Previously, on Fly to Live:
A Berserker ship has arrived on Berk with information on a certain dragon-rider and with a charred plank of wood bearing writings and drawings that point to the dragon-rider being none other than the chief's son, Hiccup. Stoick doesn't know what to make of this information. At least his son is still alive, but can he truly survive the winter with that Night Fury by his side? Is his son really capable of taking care of himself? Will Hiccup ever return?
Meanwhile, nearly four hundred leagues away, to the south, having finally decided that the Archipelago will never be safe for him and Toothless, Hiccup has taken off on his dragon-friend's back, from the island of Nendur, straight towards the mainland, towards a city called Tinas, despite being informed that sailors always take a different course to reach the place, and never during winter.
Promptly, flying directly across the Wicked Waters, after what was already turning out to be the longest non-stop flight of their lives, a terrible storm meets the two solitary travellers. The harsh winds and rain begin to eat away at the Night Fury's tattered prosthetic fin, the spare one having just been lost with Hiccup's basket. The winter's cold has also begun to set in the boy's skin. Will our protagonists ever reach the mainland?
AN: To avoid some confusion: this short chapter is a partial interlude with a new, one-time POV. The plot is still following the regular timeline.
ACT III: MAINLAND
Chapter 25: Newcomers
(Oliman Fillatis)
The wine was rather good this evening; pleasantly drying in the mouth, but also thick with flavor, balanced by a soft aroma of flowers and warm spices. Not the best quality perhaps, but few were knowledgeable enough to notice. Any back-alley tavern-keep would have still been able to tell, this was not a local wine, and that was all that mattered.
This was a rare product, and, as such, a costly one. In fact, it didn't yet have a price, at least here, in Tinas, the northernmost city of Erfar, a full month's distance from where this wine was made. This particular batch had come from south of Anirun, in Atica. It had then travelled northwards, crossing the Dormant Sea to reach the Erfari capital, Nym, and, from there, it had passed into the hands of no other trader, before finding its way to Oliman's associate in the capital, who had sent three small barrels for him to taste, and decide:
Was he going to resell this wine? Were there enough spoiled lords and lordlings in Tinas to justify the cost of procuring it? Were the keeps and holds of the northern coast rich enough to afford it?
Oliman snorted amusedly to himself, taking another sip.
It didn't matter. He was going to sell it anyway, and make a hefty profit too. He had learnt the tricks long ago. That's how he had made his fortune. Now, with his reputation, he could sell boiled dung for the price of honey, and all would claim it tasted just as well, if not better. Being the most distinguished merchant of the whole northern province had its perks.
Although not of noble blood, Oliman was respected by many, flattered by all, and some local lords would even dread the shame of not being able to afford the products he chose to import, be it wine, silks, and precious stones, or even ale, wools, and cheese. His name had become a synonym for prestige, especially since the day that, after claiming the earl's taxes had been almost too fair with him (a carefully planned lie), with patriotic impetus, he had begun to personally fund the northern forces of the king's resident army. That magnanimous deed had paid off only very recently, earning him the newly vacant seat of Master Treasurer in the city council, and the highly-anticipated suggestion that a lordship could very well be granted to him by the king for his service to the kingdom.
Still, even without a lordship, Oliman had become one of the most influential men in Tinas. His power in the city was second only to that of the earl, the Lord Commander, and perhaps the High Constable.
His villa in the high city was proof of this. The mighty structure could have passed off as a small castle, were it not for the actual city-castle looming over it from just across the street. It was, admittedly, an awkward arrangement, the reason of which lay in the history of Tinas, about a century back in time, when the city was capital to another kingdom, with its own king.
After being destroyed in the union war, which had merged the two kingdoms into that of Erfar, Highcliff castle had been rebuilt much smaller, to serve as northern stronghold for the appointed earl, leaving many of the damaged structures outside the new walls. From those ruins, much of the stone had been repurposed, and the surrounding grounds of the castle had since seen the construction of the most prestigious abodes of the city. Oliman's villa was probably the most prestigious of them all.
Of course, the fact that such a valuable place was in the hands of a man with no special title caused plenty of talk amongst the nobility. Not as much as it would have in the capital, however. In this northern province of Erfar, even though centuries had passed since the rather forceful union, the king's authority on matters of titles and bloodlines was still limited. Hence, the strict rules regarding land ownership and inheritance had not yet fully permeated this part of the Erfari society.
