Krandi

At this early hour, few lights were on in the homes, but the gentle glimmer of glowstone caressed Levare as always. Where the last houses of the outer town met the meadows beyond, a few people were already up and outside, because even in Levare and even if your neighbour’s daughter is a lungi, you don’t get to see dragons up close very often.

“Look at them,” said Margig, peering out the window. “You’d think there’s going to be a procession or something.”

“I don’t mind,” replied Jarin. “I’d do the same in their place. And I’m sure Wan will love the attention. In fact, I could call him now.” She was busy rearranging her pack for the third time.

“Don’t encourage them. Have you got enough food?”

“Yes, Father. I’m not going into the wild, I’m going to Krandi. I can buy food there. They might even have bread, ha!”

“If you’re on a secret mission, you shouldn’t go to their markets. Especially not spending Kûzar coin.”

“The Archseraph gave me enough Krâ money to last a month!  Besides, who’s going to recognise me? I’ll just put my hood up. Like you said before, I look Krâ. And stop calling it a secret mission. The main task is to check what ships are crossing at this time. The Archseraph said to see what I can see in Krandi, but he’s not sending me to infiltrate the citadel or any such thing.”

“But you might try to do it anyway.”

“Not if I can help it.”

“Just be careful.”

Jarin turned round and hugged him tight. “Of course, Father. Don’t worry, I’ll be fine. And if things get too tricky, I’ll call Wan and come straight back. Right then. I’ll just go to the closet for a moment and then I’ll be ready to leave.”

A little later she played her flute and Wan manifested before the eyes of the appreciative neighbours. Jarin had been right, he basked in their admiration. He even let a young boy pat him.

“Careful though,” he whispered with a wink. “Touching dragons makes you grow scales.”

“Awesome!” said the lad, but his mother hushed him.

“Good luck, Jarin Dragonrider,” said an old woman, and the call was repeated by the other neighbours.

All heads tilted upwards when Wan took off into the darkness. Jarin looked down and saw the lights of Levare falling away below her. It was about an hour before sunrise and the first hint of dawn could be guessed in the eastern sky. Wan turned a big circle above the town, just for the fun of it, and then headed towards the inland sea. Soon a vague shimmer ahead told them that they were drawing close to the shore.

“Tell me all then, Jarin!”

Jarin, pressed against the dragon’s neck, spoke into his ear. “I have already told you all yesterday.”

The previous day, Vilajin had assembled the lungi in the grounds of the Houses. Only seven lungi were present; the others were away on errands. Pallando had gone with Mûn to take home Aluir and to see Alatar. They had called the dragons and Vilajin had explained the quest: to cross the Sea of Calma and gather news of the Krâ, using stealth and cunning if required.  All but one of the dragons had agreed, but three of the lungi had also expressed misgivings. So only three riders were setting off this morning, of whom Jarin, making for Krandi, had the longest journey and the furthest North. Wan would be hard pressed to reach the far shore before sundown.

“I was not speaking of that,” said Wan. “You are out of sorts, Jarin. I could hear it in your tune. What is vexing you?”

“Nothing but my own foolishness.”

“Don’t expect me to be satisfied with that answer. Look, we have a long flight ahead of us. You may as well tell me, even just to pass the time.”

Jarin said nothing for a while. Glints of morning sun could now be seen on the water below. The sea was empty as far as they could see, apart from a few Kûzar fishing boats.

“Aluir came to Levare for the Council,” she said at last. “I bumped into him at the market and we walked and talked for a while. Not that he’ll remember my name next time, though. He’ll say again, Oh, aren’t you that lungi? I really shouldn’t waste any thoughts on him. He must be, what, ten years younger than me? Hardly more than a boy. And he’s a bit of an airhead. Frivolous. Pallando said he was no use at all at the meeting and would have idly stood by while the Council abandoned the Way. I think Alatar only keeps him as an apprentice because his sister is sensible and it’s supposed to be twins. He’s not worth our time.”

“I see you have settled this to your satisfaction,” replied Wan. “So where does the note of pain come from?”

“I don’t know. I suppose it’s true what they say; the heart wants what the heart wants.”

“Bah, the heart, the heart!  What does Jarin’s head want?”

“To serve the Archseraph, and the people of Kûz.”

“Then let me give you this advice, Jarin, whom I love dearly: your heart will change again. But if you follow your head and do what you know to be right, you will not regret it.”

“Probably. Oh, look, there’s a ship!”

“I see it. Looks like elves.” Wan swooped down to get a better view. “Yes, definitely elves. Perhaps on their way to Mil Nahara.”

“To drink and sing raucous songs in the taverns?” Jarin laughed. The elves on deck the ship had spotted the dragon and were whooping and waving. “Why are they like that?”

“They don’t know what to do with their immortality.”

