The Wandering Inn

10.02 Y

The closer you got to the New Lands of Izril, the more you realized that the changes to the continent weren’t just in the nations arriving, the political turmoil, or even the land itself.

It was affecting all of Izril. The raising of so much landmass, nearly a fifth the size of the original continent, hadn’t just made a new zone to explore. The added geography was influencing everything from sea currents to plant life, and even the weather.

It had also ruined lives, or at least, sent entire cities into spirals of uncertainty. How, you may ask? Well, consider this: you were a happy, coastal city far south from the Hivelands minding your own business when, one day, the earth rumbles. The sea you’ve used for transport and food and your people’s income vanishes.

How…what were you supposed to do? If the one thing your home was known for vanished, how did you survive?

Ylawes Byres had been thinking about that a lot since his home was in the same predicament. And it seemed to him that you pivoted to whatever made money. You sold everything you could, dipped into all the savings you had for a rainy day—and hoped you’d earned the goodwill of friends and neighbors and made enough preparations—

Then you struggled. There was no other word for it. You struggled and ran ahead, as if someone had cast a [Blindness] spell on you, flailing until you found a new purchase, even if it hurt. That was the Byres way. Advance until you could find something to set yourself against, even if it was a mountain.

That was a family quote, actually. Ylawes had heard one of his great-aunts say it once. He’d thought it was very inspiring. It occurred to him, at the age of twenty-eight, that it might not have actually been meant as a good thing.

…He raised one hand, and his fingertips brushed something twirling out of the skies. Not snow; rather, a pale blue tuft of what looked like cotton or some such. He caught another and saw it was much like the seeds of some plant. Huge, puffy strands of fiber caught the wind and carried a single seed in an aerodynamic fashion; with the strong breeze behind it, such a strange seed could travel dozens of miles in an hour.

He did not know from how far they blew, but they filled the sky, and his heart leapt as the Yorrned Caravan slowed. People, mostly Human, who’d come all the way from past Invrisil craned their heads out of covered wagons—rounded canvas frames reinforced by metal sheltering goods and people within.

The caravaners, from the [Guards] to the adventurers to the new colonists, gazed upwards as a new kind of storm blew over them. Not a miserable snowstorm, but one of strange seeds from another land.

“We’re getting close, lad.”

A deep, gravelly voice made Ylawes turn. A Dwarf, beard and face covered with blue fuzz, brushed at the seedlings and sneezed.

“Dead gods, if this is poisonous, no one tell my kin how I died. Looks nice though, eh?”

He swatted at the seeds, and Ylawes realized they were mostly bouncing off his armor, but they were tangling on anything made of fabric. And Falene’s hair.

“Argh! Ylawes, they’re all over me! [Mana Barrier]!”

She actually cast a Tier 4 spell to protect herself, and a green outline sprang up around her, deflecting more flying tufts from catching in her hair. Ylawes almost smiled—until he heard Falene’s note of alarm.

“Is it poisonous? Is that what Dawil said? Don’t eat any, anyone! All stop! Merchant Yorrned, halt the caravan! No one touch or collect any of this stuff! Halt the caravan!”

Then she raised her staff, shot a bolt of fire upwards, and it exploded in the air, making all the [Guards] flinch and look around for trouble. Ylawes hesitated, and Dawil groaned.

“Pointy—you could have just ridden over and told him.”

A [Guard] shouted.

“Bandit attack! To the wagons!”

“No, signal that city! Bandit attack!”

A panicked man with purple travelling clothes—and gold, Merchant Yorrned liked gold—waved his arms, and several other wagons from neighboring caravans ground to a halt. Falene turned her horse towards him, and he tried to flee towards his personal wagon.

“Attack! Formations!”

Ylawes Byres covered his face. Half the [Guards] were staring around, some looking scared, others scanning the distance. A disparity of competencies on display, but the flare had alerted the other protectors.

Five Silver-rank adventurers came pouring out of a wagon, and an Antinium and Goblin poked their heads out of their shared wagon. The Goblin aimed a crossbow around sleepily.

“We under attack?”

“Fuzzy attack.”

Infinitypear held his spear at the ready as Ylawes sighed, then raised his voice to shout. He felt, not for the first time, that this job was not what he would have picked normally. Ylawes had chosen the most lucrative contract he could find. He’d missed out on the first rush, so he’d had to negotiate hard…but he hadn’t been planning on going to the New Lands like this.

