The huntress was squatting on her haunches, swaying with the gentle motion of the ship. She hovered over their assembled collection of weapons. They’d laid them out to take stock and make the best use of the resources they had available. She laid a finger on the rusty tines of a trident.
“You sure you want to use this?” she asked, looking to Milo.
The young man’s loose curls flapped in the sea-breeze as he nodded. “I have the least amount of weapons training. It makes sense that I get the worst of the lot. Besides, we don’t have any other options, do we?”
“He’s right. We don’t have much choice,” Rhys reminded Corinne.
She glanced around the companions, scooped up her two hand axes, then paused, as if ready to take her bow as well, but it had been lost in the escape from Hamruhg.
“Sorry, Milo,” she offered. “Maybe you won’t need to use it.”
None of them believed that.
Rhys gathered his longsword. In the bright light of day, the silvery runes were muted like Rhys himself after the battle of Northport. The rogue had regained his sense of humor, but he didn’t move with the same lethal aggressiveness he had before. He’d aged a decade and a half in that fight. Not even being long-lived could bring his vigor back.
Rhys toed the vambrace he’d taken off the dead Thin Blade in Irrefort. Ben recalled the tight burst of fireballs the device had shot at Rhys when they were ambushed on the way to the keep. Everything after that had been so crazy he’d forgotten Rhys took the weapon.
“This thing needs a bit of mage training to operate,” advised the rogue. He looked between Amelie and Milo.
Milo shook his head.
Amelie knelt and grabbed the vambrace. She strapped it on her arm and grunted. “I can feel the heat.”
“Be careful with that,” advised Rhys. “Don’t forget we’re on a ship made entirely out of wood. I’d hate to start swimming because you couldn’t wait to try out your new toy.”
Amelie rolled her eyes at him.
“It may not be much more useful on land,” added the rogue. “Any magic could draw Eldred right to us, and you have a history of giving yourself away with fireballs.”
“You think I forgot?” chided Amelie.
She picked up her rapier as well. The mage-wrought dagger she used with it had been lost in Hamruhg, buried in Eldred’s stomach. The rapier was serviceable, though, and she slid it into her sheath with confidence that she didn’t have when Ben first met her.
Milo took the salt-stained trident they’d purchased off one of the sailors and hefted it, a slight grin lifting the corner of his lips. The only other option had been a club the cook used for braining rats. They all agreed the cook could keep his club.
Ben picked up his longsword last. He tilted it and studied the bright sunlight reflecting along the silver blade. The cross-guard was of the same silver material, forged by a mage to be lighter and stronger than even Venmoor steel. It was shaped like a tree, the branches of the cross-guard growing out from the trunk of the blade. The branches were delicate and beautifully formed, but they were strong enough to stop any conventional blade. Ben had found ample opportunities to test that since he’d acquired the weapon.
The wire-wrapped hilt felt comfortable in his hand, and even in the steamy humidity from the sea, he knew his grip wouldn’t slip. Holding it felt natural now, like the mage-wrought steel was an extension of his arm. On the pommel, the longsword was capped with a polished sphere of curiously striated wood. When he’d first found the blade in the Wilds, he hadn’t recognized the strange material. Now he knew, it was anima-wood.
“That’s a fine weapon,” remarked Milo, leaning close to Ben and studying the sword.
“Care to try it?” asked Ben.
Milo shook his head. “I’d be liable to chop my foot off if I handled such a sharp blade. You found it in an abandoned lair of the Purple, did you say?”
Ben shrugged. “We think so. There wasn’t much left in the place to identify the owners. There were some writings, though, the stuff Towaal mentioned back at the Hangman’s Noose. It seemed like it could have been the Purple’s. Did the Librarian tell you anything about the place, an abandoned outpost in the Wilds?”
Milo shook his head. “If you have time this evening, I’d love to hear more about what you found. Maybe I’ll recognize something.”
“Milo!” interrupted Towaal. She was stalking across the deck, the only one of the companions who hadn’t selected a weapon from the pile. She didn’t need one. “Show me what you can do.”
Milo’s gaze dipped to the trident he was holding.
“Not with that,” grumbled Towaal. “With your will.”
Milo blushed. “I can’t really do much with that either. Certainly not combat. The little bit of light I made at the inn is the extent of it.”
“Surely, you can do more than that,” challenged Towaal. “The Librarian was the most powerful mage I’ve ever encountered. He must have taught you something you can use. Come. We’ll go behind the galley where the sailors can’t see us.”
The pair vanished around the corner, Towaal practically dragging the timid young man.
“He’s not good at much, is he?” asked Amelie, looping an arm under Ben’s.
He paused before answering, “He was an apprentice to the last living member of the Purple in Alcott. He somehow made it out of Northport in the heat of the battle with the demons, and he survived Rettor and the council in Irrefort. No one is that lucky.”
* * *
Ben tossed the skin of a bright green fruit into the wake of the merchant sloop and watched it disappear under the churning dark waters. It was the same fruit he’d tried for the first time in the City so long ago. It seemed like a different life then, like he was a different person.
