To his right, pier after massive pier—each some ten or twelve paces wide—pressed against the stone wall that made up the bulk of the city-side shore. At each of these sat ships of every size and make, most large enough for long oceanic voyages. Smaller docks jutted out from the larger ones like branches of a mighty tree. These held the myriad of smaller fishing boats that reaped the bounty of the sea for the inhabitants of Mocley. Swarms of people now covered the docks and piers. Several small crafts, either ahead of them or pulling away from their resting spots, joined the Mistbreeze Trader in the harbor.
To his left side sat the Millitinia that housed the mighty Mocley Royal Navy. Over the high wall that skirted the shore in front of it, Alant could see ornate towers jutting up into the clear-blue morning sky. He assumed these spires must be part of the Proctors Residence, nestled inside the protective fort within the walls of the city. Guarders patrolled the battlements, and it conjured up an image of his home in Hild’alan. A spasm of longing ripped through him.
It will be many long turns of the seasons before I see the shores of my homeland again.
More fishing boats joined the large barquentine in the middle of the harbor. As they neared the mouth, Alant feared for the safety of the smaller crafts. “They are darting in every direction! Are those fishermen crazy? Why are they getting so close to us?”
“They no have control, Sier. No boats can navigate Mocley’s harbor without a Mermidian guide. The bottom of the harbor be filled with underwater barriers that can rip the hull off any ship.” Krin pointed to a boat streaming alongside of them. “Do you see the rope that be tied to that one’s bow-stem, Sier? She do also be led, just as we.”
“Watch the windfall as we do enter the bay and be prepared to back and fill!” Captain Garson perched at the rear of the ship, yet his shouts rang clear, even to where Arderi and Krin stood at the front. “When we do raise sail, I no want to be taken aback!” Alant wondered what the man meant.
It is like they speak a completely different tongue!
As they neared the mouth of the harbor, Alant turned to ask the young cabin boy the meaning of the Captain’s words, yet his breath escaped him as the full expanse of the open sea filled his vision. ”Never before have I seen so much openness! It goes on forever!”
“Aye, tis be as beautiful a sight as a man did ever see.” Krin motioned ahead of them. “Do you see the tower that juts out of the water in the middle of the mouth, Sier?” Krin waited until Alant nodded. “That be Gatekeep. If you do look closely at the waterline, you can just see where the chaingate slips into the water below.”
“What is the chaingate?” Alant had never heard the term used before.
Krin gawked at him in genuine befuddlement. “They really do keep you locked up in that Academy, huh, Sier?” He shook his head. “I can no imagine living so… confined.” The boy gazed back toward the open sea. Pointing off to the Millitinia side of the harbor exit, to the last tower that stood on a small strip of land, he wagged a finger at it until Alant looked that way. “Inside that last tower be a massive chain—links the size of a man—it extends down into the water and then crosses to Gatekeep in the center there.” He traced the path with a finger, continuing past the center tower. “A second one—you can see a few of the links just there—extend on to that tower on the city side of the mouth. To block the harbor, they raise the chaingate and no boat can get in or out of Mocley.”
“I have never heard of it.” Alant words came out hushed.
“As far as the Captain do know, it has no been raised in living memory. Most of the crew do think it be an old woman’s tale. Still, you will get a good view of the few visible links when we do pass out into the bay, Sier.”
Turning around, Alant leaned against the railing and stared back into the heart of the city. “I have been in Mocley for nearly two turns of the seasons now. Yet I have seen almost nothing of it. The Coliseum, Great Palintium, the Bazaar… all as foreign to me now as they were before I arrived.” He shook his head and looked down at the boy standing next to him. “And you, at barely half my age. You have seen what?”
A sheepish smile sprang to Krin’s dark face and he averted his chocolate eyes. “I did sail with the Captain since he did adopt me as a babe, Sier. My home be somewhere near Nithshilo. At least, that be what the Captain did tell me.”
Alant cocked his head to one side and gave the boy a quizzical look. “Nithshilo? Where is that?”
