Chapter 52 - Uthal (Patreon)

Unlike in Torben, Arien knew what to expect this time.

Uthal was still enormous.

The port stretched along both banks of the river, at least twice the size of Torben’s, with piers jutting into the water wherever Arien looked. What caught his attention most were the ships.

Sleek two-masted vessels of pale wood sat low in the water, built so narrowly that they looked made for speed and little else. Others resembled the Golden Mussel, though many carried unfamiliar artifacts fixed to their masts, hulls, or decks. And between them moved enormous, bloated cargo ships that looked less like vessels and more like wine barrels cut in half and somehow persuaded to float.

Miley stood at the helm, following the harbor pilot’s directions as they threaded between anchored ships toward their assigned pier.

Arien had been watching the vessels so closely that it took him a while to notice how varied their crews were. Humans still made up the majority, but not all of them.

As the Golden Mussel passed one of the pale ships, Arien froze.

Elves.

He had seen drawings before, of course, but they hadn’t prepared him for how familiar the real thing looked. They were tall and slender, with high cheekbones and pointed ears. Even their movements seemed strangely graceful, each step smooth enough to look rehearsed.

It was almost exactly what someone on Earth might have drawn if asked to imagine an elf.

Arien frowned. That bothered him more than it probably should have.

Humans imagining another humanoid race with pointed ears was one thing. But the resemblance went beyond that. Enough details matched that dismissing it as coincidence felt increasingly difficult.

Had Earth once known something about Erador? Had someone else crossed between worlds before him? Or were Earth and Erador connected in some way he still didn’t understand?

They were questions Arien had obsessed over as a child, then gradually abandoned when years passed without even the beginning of an answer.

Seeing an elf brought all of them back.

Fenrey followed his stare and spat over the railing. “Elves. Slippery bastards…Never trust one. They’ll drink with you all night, smile with those perfect white teeth, and slit your throat before breakfast.”

“I’ve heard the same about orcs, citizens of Republick, and dwarves,” Arien noted dryly.

“Orcs and dwarves aren’t so bad. As for the Republic…” Fenrey shrugged. “They live alongside elves every day. Maybe some of the slipperiness rubbed off on them.”

Arien looked back toward the pale ship.

“Do elves really die of old age?”

Fenrey stared at him.

“Of course they do. Why wouldn’t they?”

“Stories.”

“Then whoever told them was an idiot. Elves live longer than us, sure, but sooner or later they return to the gods like everyone else.” Fenrey grimaced. “Though the ones in the Republic don’t even build temples for their dead. Can you imagine that?”

“What about the ones in Loraine?”

“Harder to say.”

“You’ve never been there? Miley said their ports are beautiful.”

“Oh, I’ve been.” Fenrey snorted. “Foreigners are allowed into the ports. You dock, deal with one of their officials, buy what they’re willing to sell, unload your cargo, and then they politely encourage you to get lost.”

Arien glanced at him. “And the slaves?”

“Ah. So you’ve heard about those.”

“I heard they have them. I wasn’t sure it was true.”

“Depends who you ask. Loraine says no.” Fenrey leaned against the railing. “The people doing their worst work aren’t chained. They’re paid. They’re supposedly free to leave the kingdom whenever they like.”

“That doesn’t sound much like slavery.”

“Exactly what the elves say.”

Fenrey pointed toward the disappearing ship. “Then tell me why generations of those orcs have spent their entire lives working for them.”

“Why doesn’t the Horde do anything?”

Fenrey burst out laughing. “For them?”

“They’re orcs.”

“Not according to the Horde. They’re too busy killing one another to worry about Loraine in the first place, and half of them would tell you no true orc would ever spend his life working for an elf.” He shook his head. “Hek-Terem tried conquering half the continent generations ago. Ever since that disaster, Loraine has mostly kept to its forests and mountains, and everyone else seems happier that way.”

