Chapter Thirty-Five

T'cor in Tortall

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Waves lapped at the hull of the vessel and light flickered on the waters surface, reflected from the torches that dotted the harbour. The sharp scent of fish hung heavily in the air as well as the sting of salt and the smothering scent of smoke from the various homes and businesses that operated out of Port Caynn, Tortall. Confident strides brought a tall and lean man down the docks, his boots thumping into the planks and echoing across the water.

He had a slender sword at his side and a much larger sword at his other. He passed a patrol of guards, nodding cordially to them and kept his heading, the flickering glow of their torches fading behind him. How the stranger was able to see was a mystery, yes there were torches up and down the docks, and lanterns on ships, but the moon was hidden and he carried no torch.

The vessel he was approaching was new to the port, truthfully its national flag was one rarely seen in these parts; a lion with a crown, and had brought many different goods from its homeland. The day it had arrived spices, cloth, weapons, food, jewellery and even some breeding animals as well as gadgets that the people of this region hadn't ever heard of, material items that were bartered away at a cost.

The stranger was greeted the moment he climbed the plank up to the deck, two men were throwing dice on an upturned barrel, sitting on empty crates. "T'cor." The lantern on a barrel next to them revealed they had been drinking, though at further glance it was non-alcoholic, the Captain would not allow drinking while on duty.

The man nodded in response, both parties familiar with each other to forgo the usual exchange of pleasantries. "Is the Captain in?" T'cor asked as he strode past them and through into the Captian's quarters. The ship smelt fresh, crew members had gone over every inch and polished the wood until it gleamed and ropes had been replaced and the sails repaired. The room he was in was beneath the wheel at the stern of the ship and beyond were the Captain's sleeping quarters, but Captain Haydan was an organised man, very efficient and competent and though there were maps and parchment on the desks and in the drawers the area was tidy.

T'cor announced his presence by knocking his knuckles on the wooden table, briefly glancing over the map that lay open on it. The Captain emerged a few moments later, brushing aside the folds of fabric that hung over the doorway to his bed and personal belongings.

He was a tall and powerfully built black man and carried his presence proudly on his broad shoulders. He wore well-worn but fine cloth pants, tied around his waist with a black leather belt and had a necklace of teeth with a shell in the middle tied on a cord around his neck. Half-dressed he rumbled out a greeting before leaning against the table, folding powerful arms across his chest, his muscles flexing as he breathed and fixed sharp dark eyes on the shorter man.

Haydan didn't talk about his past much, but everyone knew that the captain would have been one of the greatest leaders within the navy, as had been his ancestors before him, but he, like they, lived on the sea and had denied land and even titles so that he could sail where and when he willed. His exact age was unknown, but talk was that he was nearing forty, the marks at his eyes could confirm that, or could be from squinting into the sunlight whilst at sea. He was fresh-shaven, so his facial hair couldn't answer that question, nor could his hair as he was bald apart from bushy black eyebrows. A ring through his ear caught the light from the lanterns at the door and he had several on his fingers.

"Captain," said T'cor after pleasantries had been exchanged, "Rykeral is here."

Black eyes narrowed as the captain straightened, unfolding his arms and placing his palms down on the table, staring intently at T'cor. "Are you certain?" He rumbled softly, his voice powerful but soft, easily carrying around the room.

The younger man hesitated, glancing down to the map before offering a half-shrug in reply, "I-I don't know. I can't be sure, but I know-"

"Know the signs," finished the captain as he rubbed his chin. There was a moment silence before the captain nodded slowly, "Very well," said Haydan, "Keep this to yourself, Sineran," T'cor started in surprise, "and continue with your instructions. I will handle this."

T'cor nodded and bowed before enquiring when the ship would leave. The captain lifted the shell around his neck to his lips, moistened them, and then blew a long and haunting note into the shell. T'cor shivered. A few moments later the two sailors on deck knocked and entered the room, "Captain?"

"We leave for Kurvalic with the tide," ordered the captain and the duo nodded, clasping their hands to their chests before returning to the deck, no doubt to prepare for the morning and to begin organising supplies.

T'cor nodded, "Derajak?" Haydan smiled, his teeth flashing white against the darkness of his skin, dimples pulling at his cheeks and he shook his head slightly. Pale eyes widened in shock and then shifted neutral, respect glinting in his eyes, "Ajera?" he whispered in awe.

Haydan nodded, inhaling proudly, "What is it?" He asked, though not unkindly.

"Ajera," he said with reverence, "how did you know?" Haydan shifted at the respect he was being shown but nodded to T'cor's neck, where his shirt lay open and a slender piece of shiny metal with runes stamped along it was visible, caught along the collar of another piece of clothing.