House Byres’ sudden, desperate need for gold had forced this, and his one consolation was that all the gold was going back to his lands and people. His guilt was that he’d made Falene and Dawil come with him for no profit.

So many delays, and so much chaos. Rightly or wrongly…he sort of felt like the Horns of Hammerad should have been here. The Silver Swords were a veteran Gold-rank team. Then again, they had new members. He waved a hand at Infinitypear and Rasktooth, the two Bronze-rank adventurers in his team, and made a lowering hand-sign.

“Oh, he say it not that bad. Maybe not bad attack?”

Rasktooth relaxed, and Infinitypear nodded. They kept still—Vuliel Drae missed the hand-signs, and Insill, Dasha, Larr, Pekona, and Anith all charged towards Falene and their employer, weapons at the ready.

By the time they managed to clarify the issue, they’d lost forty-five minutes and the city they were approaching had sent out a patrol to investigate them.

So it went.

——

“It could have been poisonous. Proper protocol with adventurers dictates we look at any unknown fauna or flora as a threat, Merchant Yorrned. It is what you have employed us to do.”

Falene was still sulking after another fifteen minutes, and the [Merchant] was being polite—if insistent. That was his way.

He was a shorter man than Ylawes, five foot seven, with the kind of nervous energy that meant he would be through a market and have talked to everyone, somehow, in less than an hour. He had cultivated a thin beard, and he wore purple emblazoned with his name and group.

Yorrned’s Caravans. He’d made up a flag of all things, put the title on all the wagons—and gifted the Silver Swords each with a custom-made shirt for them to wear.

No one had worn them. The man was an [Ore Merchant], the principal employer of the Silver Swords. Not Level 30 as far as Ylawes knew; he and a consortium of fellow [Merchants] had contracted the Gold-rank team to escort them to the New Lands and guard them for two weeks, pending renewal of the contract.

Thus far, Ylawes had been on the road over a month, and he had travelled the great distance from House Byres to Invrisil, then to Pallass, then south, skirting the Hivelands along the trade roads, southwest past Manus, then westwards from there, following the roads to what had been Izril’s western coast.

They had finally reached one of the port-cities—again, a former Drake city on the waters. The New Lands? They’d be rolling into it within the hour.

Everyone was excited, so much so that Falene’s alarm hadn’t drawn that much ire from the other [Merchants], but Falene was the unhappy one.

“Adventurer Skystrall, I am, uh, perfectly aware of how seriously you take your job. My word, when we ran into that pack of hungry wolves, you sent them packing in a trice! And you have been very good with spells and whatnot, but if we stopped for every new thing, we’d never get anywhere inland! This blue stuff is just a bit sticky, but it’s marvelous, isn’t it?”

“It could be dangerous, Merchant Yorrned.”

“Really? Well, perhaps, but what would you have us do?”

Falene hesitated, and Ylawes took over, nodding from his saddle.

“Ordinarily, Master Yorrned, we’d collect specimens—carefully—and submit them to either an Adventurer’s Guild or a local expert we trusted. If we could do neither, we’d avoid or shield ourselves from contact.”

“From…seed tufts? I’ve seen the likes of this stuff all the time, Captain Ylawes! It’s blue, but that’s all.”

Yorrned was incredulous. Ylawes exchanged a look with Falene.

“It is good adventurer practice, Master Yorrned.”

“Ah, but, um, consider this, Captain Ylawes. I grant you that might be wise, but I’m a [Merchant]. And I notice that the port-city of Goisedall—former port-city—isn’t raising the alarm over these things. You have to follow trends, and if the people are fine with this stuff, so are we.”

The merchant gave Ylawes a very reasonable answer as he pointed at some Drakes riding towards them. Ylawes craned his head towards the city ahead of them and thought it looked odd. Of course, he noted the harbor, crumbling away, revealing a huge basin where the sea had been and even several ships listed on their sides.

Are those…those aren’t roofs I see on the walls. What’s going on?

He saw a lot of odd spires jutting from the city, and he was interested if they had a chance to stop to see what they were. In response to Yorrned’s statement, Ylawes smiled.

“I’m sure that would work, Master Yorrned.”

“Unless it’s Humans who are allergic to the seedlings. Or they have some long-lasting effect like slow poison. Or are infested with parasites.”

