Session 3: The Crossing of the Cheyth

At this point Varanjala rejoined the party as they sat down to a midday meal with Lieutenant Samlon, and he explained the situation and the opportunity over a sumptuous repast.

"I don't know what you've heard about the state of affairs here on the Marches of the Cheyth, but it isn't good. These, as we know them, are the facts. Hural Yalir, the northernmost of the River Forts, has been... shall we say... rather hard-pressed of late. A long winter, Nalshbori raids out of the Serth Hatama..." He made a dismissive motion with his hand. "Well, the long and short of it is that supplies are running low, and the river is too swollen this time of year to safely carry them by boat north of the Hiksuyara Kjarakam. Two caravans--the first one the standard Spring shipment to the Fort, the second a special order paid for by Sir Ralus himself--have been waylaid on the road between the eastern landing and Hural Yalir. At least, we assume the first one was waylaid. We only know it didn't reach Hural Yalir. There were no survivors."

He took another pull from the low ceramic beaker at his elbow. "There were two survivors from the second caravan. Their names are Thorinta and Verekan, and they are staying in town now. An odd couple of chaps, if you don't mind my saying so, but brave as lions--or so they must be, for they have already volunteered to go as drivers and guides for the third caravan, which will be leaving as soon as I can raise enough swords to guard it."

The lieutenant smiled a little. He was a handsome, rakish fellow of some forty or fifty (fairly young for an Amborian), dressed in sturdy but clearly well-worn traveling clothes. There is a gleam of metal mesh beneath his jerkin. "Well. I think you can see what I'm getting to." He reached beneath his cloak and produced a small leather pouch, which he opened, spilling its contents out onto the table. There were three hunks of amber, each oddly shaped, each about the size of a large marble. "It's dangerous, of course, but Sir Ralus is paying well, in amber from his own treasury. It isn't just about the supplies now. Whoever is waylaying our caravans has to be stopped." 

His eyes drift between the two of you, as though he is trying to take the measure of you both. At last he says, "Plenty of treasure. Plenty of danger. Probably the chance to take a couple of Nalshbori scalps along the way." He grinned. "And should you come through it, doubt not that you shall find Sir Ralus to be a generous patron in future."

After accepting Samlon's offer (Orusen volunteering the services of the entire group), the party decided they wanted to speak with the two drivers, Thorinta and Verekan, who alone had survived the last caravan. Tengelbur and Reiana specifically were curious about these men, and wanted to know why, after having watched all of their companions captured or killed in the previous attack, they were so eager to go out again.

They found Thorinta and Verekan in the Market Square, speaking with the hunters Klorpeim and Karalin, a pair of tall, dark-haired identical twins who wear their hair in the same close-cropped chin cut. Hasanyah, speaking for the party, questions Thortina and Verekan about what happened to them.

• Full of bravado and condescension, Thorinta is full of stories of his own courage in the face of danger, eager to go out and prove himself again against the enemy. With a sweeping gesture he takes Hasanyah's hand and kisses it tenderly, assuring her she will have nothing to fear as long as he is near.
• Verakan is quiet and surely, and mostly glowers darkly at his companion, occasionally contradicting outright his version of events. He tells Hasanyah that their caravan was attacked about ten miles north of the eastern landing, and that they were attacked by a dozen or so masked individuals who seemed to materialize out of the forest without any warning. He and Thorinta fought as long as they could fight, and when they could not fight they fled.

Something about the drivers' story didn't ring true to Reiana, however. She noticed that Thorinta in particular was perhaps trying a little too hard, while Verekan seemed to outright resent Hasanyah's questions, and treated the whole party with suspicion. Although she could not put a finger on it, something about the pair didn't seem to pass the "smell" test.

