The Dragon Writers Collection

by DragonWritersCollective

  “Are you mad, Carym?” uttered Zach, looking anxiously toward the dock way leading away from this man. When he realized his friend would not be budged, Zach heaved a great sigh of annoyance and drew his sword as the dark man reached them. He faced them silently, his malevolent gaze promising wickedness. The mouth of his ram’s head staff appeared to be flicking its tongue at them and sparks crackled from its mouth.

  “What do you want with us?” asked Carym defiantly as he squared himself before the strange man.

  “You should come with me, Carym of Hyrum,” the man whispered evilly. “You are powerful! With my help, you will learn to master your powers!” the man said, holding his hand palm up. The man’s skin seemed to subtly change colors in the cool morning sun, not unlike the brown robes he wore.

  What on Llars is he talking about? Carym wondered. And why does his skin change colors? He watched as a sphere of blackness formed in the air above the stranger’s hand, swirling, dancing, trying to hypnotize him. Carym saw himself in that sphere, wielding powerful weapons, leading troops to glory and wealth, and commanding powerful magic! The temptation was strong and Carym almost found himself nodding, but Zach’s words of warning about Dockyard City drifted back into his mind, breaking the spell. He shook his head angrily, the sudden movement startling him from the hypnosis.

  “Who are you?” he asked angrily. The dark man’s eyes narrowed, contemplating the value of trying to convince the man further. He had his orders, though. And orders from those who commanded him were never to be taken lightly.

  “I am Skull Commander Ebonaar, of His Dark Majesty’s elite and powerful Skull Knights. Umber rewards his faithful beyond what you could ever hope to achieve on your own! Power and wealth beyond reckoning will be yours!” he hissed.

  “I seek neither power nor wealth, man. Begone with you!” Carym said, confidently, leveling his sword before him.

  “Oh, but His Dark Majesty has plans for you!” the evil man laughed at Carym, his voice like the cracking of thunder. The dark robed man raised his staff and pointed a gnarled finger at Carym. A fiery blue skull erupted from his finger, shrieking hideously as it blazed through the air towards Carym. The sound emanating from the skull’s gaping maw pained Zach so much so that he fell to the ground in agony.

  Carym swung his sword at the skull, causing it to explode in a shower of sparks. After the hideous shrieking ceased, Zach’s senses began to return to normal. He was amazed to find Carym still standing. Carym swung his sword viciously at his foe. Ebonaar raised his staff to parry the blow and lost his hand for it. As the severed hand fell to the wooden dock, planks rotted away and the hand plummeted to the water below. A retched cloud of stench began to rise from the bubbling water where the hand had fallen. Ebonaar looked at the stump of his arm with a terrified expression. Angrily, the man snatched up his staff with his good hand and waved it at Carym, shouting words unknown to him. Bolts of white fire flew from the orifice of the ram’s mouth at Carym. Instinctively, he held his sword before him and the blade seemingly absorbed the magical fire! With a shriek, the evil man disappeared in a puff of smoke.

  “What the in the Seven Hells was that?” asked Zach, his voice hoarse. He was unsteady on his feet and a bit disoriented.

  “I don’t know!” Carym replied in wonder, staring at his sword.

  “Is that sword magical?” asked Zach, eying Carym’s sword with interest.

  “I’ve never known it to be magical before.” Carym examined the blade of his sword in wonder. “Are you ok, Zach?”

  “Fine,” he grumbled. “Come on, people are staring. Two fights in the short time we’ve been here is enough to attract unwanted attention even in Dockyard City.”

  The two moved away as quickly as they could, making their way down the creaking, swaying dock to find a ride. Carym wondered about the nature of that hellish magic.

  Slowly things began to return to normal as they left the bizarre scene behind them. The pair branched off the main dock way and turned down another leading to the Port District, where dinghys and ferry boats docked, waiting to take their charges out to the deeper waters where the larger ships lay at anchor. They stopped at a tall gate with a large sign overhead. The message was written in several languages including Cklathish, Arnathian and the language known as Eastern Kings. It said, “PIER 25” and was manned by a skinny fellow with a weasily face and a pointy beard. He was flanked by two very big, and very well-armed, men who sat lazily on stools. The trained eyes of the Cklathmen were not fooled however, these men were professional fighters and likely able to respond to any threat in the blink of an eye.

