Farmers & Mercenaries (25 page)

Then, the man moved. So slightly, Arderi thought he imagined it. He looked back to the thing with the axe and was certain it had not moved at all. Returning his attention to the running man, he…

He
is
closer. Aye!

The running man had taken a step, closing the gap between him and the creature. As Arderi watched, he saw that the man moved at a steady pace, albeit in slow motion. Arderi stood in awe of what he saw. Looking back to the thing in front of him, Arderi was startled to see that its axe had started to descend, yet only by the slightest amount. He concentrated on the axe and could tell that it moved as well, except much slower than the running man moved. The man made his way behind the beast at his creeping pace. Arderi tried to step to the side, to get out of harms way and get a better view, yet found himself unable to move.

I am frozen as well!

While his mind raced to understand what was happening, a blade appeared next to the creature. Inch by inch, it moved into a position that would intercept the beast’s arm holding the axe. Arderi glanced at the man’s face. Their eyes locked, and in that instance, Arderi felt the man’s very being. Fear rippled through him anew, and he slammed his eyes shut trying to break the unholy connection. Yet, when he opened them again, the other man still had him locked in his sight.

The Plane snapped forward.

Sound slammed back into his ears with a crash. Arderi lurched back, as if someone had been holding him and suddenly let go. The creature with the axe howled in agony and waved the bloody stump of its arm through the air. The rest of the arm still grasped the axe that now lay embedded into the ground a hairsbreadth from the woman’s head. The running man spun, his sword skimming through the air like a shaft of moonlight. The beast’s scream of pain silenced as the blade sliced cleanly through its neck. The severed head rolled off its shoulders to splat in the churned-up muck below. The body toppled over like a felled tree.

The running man spun on Arderi with inhuman speed. The tip of his sword hovered in front of Arderi’s face. Arderi jerked back out of reflex, crumpling into a ball on the ground, and covering his head with his arms. The image of his head rolling from his shoulders, the way the creature’s did a moment before, permeated his mind and froze him with fear.

“I do not have time for this!”

By the man’s tone, Arderi did not think he meant to kill him. Looking up, Arderi saw that the man had lowered his blade. “I know not who you are. Stay here and do nothing!” He jabbed his finger at the ground. The movement made him pause as he noticed the prone woman at his feet. “Nix! Drag her under a wagon and out of harm’s way. Take care of her.” The running man turned and melted off into the darkness. A darkness still filled with clangs and screams, and monsters come to life.

Reaching out, hand shaking like a leaf in the wind, Arderi grabbed the collar of the woman’s thick leather jerkin. He pulled her through the mud and under a wagon. Blood flowed freely from her nose and her jaw jutted out at an odd angle—both broken. A bit of bone protruded through her right cheek. Ripping off his sleeve, he held it to her nose, squeezing it shut to stem the bleeding. A light moan escaped her lips.

“Shh. You are safe now.” He kept his voice calm.

She may well be! Yet, what of me?

H
alfmeal had consisted of hard bread, cheese, and pieces of dried fruit that Alant Cor did not recognize. So far, it sat well in his stomach. Leaning against the front railing, he watched while the land stretching out over the horizon took shape. The sun had just passed its zenith, and a gentle breeze blew across the bow of the
Mistbreeze Trader
as she cut a path to his final destination.

Hath’oolan!

Over the last tenday, life—and his stomach—had settled down. The voyage, at least from his perspective as a passenger, had become restful and uneventful. Without the constant urge to void himself over the side, he had adopted a more productive routine. He filled his days with reading and studying the various tomes and books his Sier, Sarlimac, had bade him to master prior to reaching Elmorr’eth. He even relished the eves he spent with the crew, listening to their wild tales of sea-monsters or pirate raids or all manner of things that could happen to one while at sea.

For all their superstitions, they sure do enjoy hashing over gruesome tales and bad omens.

Still, the trip was almost over. The port of Hath’oolan, the capital city on the Isle of Elmorr’eth, lay just out of sight, and he had been told it would be visible within the aurn. The ship became a hive of activity while her crew made ready to pull into port. With nothing to do except watch, Alant drank in the sights, still trying to learn the meaning to all the words used on the boat.

Captain Garson took personal pleasure in yelling at his crew—as a whole or individually. Before Alant knew it, a gleaming white dot materialized into a massive wall. Upon its appearance, men ran, ropes were pulled, and the sails rose and were secured to the masts. The
Mistbreeze Trader
rounded a bend in the land and a massive harbor, much like the one in Mocley, burst into view. Hundreds of boats and ships cluttered the area. Some sailing into the harbor, some from it, and others simply sat as if not knowing where to head. The massive white wall, the guardian of the city proper, stretched from shore to shore, and Alant knew that it would wrap around behind what he could not see of the city. The only things visible beyond the wall were towers and spires that extended into the cloud-streaked blue sky.

