The Wyrm's Curse Ch. 09

Note: all characters are over 18 years of age and completely fictional.

*

The travelers walked along in companionable silence. After three days on the road, they had begun naturally falling into a steady pace that both of them could maintain more or less indefinitely.

The Westerling girl, Kira, had her gaze angled down at the road a few feet in front of her, but her face was blank, her eyes unfocused. Kara, on the other hand, kept her eyes slowly ranging from left to right and back again. Every so often she half turned to check the road behind them. She also occasionally allowed her gaze to linger on her daydreaming companion.

Over the past few days the girl had taken on an eclectic appearance, which Kara had grown to find endearing.

After the rain and various activities, there had been almost no trace of woad left on the girl's face. Late on the first day of their trek, while they passed through a stretch of forest, she had spotted wild blueberries. Along with a pleasant snack, it had provided a source of blue dye, which she later mixed with ash from their next cookfire. So, starting on the second day, she had marked her face anew. (That night she had amused herself decorating Kara's body with some of the mixture, but none of the decorations showed after Kara dressed herself.)

Emerging from that forest, they found a village just a stone's throw away. Kara dipped into her winnings. A bit for food and drink, but the greater expenditure went for some clothes for Kira, who had been wearing a few things Kara had stolen from a clothesline on their way out of the fishing village.

So it was that the girl now wore boots, off-white tights (already colored here and there by the dust of the road), a white peasant blouse with a loosely laced V-neck (also victim to the touch of dirty hands), and a simple green woolen cloak. This while still sporting her improvised woad and her nose ring. An extra pair of tights had been stuffed into their bedroll, which Kira insisted on carrying.

It was after noon, and their breakfast had been a couple of bite sized oat cakes each. Doubtless Kira would be more than happy to stop for lunch. So far, the list of the girl's favorite things consisted of sex, eating, and rambling in her own tongue while tracing Kara's various scars with a fingertip. The half elf had an inkling the ramblings were the girl entertaining herself by making up stories to explain the scars.

With a tap and a gesture, Kara left the road and waded through the undergrowth to a convenient waist-high boulder matted in lichen. While the two enjoyed their repast, Kara brought out the translation of the copper scroll. She read over the remaining list of 'flowers.' As soon as she had remembered, on the first day walking with Kira, she had checked the actual scroll and found that a few more lines of script had indeed vanished.

The list was down to five. A brazen burnished blossom in the shadow of dead mountains. A hearty blue iris of the frozen Northern isles. A regal orchid of the black glass shores. A blooming nightshade of the Endless Sands. And a hidden lotus of shifting form.

She had some idea about the first four. The last one was a total mystery. Staring at the translation as if it might eventually give up and explain itself, she chewed absently at a piece of dried fish. Eventually Kira glanced curiously over her shoulder.

"Clausa?"

Learning a handful of words and phrases each from the other had helped pass the time. Kira had taken most quickly to the names of food and drink in the common tongue, while Kara had focused on Westerling words that a traveler might need. Despite this learning, the girl seemed intent on calling Kara by her Westerling nickname. Though, admittedly, with affectionately sarcastic overtones, instead of the insulting racist ones it usually carried. Kara was fairly certain it no longer had anything to do with confusion regarding the similarity in their names.

Kara shrugged and tucked the translation away again. She finished her fish and washed it down with a mouthful of water. Brushing her hands off, she moved to retrieve her pack.

"Ready? Alright, back to the road. If the weather holds we might make it to Port au Racine before full dark."

Situated roughly two Imperial miles inland from the sea, on the Eastern bank of the Shein-Marivell River, was the town of Port au Racine. The town was essentially the village where Kara had met Kira and the Northmen, but grown from a population of around two hundred to somewhere around two thousand. Girded on one side by the river and on the other by forest, and being so close to the sea, the town had prospered on industry. The industries of shipbuilding, carpentry, fishing, and shipping timber inland on the river meant a lot of job opportunity. Humans, elves, and even a few dwarves, down on their luck or looking for a fresh start, had gradually filtered in. Even now the town was slowly growing. Small plots of land being cleared by the logging camps were being sold to those who could pay.