  “Is this the pier were the captain of Marineer calls port?” Zach asked the weasily fellow. The man was inspecting a ledger and glanced up at him with an expression of mild annoyance. He flicked away some flies and set his pen down, then peered at the two men.

  “The Marineer left port unexpectedly this morning,” said the main peevishly. “Without proper payment of tariffs. I assume they will return promptly, else they forfeit any cargo left behind in Dockyard City and lose docking privileges here. Are you part of her crew?” As the man finished his question, one of the sleeping guards flicked open a very alert eye and watched the two men, as though waiting for a sign from the piermaster.

  “We are just passengers,” Zach said hastily, noting the guard had closed his eyes again in disinterest. “We have contracted passage and were supposed to meet the captain here today.”

  The piermaster appeared satisfied by the answer and went back to writing in his ledger as the two stood expectantly. Finally the man looked up from his ledger, swatted another fly and peevishly said, “What?”

  The guard’s eyes flicked open again, wondering if the visitors were going to irritate the piermaster enough to warrant a fight.

  “Nothing. Sorry to bother you, sir,” Zach said hastily, drawing Carym away. The man went back to his ledger and the guard appeared to have gone back to sleep.

  “Now what?”

  “We wait for the Marineer to return. Something very important must have driven Yag to leave without paying the tariffs, he wouldn’t needlessly jeopardize his place in such a profitable port. He will return,” Zach said confidently.

  Zach lead Carym back to the main dock way and they continued on for several minutes walking toward the part of town known as “Inn Row.” This dock way ran the outer edge of the town with the ocean on their right and the shambling buildings, shops, and homes of Dockyard City on their left. Having never been to this place, Carym was amazed by the variety of merchants ranging from magic shops, arms and armor dealers, herb suppliers, mercenary offices, nautical suppliers, fortune tellers, temples to various gods and spirits, and several brothels with scantily clad women - and even a few men - soliciting business on the dock ways.

  One shop in particular, a self-proclaimed magical supply shop, attracted Carym’s attention. The shop had been painted black and the door was crimson with an array of strange symbols. The two windows had been painted over with black paint and the sign over the door simply had a symbol of a hand, palm up, with a flame suspended above the hand. Carym suspected proximity to Arnathia, where the use of magic was outlawed, was probably good for business.

  He began to walk toward the door when suddenly it opened and two very diverse looking men walked out and stopped in front of the door, engaged in conversation. One man was dressed in a blue robe with red and silver symbols and designs. Carym felt Zach’s hand on his elbow steering him away from the shop and Carym did not resist. He continued to study the men as they passed by, however. The first man appeared old and wise with silvery hair and pale skin. The second man was dressed in exceptionally clean black trousers and black shirt with crimson bands at the sleeves and crimson epaulettes on his shoulders. He was wearing a crimson trimmed cloak clasped at one shoulder with a silver brooch, and wore a sword whose blade was red! The man had short, nearly shaved jet black hair, which revealed small cupped ears. The most striking characteristic, how
ever, was that the color of his skin was red!

  “Stop staring!” hissed Zach. “They’re spell casters!”

  Carym agreed it was probably unwise and turned away, but not before the crimson skinned man cast him and Zach a wary glance. A Crimson Elf? he wondered. Considering the transient, mercantile nature of this city he supposed it really wasn’t that surprising.

  After an hour of walking, the men reached Hospitality Center where they searched for the only inn Zach knew would offer some protection.

  “Ahh,” Zach steered Carym toward an incongruously clean inn. “This inn is owned and operated by the Spiders. If anyone hunts for us here, we will be protected.”

  Carym felt relieved at the notion, but, at the same time, he felt as though he were betraying his principles by accepting help from criminals. He was thoroughly confused about his old friend’s association with the Spiders. But, as he walked through the richly designed doors and into the posh lobby, he was reminded of an old saying among the Eastern Kingdoms that bordered Hybrand; “The enemy of my enemy is my friend.”