Fenrey glanced toward the helm. “Speaking of disasters, I should get back before Miley runs us aground.”

When the Golden Mussel finally reached the quay, Arien said his goodbyes to Miley and Sanrey before following Fenrey down the gangplank.

Saying goodbye to Sanrey was harder than Arien had expected. They had known each other for barely a few weeks, yet somewhere between endless questions, arguments, a storm, and putting the boy’s legs back together, Arien had grown genuinely fond of him.

“We’ll sail together again,” Sanrey insisted from his makeshift chair.

“Preferably without lightning next time.”

“Coward.”

Arien grinned. “Try walking before you start insulting me.”

Sanrey glanced toward Miley, then quickly shoved a narrow wooden tube into Arien’s hands.

“Here.”

“What’s this?”

“Open it later.”

Arien turned the tube over. “Later?”

Sanrey’s face was already turning red. “When you’re alone. Somewhere no one can see you.”

That only made Arien more curious. “I didn’t get you anything.”

Sanrey stared at him for a moment, then pointed meaningfully at his legs.

“Right,” Arien admitted. “I suppose that counts.”

“A little.”

“Next time, I’ll bring something that doesn’t involve surgery.”

Sanrey laughed.

Arien tucked the tube safely into his bag.

He hoped there really would be a next time. He had once said goodbye to Will thinking they might not meet again for years, and now Will was waiting somewhere in this very city.

The docks were crowded enough that Arien quickly lost sight of the water behind them.

Porters pushed handcarts between stacks of crates. Sailors shouted over one another. Merchants argued beside open warehouses while vendors threaded through every available gap, waving skewers of meat, cheap charms, fruit, and bottles of something Arien doubted was meant to be drunk before noon.

Staying close to Fenrey made things considerably easier.

The captain walked through the crowd as though crossing his own deck, and people seemed to move aside before he ever had to ask. Unlike the ferryman in Torben, he also made sure Arien remained within sight.

Fenrey pointed toward one of the enormous cranes. “See that?”

Arien followed his finger toward one of the enormous cranes towering above the docks. Faint streams of mana shimmered through its wooden-and-metal frame.

“Dwarven work,” Fenrey said. “Lifts almost twice what an ordinary crane can. Most of the timber bound for the League passes through here.”

He nodded toward the warehouses farther inland. “I own a few shares in the business myself.”

Arien was about to ask how many when something else caught his attention. “Orcs?”

Four of them escorted a richly dressed human through the crowd.

Each stood well over six feet tall, broad enough that even heavily armed sailors gave them room. Chainmail covered their torsos and thighs, and weapons hung openly from their belts and backs.

One of them noticed Arien staring, then grinned and winked. Arien looked away so quickly that the man burst out laughing. Fenrey followed his gaze.

“Orcs. Who else?” He chuckled. “Merchants love hiring them as guards. Nothing improves negotiations quite like having someone with tusks and hands the size of hams standing behind you.”

Arien looked back once they had passed.

On Earth, he had always imagined orcs as something out of Jackson’s films: filthy, lumbering creatures that existed mostly to be cut down by prettier races.

Erador had thoroughly ruined that image. The four guards hadn’t looked stupid, clumsy, or particularly savage. They had looked like professionals, just very large ones.

Arien certainly had no desire to discover how much Strength one of them possessed.

It took them another fifteen minutes to leave the docks behind. The district beyond was hardly quieter. Taverns occupied nearly every other building, and street vendors crowded the gaps between them, filling the air with the smells of grilled meat, stale beer, smoke, and frying onions.

Despite the early hour, drunken sailors were already stumbling through the streets. Some had apparently started celebrating before sunrise. Others were being enthusiastically steered toward nearby establishments by women who had clearly learned to recognize freshly paid crews from a distance.

Fenrey watched two sailors disappear down an alley with a pair of women hanging from their arms.

“Poor fools. Spend months at sea just to waste half their wages in a week on drink and whores.”

