Midkemia Page 4

  My first view of the Free Cities town of Bordon was tinged with exhaustion, fear for Tomas’s safety, and worry about the possibility of a coming war with the Tsurani invaders. Still, with all that, I was instantly struck with how, at one and the same time, Bordon felt both familiar and foreign.

  We had been intercepted en route from the mines by a company of Natalese Rangers, a quiet group who to me, in my youth, seemed somewhat odd. They recognized my lord the Duke from his tabard and were polite, especially since some of them knew Martin—there is a brotherhood of hunters, apparently—but they were also distant and insisted on coming with us to Bordon, where we hoped a ship awaited to carry us to Krondor.

  So, dispirited and exhausted, we limped into Bordon, situated at the mouth of a small bay in the north region of the Free Cities. We were first taken to the office of the local prefect, who at first was cautious, then effusive in his welcome once he recognized my lord Borric’s rank and business relations with a wealthy trader of that region, a merchant named Talbot Kilrane.

  Master Kilrane, when he finally appeared and removed us from the prefect’s office to his own home, was a welcoming and kind man. It was obvious to me he held Lord Borric in high regard, and whatever issues of politics that lingered between the Free Cities and the duchy had no impact on their relationship.

  Time was precious and Master Kilrane made arrangements for us to depart as soon as possible, but I managed to find a little time to explore Bordon. When I was a boy, my farthest journey had been confined to the Far Coast, within Crydee, so Bordon was my first exposure to those of another nation. While so much was familiar, there was to the boy I once was an almost exotic quality to the place.

  As mentioned, Crydee was not a major trading port despite being the Duke’s home. So visitors from foreign lands were rare and noteworthy.

  In the Free Cities, traders from every part of the Bitter Sea and beyond visited regularly, as the Free Cities often brokered trade between the Empire of Great Kesh and the Kingdom of the Isles even when hostilities had broken out between them. Ships from Queg never put in to Crydee, but three were at anchor in the harbor there, two small gaff-rigged luggers and a large trading galley with two banks of oars on each side.

  Fashion was odd to me, as the Quegans sported tunics and trousers of wool, with cross-gartered sandals despite the weather turning cold. Those of rank favored heavy fur capes of wide variety, many with pins and fasteners made of silver, gold, or precious stone. Hats came in a variety of shapes and colors never seen before. It was my first exposure to fashion as a concern among men.

  The travelers from Kesh were even more exotic to my boy’s eye, dressed in all manner of clothing, from headgear to footwear, simple to ornate. One Durbin trader affected a head cover—I won’t call it a hat—that looked as much like some strange and alien mantle of rank as a comfortable way to keep one’s head warm.

  A STYLIZED MAP OF THE BITTER SEA I found among Macros’s collection.

  Faces and voices were strange; I saw small men with flat cheeks and narrow eyes from the Isalani provinces of Kesh, as well as tall men with very dark skin. One of my lord Duke’s best soldiers, Sergeant Gardan, is of Keshian blood, and his skin is as dark as any I’ve seen, but he speaks like everyone else at Crydee and his dress is as one would expect from a soldier. But these kinsmen of Gardan’s ancestors wore colorful capes or kilts of leopard or lion skin, and they carried spears that were obviously more for decoration than warfare or hunting, as they were bejeweled and brightly painted.

  The languages were strange to my ear as well, adding to the alien feel of this place. In the Kingdom we speak the ancient language of Rillanon, known as “the King’s Tongue.” There is another widely spoken language known as “the common tongue,” or simply “Common,” which is a traveler’s and trader’s language. It has many words from the King’s Tongue, as well as Keshian, Roldemish, and the dialects of Queg in the Bitter Sea.

  Having traveled since then, I realize that the root of this Common speech is mostly the Kingdom and Roldem, as they were the two most common seafaring nations on the Sea of Kingdoms. Trade with Great Kesh made it a natural speech along the very lengthy border of the Kingdom and Kesh, and there are towns, I’ve been told, where Common is the language of daily life, as opposed to Kingdom or Keshian.

