From the inside, the shipyard appeared even larger. The long segment extending out into the lake was actually two massive docks that were reinforced and barricaded on the outside. There were three levels to each dock, which were designed similar to scaffolding but far more reinforced and with ladders connecting the levels periodically throughout their lengths. The barricaded exteriors essentially turned them into protective walls that formed a long channel leading into and out of the boat yard.
An array of pulley systems with large cranks was arranged around the interior of the log warehouse. Massive rollers carved from tree trunks, on which ships could be hauled out of the water and moved around via the aforementioned pulleys were strategically positioned for functional efficiency. The half of the large, hollow structure closest to the water held ten ships waiting to set sail, and the rest of the building had at least as many available dry slips for more vessels. Matt explained there was no need for a bedroom or any other amenities to be built, because all of the ships had sleeping quarters and kitchens, etc.
The experienced ship captain was preparing for battle predominantly on educated guesses, hunches and intuition, but he was certain there was a very real threat coming and wanted to be prepared. People were randomly going missing, without explanation, all over Anchora. It was only a few dozen people per year over the past eight years or so, but this was a significant increase from barely a handful in the previous ten. This development, combined with the recent attempts on John’s life and a couple attempts on his own, told Matt something larger must be afoot.
The sailor was a graduate of the Anchor as well and knew better than to ignore his instincts. Even among his peers, his intuition was a cut above the rest. Back in their Anchor days, John and Matt had accomplished the same feat as the Lartiso twins. They were each the top of their respective classes, John training as a ranger and Matt as a mage. In fact, no set of twins had managed to repeat the feat until the Lartiso’s came along, and very few others had achieved this in the past several centuries.
***
Instead of spending the night and heading out the following morning, the group had decided it would be best to depart immediately, in hopes of throwing any more potential assassins off their trail. Horses and gear were all loaded onto the ship nearest the entrance, a sleek vessel, designed for speed and maneuverability more than anything. As soon as the ship touched water, Matt showed everyone except John, who had sailed with him many times before, how to hoist and work the sails.
The ship had a single, large mast that held a massive, square sail positioned perpendicular to the length of the ship. Also, coming from the mast was a large, solitary foresail, roughly triangular in shape but with enough surface area to curve slightly and catch wind at forward angles. This sail, finished at the bowsprit, which was essentially a smoothed out log protruding dead ahead, at a slight upward angle, from the bow of the vessel. The third and final sail attached to the mast was a gaff sail, which was trapezoidal in shape and aimed directly back, terminating at the tip of a large boom, which emanated at a right angle from the mast. It was a relatively simple, yet efficient design, meant for quick sailing without garnering unnecessary attention.
Matt used his talents as a mage to expedite their travel, manipulating the wind in close proximity to the vessel. Though they were technically backtracking, linking up with and gathering intel from his brother had been an important stop for the ranger. And, with the aid of the veteran sailor and his ship, they would still reach the Anchor with more than ample time to get settled before the start of the school year.
From the hideaway shipyard on Vast Lake, The group would backtrack via the Rift River, so they could travel purely by water for the remainder of their journey. Another waterway, the Mist River, flowed south to meet the Rift River at its westernmost point. The Mist River originated at a spring fed lake high in the mountains, closer to their destination. This lake also supplied the Anchor River, which emptied into the Northern Anchoran Sea, directly south of the Anchor. It was widely rumored that anyone who traveled into the wilds north of the Rift River would not return, disappearing in a mysterious fog that supposedly originated at the Mist River. Matt, however, knew the reason behind the rumors and was unconcerned. The cause for the superstition was no threat to him or his companions.
***
The journey westward was largely uneventful. The group was grateful they were traveling with Matt. They could not leave tracks traveling by water, and sailing day and night, with the current of the Rift River and Matt’s wind mastery in their favor, made for a swift trip to the coast. The more aggressive southward flow of the Mist River, however, foretold of a potentially more arduous and certainly more time-consuming journey north. This waterway was so named due to the perpetual concentration of a seemingly unnatural mist hovering about its surface and obscuring one’s surroundings. Without ample experience as a sailor and exceptional senses, traveling this route would be downright impossible, as the various masts and decks of wrecked ships along the way evidenced.
Only a day into the northward leg of their journey, the sun broke through the mist, shining directly on the companions and their ship. Matt and John, having traveled these waters together in the past, knew what this meant. They were being watched. They expected as much, but never did they imagine it would happen so soon. A few more days or even a week should have passed first, at the very least. It seemed strange things were happening all over Anchora, even here where most people dared not venture.
Every day for roughly the next two weeks, the mist cleared around the ship for a few minutes at a time, and the companions were able to see the rocky river shores gradually become more densely wooded. The history and geography texts at the Anchor, which contained accurate knowledge of these woods, called them Graytwood Forest. Volumes found elsewhere in Anchora, however, would refer to them as the Dark Forest. Fear of the unknown had a funny way of skewing impressions. Although, people not returning or returning…different…after venturing into these woods, might have been at least a small factor influencing the name change.