The most conservative amongst the nobles (usually those with strong ties to the south) thought of this as moral chaos, but, here in Tinas at least, it had brought an undeniable prosperity, so complaints were often no more than harmless frowns. No man had the means to change this yet; not even the king, far as his throne was.
Alas, this pleasant flexibility was not bound to last forever, and Oliman Fillatis, being a careful and shrewd man, worked hard every day to make sure his birth would never pose a problem for him and his family; his not-so-secret desire for an official title was not just the result of mere ambition. After all, most of his assets, particularly his lands, were never going to be truly his own, with him being a common man, no matter how wealthy. This was not the free realm of Atica, unfortunately.
Oliman drank again, staring out, trying to look through the clearest tile of swirly glass of the window. He was in his library, at the top floor of his tower, another remnant of the former castle. From this height, his gaze reached easily beyond his villa's spacious front-yard, then his villa's gate, then a few noble households, then across the King's road, and then through the Cliff Gate, past the city's walls, to the west, towards the sea-cliffs and the Red Forest's hills, beyond which lay the border with Kadal.
Very little stood in his line of sight from this angle. The even taller towers of Highcliff Castle were out of the way, to his right, and most of the lower city stretched behind him.
A young, timid voice disturbed his musings.
"More wine, my lord?"
It was Gillan, third son of the villa's chamberlain.
Oliman turned silently, offering his empty glass goblet for the page-boy to refill. Though he was not truly a lord, Oliman rarely corrected those addressing him that way.
Behind him, another page was carefully lighting candles, illuminating the tall book-cabinets that lined the walls. Soft light began to shine on the plethora of open tomes and scrolls and ink-stained parchments spread atop the two oak tables. The sun had long set outside, the sky already a deep blue.
It had been a balmy day for mid-December, but nightfall still brought its winter chill. Fortunately, the wood had begun to pop in the fireplace near the window, warming the small library.
There was a knock on the door.
Oliman took a deep breath, closing his eyes. Nodding at the two page-boys, he said: "Leave me."
They did, but did not bow; that, Oliman could not afford to be seen allowing.
Not yet, at least.
A chambermaid entered first, letting Oliman's wife in after her. Then, the old maid left, closing the door behind her. She probably did bow, though it was hard to tell, hunchbacked as she was.
Selaria stood alone by the closed door, caressing her long braid of formerly auburn hair, now dyed black, to cover the premature grey underneath. She scanned the room absently, as if looking for something that she already knew wasn't there.
Bad news, then, Oliman thought.
Before he could ask, his wife made as if she had just noticed him, and offered him a carefully measured smile. She then walked towards one of the eastern windows at the other side of the room, wiped some moisture from one glass tile, and stared outside.
Oliman could not read her behavior. He waited patiently.
"I'll be leaving Tinas for a while," she said. "The city does me little good. It must be the water. I think the mountains will be better for me."
"The curer…" Oliman began, ignoring his wife's demand, "did he…?"
"Yes, yes, I am with child again," she replied quickly, without looking at him. Then, sighing, she added: "For how long, however, he could not tell me. He did suggest herbs, but…" Her voice became frustrated. "It seems that no matter how far they come from, no matter their school or skill, no matter their temple, no matter what gods they invoke, nobody can make a weak womb strong. We'll have to wait and see. This time, I'd rather do my waiting in Tara."
Oliman considered this. He finished the wine in his goblet, then nodded cautiously. He would have preferred for his wife to stay with him in Tinas, but if it helped him get a son, he was willing to concede to anything. Of course, giving in to his wife's requests had always come easy. Selaria was a sensible woman, and, despite everything, he did love her still.
Once, she had been a wild, red-headed beauty too. She had liked to sing to him often, and dance beautifully on every social occasion, her verve always endearing in any of their socially crucial gatherings, her womanly wit always dependable. She had helped Oliman become the man he was today, and her having nobler blood than him was not the only reason.
To Oliman, she had become even more beautiful after birthing their first daughter, a time he remembered fondly. Then, two stillbirths, two lifeless little boys, and Selaria's spirit darkened. After that, one more healthy daughter, but, since then, and for the last four years, only a dreadful sequence of miscarriages.
