CHAPTER 4 #3
As we waited, men carried crate after crate of supplies from the fleet. Women led horses and stacked large baskets along the docks. Others tied up sails, washed down decks, pointed, yelled, and in general played a part in an elaborate nautical dance that was entirely foreign to me.
“Are there fewer ships?” Gerta asked.
I turned to check, but a large figure blocked my view.
“This way,” our gruff-voiced guard interrupted, motioning us forward. His brother, close behind, loaded our traveling trunks onto a cart. We walked from the docks through a small town of predominantly stone buildings. The smell of fish assaulted me from all sides.
“How can it stink worse than when we were at sea?” Gerta hissed through the cloth she held over her nose and mouth.
I wrinkled my nose and laughed.
Aside from favoring stone structures over wood, this could have been any Inraen port. The biggest difference was the height of the trees. They loomed over our heads, so high I had to crane my neck to see the tops. And everything was darker—the soil, the leaves, even the water.
Our destination was a small inn that had clearly seen better days. The stairs were slick with seawater, and white salt stains marbled the floors. But the fire in the room was warm, and the food was palatable. As a bonus, the large bed Gerta and I shared was dry and blissfully plush.
The next day, we were up on horseback again.
“When will we not be in transit?” I moaned.
Light danced in Gerta’s eyes as she leaned over to whisper, “Perhaps they are nomads.”
The thought made my stomach drop. I caught Dane Auldren’s attention. “Sire, what’s our destination?”
“Home, Daughter. Soon enough, we ride to Drakh. We have a stop to make first.”
So, their home wasn’t a port city after all. I tucked this detail away, along with the others piling up in my mind. I’d have to find a way to send my first missive home soon.
As we rode inland, I found myself replaying my geography lessons on Rihtlond’s uninhabitable terrain. I had been no more than twelve, sitting in our lesson room back home...
“Why do we even need to learn geography?” Merria had complained, twirling a curl around her finger. Even then, her hair hung in long honey curls.
“Because you need to have something floating around in your head.”
“Bale…” Our mother’s tone held a warning.
I peeked over my book to watch the exchange. Merria and I were meant to be reading from our geography primers under Mother’s supervision. Shortly before winter, our governess always returned to her family home to help with preparations for the cold months. She would return to us after the thaw.
Merria stuck out her tongue at Bale. “Why are you even here? Shouldn’t you be off playing swords or whatever?”
“Why would I waste time training when my life’s ambition is to make a fortune selling the sawdust from your ears?
” He leaned back in his chair, lacing his hands behind his head, elbows wide.
He didn’t seem to care that his shirt rode up, exposing his sides to the cold. Mother gave him a pointed look.
“I’ll show you sawdust!”
Thunk!
Merria’s primer soared wide of Bale’s head and crashed into a bookshelf.
“That’s enough!” Mother roared. “Bale, if you want to stay, you’ll sit correctly in your chair, fix your clothing, and partake in the lesson.”
He grinned and let his chair fall forward.
“And Merria,” she continued, “understanding the world is crucial for every woman, especially if you are one day matched to a foreign lord. Do you think a prince from Grathan or Volaach would accept a bride with no understanding of his lands?”
Merria sat up straight. I suspected the word prince was her biggest motivator.
“Now, we begin with Rihtlond—”
“Ech! I wouldn’t marry a prince from there!”
“—our closest and most challenging neighbor. Bale, share what you’ve learned from your schooling, and let us pray our money was at least not wasted on your education.”
Bale rolled his eyes. “If you want a verbatim account of what the great Professor Vernard said”—he puffed up his chest and continued in a pompous, nasal tone—“Rihtlond, as you all should know, is located to our immediate northeast across the White Sea. It is mostly rocks with sparse greenery. The land is full of snow and ice for half the year or more. The rivers come from glaciers and are frigid. The soil is mostly bedrock and difficult to till. Crops are small and sparse, spurring the Rihtlonders to raid their neighbors for want of food. You will learn more on this when we cover our long history of wars with Rihtlond, but for now, suffice it to say, they are a people as hard, cold, and fruitless as their lands.”
Merria and I had laughed at his impression.
Now, standing on Rihtlondish soil myself, I saw nothing of bedrock or sparsity. The wind, once we made it more inland, was light, cool, and refreshing. The soil was dark and rich, and plants and greenery surrounded us.
At midday, it began to drizzle, so we stopped for a short reprieve.
Our escorts were the same two maybe-brothers the dane had assigned to guard us since Cavendaffe.
While we took refuge from the rain under a large oak, one of them plucked a fruit I didn’t recognize from a tree beside the road.
He tossed several to Gerta and me before picking more for himself and his companion, our gravelly guard.
The fruit was juicy, succulent, and both sweet and tangy.
Judging by how Gerta inhaled them and begged for more, eliciting buoyant laughs from the guards, she enjoyed them as much as I did.
We rode on for the better part of the day.
The landscape remained lush, green, and beautiful in a new and wild way.
By evening, just when I thought we would be riding through darkness, we came upon a cluster of buildings offering warm beds.
We ate, slept, and were riding by morning with little spoken in between.
Whatever business the dane had in the small town, he didn’t reveal it to me.
I spent most of the next day trying—and failing—not to fixate on my aching back and legs.
Every time I broke down and asked the dane how much farther, he would just laugh and say things like “soon” or “you’ll see.
” I scowled in response, which only made him laugh harder.
Just as I’d built up the courage to confront him for keeping me in the dark, we crested a large hilltop.
My breath caught. The land sprawled out before us, a valley of rolling green hills, acres upon acres of crops, and an expansive city nestled at its center.
The city’s walls were vast and high, but I could still make out a large mound, atop which stood a formidable castle.
Trees dotted the landscape, as did patches of thick forest. Cavendaffe was a prosperous land, but nothing about it compared to the depth and variety of greens covering this valley. I could only stare in wonder.
“Welcome to Drakh, the high seat of the Riht.” Dane Auldren winked and pointed a thick finger toward the south entrance of the city, where what I could only describe as a dragon’s skull emerged from the walls. “This is our path. You may be the first Inraen to see it who lives to tell the tale.”
I swallowed hard. I must never forget that I was an outsider here, a lone foreigner thrust into the heart of my enemy.