  Once inside the richly decorated lobby of the aptly named Widow’s Inn, Carym and Zach approached a counter of polished wood with an intricate silver bell sitting atop. A series of small cubby boxes with room numbers and keys faced them from the wall behind the counter. Above that was a lifelike portrait of a strikingly beautiful woman, a widow Carym supposed, although he saw no other references to spiders. The floor was wood and highly polished like the counter, and adorned with richly designed rugs from far off lands. The paneled walls held portraits of various people whom Carym did not recognize. After a moment, Zach rang the bell and a man stepped out from a nearby door.

  “What can I do for you gentlemen?” said the elderly man dressed in very formal looking silks, his nose veritably twitching above a pencil thin mustache.

  “A room, please. Overlooking the main dock way,” stated Zach as he handed the man a small silver coin with a spider’s effigy. The innkeeper very quickly pocketed the coin and withdrew a coin from another pocket placing it on the counter. Saying nothing more, the man turned and removed a key from a cubby behind him and handed it to Zach. “Also, I need to know when the Marineer returns to Pier 25.” The man nodded crisply.

  “Number twelve, sir. Upstairs; down the hall, second door on the right,” the man said with indifference. “The dining room is behind you, meals are included with your room, gentlemen. Entertainment will be provided this evening.” Zach nodded to the man, saying nothing and turned to head up the stairs. Carym nodded and followed Zach up the carpeted spiral staircase to the second floor landing. There they walked down the hall to the second door, number twelve, and went inside.

  “How do the Spiders maintain such wealth?”

  “Perhaps one day I’ll tell you.”

  Carym didn’t press any further, Zach had been very tight lipped around Carym these last months.

  Their room was as richly furnished and decorated as the rest of the inn; tapestries, polished wood floors, expensive paneling, and two very comfortable looking beds, filled the room. There was even a balcony with two comfortable chairs. Carym would hardly expect to see such luxury in the houses of the nobility, never mind an inn in Dockyard City.

  “The spiders spare no expense, eh?” he asked his friend, smiling. Zach ignored the comment and strode to the balcony, peering down at the streets below. Seeing nothing of interest he returned to the room, closed the balcony door, and lay upon one of the beds.

  Carym sat on the second bed and marveled at how soft it was. He knew that if he dared rest his head, even for a moment, he would be lost to the world. Somehow, he wasn’t quite ready to face the demons that would surely haunt his sleep just yet. He pondered the significance of the giant orok and the Skull Commander, Ebonaar. What is a Skull Knight, anyway? Was Umber really trying to capture him? Why him? What was so special about Carym of Hyrum? Perhaps it had something to do with the way he thwarted Ebonaar’s spells. He had passed through the druid’s magical stone door, that was something to consider. But, truly, what else about him was so special that warranted the attention of the darkest god with dominion over Llars? Was it their quest to the Everpool? Did Umber want to stop him from reaching that sacred place? If so, then why not just kill them instead of two attempts at capture? He sighed, and decided to find someplace to more suitable to someone of his station where he could relax and eat; he just didn’t feel comfortable in this place.

  “I’m going out, Zach. I’ll be back later.”

  “Please, stay out of trouble,” he replied, dozing off to sleep.

  Carym dropped his backpack on the bed as well as his bow, arrows, and other supplies, keeping his sword strapped to his hip. Taking the key to the room, he walked downstairs and outside onto the main dock way. He decided to turn left, because he had not been that way yet, and wandered along the main dock way passing a number of inns and shops. He found another inn, a bit more modest than the Widow but clean and somewhat more agreeable to his idea of what an inn should be.

  As he walked inside the Starlight Inn, he found it to be much like Raffo’s place; well-kept, modestly decorated, and quiet. The room was comfortably lit, and the chill of the autumn day was abated by a fire in the hearth. A few men and women sat at the bar and a smattering of patrons were seated at tables, eating or drinking. A bard sat near the hearth and was playing a very soothing tune on an instrument very similar to a flute. He sat at the bar and asked the barkeep for a cold ale, foregoing the choice of sobriety once again. In Dockyarder style, the barkeep provided Carym with a stoppered ceramic bottle containing a golden brew, cool with condensation. He paused a moment before removing the stopper, reflecting on his years of drunkenness and debated whether to follow through. Finally deciding he could handle it, Carym popped the stopper and took a long drink from the bottle.