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“Lawk, your friend there,” the ranger nodded his head at Revlis, “was most likely born in this forest.”
The wolf looked up at his companion and appeared to nod in confirmation, while emanating feelings of trepidation and loss across their bond.
The young warrior nodded at his father and patted his furry friend to comfort him.
“Graytwolves were rarely found outside this Graytwood Forest,” the ranger continued. “In fact, the last recorded sighting in or near the human settlements was probably a few hundred years ago. It is rather odd that we met Revlis where we did. Many among the general population will even go so far as to deny them species existence, claiming either that they were extinct or creatures of myth and legend, born of exaggeration. But, that is the nature of humanity, I suppose. The unknown and unusual tends to be either blown out of proportion, denied, or ignored until it is written off as fantastical or forgotten. In my experience, there is usually some truth hidden in legend, and oftentimes the real thing is underwhelming. But, if something interests you, it is always worth investigating. Because, when you least expect, you may find something truly magnificent. I have a hunch your chance encounter with Revlis may be one such instance.”
Again, Lawk nodded, this time cocking his head slightly to the side in thought as he observed his companion carefully via his aura senses, with blindfold in place as usual. The young warrior wondered for a moment if his furry friend would prefer to return to these wilds.
The graytwolf pup, seemingly in answer, as if he had read Lawk’s mind, shoved himself between the young warrior’s legs and sat down, looking up at his new companion. Lawk was warmed by the gesture and gave the wolf some gentle scratches on the top of his head in silent reply.
***
Roughly 2 weeks after the first of the brief, intermittent mist clearings, Lawk’s glowing silver eyes cut through a much denser section of the haze, which lay directly ahead. He saw clearly, as if the fog had completely dissipated, an immensely tall wooden bridge, below which was mounted an imposing, solid, wooden gate. Unless the gate opened, there would be no way for the ship to pass through. Lawk informed Matt of this development, and the ship captain smiled, calling for all sails to be brought in.
They would coast to a stop just in front of the barrier, and he and Lariatta would generate mist energy ropes to tether the ship to the structure. Lariat and John would then deftly walk across the arcane ropes, with the ship’s mundane replacements in hand, and tie them off. As soon as this was completed, the mist in the immediate vicinity cleared, and a voice called out from above, directly above, coming from their own ship’s crow’s nest, “State your names and purposes.” The voice was smooth much like Lawk’s, but less deep and more melodic, almost soothing despite the firm, commanding tone.
“Is that how you greet old friends, Meras?” Matt called out in reply.
“I figured this was your ship, Matt. You are the only human that ever comes this way by water anymore.”
Meras jumped down to the deck, slowing his momentum with some silent spellcraft of his own before he continued, “And, I would recognize the other Brahm brother anywhere -nice to see you, John- but, who are the others?”
Matt quickly presented everyone by name and title, except Lawk, who he had immediately realized was missing. And, a silly grin spread upon his lips, which made Meras suspicious. Having trained with the Brahm twins at the Anchor, he was well aware of Matt’s antics.
“Why are you smiling?”
“Oh, no reason, I would like you to meet my nephew, the Wraith of Laramea.”
He gestured with his hand to the spot right next to Meras and waited a few seconds, but nothing happened, and the sailor frowned.
John, put his hand to his face. “Matt, you realize the Wraith’s identity is supposed to remain a secret, right?”
“Yea, but this is Meras we are talking about. He’s an honorary Brahm. If we can’t trust family, who can we trust?”
Realizing, his brother was not simply joking for joking’s sake but communicating to their close friend and valued ally that they still trust him fully and without reservation, John nodded. “You have a point, brother. Lawk, why don’t you greet our old friend. And, introduce Revlis, while you’re at it. Best to lay all the cards on the table at once.”
Meras looked at the ranger oddly for a second, wondering if his rather serious old friend had begun to joke around like his twin brother, before a smooth, deep and somehow unnervingly calm voice pierced the momentary silence.
“It is a pleasure to meet you, Sir. I am John’s son, Lawk. And, this is Revlis.” An involuntary chill ran up Meras’s spine when he turned to see a well-built, young warrior, who was oddly blindfolded, but who made him feel like there was a focused gaze boring into him regardless. No matter how hard he tried, he could not sense this person, though he was standing right next to him.
Meras’s long engrained habits of politeness and propriety aided him in smoothly replying, despite being caught profoundly offfguard, “The pleasure is all mine, young warrior.”
And, then his heart pounded as he turned to see where Lawk was gesturing. At his other side, also somehow not detectable but now clearly visible, sat a large graytwolf, apparently young but quite sizeable nonetheless. Greetings, Rev-“
Realization struck him like a hammer mid-sentence, and his eyes widened.
For the first time in years, Meras, an elven prince well known among his people for his elegance and grace, lost his composure and exclaimed, “Do any of you know what this means?!”