Krin was correct—it is beautiful!

The shoreline itself, beyond the multitude of stone docks that jutted out into the bay, was covered by low buildings in neat rows that seemed to huddle between the sea and the wall of Hath’oolan.

A tiny boat, no larger than a one-man dingy, left the mouth of the harbor and darted directly toward the
Mistbreeze Trader
. The craft carried a single occupant—a thin, gray being standing in its center. Alant saw nothing propelling the boat, yet it was moving at such a rapid clip that he feared it would not stop before slamming into the side of the
Mistbreeze Trader
. At the last moment, the small dingy curved around the back of the large barquentine, slid alongside her, and stopped. Its abrupt halt did not disturb the water around it. Jumping down from the fo’c’sle—Alant had learned this was the name for the front of the large ocean-going vessel—where he had spent much of the day in anticipation of their arrival, he raced over to Captain Garson. The big black man stood by a rope ladder that dangled over the side of his ship above where the little craft had stopped.

The Captain nodded to Alant as he approached. “Sier.”

“Good day, Captain. May I?” Alant indicated a spot next to the big man.

A smile split the Captain’s face and he nodded. “Oh, aye! I do have to declare you to the Guide Master anyhow, so you might as well be present when he arrives.”

“Declare me?”

“Oh, aye. Any Shaper that be aboard a vessel wanting to port on Elmorr’eth must be presented to the Guide Master. Tis their law and I will no break it. Elmorr’Antiens do have long memories, and I will no have my trade interrupted.”

Alant stepped next to the Captain just as a small, thin gray hand reached up and over the side, taking hold of the railing. A gasp escaped the young Initiate’s lips.

A hand that only has three fingers!

He watched in awe while a gray being pulled itself up onto the deck and stood in front of them. Towering well over two paces tall, the being looked so impossibly thin, it seemed as if it should not be able to stand at all, much less manage to climb the side of a ship. A thin, light-blue robe covered much of its body, yet cut to accentuate the oddness of the beings slender structure more than hide it. The hem of the garment stopped just above its knees, leaving the majority of its willowy legs exposed. Slim, emaciated arms jutted out from the sleeveless top. A golden colored sash wrapped around its waist—a waist no thicker than one of the Captain’s legs. Laced sandals completed its attire, yet even these managed to emphasize how skinny its calves were. The disparity of its head in proportion to the rest of its body increased the comical look of the being. It was large, smooth, and covered with the same grayish skin as the rest of its body. Large black eyes floated above two slits Alant assumed was a nose. Long, flowing white hair poured up and over its brow to cascade off the back of its head like a frozen waterfall—never touching the being’s back.

To Alant’s surprise, Captain Garson made a formal bow to the being on his deck. “Good day, Guide Master, please be welcome on the
Mistbreeze Trader
.”

An Elmorian?

“Captain Garson, so pleased to see you safely back, yes?” The voice of the Elmorian floated soft and light on the sea air, yet it resounded over the deck with authority. “What have you to declare, hmm?”

The Captain held out a Silrith’tar. “Cargo manifest, merchants who be selling and their intended purchasers, Guide Master.”

The Elmorian waved a bony hand over the Crystal without actually touching it. “Anything to declare that is not listed, hmm?”

“There be one item we did pick up prior to setting sail out of Mocley that no be on the manifest.” The Captain placed a meaty hand on Alant’s shoulder. “This boy here be from the Shaper’s Academy. I did be told that someone would be expecting him.”

For the first time, the Elmorian turned its attention to Alant, its huge black eyes engulfing him to completion. Pain laced Alant and he let out a gasp, shooting a hand to his chest. Something cold had struck him and now bored into his flesh. He pawed at the front of his tunic, his fingers encasing the Tarsith that had hung forgotten around his neck for much of the journey. When he returned his attention back to the Guide Master, he noticed the Elmorian’s expression appeared different.

He seems almost puzzled.

Semi-transparent sheets, like smoked glass, slid down and up his huge globe-like eyes as the creature blinked. After a silence that stretched on for long moments, the Guide Master cocked his head to one side. “I assume you have an invitation, yes?”

