Chapter 1: Going To Sithial
Ap Williams

 

Chapter 1









Dark clouds filled the late afternoon sky, giving the atmosphere an even grayer feel and casting the lands around the River Milliz into a semi darker state.
 They were gargantuan clouds, obscuring the sky with their fullness and sending the long shadows of the two huge beams that held the masks of the barge across the water.
The clouds had been building all day and now looked like great boulders, built into the heavens, ready to crack and pour their contents upon whatever laid below.
 They were thick clouds, ferocious and intimidating, filling the firmament as far as the eye could see. The very few breaks in the clouds added to the lightlessness.
They never really broke apart at all, but there were some spaces instead where the grayed sun tried to peak through unsuccessfully. Other than that the sky was nothing but black and gray.
The storm was definitely coming.
 The absence of the sun had caused the temperature to decline quite a bit.
For most of the North, the temperature was beginning to climb back up with the summer season finally starting.
But sometimes, on occasions such as this, with the warmth of the sun missing, the temperature plummeted back to the ground.
Usually, during this time of the year, rain was the only form of precipitation seen, but with no sunlight for heat, snow was very possible for this gale.
This would be the third major storm that the Warlock had crossed paths with, on his journey to Sithial from the Islands of Blood.
The first attack had come so suddenly, the clouds had creeped in so quickly, that the shippmen hadn�t had time to cover the cargo that sat in an open container on the deck of the ship.
Half was ruined, including one hundred gallons of oat-grain, a major commodity for the people of Sithial and seventy gallons of a special cloth making vegetable called cosai.
The First Captain of the barge, a round belly, long bearded man named Reel Dosseen had screamed at the eight shippmen for what seemed like ten hours, until he settled himself down with a beer or ten.
 A real drinker Reel was, and not but two hours later he was drunk and slapping the same shippmen�s back, a grin on his face.
The storm ravaged on all the while, flinging huge drops of water down into the River Milliz without stopping until dawn.
The second storm was a monster, but luckily, preparation had been set thanks to the good nose of a shippmen named Rashin Rass.
They had passed The Trek only miles earlier when this one had fell on them in the early morning.
The mist was still floating above the water and a crisp wind blew from the East when the order was given to prepare for what was coming.
It really was luck that further ruin of the cargo was avoided; the man had only been up by chance, emptying himself into the river, when he caught the thick scent of moisture building in the air.
If the goods hadn�t been covered or stored away and taken down stairs, the rainwater that came down quick but persistently would have destroyed what was left.
But the merchandise had been covered, keeping it safe.
 The storm was indeed a monster; thunder and lightning and wind filled the air and tossed the boat back and forth for the better part of the day.
Towards the end of the storm�s rampaging, the rain was replaced.
Instead, a mix of hail and snow filled the air, blanketing the boat and the river in a brilliant white sheet.
The air temperature dropped drastically when the storm had moved on, keeping the Warlock encased inside his small cot.
The shippmen worked diligently for the remainder of the afternoon, cleaning the snow from the deck of the boat to avoid it getting in between the cracks, freezing, and splitting the wood.
Closer to the shore, the river had frozen solid, so the First Captain decided to steer out into the middle of the water, where less shallow water lay.
The River Milliz was very wide; from where they made course, the shores on either side were barely visible in the distance.
That was two days ago, and now the weather had only gotten worse.
 There were small showers every night, full of thick snow.
 The river was beginning to turn white from ice.
 The temperature sometimes fell close to freezing, making the water harder to plow through and the air more frigid.
Usually, during this time of the year, not this much snow was expected.
The younger shippmen whispered worries about how the River Milliz might freeze up with them only twenty miles from Sithial, whilst the veteran shippmen only chuckled at their inexperience.
� �Tis ain�t the first time we seen this happen,� they would say.
But the Warlock did begin to worry.
He definitely wasn�t a shippmen, but that ice was getting closer to the sides of the ship, and their pace had slowed a bit.
 Every night the temperature dropped at least a little bit, and they were now traveling at half the speed they had once they left the Strait.
 �Only �bout ten miles left, if we�re lucky� one of the shippmen said when The Warlock asked how far they were from the city.
The Warlock smiled through the cold breeze that would have made him shiver otherwise.
Tonight, then, the Warlock thought as he went through a door that led into a hallway full of cabins.
 Obviously, money was scarce around Sithial because it only took six coins and some smooth words to the First Captain to get a ride on the ship.
Sure, the shippmen looked at him with suspicious eyes, tattoos filling his face, but it was worth it, not to have to make the journey on horseback.
 He turned the wooden doorknob and pushed open the door.
 The inside of his cot was very small indeed.
There was a tiny writing table, a wooden chair with a broken leg, and a bed made to hold one body.
 On the wall, above his bed, a glass window gave a view of the River Milliz; the ice had retreated some from the brief rise in temperatures that had occurred today.
 The third storm was about to break any minute.
 Just like the last storm, a heavy scent of moisture filled the air.
 The sun was mostly blocked out by the thick clouds, but a little light still crept through.
 There were only a few hours left in the day; Sithial would be reached by nightfall, during which the storm would be raging.
The Warlock removed his black cloak � still damp from the previous rains � and laid it across the back of the broken leg chair.
 His crow-feathered mattress was soft, but covered only with two thin blankets.
 It was hardly enough to keep the chill out, causing every night so far to be a restless one.
 Warmth was not on his mind at the moment though; the presence of his mission held too heavy a weight on his conciess.
 He sat on his bed and laid back without removing is thick leather boots, thinking, pondering�
It wasn�t soon after he had lain down when a knock came upon his door.
 Without waiting for an answer, the knocker stepped in.
It was one of the shippmen.
He was dark skinned and long nosed with a semi short beard that looked misplaced on his face for some reason.
The Warlock didn�t know this man�s name, but he had seen him on several occasions, most which involved one of the Captains yelling.
 He looked to be a man in his middle years; one or two gray hairs in his beard were evident against the rest of his deep black hair.
 He made no facial expressions of any kind as he entered the room uninvited and gave the Warlock a bleak stare that showed no feeling.
He didn�t close the door entirely but instead stood with a foot in the threshold as if he were ready to spring out with one seconds notice.
�Fish sends word that Red Plank will be arriving and docking in Haden�s Harbor in less that thirty sands.�
He didn�t wait for a reply or even a nod before swiftly ejecting himself from the Warlock�s presence.
Fish?
Thirty what?
 He had heard the shippmen refer to the Fist Captain Reel Dosseen as �Fish� a good many times but he didn�t know why.
 It made no sense really; Reel resembled nothing of a fish.
But he had no idea whatsoever as to what �sands� were.
 It was obviously some sort of way to tell time, but� sands?
 These Northerners were very strange people.
 The Warlock dismissed the thought and sat up from the bed.
Outside the window the projected storm was raging; already, the snow had stared to pile up on his windowsill outside.
 Lightning flashed as well, and he could hear the shippmen scrambling upon the deck accompanied by the First Captain�s - or Fish�s, if you like � loud bellowing.

 

 

Copyright © 2006 Ap Williams
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