CHAPTER 15: The Shrouded Woman - Part 1
Varne approached the deck railing, resting both hands on it, leaning forward, and vomiting.
“Ha ha ha, be thankful we'll soon land in Renfru,” Ryse said, his elbows propped on the railing. He stood upwind to avoid Varne soiling his favorite jacket. “Face as white as yours is enough to scare a ghost.”
“Curse you...” Varne sat back, leaning against the railing.
“How can a swordsman with such high balance get this seasick?” Ryse pulled out an object the size of a bronze coin. “Chew this. It should help somewhat.”
Upon biting into it, a sweet and slightly spicy taste filled Varne's mouth. Licorice root. Prana made his tolerance to poison much higher than regulars. However, it also diminished the efficacy of medicines, as Prana could not distinguish between desired and undesired effects. He deactivated his Prana to let the licorice root take effect.
“By the way,” Ryse said, “What business brings you to the Isofean mainland? Leisure? Looking for a wife?”
“Mind your own business.”
“Maybe I could help. My mentor and I are always on the road, so I'm quite knowledgeable.”
His demeanor puzzled Varne. He was too... meddlesome. Lorn emphasized not standing out, so he never interfered in others' affairs. Ryse was the exact opposite.
He had assisted during a monster attack on the ship, even though the crew could have managed. He offered his medicine without hesitation to reduce the fever of a portly child the day before. He bandaged the navigator's torn leg, due to his own stupidity, with a medicated cloth. Such items should be used with more caution.
“I’m looking for a bastard named Margivaz.”
“Margivaz? I know the name, but–”
Varne rose and gripped Ryse's shoulders. “You know him! Where is he!”
“Take it easy. First off, can you let go of my favorite jacket, please? Appreciate it. The Margivaz I knew has been long dead. Does yours have any distinguishing features?”
Varne described his appearance and ability to perform Transference.
“You sure? That's an unusual ability. Well, in that case, you should consider heading over to Orfia, the city of information. There–”
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“Bah, useless.”
“Sorry, I wish I could've helped you more.” Ryse's brows furrowed like scolded puppy. His attitude always managed to irritate Varne, yet getting angry at him proved to be no easy task.
“Varn, look, there's the Renfru’s lighthouse!”
Ryse's pupils dilated despite the bright sunlight. He was using Prana to sharpen his vision. Varne did the same, and the black dot against the sky unfolded into various distinct details.
A concave white beach interrupted the winding line of rocks stretching from west to east. Renfru's military and civilian harbors lay adjacent on this beach, enclosed by iron stakes. Chains hung from one stake to another, providing protection to the harbors.
A bit north of the beach was a gentle cliff. Trees with reddening leaves speckled the face of the cliff and three ascending paths sliced through it, leading to the city wall. The grand Renfru lighthouse protruded from the middle of the city, dwarfing the guard towers.
Their ship veered away from the military harbor towards the civilian one. Dozens of warships were moored in the military harbor, their sails furled, making their masts resemble trees in autumn. Barracks and armories lined up like soldiers expecting cavalry charge at the base of the cliff.
“Varn, what's your take on this?”
“About what?”
“Those four ships of the line. They are Arvanian.”
Varne squinted. The height of the upper decks of those four ships exceeded that of two-story buildings. Ornamental carvings with wave accents and a pair of lanterns with similar patterns adorned their sterns. However, there were no other signs indicating their origin.
“How did you find out?”
“From the construction details,” Ryse replied, “But the easiest way is to notice the sails. Arvanian sails are made of cotton, they are white. Other Inner Realm states use dull brown linen.”
“Then, how come there are Arvanian ships here?”
“That's what I'm asking. During the second Arvane-Wyndor war, Isofea supported Wyndor. They've basically had a ceasefire since then, but no official peace treaty. I'm not sure why they're here, but I hope it won't mess with my plan to head east.”
As they rounded the separating wall between the harbors, all of that was left behind. In the civilian harbor, ships were moored in tight rows. Only a few raft rowers ventured into the shallow waters, checking their water traps.
Their ship docked after receiving permission from the harbormaster. They disembarked along with other passengers. Varne's body swayed the moment he stepped onto the pier.
Two other ships docked around the same time. Together, all the passengers were directed to line up in front of the inspection post.
Ryse patted Varne’s upper arm.
“Ryse, I would greatly appreciate it if you didn't try to make me vomit.”
“Did you catch a glimpse of that woman in the hood?” Ryse pointed with his chin towards a woman in a dark brown cloak at the front of the line. The figure suggested she was a woman, but Varne could not observe further as she then entered the inspection post.
“Why should I have noticed her?”
“Before she pulled up her hood, I thought I saw her hair... never mind, forget it.”
Both had to wait from midday until near evening before it was their turn. Ryse had warned him that such scrutiny was unusual, and he needed to be more careful. Do not claim to be visiting family or friends as that could be verified. Getting caught in a lie would lead to a complicated situation.
Therefore, Varne followed the usual script. When the first inspection matched his face with a wanted list and then asked his purpose in the city, he said he was a country boy wishing to become a soldier. The story worked wonders, and he was taken to the baggage inspection.