  To my youthful ear, this was all very exotic, and although most of my time was spent with my master, Kulgan, or with the Duke, his son, and the others of his party, I stole away enough time to drink in this strange and wonderful place.

  I learned years after my first visit to the Bitter Sea that its name derived from the first Kingdom forces to reach its shores. In the hottest days of summer, the shore in many places becomes brackish and foul, a bitter aroma rising from it. It was always my impression that ocean air would smell like salt and cool winds, but this was how I was introduced to that being a myth.

  The sea air in Bordon, upon the water, at Sorcerer’s Isle, or in Krondor—each location has a unique tang to the air, varying even as the winds change. From Bordon, an icy chill could blow down from the mountains one day, while a hot wind could rise up out of the south on another. For the lad of fifteen summers who traveled for the first time, every sense was challenged and every assumption challenged.

  The people I met were friendly despite historical conflicts between nations. The girls were captivating, partially because they were all new faces; one does get to know every girl of your own age in a small town like Crydee. Some looked just like the girls back home, while others were foreign to me, being of dark skin and raven hair, or the almost golden hue from parts of the Empire. Fashions with the girls and women varied even more than among the men.

  At supper that first night, the Duke shared his concerns with Master Kilrane who ordered his fastest ship, The Storm Queen, be made ready and placed at the Duke’s disposal. It took a full day to ready that ship, the day in which I seized my opportunity to explore Bordon, and then we were off on the next leg of our journey.

  I will confess now that as a boy I had little foreboding as to the coming Tsurani threat, so caught up was I in the adventure of travel. It helped me forget that my last vision of Tomas was him running into a dark tunnel in the mines deep under the mountain, a wraith in pursuit. Had I an inkling of what we would face in coming days, perhaps I would have been as worried about my own fate.

  I will continue this narration of my first voyage across the Bitter Sea at another time, but to provide a sense of place, I’m including a map I consider both instructive and unique. It is a carefully copied “rutter,” from the Prince’s library at Krondor, the original being delicate from age. Used by captains without either magic aid or the ability to judge position by the stars and sun due to weather, this map shows elevations of most of the important landmarks, cities, and ports, so that by measuring the skyline of a city or shape of a landmark, the captain would know his position.

  ONE OF MY MOST CHERISHED POSSESSIONS—a “rutter” of the Bitter Sea, a gift from Amos Trask, showing how sailors unable to use the stars or magic to find their way along the coast identify their location by the outlines of cities and natural features.

  The Black Castle at Sorcerer’s Isle

  Entry, the Fifth

  AFTER MY BRIEF DAY OF EXPLORING BORDON and making what I could of the opportunity, we gathered on the docks and boarded Talbot Kilrane’s fastest ship, The Storm Queen. Weighing anchor, we left on the evening tide and caught a freshening breeze out of the northwest, so we had an auspicious beginning to the next portion of our journey. Currents ran swiftly and following winds propelled us smartly along, so we retired that first night confident of a swift passage. As is often the case, Ruthia, Goddess of Luck, is fickle in how she views men’s plans.

  Captain Abrams had plotted a dangerous course, choosing speed over caution, for most traders used rutters, charts of landmarks along the coast, to follow the shore around the rim of the Bitter Sea, avoiding likely routes for Quegan pirates.

 
; These freebooters were given marques from the Quegan King and were “auxiliaries” in that navy, but while the regular Quegan fleet would respect the flag of the Free Cities, the pirates often ignored the niceties of international treaties. They would lie in wait just over the horizon or heave to in the sheltered inlets of small islands off the coast, so should a ship wander away from shore, or not avoid known places pirates lurked, they fell prey.

