image [https://i.imgur.com/9JnFmXw.jpg]
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Thankfully, the next couple of days aboard The Rogue Wave passed swiftly and without any further interruptions to their party’s journey up the coast.
Fig and Dorian bickered, Rick practised his magic, and the pirates continued to make what repairs they could while Mirabelle watched the horizon for more warships, but none approached. They sailed easily past the livestock ranching frontier hubs of Albrick and Longdune without cause for alarm.
The crew buzzed with jubilation at their victory over The Sunriser and Rathulin’s Star. Such a decisive battle had not been fought between the pirates and Imperial Navy in a long time, let alone won by a single pirate frigate against such overwhelming odds.
What would it mean, Rick heard them asking each-other, if Saltcrust could mount a long-gun, or two, or three, on the prow of every pirate ship, and easily sink vessels twice their size from a mile away?
Of course, such a seaborne arsenal would depend on receiving a steady supply of the guns and ammunition from Garrel, the independent city of innovation and industry that lay on the border between the Dynasty and the Land of Giants far to the north.
Garrel had resisted Dynasty control for centuries, toiling away in isolation, refining their inventions, and placing heavy embargoes on what was revealed or traded with the outside world.
If they were showing their hand now, especially by arming Saltcrust with new weapons that drastically altered the power balance against the Dynasty’s military, it could mean the start of a long and bloody conflict that would change the face of Sedalia forever.
‘Vroshtik Wshantha,’ Rick muttered, and conjured the illusory still image of a burning ship, The Sunriser, onto his palm, noting that the spell took barely a fraction of the effort it had taken before Grisson helpfully pointed out the glaring issue with his spell-casting.
Grisson… Rick shivered. The old pirate mage had helped him, directed him effectively in battle, and been nothing but friendly on the surface, but after what he’d seen the other day he just couldn’t shake the feeling that something cold and eldritch was looking out at him from behind the man’s eyes.
Better not to dwell on it. Distracting himself with magic practice was the only tactic he had for avoiding uncomfortable thoughts.
Rick manipulated the image of the ship in real time. This was his new exercise in ethereal control, altering the expression of the spell during casting to apply additional effects.
In this case, the still image flickered into life. Vicious chemical flames covered the deck and crawled up the rigging into the sails. Tiny illusory sailors flung themselves overboard, disappearing as they dropped out of the image.
He could remember it so clearly.
Perhaps the conflict had already begun. Any Dynasty sailors who made it to the shore were surely going to report the loss of their ships at the hands of the pirates, and reveal the long-gun in Mirabelle’s possession, indicating an alarming alliance between Saltcrust and Garrel.
That spark could be all it took to drive the Dynasty over the edge into a preemptive war to crush the existential threat to their dominance.
Fresh from the bloody horror of their recent battle, Rick could only think of all the people who would die horribly if such a war did break out.
Watching the coastline pass by, he could see all the little villages and homesteads dotted across the tops of the white cliffs.
Thousands of people carved out an existence here, citizens of the Dynasty in theory, but they were a thousand miles from the capital of Vostrel, living off the rolling plains of the Luddish Grasslands and just trying to keep monsters and bandits from darkening their doors so they could raise their children up strong enough to take over the struggle when they themselves were old and tired.
What would a great war do to them?
The last conflict to truly engulf all of Sedalia was The Forgotten War, more than four-hundred years ago now. Its numerous echoes still marked the landscape, especially across the eastern Outerlands where their party were now headed; that portion of the frontier was some of the worst affected, filled with ominous ruins, abandoned towns reclaimed by the wilderness, and old cursed battlefields where the dead failed to rest.
It was speculated that the Aspects themselves had fought one another, and damaged the world with their awful power.
The strangest thing about The Forgotten War was that, in the aftermath, Orot wiped every detail of the war from the minds of mortals, giving the war its contemporary name.
Nobody even knew what people called it while it was happening.
According to records from immediately after the event, the survivors could remember that the war had happened, but not who had fought it, or why. People didn’t clearly remember if they had been involved, or even the names of those they had lost in the fighting, not friends, not their own family members.
Records were wiped, accounts of battles were lost, even artworks from the period were destroyed by the Aspects in an information purge that burnt a hole in the history of the Dynasty and of all the people of Sedalia.
So much of what historians were able to gather about the conflict was pieced together from mere fragments in the aftermath.
The true scale of what was lost in The Forgotten War, from the number of casualties to the scope of destruction and atrocity, could only be guessed at.
But if a new war broke out, the continent would have to face it with full knowledge, and Rick feared that there would be no hiding or forgetting its terrible repercussions.
His morbid train of thought was interrupted by Fig and Dorian, who came up to the foredeck and perched nearby.
From their mutual scowls and slightly red faces, Rick surmised that they had just finished some argument, and he was glad they hadn’t tried to draw him into it. Being the mediator to their conflicting personalities could be tiresome.