“It do lie on the coast of Silaway, on the other side of the Great Ocean, Sier. I did cross the Great Ocean many a time now. I have gone as far north as Katsujai and south down to Aktita, covering the breadth of the Silawaian coastline. Circled the Isle of Elmorr’eth, stopping at all three of its great cities, and have seen most ports here on Ro’Arith, from Aalholm to Velvithia.”
This boy has seen so much, and I still have a farm boy’s understanding of things. What kind of Shaper will I make?
The smile slipped from Krin’s face, and reaching out, he put his hand over Alant’s. “Did I say something that upset you, Sier?” There was genuine concern in his voice.
“Nix. I simply lost myself in thought.” Alant smiled at the boy before he leaned onto the rail and watched the Mistbreeze Trader slip past the last towers standing their stoic watch on the harbor. He saw the two visible chaingate links jutting out of the side of the tower and slipping into the waters below—each link easily big enough for a man to walk through. The land peeled away to either side and the full expanse of the Glonlore Bay opened before him, revealing nothing except white-capped waves extending off into the horizon. Alant’s stomach lurched. He forced himself to turn back to the city for reassurance that land still existed and they had not, in fact, fallen off the Plane and into emptiness.
The cabin boy giggled and Alant realized his mouth hung open. Shutting it with a click, he mentally kicked himself for acting like a fool, yet he could not bring himself to turn back to the vacuous sight that lay in the path of the ship. “Could you show me to my quarters? I need to lie down for a while.”
“Aye, Sier.” Krin took him by the elbow. “Let me help you. The deck do shift when the sails be set.”
Alant let himself be led. The cacophony of sights and sounds swirling around him dissolved, and numbness overtook him.
Dusk had settled across the land before the walls of the stead came in view. Clytus Rillion nudged his dustier, Starborn, into a canter, and noted with satisfaction that Alimia matched his pace without hesitation. This far out from Mocley he had no wish to camp outdoors when a fortified place lay so close at hand.
Things will be rough enough once we cross the Artoc.
Approaching the main gate to the small stead with Alimia by his side, Clytus’ heart gave a flutter when he saw the gates were already down for the eve.
“Do you have any contacts here?” Alimia called out over the pounding of the horses’ hooves.
“Nix! I am not even sure what stead this is.” He hoped the Crystal from the Shaper’s Order would carry some extra weight out here in the country.
If it does not, I will wave that annoying Jintrill in their face. At least the boy will be good for something!
They reined in their mounts at the gate and Clytus dismounted. The sally-port—a small, man-sized door set within the larger main gate—opened and a guard stepped out. He looked to be a stout man about two paces tall. Short-cropped black hair peppered with gray gave his age to be well over thirty winters. He stood there, dressed in a thick brown leather jerkin and pants, with a shortsword belted on his left hip. The fact that several archers looked out from slits set nearly ten paces off the ground was not lost on Clytus.
The guard approached with a weary look in his eye. “Well met.”
“Well met. I am Clytus Rillion. I command a merc troop out of Mocley.” Reaching into a belt pouch, he withdrew a Crystal and offered it to the man. “Here is my license.”<
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The guard held it to his brow, his eyes losing focus for a moment. “Attached to the Shaper’s Order, huh?” The man returned the Crystal, his stance visibly relaxing. “I am Dartin Sim, Guarder Captain of the Third Watch here at Hild’alan. What might I do for you, Commander?”
“My host and I are traveling north and were hoping to take refuge inside your stead for the eve.”
Dartin looked over Clytus’ shoulder. “How many in your troop, Commander?”
“Thirty three ahorse, seven wagons with drivers, a dozen or so spare mounts, and a Shaper, Guarder Captain.” Clytus hated to note that, to this country lout, the Shaper had more impact than the rest combined.
“Aye, we have a spot that can accommodate you, Commander. Alas, I will warn you. We have no accommodations for entertainment—no taverns or such. We are a farming stead, not one meant to entertain. Keep your men in camp, if you please.”