The moonlight sparkled across the choppy water, nature’s own fireworks show. Ben tilted the mug in his hands and looked into it. The moonlight didn’t reach the bottom of the cup, giving the liquid a sinister aspect.
Behind them, the darkness in the cup was mirrored by a wall of black that was slowly swallowing the stars. A summer storm was quickly gaining on their vessel. Ben couldn’t help but think it was a metaphor for the last several months. The battle with the demons in Northport, the flight from Eldred. It seemed no matter what they did, the darkness was always behind them, always threatening to catch up.
He sighed and tried to relax. According to the sailors, they were in for a rough night, but now, the sea was calm and peaceful.
Beside him, Amelie sipped her mug and pulled a face.
“You’re certain we need to drink this?” she asked, lips puckered at the sour liquid.
“The sailors say we do,” replied Ben.
He took a sip from his mug and winced at the burn. Lime and grog wasn’t much of a drink, but apparently, it kept away a certain kind of sickness that sailors were prone to. Something to do with their diet while at sea. He’d doubted them at first, but night after night, they faithfully put down a mug of the foul-tasting concoction.
“The cook told me it gets better after the first one,” offered Ben.
Amelie snorted. “That’s because he gets drunk after the first one.”
She tilted up her mug and gulped it down, evidently deciding that quick and painful was better than slow and painful. She shivered, coughed, and set the mug down on the weather-beaten planks of the deck.
Ben grimaced and followed her lead, quaffing the grog and trying to ignore the sting in his eyes and the burn in his throat.
Amelie laid her head on his shoulder and scooted closer to him.
“Just three more days until we’ll make land,” she said.
“I’m ready,” remarked Ben. “I feel like this boat is getting smaller every day. There’s nowhere to stretch out and nowhere to be alone. In the crew quarters, there is always someone. The watch is always on deck. Even in the cargo hold, they’ve bunked the ship’s boys to make room for us.”
“And if you had somewhere to be all alone, would you want to be?” asked Amelie, looking up at him. Her eyes sparkled in the moonlight.
Ben grinned down at her. “Well, maybe not completely alone.”
He bent to meet her lips.
“Three more days,” she mumbled a long time later, face buried in his neck. “Just three more days, then we can be alone.”
* * *
The town of Indo sat peacefully in the late afternoon sun. Steep, verdant green hills spread out behind it. The town snuggled below on a wide stretch of sandy beach. A roughly constructed stone pier jutted from land into the calm waters of the South Sea.
Ben shook and squeezed whis hands, trying to lose an incessant tingling sensation.
Amelie, standing beside him, gripped her hands together too. “It feels like I’ve been sitting on my hands and feet for hours,” she complained.
“Your hands have fallen asleep. That is what we called it in Farview,” said Ben.
Amelie’s eyebrows knitted. “Because it happens when you fall asleep?”
Ben shrugged.
“I suppose it’s a minor inconvenience, and it should be gone within a few days,” continued Amelie. “At least, that’s what Towaal claimed. If it works, it will be worth it.”
“Every day, every bell, every heartbeat we can steal an extra step on Eldred is worth gold,” Ben agreed. “It’s worth it.”
He glanced at the sky above them, clear blue with a few puffy white clouds in the distance, leftovers from the storm the previous night. He couldn’t see it, but somehow, one hundred paces above them, Lady Towaal was altering the spectrum of light that reflected off their ship and the water. She assured them that to anyone far-seeing from above her barrier, it would appear they were just a stretch of empty sea.
They hoped the light shield and the subtle alteration of their blood chemistry that Towaal had conducted during the storm would foul Eldred’s attempts to track them. It should work, in theory, but Towaal had never done it herself.
Three weeks prior, when they’d used the thought meld to contact Jasper, he’d given Towaal advice on how to avoid detection. He’d been hiding from the Sanctuary for centuries and had developed a full bag of tricks to stay hidden. By altering their blood, Eldred wouldn’t be able to track them using any samples she’d collected in Hamruhg. Shifting the spectrum of light above them would prevent her from using far-seeing to locate them on the open sea.
The problem had been that when they first spoke to Jasper, Eldred already knew their course. Even a novice hunter would be able to extrapolate from it. They’d been headed directly for the port of Shamiil, the largest port in Ooswam. It was the closest major port to Hamruhg and provided the best roads and most direct route to Qooten. It was a natural choice. Almost all travelers to the South Continent berthed there.
Three days out from Shamiil, the storm had brought opportunity. As soon as Towaal saw the thunderclouds bearing down on them, she’d prepared to shift their blood. When it hit, the powerful wind had blown them nearly fifty leagues away. The black clouds and sheeting rain would have obscured any of Eldred’s attempts at far-seeing. When the rain stopped and the clouds rolled away, their blood had been chemically altered, and the light shield was in place.