‘Mirabelle says it’s not long now until we reach the river,’ Fig said, settling down on the edge of the long-gun platform and stretching out her sword-arm. She’d spent the morning sparring some of the pirates with wooden training swords, taking on five at a time. She’d taken some knocks, but seemed to be happy with her continued recovery from the injuries she sustained in the temple.
'After that it’s just a few more days of travel upriver before we’re in Loverlock,’ she said.
‘Have you made this journey many times before?’ Rick asked.
‘Not for the past two years,’ Fig said, ‘I was busy with jobs, but I like The Lovers’ Festival. It’s a nice way to relax and cut loose, not that I’ll be able to relax much this time with Mirabelle to protect, but still. I’m glad you’re getting to see it finally.’
‘He hasn’t been before?’ Dorian asked from the nearby railing, popping his head up from the notebook he was scrawling in.
Rick shook his head.
‘Why, my boy! I’m so sorry. That’s simply terrible. Loverlock is one of the finest places on the continent, and it is never better than during The Lovers’ Festival. Just to think that you’ve never been!’ Dorian got out a handkerchief and wiped his brow with melodramatic solemnity.
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‘So what he hasn’t been? No need to rub it in,’ Fig said.
‘I’m merely expressing my condolences. Must you interpret everything I say as some slight?’ Dorian pouted, and turned back to Rick.
‘My dear Rickard, I feel it is my duty as a well travelled gentleman to be your guide at this year’s Lovers’ Festival,’ he said, inclining his head, ‘Fear not, with me to lead you, you shall not want for entertainment. Every parlour and activity will open wide for you, and you shall find experiential nourishment to make up for the terrible drought that has plagued you up till this moment. Dorian Darling shall open your eyes… er, eye… to the marvellous throng that is Loverlock.’
Rick caught Fig rolling her eyes, but actually felt quite grateful to the writer. After all, Fig would be preoccupied with guarding Mirabelle for the duration of the festival, making her unable to indulge his curiosity, while Dorian’s offer to show him around would mean that he didn’t need to risk missing out on anything while he had this chance.
‘That’s very generous of you, Dorian,’ he said, ‘Thank you.’
‘Think nothing of it my young friend,’ Dorian said, ‘Everyone should have the chance to drink their fill of The Lovers’ Festival at least once. It’s not for nothing that the bourgeoisie make the journey across The Twirling Ridge Mountains every year. There’s something special about that gorgeous little town by the lake. Allura has surely blessed it with a great boon of passion. No wonder artists, poets, and of course lovers of all kinds are drawn to it. I myself once proposed to a very special person while caught up in the romance and lights of The Lovers’ Festival.’
Rick leaned forward at that, and he noticed Fig’s ears twitch as she also took a sudden interest in the story.
‘Really? I didn’t think you were the type to consider marriage, Dorian,’ Rick asked, hoping to prompt the writer on to further explanation, ‘You seem very… I don’t quite know how to put it–’
‘Unreliable?’ Fig suggested with a smirk, which Dorian pointedly ignored.
‘No,’ Rick shot her a look, ‘I was going to say mobile. How would you keep up a relationship if you’re always travelling all over the place?’
Dorian sighed, ‘I rather hoped she might come with me, but you’re probably right, both of you. It wasn’t in either of our natures to be tied down, not geographically, and not to another person in such a conventional manner.’
He looked off into the distance with a small smile on his face, looking more subdued and contemplative than his foppish manner usually allowed, ‘Still, I’ve never met a more kindred soul. A part of me knew that she would never agree to marry me. As I said, it isn’t in either of our natures. But I got carried away in the moment and just wanted to tell her how much I loved her. I asked her to be with me. She said no, of course, but she was very kind about it. Then we spent the night lying under the stars in an orchard, eating the sweetest apples you’ll ever find and watching fireworks bloom over the lake. It was wonderful.’
‘This wouldn’t happen to be an “Elena”, would it?’ Fig asked.
Dorian tensed up and frowned at her, ‘How do you know that name?’
‘You mumble it in your sleep,’ Rick explained.
‘Do I really?’ Dorian laughed and looked off into the distance again, ‘I didn’t know that.’
That evening, The Rogue Wave dropped anchor in a smugglers cove near the mouth of the Allura River. The party disembarked and rowed to the shore.
Mirabelle brought a small retinue of pirates, including the Alfir mage with the flowery tattoos who Rick had learned was named Casrian.
A shallow hulled river barge rested on the sand. It was low and flat, with a wide berth for carrying goods from the lake to the shipping lanes at the coast. Apparently such barges were very common on the river, and the checkpoints along the way were open to bribes from smugglers, making it a good way to sneak Mirabelle into the festival.
Also brought to shore was The Floating Chest, which had been stored in the hold of their ship for the journey.