“Aye. I had no intention of letting my troop have any leave time this eve, so that will not be an issue. And I am grateful for the hospitality, Guarder Captain Sim.”
The guard turned and let out a loud, shrill whistle, waving his arm in a circle above his head. The gates groaned as they broke from the ground. The loud clickety-clack of a hoist and ratchet sounded through the cool, early-eve air. Clytus remounted and stared down the road at the approaching wagons.
Once inside the stead walls, a wide-eyed young guard escorted them to a section of dirt covered by a sparse layer of grass between two in-stead animal pens full of bleating sheep. “This is our only camp area, Commander. We use it for fairs and festivals.”
Nodding, Clytus dismounted. “This will do nicely.” He flicked a silver pent to the young man.
Snatching it from the air, the boy grinned openly and nodded to Clytus. “My thanks to you, Commander, sir. I will be by in an aurn or so to see if you need anything else.”
Probably a full moons wage for the lad.
As soon as the wagons came to a stop, Jintrill jumped from his perch and bustled over. He snagged the young guard by the arm as the man was leaving. “Take me to the Ques’lian.” At the baffled look of the young man, he sighed. “The Hall of Shapers.”
The young guarder’s eyes bulged. “Sier, sir… My apologies…” He stared around in panic. “Hall of Shapers?”
Clytus shook his head. “Jintrill! This is a farming stead. You will find no Ques’lian here.”
“Aye, I mean nix, Sier… sir.” The young guarder tried in vain to extract his arm from Jintrill’s grasp without making it appear impolite.
The Shaper released the guarder. “You do have Shapers here, do you not?”
The guarder rubbed his arm as if he had been burned. “Aye, Sier. There are several.” His eyes lit up. “I could take you to the Master Shaper! His apartments are in the Magistra.” Clytus chuckled at how proud the young man seemed at his revelation.
“That would be acceptable.” Jintrill waved a hand. “Lead on, then.”
“Oiy!” Clytus yelled and was rewarded by a jump from both young men. “I suppose then, you will not be in need of a tent this eve?”
A horrified look sprang to the young Shaper’s face. “I should hope not. Civilization should at least extend this far from Mocley, should it not?”
“Aye, mayhaps. Just do not get used to this. It will be the last time you sleep in a bed for several moons.” Clytus started to turn, then paused. “Oh, and if you are not with the troop when we move out in the morning, it was nice traveling with you, young Sier.”
Jintrill’s jaw dropped open. “The Council… You would not leave me here, surely!”
“Oh, aye, lad, I would indeed. Keep in mind that you have been ordered by the Council to accompany me. I was only ordered to let you. I am under no obligation to help you keep up, nor to make your journey comfortable.” Clytus shifted his smile into a vicious grin. “Or even insure that you return home alive.”
He watched with amusement while the implication of his statement settled into the young Shaper. Jintrill shrank away in terror, stumbling as he turned to flee into the buildings that made up the center of the stead.
Clytus chuckled and nodded to the young guarder. “Go get him and make sure he makes it to the other Shapers.”
The man grinned and trotted off after Jintrill.
Watching his troop dismount and start their chaotically organized camp setup—complete with Alimia spouting off orders where needed—Clytus spied some young boys who had taken note of them, and stood on the fringes, staring.
Trilim walked by carrying an armload of cooking pots. “The smell of the animals should add to the taste of this eve’s stew nicely, Master.”
Clytus snorted. “Mayhaps. Still, tis better than becoming something else’s stew.”
“There is that.” Hefting his load, Trilim continued to the spot he had chosen for the camp’s cook fire.
Glancing once more toward the country boys on the fringes of the camp, he took a moment to study them.
I have always wondered how the Proctors of Mocley keep these labor steads operating. One step above slavery, and the fools who live here do not even realize it. Yet, when you are born into it, with no knowledge of what the rest of the Plane holds, how are you to know that you have less than you should?
Shaking his head, he set off to see to his own tent.
