Wellspring of Chaos

XLV

Another day passed before the Seastag sailed into the Great North Bay of Lydiar, barely past dawn. The bay was far larger than the harbor at Nylan or at Brysta. That was clear from the moment the Seastag passed through the straits formed by the two peninsulas of dark rock separated by more than thirty kays of water. Kharl had to take the second’s word that the second peninsula was there, some twenty kays north. Once past the straits, there was no other sign of land, just gray water sparkling in the sunlight.

It took most of the day before the Seastag neared the city of Lydiar, on the southwestern end of the bay. Only then, in late afternoon and perhaps five kays offshore, did Hagen order the sails furled and the engine fired up. A pilot boat appeared as the ship neared the outermost pier, off-loading a pilot who climbed aboard and up to the poop without a word to anyone.

As the pilot directed the Seastag toward one of the longer and sturdier piers near the northern edge of the hodgepodge of wharfs and piers, Kharl stood with the deck crew on the main deck. He watched, because the only thing Bemyr ever used him for was on the capstan or the winch. That was doubtless wise, because Kharl didn’t know that much about other deck duties.

“Ten to port!” ordered the pilot, his voice carrying with the wind to the main deck.

The thwupping of the paddle wheels slowed as the ship neared the northernmost pier.

Most of the city was set on a low plateau above the bay, but there were buildings and dwellings on the slope that led down to the water. Lydiar had clearly grown haphazardly over the years, because Kharl couldn’t make out a single straight street of any length, and the roofs and walls were of all of different colors, but worn and muted, and all beginning to gray.

“See that pile of grayish white rock on the middle of the hillside there, straight back? Right overlooking the harbor?” asked Bemyr.

“It looks like it was once something,” Kharl replied.

“Aye. It was. Used to be the stronghold of the Duke of Lydiar, more ’n eight hundred years back. Maybe longer. Say that the mage Creslin-supposedly founded Recluce-he destroyed it in an afternoon with lightnings from the sky.”

Did the mages from Recluce like afternoons? Or was that just the way the stories came down? “They never rebuilt it?”

“Nope. Wondered that myself. Maybe ’cause it was built by wizards and destroyed by other wizards. Wizards, they’re the wellspring of chaos.”

“There hasn’t been anything like that lately, has there?”

“Not since the fall of Fairven, leastwise.” The bosun stepped away, moving toward the first mate, who had beckoned to Bemyr.

Kharl looked back at the harbor. There appeared to be more piers at Lydiar than at Nylan, but that might have been because, compared to the spareness and order of the harbor at Nylan, Lydiar was haphazard and disorganized, with piers of all sizes and shapes jutting out from land in no recognizable order, neither by length, nor width, nor depth of water. All the piers were of grayed timber, but some were of heavy construction, with massive circular posts and bollards, and others looked so spindly that they could well fall to the next storm. Next to the spindly piers were smaller vessels, skiffs, fishing craft, and some that Kharl could not identify. The larger piers held oceangoing vessels and coasters, several of them sloop-rigged and without stacks.

The Seastag slowed to little more than headway as it turned starboard into the second large pier, one for oceangoing vessels that held but one other vessel, on the far side.

Shortly, lines went out.

“Crew one! Take the forward line,” ordered Bemyr. “Crew two…you got the stern line.”

Once the lines were around the bollards, the paddle wheels slowed to a halt. Kharl was the last man in the first crew as they reeled in the line, walking the ship into the pier and snug against the fenders.

“Double up, and make those lines tight!” ordered Furwyl from the front of the poop deck.

The shrillness of the bosun’s whistle cut through the low voices of the deckhands.

“Deck crew to the foremast!” called Bemyr.

Kharl followed the others, standing at the rear of the group.

“No unloading tonight. We got in too late, and their crews are already off,” Bemyr added. “No shore leave until tomorrow. Not until we’ve off-loaded. We’ll start early.”

A series of groans swept across the deck crew.

“No duties tonight, except sentries on the lines and gangway,” Bemyr added.

Kharl waited as most of the others in the deck gang slipped away.

“Didn’t bother you, did it?” asked Reisl. “Why not?”

“I don’t have anyone to see, and little coin to spend.” That was true enough, although Kharl also had little desire, not after Charee’s death.

“And you’re not interested in women?”

“Not in those likely to be interested in me right now,” Kharl replied wryly.

Reisl laughed. “Tell you’ve been around.”

Not as much as he should have been, Kharl reflected.