* * * * *
The next morning, the crewman in the roost spots land in the horizon to the south west. He calls down to the crewman at the helm while another descends to the lower deck, rushing to the captain’s quarters.
“Captain Kenard!” the crewman shouts as he bursts through the doorway. “We’ve spotted Sereth! We’re home!”
From his bed, Kenard sits up and faces the man in his doorway, “Good! I’ll be at the helm shortly. Go awake Iltar and Cornar, tell them we are close.”
Soon, the entire expedition and every crewman of the Farling are on deck looking to the south. A speck of land grows in the distance, and the first island spotted is now to the west, looming large.
Slightly inland on that island, a castle looms over the forest covering the eastern shore. It is made of a dull gray stone and has three towers that spire from the top of the main keep.
Iltar looks at the castle and makes a silent oath, Balden, I’ll come for you soon.
“We should be near Soroth and your excursion point in just over an hour,” Captain Kenard shouts from behind the rail of the upper deck
Turning to the bow, Iltar faintly sees their island home in the distance. The wrinkles around his eyes thicken as his focus penetrates the nearing land. A twisted smile, one that seems to come to him more often these days, forms across his face.
From over his shoulder, Iltar can hear Cornar shouting to the others, “Load the craft!”
11
Clandestine Homecoming
The island of Soroth fills the vista before the Farling as it turns to follow the shore of the island. To the west, Soroth stretches far beyond the horizon. Fall is setting in, with many groups of trees turning colors. The northern side of the island is covered in a dense forest, which conceals many houses and estates.
“Quarter to starboard!” Captain Kenard calls out from near the helm, informing the crew and the passengers of the impending turn.
A lone figure remains at the bow of the ship, his black robe and cowl shroud him, but his silhouette is well recognized among the crew and his companions.
Cornar is the last of the men to climb into the longboats on the portside in preparation. The deck is clear except for the figure at the bow.
The Farling moves along the northern coast until it rounds the north eastern tip of the island. In the distance, Soroth’s northernmost pier faintly comes into view; although the rest of the city is still concealed behind the forest.
The ship continues traveling along the shore, but slows at Kenard’s command near the woodland’s edge; the trees barely conceal the Farling from sight of the buildings near the northern harbor. At his call, the anchor is lowered and the large vessel rocks back and forth until it comes to a rest.
“Lower the boats!” the captain commands without raising his voice, and three of the four smaller vessels descend into the water.
One-by-one, the small craft are rowed to the rocky shore. Between the crags near the forest’s southern edge is a small beach, just twice as wide as each of the small vessels. The first boat gently slides along the brown sand and embanks on the wet ground.
Cornar and Nordal immediately jump out on either side while the others in the vessel move to the bow and follow the two warriors.
With everyone but the crewman piloting the longboat on shore, the last two men push the small vessel back into the water and it rows back to the Farling. Both other longboat do the same, and the small army of twenty men, excluding the shrouded figure, Kalder, and Tilthan, set foot on Sorothian soil.
Once the three small boats are brought alongside the Farling and hoisted against the hull, Kenard calls for the anchor to be lifted. As the anchor rises from the water, the vessel continues southward. The captain steers the ship himself as he moves the vessel further eastward to comply with the traffic laws of the Sorothian harbors.
The Farling passes the eastern docks, and they are mostly full. It is a busy day along the harbors; the peak influx of trade occurring just several days after Iltar’s expedition departed Soroth. This time of year brings a great deal of trade to the small island. Crops are imported from the surrounding islands, as well as the western coastal cities of the mainland.
Almost a quarter of an hour later, the Farling rounds the southeastern tip of the island, nearing the main port they had left only two weeks prior.
An empty wharf near the western part of the main harbor catches Kenard’s eye, and he steers the ship toward it. As the ship drifts, several other trading vessels leave the harbor and pass the Farling on either side.
Nonchalantly holding the helm, Kenard calls out, “Drop anchors!” The captain smiles as he turns to his first mate next to him. “Now Cadru, we sit back and relax. Soon, we’ll have the Duchess back.”
Meanwhile, at the bow, the shrouded figure turns and walks toward the vessel’s portside rail. He waits patiently as the crewmen move the gangway from the deck to the opening on the portside rail and extend it across to the pier. All the while, the ship gently rocks in the waves caused by other vessels moving about in the harbor.
After several minutes of being docked, Kalder’s voice speaks from out of nothingness behind the cloaked figure, “We’re both here, Master Iltar.”
“Stay close, and don’t bump into anyone,” Iltar sternly whispers from under the hood of the robe.
Just as the three men, two concealed from sight, descend the gangway a hurried man comes running down the pier.
“You can’t moor here! This wharf is reserved for the Traveling Sentinel!” the man breathes heavy as he reaches the vessel.
Walking around the man, Iltar gives him a hard look. He recognizes him as the harbormaster. A shrewd man who was meticulous at keeping his port in perfect order.
“Then you’ll have to take that up with Captain Kenard,” the necromancer says from under the cowl.
“Kenard?” the harbormaster snorts. “He’s out to the mainland. I don’t know who you are, but you need to move your vessel now!”
Hearing the commotion, Captain Kenard steps down the ladder to the main deck and walks toward the portside rail. Leaning over it he shouts, “Is there a problem, Harbormaster?”
“You!” the harbormaster cries out, jaw dropping in surprise. “Why are you back? I was told you left with a ship full of men! Where are they?”
“Dead,” the necromancer coldly states from behind, making the frenzied man jump. “I’m the sole survivor. Surely you know who I am.”
The harbormaster swallows hard as he recognizes Iltar. “Yes… I believe so. You’re on the council of the Necrotic Order. Forgive me, Sir.”
“Good, now that you finally realize who I am, send a runner to gather the Order’s council members. I am headed there at once,” the shrouded necromancer says dismissively, quickly walking past the harbormaster, who is still standing on the pier attempting to piece things together.
“I’m guessing you want me to move this ship?” Kenard calls over the rail sarcastically.
The harbormaster lets out a breath, as if letting out steam, “Yes! Move your ship and wait beyond the docking routes. We’ll send someone for you when a wharf becomes available.”
With that said the harbormaster follows the shrouded figure down the pier waving his hands in frustration.
Meanwhile, Kenard laughs hysterically as he turns to several of the crewmen standing near him. He struggles to muster a word but motions for his first mate at the helm to move the ship.