The Ake’ma River split, and then it split again, and a hundred times more, until, like a shallow lake, it ran though the streets of Maykren and out into Trader’s Bay. Fifty docks were built on the north side of the city, and fifty more on the south side. Ul’ma’s barge seemed like it might crash into one, until four members of the crew jumped overboard—to Vaenuth’s surprise—and easily used its momentum to run it alongside a dock. They deftly looped ropes around the mooring posts and the craft came to a lurching stop.
“Welcome to Maykren,” Ul’ma declared. He seemed particularly eager to have Vaenuth and her friends off his barge.
Arloe stepped onto the dock first, his hand resting on his sword. Krebin followed suit, clambering down the wooden plank with no hesitation. Then Vaenuth stepped up from the ship’s deck. She had donned her blue vest again, and her jewelry—some days the breezy outfit felt more scanty than others. She wore it with confidence, for her tattoos and scars were a warning to everyone around her. She strode down the board and onto the first boardwalk she’d march in Maykren. There were many to follow.
Tagg followed her down. “Where’s the best place to stay?”
“Banno said the Forger’s Bay was a good place, but its near the harbour,” Pressip said. “Should be easy to find, nonetheless.”
Vaenuth nodded. “Banno would know best. He grew up here.”
A handful of beggars rested against the wall of a nearby building. The riverfront of Maykren didn’t have a wall, just an assortment of adjacent warehouses and trader’s guilds. Half a mile west of them, Vaenuth could see a large river boat under construction, even larger than Ul’ma’s barge. Members of the Emperor’s Order stood on guard duty every twenty paces, while others patrolled. Every man and woman had customized armour, but no one in all Gethra wore armour of the same metal and quality. Though none wore more than two or three pieces of iron, their assorted light armours were etched with fine details, but bore the angle of a master’s hammer. The soldier’s disorganization was their organization.
“Let’s head that way,” Vaenuth decided, after taking it all in.
No sooner had they left the barge behind, than a voice called, “Mistress Vaenuth, Miss Vaenuth!” A small man was approaching through the crowd nearby with one arm raised. He had a large wooden box over his shoulder, held to his back by a leather belt.
“Friend of yours?” Pressip asked.
“Never seen him before,” Vaenuth said. The fellow had a small braid holding his hair back. The muscles of his legs indicated he was a messenger, not his own master. “What is it?”
The stranger found himself held back from her by both Tagg and Krebin. The latter’s machete, with its red-painted bone hilt, was drawn an inch from its black leather scabbard. The newcomer paused, and bobbed his head warily. “I bear a gift for you from a friend. To aid you on your mission.”
“What friend?” Vaenuth asked.
The man shrugged. “May I present it to you?”
“Here,” Tagg said, pointing at the ground. “No closer.”
The man bobbed again, and slung his burden down to the ground with a thud. He opened the box with ease, revealing a weapon inside. It was a short sword, made out of iron. The blade shone with fresh silver polish, and the hilt, resembling a serpent’s mouth, was carved out of wood but supported with more iron. “It’s a weapon for you,” he said. “Wield it as you wish. That is the message I was to give you.”
“Who is it from?” Vaenuth asked. Could be Kivrad, could be Ovoe… could be someone else.
“Alas,” the man confessed, averting his eyes. “I was given the gift by another, not your benefactor. I am not privy to this knowledge.”
Vaenuth pursed her lips. It was a fine blade. It would be a mistake to let the treasure go, but it could be a trap of some sort also. “Tagg, you may wield this blade in my stead,” she decided. “It’s yours.”
Tagg blinked. “Are you certain? That’s the finest sword I’ll ever have wielded…”
“Take it,” Vaenuth said. The messenger smiled, openly, and bowed again, as Tagg took the blade. Its sheath rested behind it in the box. Tagg unbuckled his belt, nearly losing his pants, and fastened his new weapon to his hip.
“Thank you,” he said to Vaenuth, and then to the gift’s bringer. “It will serve us well.”
“Good day to you,” the man said, and backed away into the crowd. He turned and strode briskly away.
“Should we go after him?” Arloe asked. The tall man had a thick black beard; his mouth was usually invisible. “Find out what he knows?”
Vaenuth shook her head. “Could just be the vultures in Rema, circling for whatever boons we might reward them with our good standing. Or it could be a genuine supporter of my cause… We’ll sort it out when the need arises. Let’s head to the inn.”
She was surprised to meet more people who shared her skin tone. She remembered Maykren vaguely from years earlier, but had not returned since her first arrival in Numa’nakres. She had not even met Banno here, but in the caravan she now owned. She passed men and women who looked like her for the first time in months, not that it had ever mattered much to her. She had to correct the thought—no one had as many body modifications as she did.
That evening, Vaenuth decided to find some release. Tagg and the others excused themselves from the tavern to find their own ‘entertainment’, though Vaenuth knew they were only being polite. Most likely, they’d end up in a brothel, but they were polite enough not to tell her anything about it. For the first time in three years, Vaenuth had to try twice to find a man for the evening. Most of the people in the north were delighted to have fun with an exotic foreigner, but in multicultural Maykren, Vaenuth was just a heavily tattooed woman with a dangerous look in her eye.
The man she eventually did meet was scruffy but not bearded. He had olive skin and a permanent grin of mirth on his face. She was surprised by how muscular he was, and, later, by his skills in private. She had not had as much fun as she did that night in a year, she was sure. But she did not find what she was looking for, and left him immediately after he was done.
The next day, they would set sail for Sheld, aboard a ship that had been notified of their impending arrival. It was not one of the leisurely coupled barges, enormous cities that drifted across the seas. They would be sailing aboard a caravel, with haste. Vaenuth had only one focus after that night. Revenge.