They had tried praying to all the gods, of course. They had made offerings to the Two of the eastern temples, the most favored ones in Erfar, the gods of life and death, light and darkness, Tarsim and Murasil. Then, they had invoked the many gods of the southern pantheons, and then just as many from those of northern lore, hoping that the closeness to the Viking islands would help their pleas be heard. Secretly, they had even prayed to the so-called 'One true god' of Kadal and Oshdal, frowned upon as it was. He had been just as deaf as the others.
Sixteen years had passed since they had married, and no sons. They rarely spoke about it. Of late, they hardly spoke at all, but Oliman would constantly feel the weight of this absence, and he suspected his wife felt it just as much.
That was probably why Selaria persisted, gritting her teeth every time. She kept trying. Her sanity, Oliman could tell, was hanging by a thread, but she was willing to risk that pain again for him, and, for that, he admired her with a passion none of the poets would have ever been able to describe. He refused to pay any heed to suggestions that he find himself another wife, no matter how tempting they sometimes were.
Oliman scratched his dark beard thoughtfully. "Your sister is in Tara for the winter, isn't she?"
"And my mother," Selaria added.
"Good. Seeing them might be what you need best. You'll be taking Verissa with you I imagine, but Siri…"
"I know," she said. "I'll leave Sirina here with you. She has her lessons. And besides, she doesn't dislike the city as I've come to."
"She doesn't love it much here either," Oliman pointed out. "If you'd rather have her by your side, I could arrange for-"
"No," Selaria cut in, "she needs to be here. She's almost a woman now. She needs to start making friends in the high city. She spends far too much time in the rooms and stables as it is, and Tara can only offer her more of the same. It's more appropriate she stays here, if she's ever to become a lady."
He nodded. "Maybe I'll try to bring her along with me when I can."
Selaria shook her head with fond exasperation. "With you? I was thinking more about arranging a few dances or afternoons of music, embroidery, pastries... Are you going to make a merchant of her?"
Oliman put down his empty goblet on one of the tables. He shrugged faintly to himself. "Tarsim favor us, she may yet get a brother to take the reins one day, but…"
Selaria shot him an apprehensive look.
"It's not unheard of to have women in the trade," Oliman continued. "There are ladies in Atica who are no strangers to mongering. Besides, Viking women are known to wield needles just as well as axes. Of the Tarbeni Windblades, it's said half of them are women, selling their skill for thrice the price of any other mercenary. Some of them are said to have even reached the highest ranks in their temples. And, if the rumors are true, in Cenya there's even women pirates. A woman merchant here may not be such a scandal."
"Maybe," his wife said tiredly. She then made a small gesture with one hand towards the western windows. "Then again, not twenty leagues from here, women bearing any coin above ten coppers can be lawfully stoned in the streets. If foreign lands are your measure for what is going to be acceptable here, then you must account for all of them."
It was a strong point, Oliman had to admit it. Of course, he could have pointed out that the limit was actually fifteen coppers, but that would have been a very weak comeback. Nevertheless, Oliman wasn't used to losing arguments. Rhetoric and persuasion were his primary arts, more so than counting coins.
"Isn't that why we are at war with Kadal?" He asked. It wasn't technically true. The reason for the last decades of war with the Kadali were far less simple, but one could still make the argument.
Selaria sighed at him in response, and Oliman felt some guilt rise within. He knew the soundness of her worries. In fact, he shared them. Not to mention, his wife knew him too well. Any attempt to instill hope in her through rhetoric was bound to fail and offend, as it just had.
Selaria caught the look on his face. She smiled at him. "I still think Siri would be happier to take up piracy, than join your trade. Aside from her books and horses, I doubt you'll find it easy to spark her interest in anything else. Need I remind you that she's not at all fond of the business. She has become convinced that all merchants do is lie."
Oliman sniggered. "Good, you see? She knows a thing or two already," he said heartily. "As long as she doesn't sing such truths too loudly… But she's not a daft girl. She'll be fine. Do not worry. She's not as wild as you think she is."
Alas, Selaria did look worried. "I can't remember the last time she agreed with you, or did what you told her. She's been rebelling against you I think, though I cannot fathom why. I never did so with my own family."
Oliman shot her a meaningful glance. "How about when you married me?"
"Nonsense. My uncle did approve of you."