The Rogue Wave raised anchor and set off again under Grisson’s command. It would be back to collect Mirabelle in ten days. For now it would find somewhere to lie low, and give the Imperial Navy a merry chase if they tried to corner it, but their naval power mostly lay on the far side of the continent, especially now two of their warships patrolling the eastern shipping lanes had been sent to the deep.
‘I’ll be staying inside the Chest from now on, along with the rest of my group,’ said Mirabelle, handing the stone control ring to Fig, ‘It’s the only way to be sure they aren’t magically tracking me while we’re in their territory. Don’t lose this, or we’ll starve in there.’
Fig nodded and took the ring. They loaded up their belongings and the Chest onto the barge, tying everything down with rope and oilcloth for the journey upriver.
The Barge Captain was a small Vermili man who barely spoke the common tongue, preferring to rant to himself in a confusing and guttural local dialect as they cast off and rounded the headland to enter the river. Even with Rick’s faculty for languages, he could hardly make out half of what the man was saying to himself.
Rick, Fig, and Dorian pitched in to row the barge against the current into the estuary, until they made it to freshwater and a jetty sticking out of the muddy riverbank.
The Barge Captain moored up at the jetty and paid another man in a riverside hut to bring out four large pack-seals, each as large as a cow, with long canine faces and flippers twice the size of dinner plates. The pack-seals were harnessed to the front of the barge where the Captain threw them a few fish, then sat on the prow and took up a set of reins to guide them away from the jetty and upriver, swimming against the slow current as the sun went down.
Relieved of their rowing duties, the party bundled up in their cloaks and bedrolls in the base of the barge and tried to get some sleep.
Dorian passed out swiftly as always, and before long he was snoring loudly enough to startle sleeping ducks out of the bulrushes.
Rick and Fig had more fretful nights, and rose together in the early hours of the morning to watch the sun’s first glow creeping into the horizon, driving back Nostros’ starry shroud.
The barge travelled all through the first night and day, the pack-seals and Captain seeming tireless as they made good time up the Allura River, past long tracts of forest and farmland, and at one point an ancient ruined castle that loomed over them from a hillside.
Dorian claimed to know almost every scene and landmark, and had a story associated with each one. Some were tales from his own travels, some were folklore and myth from long ago. There was little to do but exchange stories and watch the scenery go past, so Rick settled in and let the rhythm of Dorian’s storytelling lull him into a near trance for much of the day.
They checked on Mirabelle and the pirates a few times, but they all seemed content to sit tight in the Chest. Rick supposed that compared to the long months at sea the pirates were probably used to, The Floating Chest with its plush furnishing and instant hot water must feel like travelling in luxury.
The river was wide and slow, with clear water that barely rippled, making it an easy thoroughfare for the region. Bridge checkpoints controlled the flow of river traffic, but Mirabelle had given the Captain a sizeable bribe purse, and the local customs officials were more than happy to take an unscheduled pay bonus in return for waving them through without inspection.
Many barges and rowboats passed them on their journey. There were farms on the northern bank, and Rick was never short of people to watch going about their lives. Fishermen sat casting their lines from wooden jetties, people waded in the shallows cleaning their clothes in the water, and travellers from the nearby road camped out in fields along the riverbank.
On the second day, they passed one campsite where a wagon train had been raided. Dead bodies lay on the ground around a smouldering campfire. Rick could tell this had happened very recently.
‘Black Claw,’ the Barge Captain spat overboard.
‘What’s that?’ Rick asked.
‘A dangerous outlaw, leading a gang of disgruntled ex-woodsmen from further north,’ Fig answered sadly, looking across at the devastation, ‘He’s been making trouble in this region for a half-year now, attacking travellers and merchants. The Dynasty’s frontier garrisons don’t have the resources to track him down themselves, so they put a bounty on the guy’s head, one-thousand gold suns. But no-one’s caught him yet.’
‘It’s despicable, slaughtering poor people who were just trying to use the road,’ Dorian visibly seethed with rage at the thought.
‘I’m suddenly very glad we’re travelling by river,’ Rick said with a shiver.
They watched solemnly as the campsite full of abandoned corpses fell behind them and the day turned once again to night.
They stopped briefly in Fellow so the captain could sleep and change out his tired team of pack-seals for a fresh group, and then forged on, with the river growing more crowded, and the banks more populated every day.
On the morning of their fourth day on the barge, just after sunrise, they rounded a bend and found the river opening up before them into the glory of Lake Allura.
Crystal clear water sparkled with morning light all the way to the base of The Twirling Ridge Mountains, which had been rising slowly but surely in the distance for the past day or two.
Dorian clapped Rick on the back as the party gathered by the Captain at the prow of the ship to view their final destination, at last within sight after a week of travel.
‘You’ll not be let down lad,’ Dorian said.
‘It’s good to be back,’ Fig softly spoke beside him.
Across the water, nestled lakeside between snow capped mountains and the verdant expanse of the Berabrick Forest, Rick’s eye rested for the first time upon the lights and towers of Loverlock.
[End of Chapter 19]