It was left to the logging camps to tend to their own security, but the town proper was encircled by a tall pine palisade with a sturdy gatehouse facing the River Road. A crescent moon was climbing the night sky when the two women stepped up to the gatehouse. In the light of torches mounted in high iron brackets, Kara caught the girl's attention and pressed a finger to her lips. Kira rolled her eyes and shrugged dismissively.

Deciding to assume that that meant the girl would let her do the talking, Kara took some care in administering three kicks to one of the large plank doors. In doing so she got some impression of the door -- that it was thick, heavy, and barred on the other side.

There was a moment of relative silence followed by the grating sound of a small iron plate being slid from an arrow loop a couple of inches above Kara's eye line. The rectangular opening was darkened by a stripe of the gate guard's face. Torchlight glimmered on big, bloodshot eyes.

When the man spoke, his voice betrayed such inebriation that Kara could almost smell it.

"W-... uh, we... izss late. Yer closed. I... we, we're closed. The gate is. Y'can see that. S'closed."

Kara considered how best to deal with this.

"Uh, wuh... wuhyawant?" the man demanded when his brain belatedly dredged up a vague recollection of protocol.

"We are travelers. We seek a room for the night." Kara replied evenly.

There was another pause while the man's wit took advantage of his dissolved better judgment.

"Yer on th' wrong side'a'th' door fur 'at. Heh."

Kara supposed that stabbing him through the little window would probably turn out to be more trouble than the satisfaction was worth.

"Yes. Perhaps you could let us in?" she said instead.

"Mm," the lout belched, seeming to surprise himself, "'s one Inn with rooms. 'S tuppence for mah risk 'n' trouble."

Kara sighed.

"Very well."

"Tha'sss tuppence f'reach uh yuh. Or 'nless y'wanna work sumfin out."

Kara resisted the urge to make a theatrical gagging noise in response to the singularly repugnant suggestion. Kira wore a doubtful frown.

"Four pence then. For your trouble." Kara said as agreeably as she could manage.

"Mm."

The gleaming eyes receded, and the little iron plate slid back into place. There was some rattling and scraping of wood, interspersed with muttered cursing. Finally the door was opened enough to admit the two travelers.

The guard accepted the coins from Kara and examined them blearily in the flickering torchlight before poking them into a pouch on his belt. He pointed past the women and made a few exaggerated gestures, then turned to close and bar the door.

"Up Main Street, turn right a' th' sign o' the Fish Head. Wash fur Hostelmaw House. 'S always a room or two open."

He started to close the door, seemingly done with them, then paused.

"Mind ye bar th' door tuh yer room. Mark me... don' forget." he trailed off into mumbles while hefting the bar into it's brackets.

"Go 'way now." he said loudly, though the travelers were already on their way.

* * *

The night at Hostelmaw House passed uneventfully. Both women woke with a vague impression of strange noises in the hall outside their room, but the apprehension felt like the remnants of a dream -- and like a dream, faded quickly.

With a nod to the odd, goggle-eyed proprietor, they departed the inn bright and early. Thankfully the gates of the palisade wall were by this time wide open, and the previous night's guard was elsewhere -- presumably sleeping it off. So Kara and Kira rejoined their trek North to the mouth of the river and the great port cities on the coast of the North Sea.

They shared the road with people and carts moving in both directions. Swaggering knots of sailors or pirates. Ox or horse drivers with carts of hay, honey, barrels of whiskey, or salted fish. A traveling tinker with his mule-drawn shambles of tools and trinkets. A furrier on a tall horse, both draped in the goods of his trade. A monk who struck Kara as vaguely familiar.

This close to the busy ports of the coast the River Road was too broad, busy, and straight to be popular with brigands and thieves. Too, it was more common here for anyone utilizing the road to go armed.

A pair of boisterous young seafarers did join the women for a time. Human, and clearly walking on sea-legs, they looked inclined to get handsy. They settled for joking and telling tall tales, however, after Kara merrily greeted them while ostentatiously drawing attention to her knives.

Come dusk, they reached Black Fisher Point. The single largest port city in Lesanne, it was named for the huge black feathered pelicans that were already present, fishing the coastal waters, when the first settlers arrived. Certain superstitions concerning the birds had arisen amongst all those who plied the waves, and nobody dared kill one. For this reason they had lost all fear of humans, and could be seen not only fishing, but also resting on the decks of ships and walking amongst foot traffic on the piers.