T'cor swiftly shifted the cord and lowered the necklace into the fold of his clothing, hiding it from view. Black eyes gazed at him evenly, "We are proud of who and what we are, T'cor, but that does not mean revealing what that means to the world."

Blonde hair shook as T'cor protested, "No Ajera! I swear I have not! Not on purpose!"

"Very well," said Haydan calmly, turning back to his quarters, revealing the scaring along his shoulder blade. It was odd though, instead of pale lines it was dark, like ink, as though someone had inked his skin. The runes were similar to the ones etched in the metal around T'cor's neck.

T'cor spun sharply and returned to the upper deck, the two sailors had lit lanterns along the length of the ship, they were currently rolling empty barrels to the side of the ship and there was already a small pile of crates there.

He strode down the gangplank and confidently began to walk across the docks and up the cobblestoned streets. A steady trickle of men began to emerge from the shadows, from inns and taverns, and made their way towards the docks. T'cor nodded to the sailors and one halted him, "Any idea where we are going?"

A second sailor within hearing distance approached and waited for an answer.

"You are returning to Kurvalic, immediately," said T'cor softly.

The sailor nodded and rubbed his chin, "Thought we were waiting for a reply from the royals," he jerked his head in the darkness where the capital city lay many leagues away.

"I will relay a message, tell the captain," T'cor instructed and continued onward, the sailors clasping their fists to their hearts, "I have other… concerns."

Guards eyed him curiously as he passed them, a tall and confident figure walking alone at night through the city? Either he wasn't a law abiding citizen or he had no fear from those that wander in the shadows. Either way, he was certainly dangerous.

The White Horse Inn, was a large two-storied building on the main street of Port Caynn, the entire property taking up at least twice the size of any other. It was relatively modern, a fresh coat of paint, new locks and windows and on the upper stories the balconies looked solid and strong. The building was on the front of the street, with the stables and storage behind the rooms, protected by tall walls with glass pressed into the top. T'cor moved around the side of the tavern, greeting the guards merrily and requesting a horse. The Inn was one of the more popular temporary residencies in the city. As well as supplying rooms, stables, and food, they also catered to those that wished some high-class horizontal entertainment, naturally taking a cut but ensuring discretion and cleanliness, many an unhappy spouse had found comfort among the inn's imported sheets.

While there were many places to purchase a horse in Corus, and in the Port, the White Horse Inn were well known for their white horses. When he had been looking for a mount he had been informed of the Inn's history by a very talkative stable-boy, who seemed very eager to share his knowledge, helped along by silver coin of course. A generation or so ago, according to the stable boy, the founder of the inn had been a horse breeder, and when his brother-in-law had some money issues and was killed, threatening the lives of his sister and nieces and nephews, he had to save them. The breeder was a humble man and poured all of his money into his horses and had the beginnings of a fine line going. He had to sell every one of his prized horses to pay off the debt, all but his favourite elderly mare. As it happened his brother's debt was for, among gambling and sex-workers, an abandoned and desolate warehouse in Port Caynn, which had stood empty and burnt for many years. The brother had high hopes of building something else on the property, but like his life, didn't work out the way he had intended. The horseman moved to the city and took shelter within the warehouse and took in his evicted sister and her children.

He took to working the docks to provide for his family and to keep his beloved mare in health, and she returned the kindness, gifting him with a colt as pure as snow. He raised the colt alone, for the mare had died during the birthing, and taught his eldest nephew everything he knew about horses, which was a lot, according to the stable boy. Locals had mocked the horseman, for he never fit in in the city, and he wasted coin better spent on alcohol or woman on a runty and weak foal. The colt grew, as the young tend to, and within years was a very powerful and handsome beast. Many offers were made for his purchase, and he was even stolen several times, but the horse, named Lucky, returned every time to the warehouse near the port. A passing merchant's son had seen the horse, like a ghost in the mist, returning freely to the warehouse and had investigated curiously. He was subsequently set upon by thugs that were taking shelter from the elements at the front of the warehouse, the horseman and his family living to the rear. The horseman hastened to his aid at his shouts, but the horseman was wounded in the scuffle and though he had ordered his blood to remain, they came charging forward with brooms and a pitchfork, one even carried a cooking pan. Of course they weren't what frightened the thugs away, it was a very large and very angry white stallion.

