Chapter 4
A Dread Tide Rising, by Walt Shuler
A Dread Tide Rising is a pulp-flavored, epic fantasy novel set in the world of Thalrassa. It follows the Talon, a group of mercenaries, thieves, and smugglers, as they come face-to-face with an ancient enemy intent on the destruction of the Rakkian Empire.
Catch up on all the chapters here. You can learn more about the members of the Talon here and explore Thalrassa-related lore here. The map of Thalrassa can be found here.
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Chapter 4
Smoke rose from hundreds of chimneys, turning the autumn air hazy.
Mac and his companions sat their mounts atop a small hill, staring down at their destination. A mid-sized town sprawled at the bottom of a shallow, bowl-shaped valley, sandwiched between the River Cel on the eastern side and the mountains to the west.
Scylline’s Cross was something of an anomaly. Many towns and cities in the empire grew up naturally around a fortified position - a fort, garrison outpost, fortified tower, or castle. No such fortification existed here. Rather, the town’s center housed a massive market that operated throughout the year. It sat at a critical junction between trade routes, where the Great Northern Current swept around the tip of the island to meet the Western Rush.
Kye raised an eyebrow in question, and Gorm laughed. “It’s not much compared to the spires and walls of Rakka proper, but I promise the town’s got plenty to offer. Dates back to the early days of northward expansion, when the empire first began to encounter the Estari and Sanean. Before there was open enmity between our peoples, there was trade.” He indicated the town below with spread palms. “Legend has it that Scylline’s Cross was founded not on fear of invasion or spilled blood, but on honest exchange. On a coming together of people to meet their needs. It’s one of the largest markets in the empire, bigger even than Monk’s Walk or Hadala Square in great Rakka herself.”
Kye looked unimpressed, but then her expression changed. “A market town’s a market town, right? Merchants and shoppers and goods all around.”
Mac shook his head. “I know what you’re thinking, and it won’t happen. Not here. Not this time, at least. You were going to end that statement with something like ‘and plenty of purses waiting to be cut’, but we have neither the time to worry about it nor the manpower to bust you out once they catch you and clap your skinny little wrists in irons.”
Kye’s face fell at that, causing both Gorm and Mac to laugh.
“Don’t worry,” Gorm tousled the girl’s hair. “There’s a lot to be said for a lack of excitement at times. A warm fire, a hot meal, and a real bed would do all of us some good.”
“And I wouldn’t say no to some half-decent ale!” shouted Pax.
“I dunno,” Hax mused. “I’m with the girl. Why not slit some purses while we’re here? We’re flush with the take from Thynne’s compound, but I could always use a little more gold.” He patted an anemic-looking pouch hanging from his belt.
Mac shook his head. “Absolutely not. We need to get into town, find somewhere to hole up, and get the news. Then, we need to find a safe place for our young thief here,” he nodded toward Kye. “This is most likely the best spot for you. Ships set out all the time for all corners of the empire, even back to Rakka if you fancy.”
The girl’s eyes darkened at that idea, so Mac added, “You could take a caravan overland, too. Farms and ranches populate the western side of the island, always needing help. Plenty of ways out of this place for a bright girl with the skills you have. Of course, you might find some upright employment here in town that would keep your feet on the straight and narrow.”
Kye said nothing but nodded thoughtfully at his suggestions. Whatever the girl decided, Mac knew she would be safer staying here than continuing with the Talon. It was a long voyage to Rom from here, through rough waters, and while the emperor’s ships patrolled the shallows near shore, patrolling the wider ocean was largely impossible, a fact exploited by more than one band of pirates between here and Rom.
The little band was not even assured of a warm welcome once they reached the northern island. If Thynne were involved in the attack as Mac suspected, their voyage was unlikely to reach a pleasant conclusion. There was a distinct chance they would all spend the rest of their lives manacled in a dungeon. No, she would be best served to stay here, he knew.
Hax piped up. “You know, I might be able to offer some help. I know someone who could probably get her to another island if that’s what she wants, but he’d probably hire her on here as like as not.”
Pax shot her brother a questioning look, and Mac raised an eyebrow. “Man by the name of Thom Murphy,” Hax explained. “Runs the local gangs. Nothing like the Faceless set up down in Rakka, but he’s the mover and shaker hereabouts among those that walk the Crooked Path.”
“And you think your man might have a spot for our young friend here?”
Hax shrugged. “Worth a shot, ain’t it?”
Mac turned to the girl. “What do you think? Want to give Hax’s connection a try? There are worse things than working with a smaller gang. Might be that your experience with the Faceless could put you in good stead here.”
Kye thought things over but shook her head. “I’ll not take a job with Murphy’s crew. I’d like to be done with that life. Maybe he can help me find a ship bound somewhere else? Or even honest work here?”
