Fel’annár stood, somewhat crooked, feeling awkward that he had not been able to help with much of anything. It seemed that the more he rested, the worse he felt.
“Today, we arrive in Bulls Bay. The enemy may still follow, but even if they are all dead, there will surely be more lying in wait for us. We journey beneath the cliffs, out of sight and out of range until we reach the town. There, we must find the less-travelled route and find a safe place to spend the night, to rest and regain our strength. Tomorrow morning, we commission passage on a ship bound for Port Helia, and we do so anonymously. Hoods for all save Llyniel and the Silvans of The Company, except for Fel’annár of course.”
Experienced eyes moved from one to the other, reading their strength, their fears, their understanding.
“No rank, no deference, no saluting. First names only and not even that for our princes or commanders. As for Tensári here, she is bound for Abiren’á but has joined our group for a part of her journey—and for all we know, that may be true.” There was a significant pause before he continued the brief. “Now we are still in Tar’eastór, but just as Band’orán has his spies in Ea Uaré, so too may he have them here.” His gaze landed on Gor’sadén. “Should we run into warriors, we must try not to be seen. We will need a meeting point should we be separated.”
“If I may, Pan’assár?” said Llyniel. “I am familiar with these parts. The Healing Halls would be a perfect place. I know Bredja and Hamon there. They will help us, find us a safe place to stay until we can board ship tomorrow. The Halls are easy to find, on the left side of the bay.”
Pan’assár nodded slowly. “Alright. We make for the Halls, as Llyniel suggests.”
“Heed me, all of you,” said Gor’sadén from Pan’assár’s side. “That town is not safe. Not for us. Yes, this is Tar’eastór, but it is close to the biggest sea port of Ea Uaré. Shadows will be lurking, checking the ports for any suspicious movement, and as my brother has said, some of them may be in the service of Band’orán, perhaps even Sulén. Stay alert. Stay as far away from everything and everyone as you can.”
With the most physical part of the journey over, they set out towards Bulls Bay. Now, it was about stealth and wit, about hiding in the shadows until the time came to reveal themselves. It would be no less dangerous.
They walked along the shore, as close to the rock face as they could, while Idernon and Ramien walked along the water’s edge, eyes on the cliffs above more than the path into Bulls Bay.
In the distance, boats and ships floated on the water, white sails curving in the wind. Such a foreign world, mused Fel’annár. Even the light seemed different. Still, that strange silence bothered him, for there were no trees at all. He felt detached. There would be no forewarning in these parts, should they run into danger.
Idernon left Ramien’s side and trotted towards the cliff face where the rest walked. “There are three elves following our progress atop the cliffs.”
In different circumstances, Fel’annár would have known that, but he hadn’t, and it made him feel vulnerable. He winced as he stepped on a large pebble, watching Idernon run back to Ramien.
With the Glistening Falls behind them, the cliffs sloped downwards, softening into undulating hills that stretched towards the shore. Idernon and Ramien joined them, declaring that the three elves upon the cliff top had left.
Black dots upon the sandy shoreline ahead were now clearly visible. Bulls lay upon the beach as if simply enjoying the morning sun. Ramien turned to Idernon, brow high. He had never seen the like, and from his friend’s silence, he rather thought none of them had. Bulls Bay, indeed.
The town was surrounded on three sides by hills and then rock, and then this expanse of sand that led out to the sea. On the shores, before the unlikely bulls, were small fishing vessels laden with nets and baskets. On the far side of the bay, a long pier stretched further out into the water, and two large merchant vessels floated, still too distant to make out any further details.
To their right, buildings crowded around the bay. There were small cottages and larger residences, surely those of lords and merchants. There were barns further afield, just before the onset of the mountains, but all was strangely close, hardly any distance between one house and another.
It was a new world for The Company but not so for Llyniel. She had lived on the larger of the two islands off the coast. A full day’s navigation. Still, she had visited Bulls Bay often, knew it well.
They watched as a boat slid onto the beach and three elves jumped out, their nets full. Gulls flocked overhead diving and wheeling, squawking as they circled.
“I bet there are some good taverns there,” said Carodel. “With good ale.”
“And sausages,” added Galdith.
“Sausages,” murmured Ramien.
Sontúr smiled lopsidedly. “And sticky buns,” he added.
Fel’annár almost laughed out loud as the memory of Sontúr spitting out his bun came to him. But he remained silent and schooled his wandering mind. He glanced at Pan’assár and Gor’sadén, saw the concentration on their faces and berated himself. Gods, but it was so quiet. The voice was gone, and Fel’annár felt lost.
The rocks to their right fell away, and they were finally in the open, upon the beach. They walked until they came to an incline of sand and rock, then climbed it. With their boots now walking over cobbled stones, they followed Pan’assár and Llyniel, who led them on.
With his face hidden under his ample hood, Fel’annár stared wide-eyed at the place. He’d never seen so many races and cultures together in one place, so tightly packed together. Grey, brown and blonde hair. Elves, humans, some of them bearded, walked this way and that, stood talking and laughing, while others carried boxes and chests, pushing their way through the crowds.
And then there were seafarers. Many of them wore strange breeches and smart hats. The smells, too, were unfamiliar and not all of them welcoming. There was a heaviness to the air, of meat and fish, salt and smoke, sweat and urine, stale alcohol. Looking up at the signs that protruded from the buildings, there were countless taverns with exotic names. ‘The Last Ship’, ‘The Pirate’s Finger’, ‘Paradise Hold’.
As they passed, a door was flung open with an accompanying blast of shouting patrons. A human sailed through the doors, landing flat on his face while two others stood on the threshold, pointing and laughing. A busty woman stood looking down on him, smiling as she offered him her hand.
A group of humans passed by, one of whom had wrinkles all over her face. Flesh saggy and eyes drooping, she laughed scandalously at some joke, jaw opening to reveal nothing but gums. No teeth. Fel’annár’s eyes widened in horror.
There were children, too, scampering around the feet of their elders who seemed unconcerned that they should see such behaviour. Drunkards and prostitutes abounded, yet the mites were unafraid as they squealed and played their games.
He had heard of humans and their society, but he had never thought that elves would feel so at home amongst them. They did, for they were just as drunk, just as willing to share themselves for coin.
They turned a corner, walking upwards now, and the street was quieter. Even so, a man staggered into Pan’assár and slipped his hand into his pocket. The commander shoved him away, watching as he keened and almost fell. He was drunk, smelled of alcohol. Not a scout, then.