Islands of the Inner Sea Page 5

  They found Bane easily enough down below, and the three of them descended another deck and then down into the hold, where their trunks were stowed. Each trunk had two locks – Kiergard Slorn held keys to one, and Magda and Bane each held keys to the other. They opened the trunk labelled “3”, tightly packed to the top, and after a few minutes carefully removing items, Slorn pulled out a satchel of documents. Inside was a large folded map.

  ‘You can keep this, at least until you’ve learned to find your way around.’

  Together they put everything else back in place, locked the trunk and climbed back up to the little cluster of cabins that they were using.

  ‘Enjoy your homework,’ Bane told him, as he returned to a loud card game taking place in one of the cabins opposite. Lanvik’s cabin was empty: presumably Vorrigan and Karuin were involved in the same game.

  Slorn shut the door behind them and unfolded the map: it was too large for the little table which they used for Fugitive, so he laid it on the floor instead. They knelt down beside it.

  ‘This is a map of the Three Lands,’ he explained, and looked down. ‘Actually, this is a map of Mehan’Gir and a few hundred miles in every direction around it. So we can see the tips of the Land of Mists over there in the east, and a large section of Qassiq’Gir down here.’

  According to Slorn, Vander was to be delivered to Perastia rather than to his home island of Arrento. Lanvik was not familiar with either name, and knew nothing about them. ‘So where’s Perastia?’ he asked. ‘You said it was in the Inner Sea?’

  ‘Perastia is a small port on the island of Carissola, but let’s start at the beginning of our journey in Darkfall, right up here,’ he stretched and pointed to an island at the very north west of the map. ‘We have been sailing down the Western Reach, along the islands that make up the Durrandir Spine.’ He traced his finger along a line of narrow islands at the top left of the map. ‘We are now rounding the Firendal Cape and heading south towards the Evallian Sea.’ He indicated a large bay between Mehan’Gir and the southern continent, Qassiq’Gir. ‘Perastia is here. On Carissola.’ He moved his finger to the right, pausing for a moment while he located Carissola. ‘It’s the largest island of the Inner Sea.’

  Between the Evallian Sea and the Inner Sea to the east, there was a narrow stretch of land that linked Mehan’Gir to Qassiq’Gir. He pointed to it and explained, ‘This is the Isthmus, which we’ll have to cross.’

  ‘What’s here?’ Lanvik pointed to an area in red crosshatch, which covered the bottom part of the Isthmus and extended southwards into the southern continent. There were no settlements, roads or any other features marked within it.

  ‘That’s the Spoiled Land. We have to avoid it. No-one’s completely certain what’s there, but I’ve heard that it’s inhabited by creatures that are half Elf and half beast; packs of wild animals and plants that can burn you if you touch them; the water is poisonous; and the rain can dissolve your skin. The last Dragons live there, they say, and perhaps some of the Vampire Brood.’

  ‘Is any of that true?’

  ‘Enough of it is true that no-one lives there, no-one travels there and I know of no-one who has ever been there and lived to talk about it.’

  ‘So how do we cross the Isthmus?’

  ‘Overland. There is no canal, and sailing all the way around is not practical, so we must leave the Night Princess. We could have travelled through the Empire – landed at Tawryn, say, and taken a coach to Arafel and then south to Port Evendar. But it’s just as quick and certainly more anonymous to pass through the little city-states of the Isthmus, especially if we’re escorting a fugitive from the Empire.’

  ‘A reluctant fugitive.’

  ‘Perhaps, but he is becoming less reluctant the further we travel.’

  Slorn turned his attention back to the map: ‘Captain Redwolf will drop us at one of these ports on the western shore. Perhaps Evash or Harrata. It doesn’t matter which: there are half a dozen routes across the Isthmus. Whichever road we take will not be completely safe, so we will join a convoy – a caravan of merchants and other travellers: a large group. Normally there’s one leaving every few days.’

  ‘Why won’t the road be safe?’

