Jean Rabe - Dragons of a New Age

Dhamon rose, picked up his sword, and strode toward the stream. He washed the blood off the old blade, sheathed it, then retied his hair.

“You’re not a farmer, are you?” Blister asked.

“No,” Dhamon answered.

Behind him Raph was chattering again and rummaging through the dead men’s possessions. He pocketed most of the coins and the other interesting odds and ends that were pulled from the bodies.

“You want this fancy sword, Dhamon?” Raph asked. “You earned it. And it’s too long for me.”

Dhamon shook his head.

“Bet it’s worth something,” Raph mumbled softly.

“It’s probably at least worth passage to Schallsea,” Blister said. “Look, Dhamon’s leaving! Let’s go.”

“Wait! I gotta get my spoons!”

New Ports was perched on a thumb-shaped bay of the New Sea. It was a bustling town, growing with the addition of elves who’d left the Qualinesti forest when the Green moved in. Not all the elves left the forest, nor did all those who left come here. But those who did swelled the population and made it look as if the town was thriving.

The town was built like a wheel. The oldest residential section formed the hub, and from it radiated spokelike streets filled with homes and businesses. The newest buildings were those farthest from the center of town, except for a stretch of old buildings on the coast.

It was easy to distinguish the older section of town from the new. The center of the city was comprised of sturdy stone buildings with thatch roofs. The shutters and window boxes were worn and covered with chipping paint. To the west, the buildings were smaller, made of wood, and covered in new paint—or no paint at all. Some looked like they had been thrown together, and their walls smelled of freshly cut pine. Between them were shacks and lean-tos, occupied by people who did not yet have permanent homes. It looked like a city that was swelling, prospering, perhaps growing too quickly.

But despite appearances, New Ports wasn’t flourishing. Beggars clustered between buildings. Urchins played by the back doors of inns, hoping to find tasty morsels amid the trash or to receive handouts from the cooks. Several businesses were closed or looked dusty and vacant inside.

Raph struck up a conversation with a street merchant who explained that most businesses were faring poorly, and some closed their doors because it took more coins to stay open than they could make in a day. People were simply saving their money in the event the Green expanded her territory east to the town and they needed to buy passage to another land where it might be safer. Most of the residents were uneasy, though they hid it well under smiling facades.

The fishermen were the only truly happy folk around, the merchant said. Now that the far part of New Sea was a marsh due to the Black’s alteration of the climate, the warm weather had extended to the west and touched this stretch of the water and fishing was considerably better. People had to eat, so the fishermen were profiting because New Ports had more mouths to feed.

Dhamon paused at a corner and bought an apple from a gnome. The kender did likewise, then they were quick on his heels toward the waterfront.

The salty sea air was strong and not unpleasant. The breeze stirred it with the scents of freshly-caught fish, crabs, and lobster. Dhamon spied several men fishing with nets and poles from an old, narrow dock that stretched out into the sparkling bay. A few ships were moored to the larger docks where the water was darker and deeper. It was midday, so most of the fishing boats would be out for several more hours.

It didn’t take the trio long to find a ship that made somewhat regular runs to Schallsea Island. It was a small coastal trader called the Wind Chaser. Made of poplar and pine, it was not quite fifty feet long and had only one mast and a square sail. The captain was a handsome, dark-skinned man with short black hair. He was tall and muscular and bedecked in a crisp yellow shirt with voluminous sleeves that snapped in the wind. His tan breeches were baggy and gathered at the knees, just above his black snakeskin boots.

“Schallsea, huh?” the captain asked as he strode from the center of the deck and peered over the low rail at Dhamon. He had a deep, melodious voice that carried well and was pleasant to listen to. His dark eyes locked onto the kender, and he pursed his lips. “I only go when I’ve enough passengers—and enough coin. That will probably be sometime tomorrow or maybe the day after that”

Raph produced the filigreed long sword he’d been dragging. “Will this buy us a ride?”

The captain grinned, his eyes surveying the weapon in admiration and lingering on the pommel. Dhamon glanced at the cutlass that hung from the dark man’s right hip. It was well-oiled and had a keen edge that flashed in the sunlight, but it wasn’t as valuable as the sword Raph had offered him. Several daggers were strapped about his waist, and the pommels of more daggers peaked out from beneath his shirt and from the tops of his boots.

“That’s a fine blade. How’d you come by it, little one?” The speaker was a woman, as dark as the captain, but with even shorter hair. It almost appeared as if she’d shaved her head. She wore an ivory satin vest that nearly matched the color of the lowered sail she’d stepped from behind. Her brown breeches hugged her long legs like a tight glove, and the green silk sash she wore low around her hips waved animatedly in the strong breeze.

Dhamon suspected they were from the race of sea barbarians far to the northeast, black mariners from the lands around the Blood Cup, or the Blood Sea.

“My uncle gave me the sword,” Raph began. “It’s been in the family for years. I’m just too short to use it, and I’m tired of hauling it around.”

“That’ll buy passage for you ,” the captain stated.

“For all of us,” Blister said.

The dark man raised an eyebrow. “All right. For all of you. The sword’s valuable enough. Come back tomorrow. Before noon.”

“Today,” Dhamon insisted. “I need to go to Schallsea Island today.”

“Well, you’ll not get there in a day—no matter how early we leave. It’s about three hundred miles to the main port on the island. Come back tomorrow and we’ll see if there’s enough passengers to make the trip.”

“I’ve some coin,” Dhamon continued. “I could make it worth your while to leave now.”

“Someone after you?” the captain probed. “You a wanted man?”

Dhamon shook his head. “I’m just in a hurry.”

“The coin and the sword,” the woman said. She moved up behind the captain, gliding silently like a cat. “And then you’ll have yourself a deal. I’m Shaon.” She extended a slender, calloused hand to Dhamon to help him aboard. Her grip was forceful. “This is Rig. He’s in charge of the Wind Chaser. We’ve two other crewmen, and they’ll be here soon. They’re picking up some supplies.” She pivoted on her sandaled feet and brushed by Rig. “The men won’t be happy about this,” she whispered. “They thought we’d be in town at least one night.”

“It’ll cost you a hundred steel coins and the sword,” Rig snapped.

Dhamon sighed and reached for his backpack. Raph’s eyes grew wide.

“He’s got that much steel?” the young kender whispered as he tugged on Blister’s tunic.

“We could practically buy a boat for that,” Blister cut in, ignoring her curious companion. “Fifty, and not a coin more. Fifty’s too much anyway, but we’re in a hurry. Take it, or we’ll find another boat.”

Rig grumbled as he glared at the two kender, who scrambled onto the deck. But he nodded and cupped his hands.