Of course, said the stable boy when he enquired further, the merchant's son had immediately taken the horseman to a healer, carried by the horse. The merchant's father heard of what had happened and immediately fell in love with the widowed sister and married her at once. He then had the building knocked down and built into a tavern, making sure to build a stables at the back to house the stallion that had saved his sons life. The horseman recovered from his injuries and with aid from his brother-in-law, sought the finest mares in the land and began to raise pure white horses.

It was a nice story, thought T'cor on reflection, though he was unsure of how true it was. But the Inn had soft beds, clean sheets and warm meals, and the finest white horses in the country, and for a handsome, rich, mysterious and good man like himself, a white stallion completed the picture perfectly.

His horse was brought forward, already named at birth by one of the owners children, called Starshine, he inwardly scoffed at the name. A child had no business naming a prestigious mount such as this, he was powerfully built, thick and heavy like a knights charger, but with an elegance and grace that would never be associated with one, and he stepped lightly, tossing his mane in eagerness, lantern light casting a shadow across his skin. He had to wait a moment as he was saddled, in gleaming black leather and a black saddle blanket, contrasting impressively with the stallions on white coat.

T'cor accepted the horse readily, eager to return to Corus and his investigations there. He mounted swiftly and tipped his head in acknowledgement of the stable hands, flicking them a coin each as he turned and guided the stallion around the side of the tavern and out onto the street.

It was nearing dawn by the time he was safely in Corus, and he had passed many a farmer or trader on their way to market, though he barely noticed them, caught up in his own thoughts. Guards welcomed him into the city, if with slight suspicion, and he made his way towards the centre of the town, keeping an eye out for any suspicious characters. The tavern he stopped at was where he had been staying since his ship had docked in Tortall. He had declined a room at the Palace after announcing his ambassador status, wanting to maintain the illusion of his freedom while away from his people, though was certain that Palace staff were watching him, with friendly intentions of course.

He handed over his horse and slung his saddlebags across his shoulders, tossing a copper coin to the lad that led Starshine away. His boots thumped up the wooden stairs and he wrenched open the inn door, letting it fall closed behind him with a bang and a rattle. The tavern was empty of patrons so early in the morning, only two large dogs at the entrance to the kitchen and private quarters of the owners were currently in view, but he could hear the maids moving about. The two beasts eyed him for a moment before returning to the bowls at their feet.

Electing not to silence his movement he took a table at the corner of the inn, a few tables away from the bar, opposite the stairs and with his back to the wall and his eyes on all three doors; the entrance, the upper -floors and the private area.

He tossed his bags on the table and unbuckled the large sword from his side, it was too cumbersome for him to sit easily, and lowered the blade gently onto the wood, it was far too valuable to just drop, and would likely dent the wood.

One of the maids came out, a shy mousy-haired girl, evidently to collect the two bowls and started when she saw him. She recovered quickly, clasping a hand to her chest, "Master T'Cor! I didn't see you there!" She bent down and lifted the bowls, "Can I help you with anything?"

He smiled winningly, "I'd have some breakfast, if it isn't too much trouble."

The maid winced, "I'm-I'm sorry, Master, but we haven't-"

T'cor lifted an elegant hand, jewels flashing in the light, "Nothing fancy, Mistress, I promise."

The maid stilled near the bar, the dogs anxious at her feet as her scheduled was interrupted. T'cor proceeded to list his request and the maid bobbed a curtsy, "I'll bring it out soon, Master."

She bustled off, her skirts guiding the dogs around the doorframe and out into the kitchen and storage. While he waited T'cor examined the tavern, it had changed in the time since he had left the city and since he had returned. The evening before there had been patrons drinking and gambling at the tables and alcohol and food had been spilled over the benches, some city-dwellers had even fallen asleep, though it wasn't yet half the night when he had left. Now though the tables had been wiped clean, polished too, and the glasses washed and hung from racks above the bar.

It would be a few hours before the inns guests would awaken, no doubt the maids had expected him to rise when they did, but he was a man with an important mission, and sleep could wait. He would have to make do with what the maid was able to bring him, it was his fault, after all, that they had only just began their day and wouldn't have made breakfast yet.

Absently he reached into his packs and brought out a small leather bound parcel and gently unclasped it. The item was a masterpiece of leatherwork, symbols and runes cast into the leather spelling out some unknown tongue, and the straps grasped silver buckles. Inside nestled safely into hand stitched compartments were little vials of herbs, grains and powders. It was one of his more prized possessions, an assortment of spices from his homeland, even the incredibly rare ones, and had been a gift from his Master upon achieving Sineran rank in the Azryloen ver Kurvalic, or the Champions of Kurvalic.

