The dewy morning was brutal, enough that Vel’s [tough hide] levels reflected the journey. They’d been pelted with rain through most of it, and when the sun rose, relief came with it, at least momentary. While she was soaking wet, she wasn’t cold, but rather hot, sweating through the humidity. As the skies cleared, the sun’s warmth bore down on them.

  Even the horses reflected how Vel felt. They stopped being able to move with haste hours ago, leaving them slogging at a pace they could have walked, and if Vel had been awake enough, she would have, her behind sore as could be.

  [Tough Hide level 55]

  Vel refrained her groan at the new level. Their initial excitement had long since drained from her, leaving behind dismay at the pain she knew she would feel the moment she could slide off from behind Sigurd.

  “Almost there,” Sigurd said, voice raspy. He sounded tired too, yet annoyingly unhindered by it. “We should be seeing the city any minute.”

  “Yeah,” Vel said, breathy. Edard, she thought, closing her eyes for the thousandth time. She had managed some sleep against Sigurd’s stony and muscular back, but it wasn’t anywhere enough. Overall, she was not built for this lifestyle. “How long has the sun been in the sky?” Vel asked.

  “Too long,” Sigurd said.

  What if we missed him, Vel thought, already feeling a rush of emotions, bombarding her with the weight of a thousand pails of water. She just wanted them to all tip, relieve her of the anxiety and fear that plagued her. They wouldn’t; they couldn’t. No, not until she was back in Edard’s arms.

  “He has to be there,” Vel thought. “If he’s not there, then . . .”

  “Then what, Velmira?” Sigurd asked.

  “Then I might die.” My heart can’t take this, Vel thought, certain she’d break in half if she found him gone. Yet, there was one more thing she was more certain than that. After picking up the pieces, she was going to chase her Edard to the ends of the earth. She had to.

  “There!”

  Vel perked up, looking towards Amalia’s pointing finger. She leaned, looking past Sigurd’s shoulder. There, past fields of overgrown grass and marshes, laid an exceptionally beautiful array of buildings. Perhaps the most before that she’d ever seen. They were as varied as people were, the towering structures causing Vel’s jaw to drop, and their shorter counterparts keeping her eyes looking. Some even bore whimsical designs of the sea.

  The sea.

  Oh, she could smell it. Taking in a deep breath, Vel hummed, savoring that salty scent that she’d never known before, along with the cool breeze it brought. “He’s here,” Vel said, “he has to be.”

  Sigurd was silent for a long moment, glancing up towards the sun hanging far higher in the sky than was comfortable. The morning was late, and Vel could tell what he was thinking━they’d missed the ship. Despite that, she held on to hope.

  “Come on, hup!” Sigurd urged the steed, pushing it forward. It didn’t gallop, but did neigh and move forward in a trot. Amalia’s horse took quite a bit more coaxing, but she followed behind, taking to the wide cobblestone streets of the port city.

  As they passed through, Vel leaned against Sigurd’s back again. She watched the stony structures of art move by, and had she the energy, she might have marveled at the array of dresses the women walking the streets wore. Or rather, the lack thereof the closer to the docks they got. Amazing. Women in pants. That made her feel a bit more comfortable about the fact that she herself wore a set of pants too.

  The sound of lapping water drew Vel from her tired stupor, the horse slowing to a stop. Straightening up, she looked at the docks, and more importantly, the speck in the distance that laid beyond them. Please, she thought, staring at that speck on the horizon. Please.

  “Are you alright, sir? Madam?” Vel looked to the fellow that spoke, a man with an odd hat and a feather sticking from it. He carried a small crate, moving some form of merchandise.

  “The ship to Ymril, has it gone?” Sigurd asked.

  “Almost beyond the horizon now, and won’t be coming back. ‘Fraid you missed the last one,” the gentleman said, then set the crate down on the stony ground near others, prepped for loading, Vel assumed.

  “Do you know the Wayward Company?” Sigurd asked.

  “Indeed I do, fine sir. As fate would have it, I’m one of their merchants.”

  “Did a young [tracker] travel with them?”

  “Edard?”

  Vel’s heart lurched, and she looked away, already knowing the rest of the story.

  “He left to Ymril on that there ship. Gone with the wind, I’m afraid.”

  Though she knew it was coming, Vel couldn’t help how hearing that hurt so much more than she expected. Tears slipped from her eyes, and she pulled pruney fingers up to wipe at them. She blinked multiple times in an attempt to prevent more, but that did little good.