A bitter wind raked Arderi Cor’s skin. Despite a nagging voice in the back of his head telling him to go home, he continued to wander aimlessly through the stead. Goose-pimples sprang up on his uncovered arms. When he left the house this morn, he had not expected to be out after dark so had not dressed for the chill of the late eve. Early spring eves could still get nippy, and this one turned out to be no exception.
The desire to avoid bumping into anyone who might know him, forced him to wander away from the fielder public housing district and into areas he had rarely been. The tall, whitewashed public houses of the hearders cast the alleys between them into total darkness, causing his imagination to wonder at what lay hidden inside. Even the dimness of the main streets, lit only by a smattering of oil lamps, hung an ominous gloom over his spirit.
Tracing the southron wall, losing himself in the simple sounds and smells of the animals as he wound through in-stead pens and the odd barn or feed silo, he was startled to find a large group of men making camp on the fairgrounds. Curious, he snuck closer, crouching down in the shadows of a corner fence.
Across from him, standing in opened-eyed wonder, stood a group of young herders gawking at all the goings on. Hidden, he watched the camp take shape. Many tents had been raised and a cooking fire blazed away in the center of the area. A large pot dangled over it and the aroma of a stew drifted out. Scores of horses stood picketed on a rope line that stretched between the fencing. A cluster of wagons rested on the far edge of the grounds nearest the main road.
They look to be fighting men. Still, they wear no uniforms so they cannot be soldiers. Mayhaps they are mercenaries!
Arderi’s mind raced, remembering the tales he had heard in this very field from bards who came during festival times. They told of the free ranging fighting men who would sell their swords to those who could pay. He turned and sat, leaning his back against the fence post, and pulled his knees to his chest. Imagination took the better of him and he dreamed himself living the adventure of a bard’s tale.
They must be heading to Mocley! Those wagons look stuffed full of the treasure they acquired on their journey!
For well over an aurn he sat huddled up in his shadow, listening to the bustle of the camp, daydreaming.
Arderi awoke with a start. He did not remember falling asleep, yet knew he had. Looking around the camp, he saw that all was quiet. The fire had burned low; snores and snorts emanated from the dark mounds that littered the area closest to him. All the tents sat dark and silent.
As Arderi stood, pai
n shot down the back of his neck. Remaining in the position he had drifted off in had caused his muscles to stiffen and tighten. With no moon visible in the sky, and since he had never learned how to use the stars as guides, he had no idea how late it was. A pang of guilt ripped through him. His parents would be upset since he failed to come home this eve.
They must be worried sick!
Even with this realization, he could not bring himself to start the journey home.
I am a failure. Better that I never return than to see the look of shame in their eyes.
Casting his gaze over the sleeping camp, with its tents and men, horses and wagons, his heart hardened with resolve. Melting into the shadows of the southron wall, he stalked like a cat. Skirting the animal pens so as not to disturb their occupants, he made his way around to the far side of the camp—and more importantly, to the wagons.
Breaking from the dark cover, he crept across the last bit of ground that separated him from his goal. His breath caught in his throat when a small stone shot out of the darkness to his right and skidded across the ground, coming to rest directly in front of him. Dropping flat to the ground, he strained his ears, listening for any sound. Footsteps followed the stone from the direction it had come.
Someone draws near!
Glancing back, Arderi knew he could not make it back to the safety of the wall before whoever approached discovered him. Hardly a wisp of air escaped him. He lay prone in the chilly darkness, listening to the footsteps draw near. The shape of a man materialized out of the gloom some twenty paces away. The guarder used a spear as a walking stick, and bore a line that would take him directly across the spot where Arderi lay. Pressing hands to dirt, Arderi prepared to rise and bolt.
“A bit of crock, I say!” A loud whisper came out of the dark from off to the left.
The man with the spear stopped and turned, scanning the area. He nodded, and a second man’s form came into view. “Aye.” The first man nodded his head. “I see no reason for a third watch inside these walls either. Yet, we do as we are told. Master Rillion is in charge and it was by his order. Even Alimia voiced against it.”
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