"Oh, but did he really?" He rejoined, knowing there was a good reason for the sly smile on his face.
"Regardless," she said dismissively, "keep an eye on Siri. She might not listen and obey as you've come to expect of everybody else, Lord Fillatis."
Oliman smiled and shrugged as he poured wine into his empty goblet. He filled a second goblet from the tray on the table, then offered it to his wife. "That's not necessarily a problem," he said confidently. "If she won't do what I tell her, I might be able to count on her doing the opposite. Worry not, my love. She'll have grown into a well-mannered lady when next she comes to visit you in Tara."
"Will you be coming to visit?" Selaria asked hopefully, changing the subject. She did not drink the wine.
Oliman took a deep breath. "Perhaps," he said, puffing it out. "It depends on how things are here. I need to start working on this." He raised his goblet. "It might just be good enough to compete with the Malshemi reds. As for our northern ships, I fear they are stuck in Nendur and Kattegat for the winter, probably until early spring, so our shipments will be delayed, and I guess Nym's lords will have to do without their 'magic' dragon-bone this year. That problem will need to be solved in some way. As for the east, the deal with Emiria is still a mess. Bandits also keep appearing on the king's road, and, as if all that wasn't enough, Langham seems to think a battle is upon us."
Selaria scoffed at the last part. "There is always some major battle upon us, isn't there? Yet all I've been hearing about are skirmishes. Spies, and scouts, and a few lousy assassins. Five years have passed since last I could tell we were really at war. May it be that this war is already over, and nobody wants to admit it was neither won nor lost?"
Oliman stared into his goblet. The scent of southern spices had strengthened with the warmth of the library. Perhaps this wine was even better than he had first thought.
He shook his head. "I must side with Langham on this. He may be a righteous cock, but he knows his trade better than most other commanders in the capital put together. If he says there's going to be a battle, then the war is not over, and I fear it won't be for a time. Not as long as this so-called Inquisitor reigns Kadal, I suspect."
A nervous expression narrowed his wife's features.
Oliman offered her an encouraging smile. "But you need not fret over such things. The roads east are quite safe, and Siri is going to be just as safe here with me as you and Verissa will be in Tara. This is the most guarded city of all the north."
"If Kadal marches north, however," Selaria retorted, "they'll be coming straight for this very city."
"Well... they will probably start with the towns and farms… but yes, you are right of course. That's why Langham's army is so large, without counting the swords the high constable could levy. Langham is training good men, and, with my coin, he is arming them better than any Kadali warrior. I trust he knows what he is doing."
This reasoning seemed to soften Selaria's frown. Oliman took the goblet from his wife's hands, and left both his empty one and her full one atop the closest window-sill. He hugged her tenderly, cupping the back of her head, feeling her smooth hair, trying to feel her belly on his own, hoping to will health into her womb; hoping for a son. He kissed her temple.
He bid her goodnight some time later. He was going to spend most of the night in the library, studying his papers, as was his habit.
He knew that, as soon as his wife was going to leave the city, he was going to take up gazing out of the eastern windows, towards Tara's keep. Yet, this evening, he felt strangely attracted to the western side, towards the not-so-distant border with Kadal. That was why, after taking his wife's still full goblet, he returned to the western window, and stared outside, as he had been doing before his wife's arrival. He drank, tasting more of the improving wine.
He was measuring the right words with which his tradesmen were going to sing the new product's praises, when, abruptly, in the already black evening sky, something blacker seemed to dart from sea to shore, just above the cliffs. The shadow fell straight towards the hills, disappearing into the forest, no more than two leagues from the outer walls of Tinas.
A bird? Oliman thought. He could not be sure. The moonlight was shy tonight.
A diving hawk perhaps? Do hawks hunt at night? Oliman didn't know much about birds, but, considering the distance, it had seemed too big to be any kind of bird.
Then again, he had drunk quite a bit of wine. He looked into his goblet. It was empty.
Just an impression then, Oliman decided. Nothing more. Just strong wine, tired eyes, and a trick of the night.
He put down his goblet, and stepped away from the window.
Yes, a trick of the night.
AN (Villa): For those who are interested, I uploaded a rough 3D rendering of the villa described in this chapter on my deviantart. Links are on my profile page. On the same page, you can also find a link to a rough map of the city of Tinas.
