Don Bassingthwaite - The Binding Stone

Singe pressed his lips together. “The hunters couldn’t have passed us, Geth. We would have seen some sign. We’re well ahead of them. Come on. We need to find a ship and you need to rest.”

The wizard released Geth’s horse and urged his own through the crowd. Geth stole one last look at the hanging cloak, then glanced at Dandra. She shrugged and turned her mount after Singe. Even after a week’s riding, it was clear that she wasn’t comfortable on a horse.

After a moment, Geth followed as well. He kept his eyes open as they rode, though, scanning the shifting crowd. Maybe Singe had been right, he thought. How could the hunters have moved quickly enough to pass them? He probably had made a mistake. Still, he couldn’t shake feeling that he had recognized Ashi.

Ahead, both Singe and Dandra reined in sharply. “Twelve moons!” Singe gasped. “I was hoping to find a fast ship, but this is Olladra’s own luck!”

Geth looked up. Docked in the nearest berth was a sleek ship easily eighty paces in length. She sat low in the water with the weight of her cargo but still looked like she could outpace anything else on Yrlag’s waterfront. Deep blue paint shot through with bright yellow trim ran around her hull in a wide band below her rails and the name painted proudly on her bow was Lightning on Water .

The ship had, however, no masts and no sails. Instead, massive wooden beams reached out from its stern to clutch a pale blue ring of enormous diameter that hung above and behind the ship’s hull. Geth stared at it, then squinted. There was a strangely translucent quality to the ring. He couldn’t tell if it was carved from wood or forged from metal-or maybe even cast from some heavy glass.

“What kind of ship is that?” he asked in amazement.

“It’s a House Lyrandar elemental galleon,” said Dandra. “I watched them docking in Sharn. Il-Yannah, I wouldn’t have expected to find one here!”

“They’ll go wherever there’s a profit to be made,” Singe said. He bit his lip. “There’s nothing faster on the water, but-”

“But-?” asked a salt-hoarse voice. “But nothing! I’ll bet you a silver ring there’s not a ship west of Sharn that’s faster than Lightning!”

Geth twisted in his saddle and glared at a slim, fair-haired man standing with a sheaf of papers in his hand beside a stack of barrels. The man gave him a sharp smile. “Nervous?” he asked. “I’ve noticed Yrlag tends to do that to be people.”

The man wore a dove-gray coat with long tails and upturned cuffs. His voice carried, like Singe’s, the accent of Aundair. His hair was long and drawn back, exposing the graceful tapering points of his ears and a bright, swirling pattern that spread up the back of his neck. The man was a half-elf-and carried a dragonmark. Geth took a second look at his coat. The man’s smile grew a little wider. “Looking for these, my shifter friend?” He held up his cuff so that bright silver buttons flashed in the sunlight. Barely visible on each one was the kraken crest of House Lyrandar.

Singe slipped down from his horse and stepped up to offer the half-elf his hand. “A common sailor doesn’t check manifests, the average clerk in my experience doesn’t dress so well, and neither generally carries a dragonmark. I’ll make a guess that you’re the captain of this fine ship.”

The half-elf took Singe’s hand in hearty grip. “Captain Vennet d’Lyrandar, friend.” Bright eyes flashed at each of them. “And in my experience, the average traveler doesn’t stand on piers gawking at ships for the fun of it.” He glanced back to Singe. “Looking for passage?”

“Yes,” said Geth. He climbed down and joined Singe. The Aundairian shot him a dark look, but Geth ignored him. Crossing his arms over his chest, he told Vennet, “We need passage to Zarash’ak.”

“My own destination! Five days to the City of Stilts.” Vennet swept his hand grandly across the length of his ship. “As I say, fastest ship west of Sharn. And loaded to the rails-but you’re lucky. My passenger cabins are full, but if you don’t mind staking out a corner of the forward hold, there’s room for the three of you.” His eyes traveled over their horses. “No room for the beasts, unfortunately, but I can recommend an honest stable master who would be happy to buy them from you.”

Geth grunted. He gave the smiling captain his hardest bartering look. “He’d better be honest. Those animals are the price of our passage.”

Singe let out a quiet groan. Vennet’s smile didn’t even waver. “They must be very special horses, then,” he said. “Passage to Zarash’ak is one thousand gold.”

Blood rushed to Geth’s face. “One thousand-!”

“It’s a long way to Zarash’ak.”

Geth took a step forward, but Singe grabbed him sharply, spinning him around and pulling him away from Vennet. “Close your mouth before you make this worse!” he hissed.

Dandra was off her horse as well now and at their side. “That’s more than these horses are worth, isn’t it?” she whispered. Geth gave an angry nod. “Light of il-Yannah.” She looked down the length of the pier at the other ships they had passed. “None of these look like they’ll be leaving soon. And the longer we wait, the better the chance the Bonetree hunters will catch up to us!”

Singe’s lips twitched. “Leave this to me.” He turned back to Vennet. “Captain, we’re happy to pay appropriately for the speed and convenience of an elemental galleon,” he said pleasantly, “but you are asking us to travel as freight. Perhaps a reduced rate?”

“Freight doesn’t get up and move around the ship. It doesn’t eat.”

“Empty space is even less trouble than freight,” Singe commented with a smile. “But it’s a shame to see a ship sail without a full hold.”

Vennet shrugged. “Room to pick something up along the way.”

“Where?” asked Singe. “There isn’t another port bigger than a fishing village between here and Zarash’ak.” He ran a hand along the top of one of the piled barrels and said, “Five hundred.” Vennet’s eyebrows rose.

“You’d pay five hundred for deck space on any one of these tubs!” he snapped, jerking his head along the pier. “And you’d take two weeks to make the trip, eating salt pork the whole way.”

“House Lyrandar eats better?”

“Take passage on Lightning and you’ll eat at my table!” spat Vennet

“Six hundred.”

“Eight hundred.”

“Done.” Singe stuck out his hand. Vennet clasped it heartily. Geth flinched. “Singe, we can’t pay that!”

“No, we couldn’t pay a thousand. For passage from Yrlag to Zarash’ak on a Lyrandar elemental galleon, eight hundred is a bargain.” He nodded to Vennet. “Especially with dinner at the captain’s table thrown in.”

The half-elf’s eyes narrowed. “You’re shrewd, friend.”

“I did a turn as quartermaster for a Blademarks company.” As Vennet’s eyes widened again in surprise, Singe opened his vest and slid his fingers into an almost invisible pocket. They emerged with a flat case no larger than his hand. He flipped it open and extracted a folded paper. “We’ll pay you the price that our horses fetch up front and any remainder from that when we reach Zarash’ak.”

Vennet stared at the paper. Geth craned his neck to see what it was. He caught a glimpse of the crest of the Blademarks-over-lapped with the crest of the dwarven bankers of House Kundarak. A complex mark of authentication shimmered in magical colors at the bottom of the paper. Geth’s eyes went almost as wide as Vennet’s. The paper was a Deneith letter of credit, allowing the bearer to draw on the resources of the great house. Generally such things were given to Blademarks recruiters to allow them to draw pay for new recruits. By using it to buy even a portion of the cost of transport on a Lyrandar galleon, Singe would be risking the ire of the lords of Deneith.