Ben looked to the mage and saw her with her eyes closed, rocking gently on the bridge of the ship, head bobbing with the motion of the vessel. She’d gone a day and a half now with no sleep, remaining vigilant to hold the light shield. Ben hoped she could make it just a few more bells. If she fell asleep, the shield would falter. If Eldred happened to be scanning the area they were in, the dark mage would be back on their trail.
“She’ll make it,” assured Amelie.
“She looks asleep right now,” grumbled Ben.
Amelie grinned. “Have you met a more strong-willed person than Towaal?”
Rhys and Corinne crossed the deck to join them, the rogue holding a hand above his eyes and studying the town of Indo.
“What’s that on the hills?” he asked.
“Grapes,” responded Corinne. “Can’t you tell?”
Rhys grimaced. “I guess my eyesight is fading in my old age.”
Ben frowned. His friend hadn’t lost his dark humor after Northport, but the wings of white that now graced his temples spoke of a deeper cost.
Every morning, Rhys would work through the sequences of the Ohms, stretching and twisting. His unspoken concern was clear. He wasn’t as limber as he used to be.
Each evening, the rogue spent half a bell going through the sword forms with Ben. On the rocking ship, they didn’t spar, but Ben knew his friend had lost some of his quickness. Ben guessed that if they did spar, he’d be half a step faster than Rhys. Despite that, he still wouldn’t want to face the rogue in a real fight. The man had centuries, probably millennia, of experience, and a deep well of animal cunning. Until the day he died, Ben was certain Rhys would remain deadly.
“Grapes,” asked Ben, shaking himself out of his thoughts. “For wine making like they do north of the City?”
His companions shrugged. Rhys, who’d been to the South Continent, told them earlier he’d merely passed through Shamiil on his way to Qooten. Much of Ooswam was as foreign to him as it was to Ben.
“Saala would know,” remarked Amelie.
Ben nodded. It would have been good to have the blademaster with them on this journey, but they hadn’t seen the man since before they fled the City.
“What do you think he’s up to?” wondered Ben.
“Last I heard,” answered Rhys, “he’d left the City for Whitehall, trying to find you two.”
They cut the conversation short as Milo approached. Without discussing it, they all acknowledged there was something strange about the former librarian’s apprentice. The timid young man was too quiet, thought Ben. When he’d brought it up to Amelie, she’d laughed at him. Worrying a librarian was too quiet sounded silly, he knew, but it was true. The boy never spoke, and he padded about the ship as silent as a cat.
“If he was here,” claimed Rhys, “right about now, he’d be telling us to get packed.”
Ben smiled and looked to Indo. A bell, maybe a bell and a half, and they’d drop anchor. Their sloop had too much draft to pull closer, but the captain promised that in the calm waters off the South Continent, it’d be an easy row to the pier. Some of the crew would take them in one of the small boats they kept for fishing and shore exploration.
“Sounds like good advice,” responded Corinne. “Come on, Amelie. Let’s go pack up our cabin. Rhys, you want to get Towaal’s gear? I don’t think the mage will be moving until they drop the anchor. Every extra moment she maintains cover is longer that Eldred can’t find us.”
* * *
The boat bumped against the stones of the pier, and Ben leapt across the narrow gap of water. He hauled hard on the hemp hawser he was carrying and looped it around a thick iron bollard. His companions scrambled after him.
Ben’s knot wasn’t up to sailing standards, but the water was calm, and the boat barely moved with the gentle surf. The sailors told them that the waters off the South Continent were usually calm until a storm rolled in from the sea with lashing rain and driving wind.
Rhys was the last off the boat. When the rogue sat foot on the pier, Ben untied the line and cast it to the sailors. They waved a quick goodbye, and oars dipped into the water, propelling them back to the merchant vessel.
The captain had been happy to drop them at Indo when he felt the heft and clink of gold in the purse Towaal offered, but his cargo was for Shamiil. For a sailing man, time was money. He was eager to get going.
Watching the merchant vessel, Towaal stood at the end of the rocky pier. She was anchoring the light shield. By doing so, she thought she would be able to extend it two or three leagues away from the pier. It would be less effective without constant supervision, but since she wasn’t having to move it along with the vessel, she could set it in place and leave it.
If Eldred happened to be watching when the sloop suddenly appeared from under the shield, she’d certainly suspect what happened. The odds were in their favor that she wouldn’t be watching that small section of the sea, though, and if even she was, they hoped they’d be away long before she reached Indo. As long as they could leave minimal sign of where they went, they would be relatively safe.
Ben hitched his pack on his shoulders and gestured to Indo. “Shall we?”
The ladies led the way down the pier to a collection of stark white stucco houses bordered with black wood trim. It was neat and clean. Everything was in its place. Even the fishing boats pulled up on the beach looked freshly painted and fastidiously organized. The scent of the sea hung over the pier without the stomach-churning smell of rotting fish and offal that was common in other ports they’d been to.
As they drew closer, Ben saw the people wore loose clothing, similar to what Saala wore. It wasn’t as fine or as colorful as the blademaster’s attire, but the garments made sense in the stifling heat and humidity.