It was in the heart of the city, where the River Road angled East and became the equally imaginatively named Coast Road, that the two young fellows parted company with the women. With well wishes and suggestive smiles they took a street leading up to the docks.

While Kara led the way along the Coast Road, Kira flitted from roadside shop to stall, looking over everything great curiosity and drawing a number of curious gazes in turn. After a few minutes leisurely stroll, Kara was gratified to find her intended destination still standing. Being a combination tavern and Inn, the Man-O-War was a large two story building.

It was the sort of establishment that thrived on the patronage of drunken sailors and fishermen, and usually a few thieves and whores who would like to separate the sailors and fishermen from their money. At least, it was when last she visited. Kara checked to be sure Kira was following before crossing the threshold.

She took a few steps inside and paused to let her eyes adjust to the dim lighting. Oil lamps burned at either end of the bar and on a few tables.

Glancing around, Kara found that little had changed. The tradition of not cleaning had been carried on and extended beyond the sooty windows, to include... everything. The smells of food cooking in the kitchen beyond the bar became mitigating factors as they mingled with the other scents; unwashed bodies, spilled grog, lamp soot, pipe smoke, and unwashed bodies.

Said unwashed bodies occupied seats at about half the tables. A lone grey-beard perched on the only stool at the bar, a cane propped beside him. Behind the bar an elf leaned against the wall to one side of the doorway leading to the kitchen. He wore drab, simple clothes and a stained leather apron. He also wore a 'Three-Isle-Smile' -- scars running from the corners of his mouth out across his cheeks -- so named because it was a wound commonly inflicted by grudge-and-knife bearing pirates and cut purses in the alleys of the port cities of the Pirate Isles. His long blond hair was woven into small braids which were pulled back and tied in a manner common amongst Elvish sailors.

Whereas the customers all seemed intent on their own pursuits, the barkeep looked up as the women entered. Armed customers, even female ones, were not so uncommon here, and he spared Kara only a moment's attention. Kira, on the other hand, garnered a lingering frown.

Oh well, thought Kara. A base level of suspicion about anything unusual was normal here, but so were unusual looking people. Only the most stupid (or most inebriated) patrons of the city would pick a fight over someone's appearance. Otherwise you'd never get anywhere for tripping over the bodies.

With that thought, Kara strode up to the bar. The old fellow looked up, leaned a bit closer and tipped his head, revealing that one of his eyes was clouded with cataracts. With his good eye he looked her up and down. All of her, but admittedly he spent longer on her chest than the rest.

"Grandpa." she smiled, acknowledging his attention.

"Show me t'yer bed and I'll teach ye t'call me grandpa, y'slippery, knife-eared lubber." he growled back immediately, though he developed a slow smile that wrinkled the corners of his eyes and showed off the few teeth remaining in his head.

His smiled began to subside, then grew anew as he noticed Kira stepping up behind Kara.

"...at my time of life..." Kara overheard the grey-beard mutter as she returned her attention to the barkeep.

He had stepped closer to the bar and now stood with arms crossed, somehow pulling off both attentive and bored at the same time.

"Coin?" he asked bluntly, in Elvish.

Kara frowned. She fished in a pouch while she spoke.

"Aye. Two mugs and a pitcher of grog with lime in. And," she paused and sniffed the air, "two bowls of rockfish stew."

The barkeep showed no reaction whatsoever until she held forth a short stack of coins. He glanced at them as they jingled into his palm before making them disappear.

"Right. Sit or stand as you like. It'll be out shortly." He turned away to yell back into the kitchen before she had a chance to respond.

The old fellow pulled his focus from Kira to give Kara a knowing look.

"Pissy little shit, isn't he?"

Watching the little shit in question relaying their order to the kitchen, in Elvish as it so happened, Kara gave a nod.

The old fellow quaffed down whatever was left of his drink and thumped the wooden mug down with a loud tok before emitting an impressive belch.

"Makes the bes' hango'er cure in the city, though." he added, speaking to nobody in particular. "Only cos' a few silver."

Gods, Kara mused, that much for a hangover cure? Was he using Miri's special recipe?

Out loud she asked, "Is it as good as all that?"

The grey-beard leered up at her and winked his good eye.

"Oh, aye. Red wine vinegar, little lemon, little lime, pinch o' sea salt and a raw gull's egg, with a splash of whiskey."

Kara pulled a face.