“It’s decided then,” Mac said. “Hax, get in touch with this Murphy character and set up a meet. Gorm, get word to Padraig that we’ll be ready to embark in two days, three at the most.” Then he addressed the rest of the group. “In the meantime, I’d like a chance to rest up. We’ll take rooms at the Raging Boar. Remember, we’re not here for work, we’re passing through. No jobs! Not only might that draw unwanted attention that’ll slow us down in leaving, but we might step on the toes of the folks we need to see to help Kye here find a new home.” Not waiting, he clicked his mount to a fast walk and headed toward town.
Mac led the way through mostly middle-class neighborhoods, skirting the main market area to avoid the congestion. Most of the buildings in this area of town were older, built of wood and stone. Here and there, more permanent dwellings were made completely of stone, with one or two brick edifices in evidence. It was quite the hodgepodge, but it suited the personality of the town.
The Raging Boar was a large stone and timber building, standing three stories and occupying almost an entire block. It sat a few streets north of the market center, which ensured that while there was a steady stream of patrons, the inn was not inundated with the flood of merchants and customers that flocked to the center of town.
Smoke swirled as the companions entered the common room. Even at midday, the long, low room was shrouded in shadow. A massive stone fireplace stood at one end, and an equally impressive bar ran the length of another wall. A door behind the bar ostensibly led to the kitchens. The place smelled of tabac, stale ale, and roasting mutton. Not an entirely unpleasant combination, Mac had to admit.
“Help you?” the proprietor asked, wiping the bar top with a soiled rag.
Mac nodded. “We'll need three rooms.”
The innkeeper looked over the group, then nodded. “How long?”
Mac glanced at Hax, who shrugged. “Two days at least,” Mac answered.
“That’ll be six crowns, paid now. You decide to stay another day, you pay upfront. Elsewise, we got problems.”
Mac counted out the coins and slid them across the bar. “If we decide to stay longer, I promise you’ll be the first to know.”
The innkeeper grunted and raked the coins into his palm. “Rooms are at the top of the stairs. Take your pick, ‘cept for the last one on the right. Supper’s at sundown.” He frowned again, then wagged a finger in Mac’s face. “Price of a room don’t include food nor drink.”
“Of course it doesn’t.” Mac glanced around, scanning the common room for anything out of the ordinary. Two men sat smoking pipes in a back corner, and another small group sat near one of the few windows in the place, swilling ale despite the relatively early hour. “What’s for supper, anyway?”
“Roast mutton, yesterday’s stew, fresh bread with cheese from Fuller’s down the road. Got some nice beets in, as well as a whole heap of potatoes. Two bits the meal.”
“We’ll see you at sundown then,” Mac said, motioning the group toward the stairs.
They picked rooms, with Mac and Gorm sharing one, and Kye bunking with Wynn. Hax and Pax shared the third.
“What do you need to set up a talk with Murphy?” Mac asked Hax. After choosing rooms and stowing the little they had in luggage, all six rendezvoused in Mac’s room. Like the other two, Mac’s had space for two thin beds. A cheerless, narrow window provided most of the light, and a small table held a candle and stand, as well as a chipped, cracked washbasin. All the comforts of home.
“Well, I can get a hustle on now. He’s not far from here. Even so, he won’t meet until nightfall at the earliest.”
Murphy’s preference for the dark did not surprise Mac. “Good. Do what you need to do. Set it up, but put a hurry on it.”
Hax nodded, rose, and left the room. The sound of his footfalls down the stairs soon faded.
“What about us?” Wynn asked.
“Us? Well, I’m feeling the need to see what’s what. Reconnoitering, you could say. Gorm, come with me. The rest of you do as you please, as long as you don’t raise a ruckus.”
Mac led Gorm down the stairs and out of the inn. A glance at the sun told him it was just past noon. Plenty of time until nightfall.
Gorm raised a questioning eyebrow.
“We’ve been out of touch for a while. Time to learn the lay of the land,” Mac answered.
“Worried that Thynne might suspect the Talon for that last job?”
Mac frowned and shook his head. “That attack on the road didn’t feel like a random occurrence. Plus, I feel the need to catch up on current events. And I know exactly where to go to get that information.” He set off down the street, Gorm following in his wake.
Scylline’s Cross was not a particularly large town. It boasted maybe four or five thousand year-round residents, but the number of merchants and visitors to the market swelled that number significantly. It took over an hour for Mac and Gorm to make their way across town to their intended destination. When they arrived, the pair found themselves presented with what could only loosely be called a tavern.