A trio of short-haired dogs burst out from behind a building and charged, barking to scare off the new arrivals. When the party drew close, the dogs turned tail and ran back behind the building.
“They must have smelled you, Ben,” jested Rhys. “Enough to make anyone turn tail and flee.”
Ben rolled his eyes but didn’t respond. It was true. He hadn’t bathed in the three weeks on the ship, but neither had the rogue. It wasn’t just the ladies this time who were looking forward to a hot bath.
Evidently alerted by the dogs, a portly customs official came bustling out of a small shack at the end of the pier.
“You not docking?” he inquired, glancing hungrily at the sloop anchored offshore.
Rhys shook his head. “We just caught a ride. They’ll continue to Shamiil.”
The official frowned, licked the tip of an ink-stained quill, and then made a few quick scratches in a small notebook. “I still have to charge you for arrival. Three silvers will cover the group.”
Rhys flipped the man the coins.
“Can you recommend a good inn?” asked the rogue.
The customs man nodded. “There are only two, the Merlion and the Salty Dog. For you, I recommend the Merlion. It’s where the merchants stay. Classier fare than the Dog. Fewer sailors and fishermen at the Merlion, so you can get rest at night. Head up the street, and you can’t miss it. It’s the tallest building in town.”
The street was hard-packed dirt. Tiled gutters were built along the sides and sloped down to the sea. Further into town, bright green flowering plants grew in large pots next to the buildings. The street was lined with vegetation. Some of the pots held bushes dangling fat, finger-length peppers or larger squashes. Ben saw strange vegetables he couldn’t identify. Vines were set in pots beside doorways, and twisting creepers climbed up the sides of the houses. Many of the plants were in bloom, decking the street in spots of purple, red, orange, and yellow. The splashes of color stood in stark contrast to the uniform white walls and black trim of the buildings.
“Pretty,” mumbled Amelie.
Corinne added appreciatively. “It’s not Northport.”
Ben inhaled deeply and smiled. She was right. It wasn’t Northport or like anywhere else he’d been. He thought he could grow to like the suffocating heat, as long as it came with the pleasant scent of the flowers.
“There,” declared Rhys.
Ahead of them stood a five-story building. In contrast to the rest of the town, the first two floors of this one were encased in stone, possibly a former keep from when the town was even smaller. Flanking the door were two man-high statues. They had heads of lions and bodies of fish. Their eyes were carved into menacing scowls, their mouths open in silent roars.
“Merlions?” wondered Amelie.
“Must be. Maybe the creatures are some sort of local legend.”
Ben glanced at Towaal to see if she had a comment, but the mage was stumbling along with her eyes fixed on the ground. She’d been awake for two straight days to maintain focus holding the light shield above them.
They passed between the two statues and ducked through the low door of the inn. Ben blinked in surprise as he walked into a cool wall of air. The low door, lack of windows, and thick stone of the walls had another purpose, he realized.
The first floor of the inn was a broad, open room with thick columns spaced through it supporting the floors above. Wide planks covered the floor, and smooth circular tables sat atop it, each table with eight chairs placed carefully around. In the back, a bar blocked an open kitchen. Ben could see scullions rushing around, sweating over hot grills and tending to flickering fires. In one corner, there was a small stage with a single woman on it. She was strumming a stringed instrument on her lap. Everything was clean, spotless. It was cleaner than any inn Ben had ever stepped foot in, he was sure of that.
“This is a nice change,” mumbled Amelie.
Ben was staring around the room when a petite girl bustled up in front of them. Raven black hair was tied in a neat bun behind her head, and a simple, but well-made, dress covered her from neck to foot.
“Hello, travelers. Room and board?” she asked in a lilting accent.
Rhys nodded. “A couple of rooms, cold ales, hot meals, and an even hotter bath.”
“Of course,” demurred the woman. “Let me show you around the property. You can leave your packs in the rooms and then take your meals or bathe at your leisure. Welcome to the Merlion.”
The girl took quick, mincing steps to the stairwell, her feet hidden beneath the hem of her dress. It gave Ben the impression she was floating across the floor. He was slightly disappointed when she led them up the stairs and her knees bent to climb, ruining the effect.
In the room, Ben placed his pack down on one of the three narrow beds. Rhys and Milo were also settling in, dropping packs and sifting through them to find changes of clothing.
Ben sighed. After three weeks at sea, he had been looking forward to sharing a bed with Amelie.
“When you pay, you pick the rooms,” said Rhys with a knowing wink. “Come on. Let’s go find these baths.”
Ben followed his friend down a narrow set of stairs at the back of the inn and they emerged into a quiet courtyard. It was nothing like the muddy stable yard he’d expected. Instead, short, manicured pine trees sprouted from carefully arranged piles of rocks and loam. A creek trickled by and a short foot-bridge crossed it. Behind a head-high embankment on the other side of the creek, they heard splashing.
