“It’s a deathtrap,” the Mick stated flatly, getting the attention of Princess Kristie and I. “There be coral banks just outside the Shorewards there, aye, less than three hundred paces apart. The current in there be vicious, circling about the entire area with the tides, and the channel be at least five hundred feet deep in that narrow area.” He circled his hand over the entire bay to the east of us. “It don’t show itself often, but there be a large amount of nasty stuff in those waters there, an’ they be rapidly deeper then ye can see, dropping off almost like cliffs in some places… and that’s the areas close to the Shorewards, where ye can toss a weighted rope and see how long it falls.”
“How’s the currents under the bridge here? Wouldn’t they mitigate a lot of that?” Kris asked quickly.
“Nae. The Shorewards slow the flow of water down so that ye can traipse from one island t’ the next with no worry fer yer footing at all. As ye might imagine, if the water can only flow fast through a small area, it be flowing very fast, indeed.” He waved at the area under the bridge we were on. “This should be a riptide area, take a man right off his feet an’ send him out into the sea were he t’ dare to cross it. Instead, ‘tis no different from wading along an easy shoreline, just like the rest o’ the islands here.”
“I imagine there’s whirlpools out there, then,” Kris stated, looking at the bay to the east.
The Mick slowly nodded. “Aye, me Uncle said he saw a few form close to the Freehold, during particularly vicious tides and storms, the water tryin’ t’ go this way and that. Hard to be sure if any occur in the middle o’ the bay from this distance, but wouldnae surprise anyone, the water having to be circling about an’ going back out the way it come.”
“And that island over there?” I asked, pointing northwest.
“The Crow’s Egg,” he informed me after pivoting around on his seat to take a look, more out my eyes than his own. “Nobody has been able to get onto it fer years, an’ even then, it were only during some weird confluence o’ events concerning the shadows. Eh, Shades. Apparently, killing a Shadow Child Summons might pop a Portal to the place, where they were engaged in doing… something, nobody were sure what. The only exit Portal from the place dropped ye by Kryst.
“What be going on there now, only the phyntos and the Deep’s creatures might know.”
“Did that open water really help the Freehold that much?” Kris asked, resuming her examination to the east.
“Aye, it did. First, reedsharks and dillos cannae swim, an’ loathe salt water, Summons aside. Two, sclavi hate salt water, as it be getting under their scales an’ makes them itch. Three, moarsmen don’t mind salt water, but they have to rinse off or the salt shrivels their scales, so they have ta stay damp if they go in, or clean off, so they avoided it. Five, the mosswarts didnae like having to cross so much salt water t’ get back to their sacred spaces, an’ didnae like the salt residue, either. Six, the undead never bothered t’ come to the Freehold, it were off the travel routes. Seven, the slithyr tentacles never touched the sea proper, only the beaches, and so couldnae make it to the Freehold.
“Eight, once the King cut down a lot o’ the jungle trees, the phyntos stopped coming, which really eased things up. ‘tis indeed the safest island in the whole of the Vesayans, may me uncle tear out his beard at the thought!” he grinned in amusement at the idea.
“Slithyr?” I asked quietly.
“Tentacles, somewhat between flesh an’ plant, both, neither. Throw dark Life magic ta Harm and Drain ye, Curse magic to weaken ye, try to grapple ye an’ impale ye, or just batter ye dead t’ feed upon. Two varieties here, the slithys and the slithyr. There be larger varieties down further along the Road, such as on Ithaenc, Freebooter’s, and Xi Ru’s island, and Moarsman’s Island. Be whispers they are linked to T’Thuun, one o’ the prime things one o’ the undead factions serve.
“The Crow were where the moars an’ the mosswarts fought the most, scattered in warbands the length of it. The Summons still reflect it, but we rooted out most all o’ the real things. Zefirs and Wisps still pop out o’ nowhere, the wasps are still damn pests, an’ the slithyr still worm their ways up here and there, but the living, dangerous stuff we killed, an’ keep killing. The Wing Roads an’ the Crow’s Road are pretty safe, but the Summons, they still be dangerous fer newbs. Most of the fighting folk stationed at the Freehold regularly go out t’ keep themselves in shape against ‘em.
“Further west is Avalelle Island, an’ where the undead really start showing their influence. They still pop up rarely on the Summons, an’ the toughest mosswarts pop up on the Summons, too. More slithyr, tons o’ returned Dungeons, Empyrean buildings, the Golum Bridge connecting it ta the Crow, sclavi and moars all over… aye, ‘tis a hard place fer the younger ones, an’ where all the Scouts have to hone their skills before I’ll let them to the mainland.”
“But not to you and yours?” Kris asked, and he just grunted.
“Nae. Even now, without all me pretty toys, I’d be fair to not threatened by most o’ the stuff there. Oh, it be taking me longer t’ kill them than back then, but I be not in any true danger, though I does hate me the tentacles popping out of the ground still.” He took another swig. “Ye’re wondering where to find the senior Scouts and surviving high-Levels, aye? If they aren’t in Freehold serving the King or off on the mainland investigating something, they be about Ithaenc Cathedral. ‘tis where all the big kids be playin’ now.”