Falene’s sour comment made the [Merchant] visibly uneasy. Yorrned hesitated, then rode ahead.

“I don’t think that’s an issue. We can inquire at the latest city, but let’s make contact first. Captain Ylawes? It would be splendid if you could, ah, announce me?”

Ylawes had been anticipating that. He sighed under his breath and called out as Yorrned spurred his horse ahead.

“In a moment, Master Yorrned!”

“He’s not listening, Ylawes.”

“He’s got a point that it was overkill, Falene. Inquire at the city—later, would you?”

She did seem happier that he asked her to do that and nodded. Then both adventurers sighed and pursued the [Merchant].

That was the Silver Swords. Ylawes waved at Dawil, who was lecturing Anith about noting hand-signs, and the Dwarf waved and moved his pony over. The chastened Vuliel Drae held back as the three Gold-rank adventurers moved forwards. Yorrned was beaming, as he always was, and the other [Merchants] were hanging back a bit as they waited for the Drakes.

City Watch patrol. Or their army? They seemed casual, if not overly friendly, and Ylawes saw Yorrned watching him.

“Don’t put on a show for him, Falene. Let’s not annoy our guests.”

“He asked me to write his name in the air. Fat chance. Where’re our passports?”

“Got them here.”

Dawil proffered them to Ylawes, and the [Knight] took them gratefully. He squared his shoulders and decided he was earning his pay.

That was—gold in not-inconsiderable sums to do basic guard duty for a caravan. Dicey in theory. In practice, it had been a boring month. It might get interesting soon, but thus far, the Silver Swords felt more like expensive salad dressing Yorrned used to make himself look good to every city and group they met.

We’re earning the gold for House Byres.

It didn’t make the sting to his pride go away. And it was strange because Ylawes had thought his pride wouldn’t sting. But something about having to stevedore for Yorrned wasn’t pleasant. Having this be his first look of the New Lands slightly tainted the occasion—and yet Ylawes craned his neck up and stared at that storm of blue now drifting downwards and coating the coast.

Some landed in the snow, blowing around a bit, and Ylawes saw more Drakes advancing past the city of…he’d already forgotten the name. They were on foot and had baskets?

The patrol leader waved a claw the moment they got in earshot. Ylawes advanced with a stiff smile as Yorrned waited for a lightshow he didn’t get.

“Morning.”

The [Patrol Leader] looked tired. Drakes could develop a version of dark circles under their eyes, and this fellow seemed ready to fall asleep any moment.

“Good morning, sir. We’re the Silver Swords, representing Merchant Yorrned and the Consortium of Enterprise headed to the New Lands of Izril.”

By now, the refrain was second-nature to Ylawes. Consortium of Enterprise sounded like a lot for six [Merchants] who’d pooled their resources together for this caravan. It certainly had cost thousands of gold pieces. Ylawes continued, proffering a sheaf of stamped documents with wax seals.

“We have our passports and papers. From Pallass.”

They’d had trouble before with other Drake cities, some of whom had told the caravans they had to wait outside rather than stay overnight. This city? The patrol leader barely glanced at the papers before waving a claw.

“Silver Swords? Silver-rank team? I’m [Patrol Leader] Dulc. You’ve come to Goisedall. I don’t need to see papers. We’ve had thousands of you lot passing through. They just sent me out to check what that spell was. Also, if you’re staying in the city, we have fees for that many wagons entering.”

Ylawes found the Drake rather agreeable, even if he was brusque. The other Drakes were peering at Ylawes and Dawil, and the Silver Swords tried not to look offended.

“Gold-rank team, actually. We were alarmed by the blue—seeds—and called for a halt. Dramatically. I apologize.”

“Gold? Not bad.”

The Drake’s brows went up at this. No point in asking if he’d ever heard of them. He jerked a thumb-claw over his shoulder.

“Well, that’s sorted. Want to enter the city? We’re riding back.”

“Er—let me consult with our employers. Would you wait a second?”

“Sure. Also, if you don’t mind, we’ll be collecting the fimie-seeds. Feel free to pick up whatever you want. It’s not like there’s a scarcity.”

The Drake waved his claw at the blue tufts, and Ylawes blinked at him. Then Ylawes saw the Drakes on foot were using long poles with nets, meshes of string, that they swung over the ground, picking up most ‘fimie-seeds’ in a single motion. They’d dump the seeds into a basket someone else carried, usually a younger Drake. Then Ylawes’ mind identified what was jutting out of the city and even hanging off the walls.