In the meantime, Teithbor continued to make his way down the hill towards the docks, until he came to a number of houses and booths belonging to some of the tradespeople of the town, who had chosen to set up their businesses here closer to where the ships were loaded and unloaded. He caught the eye (or perhaps his eye was caught by?) a striking red-headed woman named Telini, a fletcher of some skill, as she sat preparing goosefeathers for arrows. Telini half-flirted, half-interrogated Teithbor about himself and his business here in Cheykor before offering him the chance to "sample the wares" -- meaning the arrows, of course. Teithbor chose the 40-yard target first, before being goaded on ("are all the men of the Isle such close shooters?") to try the 80-yard target. With a bit of luck and a bit of Hope, Teithbor represented himself and his people well, and seemed to have impressed Telini. Disappearing into her house, she emerged again a moment later with a cloth-wrapped bundle of five arrows. "Such arrows as these I do not sell, but rather give them to those who impress me sufficiently."

During their conversation, Teithbor learned of a homesteader named Onerama the Bald. Onerama has a homestead a few miles to the north of Cheykor, and many men in his service, and according to Telini, he is the real power in this region. "Those old fools who sit in the market square think that they own this town. But no one brings a real claim dispute to them. What strength would they have to arbitrate it, now that the king who sits in Sencankarr no longer looks to the North? Onerama has strength. The strength to lead, even to rule. And he will reward strong men." 

Wishing Telini a good day, Teithbor decided to proceed back up the hill and rejoin his friends.

Tengelbur, in the meantime, decided to get a game of Pickets going at the Cracked Beaker, where he, Orusen, and Reiana lost (since draws go to defender) to the enigmatic huntress Karalin, one of the two twins they had met earlier and who they now learned would be accompanying them as drivers for one of the three supply wagons they were to escort to Hural Yalir. Reiana took the opportunity to study their new companion. Karalin seemed a strange woman: always either too quiet or too loud, and though she was a skilled Pickets player, she would occasionally make decisions that were blatantly tactically unsound, almost as though she relished the chance to imperil her chances of winning the game. When she laughed it was a sharp, dangerous laugh, and sometimes--when they spoke of the Serth Hatama and the perils of the road the next day--a strange light would come into her eyes. 

At the end of the game, Karalin collected her winnings and was about to leave, when Tengelbur suggested they make things a little "more interesting" for the second game.

"More interesting?" A strange light seemed to flash in the huntress's eyes. "What did you have in mind?"

"Say this time the loser... buys everyone drinks?" Tengelbur suggested.

Karalin laughed. "Come now, Tengelbur of the Road, I thought you wanted to make this interesting."

"What did you have in mind, then?"

Karalin looked at the three companions, her eyes coming to rest on Tengelbur again, following the line of his arm down to where his hand rested--perhaps out of habit--on the hilt of his sword. "I will wager you sword against my spear."

"But lady," said Tengelbur, "I have only one sword."

"I have only one spear."

Orusen, always eager to throw in, said, "I will gladly wager my sword!"

Karalin's mouth twitched in a smile. "But I have only to look at you, sir, to know that you are no swordsman."

In the end, Karalin made her way out the door and Reiana and Orusen, their suspicions aroused, followed her to the gate of the city--which was then about to close for the night--and watched her take a footpath leading south away from town until she vanished out of sight. They then went down to the docks and spent the night there in one of the many empty houses on the outskirts of town, Reiana keeping a careful watch on the supplies for the next day to be sure that no-one interfered with them. Oursen sat outside, studying the stars and listening to the soft rhythm of the rising and falling tide of the river, and watched as The Hunter Who Goes in Silver crossed the arc of Mjath the Bow where it danced low in the Western Sky. Orusen divined that the morrow would be an auspicious day for hunting.

As all of this was going on, Varanjala returned to the home of Yuralesh the Smith and his wife, Vitherai the Amber Cutter, for dinner. Most of the time was taken up with Vitherai plying Varanjala for gossip. "It's just that we get so little news," she said, darting a glance at her husband, "here on the edge of the kingdom. We heard that Commander Feiral of the Ralakarr garrison was killed in a duel over the winter. Do you know anything about that?" Vitherai's precocious daughters, Feala and Feianrai, were captivated by Varanjala and her tales of desperate adventure. Eventually, Yuralesh dismissed his daughters and turned to the question of amber. Yuralesh was a short, small-framed man, but his shoulders and arms were a mass of corded muscle. He spoke seldom and slowly, but when he did speak, every word was measured. 