Rhys led them along a stone path which meandered through waist-high, flowering bushes until they found an open-air, thermal-heated pool. Steam boiled off the surface of the water, and a dozen heads bobbed, hidden underneath a carpet of mist. Low conversation and the gentle lap of water against stone filled the air with sound. A rack of towels and soap stood beside a table with heavy, earthenware pitchers that beaded with condensation.
“Ah.” Rhys sighed. “This is what I needed.”
The rogue peered inside the pitchers then quickly filled three mugs with wine. He passed one each to Ben and Milo, stripped off his clothes, stuck them in a row of cubbies, and dipped a toe into the water. Heartbeats later, he sat his mug down and jumped into the pool, splashing a wall of water that sent bathers scrambling away from him.
Ben rolled his eyes and walked down a set of carved stone stairs into the pool. The heat immediately soaked into his body, relaxing tense muscles and soothing aches from the weeks at sea.
“Not bad, is it?” asked Rhys, a grin spread across his face. The rogue waded over to the side of the pool and tipped up his wine mug. To Milo, he asked, “If you’re not getting in, mind refilling me?”
The former librarian’s assistant topped off Rhys’ mug then he joined them in the pool.
Ben sipped his mug, enjoying the contrast between the cool white wine and the heat of the water. He felt a sharp finger jab into his shoulder. He turned and nearly spilled his mug when he saw a dark-haired girl floating just behind him.
“It’s impolite to be noisy in the bathing pools of Ooswam. I can’t imagine I need to tell you this, but splashing the other bathers is also frowned upon,” she informed him. “I can see you are foreigners and have no knowledge of our customs, so I am reminding you kindly. This time.”
“I, uh, it was my friend,” Ben stammered.
The girl swept her long, black hair behind her head with a wet hand. Ben’s eyes bulged as her bare arm and shoulder peeked above the dark water of the pool. He swallowed and looked around wildly. The pool, it seemed, was not segregated by gender.
The girl was certainly naked and floating half a pace away from him. His face flushed as it occurred to him that he’d just stripped naked in broad view of everyone in the water.
“You or your friend, I do not care,” declared the girl calmly. “You should both follow our rules.”
“Ben,” called Amelie.
He turned and saw her standing on the side of the pool, a short linen robe pulled tight around her. Corinne and Towaal were by her side.
“Is that you?” she asked. “I can barely see through the steam. I believe this pool is used by both men and women. We did not see a separate one.”
Ben coughed. “Yes, it is me. I believe you are right. Both men and women use this pool.” He silently wished the girl by his side would discretely float away.
“It is the custom in Ooswam to bathe together,” said Towaal.
Drowsiness clouded her voice, but Ben knew the mage would want to wash away the three weeks of filth from their time at sea before spending the next day in bed. He detected a new lilt to her tone, similar to the serving girl and the one floating beside him.
He nearly leapt out of the water when Towaal calmly discarded her robe and tossed it into one of the cubbies. The mage’s body was lean and fit, toned from years on the road. Ben tore his eyes away and found himself staring into the face of the dark-haired girl.
“You should ask your companion about our customs,” admonished the girl. “There is no excuse for ignorance when you are traveling with a local.”
The girl mercifully shot him one last glare then swam away into the mist.
Ben turned back to his companions and jumped again. Amelie was right beside him.
“Who was she?” Amelie asked sharply.
Ben winced. “I don’t know. She just started berating me because Rhys jumped into the water and splashed everyone.”
“She was lecturing you, not me,” quipped the rogue. “Don’t bring me into it.”
Corinne splashed a handful of water at Rhys.
“That’s what got me in trouble the first time,” moaned Ben.
“What she said is true,” admitted Towaal, floating over to them. “You should learn the customs of this place and try to follow them. I believe we lost Eldred in the storm, and we can cloak ourselves from magical detection, but she could still locate us through mundane means if we leave a trail. Word of strangers, rumors of magic, all of that could give us away. We should blend in as best we’re able.”
Ben’s face felt flushed. The heat of the pool didn’t help, but Amelie, Towaal, and Corinne were all bobbing around him, bare shoulders poking up from the dark water.
Amelie ran a hand across his back. “Are you okay?” she whispered.
He squeaked. “Just tired.”
Towaal dunked her head under the water and started scrubbing herself with a slippery bar of soap.
Ben tried to ignore the mage, but he couldn’t help feeling Amelie bump against him. The way her body felt in the hot water was very, very interesting. She wasn’t trying to avoid contact with him, and he realized the innocent seeming bumps might not be so innocent. He closed his eyes and tried to remain focused on the discussion.
“In the morning,” suggested Towaal, “we’ll talk about Ooswam and its customs. For now, I must rest. If I’m not up by midday tomorrow, wake me.”
The mage dunked herself again to rinse off the soap and then strode out of the pool. Ben couldn’t help but watch her, seeing water cascade down her slim figure until Amelie dug an elbow into his side.
“You should be paying attention to me, not her,” complained Amelie quietly.
Ben grinned at her. “Sorry. This is all so strange to me. I’m not sure where to look. It’s nothing like Alcott.”
“Ooswam is not all strange, is it?” asked Amelie, drifting closer to him. “The wine looks the same.”