  More than one ship from Keshian Durbin, the Principality of Krondor, Yabon, or the Free Cities vanished without account, despite clement weather. And some time later items that matched the missing ship’s cargo would appear without provenance in one of the many markets, in different cities, somehow eluding customs. It was one of the inherent risks of travel on the Bitter Sea. The trick to successfully navigating the Bitter Sea, the captain told me during the voyage, was to know where not to be as much as knowing where it was safe to sail.

  Rough weather overtook us when we were but within a few more days of travel to reach Krondor. We had safely passed south of Quegan waters and were close to our destination when the ship broke through a very large wave, what the captain called a “comber,” and the ship shuddered. Even to my untrained ear there was a change of sound in the way the ship groaned as it breasted these large, rolling sea waves, and the captain informed the Duke we needed to heave to somewhere sheltered at once, else we risked sinking. So he turned the ship around and made for the closest safe harbor, the southern side of Sorcerer’s Isle.

  A PRIMITIVE MAP OF SORCERER’S ISLE found among Macros’s belongings. Artist unknown.

  Sorcerer’s Isle was a place of dark legend, one avoided by trading ships and war vessels alike, home of the most feared man in the world, Macros the Black. As I write this, I struggle to look past my many memories of the place and the man and remember when he was a shadowy legend, a storied figure to fill a boy with dread at even the most remote chance of meeting him, or visiting that island, a place to fill a boy with foreboding.

  When the captain informed the Duke that we’d be putting into Sorcerer’s Isle, that was the first time I heard mention of the name “Macros the Black,” this time from my master Kulgan’s man, Meecham. We limped into the small bay on the southern side of the island, dropped anchor, and hunkered down to wait out the storm. The storm had churned up enough silt and tide that it was impossible for divers to do any work safely on a crack in the hull.

  I felt that foreboding as I came up on deck the first time, as the storm’s fury had lessened enough I could do so without being drenched. Upon the eastern end of the island rose up a massive spire of rock, upon which sat a castle of baleful aspect. It was connected to the island by an arching bridge of stone and in the tallest tower a blue light glowed, hinting at evil magic and dark powers in residence.

  I would learn years later that this was but mummery to keep intruders away, for Macros had claimed this island as his personal refuge. In a future entry I will detail some of his heroic acts and mysterious disappearance, but for now I will attempt to re-create our first encounter as I remember it.

  After the storm had broken, Kulgan and Meecham, along with Prince Arutha and Sergeant Gardan, decided to go ashore, to stretch legs as the Prince called it, and I came along.

  Even as the sailors rowed toward the beach, one of the few safe landings on that island I learned later, they kept looking up at the distant castle, as if expecting demons to come swooping down off its towers.

  The sailors dropped us off at the beach and were instructed to wait by the boat, which was perhaps unnecessary, as Prince Arutha’s rank would not have been enough to get them to accompany us on our exploration of the island. They had been the only ones of Captain Abrams’s crew to volunteer to row us ashore, so fearful were the men of the legend of the Black Sorcerer.

  This part of the island was thick with nesting birds, plovers, and turnstones, who squawked warnings if they saw us approaching their nesting sites. Kulgan remarked it was unusual to see them this far north at this time of the year, so the south side of the island must be unusually well sheltered for them to be here.

  While we were determined to avoid the castle, Kulgan convinced the Prince there was little harm in exploring another trail splitting off to the west and over a ridge. We moved with purpose, the drying ground providing safe footing.

  Reaching the first of two ridges, separated by a small gully between, we saw weather to the northwest was clearing, meaning that with fortune, the captain would have the keel repairs completed in good fashion and we would shortly be on our way to Krondor.

  Meecham kept his hand on the hilt of his broadsword, and I absently fingered my sling in my pocket as we trudged down one ridge and up another. Gardan was also alert for possible troubles. Prince Arutha seemed unconcerned and moved easily, while Kulgan was already caught up in the moment, his eyes moving constantly as he seemed to be drinking in every detail of the surroundings.