After the elven vessel they only saw two other ships during their crossing, one a Kûzar ship apparently on its way to Longhaven, the other Krâ, maybe headed for Mil Nahara also, but too small and too alone to be a threat.

It was indeed sunset when the coast came in sight. The land on the western shore was flat, a chequerboard of fields, meadows and groves of timber. Wan landed near a copse of junipers a couple of miles from the city. Since it was late in the day and getting dark, they hoped they had not been seen.

“Thank you,” said Jarin, “for carrying me so faithfully. I will call you in a day or two to take me back, if it pleases you.”

“I will come at your call. Look after yourself, Jarin, and take no needless risks.”

“Isn’t this whole journey a risk? And I hardly know what I’m supposed to do. But at least we didn’t see a fleet heading for Kûz. That’ll let me sleep tonight.”

She slept, as it were, very uncomfortably on the ground in the shelter of a large juniper bush, an experience she did not wish to repeat. In the morning, damp with dew, she removed her lungi headscarf and pulled the hood of her cloak over her head. She took the silver flute from her belt and stored it in her pack. No more disguise should be needed, since the warm woollen cloth of the Kûzeen was worn by people all around the Sea of Calma, and boots were boots. She looked like any other Krâ woman dressed for a day’s work outdoors. Only at home or on feast days did Krâ women don their long skirts sewn of coloured bands of cloth.

She made a simple breakfast of her supplies and set off. It was chilly, but bright, and the walk along the shore towards Krandi was almost a pleasure in spite of her apprehensions. There were no reed beds here, but a long, pebbled beach where waterfowl frolicked and limp waves hit the shore with barely a sound. Thin, feathery clouds caressed the sky. In less than an hour, Jarin reached the first houses.

The city was big, bigger than Levare, and the wooden buildings with their steep gables and carved beams stretched far inland. There was no natural harbour at Krandi, so the Krâ had built a long breakwater out into the lake. A good number of ships were anchored in the sheltered waters behind it, perhaps somewhat more than usual, which might be for several reasons – because they were not sailing to Mil Nahara with cargoes of grain, for example. In truth, as an air traveller, Jarin had rarely paid much attention to the harbour. Nor did she know the area around the docks very well, having previously spent most of her visits in the citadel. There she would rather not go now, as she might be recognised and she was not sure what kind of welcome she would find at this time. The latter was also the reason she had determined to talk only in Krâin. Many people in Krandi spoke a little Kûzar, as in fact did most folk around the Sea of Calma, but she thought it would arouse suspicion if she, a Krâ by the looks of it, should be so fluent in the language of Kûz.

Once again she noticed that, even though the docks were busy, there were very few men about. Those few were mostly employed with loading and unloading ships and with other nautical tasks. But up and down the streets, with bags, bundles and baskets, walked the women. Jarin mingled and tried to listen in to their conversations.

“… since last night, quite a high fever, and coughing all the time.”

“Have you tried giving her a hot poultice? I always use one with …”

“… said that the Ezen needs at least another two thousand. Where would they find that many, I wonder? He’s already pretty much emptied this town.”

“They’ll not rest until we’re …”

“… and a teaspoon of honey, but you have to make sure you heat it up before you stir it in, or otherwise you’ll end up with just a lump of …”

“… can’t agree with that at all!”

“Why not? It’s not as if they’ve ever done anything to help us, and besides …”

“… with the steppe tribes, but between you and me, I am not too happy with that.”

“You’ll get yourself into trouble talking like that, Ragki. Just last week they took… “

It was hard to make any sense of this hubbub, but after a couple of hours of ambling up and down the quay, she had gathered at least this much: that men were being mustered, and trained at weapons in a camp outside the city but that there was a notion they were not enough, or not good enough, or not reliable enough. That bread was scarce in Krandi, too, as were Kûzar goods, and that the general opinion was that the Krâ needed more ships.

“Hey, you!”

Jarin turned round. The caller was a woman running a fish stall near the south end of the quay. “I’ve watched you. What are you loitering about for?”

“I’m waiting for my lover,” replied Jarin. “What’s it to you?”

“Looks to me like he’s not coming. Take my advice, forget him. He’s not worth your while. None of them are.”