The Champions of Kurvalic are a shadow society, descended from myth and legend, and comprised of three ranks, each having to be fought for, won and maintained throughout the warrior's lifespan. They could choose to retire, accept and be beaten in a challenge, or be killed by an apprentice, though never their own, who would then take their position in the guard. The highest rank was Ajera, and there were three of them, one for each fraction, earth, air, and water. Each of the Ajera were responsible for the troops under their command, helped by their Derajak's, and the troops were called Sineran, each highly trained and educated in all forms of combat and subterfuge. Rank advancement was difficult, each fraction had their own pecking order as well as limited positions and the apprentices either took a position due to a retirement, a death or appointment by their superiors. Biannually the Champion's were summoned to their base and engaged in combat games and classes, even the apprentices were invited. It was one of the easier ways to advance, win in the games and get a position, but with warrior's equivalent of Shang, it wasn't easy, many apprentices were closer to death than birth, with years, if not decades of experience.

Movement at the doorway caught his attention and T'cor watched the maid return with his requests. On a heavily laden wooden tray she carried a bowl of steaming cream slop, a jug of boiled water, two large mugs for hot drinks, a milky liquid in a small pitcher and an apple, as well as a knife, fork and spoon.

T'cor rose fluidly to help her unload his breakfast and then gestured to the chair opposite him, "Please join me." The maid flushed prettily but stammered her decline- she had chores- and the warrior watched her flee back into the kitchen. Shrugging internally he turned back to his meal and sat down. The oats were steaming happily and he took the dagger from his side and began to peel the apple before cutting it into small slices and dropping them into the porridge bowl. He tossed the apple core and peals onto the table, far away from him, and then took a small vial of orangey brown powder from his kit and sprinkled it lightly over the apple, before inhaling happily. Cinnamon.

Returning the spice to its case he withdrew another and removed the cap, this powder was even finer and had a rich scent to it and was a dark muddy brown. Carefully he poured the substance into the two cups and then returned it to the case, re-binding it and placing it back into his saddlebags. He then took the hot water and poured it into the mugs, leaving substantial room at the top of the glass. The mixture turned a smooth dark brown with the addition of the milk and a delicious scent curled its way into the room.

T'cor took his spoon and mixed the drinks for a moment before turning to his porridge and heartily beginning to eat, he had known his chances of a delicious breakfast this early in the morning were slim, so had set about procuring his own. After a few moments the maid poked her head around the doorframe, he saw her hesitate and lifted his head and tilted it to the side as he lowered his spoon. Swallowing he beckoned her, "Mistress, please, do join me for a moment. I have something I'd like to share with you."

The maid obeyed him and came to stand near the table, eyeing the half-empty bowl before looking at the steaming brown drink.

"This is a commodity from my lands," T'cor rumbled as he moved the drink across the table towards her, "Let me know how your Tortallian tastes compare."

She hesitantly took the cup and lifted it to her lips, eyes on him as she tentatively took a sip. Hazel eyes widened in surprise before fluttering closed in pleasure and she began to sip in earnest.

"Mh, what is this?"

T'cor smiled, "Ground chocolate with hot water and milk, a delicacy of my people," he took a gulp of his own drink, "what do you think of it?"

The maid's rapturous expression was enough and the warrior grinned as he turned back to his breakfast, "do enjoy, Mistress."

Smiling shyly the maid left him with his meal and returned to the kitchen, where he could faintly hear the expected clangs, thuds and rustling that accompanied meal preparation and cooking.

By the time he finished his meal other early rising guests had stumbled down the stairs, bleary eyed and yawning. T'cor rose to his feet and gathered his blade and belongings, nodding to the other guests as he passed them on his way to his room. He unlocked the door and after checking the room for intruders and threats, left his saddlebags on the bed and returned downstairs. The maid had started to clean up his meal and she smiled coyly at him as he left, leaning unnecessarily forward and flashing the tops of her breasts slightly.

Smirking T'cor made sure his weapons were secured and made his way out of the inn and into the morning sunshine. Since the attack on the royal family several days ago, security in and around the city and palace had intensified, though there was yet to be a curfew, few people dared venture outside during the hours of night. Now they were all coming to life, the warmth and heat of the sun reviving the people and lessening their fear and they erupted into the markets and streets. T'cor drew looks, heavily armed as he was, but he brushed them off with a toothy smile and his pleasant manner, he had business.