“You sound surprisingly judgmental for a sailor.”

“I said they were fools. I didn’t say I’d never been one.”

Arien laughed.

They continued inland. Gradually, the taverns became less cramped, the streets cleaner, and sailors less common among the passing crowd. Even the constant smell of fish, sweat, and wet timber began to fade.

Eventually, Fenrey slowed. “Right. We’re here.”

He headed toward a broad-fronted tavern set between a tailor’s shop and a building with polished brass lettering above its doors.

A tall man guarded the entrance, leaning on a knotted staff with the bored expression of someone who had been standing there far too long. He gave Fenrey a brief nod and let them pass without question.

Inside, the place reminded Arien of the Roasted Pig, though considerably larger and cleaner. One broad room served as both dining hall and taproom, with magical lamps hanging from the ceiling and casting warm light across rows of wooden tables.

Only a handful of patrons were still eating breakfast. Arien scanned the room until he spotted Will hunched over a bowl of porridge.

“I hope you left something for me.”

Will looked up and froze. For a moment, he simply stared at Arien as though his mind had failed to connect the face in front of him with the person he had been expecting. Then he grinned.

“Arien.” He glanced down at the bowl. “I see you still never miss a meal.”

Laughing, Arien crossed the distance between them and pulled him into a tight hug. Will stiffened before awkwardly returning it. When Arien stepped back, he grinned. “You’re stiff as a board.”

“And you’re soft.” Will poked him in the stomach. “Have you done any training since we last met?”

“I’ve been busy,” Arien muttered.

He wasn’t exactly out of shape, but regular physical training had remained near the bottom of his priorities.

Will smiled, then suddenly looked embarrassed.

“Sorry. You caught me off guard. I had an entire speech prepared.”

“A speech?”

“It was good.” His gaze dropped. “Probably.”

Arien laughed.

“I ruined it.”

“You ruined nothing. I probably would’ve interrupted you halfway through anyway.”

Will looked back up.

“You have no idea how happy I am to see you,” Arien added. Will’s embarrassment finally faded.

Arien glanced back and found Fenrey still standing a few steps behind them, watching with an amused expression.

“Right. This is Captain Fenrey. He brought me here from the ship and apparently knows half the ports in the world.”

Fenrey snorted. “Slight exaggeration.”

“Wait until you hear his stories.”

Will straightened and offered his hand.

“Will Greyrock. An honor to meet you, Captain. And thank you for bringing my friend here safely. My brother said he had entrusted the journey to someone reliable. I can see he was right.”

“Fenrey.” The captain shook his hand. “Looks like Arien has a talent for finding good friends.”

He glanced toward the entrance. “I’d stay longer, but if I leave my crew unsupervised for another hour, half of them will disappear into Uthal. Is Malbek here?”

“Asleep upstairs. Your message arrived yesterday, so we left immediately and reached the city last night. My brother isn’t exactly an early riser.”

Will smiled faintly. “But don’t worry. You delivered Arien safely. Malbek will arrange the rest of the payment with the bank.”

“About that.” 

Fenrey reached inside his coat and produced a folded slip of paper. “Tell your brother I won’t be collecting the balance.”

Will blinked. “Captain?”

“The boy earned his passage several times over.” Fenrey handed him the paper. “That confirms it.”

Will accepted it slowly and opened his mouth to speak, but Fenrey continued before he could.

He rested a hand on Arien’s shoulder. “Take care, boy. May Zerif watch over you, even on land.”

“And you, Captain.”

Fenrey gave him one last nod and headed for the door.

The moment it closed behind him, Will turned back to Arien.

“What exactly did you do that a captain personally escorted you across the city and then refused payment for your passage?”

Arien grinned. “That’s a loooong story.”

His stomach growled loudly enough for Will to hear.

Arien looked toward the abandoned bowl of porridge.

“And apparently it’s a story I should tell over breakfast. Would you mind ordering me something?”