Chapter 1
“This is hopeless,” Portia said, “we’re never going to escape this wretched city.”
Portia rubbed her neck. The weight of her satchel was like an anchor hanging off her shoulder, but she resisted setting it down, afraid it might be stolen or lost. She had so few possessions left and all of them were precious to her. Portia glanced down at her boots. They were covered in dried mud and Aedon knew what else. Her fine cloak was frayed along the bottom and her beautiful blue dress needed mending. She hated to admit it, even to herself, but life away from Nachtwald was more difficult than she ever imagined. She was beginning to wonder if running away wasn’t such a good idea after all.
“I think you’re being a little dramatic,” Finn said, “and as we both know, I’m the dramatic one.”
Portia frowned at her brother, feeling an unreasonable desire to knock him over the head with her staff. She loved her brother, of course, but sometimes he could be irritating. Finn was wearing a long leather coat. Where he had come by it, she didn’t know and was careful not to ask. Regardless, he seemed quite proud of it. The coat was the color of old blood, with a black lapel and high collar. It was a bit large on his thin frame but fetching none the less.
“I’m not being dramatic,” Portia insisted. “I’m being realistic. The longer we remain in Holston the more likely it is father will find us and try to bring us back. We have to get away from here before that happens.”
By now Baron Cedric an Nachtwald had probably deduced his children were not dead after all. He would have sent men to Arrom’s Rock to look for them. There were many bodies there, villagers the sorceress had slain to perform her blood magic. But none of them looked like Finn or Portia. It had been stupid to tell her father they were dead, and she regretted talking Loth into delivering the message. That too had been unkind but, in that moment, her only thought was getting to Karavella, finding Archmage Rudalias, and convincing him to take her on as his pupil. It was either that or return to Nachtwald and submit to marrying Anhalth’s son, Holt. And that was something she just couldn’t do.
However, getting to Karavella was proving problematic. First, they had been forced to flee Willowbrook with an angry mob on their heels. Finn’s robbery of the local magistrate may have had something to do with that, and surely that story had reached Cedric as well. Then there had been the long journey south. They had sold the horses and tack at a stable near Birr, leaving even more evidence of their flight, and continued by boat down the Alleg River until they reached Holston. That was a week ago, and so far their efforts to find passage away from Arkirius had been fruitless.
The port city of Holston was a valuable center for commerce and trade. The merchants and noblemen who ruled this city were powerful men, men of great influence who jealously guarded their city’s status. On several occasions they had even taken up arms, fighting wars with neighboring coastal cities in order to maintain their stranglehold on shipping in the Elathian Sea.
Holston had the added benefits of a densely populated hinterland and close proximity to the Arkirian capital of Elathia, as well as the cities of Enbrook and Birr. It had a well-earned reputation as a working port, a rough sort of place to be sure, but also a favorite destination for ships from all across Ninavar. It was the perfect city in which to find a ship bound for Karavella. However, due to recent increases in piracy on the Tragosian Sea, the vast body of water just beyond the straits of Haddea, the powerful merchant’s guild had set down a moratorium on ships traveling west beyond the confines of the better protected Elathian Sea. Portia and her friends had yet to find any captain willing to break that mandate.
A few steps away Loth, Blayde, and Rayzer stood talking with their latest quarry, an aged ship’s captain by the name of Turgatt. The captain was a tall man with a mop of white hair and a permanent squint to his eye. Portia could tell, just by looking at them, that the conversation was not going well.
“Come on.” Portia tugged on Finn’s arm. Her frustration was getting the better of her. She felt like she had to do something or she would go mad. “I want to hear what they’re saying.”
They moved closer, sidling up next to the elves. Blayde glanced over at them. Her expression was not encouraging.
“We’re bound for Claren,” Captain Turgatt said, enunciating the words like he was speaking to someone slow or dim-witted, “with a hold full of wheat and barley, and we’ve no intention of going anywhere else.”
“What about Karavella?” Loth asked. “It is not so far out of your way.”
“No. That would mean crossing the Tragosian Sea, and the merchant’s guild has forbidden it. Ain’t no one going that way now, not with Redbeard and his pirates on the loose.”
“We would pay extra,” Loth insisted. “Double, in fact, for passage to Karavella.”
