A warm, humid breeze came off the ocean. Rudiger soaked it in, feeling it brush through his hair and under his arms. With his eyes closed, he could imagine himself back home in Fisvin. The smell of the sea, the taste of salt in the air. It felt just like home. With his eyes open and only looking out across the water, it looked like home, too. Small waves lapped up on the shoreline, falling well short of where they had been just a few minutes earlier (the tide’s quickness was not quite like home, but he could ignore that). Farther out, the silhouettes of fishing vessels and other ships plied the sea.
Looking in the other direction ruined the image of home, however, so for the moment, he didn’t bother. It was simply nice to enjoy the view of the sea and, most importantly, the warm weather.
Borisin snorted, and shifted his feet about. Are we just going to stand here? I could do that on the ship. I need exercise.
Rudiger sighed. “I’m just taking a moment to enjoy the view.”
What view?
“The sea. The water.”
Any water I can’t drink isn’t worth looking at.
“I can’t drink it, either,” Rudiger said. “But there are lots of things worth looking—”
Good. Then there’s no point sticking around here. The stallion turned and began walking along the beach. Rudiger tried to turn him back to face the water, but Borisin had never been a horse who obeyed his rider when he decided he didn’t want to.
Rudiger sighed and let him be. It wasn’t as if he couldn’t still look at the ocean. All he had to do was turn his head a bit. Anyway, he was starting to get tired of it himself. Lovely views were all well and good, but there was a limit to how long he could sit still and look at them.
It had been just over three weeks since they had departed Arnor City, booking passage on a merchant vessel destined eventually for Lockanith. Blessed with good weather, the journey had been swift and had brought them here to Cilling much more quickly than anyone had anticipated. While the ship’s owner haggled and sold his goods, Rudiger, Jorvan, and Zandrue had taken the opportunity to stretch their legs a bit. More particularly, the horses had been eager to get out of their confined space in the hold—especially Borisin.
Rudiger rode Borisin by a group of warehouses along the shore. A few of the workers there glanced at their passing and then went back to their jobs. One even called out, “Nice horse!” Other than that, the stretch north of Cilling was bare of anything. The beach was smooth and sandy, with only a rare stone or rock to break the monotony of its appearance. To their left, the water continued to recede farther away; to their right lay long grasses, then the main road, and then stretches of farmland.
Rudiger rode for an hour or so, alternating between a trot, canter, and short gallops, before turning around and heading back towards the town. By this point, Borisin was actually in a good mood, and even seemed less disdainful of the sea. Rudiger, too, was feeling exhilarated from the open air. While the ocean could be nice to look at, being cooped up on a cramped ship was not his idea of a pleasant experience, and he had to go back to it to finish the journey to Lockanith. So, for the moment, he just lost himself in the ride, and the ship journey became, at least temporarily, a distant memory.
At the warehouses, the same man who had called out before waved and approached. “D’you mind if I get a look at yer horse?” he asked, reaching out to Borisin as Rudiger rode slowly up. He was a short, muscular Eloorin wearing a dirty workman’s tunic and breeches. Sweat glistened on his forehead and dripped from the ends of his stringy hair. His face was broad and flat, and his left eyelid drooped. He smiled at Rudiger, revealing teeth that were yellow and rotting.
Borisin snapped at the man, who snatched his hand away. I don’t like this man. He smells shifty.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Rudiger asked.
“Begging your pardon, sir,” the man said. “I meant jus’ what I said. I meant no offence. I know horses and just thought I’d like a look at yours. But I’ll jus’ be on my way then. That’s a nice sword you got, too.” The man turned around and withdrew back towards the warehouses.
“Sorry about that,” Rudiger called after him. “Borisin just isn’t very good around strangers.” When the man didn’t reply, he rode on back towards the city. “What was that all about?”
Exactly what I said. He smelled shifty.
“How the hell does someone smell shifty?”
My sense of smell is better than yours. You wouldn’t understand.
“Yeah…well…a dog’s sense of smell is even better than yours!” Rudiger wasn’t entirely sure just what that proved. He was well aware that horses had better smell than humans, and Borisin usually had a pretty good sense about these things, but he hated letting the horse get the last word. Still, it made him wonder just what the man had been up to. Probably nothing worth worrying about.
