| The Enclave > Known Roads > Journeys |
| To Three Stones |
I'll not be leaving this bed it seems, so it comes to this: you'll be leaving your fisher girl and boats for a time, my boy. Not so long in the face now! I'm not for dying yet, but there's coin in the balance and the days are slipping away. I have thirty barrels in Menas' storehouse by the Berths, and not much time to see them to the Grand Market in Three Stones. I owe the old miser Menas nothing, but you'll never convince him of that - easier to have you pay a few coins.
Young Toerel here knows the way, though it might not look like it. Followed in my footsteps these past few years, might make a good merchant of him yet. None of that foolishness with the sea in this one, eh? I recall that taking council comes hard to you, doesn't it, my boy? You'll take it from Toerel - let him help you pick the workers and the mules, and none of your friends from the dockside, eh? Too many thieves hereabouts, my boy, and you need more than just a sharp eye. You'll need a few spearmen too, all the better to keep the guilds happy. You should pay your respects to Geren's daughter at the forge by the riverside, you know the one. She's rough red iron, but the toughs sniffing around her breeches are trustworthy enough. She'll be happy to be rid of a few suitors, but not so happy as Geren, eh? Better to travel with those you know, my boy. I wouldn't want you taken in by the pretty talkers with their pretty armor and pretty spears at the Guild Bridge or the Wayward Visitor.
The Stone Road is an easy journey until you cross the Lothar. The council of Two Springs have got it into their heads to be taxing merchant folk again; the guild is having none of it, but don't go putting yourself between two thieves and a purse just to make your point, my boy. Spearmen are for looks in Two Springs, not for making the guildmaster angry. You mind yourself after the springs, now. The Whisperwood is not a place to be near after dark. I could tell you some stories - but better you just set out early and travel fast and far that day.
You be respectful to traders on the road, eh? I know them all, and don't want to hear all about my unpleasant replacement. If you meet the Sage at Two Stones, be very polite - none of your seafarer's ways. Give him whatever he asks for, and say your uncle sends his regrets.
You'll see spearmen on the Road when the Three Stones watchtowers are in sight. Some of them are fine, upstanding fellows - Toerel knows a few by sight, don't you? Like as not you'll meet toughs no better than the thugs on the dockside here. Pay them a few coins anyway, eh? They do their job, stopping honest travelers from coming too close at dusk or when the Neth come down from the hills. Best you camp further back down the Road, though, or who knows what you'll find rummaging through your packs and my barrels.
There's a bag of coin on the table; whatever you don't spend on merchanting is yours. A ruinous waste from what I know of your tastes, my boy, but needs must, eh? Here, you should take this, my old Seafarers' Needle. She points to the Road come hail, fog or Farthest. I doubt you'll need her, but I don't want to be explaining to your fisher girl that you couldn't do a simple job of trading for your old uncle. Eh? Eh? Now off with you! Time is wasting!
[ Posted by Reason on February 6, 2005 | Permanent Link ]
| To Spire and the Stonefolk |
It was good of you to allow me to travel with your caravan - I recognise you from the dockside. You know Master Shipwright Benlei and his daughter, aye. He is a trustworthy judge of character. Myself, I sew sails - good sails, from the old tradeship designs - and avoid Guild duties; I'd rather be out past the cliffs with a new sail behind me than throwing drunks into the bay or listening to the traders argue on the docks.
Aye, it is not so bad, walking by the river. No salt in the air, though, and your spearmen tell me that the Trade Road to Spire is dry. I am not looking forward to dust on the wind. If you end your journey at Three Stones, then I should pay a few coins for their company while I pass the walls - I hear the City Without is a rough place for a seafarer.
Why the road to Spire? Aye, there is a story there. Let me show you this; it has been in my family since the Vanishing. My grandfather told me that the ancient seafarers traded wizardry with the stonefolk for craftsmanship like this: mura, stonefolk silver. Look at it, the way the light catches the fine lines - you might think it forged yesterday. I see your eyes light up, aye, but there are more important matters than worth and coin. The sea in our blood, the reminders of trade, the sails and songs, a little of the old wizardry like the Seafarers' Needle you carry - these are all we have left of the Vanished Isles. Ammander ways are fair enough, but they are Ammander ways; they tell me nothing of the Magi. I grew up speaking your tongue, listening to your stories of ancient times across the Unending Sea, to your tales of Salin the Seafarer, but have nothing of my own to offer in return.
What I do know is this: The Locked Heart told me that stonefolk are not mortal, that they like a good tale as much as the roughest man in the Seafarers' Guild, but mura is their true love. Those same Datarii who traded with the Magi for wizardry and stories of far-off lands still live under the mountains, so The Locked Heart said. From Spire, I'll find my way to Great Home and then we'll see. Aye, grand plans for a sailmaker from a family of sailmakers, but weren't my ancestors so much more than that? You Ammander folk come from a line of lords; your spearmen would understand, following the King's Way as they do. Greatness is in the seafarer's heart, and mine carries me to Spire and the stonefolk.
[ Posted by Reason on February 12, 2005 | Permanent Link ]
| A Meeting of Players on the New Road |
Hah! You do me too much honor with your fine words and stolen ale ... but, see, I struggle to my feet to repay you with a toast in kind! Let me raise Torthe's battered old tankard to a battered old rogue from Port! I tell you, friends, players, that the forests of the old Ammand never saw a King of Thieves half the measure of he who sits there drunk and smirking - a thief not just of this fine ale, but of words and couplets. Has he passed these fruits of theft, recast by his own hand, for coin by the purse? Yes, I say, and yes again! There, with my practiced and capable Lady of the Two Pillars on his arm, is a stalwart applauded by the opened thighs of fisher girls and noble daughters alike, a worthy without equal on the stage of life ... and yet a man of compassion he is. Yes, compassion! For here, while he and his salty crew pilfer us of our beloved and beautiful companions, he graces us with his presence, with his subtle but firm grasp of performances past. How lowly we would be without his guiding, shining example of a worthy troubador lapsed into aged decadence!
But, let us pause to reflect a moment, here by the fire and the good meat burned to a paltry crisp by Torthe. Hah! Torthe, more attention to the fire and less to these fine, fine Ladies of Port! Let us reflect on the good fortune that brought my respected players, your rogueish vagabonds of the stage and this barrel of ale to one and the same place under the stars. I bow to fortune, I bow to Lady Moonlit, and I bow most deeply to the Traveler of Roads!
[ Posted by Reason on May 14, 2005 | Permanent Link ]