Ben took a sip to steady his nerves. “Yes, that is the same.”
“Let’s get you another one and then come with me. We’re going to have to figure out a way you can bathe on this continent without getting distracted.”
“You’re the only one who distracts me,” claimed Ben.
Amelie snorted.
He refilled his wine from a pitcher Rhys had set on the side of the pool.
Amelie clasped his hand and pulled him deeper into the water and the steam. At the back of the pool, away from their companions and other bathers, she wrapped her arms and legs around him and kissed him deeply. He forgot about everything and everyone else. Even his wine sat untouched and unnoticed beside him. Gentle waves lapped around them as they tangled together in the hot water.
* * *
The next morning, Ben sat in the common room with a wide grin plastered across his face. The ladies hadn’t appeared yet. Milo was fixated on his breakfast, and Rhys was engrossed in repairing a tear he’d found on his cloak. Ben was sitting, enjoying the relative cool of the morning and sipping at a hot, mint-flavored tea. He missed kaf. Apparently, it was rare in the South Continent.
He’d gone to bed content, but since waking, all he could think about was Amelie and the way her wet body had felt when she pressed it against him, the passion of her kisses, the thrill of being in the pool with the others just out of eyesight in the cloud of mist.
“No more splashing in the bath after I left?” asked a soft voice, jolting him out of his day-dreaming.
Ben coughed, choking on his tea.
He glanced over and saw the small girl from the night before. Jet black hair hung around her shoulders and she wore flowing, bright green trousers and tunic. She was young, about his age, but her eyes looked at him with an elder’s disapproval. She reminded him of Towaal after catching him hungover from drinking with Rhys.
He gagged, trying to clear his airway of the minty tea.
The girl rolled her eyes. “Foreigners.”
She spun on her heel and glided away with the smooth grace of a dancer.
Two hulking, bald-headed men stalked after her. Each had broad bladed scimitars hanging from their belts. They moved with grace too, the grace of predators.
“Just like Saala,” mumbled Rhys.
Ben glanced at him.
Rhys nodded after the departing pair. “Swordsmen, trained just like Saala. Not far from him in skill either if I’m any judge of these things. Paid for by the girl’s family. They’re most likely top tier merchants or even the lords of these parts. My advice, keep your head down and stop antagonizing her. She’ll cut your heart out in the blink of an eye. In Ooswam, if her family is powerful enough, no one will raise a hand to stop her.”
“I’m not antagonizing her!” exclaimed Ben. “You were the one who jumped in the pool.”
“Who is Saala?” asked Milo.
Ben met Rhys’ eyes. He’d forgotten the former librarian’s apprentice was with them. Milo was so silent he seemed to blend into his surroundings. They had told the young man much of their story, but after the first few days with him on the ship, they started holding back. Milo knew all about their struggles against the demons and quest for the Purple. He even knew Towaal’s and Rhys’ place in the group, but there was something unusual about him, and they decided anything he didn’t know yet would remain unspoken.
“A friend,” responded Rhys. “One we haven’t seen in a long while.”
Milo nodded, apparently content with the vague answer.
A quarter bell later, Amelie and Corinne arrived at the table. They ate a hearty breakfast, seemingly glad to be off ship’s rations. Then they all went about keeping themselves busy until they could wake Lady Towaal. Ben and Rhys found a quiet place on the grounds of the Merlion to spar while Amelie, Corinne, and Milo went into the town to restock supplies.
Shirtless in the sticky morning heat of the South Continent, Ben and Rhys swarmed back and forth across a small, tree-encircled space. Mage-wrought blades flashed in the sunlight.
Rhys tried his normal tricks, kicking up a clod of dirt toward Ben’s face, attempting false tells with his movements and eyes, and shouting in alarm at phantom threats. Ben fell for none of it. After his time with Jasper, he’d learned to stay focused, to concentrate on what was real. He was aware of his surroundings but only in the back of his mind. He knew there was no one sneaking up behind him, so when Rhys pointed at an imagined interloper, Ben struck at the rogue instead of freezing.
Before long, Rhys was on the defensive, stepping back as Ben aggressively pursued him. Ben tried to corner the man against a pile of rocks, but his friend was too wily to be trapped. He slipped away and lashed out with a kick that caught the side of Ben’s calf, nearly spilling him on the ground.
Ben recovered, barely in time to defend against Rhys’ attack. He parried, and they began a slow circle of the clearing again.
“You’re getting good at this,” panted Rhys.
“Tricks don’t work, so now you try flattery?” replied Ben.
Rhys held up a hand to pause. “Really, Ben. If you find the right opponent, I believe you could earn your blademaster sigil.”
Ben blinked. He couldn’t tell if his friend was serious or if it was another trick.
Rhys grinned. “We’ll talk about it when we’re not sparring. You should consider it. A sigil has some downsides like visibility which we don’t need right now, but it has some upsides as well, particularly if you want to continue wooing a lady like Amelie.”