"What do you know of the amber trade?" he asked.

"Not very much," Varnajala admitted. Her whole goal, you may recall, for coming to the Marches of the Cheyth was to forge a weapon of amber.

"This," said Yuralesh, raising his wine goblet, which was crafted of the clear yellow substance, "is made of what is called the shell, or sap amber. It is soft enough to be worked by hand tools, though still quite valuable--worth twice its weight in silver. But this," and now he reached into a fold of his sash and produced a small golden gem, about the size of a marble, but cut with a thousand facets, so that it caught the light from the lamp overhead and cast it back in a hundred golden hues, "this is a heart-gem of amber. It is as hard as a diamond. It traps the light and casts it back more brilliant than before. Some say that in the right hands, it can even shine with a radiance of its own even on the darkest night. These are the hardest and most dangerous to find, for they can only be found in the deep groves of the Serth Hatama. Some miners say that the heart gem secretes the shell or sap amber, and therefore to take one is to destroy an entire lode of amber. For all of these reasons, they are a treasure beyond price. Although I have never heard of a sword made entirely from amber, such gems were used in ancient times to craft weapons of great virtue and enchantment." He closed his hand, and when he opened it again, the gem had vanished. He stood. "Come with me."

He led Varanjala to the forge, where the coals were already glowing red. He began to work the bellows, stoking the coals up to white-hot brilliance, and then reached into forge with a set of tongs, producing a bright orange sliver of metal. This he set upon the anvil, and handed a hammer to Varanjala. "Show me what you can do with this."

For three hours Varanjala worked the steel, shaping it into a dagger, quenching it, welding it to a second piece of harder steel for the edge, heat-treating it again. In the end, she overdid the second heat-treatment, producing a weapon which would be too brittle to be used reliably. Exhausted and crestfallen, she stepped back from the anvil.

"You are not without promise," Yuralesh said. "Vitherai tells me you are going tomorrow with your friends across the river?"

"I am," she said, with downcast eyes, beads of sweat pouring down her face. "If you will not have me as student."

"Go with your friends. It will do you well to see where the amber comes from, and the peril you take upon yourself if you would take this work in your hand. When you return, we will begin your first lesson."

Varanjala thanked the smith, and then left to get what rest she could before the next day's journey.

Hasanyah, in the meantime, returned to the Norinlakor (the local hall of records, though in this case it's more like a cramped stone building full of fire hazards) to see if Palfeinan the Scribe had the book on the Stone Kings he had promised. She found him there as before, amid large piles of books and scrolls which he was in the act of shifting around. He offered her a thin parchment bound with silver thread, but when she promised that she would return it when she was done with it, he insisted that she stay there and make her own copy rather than absconding with his, since if she brought it back by the morning it would be too late to put it back in its proper place for several weeks. Apparently terrified of the errors Hasanyah would make, Palfeinan left to get a drink while Hasanyah made a relatively fair copy of the document "Concerning the Stone Kings" for herself.

The next morning, with all preparations made, the party began loading their provisions onto a barge with which to cross the Cheyth. It was then that Teithbor noticed that one of the drivers, Verekan, was same man he'd met the previous day, speaking with the cloaked stranger on the outskirts of town. Verekan did not acknowledge him one way or the other, and Teithbor has not yet made this information known to the rest of the party. With Tengelbur, Hasanyah, Reiana, and Tanurendal manning the poles and oars, they set out across the river.

The Cheyth is not the greatest river in the world, but he is the oldest--and he has no love of men. During the crossing the barge was swamped by a great wave coming down off the Isle of Pines, and the companions only just managed to keep the craft from capsizing before they reached the other side. As it was, the rocky landing set one of the mules to bolting, and washed some of the supplies farther down the river, and the party had to spend a couple of hours recovering the soggy supplies and getting the mule teams hitched to the wagons. But in the end all was done without lasting harm, and with the long dark shadow of the Serth Hatama looming on their right, the party began the northward trek to Hural Yalir.