  ‘Bandits, mainly. A lot of trade passes across the Isthmus, money and goods, so there are rich pickings to be had. There are wild animals as well and, at some times of the year, nightmarish beasts stray out of the Spoiled Land to the south. But the Isthmus is less than fifty miles across in most places, and its city-states pull together to keep the roads as clear and as safe as they can. They also provide soldiers for protection, to escort the caravans. For a price of course.’

  ‘That sounds like our kind of work,’ Lanvik said.

  ‘Yes, I suppose it does a bit,’ Slorn nodded. ‘Dull, though. Wouldn’t you rather be one of the bandits?’ He grinned.

  Lanvik didn’t answer.

  2

  After rounding the Firendal Cape, they were aboard the Night Princess for five more days. Buffeted by crosswinds and then stilled by a sudden calm, they had made slow progress during the first day. After that, Captain Redwolf elected to sail mostly due south through the islands of the Evallian Sea and then turn directly east. A course south-east that stayed closer to the coast would have been shorter, but would have taken longer if the winds could not be relied upon.

  It was late morning when they finally pulled into Harrata on the western shore of the Isthmus, two weeks after leaving Stormhaven: it would have been difficult to imagine any port more different. Instead of being squat and tough against the weather – hunched, black and angular – Harrata was a jumble of little red-brown buildings with tiled roofs, spilling across the steep slopes that rose away from the harbour. The door and window frames were wooden and painted in bright colours – whites and yellows and light blues. Together with the orange roof tiles that they seemed to universally favour, the appearance of the little town projected a happy, relaxed and welcoming place.

  Adding to that impression was the fact that the weather was warm and bright and dry. As they had sailed down the Western Reach, they had needed fewer and fewer layers of clothing to keep warm. No-one was wearing a jacket now, and almost everyone was wearing their thinnest top; sandals had replaced boots. If they were here for any time, Lanvik needed to find Human clothes more appropriate to this weather, and perhaps have his original tops and trousers repaired.

  He had expected Captain Redwolf and his crew to disguise their ship again before they docked, but they chose not to: he must have judged Harrata to be a safer port than Stormhaven, or perhaps the fact that they would not be staying long reduced the risk. Despite that, Captain Redwolf himself vanished as they neared the shore and Torbin had donned a Captain’s uniform again. It was Torbin who had command as they pulled slowly into port and tied up at a free berth.

  There was no cargo to load or unload, so the Company carried their own trunks from the Night Princess to the quay. Thankfully the ship turned out to have a broader gangplank that could be lowered, for wider loads.

  Before they left, Captain Torbin cautioned them not to leave anything aboard, as the Night Princess would sail again within two hours after restocking with fresh water and other supplies.

  ‘Have a safe journey,’ he bade them.

  ‘Thank you, captain,’ Kiergard said. ‘And the same to you. Until we meet again.’

  Torbin nodded: ‘Until next time.’

  Some of the crew of the Night Princess disembarked at the same time. Lanvik was sure that Captain Redwolf was among them, dressed as a regular sailor. Two or three headed towards the harbourmaster’s office, presumably to deal with the paperwork and pay their docking fees: the others set off uphill into the town. A couple of cart drivers were heading in the same direction and offered to transport their trunks, but Kiergard Slorn shook his head and waved them away.

  ‘We should first check whether anything is leaving for the Inner Sea today,’ he told the others. ‘If so, then we will not need
to stay overnight. Some of you should stay with the trunks.’ Most of the Company chose to wait at the quay. Only Bane, Vorrigan, Karuin and Lanvik accompanied Kiergard Slorn inland.

  ‘At the Town Hall, there will be a roster of those looking to cross the Isthmus,’ he explained, for Lanvik’s benefit. ‘That is where we will find details of anyone willing to carry the trunks, and details of when the next caravan is likely to depart.’

  As they climbed the cobbled lanes that led up from the harbour, Lanvik found himself feeling unwell – dizzy, and nauseous, and somehow unstable on the land: as if he had acclimatised too well to the ship, and his sense of balance was now disturbed by being on this dry and unmoving, unshifting land. From time to time, he even felt himself staggering a little from side to side as if he might fall over.