“How does a sigil help me with Amelie?” asked Ben, certain now Rhys was trying to distract him.
“She’s a highborn lady,” responded the rogue. “You’re common blood. A blademaster is welcome in elevated circles. A brewer is not.”
“She doesn’t think of herself as a lady anymore,” declared Ben. “Her home is in Coalition hands, and her mother betrayed her father and their city. She doesn’t want any part of that life now. Besides, we have more important things to focus on.”
“It’s in her blood. If we’re successful, you won’t always be battling the demons. What happens then?”
Ben frowned then attacked. They sparred back and forth without speaking for another bell until they were both pouring sweat and stumbling through the forms.
“I want an ale, but I need water,” groaned Rhys. “It’s impossible to be civilized in this heat.”
Ben nodded and sheathed his longsword. He tried to wipe the dripping sweat off his forehead, a vain attempt to keep the stinging moisture from his eyes, but his wet hand just smeared it.
“Do you think they have cold baths in Ooswam?”
“We can ask,” answered Rhys.
* * *
That evening, they sat around one of the circular tables in the common room and Ben stared apprehensively at a shallow bowl of noodles in front of him. Chunks of meat and peppers dotted the dish. Two slender sticks sat beside it. In the center of the table were other piles of noodles, fried bites, mysterious sauces, and a sliced chicken sitting on a bed of rice. He didn’t see a knife, fork, or spoon anywhere in the common room.
“How are we supposed to do this?” he asked again.
Lady Towaal sighed. “As I told you already, like this.”
She picked up the two sticks by her bowl and expertly scooped a bite of noodles. She bent over her bowl and slurped them up.
Milo clutched the little sticks like Towaal had and, with some difficulty, snagged a slippery bite. He almost made it to his mouth before the noodles slid off the tip of his sticks.
Rhys, faring slightly better than the others, managed to chomp sloppily down on a clump of noodles.
“I’d forgotten about this,” he grumbled around the mouthful of food. “It’s like they’re not even aware of the advances in utensil science.”
“Maybe we should open a business selling forks,” joked Ben.
“Enjoy the sticks while you can,” responded Rhys. “When we get to Qooten, you’ll only use your fingers.”
Ben frowned, unsure how serious Rhys was.
“It’s true,” advised Towaal. “Qooten is the same land it was five hundred years ago, or even a thousand. Exposure to Ooswam or Alcott through trade has not changed it or its people.”
“Have you been to Qooten?” asked Corinne.
“Long ago,” responded Towaal. “Before I joined the Sanctuary.”
“How long ago was that?” quipped Amelie.
“Long ago,” answered Towaal.
“That girl was right. You’re from Ooswam!” exclaimed Ben.
Towaal eyed him over another bite of noodles. “Where did you think I was from?”
Ben blinked. He’d never really thought about it. Everything he knew about her history was from the Sanctuary, so he’d assumed she was from the City.
“Is your family still here?” asked Corinne.
Towaal smiled sadly. “My family is long departed, girl. If any descendants remain, they would have forgotten me ages ago. Besides, my family is from the western side of Ooswam. We are several hundred leagues east of where I was born.”
“How did you end up in the Sanctuary?” inquired Ben.
He finally managed to pin a bite of noodles together with the sticks and brought it to his lips. They were good, a little sweet and a little savory. Then his teeth crunched something, and heat filled his mouth. His eyes began to water and his head swam. Perspiration popped out on his forehead. He exhaled through his nose. It felt like fire was blowing out his nostrils. He coughed and choked, scrambling to grab his ale mug.
Rhys chuckled and sipped at his own ale.
“Try this,” suggested Towaal.
She tapped a plate with chunks of some indeterminate stuff floating in a pea green sauce. It looked highly suspicious.
“It will cool your mouth,” she explained.
Ben drank his ale and took a bite of the mysterious mix Towaal suggested. She was right. It was like a soothing balm spreading across his tongue. His coughing finally came under control. He glared around the table, piqued that none of his friends warned him about the noodles. He thought it’d be bells or even a day before he could taste anything again.
“You should avoid the little red peppers,” advised Rhys. “There will only be a few of them. The rest of the dish has some heat, but those are fire.”
Amelie stared at the rogue coldly. Ben saw one of the tiny red peppers in the clutch of her sticks. She’d been heartbeats away from eating it.
“Didn’t you think you should warn us before we ate one?” growled Amelie.
Rhys shrugged. “It was funny seeing Ben’s face get red.”
Ben grunted and dumped a pile of safe-looking chicken and rice onto his plate. After a pause, he added a scoop of the green sauce too. Despite Rhys’ assurances that it was the red peppers, he wasn’t bold enough to try another bite of noodles yet.
“How did you end up in the Sanctuary?” Corinne asked Towaal, picking up Ben’s lost trail of inquiry.
Towaal sat down her sticks. “It’s a bit of a long story.”
“We’re not going anywhere until morning,” responded Corinne.
“You came from a wealthy family, didn’t you,” guessed Amelie. “Were you highborn?”
