RHIDAUNA, The Shadow of the Revenaunt, Book 1

CHAPTER 12 - ZHOLDER (Part One)

Before Ghyll had time to scream, they were in the Magenta House of Yathillia, the Goddess of Love. His face must've shown his feelings. for Bo laughed. 'The first time is always unpleasant.'

'Is this a temple?' Damion said in a whisper, his face crimson. The subdued lighting, the soft pink walls and the murals of unclothed women in provocative poses did all sorts of weird new things to him.

The portal adepta saw his reaction and gave him a deadly look. 'This is the House of Yathillia, boy,' she snapped. 'What did you think it was? A brothel?'

Ghyll took pity on his friend and smiled at the adepta. 'With the deepest respect for the goddess, we are unfamiliar with her worship,' he said calmly.

'It's really very simple.' The girl made a sour face. 'People come here to pray for luck in love, to beseech Yathillia make that nice young man fall for them, for help with a shaky marriage, and things like that. The temple also sells love potions and charms. The goddess gives love; for sex, you will have to go somewhere else. Is that what you came for?'

Ghyll gave a polite headshake. 'No, thank you; our business is elsewhere. If you can point us to a respectable inn, you'd be very kind.'

The adepta tried a little-used smile. 'For gentlefolk there is The Anchor and Crown, at the harbor. I presume you're not looking for one of the common establishments?'

'No, the Anchor sounds just fine; thank you.'

None of them had ever been in Athosta and they looked around with interest. The capital of the civic duchy of Borgontil was not much bigger than Gromarthen, but it was home to the Athosta Squadron and thus a Navy town. Everywhere sailors in blue-black tunics went about their duties and the sharp smells of blackpowder and gun polish dominated the usual stench of rotting seaweed.

A tour of the harbor bars revealed that it wouldn't be difficult to find a ship for Zholder; several captains were interested in a simple but profitable trip. Ghyll's choice fell on Captain Alham un-Dadrid, a man from Opit with an impressive beard, who commanded the Wader caravel. Zholder was his home and since he had not been able to find a return cargo yet, he received his passengers and their horses with open arms.

'We sail with the tide, at eight tomorrow morning,' he said jovially. 'Please arrange to be on board in time.'

The Wader was an older, lateen-rigged two-master with a crew of thirty, armed with four ballistae. At the top of the gangway, Ghyll halted. He had seen many sailing vessels pass by Tinnurad's island, but never close-up. Everything he saw intrigued him, from the tarred lines that served the sails and the large spoked wheel at the quarterdeck to the running sailors who all seemed to know what to do. A miniature world in which he was the stranger.

He noticed Bo staring with open disgust around the pristine deck. 'What is it?'

'You don't seem to realize,' Bo said with a lofty air, 'what I am about to do for you. That I should entrust myself to this ramshackle tub, bah.'

Ghyll looked sideways at him. 'Seasick?'

'Not just that, it's the thought of all that water that makes me nervous. I am a firemage. Fire and water don't go well together.' With pursed lips, Bo stared out over the sea.

When the waning tide was at its strongest, agile sailors ran to the mast and hoisted the large, triangular sails.

'All cast off,' the Bos'n cried.

Captain Un-Dadrid lifted his hand in response. 'Bring 'er out,' he said to the helmsman.

Frisky as a young dog, the Wader rushed past the jetties into the waiting arms of the sea. Her flag fell and rose in farewell, and Bo moaned. He ran to the railing, but a sailor sent him back.