  The little streets led to an open square, with larger buildings and a fountain.

  ‘I’m not expecting to find anything today,’ Slorn said. ‘Most departures are early in the morning, to travel as far as possible during daylight, but we should find details of the next caravan and hopefully someone offering to transport luggage.’

  Enquiries at the town hall revealed that they had missed a departure that very morning. Since then, there had been no enquiries from other travellers so it was not possible to guess the disposition of the next convoy or when it might leave.

  ‘Bad timing,’ Vorrigan shook his head.

  As they stepped back into the square, two men approached them: ‘Are you looking to cross the Isthmus?’ one of them asked.

  ‘Yes, we are,’ Slorn nodded.

  ‘A caravan left this morning. Less than two hours ago.’

  ‘We heard that.’

  ‘At this time of year, there are not so many. You may have to wait a week or ten days before the next.’

  ‘We heard that as well.’

  ‘Is your party on foot? Are you looking for passage?’

  ‘Yes. What are you proposing?’

  ‘How many are you?’

  ‘There are fifteen of us.’

  ‘And are you travelling with cargo?’

  ‘Personal belongings only. Four large trunks and one smaller bag each.’

  ‘I thought as much – you have the look of travellers rather than traders. We also missed this morning’s departure, but perhaps we could set out after the convoy together. They left late and will be travelling slower than walking pace; they will likely stop to rest after three hours. There are only six in my party and three wagons of goods, so even though we could overtake the others before they reach the jungle, we would be an inviting target to any opportunistic bandits.’

  ‘But travelling with a dozen strong hands would prevent that,’ his companion added.

  ‘Especially if two or three of us rode at the front of each wagon, with our weapons clearly visible,’ Bane suggested.

  ‘Exactly my thinking. And by the time we were in any real danger, in the jungle, we would have caught up with the others.’

  ‘And your fee to carry us?’

  ‘To carry you, nothing. For your luggage, five Crowns.’

  ‘Four. One for each trunk.’

  ‘Four then. Remember that you will have to pay the transit fee and security separately, when we join the main caravan.’

  ‘Agreed.’

  ‘Excellent. When can you be ready?’

  ‘The rest of our party and our trunks are already waiting at the quayside. If you collect us from there, then we can leave at once.’

  ‘Fifteen minutes, sir, no more.’

  ‘We’ll be ready.’

  ‘Anslak of Comarenza,’ the man offered a hand.

  ‘Kiergard Slorn,’ Kiergard clasped it briefly.

  The merchant and his colleague turned and walked briskly from the square.

  ‘Bane, Vorrigan – go and secure whatever food you can: enough to cover today and tomorrow,’ Slorn said. ‘It will be expensive here, but cheaper than on the road.’

  ‘I’m mostly there to carry stuff?’ Bane checked.

  ‘Yes, and to ensure that Vorrigan is quick. And to keep him out of trouble.’

  ‘Do you want us to help?’ Lanvik asked.

  ‘The two of them should be enough. The fewer the better, probably: it will make things simpler.’

  So Kiergard Slorn, Karuin and Lanvik returned to the rest of the Company, still sitting on the trunks beside the Night Princess.

  ‘Good news!’ Karuin greeted them.

  ‘We have agreed passage, almost immediately,’ Slorn confirmed.

  ‘Good news indeed,’ Vrosko Din agreed. ‘How many days do we have to wait?’

  ‘None at all. Our ride should be here in a few minutes.’

  ‘There’s a caravan leaving so late in the day?’

  ‘No, but one left perhaps two hours ago. We have signed up with a party of three wagons. We intend to leave at once and to catch the caravan before it enters the jungle. The arrangement is that we will accompany their wagons as additional security. We will do our best to appear dangerous.’ He looked from face to face: ‘Be careful, all of you. This could easily be a trick.’

  ‘But we’re going anyway?’ Vander asked.

