted to.

  ‘No,’ he agreed, ‘not traders. We’re travelling on business, but we’re not shipping anything.’ He wasn’t sure he wanted to say anything more until he knew these people a little better, so he cont
inued: ‘What about you?’

  ‘We buy and sell: move stock from coast to coast. There are items that we can purchase from the Inner Sea and sell in Evallian waters, and also the other way round. So we make this trip every few weeks. We have suppliers on each side, and two small shops – one in Harrata and one in Sherron.’

  The man passed him a mug of whatever they were drinking.

  ‘Thanks,’ Lanvik said, as the thought flickered through his head that he should be cautious. But surely he was being overly cautious, paranoid even: he had seen them fill the boy’s mug from the same bottle. Hopefully that also meant that, if it was alcoholic, it wasn’t too strong.

  He sipped it – it was warm and sweet and tasted of fruit.

  ‘Mm, thanks,’ he repeated, and then asked: ‘What kind of things do you sell?’

  ‘Almost anything.’

  ‘Anything that will make a profit,’ Limenith explained. ‘We don’t fashion any goods ourselves.’

  ‘It’s a family business,’ Panat added. ‘Limenith is from Sherron, and I’m Harratan: my brother runs one of the shops.’

  ‘And my cousin runs the other,’ his wife finished the thought. ‘The margins are small, but we make enough to keep us comfortable and to grow the business slowly. It’s fifty years since the last real trouble between Harrata and Sherron, so it’s been good times for trade.’

  ‘What about you?’ Lanvik asked Geitar.

  ‘Our eldest son,’ the woman explained.

  ‘I’m an apprentice,’ the boy said. He sounded irritated that his mother had defined him by his family relationship, rather than by his professional position. ‘I help with loading and unloading, and taking care of the animals. I help with the selling sometimes as well. Soon I’ll be able to drive my own wagon across the Isthmus, and then we can take three each trip.’

  ‘That’s excellent. I hope you’re successful at it.’

  ‘He will be,’ the man said. ‘He’s a quick learner, and a great help already.’