Cilling had to be the ugliest town Rudiger had ever seen. Tight and cramped, dirty and smelly, and dark. The upper storeys of buildings jutted out over the streets, leaving little space between them and the buildings on the opposite side, and blocking most sunlight from falling on the street itself. The unpaved streets were just churned-up mud—well, that’s the way Rudiger liked to think of it; he had no illusions that mud was only one of the components of the gook people had to walk through. Only a fool would walk or ride along the thin area between the buildings, not just because of what might be on the ground, but also what might come from above; at any moment, someone in a building above might choose to dump their refuse. So, it was necessary to stay in the shadowy areas under the buildings.
Luckily, coming up the beach, Rudiger could avoid the main part of town and go straight to the market-docks, the only area of the town that was open to the sky. The only downside here was the streets were so wet and muddy—real mud this time, or at least Rudiger hoped it was real mud—that it was possible to actually sink into it. Upon first stepping off the quay at their arrival, his boots had quickly filled up. There was a good reason the sailors and people of the town wore knee-high boots.
By lucky chance, Zandrue was leading Lucinda up ahead. They were trudging along through the muck. Zandrue had managed to acquire a pair of knee-high boots. “Hey!” she exclaimed as he rode up beside her.
“You should ride,” he said. “It’s easier.”
For you, maybe, Borisin said. But nobody thinks of the horses, do they?
“My weight was making her sink so low, she couldn’t move,” Zandrue replied. “Borisin’s a lot stronger than she is, so you probably haven’t experienced the problem. Of course, if you were truly valiant, you’d let me ride Borisin while you led Lucinda.” She flashed him a smile.
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Rudiger groaned and dismounted. “Never let it be said I’m not valiant.”
With a laugh, Zandrue mounted. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”
Why is it you can flirt with Zandrue, but I can’t with Lucinda?
“Because we don’t need…” Rudiger stopped and switched to silent communication. We don’t need any pregnant mares.
We don’t need any pregnant Zandrues either.
Yeah, well...whatever...
“So, what do you think of our beloved Queen’s home town?” Zandrue asked.
“I think,” Rudiger began and then groaned as his latest step resulted in one boot filling with mud. How is it he lost all sense whenever she smiled at him?
Beats me, Borisin said. She’s got nothing on Lucinda.
Rudiger shook his head.
“You okay?” Zandrue asked.
“Yeah, sure,” he said, pressing on. “I think it’s hard to believe the Queen ever lived here.”
Zandrue smirked. “That’s because she didn’t. Not really. She’s technically from Cilling, but she’s probably never been in it except to pass through it in a palanquin. She actually lived there.” Zandrue pointed to the south, where the round towers of Oceanwatch with their conical caps could just be seen in the distance. The massive castle was one of the few such buildings still in use in Arnor.
“That, I believe,” Rudiger remarked. “If I lived in a castle, I wouldn’t want to leave it either.”
Zandrue shrugged. “I prefer palaces. They look nicer. And richer. They just scream, ‘I have money.’ Castles are dull, grey, cold, and boring. Oh, did I mention dull? You may need to be rich to build a castle, but they don’t look rich.”
“I suppose so,” Rudiger said. “Still, you have to admire their defensive capabilities.”
“Really? I suppose they’re good against human armies. But what good are big walls against an army of Volgs that can just fly over them?”
“I suppose, but how often do we have to worry about armies of Volgs?”
“Hopefully never.”
“Exactly.”
The docks were noisy and busy. They had to move slowly between bare-chested sailors carrying crates and barrels, and horses attempting to pull wagons through the mud. In one area, a group of men chased after a bunch of chickens that had escaped. At another spot, three off-duty drunken sailors clanged jugs of rum together and sang terribly off-key—so badly, Rudiger couldn’t even tell what song they were singing, if indeed they were all singing the same thing.
By the time he and Zandrue reached the quay, both Rudiger’s boots were filled with mud again. He could even hear them sloshing over the general din as he stepped onto the wooden platform. With a sigh, he sat down on the edge, pulled off his boots and emptied them as best he could. An old man, covered in mud himself, laughed toothlessly at him.
His boots were still wet and slippery when he put them back on, but he would just have to live with it. He stood up and turned back to Zandrue. She waited patiently for him to help her down. Rudiger knew full well she didn’t need any assistance, but he gave it to her anyway. She slid down off Borisin very close to him—pressed up against him. His heart started beating faster. She looked up at him, grinning, a sparkle in her blue eyes. His first urge was to put his arms around her, lean over, and kiss her, but he didn’t do it. He was much too dirty, covered in both wet and dried mud. Still, she wasn’t much cleaner. It could hardly make a difference. His ears barely registered the sound of sailors whistling in support. Perhaps...