"Sounds awful."

"Oh, it is," he guffawed, "but a'while yer drinkin' it, y'see, he sucks yer cock."

Kara had turned to face the old man while he spoke. Chuckling at his colorful punchline, she realized that the pissy shit in question had returned to pour the pitcher she had ordered using a tap under the bar. She might've assumed the old timer was just making a joke at the barkeep's expense, except that the latter's ears and cheeks were turning a ruddy red, making his scars stand out. Unable to stop herself glancing his way, she found him adamantly avoiding her eyes.

"Er, he's a dab hand at that, but I dunno if'n he 'as the knack o' eatin' clams, if ye grok what I mean. But look 'ere, you could give 'im a few coppers for th' cocktail, and I could 'elp ye wi' th' dirty work. An' yer young friend..." the old timer added.

It crossed Kara's mind to wonder if her 'flowers' actually had to be female. She'd just assumed, seeing as that was how actual flowers worked. Might be worth testing some time, though preferably with someone more to her taste than this old man or the bar keep.

"A fine offer. We'll keep it in mind." With a laugh, Kara clapped him on the shoulder before turning to collect mugs and pitcher from the bar. The barkeep had, to her amusement, decided that now was the time to hurry a tray of dirty dishes back to the kitchen.

Catching Kira's eye, she nodded toward a table and headed in the indicated direction. Behind them, the old timer began tapping his empty mug on the bar.

"Heh, I'd pay for the cocktails, fur 'at matter." Kara overheard him talking to himself as she poured their drinks before sitting.

She guessed that their conversation at the bar might have drawn some attention. After a swallow of grog she nonchalantly scanned the room. It seemed any attention they had drawn was short-lived. Relaxing somewhat, she settled back in her chair. She watched as Kira drank, lowered her mug, and wrinkled her nose.

The girl looked to Kara and smacked her lips, then sucked in her cheeks. Kara snorted.

"Tart. That's the lime. Trust me, it's better with than without."

Kira assumed whatever Kara was saying, it was an explanation as to why they were drinking something that made your glands ache. She listened and waited for what she judged was an appropriate amount of time before shrugging. She sniffed the drink, then tried another sip. Strange. Despite her initial reaction to the most tart thing she had ever tasted, she found herself itching to try it again. And again. As if to verify that she had tasted what she had tasted.

Watching, Kara nodded.

"You've probably never had lime before. It grows on you."

She was considering practicing some of the Westerling phrases she had learned with the girl, but just then a figure approached their table. A tall, mocha skinned beauty stopped beside the table and from a round tray served their bowls of stew. She also placed before them each a shallow wooden spoon and a fist-sized hunk of fresh bread. Kara hadn't ordered bread, but she hardly noticed it for the distraction of the serving wench.

The woman stood half a head taller than Kara -- a bit longer of leg, but otherwise of similar proportions. Soft curves over muscle, though with a bit more bounce in her tits and ass. She wore trousers with slits up to the calf and a loose, billowy blouse left open in the front over a broad wrap of green cotton that covered and more or less contained her breasts. The sleeves of her blouse were rolled up above her elbows, and on her arms and midriff she boasted a number of colorful tattoos.

A few long black braids bounced freely about her face as she served the stew and bread, the rest being pulled back and tied into a great skein, embellished here and there with bits of peach colored sea shell and carved bone beads. Her face was lovely, with full lips and big, dark, upturned eyes accentuated with a lining of kohl. Her skin had probably once been very soft, but there was a certain weathered, work-roughened quality now. This coupled with the squint lines around those alluring eyes spoke of time spent under the sun, out on the open sea.

Given the sort of ancestry her appearance suggested, Kara might have expected bangles, rings, and big hoop earrings. Instead the beauty wore a small diamond stud in her nose, small gold rings in her ears, and two similar rings set near the outer edge of her left brow. On a leather thong about her neck dangled a silver Massavedi -- a Massavian coin worth about one quarter of a gold sovereign.

When the woman had finished serving them, she lowered her tray to her side. Kara saw that it hadn't started life as a tray, but rather as a shield. The arm strap had been removed, but the face of it, now revealed, bore bronze ribbing dotted with the square heads of iron nails. Beneath the ribbing it was painted in a style unfamiliar to Kara. Many-pointed stars and a crescent moon in white on a black background.