“Perhaps you’re not hearing me so well. I understand you elves ‘ave your own language and all, but you do seem to speak common well enough.”
“I understand. It’s just—“
“Me ship and crew is bound for Claren, and I’ve no need of passengers at any rate. Good day to you now.”
The captain shook his head, mumbling profanities under his breath as he turned away. It was clear he was done with the conversation and wanted nothing more than to get back to his ship. He gave Loth a dismissive wave as he started back along the quay.
“Well, that’s it then,” Blayde said. “Old Turgatt was our last hope. It doesn’t look like we’re going anywhere soon.”
The sound of raised voices made Portia turn. She watched as a group of men spilled out of a dockside tavern, all of them laughing at some jest. The men appeared to be lumpers, laborers who spent their days loading and unloading ships as they came into port. They were red-faced men with dull eyes and cruel mouths. Some of them were stumbling, leaning on one another as if crossing a ship’s deck during a storm. The lumpers made their slow, shambling way along the quay, appearing as if they might pass Portia and her companions by. But some instinct warned her that these men were more dangerous than they looked. She could see their auras, the deep muddy red color of prejudice and anger they hid behind a facade of merriment. There were some in Arkirius who still blamed the elves for the Dreamland wars fought centuries ago.
One of the lumpers looked up and noticed Loth in his brightly colored garb. The man paused, elbowing one of his fellows and pointing, a look of distaste twisting his features. The man changed course, making for Loth, with his friends close behind.
“We’ve got trouble,” Rayzer said, jerking his head in the direction of the lumpers.
“Elves. I hate elves,” said one of the men. “They strut around here like they own the place, with their fancy dress and braided hair…”
The men spread out along the quay. There was at least a dozen of them, barefoot or wearing soft leather shoes, clad in rough tunics and threadbare breeches. Every one of them had a knife or a short club in his belt. One man carried a large jug, and the scent of strong drink was on them.
“What’s your business ‘ere, elf?”
Loth turned to face the man, his eyes glacial. “My business is my own, and none of yours. If you and your friends are wise you will move along and look for easier sport.”
“Listen to this peacock, will you now?” The man appeared to be the leader of the group. He snorted and rubbed a hand over his grizzled chin. He was young, but looked older than his years, his face and hands weathered by the sea and long hours of labor.
“We don’t want your kind ‘ere,” said a second lumper, eyeing Loth with undisguised contempt.
“We don’t need no more of you pointy-eared bastards in Holston. There’s enough of your lot here already.” The leader fingered the handle of his belt knife. Portia felt Finn tense beside her and laid a hand on his arm, urging him not to do anything just yet.
“Why don’t you go back to whatever hole you crawled out of? You got your own country on the other side of the dream gate, ain’t ya?”
“Look, friend,” Loth said, his voice steady. “We’ve no argument with you. We’ve done no harm to you or anyone—”
“Perhaps I didn’t make myself clear,” the leader growled. “You’re not welcome here. You’re not welcome anywhere in Holston. Not now, not ever. It would be best if you left now while you still got the use of your legs.”
“Unless you’re a member of the ruling council I don’t believe you have authority to tell me where I can or cannot go. I suggest you move along and leave us in peace.”
Loth was doing his best to talk reason, but these were not reasonable men. They were full of drink and intent on violence, the thin veneer of civilization stripped away, revealing something ugly and all too common underneath. Portia could see it in their eyes. They wanted a fight, and no words would dissuade them.
Rayzer and Blayde moved to flank Loth. The twin wood elves didn’t like Holston any more than Portia did, and the opportunity to bust a few heads was probably not unwelcome. Along the quay men and women stopped what they were doing. They sensed trouble and now paused in their work to watch the confrontation unfold. There was tension in the air, as palpable as the smells of tar and sea water.
“I urge you to reconsider,” Loth said. “I’ve no wish to harm you, but if you press me, you’ll find I am a formidable enemy.”
The leader laughed, an ugly sound filled with malice. “I think we’re more than enough to handle the likes of you.”
Loth glanced at Rayzer and Blayde. “No swords,” he whispered, “and please try not to kill anyone.”
The story continues in Pirates of the Tragosian Sea, An Interlude to the Draakonor Chronicles.