Nets. They’re catching the stuff in fishing nets.

——

Merchant Yorrned tried to chat up Patrol Leader Dulc, but when he realized the Drake wasn’t in charge, he hurried towards the city itself. He wanted intelligence on the caravans who’d gone ahead, any profitable spots in the New Lands, and of course, to buy whatever they had, stock up, and maybe offload some cargo.

The Drake, Dulc, and Ylawes watched him go as they chatted, moving at a more sedate trot. Dulc didn’t mind the enterprising [Merchants] seeking a profit.

“He’s welcome to it. Ancestors know we need most of everything these days.”

“Yorrned’s got steel.”

That made Dulc actually brighten up a bit.

“Really? We need steel. Pallassian steel?”

“Er—his own.”

They had laughed him out of Pallass’ markets when he tried to offload his ore. Nevertheless, he’d sold a lot of ingots he’d ported south and proven he did have the right to his class. Dulc rubbed at his neck-spines.

“We might buy all we can get. Not much chance for trade overland these days; everything’s got to go south, so steel…other metals?”

“Bronze. Tin. Iron…not much magical.”

Dulc nodded.

“We can’t buy anything magical anyways. City’s gone to seed. Literally. If your fellow passes back north, I hope he’ll buy as much fimie-cloth as he can. Or else we’ll all starve.”

He laughed too hard at that. Ylawes didn’t and glanced at the city ahead. Especially the port.

“If you don’t mind me asking—”

“Oh, no, go ahead. We’ve heard it all, now. How’s it feel to be landlocked? What was it like? If you have any good jokes, tell them before you get to the old harbor district. Anyone who had a fishing-type class will throw a punch.”

Dawil rumbled as he stroked his beard, extracting more of the blue seeds.

“Seems like a poor joke to tell. You’ve had it rough, eh, lads?”

The Drakes glanced at him, but didn’t take offense to the term as they might if Ylawes said it. There was something personable about Dawil that Ylawes had long known to trust, so Dulc and several Drakes opened up, not that they had been unwilling to talk.

“You know, before we realized it was permanent, it was actually sort of hopeful. When the waters began spilling everywhere, of course it was chaos, and we thought it was some kind of attack—then we noticed all the fish.”

“Oh.”

“Thousands of ‘em. Everyone in the city was rushing out. Rare fish, even giant ones. A whale was beached south of here. Huge. We were in a rush to preserve as much as we could—then we realized the waters were gone.”

Dulc gestured at the harbor, and Ylawes saw, as the caravans moved past the city—they wouldn’t stay overnight—that the ships lying on their sides had been arranged oddly.

“Look at that.”

The ships had been carved up, and smoke was exiting some of them. They’d been remodeled, Ylawes realized, into buildings.

“You used your ships as buildings?”

“We had to. There’s no way we could haul them to a sea. That big one’s our warship, A Hunting. Well, now she’s our watchtower. We just angled her hull, and she’s got attack spells—but there goes our fishing. At least we have our catches, but it’ll be planting, the Council says, unless there’s a lot of wildlife from the New Lands. And fimie-cloth. That’s what we’re working on.”

Dawil waved one of the blue tufts.

“Is that what you call this? Who named it?”

The Drake scratched at his neck, yawning.

“Someone. It caught on—it’s light, and we got the first shower, oh, two weeks back. Something out there decided it’s already spring. All the nets and such are to harvest it.”

“To make cloth?”

“It’s not impossible. And it’s blue. The Council reckons it’ll sell, and what else are we supposed to do? The only other thing might be trade overland; all you lot heading for the ‘New Lands’ have been making a decent profit. Though the Watch had to investigate each caravan until we just gave up.”

Ylawes nodded, and Dawil muttered his condolences. They traded a look. An entire city’s industry ruined. That they’d pivoted so quickly to trying to make…fimie-cloth proved how resourceful these Drakes were.

Or how desperate. No wonder Dulc looked so exhausted.

“It must have been one hell of these last few months, Leader Dulc.”

The Drake gave Ylawes a smile that didn’t even have the energy for bitterness.

“Well. At least we’re alive. The way I hear it, the Gnolls could have snapped one of the