I was deeply relieved to learn that one of the three Estcarpian merchants that Mereth had addressed in her letters was currently present in the city. Bidding Farris farewell, I followed the innkeeper’s directions to a nearby warehouse where I presented Mereth’s letter. My cordial reception provided clear evidence of the high regard in which Mereth was held by these trading folk. The merchant, who recalled her recent brief stay in Es City on her way to Lormt, expressed an active interest in handling any lamantine wood I might discover during my expedition to the Dales. He did ask why, as an apprentice, I was not accompanied on such a trip by my master, but I related the tale we had agreed upon at Lormt should anyone inquire: how my master had suffered a fall in the mountains as we had descended toward Es City, and had been forced to return to Lormt. Persuaded by the promising nature of the old map, he had entrusted me with the quest of the Dales. The merchant congratulated me upon my unusual opportunity, and dispatched one of his hirelings to engage a horse for the next stage of my journey, the four or so leagues to Etsport. He graciously invited me to stay the night in the guest quarters adjoining the warehouse.
I guarded my tongue carefully in all that I said, but I did not appear to arouse any suspicion. During the evening meal, the merchant told me that few trading ships dared the winter seas, but if fortune favored me, I might perhaps find in port a Sulcar captain named Brannun, who sailed no matter what the season.
Early the following morning, I set out for Etsport. A well-traveled road ran alongside the Es River, allowing for much faster passage, even despite the drifting snow. With my larger, rested horse, I covered the distance by nightfall.
I took care to skirt the environs of the local stronghold, Etsford Manor, ruled over by the misshapen former ax-wielder Koris of Gorm, now Lord Seneschal of Estcarp. We had heard in Alizon that, after being severely wounded, Koris had retired to this quiet holding. It was rumored that he and his mate, Loyse, whelp to the shipwreck-scavenging Lord of Verlaine, still provided counsel at times to Estcarp’s Witches. Not wanting to attract the attention of such dangerous enemies, I rode straight to the dockside at the river’s mouth.
I quickly located the trading house recommended to me by the merchant in Es City. His colleagues there willingly took charge of my horse, agreeing to attend to it until they dispatched their next shipment of goods to Es City. They informed me that the Sulcar shipmaster I sought was indeed in port readying his vessel for a voyage to the Dales. One of the apprentices showed me the way to a tavern favored by this Captain Brannun, and pointed out to me a giant fair-haired man quaffing ale at a table near the door. Once I distracted his attention from his ale mug by bellowing his name, I introduced myself.
He wiped the foam from his distinctively bristling Sulcar mustache, and measured me with a most insolent glance. “For a stripling, you raise a fair cry,” he said. “What matter is so pressing that you intrude upon my refreshment?”
In dealing with Sulcars, we Alizonders had long found it advisable to speak directly—it was pointless to employ subtlety with a Sulcar. I reached into my belt wallet and slapped two bars of silver on the rough wooden table in front of him. Before I had left Lormt, Mereth offered to pay for my passage to the Dales, but I had insisted upon using my own gold. Duratan had objected that I could scarcely present metal branded with Alizonian markings, but Ouen, somewhat to my surprise, had sent for a casket containing unmarked silver bars, from which he carefully weighed out a fair substitution for my gold.
Captain Brannun grinned and poked the bars with a sinewy forefinger. “I do believe your business is urgent,” he observed. “I take it you desire to arrange for passage on the Storm Seeker?”
“If you are sailing immediately for the Dales,” I confirmed. “My master requires me to undertake a trading voyage on his behalf while his broken bones mend at Lormt.”
Brannun clouted me vigorously on the shoulder. “Fortune smiles upon you, lad!” he exclaimed. “I have been loading goods these past six days and await only the proper winds to set sail for Vennesport. But do not sit there parched as a desert flower. Master Taverner—ale for my passenger! Ale for me! What stores are you shipping? I warn you, I have scant space left in my hold.”
“I hope to return with goods,” I replied, “but I travel with none. I carry only minimal baggage.”
“All the better,” Brannun roared cheerfully. “I feared for a moment that you might require hold space that I could not supply. Come, finish that ale and let me show you the Storm Seeker—the finest vessel a man could wish beneath his feet.” As he rose, he scooped from the bench beside him a huge tawny mound that I had mistaken for a bale of furs. Noticing my glance, Brannun laughed aloud. “I doubt you’ve seen the live beast that yielded me this cloak,” he declared. “’Twas a true lion—aye, one of those rare beasts from the lands far south of the Dales. When I was a young man—likely your age or less—he came upon me during a coasting voyage. We had put in to shore to replenish our fresh water. I was bending over, filling one of our casks at a stream, when this lion leaped upon me out of the brush. I can tell you, it was a glorious struggle! Had I not had my throwing ax at my belt, I might have suffered a substantial injury. As it was, I gained this splendid skin together with the design for my fighting helm, all at one stroke.” Flinging some Karstenian silver bits on the table to settle our account, he swept me toward the door.
I had never before boarded a sea-going vessel. All of my limited sailing experience had been on river craft. Brannun displayed surprising agility for a man of his size as he leaped from the dock to the deck of a typically ungainly, but sturdy, broad-beamed Sulcar ship. Like those of all such vessels, its prow was carved in the grotesque form of a scaled serpent.
Brannun sniffed the breeze, and squinted at the low clouds. “The wind’s not yet brisk enough for us to set sail—possibly it will have freshened sufficiently by the morrow. Come aboard! You have a choice of quarters—the cabin beside the wine or the one by the spider silk—unless you’d care to camp on deck?”
I assured him that I preferred a space below decks. I had decided that it might be prudent for me to stay below as much of the time as possible, limiting my exposure to the Sulcars and thus reducing my chance of accidentally betraying my true identity. I confessed to Brannun that this was my first sea voyage, and expressed my concern that we might encounter storms. I thought for a moment he was about to choke.
“Storms—storms!” he sputtered. “Sail in winter, sail amid storms! Why do you think I named my ship Storm Seeker?” He waved his arms wildly. “Because it revels in storms—the higher the waves, the faster it runs before the wind.” He shook his head, incredulous at my ignorance. “You may stay less wet below decks,” he conceded reluctantly, then his eyes brightened. “Of course, during the truly major storms, all hands aboard must work the ship together. Your master will count you far more worthy for the experience, I’ve no doubt.”
On the Eighteenth Day of the First Whelping Moon, we sailed from Etsport. Three days later, the first storm descended upon us. I began to learn more about ships than I ever cared to know, both above and below decks. Brannun’s crewmen were a boisterous lot—typical Sulcars—but able seamen and, as we Alizonders had learned to our sore cost, formidable fighters. I was expected to lend a hand at any time I was on deck, so I stayed below whenever possible.