Chapter Seven: A New Path

Tara didn’t think she would ever get used to that whirlwind rush. Leaving the Shieldmistress’s Vale was like being sucked down a funnel in cold wind, only to find yourself staggering where you had stood moments before.

The slavers’ ship was still bitterly cold, drenched in spray. The slaves were stood almost exactly as Tara had left them, openly astonished.

Wenrik wasn’t gaping or surprised in the least. The Borzerk warrior looked satisfied and validated, placing his hands squarely on his hips.

“Tara MacQueen,” he said. “What just happened?”

Tara, still disoriented, sat down heavily. Shieldmistress Altheria had said she would be questioned on her return. Did the questions have to start immediately?

“I need to rest,” she said. “Aren’t we taking this ship into harbor? We can’t be far from Regan.”

“We all saw it,” insisted Wenrik, crouching beside her. “The portents. The blue light. You are the Hero of Allerion, aren’t you?”

“Enough, Wenrik!”

The sharp protest made the Borzerk check himself. From the hold, the little gnome Elita and the rest of the more vulnerable slaves were making their way up. The gnome moved purposely towards Tara.

“I’m surprised at you,” fussed the gnome. “We’ve just been through one of the most harrowing escapes of our lives—we’re not even safe yet—and you want to question this poor girl about whether she’s some fantastic ‘Hero of Allerion’? I thought you Borzerks had more sense than that.”

Wenrik grunted. He shook his head, and his glance towards Tara was not entirely apologetic.

Elita laid a small hand on Tara’s arm. “I’m sure the captain’s cabin will be a comfortable place for you to rest. Someone should accompany you to make sure it’s safe.”

Tara forced herself to her feet. “That’s alright,” she said. She couldn’t even imagine relaxing in the captain’s cabin with so many weary faces around her. Her fingers ached as they curled around the hilt of her short sword. “I’ll help make sure the cabin is secure, and we can let the sick and wounded shelter there until we’re safe.”

Horon led the way to the cabin. He seemed to know the structure of the ship, probably because this was not the first time he, Wenrik, and Elita had taken on slavers. They were a foolhardy trio, ten times more so than Tara had first thought in interacting with them from the safety of her bedroom. But Tara was glad to be with them even now.

She stood back when Horon forced the cabin door open. The interior was less pleasant than Elita had hoped, but then, it had belonged to a troll. It was warm and quiet. That was what really mattered.

“How long do you think it will be before we make harbor?” asked Tara, helping a limping captive into the cabin with the rest of the sick. She was appalled that there were children among their pitiful number.

Horon grunted. “Before the sun sets past the horizon, which is good for us,” he said. “The Winter Sea can be unendurable at night. I am amazed that so many survived this passage. The poor conditions, brutal treatment—everything was against us. I don’t credit slavers with brains, but these were among the worst I’ve had the pleasure of scuttling.”

Tara followed him to the upper deck. She didn’t even wince at the lash of freezing wind. In the near distance, she could see the glitter of lights on the horizon from the harbor city.

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“Why do you risk it?” she asked. “There must be better ways to take down slavers.”

“Better ways, perhaps, for lords with money and soldiers at their command,” said Horon. “But you’re right. This is a game that can only end in death.” The big man squared his shoulders against the inclement weather. “I risk it because if I didn’t, Wenrik would continue alone. He’s mad, that one, madder than most of his people. He was a slave once himself. Sold as a boy. He ran away from his master but was more dead than alive when Elita found him. We were about the same age when we met. We've little in common, but I consider him my brother nevertheless.”

Horon stepped towards the ship’s helm, gripping the spokes in his broad hands. “We all have stories, witch,” he said heavily. “I imagine you have one that brought you here as well.”

“I’m not a witch.”

“Then how do you explain the portents?”

Portents. Tara rolled her eyes. “I was just leveling up. That’s all.”

“Leveling up,” repeated Horon.

“Yes. We all do it, the more experience we get. Even NPCs—I mean, even you.”

Horon grunted. “You don’t see blue lights flashing around me, do you?”

“Well…no…”

“Enough,’” said the Fenman brusquely. “There is something different about you. Maybe you’re not a witch. But I am absolutely not calling you the ‘Hero of Allerion’.”

“Will Tara do?”

He glanced at her. His cold eyes warmed slightly. “Tara, then,” he said at last.

***

Regan Harbor was all that Tara had expected, and worse. The coastal city reeked with the smells of animal and human life. The dirt roads were crowded with livestock that farmers had brought to the market in the hopes of selling. Now the animals and their masters were departing the city as night closed over them.

Dogs barked at the new arrivals. Thin, hard faces peered out from dark windows and behind seller’s stalls.

The freed slaves seemed much livelier with solid ground under them. Slavery was illegal in most of Allerion, although it was still practiced in certain regions. But the capture of a slave ship and release of its merchandise always brought with it some monetary reward, to say nothing of the benefits from trading whatever loot they found in the captain's personal stores. The ship itself was possibly the most valuable item they could trade, a hardy vessel that would serve another captain.

After what felt like endless bartering, Wenrik and his companions received a sum of mixed silver and copper coins. It wasn’t the best profit, but it was substantial. Elita portioned out their reward to the slaves, and Tara was given several coins as well.

“It’s more than enough to set a person up at the inn and secure passage to their homelands,” said Wenrik. “Some may have a long journey ahead of them.”

“At least they have a homeland,” grunted Horon. “Sometimes I feel like a sea rat, passing from one ship to the next. It’s no way to live, Wenrik.”

“Are you tired, my friend?” grinned the Borzerk. “You’ll feel stronger with some ale in your belly. The tavern isn’t far. Let’s treat ourselves tonight for a job well done.”

Tara’s mouth watered at the thought of food and drink. But she hesitated from following the three companions until little Elita turned back, looking for her.

“Are you coming with us?” the gnome asked. “You’re welcome to join our table. It would be nice to have company other than these two oafs for a change.”

Tara wasn’t certain. This was the point in Swords of Allerion, she remembered, when the transition from the tutorial to the main game. It was always an exciting moment, full of possibilities.

Here, the player could choose to go wherever they wanted—follow Elita and her friends to the tavern, or explore the city on their own, visiting the Guild of Explorers, the Hall of Defenders, or even the disreputable Nightingale Inn where thieves and assassins were said to be the only patrons. You could look for independent work as a mercenary, or simply leave the town on your own, heading for a new destination entirely.

“You’re coming with us,” said Wenrik firmly. “We would never have escaped Ikor’s ship without you. We owe you for your help, and it’s not my habit to owe anyone anything. Don’t make me force you.”

“Oh really!” complained Elita. “Do you have to make an invitation sound like a threat?” But the gnome's eyes glittered with amusement.

Tara smiled. She was exhausted, cold, and starving, and right now the only reasonable choice seemed to be joining these three in the tavern. That was what she had done in her first playthrough. They had gone to the tavern together, and following their conversation she had slept in a warm bed by a fire.

Afterward—what came afterward? Tara wasn’t sure anymore. Swords of Allerion was an open-world game. Now, it simply felt like life.

“Are you coming?” grunted Horon. “Or are we going to stand out here staring at each other until we die of frostbite?”

Tara quickened her steps. “I’ll come,” she said, “but only on the condition you let me buy the first round.”

Wenrik laughed. “I knew that I liked you. If you want to throw your money away to please us, don’t let me stand in your way.”