“You’re right, I should forget him,” said Jarin and walked off. The woman, who clearly hadn’t expected much agreement, gave her a baffled look, but Jarin paid not heed. She decided to stay away from the docks for now and check out the market instead. Krandi held a market every other day, and by her reckoning that should be today. The market place was not far from the harbour on a square overlooked on three sides by rows of wooden houses two and three storeys high, while the fourth side was taken up by one of the few stone buildings in the city: the town hall and gaol. Unlike in Levare, where the market stalls consisted of tables sheltered under tent-like awnings that were set up anew each day, the Krandi market had rows of solid plank huts with steep gables, like miniature versions of the Krâ homes. Crowds of Krâ were shuffling about but again, very few of them were men. Jarin scanned the boxes of root vegetables, the garlands of onions, skeins of sheep wool, candles, belts, apples, socks, sausages, carved bowls, cabbages and wicker baskets. Right enough, there was no bread to be seen anywhere. Bloodied lumps of animal carcasses, surrounded by flies, festooned the butcher’s stall. Jarin turned away in disgust, wondering how anyone could wish to eat such fare, however, there was quite a queue of customers.  From a fruit vendor, she bought a handful of plums; they were a deep, glossy purple and tasted of autumn sunshine.

The scraps of conversation she picked up here were much the same as those at the docks and told her nothing new. She left the market and wandered around aimlessly for a while, unsure about the layout of the place she had usually only seen from the air. Should she seek the storehouses, and if so, where were they – close to the docks or close to the citadel? Would it be wise to go to the citadel? It was the place where she had the best chance of finding out something of importance, but also the place where she was in most danger of being recognised.

What was the point, though, of returning to Levare and bringing the Archseraph news that amounted to little more than gossip?

The citadel sat more or less in the centre of the city on a little knoll, barely high enough to be called a hill. It was surrounded by a palisade about twelve foot high with a south-facing gate through which the road entered. Stalls of a different kind lined the paling: soothsayers, dice players and vendors of ale. There was much traffic going in and out the gate, some of people on foot, but mostly of oxen carts apparently delivering supplies. These were mainly driven by men, but here and there a woman sat among the sacks and bundles, presumably to help with unloading. Two guards stood at the gate, stopping each driver and asking for a password. Jarin considered whether she might be able to get close enough to overhear them, but then a better chance offered. One of the carts was stalled when a group of youths chased each other through the crowd and startled the oxen: people cried out, the driver berated the boys’ retreating backs, and in the kerfuffle Jarin climbed onto the back of the cart. Moments later she rolled through the gate, sitting bold as brass among baskets of potatoes.

Once out of view of the guards, she slipped off the cart. Nobody had noticed her. She was in the lower part of the citadel, among the workshops and stables.  From behind a shed, she grabbed an empty basket, dropped her pack inside, covered it with a shred of sackcloth and placed it on her hip. Thus disguised, she made her way towards the keep. There were more guards at the gate here, and she did not count on any further lucky chances, but she hoped she would be able to go round the back and find some way in.

By now, it was late afternoon and the sky was overcast, making the deserted north side of the keep gloomy. A scathing wind blew. Jarin dropped the basket and slung her pack back over her shoulders. She looked up and scrutinised the face of the building. The Ezen’s quarters and the main offices faced north, this much she knew. From some of the bottle glass windows, light could be seen. And one, on the first floor, stood a little ajar. There was a sound of voices from within, though she couldn’t make out the words.

The stone wall offered no purchase, but there was a low, wooden lean-to somewhat to the right, some kind of wood store. With the help of an upturned bucket, Jarin scrambled onto its flat roof and from there onto the sill of the nearest window, which was dark. The entire row of windows was set back within the wall, leaving a ledge just wide enough to stand on. There was a drop of a good eight feet behind her, but she wasn’t exactly afraid of heights. Slowly, she shimmied along till she reached the open window. The voices were still talking, two men sounding business-like but ever so slightly disgruntled.

“… expects another twenty cartloads of barley for the last batch.”

“He said fifteen!”

“He said the price has gone up. But it’s decent gear, and we’ll need it for the march.”

“We won’t be ready to march for at least another six weeks. In the meantime, I have to listen to the daily complaints about the bread shortage.”

“You wish to leave sooner?”

“I wish we hadn’t sold our entire harvest to feed the steppe tribes in exchange for a pile of ironmongery. But that’s not for me to decide, is it? Still, I wonder if not the Ezen is beginning to have some doubts.”

“Not a good time for doubts.”

“No, indeed. Well, there’s nothing for it, we have to make do without grain. Fortunately the great lord has no interest in potatoes. Did you at least have enough way bread for company four?”

“Yes, and they set off this morning. They should be in Longhaven before the week is out, and hopefully they’ll bring us a dozen ships or more.”

“Hopefully. But if those dwarves put up much of a fight, there may not be any.”

“That’s why it’s so important to take them by surprise. Hey, what was that?”

A gust of wind had snatched Jarin’s hood and flapped it against the wall. In the room, the men looked up. By the time they reached the window, Jarin was hanging from the ledge by her fingertips. The ground below was soggy, though she might still at least twist an ankle. But it was that or get caught. She let go.

On hitting the ground, she crouched and fell backwards. She felt the mud soak her breeches, but she wasn’t hurt. She got up and started to run.

“Hey, you, stop! Guards! Guards! Get the spy!”