  “How do we . . .” she started, gasping a little. She shook her head, trying to regain what little composure she had left. “How do we reach him?” she asked.

  Sigurd, hearing her, asked the merchant, “Are there any ships we can commission to get to Ymril?”

  “Oh, I don’t know about that. For a hefty sum, you might be able to convince one to come close, but they won’t make land there, not with rumors of war, my friend.”

  “How can we . . .?” Vel trailed.

  “We trade the horses, Vel, and if you can make more silk, that might do the trick,” Sigurd answered, Vel grateful that he intuitively knew what she asked.

  “We’ll take you.”

  Vel snapped her head towards the new voice. It was a skinny man, shirtless in the sun. The impropriety! She blinked at him, finding the man strange, some sort of grass-like stem sticking out between his teeth and a bandana binding her hair. Well, perhaps that last part wasn’t weird, considering how Vel hid her hair.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  “What’s the cost?” Sigurd asked, and slowly dismounted, leaving Vel alone in the saddle. She held to the horn while Sigurd took the lead.

  “Your horses, and you said something about silk, eh mate?” the man said, moving from off the pole he’d been leaning on. He crossed over from the docks to the cobblestone that cemented the ground beneath them.

  “Yes, silk,” Vel said, and held her hands out in front of her. It took an extra moment of focus, considering how tired she was, and how blurry her eyes were from tears that still periodically escaped her. However, she settled to make a patch, something small and easy.

  [Create Silk level 75]

  [Create Silk level 76]

  [Create Silk level 77]

  After the patch was created, she leaned over slightly, offering it. Sigurd took it, and delivered it to the man, who greedily snatched it with intrigue in his eyes. His brow was furrowed for a long moment, then slowly raised, as if realization was coming to him. He looked up at Vel, smiling a wide array of decaying teeth that made her cringe.

  “You can make more silk during the trip?” he asked. “Should certainly pay for it.”

  “Where’s your ship?” Sigurd asked first.

  I really need to thank that man more often, Vel thought, glad that he was taking care of all the details. Really, that he was taking care of her. She’d have been so lost without him, probably wouldn’t even have the chance to find Edard either.

  The shirtless man turned, and pointed to a large ship docked just a few rows down. “There she be, the Roaring Beauty,” he said, “Come, I’ll introduce you to our captain.”

  As he turned, starting down the wide, cobblestone path along the wooden docks, Sigurd pulled Vel along, and even took the reins from Amalia’s horse, giving her a moment to rest as well.

  “We’ll of course not be able to take you there directly. We trade on the Medi Isles in the gulf,” the man explained. “Name’s Olave, by the way.”

  “Sigurd,” the hunter answered.

  “And the lasses?” Olave asked.

  “They speak for themselves,” Sigurd said, glancing back at Vel. There was a wary look in his eyes, though she wasn’t sure what it was. However, she nodded. Unknowingly.

  “Right, well, when they feel comfortable,” Olave said.

  When they reached the pier the ship was docked to, Vel watched as men loaded the ship with crates, one after the other, and one in a sleek black hat walked down the pier to Olave. He wore a royal blue blazer that reached down to his knees, the gold lining giving Vel a regal impression. Why would they need her silk when obviously, they were well off?

  Money, she thought. The priestesses in the temple had often told her how money made the world function. The church itself needed donations, beckoning a tax of one tenth from the people’s income. Of course, in exchange, they’d receive services from the temple and therefore, the gods. Even the people technically pay for blessings, she thought, though she wasn’t so harsh to the system, understanding that any institute needed money to sustain itself.

  “Who are these fine folks, Olave?” the regal man asked, stopping in front of Shirtless.

  “They’d like passage to old Ymril, Captain. Willing to trade their horses, and the lass made this,” Olave handed the silk over and pointed back at Vel with a thumb.

  The captain looked over it, raising his brow. He glanced up at Vel. “You made this?” he asked.

  Vel nodded.

  “I’ve never seen such a skill. My, my, Lass, what is your class?” the captain asked.

  “She’s a [Silk Weaver],” Amalia answered for Vel. Thank goodness, because she wouldn’t have been able to think up of a real━

  “I’ve never heard of that class before,” the captain furrowed his brow.

  Nevermind. Even Amalia couldn’t think up a real class either.

  “It’s like [Thread Weaver], but specialized,” Amalia said, “leaning towards the [magic] stat.”

  “Ah, makes sense,” the captain nodded.

  Thank you, Amalia, Vel thought, looking at the ex-priestess.