The abruptness of the question shattered the silence and took Alant aback. “Aye, Guide Master.” Alant became aware that the Tarsith no longer radiated cold. “I have a Silrith’tar from your Chandril’elian inviting me to study here in Hath’oolan.” Removing his hand from the Tarsith, he fished into his pouch and produced the Crystal. The Elmorian waved a hand over it, again without touching it.

He can draw upon a Memory Crystal without placing it upon his forehead! That is amazing.

The Guide Master strode past him, heading for the bow of the ship. Without slowing or looking back, he spoke with an air of authority that brooked no argument. “Captain Garson, I will inform the Dock Master to fetch someone to receive the Human Initiate once we dock. Insure that he has his things ready so as not to detain those who come for him, yes? The guide boat is in position. Have your men tie it off so we may proceed.”

Alant did not wish to miss anything, so he hurried below deck to throw the last of his belongings into his bag. As he climbed back onto the main deck, the
Mistbreeze Trader
lurched forward without warning, and he almost lost his grip on the ladder. After ascending the last few rungs, he stowed his bag next to the mainmast and rushed to the bow of the ship where the Elmorian leaned against the railing, its eyes transfixed upon the distance harbor.

He is holding the Sight of the Essence.

Looking down to the water, Alant saw the small dingy that had bore the Guide Master out to the
Mistbreeze Trader
was now tied to the front of the large barquentine. It pulled her toward the shore at a pace she could not have reached on her own.

That burst of speed! It came from the guide boat!

Waving his three-fingered hands in smooth, graceful motions, the Guide Master directed the
Mistbreeze Trader
into the heavy traffic of Hath’oolan’s harbor. Once they rounded a natural outcrop of rock, more of the city came into view. Massive stone piers, white as freshly fallen snow, jutted out into the water. A swarm of boats, both large and small—many times more than docked in Mocley—sat either moored or being pulled in from, or out to sea. On each boat, a thin Elmorian Guide Master stood on its bow. Squat, square buildings of varying sizes littered the shore, all made from the same white stone as the piers. They stretched off into the distance for at least a league or more. Behind the buildings rose the colossal wall at least twice the height of the great outer wall of Mocley. Smooth as glass without a blemish to be seen. Dazzlingly bright, the wall made the buildings below it look dark.

“Breathtaking to behold, yes?” Alant gave a start at the Elmorian’s words.

“A… Aye, Guide Master.” Alant could not keep the stammer from his voice. He longed to ask the Elmorian how the guide boat worked, yet something about the being disturbed him. He cut his eyes and studied its profile, watching the Guide Master wave his hands.

I am actually looking at an Elmorr’Antien!

The history and glory that surrounded their race was inspiring. Yet, standing next to one felt wrong somehow. As if the Elmorian was out of place compared to the stories he had read.

Or, mayhaps it is I who is out of place.

Alant returned his attention to the docks. The tiny specks, which seemed no more than ants while they were still out to sea, took on form, and he saw them scurrying about their tasks. One facet of what he saw shocked him most. “Those are Humans!”

“The Dasha’alan is mostly populated by Humans, yes?” The Elmorian spoke without pausing in his duties.

“Dasha’alan?”

“The town of the docks. Have you not learned the Old tongue, boy, hmm?” Disgust laced the Guide Master’s voice—the first bit of emotion Alant had seen from him. “It seems one would apply themselves a great deal more in light of the great honor of learning here, yes?”

Not knowing how to respond, Alant remained silent. He watched the hustle and bustle of the port with interest as the
Mistbreeze Trader
slid into position alongside one of the stone piers.

Once the mooring lines were secure and the gangplank put in place, the Guide Master spent a moment speaking with Captain Garson, who handed him a small bag, presumably containing coin, and left without ever looking back to where Alant stood.

Unsure of what he should do, Alant went up to the Captain. “Where do I go from here, sir?”

“Well, now, young Sier, sir. Of that, I no be certain.” The big man looked around uncomfortably. “The Guide Master did say you would be met at the docks, so I suppose it would be prudent for you to stay aboard the
Mistbreeze
for awhile. If you will pardon, Sier, I do have cargo to attend to.”

When the big man disappeared below deck, a feeling of loneliness swept over Alant. It filled him more complete than he had felt since leaving his home stead of Hild’alan. With nothing to do, he sat down on his bag of belongings, rested his back against the main-sail mast, and watched the crew pull crates, bags and boxes from the ship’s hold. As the aurns slipped by, the sun continued its westronly trek to the distant horizon, lengthening the shadows across the docks and the ships they held. The business of the port never slowed, and it became a soothing rhythm to Alant as he rested his head against the mast. This, added to the now relative calmness of the ship, helped boredom overcome him, and he dozed off despite himself.