  We crested a ridge and found ourselves presented with a view of a small valley, ringed with gentle hills and in the midst of which sat a series of buildings I would come to know well in recent years, but which at that time was a mysterious sight. It was Villa Beata, or “Beautiful Home,” in an ancient Keshian dialect that was still heard on the Island of Queg, and a few parts of the Empire of great Kesh.

  Upon first spying what would become my second home, along with the Academy I’m constructing on the Island of Stardock, Kulgan quickly concluded the place was currently unoccupied and we proceeded to head down into the valley to investigate.

  A FLOOR PLAN of Villa Beata after its restoration.

  There was a main building, in the shape of a large square with a central garden—which we couldn’t see then, but I came to know intimately later—and in it rested a fountain dominated by a sculpture of three dolphins, which when restored is still one of my favorite places to rest. I noticed outbuildings, but at that time didn’t realize one of them was a most amazing bath in the Quegan style, as well as a detached kitchen and two buildings for servants.

  The trail was overgrown, but not so thick as to be unnavigable, and we easily reached the valley floor. It was hardly more than a dell at this end, but it opened as we approached the buildings of the villa and saw what might have once been a pasture for animals sweeping away to the right of the main building, with a small knoll on the left side. I remember Meecham handing me his hunting knife, which I took with thanks, yet now I find the image amusing given what I came to learn of this place over the years. At that moment, given who resided on that island, Prince Arutha, his father, and the rest of our party were standing on perhaps the safest place in the entire world of Midkemia, for we were under the scrutiny and care of Macros the Black.

  The villa was surrounded by a low wall, not for defense as Meecham observed, but most likely to keep livestock from grazing too close to the house and out of the gardens that had once been carefully tended but now were overgrown with weeds and brambles. Sergeant Gardan also noted the absence of any tower for lookout, and Meecham observed those who once resided here obviously had no anticipation of trouble.

  Inside I caught my first glimpse of that ancient statue of three dolphins that dominated the now empty reflecting pool, the tiles once vivid blue now faded with age. It was one of my later joys to replace those tiles and brighten the stonework surrounding it, and return that statue to its former glory, but on that day, as a boy, I merely stood in mute awe of something that spoke of unknown history. Who were the people who built this place and from whence did they come? And why did they leave?

  The rooms were empty, save a shard of pottery in a corner in one, or a broken stick of some piece of furniture in another, and everywhere laid the dust of ages. I saw no sign of any inhabitants.

  I found Macros in the baths, or rather he found me.

  I had separated from the others when it was obvious there was no one living in this place. I found an oddly constructed building, consisting of three rooms and an antechamber, and in each room looked t
o be a large pool, which I now know to be a bath. A voice from behind informed me of its name, and I turned to see a man dressed in a simple brown robe with a whipcord belt. He had an intelligent look about him, grey hair at the temples of otherwise long dark locks, and he regarded me with deep, dark eyes, as he held a sturdy oak staff.

  A Teacher and a Student at Villa Beata

  When I reacted in a startled way, bringing up my blade, he calmed me with a few words and we began a conversation. He identified himself simply as “a traveler,” and he gave no other name. We found the others and after introductions, the traveler explained that he had lived at the villa long before and had returned after having been away for several years.

  He said some things I now find very amusing. When the Prince wondered how he could have lived here when it was clear this place had been abandoned for a very long time, Macros’s answer was that it wasn’t that long ago and he was older than he looked, because he ate well and bathed regularly.

  When Meecham asked about the Black Sorcerer, he replied that the magician left him alone as long as he didn’t trouble him at work. It was a clever answer, though even then I was growing suspicious.

  I was tripped as we turned to leave and fell hard against Kulgan who turned his ankle. Macros slipped a small note on parchment into my tunic as he helped me to my feet, which we read at the beach. The note was from the traveler, who identified himself as Macros the Black, and that was but the first of many encounters I had with the man over the years, the first hint that Macros’s life was entwined in my fate.

  We found repairs nearly complete when we returned to the ship, and the weather turning mild, so with relief, we bid farewell to Sorcerer’s Island and turned for Krondor.