His first stop was a bakery, situated next to a stall selling flowers of all types and another one selling layers upon layers of fabrics of all colours and patterns. T'cor leant against a wall and watched the people come alive, children running between the legs of adults, horses and mules and donkeys braying, snorting and chewing as they moved people or goods, the creaking and groaning of wagons and carts and the whipping of banners and clothing in the wind. He closed his eyes and relxed slightly, smells hitting him as he chewed on a honey and raisin cake, there was the sharp scent of spices from a stall up the street, the metallic scent of blood from the butchery, the thick and heavy scent that came from dyed fabric and a musky scent of cologne and soap. He straightened and opened his eyes, quickly taking note of who his guests were.

Two men stood before him, having silently approached, one had short blonde hair and hazel eyes, the other long black hair, which he had bound at his nape, and black eyes. Each had the imprint of a blade within the folds of their clothes, and what looked to be more in their boots. One carried a slender sword at his waist, clearly comfortable with its weight, if his muscle structure were anything to go by, he was built like a bear, ripple of muscle upon muscle. The other was almost as big, he carried a pole, capped with some form of brown orange metal at both ends, clearly confident in his abilities to only use a staff, with no metal point.

Beyond them the market had flooded even more, women carrying baskets of fruit and bread, moved here and there, some young children were carrying their own loads, with the elder lads carrying crates. As he watched one young man walked by with a large barrel over his shoulder, another had his back to them and was looking at trinkets and shiny jewellery across the way from them.

The bear-man spoke, his voice carrying loudly, even in the din of the market, "Mighty fine sword you have there, " he gestured at the sheathed longsword to T'cor's left, "mind if we take a look?"

Eyes narrowing in suspicion T'cor looked over the giants shoulder to see a trio of Watch eyeing the three intently. He moved his treat to his right hand, taking a moment to wipe his left on his trousers, fingering the pommel cautiously, "Now why would you boys want that?" He kept his voice light and pleasant, taking the cue to raise his voice.

The hazel eyed man's lip twitched and he spoke again, "The likes of that aren't seen around here, mayhap you wouldn't mind giving us a look so we could make an offer." His accent was distinctly Lower City, clearly a common man with little education, but he had sharp eyes and a steady gaze. T'cor glanced to the dark featured man, who nodded slightly and meaningfully, and it was this that prompted the warrior to come off the wall and grip the hilt of his sword.

It slid from the sheath with a metallic hiss, the sheath resisting slightly but constrained by the leather binding it. If the sword the large man were wearing was a fine blade, it was nothing compared to the weapon T'cor offered for inspection. At first glance it had what looked like a tangle of metal around the bottom of the grip and above the cross-guard, forming a cup like shape and there was some form of writing going down the centre of the blade, words in another language. The blonde-haired man accepted the blade, his movements purposely slow and steady under the watchful eye of T'cor, and he tested its balance over his index finger, it lay horizontal, moving slightly in the wind but a perfect weight. There was some form of animal snarling from either side of the guard and the leather grip was interwoven with a coil of thick silver thread which emerged from beneath the metal that was a hand guard and snaked to the top of the pommel, where a great gem was set into the hilt. The gem was pale emerald, about the size of a chicken egg and was a richer green the closer it got to the grip, the top almost diamond clear near the tip of the sword.

The blonde whistled appreciatively as he passed it to his companion, who shifted his staff to the other hand, stepping back a moment to make a few passes with the sword. "Very nice, how much?"

T'cor shook his head, and named an expensive price, almost triple what the sword the blonde carried would have cost. The blonde gave a dry laugh, "Are you trying to rob me?! Never. Let's go," this was directed at the dark haired man who was eyeing the blade with wonder. He patted the front of his tunic down before passing the blade back to T'cor, with both hands, and the warrior took it.

"It's nice, but not worth that much," he rumbled, his voice pleasant and smooth above the markets noise.

T'cor sheathed the blade, before leaning back against the wall, folding his arms and nodding cordially to the two as they departed, the Watch relaxing as the two went on their way.

After a few moments he moved from the wall and walked in the opposite direction to the two browsing men, heading up the street towards where the Palace was. The man who had been staring at the jewellery and mirrors slowly followed him as he made his way back to his Inn, stopping several times to examine jewellery, fabrics and of course to sample food.

It was after noon when he returned to his room, a chewing contently on a piece of meat skewered on a thin stick. The Inn was quite after the bustle of breakfast and lunch but there were a few guests finishing their mid-day meal and he nodded a greeting to them as he walked up the stairs to his lodging. He opened his door, keeping one hand on a blade, just in case, and entered the room. He went of his customary threat checks before sitting on the bed and reaching into his clothing, bringing out the small piece of grubby paper that the dark-haired man had passed him when he returned his sword. In Common there were four words written in black ink, Mithros Temple Fountain, dusk.