The Dolphin raced north by northwest, heeling over on a close haul against a southbound autumn squall. The rain bit through the oil-soaked canvas cloak, and Tal found his tunic clinging to his skin, but he could not take another minute in the close quarters assigned to him and Amafi. Sailors huddled miserably in the lee of whatever shelter they could manage, waiting for the call to trim sails, as the ship was about to swing to a westerly tack.
The call came, and Tal watched in fascination as barefoot seamen scrambled aloft or hauled on sheets to move booms and yards. The ship came around with a shudder and a groan of wood, then settled into another rhythm as the sails took what they could from the wind and the rolling waves struck the hull from another angle.
The sky was a canvas of roiling clouds, all black and grey, and Tal wished he could fix the image in his mind, for to paint the subtle differences would be an achievement. All his life he would have said that during a storm the sky was a uniform grey, but now he realized that at sea the rules were different.
Then he saw the light.
To the west, a shaft of light broke the gloom as a single ray of sunlight cut through, and at that moment, he felt the rain lessen. Within minutes the sky began to clear, with patches of blue appearing in the west. A sailor nearby said, “We’re through the squall, Squire,” and started to gather up rope off the deck.
“That was something,” said Tal.
“Not really. You ought to try tacking through a big blow, say a week or more in the teeth of a gale. Or a day and night running from a hurricane. Now, that’s something to remember.”
With a grin, Tal said, “I think I’ll find another way to amuse myself.”
Scrambling up the ratlines, the sailor said, “Suit yourself, Squire.”
As the storm abated, the breeze turned warmer, or at least with the absence of rain it felt that way to Tal. The ship seemed to ram through the water, a low, rolling motion that reminded Tal of a cantering horse, up and down. The rhythm gave him the illusion of riding into sight of Opardum’s towers.
While Rillanon was the most spectacular city he had ever seen from the deck of a ship, Opardum was impressive.
He caught a glimpse of it as the weather broke and the lookout aloft cried, “Land ho!”
The ship heeled over, and they were suddenly on a southwestern tack, reaching straight for the city with a following wind. Directly ahead Tal saw a brilliant sundrenched morning revealed as the clouds above blew away, like so many curtains being pulled aside.
Tal knew the geography of this region from the maps he had studied, but those lines of ink on parchment did little to prepare him for the sight that lay ahead. He knew that the southeastern corner of Olasko was a network of islands and waterways, with only one habitation of any size, the port city of Inaska. Hundreds of villages dotted the thousand or more islands, which rested in what was in reality the mouth of the Anatak River. The rest of the islands were lush plantations of fruits, cotton, and flax, intercut by glades full of exotic trees and animals, and a few hills high enough to encourage dryland faming. But on the north shore of the river, above a small but thriving harbor, rested Opardum.
The city seemed to be carved out of the face of the mountain, which was an illusion, Tal knew, as they raced toward the harbor. But from the sea, it looked as if a jumble of spirals and towers had sprouted out of the rock face of a mountain thousands of feet in the air.
Tal knew from his reading that the mountains were really a massive cliff, and at the top a relatively flat grassland ran downhill for a dozen miles to the west. There a series of fault lines cut canyons and crevasses across the entire region, making use of that land impossible to anything that couldn’t fly to reach it. Beyond that jumbled landscape lay vast grasslands and woodlands, still wild for the most part, until the city of Olasko Gateway was reached.
The ship’s captain called out orders, and sailors scrambled aloft to reef sails. Amafi came up on deck. “Magnificence, I brought you a dry coat.”
Tal slipped off the soaked oil-treated canvas covering he wore, and thankfully took the dry coat. Amafi asked, “This, then, is our new home?”
“Yes,” said Tal, “and you must learn to speak the local tongue.”
The language of the region was similar to Roldemish, as settlers from that island had founded the various nations that comprised the Eastern Kingdom. The exception was the Duchy of Maladon and Simrick, which had been settled by men from the Kingdom city of Ran. They spoke both the King’s Tongue and a local dialect of Roldemish.
Tal said, “It’s Roldemish to all intents and purposes, but it has local idioms and some different words. You’ll learn quickly, understood?”
“Yes, Magnificence,” said Amafi.
As they began the final tack into the harbor, the ship slowed as the captain turned into the wind. Drawing closer to the city, they could see details begin to emerge in the bright light of day.
“The calm after the storm, as they say,” said Lady Natalia from behind them.
Tal turned and grinned. “I believe the expression is the calm before the storm, m’lady.”