Although the last magician on the continent of Agoling was burned by the Inquisition eight hundred years ago, its inhabitants still encounter manifestations of supernatural powers from time to time.
For Deirdre Drien, the daughter of Baron Drien, th...
The journey was not going well. Th'Velir Merbetir could see this clearly as soon as his Larimar left the dock. So far, the dwarf had never met such a stubborn mule as this particular baron. The red-haired passenger almost immediately tried to establish his own order on the ship, and if Velir needed the help of one of his men, he had to first turn to Sheikhard, and only then, with his approval and the mustachioed freeloader's almost regal wave, the request was passed on. Velir quickly moved from being a respected "Phuardt " to "that dwarf", although, admittedly, the baron still managed to walk a strikingly fine line between 'this money is not worth it' and 'it can still be tolerated'.
On the other hand, Velir understood that he was lying to himself to some extent. For the sake of the promised gold, he was ready to endure much worse treatment. After his expulsion from the Stone Halls of Gahard'eh and his short but very eventful life among the people of Eldra, he could not bring himself to believe that he would be paid the full amount promised. But even half of it, already received and hidden on the shore, would be enough to turn the miserable parody of an existence he was leading into a convincing semblance of a normal life. So he endured. He snapped, of course, and made jokes about the moustached man, but both he and the red-haired baron understood that he was not serious.
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Despite all their efforts, they approached the Snake's Neck at the moment when the sun's disc was already beginning to sink into the water surface. The red, deadly cold rays were flooding the bodies of two steep towering rocks that formed a distorted, open arch over the channel, and gave the water outside the aak a strange shade of old, baked blood.
Velir noticed how depressing this was for his companions. At least three of them kept touching their protective amulets, silently moving their lips. One of them prayed to the twin gods to the out loud, standing at the stern in a traditional ritual pose with two raised arms, palms facing upwards, towards the indifferent dark sky.
"Show me the way... Don't leave me alone..." the muffled words of the wind-torn phrases reached the dwarf.
The wind was getting stronger, making men start to worry for real. The mast was creaking hard, the sail was threatening to come off the tackle, but it was absolutely impossible to remove it now. With every passing moment, the Neck was becoming an increasingly dangerous place, and it was truly better to be left without sails at all than to be stuck here until it was completely dark.
Velir glanced at the two rocks that had come dangerously close to the ship's sides, and almost by accident caught sight of the silhouette of the arrogant baron, and suddenly found him near the horses. He looked different now than he had just a short time ago - caring, attentive, concentrated. He seemed to care more about his horses than about his own men. Although both looked equally frightened.
Velir, on the other hand, felt no fear. He was more focused and tense than worried.
The last time he had been here, he had already figured out most, if not all, of what could happen to Larimar and what he would have to do in each case to remedy the situation.