Then Borisin’s snout pushed between the two of them. Zandrue backed away, fanning her hand against the stench of the horse’s breath. She tried to look angry, but soon burst into laughter.
“I don’t know,” Rudiger said to his horse. “I ought to…”
Is there a problem? Borisin asked. Wasn’t that some sort of huddled conference on what to do next? I didn’t want to miss anything.
“I think you know full well...” Rudiger trailed off. Zandrue had stopped laughing, her face now serious and her eyes looking past him down the quay. She pointed and he looked.
At first, he couldn’t see anything unusual, but as some cattle moved out of the way and down one of the long piers extending from the quay, he saw what she was indicating. A group of five men in pinkish plate and mail stood talking amongst themselves. They each wore a bright red cape, and carried a red shield bearing a broadsword sigil.
“Ah, hell,” Rudiger muttered.
“Let’s just head towards the Flying Fish,” Zandrue said.
“Can’t be looking for us,” Rudiger said. “Probably emissaries or something. I met a kid at the Royal Palace who said something about expanding beyond Plavin-Tyl. Wanted me to join them.”
Zandrue smirked. “Nevertheless, let’s be on the safe side.” She took Lucinda’s reins from him and headed onto the pier their ship was docked at.
Rudiger took another look at the five Red Knights. If the Bloods were looking for them, they certainly hadn’t noticed them yet. He nodded to Borisin and followed Zandrue. “Just what the country doesn’t need. Bloods expanding out of Plavin-Tyl.”
“They’re not likely to get warm welcomes everywhere,” Zandrue replied. “Still, some places will probably welcome them. I don’t know enough about Lord Samma Friaz to predict what he’ll do, but it hardly matters. We’re not staying in this province long enough to find out. I hope.”
“Where’s Jorvan, by the way?” Rudiger asked. If the Bloods were looking for them, he hoped Jorvan would be all right.
“He wanted to look around a little bit while he was here. All part of his quest to see all of Arnor. He should be fine. In the unlikely event those Bloods are after us—and how they’d know to look for us here, I’ve no idea—but in the unlikely event they are, there’s still no reason to believe they’d be looking for Jorvan. They were only after you, me, and Felitïa back in Tyl.”
That was true. Still, their enemies had a way of finding them, no matter where they were or who they were travelling with. And he was quite certain Zandrue was aware of that, no matter what she was saying now. However, he was probably being paranoid. They were surely only emissaries.
The pier was long—all the piers were, due to how far out the tide moved—and the Flying Fish was near the far end of it, past several other ships. They walked the distance casually, not wanting to draw attention to themselves, but it wasn’t long before the Bloods were out of sight, blocked from view by the numerous other people, animals, and crates moving back and forth along the pier.
Eventually, they approached the place where the Flying Fish was berthed. The first mate stood on the pier, signing up three new sailors, all Eloorin. One was familiar, broad and muscular, with stringy hair, a flat face and a drooping eyelid. The man from earlier?
Before Rudiger could think any more of it, a man carrying two thick, heavy rolls of cloth bumped into him. “Terribly sorry, mate.” The local Friaz lilt very prominent in the man’s voice. The right side of his face was stretched and misshapen, the ear completely gone.
“No prob—” Rudiger began.
Shifty smell, Borisin said.
Steel glinted at the edge of Rudiger’s vision. “Zandrue, look out!” Everything was a blur after that. One of the thick rolls of cloth thudded into his stomach, knocking the air out of him. The man then hit him with the other, knocking him back perilously close to the edge of the pier.
Cries rang out around him. As he tried to reach for Slay, three men rushed him, trying to throw him into the water below. They were strong men, and together maybe even a match for his own strength. He could feel the edge of the platform beneath the soles of his boots, and struggled to push back the other way. He was wearing his armour; a fall could mean death.
Amidst the yells, and bleating of goats and other animals, Borisin’s whinny rose above it all, as the horse lashed out again and again with his powerful hind legs, sending several men flying, a few right off the pier. The men holding Rudiger were distracted momentarily, and he tried to push them aside. With a cry, one of them slipped and fell into the water below. Then the other two were back on him. He grabbed one man’s face and pushed him back, and a step with his right foot encountered nothing solid beneath it.