Gorm was certain that once upon a time, it had been a proud building. Graceful bones could still be seen, but the skeleton was nearly all that was left. To say it had seen better days would have been to put things too mildly. Faded and battered, the very wood looked tired. The building sagged in the center, a weary warrior too tired to carry on much longer. Here and there, slapdash repairs had been made, but the effect only drew more focus to the dilapidated sections.
“Here?” Gorm couldn’t quite keep the disbelief from his voice.
“Here,” Mac nodded, mouth set in a firm line. “Don’t let her fool you, Gorm. There’s more to this place than you’d suspect at first glance.”
“I find that hard to believe, Mac.” Gorm looked the tavern over once more. “What’s it called? Termite Fodder? The Pile?” He chuckled.
“The Gray Lady,” Mac answered, pushing through the door into the dark common room beyond. Gorm took a second to appreciate the establishment’s appellation. It suited the place more than he would have thought possible.
The interior of The Gray Lady mirrored the exterior. Rickety tables and leaning benches dominated the room. Overhead, the ceiling was blackened from decades of smoke. Even the patrons looked tired, leached of their vigor and youth. Most of the men were gray-haired, although a few younger ones could be glimpsed here and there. When Gorm took a second look, some of the older patrons were not as old as they seemed. Some of those lines and wrinkles had more of makeup about them than age, and some of the gray hair had more to do with ash and dye than encroaching mortality.
“What is this place, Mac?” he asked.
Mac smirked. “Just follow my lead and you’ll be fine. I can’t believe I’ve never brought you here before. The Gray Lady is special, a place where things are not exactly what they seem.”
“You mean it’s a front for the local criminal element.”
“A front? Hell, it’s the center of the Dodgy Path here.”
“You must feel right at home.”
Mac shrugged. “As at home as anywhere south of the Eyrie, I suppose. At least they don’t put on airs here.”
“Mac, it’s a literal den of thieves.”
“I know!” Mac grinned. “Isn’t it great?”
Gorm could only shake his head.
Mac scanned the room. “We need to talk to someone. He’s an information broker.”
“A spy or a rumor monger?”
“More reliable than a rumor monger. Not as derring-do as a spy. Feeney is…well, you’ll see for yourself. He’s right over there.”
Mac led the way into the oddly crowded common room, angling for a table on the far side. A single man sat there, middle-aged, balding, and nursing a flagon of ale. Mac walked right up and sat at the table without waiting for an invitation. Gorm elected to remain standing, where he could keep an eye on the other patrons, as well as the tavern’s exits.
“Feeney,” Mac greeted the table’s occupant. “It’s been a while. Let me buy you a pint?”
Feeney looked up from his contemplation of the tabletop, the expression on his narrow face shifting rapidly from annoyance at the interruption to irritation to something that could only be called cunning.
“Well, if it isn’t Macland Toth, the great man himself,” Feeney sneered through a too-big mustache. “Decided to grace us once again with your presence, m’lord?” His emphasis turned the honorific into an epithet.
“Well, good to see you haven’t changed at least.”
Feeney let out a long-suffering sigh. “What do you want, Toth? Unless you’re slumming for work, I’ve got nothing for you.”
“No, we’re flush at the moment. I had something else in mind. Just looking for information. We’ve been out of circulation for a little bit.”
“If you’d take jobs closer to civilization than Thynne’s hinterland way stations, you might not have that problem. Ever think about that?” Sour humor glinted in Feeney’s eye.
“Damn,” Gorm muttered.
“Don’t know what you’re talking about, Feeney. We were down south, doing a turn of caravan duty. Pay wasn’t great, but there was plenty of work.”
“Ah, that’s the story, is it? Well, whatever. Thynne’s reach has grown longer, and he’s got the ear of some folks in court.” Feeney glared up at Mac. “Folks what move in higher circles than you can reach these days.”
“Any particular reason you’re looking to start a fight before you even hear what I wanted, Feeney?” Mac asked. His tone remained civil, but Gorm saw a vein at his temple begin to throb.
“I got no particular reason to bother with you, Macland,” Feeney almost spat.
“No, I guess you don’t,” Mac agreed. “Still, might be bad for business if word gets about that you refused to deal with a paying customer.” He slid a gold piece across the table. The grating of metal on wood rose over the low hum of conversation in the tavern. Feeney glanced from the gold to Mac, and then back again. He hesitated, and Gorm knew they had him.
“It’ll take more than…” he began, but Mac cut him off, sliding another gold piece across the rough tabletop. Feeney scowled, then snatched the two coins. They disappeared into his coat pocket, and Mac smiled.
“Now that we’re speaking the same language, I have a few questions.”
Feeney scowled, but there was little he could do. He had taken Mac’s gold. If word got about that he’d taken pay and had not provided fair value, his position would evaporate. They might be thieves and thugs, but there was a certain set of rules that had to be followed. “What is it you wanted to know?” he asked, one eyebrow raised in inquiry.