  It was cold and it was good.

  A dark skinned beauty seated herself at the bar next to Carym, her heady perfume wafted to his nostrils and he breathed in her sweet scent. He ordered another beer and looked at the beauty who sat next to him. The barkeep smirked as he placed another stoppered bottle on the bar and took the empty.

  “My name is Zarflour,” came the musical voice, her thick Amberlouvian accent interacting with the powerful Dockyard beer. “’Ow do you do?”

  Carym found himself gazing into the deep blue almond shaped eyes of an auburn-haired goddess. He felt giddy, and a little bit shaky, and chalked it up to the powerful Dockyarder beer. He smiled at the woman and she put her hand over his, the act sent a thrill charging up Carym’s arm and made his heart quicken.

  “Uh, I’m Carym,” he said thickly. “Pleasure to meet you.”

  “Non, the pleazure ees mine,” she said, stroking his hand.

  Carym told the barkeep to get her whatever she wanted and he was surprised when she asked for a shot of Vaardic Vodka. She tossed it down like it was water! Carym sensed a surge of energy as she placed the shot glass down on the bar, she was still holding his hand.

  “Are you from Amberlou?” he asked, recognizing her accent. This woman was positively charming, he decided. He always thought Amberlouvian women were more beautiful than any other. Did he? That just didn’t seem right. He fought down an urge strike the woman – he was shocked at himself for thinking such a thing. He shook his head; this was all very bizarre. He had never in his life thought of striking a woman!

  “Yes, from Amberlou. Owever, I am stranded ere in zees city. The ship that brought me ere was confiscated by the Merchant Guard weeks ago and I desperately need ’elp to get ’ome.” Carym’s eyes lit up, he and Zach were experienced adventurers and veteran Roughneck sailors. He finished another cold beer and began to offer his assistance when he realized he hadn’t asked for that beer. How many is that? Whoa.

  “You are trying to get back to Amberlou?” he asked, thinking to offer her a space on the Marineer.

  “No, I wish to go Caelambra. Perhaps ewe ’ave ’eerd of it?” she said, co
yly stroking his hand.

  Her touch was positively intoxicating, he thought. Carym nodded dumbly, tapping his empty bottle on the bar. Caelambra sounded familiar, anyway. The barkeep slid another one down to him and he placed a coin on the bar for payment. He drained it quickly, enjoying that familiar numbness that came with being drunk.

  “My brother, the Prince of Amberlou, made me Ambassador to Caelambra. I was on a diplomatic mission to Arnathia Proper, but wee ’ad to stop ’ere for supplies. And, when we did, the dastardly Merchant Guard of Dockyard City, confiscated my ship! My crew ’as since deserted me and, alas, I am stuck ere.”

  “You are a princess?” he asked, incredulous. She nodded gravely, her emerald eyes seemed to possess their own innate light. However, having had a now unknown number of drinks, Carym was willing to chalk that observation up to the booze.

  “Why don’t you go upstairs, Zarflour?” the barkeep asked, with heavy stress on her name. “This man’s just trying to relax. Isn’t that right, sir?” Why was the man getting into his business? Carym shook his head at the barkeep who shrugged and walked away muttering.

  “Would you like to come upstairs, mezur?” whispered the woman in a husky voice heavy with desire. “We can talk in private, and you can tell me ’ow you are going to help me get ’ome.”

  Carym nodded dumbly, tossed a handful of coin on the counter, and let himself be led upstairs. Carym found that he could think of nothing else but this amazing woman -a princess!- in front of him and his desires to please her. He pictured himself a hero, bringing this woman home to her powerful family and the rewards he would surely receive. Certainly her affections were worth more treasure than he could imagine. It was an oddly gratifying thought, thinking of all that treasure. He had never before considered wealth for the sake of acquiring it, but now he knew why it was so appealing; wealth meant power and no one knew that better than Amberlouvians.