Eternal Beasts

Seaport

Jared pulled his cloak closer about his shoulders against the damp that seeped in off the water to worm its way through his clothing. To his left the harbor, with its great stone seawall on its north edge to give the boats at anchor shelter. The seaside portion of the bank too had been capped and reinforced with more stone, which, in turn, supported the giant stone quays that stretched out into the harbor space to act as bases for dozens of wooden docks, many of them occupied by a variety of ships ranging from broad beamed fishing boats, cogs, caravels, and carracks for long cargo hauls.

He was passing by one of those carracks, moored directly to heavy stone columns right on the shore, when he was hailed.

"Stranger! You look strong. A bag of United Western silver shillings if you give us a hand with this cargo!" a man shouted in westerling from the deck as three other men struggled to work a hand crane to lower a cargo net filled with massive wooden crates.

An hour later Jared lightly tossed the heavy bag of money in his hand before letting it drop into his pouch. As he had hoped, a little manual labor on the docks and he had money enough to purchase some supplies. Of course, he could've had the entire cargo unloaded in fifteen minutes by himself, if he wanted to use his rider strength. But, even this far west, the big rider had little doubt spies lurked in the city looking for things out of place that they could report to their dark masters in far Tammen Gall.

He took a breath of the bracing salt air. Then he turned to his right and made his way quickly into town. The sooner he got supplies, the sooner he could leave and find that portal stone Sioned had told him about.

Several minutes of brisk walking and he was in the city's well-defined and busy market. Fishmongers vied with bakers in declaring how fresh their goods were, even as green grocers pulled out winter withered local vegetables and fruits along with more exotic fare from off the continent. He could see leatherworkers at their benches in one shop, metalsmiths in another, and blacksmiths and farriers in yet another, the air filled with hawkers announcing deals, sales, and prices, along with the sound of those tradesmen and women at hard work with hammers, shears and punches.

It was reflex, but a sensation close to his pouch made him clutch what was empty air a heartbeat before. And now, it was a pickpocket's forearm.

Pulling the lean fellow around, Jared lifted him into the air with a surge of strength, making the man gasp at the sharp pain that caused..

"Either we go find a constable. Or you hand over whatever you've pinched this morning," the big man rumbled into the man's face.

"It's on my belt," the man rasped, his reddening face a mask of pain at being dangled by his arm nearly a foot off the ground. Seeing the stolen money pouches, Jared reached in with his other hand and quickly retrieved them. Then he dropped the man and gave him a kick.

"Now fuck off before I change my mind," he growled and the man darted into the crowd without a backward look.

Jared managed to catch three more pickpockets before he reached the baker, his first target. Kicking the final one of the three, a ragged looking woman, as well, he sent her on her way before he turned to the uncertain crowd which, by this point, had slowed to watch him pluck the thieves out from the throng with uncanny skill and speed.

"Okay, who owns the blue pouch with the golden serpent stitched into it?" he asked in a loud voice. "And before you answer, I'll know if you're lying."

"You act with a great deal of honor, friend," the baker, a bluff fellow with skin the color of oiled leather and eyes a shade of obsidian, as he watched Jared hand the purses back to their owners, many thanking him profusely for retrieving them.