Towaal smiled. “I did come from a wealthy family, and they were highborn, you could say.”
The mage shifted in her seat and ate another bite of noodles while she thought.
“In Alcott,” she said after swallowing, “there are three types of power; military, political, and economic. Military power is what the largest cities and most powerful lords control. It’s how the lords determine standing amongst themselves. A more powerful lord has the ability to invade and control the weaker lords. Political power is gained through a fortunate birth into a highborn family, ideally, one that happens to control valuable geography. Even a minor lord has some measure of political power because a stronger lord will cater to them to gain loyalty and access to their military might. Powerful lords need allies to provide additional troops in times of need and a buffer against other powerful lords in times of peace. Witness the Alliance and the Coalition.” She ate another bite then continued, “In Alcott, economic might is the only form of power available to those born in the common class. It is valuable but tenuous. A wealthy merchant can buy a palace, jewels, whatever they desire, but they are still at the mercy of their lord. The lord has the swords and axes. With those, they could seize the merchant’s assets at any time.”
“Won’t the merchants leave if the lord takes their things?” asked Ben.
Towaal nodded. “Of course, which is why economic might is a legitimate source of power. An intelligent lord knows to feed and support the merchant class instead of starving or abusing them. If one merchant is treated unfairly, then others will see that, and they will leave. The heavier the ruler’s hand, the quicker the successful merchants depart. Before long, the lord’s tax base has disappeared, and he can no longer afford to feed his army.”
“The South Continent isn’t the same?” wondered Amelie.
Towaal sipped her wine. “Not exactly. In Ooswam, there is no practical difference between highborn and the very wealthy. Both own land, both can build a city on the land, and both can rule the people living in the city. There is an emperor, but he is largely a figurehead. He spends little time on the squabbling between the elites. He merely ensures it does not get out of hand. His primary concern is the relationships with other lands, which, given how inwardly focused most of those lands are, the emperor has a limited role.”
“Merchants can own land, build a city, and rule it?” questioned Amelie.
Towaal nodded. “The only real difference between a successful merchant and a lord in Ooswam is time. Over generations, a successful merchant family will build a business empire and pass it to their successors. They may build cities and then tax the people who move there. The younger generations are born into this wealth and pass it to their children. When the accumulated wealth transfers from generation to generation, they are essentially the equivalent of highborn in Alcott. Formally, many of the merchant families then declare themselves to be an official House, which entitles them to a place in the emperor’s court and the title of lord. That requires a substantial payment to the emperor, but many families consider it a business expense. They pay to join the emperor’s court, and then they have proximity to him to try and influence trade or laws within the country.”
Amelie pushed a strand of hair behind her ear, clearly struggling to understand.
Ben tentatively took another bite of noodles, careful to avoid the tiny red peppers. The bite was hot but not the scalding burn he’d experienced earlier. He quaffed his ale and downed another bite of noodles. He thought he might learn to enjoy the spice if he could avoid the peppers.
“It’s not so different in Farview,” Ben remarked to the silent table. “We have no lord, so a man’s standing in town and on the council is really about what he’s been able to build or what his father built before him. If a man creates a successful business, then he’s likely to earn the respect of the others. If he fails at his business, then no one wants to hear what he says.”
“That’s so arbitrary,” argued Amelie. “Just because someone is good with commerce doesn’t mean they would make a good ruler.”
“More arbitrary than birth?” chided Rhys.
Amelie sat back frowning. “I just… I think there could be problems with a system purely driven by accumulating wealth. If that is the case, then the powerful will always be trying to improve their own standing and not that of their people.”
“I’m not arguing for it,” said Towaal. “I am just stating that is the law of this land. You are right. There are problems. Because the emperor pays little attention to the conflicts among the elites, they are free to play their little games to improve their position. Disputes amongst them are rarely settled in front of the emperor. Assassinations and even open battles among feuding lords can happen here. There is little law outside of the town walls or whatever valuable geography a lord decides to protect. When we see armed bands, we must assume they are hostile. They could be a lord’s guard patrolling the area, but they are just as likely to be bandits or raiders.”
Towaal glanced around the room and subtly gestured to one table in the corner. Ben saw it was the young girl who kept speaking to him. Her two guardians were dining with her, one eating and one watching the room.
“When we encounter an elite, be careful. On their own lands, they make their own laws with little oversight by the empire. They can be very dangerous. She’s taken an interest in you, Ben. Do not encourage it.”
“I didn’t do anything!” he protested.
“You do have a way of getting in trouble with highborn ladies,” mentioned Rhys.
“Highborns are crazy,” declared Ben. “I do my best to avoid them.”
Lady Towaal, Lady Amelie, and Lady Corinne all stared at him.
Ben swallowed. “Well, you three are different. You’re…” he trailed off, at a loss for words.
Rhys leaned close to him. “Sometimes it’s best to quit while you’re still able.”
Ben sighed and sat back in his chair. Rhys refilled his ale mug, and Ben cradled it in his hands, doing his best to ignore the withering looks from the ladies.