“Let’s start with that bit of accusation that you made a moment ago. We were well south, but it wouldn’t be particularly beneficial if folk thought we were somewhere else, mucking about with a certain way station. Where did you come by that particular bit of information?”
Feeney shrugged. “Call it an educated guess. I’m aware of your history with Thynne, as well as your particular hatred for Lord Gregory’s house and the lengths you’ve gone to in the past to stick it to the man.”
“So, no one supplied you with that particular rumor?”
Feeney shook his head.
“Good. Now, how’s the situation to the west?”
“West?” Feeney asked, eyes alight with curiosity. “Well, there’s trouble brewin’ for sure there. Süt’s throwing her weight around once more. Sent quite the force toward The Crown a few months back. Been harassing Praxxis something fierce, too.”
“Endramont’s a fool,” Gorm growled, referring to the lord of Praxxis.
“He is,” Mac agreed, “but Iron John’s not, and I’ll bet you a week’s wages that John’s the one holding things together there.”
“No wager,” Gorm smiled. Both men had experienced Iron John’s unique military capabilities. They had met while serving in John’s forces over a decade before, back when House Toth still existed, and Macland was nothing more than a second son who needed skills he could parlay into an income.
Feeney continued, “Not a good time to be traveling west by all accounts. Your business is yours, of course, but if you’re aiming to get beyond the Rings, my recommendation would be to go south. Hit Batis Bota and then Longacre, skirt the Jewels, and you’re there.”
“What about relief forces?” Mac asked, ignoring Feeney’s suggestion.
The informant shrugged. “I can’t claim to know Emperor Rorrick’s mind. Or what’s left of it.”
Mac shot him a curious glance, and an evil smile stretched across the man’s lips. “Word on the street is that the emperor’s malady has grown no less. Some claim he’s completely mad, and it’s his advisors pulling the strings now.”
Mac shrugged. “Rumors are cheap, Feeney. I pay gold for solid information. Now, if you’ve got evidence that the emperor’s lost his mind, that’s a different story.”
Feeney said nothing, only glared across his bushy mustache.
“I didn’t think so,” Mac said.
“And if Rorrick truly is mad?” Gorm asked. “That muddies the waters more than a little bit.”
Mac thought for a moment. “I don’t know that it does. What’s the difference between a mad emperor and a greedy but sane one to folks like us? If we were landed gentry, I could see it being a problem,” Mac smiled in self-deprecation. “Hell, even if we worked the Rings with the Faceless, I could see it. We keep ourselves to ourselves, find work where we can, and avoid Rorrick’s warships like we always have.”
“All I do is share what I’ve heard, Toth.” Feeney sounded annoyed.
“Of course you do.” He reached over and tapped the man between the eyes. “And you’re so very good at that.”
Feeny blinked, then glared.
Mac stood, tossing another coin onto the table. “My thanks. At least we know what we’re up against.” He turned to Gorm as they slowly moved away. “Given Feeney’s information, I think our best bet might be to ride the current south, then strike west and clear the Rings.”
Gorm looked thoughtful. “We could do that, true, but what if we went farther south? He’s not wrong about the route around the Rings, but if we sailed below Longacre, we could skirt Shaedōw and then the Jewels, coming up north again past the Fingers.”
Mac made a noncommittal sound, and as they edged out the door of The Gray Lady, he glanced back to where Feeney still sat. The little thief was already deep in conversation with another man, just as shabbily dressed.
“Want to tell me what the mummery was all about now? Or do you have a burning desire to visit Süt?”
Mac laughed and beckoned Gorm to follow. As they made their way back toward the Boar. “By now,” he said, fighting to contain his mirth, “every informant in Feeney’s considerable employ believes that we’re headed southwest toward Praxxis.”
“And why do we want them to think that?”
Mac tapped a finger to the side of his nose. “Because if they think that, then hopefully so will anyone else who plans to follow us. I’d rather not have any unwanted company on the trip north.”
“You’re worried about Thynne?”
Mac nodded. “I was even before we heard Feeney’s tale. I feel he was telling the truth about it being his suspicions. But I’m concerned about those folks who set the trap along the river. If that’s not Thynne, then we have an enemy hidden in the shadows that knows more about us than we know about them. They seemed to know right where we’d be, like we’d drawn them a map. Maybe this way we can lead them on a merry chase before they get back on our trail.”
He paused to dodge a street vendor hawking steamed dumplings. “We learned a thing or two. If Feeney’s information is even marginally on point, the empire might be in for a difficult time.”
“What do you mean?”
Mac frowned. “It’s never a good thing when a madman sits on the throne.”
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Love your dialogue!!
I second the dialogue comment!