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While not far as the crow flew, and we could have made a short jump between the Big Tadpole and Ithaenc Lighthouse and cut the whole trip down to a few hours, that was forty miles of overland travel along the Island Road otherwise. Unless you could pop the Shorewards, traveling the Island Road from beginning to end was a lot of walking.
“You’ve some high-end Dungeons there,” Kris deduced. Lord Mick tipped his bottle to her.
“Aye, the only readily accessible ones on the island. Basically, they be the only things left to really test ourselves on, and challenge those who want to break 100 an’ really play with the rest o’ us self-important types. Without the Gear an’ magic o’ before, they basically be impossible t’ clear without hordes o’ us going in together. I dinnae think we’ve managed a mere Fellowship clear o’ the Quiddity Seed dungeon in all the years since we fled t’ the Islands, an’ the other areas with dangerous things in them, well, it takes a special kind of fool t’ attempt a solo clear of them, what with stuff respawning behind ye before yer done killing the stuff in front of ye.”
“I gather it’s taken on almost gladiatorial aspects now. Solo clear times, team clear times, subdivided by Level and accomplishments and so forth?” I asked knowingly. Just like Fort Mouth had, rankings to motivate the soldiers with their own accomplishments.
He shot me an amused look. “Aye. From inside, it can be pretty heated, people defending their times an’ titles an’ boasting about how awesome they be. From the outside, it’s a pitiful group of arseholes who used to be atop the world, clinging ta whatever shred of notoriety they can salvage.”
“And they all have their fans and supporters who praise them for being so good.” I just sighed as I shook my head.
“Well, o’ course. They ARE good. They just lost their stomach for the real fight, an’ so convince themselves what they do is important as role models, teaching the young folks how ta take on these dangerous, deadly things, all in a nice controlled way where nothing can go wrong a’tall.”
“When you go from immortality and not being able to die, to very sudden mortality and death all around, finding out that you’re actually not very brave can be crippling,” Kris said softly. “It’s no longer the thrill of combat, it’s the specter of death around you in every direction. One mistake, and its not a trip to your deathstones any more. It’s done.”
“Aye, that’s it. The fear is in the marrow, an’ they don’t know how t’ fight it an’ dig it out. They ain’t never had a cause higher than themselves, going out an’ fightin’ an’ lootin’ an’ drinkin’ an’ whorin’, an’ then going back an’ doing it all again, knowing they couldn’t die, they looked good an’ stayed that way, an’ it was all going t’ last forever.” He closed his eyes and sighed, looking at his mostly-empty bottle, which Kris snagged out of his hands and promptly completed its service with professional grace.
“They need to be young and stupid again, or sit down and have a lot of kids so they have something to protect. Are they doing that?” she said as she returned the empty bottle to him.
“Some o’ them,” he admitted, holding onto the glass. Recycling and reusing was a big thing hereabouts. “But the kids be just coming o’ age, an’ Ithaenc be the wrong place to raise them, the stuff about be too tough for ‘em, an’ Summons, they don’t care none about how old you are. So, the ones with kids aren’t the ones you’ll find around the Cathedral up there. Just the frightened, bitter souls trying t’ cover their fear with drink an’ irrelevant games an’ ego plays over nothing that matters.”
“And your trio of faithful Scouts will be up there?” Kris asked narrowly.
“Aye. They get t’ sneer at the ones who don’t go off-island, sure enough, who hang on their every word of actual deeds that matter, playin’ at being important. It don’t matter they can’t beat a clear time for those who’ve run the same dungeon ten thousand times or whatnot. They be doin’ the stuff the others won’t, so everyone knows who the true warriors are, right?”
“Are you going to see the King, and your Miss Swiftfoot?” I asked him in turn.
He actually paused and thought that over, plainly considering his next move. “Aye, I’ll go see the King, belike I should do it on the sly, however. If there’s a rot, I’m going to clean it out, an’ for all I admire His Majesty, it will be done even if he wants to take another road.” He almost shattered the bottle in his hand, carefully restraining himself. “If the assassins are back an’ preying on us like they did before the Fall, an’ back on Ispar, they need t’ be finally taken out.”
“So, we’re going down the Crow’s Road to Freehold. Miss Swiftfoot will want you to report. I imagine you’ll want to get there a bit early and surprise her,” I conjectured.
“Aye, I walk in the gates, she’ll know within minutes,” he agreed.
“Well, Kris already eyeballed the distance. She can punch the Shoreward and cross by the Little Tadpole, have you there in the city in half an hour. As far as skullduggery goes, I’ll think you’ll find Her Highness uniquely equipped for it. You can be in and out of the city in no time at all.”
He looked at me, at the Princess, thought about it for a second, and asked, “Ye coming along, lass?” he asked shortly.
“Someone has to sift the truth from the lies in what she’s going to be saying.”
---------
It wasn’t that the city of Freehold wasn’t defended well, because it actually was. Stout stone walls, at least rudimentary ley line tapping to render them mostly invulnerable to magic, encircled the entirety of city that dominated all but the pasture lands to the south of it. While there were plenty of cottages along the water where the fisherfolk lived, they were much better kept up than in most of the villages about, and herbs and small gardens flourished everywhere.
They were not designed to keep out flying intruders, especially Invisible ones riding Disks and the like so they were moving faster than a speeding horse.
The Mick knew right where he was going, and with the Sound Bubble from Tremble, nobody was going to hear anything we didn’t want them to.