  “Well then, if you can make more silk, we’ll take you to Ymril, but we will be making a stop at the Medi Isles in the gulf.”

  “And they’ve offered the horses too,” Olave said greedily, grinning.

  “Aye, the horses too,” the captain said.

  “Very well,” Sigurd nodded, Vel raising an eyebrow. She half expected the hunter to argue to keep the mounts after that exchange. When he looked at them, she slowly dismounted, and her knees buckled. She gasped, clutching the horn of the saddle, then flinched when Olave leaped to her, catching her with hands around her waist.

  “Please unhand me,” she said, regaining her footing.

  “Apologies, Lass,” Olave said, and let go, stepping away.

  Vel stared at him for a long and hard moment. She didn’t trust this man. There wasn’t anything about him in particular, maybe except for everything . . . but there was a feeling. As Sigurd offered a steady hand to her, she eyed Olave, slowly stepping past him as Sigurd handed the reins to Shirtless and helped her walk down the pier after the captain.

  “I am Captain Erling, but you may refer to me as Erl,” the captain introduced. “Might I ask who our guests are?”

  “Sigurd, and these are my traveling companions,” Sigurd introduced.

  “Companions?” Olave asked from behind them, his suggestive tone sending a shiver up Vel’s spine.

  “Do not think of us as so,” she bit back him through dry lips.

  “Apologies for my second mate, he tends to jump to conclusions,” Erl said.

  “The journey, how long will it be?” Vel asked, trying to clear her dry throat. She stared up at the ship’s three large sails as they walked up the gangplank. It was an enormous ship, and even more so once they moved across the poop deck.

  “In an ordinary sailboat, it would take about six days to cross the gulf to Ymril, but on the Roaring Beauty, we can slim that down to four. Of course, with our route to the isles first, it’ll be about the same length,” Erl explained.

  Six more days to Ymril, then Edard, Vel thought. Where would he go in Ymril? She shook her head, deciding that wasn’t another thing she should worry herself with now.

  “Where might we rest?” Amalia asked.

  “Once we’re loaded and have set sail, I’ll have a few shiphands prepare you some bunks,” Erl said, and turned to them. “Welcome aboard the Roaring Beauty. I hope you find your journey with us pleasant. If you’ll pardon me?”

  “Sure,” Sigurd said, and as the Captain turned, the hunter frowned, looking between Amalia and Vel. “This smells fishy.”

  “No kidding,” Amalia rolled her eyes.

  “Not that kind of fishy. Something is off,” Sigurd said.

  Vel furrowed her brow. “I don’t know what it is, but I have a bad feeling.”

  “This is your journey, what do you want to do?” Sigurd asked.

  “Why?” Vel shook her head. “No, I’m too tired, decide for me.”

  “Vel, what do you want?” Sigurd asked.

  “To see Edard, more than anything, and . . .” Vel glanced towards the captain as he climbed a set of stairs towards the quarter deck. “I don’t want to be on this ship,” she whispered.

  Sigurd nodded, moving towards the gangplank, and as he did, two of the sailors stepped up onto the main deck and removed their only exit. They both looked at the hunter with dark expressions; threatening expressions.

  “Vel, can you swim?” Sigurd asked, stepping back and guarding her with a protective arm.

  “No,” Vel shook her head.

  “We’re far too tired to swim, Sigurd,” Amalia said.

  “Raise the sails!” someone beside the captain yelled, relaying all that the captain said to the rest of the crew. With it came a drawn out grinding sound as the anchor was raised.

  “Maybe you two are overreacting. We can just try asking first,” Amalia said, the ship rocking as it eased forward and away from the pier. She stepped towards the two sailors that had removed the gangplank, and were now moving to other tasks. “Excuse me,” she started, stepping back when one of them growled at her.

  “Take our guests to the brig,” Erl called.

  “Damnit,” Sigurd cursed, grabbing Vel’s arm and yanking her with him as he turned. He froze when a sword slipped up towards his neck.

  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you, mate,” the bulky man at the other end of the sword said, then nodded his head back towards Amalia. “Or the little lass might get hurt.”

  Vel’s head snapped back towards the ex-priestess, who was grimacing with her head pulled back, a man holding her hair in a thick fist. His other hand pinned her against his body. Think . . . What can I do? Vel thought, furrowing her brow. Burn the ship? she considered, shaking her head, her mind spinning with it. She was so tired, too exhausted to fight back when a man grabbed her other arm, though Sigurd hadn’t let go of her.

  “Take the [Silk Weaver] to my cabin,” Erl said.