  ‘If we allow ourselves to be paralysed every time other people might trick or double-cross us then we would never do anything. In this case, I believe our contact to be genuine – but everyone should be alert, in case I am wrong. This will take at least a week off our journey and I have faith that our Company can outthink, outfight and outlast any reasonably sized and reasonably skilled group of bandits, even if this is a trick.’

  They opened the trunks and everyone armed themselves: even Lanvik took a knife.

  When Anslak and his three wagons arrived at the harbour, the Company were topping up their water flasks from a waterpump on the quay. The available space on the wagons was not enough for all of them as well as the trunks, so several would have to walk. Lanvik volunteered to be one of them. In Tremark, when he had been cold and weak and they had travelled in long shifts through the bitter night, the others had insisted that he sit in the wagon for the whole journey.

  With one last look back to where the Night Princess was docked, already taking on barrels of fresh supplies, they headed up and away from the harbour. It took them a further fifteen minutes to climb through the winding, steep streets of Harrata and emerge on the open highway.

  The land around the town was lush and fertile, with thick green foliage blanketing the deep red earth. They passed individual houses and small villages, mostly set a little back from the road – some of the houses were basic wooden structures, little more than huts; others were more permanent buildings, in the same red clay as Harrata, and with the same baked terracotta tiles.

  Between the villages, they passed a number of simple shelters raised on stilts. Seeing these, Lanvik began to keep a closer eye on the ground beneath his feet, alert for snakes or large unknown insects.

  Magda, who was also walking alongside the carts, told him: ‘We’re close to the Spoiled Land here, and to the lands of the Dragon Lords beyond.’ She waved her arm in a broad arc to the south. We won’t go any closer than this but you’ll be able to see the Spoiled Land at night, from the glow on the horizon. Some people call it the “Dead Land”, but that’s misleading – it is anything but dead. Sometimes creatures emerge from it and wander northwards, bringing devastation and death.’

  ‘Hopefully not during our trip.’

  ‘Hopefully not,’ she agreed.

  As they progressed eastwards they could see the jungle ahead, like a thick, dark band of green that ran from side to side across the entire horizon. Despite what they had planned and anticipated, they reached the outskirts of that jungle before they had caught up with the main caravan. Lanvik couldn’t help remembering Kiergard Slorn’s warning that their whole arrangement might be a trap.

  ‘I am sure we will catch the others soon,’ Anslak of Comarenza assured them from the lead wagon. ‘They cannot be far ahead.’ He sounded equall
y nervous.

  The start of the jungle was not as clearly demarcated as it had appeared from a distance. Instead, there was a gradual thickening of foliage and, before they were really aware of it, they could see very little distance behind or ahead of them because of the trees. Also, although the trees had been cleared from immediately beside the road, their overhanging crowns and branches prevented most of the sunlight from reaching the ground, so the road was shadowy and damp.

  Lanvik was beginning to regret his decision to walk – the jungle had an oppressive, close and threatening presence that he had not anticipated, filled with endlessly strange smells and sounds. The others were alert around him, and his fingers twitched nervously on the handle of his dagger.

  3

  Almost an hour after entering the jungle, the three wagons of Anslak the merchant finally caught up with the convoy and its military escort, where it had briefly stopped to rest on the road. They were ordered to stop by guards, twitchy and nervous and not expecting anyone to approach from Harrata. Five soldiers stood with their swords drawn and eyed them warily, until an officer in a slightly more ornate uniform arrived to inspect Anslak’s paperwork – a Customs Licence and Transit Authorisation from Harrata.

  ‘Your papers say three wagons and six people. Who are these others?’

  ‘Passengers. We’re carrying their luggage. They signed on with us in Harrata this morning.’

  ‘Where is their paperwork?’

  ‘We don’t have any,’ Kiergard Slorn interjected. ‘We only landed this morning. These merchants were about to set off after you, and thought that a larger party would be safer, so we signed up with them. There wasn’t time to arrange the paperwork before we left.’

  The officer seemed unimpressed but before he could speak, Slorn added: ‘We were hoping to arrange transit and protection fees with you directly.’

  Talk of fees seemed to put the officer more at ease: convinced him that there was no treachery or trickery planned.