In mere minutes the pair was inside a room and Carym was laying face down on a bed, with his shirt off! He couldn’t even remember getting undressed! Carym reminded himself to be wary of the strength of Dockyard City beer. Soon, the woman sat astride his back and began working the stiffness from his muscles, he vaguely wondered how his muscles had become so knotted.
“What brings you ’ere, Carym?” she purred, kneading and working his back and shoulders. He was acutely aware of her hands, and of his desire for her to use them. However odd he thought the situation, he found himself oddly powerless to stop her. Somewhere in the back of his mind came a warning not to tell her the truth, that a princess shouldn’t be massaging his shoulders, but he found this woman so compelling.
“I’m on a quest,” he whispered, lamely.
“That sounds so dangerous! What sort of quest?” she asked, caressing his body in ways and places that kept his mind off balance. Carym wondered why she didn’t have much of an accent anymore. He assumed that either he was getting used to her voice (how could a man not) or, the alcohol was affecting his hearing.
“To find,” he paused, his mind spinning. Should he be telling this stranger? Not a stranger, a princess. One with a wealthy and powerful family!
“Yes?” she prompted, her breath in his ear, her lips tickling his flesh. Suddenly he realized the woman had removed her top too, and he could feel her bare skin touching his back softly as she leaned over him.
“The Everpool,” he said finally. There, it was out. The woman stopped, deathly still for a moment. And, in that moment, Carym experienced a startling clarity of mind; he found himself wondering what had happened to him and how the hell did he get upstairs? Just as he was about to push away from the woman she began kissing his neck.
And he forgot all about clarity.
The woman began doing things to him that he knew he should not allow, felt like he should say no. But, at that moment, he was powerless to do or say anything. Somehow, the woman managed to ask him trifling questions as she continued her mind-numbing caresses, and somehow, he managed to answer.
“How will you find it?” her silky voice seemingly demanded answer.
“A guide will take us there,” he whispered. Somewhere in his mind, he was beginning to get annoyed - Why does she keep talking?
“Oh, is someone else traveling with you?” he thought it odd she was so curious, but he still could not focus his mind enough to analyze the thought.
“Yes.”
Suddenly she flipped him over onto his back and he was shocked to see she had shed all her clothes, and any sense of inhibition he had was gone. In moments, he found himself entwined with her, their bodies doing what Carym long felt should not be done so casually. Yet here he was and it was hard to care because he had been so alone for so very long.
“Will you take me with you?” she asked very quietly. He couldn’t understand why she kept talking, it was becoming a distraction. As he decided to ignore her, an overwhelming desire to please her in every way overcame him. “I can help you on your quest.” Then Carym could think no more.
Carym awoke later in the arms Zarflour, her mesmerizing green eyes again locked onto his own. Yet, something felt different now. Her eyes seemed darker, and her beauty now seemed hard and edgy, rather than soft and feminine. He felt like a spell had been lifted and he was seeing the woman differently now. Had he promised her something?
“Do you remember what you were about to say, Carym?” she whispered. He felt himself slipping again as his body responded to her touch.
“I don’t know,” he said, suddenly getting up from the comfortable bed and startling the woman enough that she pulled back from him. He cursed himself for a fool and threw the covers to the floor, trying to find his clothes, desperately hoping he hadn’t revealed anything important.
She kneeled up on the bed with total disregard for modesty, which Carym suspected was intentional, and he found himself desiring her physical beauty yet again. “You men are so quick to leave a girl,” her demeanor changed to pouty and sulky. “Don’t you like me?”
“Yes, I do,” he began, lamely. “It’s just that I shouldn’t have-” he stopped mid-sentence and resumed dressing realizing he was falling back under her control, whatever it was. He turned away, refusing to look at her lest he succumb to her charm again. Then he said, “I have to go.”
“So you don’t you want to rescue me?” He paused a moment, and found himself facing her again. “Won’t you take me with you?”
“Look, I am sorry,” he began lamely. “I mean no offense, it’s just that I have to go.” He found himself trying to find her eyes again and shook his head. Why was it always so difficult with women? Silently cursing himself, he finished dressing and grabbed his weapon. He turned to say goodbye and saw what seemed to be dark fingers of smoke swirling around the woman. Suddenly fearful of what he had fallen into, Carym just backed up to the door, opened it, and walked out. Her voice followed him out the door.
“Good bye, mezur!” she said, in the heavy Amberlouvian accent once again, laughter trailing him.
Carym raced downstairs and into the common room wondering if this had been another attempt by the Dark One to capture him. If so, it almost worked! He strode up to the bar and hailed the barkeep. “What is it, lad?” the man asked with a smirk. “Zarflour didn’t treat you well?”
“Who is she?” he demanded, still out of breath, head still spinning from alcohol.
“That was Zarflour. She works here,” he said grabbing another cold bottle of beer from under the counter. “You look like you could use another, lad.”
“No, thank you. I’ve had enough, apparently.” The barkeep shrugged. Then Carym looked pointedly at him and said, “She works here?”
“She’s a good lass,” he said with a wink. “Hope you tipped her right! She keeps men comin’ back here.”
Carym nodded dully, reality sinking in. “Where is she from?”
“From?” the man scoffed. “From? She’s from the sea, lad! A siren if there ever was one!”
A siren. A mythical race of beings who live in the sea and charm sailors to their deaths with their beauty and magical spells. How preposterous that would have seemed only an hour ago. “A siren,” he repeated, weakly. He poignantly recalled the druid’s warning that Umber would be sending his minions to try to convert him, tempt him with power, or simply kill him. He was thoroughly grateful that, if this was one of the Dark Lord’s minions, she hadn’t tried to kill him. If she had, dead as a doorstop would he be.
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 ma
keup 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 traps. 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!”
“Fare
well 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.
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