“Without you, we would still be milling around in the dark.” Piers handed Laedron a small leather pouch. “Take this with our thanks. May it help you on your journey.”
“What is it?”
“A bit of money we were able to save up. It’s not much, but perhaps it shall be enough.”
Laedron eyed the pouch, then tried to hand it back. “We cannot take this. The order needs-”
“You’ve given our chapter everything that we need, Sorcerer. Now, take this charity as a symbol of our appreciation.”
Laedron nodded, then returned to the cab and climbed inside. He gave the Shimmering Dawn headquarters one last glance as the coach lurched into motion, then he prayed that the Creator would protect them in the days to come.
“Didn’t you want to say anything to Caleb?” Laedron asked, glancing at Brice.
“Already did. We had a long talk this morning.” Brice waved to Caleb through the window. “I hope things go well for them here.”
“They will,” Marac said. “I’m sure of it.”
Laedron nodded. “With the Zyvdredi threat gone, they should be free and clear. What step they take next will dictate their future, but we’ve done all that we can for them.”
“You’ve done more than you had to,” Hale said. “More than I would have ever expected you to do.”
“Why do you say that?” Laedron asked.
“A Sorbian Sorcerer? Coming all this way to free us from an unknown enemy? The theocracy would have lost the war, and you easily could have left us to the path of destruction. Instead, you came and did away with Andolis.”
“No, we couldn’t have sat idly by. Scores of our countrymen would have been killed, many more than we’ve already lost. My presence here is self-interest as much as anything else.”
“We can be glad that your self-interest has matched up well with our mutual interests, then,” Demetrius said, smiling.
The coach rolled to a halt near the docks, and Laedron caught a glimpse of the ship that would carry them to Nessadene, the largest city in the south of Lasoron. Laedron read the name painted on the side of the vessel. The Galerunner. Opening the door, the coachman extended his hand for each of them as they departed the cab, then stacked their bags on the pier.
“You’ve been a great help, Master Hale. We appreciate this special favor,” Laedron said.
“And you, too. The ship’s sound and shall carry you swiftly to your destination.” Demetrius produced a pipe and chewed on the end, presumably due to a lack of fire to light it. “May Azura, the Creator, or the Fates, whichever you believe in, take you safely there.”
Laedron raised an eyebrow. “A scholar such as yourself doesn’t know to whom or what sorcerers pay their respects? The Creator, of course.”
“The Creator, then. Customs and culture were always lost on me, my young friend. I apologize.”
“No need. Farewell,” Laedron replied, picking up his bag. Glancing back at the street by which they had come, Laedron thought of Jurgen and the trials and tribulations of their journey together. Perhaps he couldn’t bring himself to say goodbye this last time. Then he glimpsed the white horses drawing a white coach coming over the hill above the docks, and his heart warmed.
The Grand Vicar’s carriage stopped next to him, and Jurgen stepped down from the cab and embraced Laedron.
“I thought you wouldn’t make it,” Laedron said.
Jurgen grinned. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world. And I have one last thing to give you.”
“What else could you give me that you haven’t already?”
Jurgen returned to his carriage, retrieved a scroll, and handed it to Laedron. “A ledger.”
“A ledger? What’s this for?”
“I spent quite a while this morning sorting through all of our old records. This ledger indicates the place from which the Farrah Harridan books originated, an address in Lasoron that may prove useful.” Jurgen grinned. “It’s yours. Farewell, my friend.”
“Farewell.” Laedron turned away and ascended the gangplank, giving Jurgen one last wave.
Valyrie hugged Jurgen before joining Laedron on the ship. Once they had all boarded, the crew pulled up the footbridge and untied the vessel from the dock.
A young man sporting the uniform of an Arcanist scholar approached. “Greetings. I am Bannelt, day navigator of this ship. Being that the vessel and the water upon which we sail belong to the Arcanists, I would be the one you should see for any question or concern.”
“Day navigator?” Marac asked.
Bannelt nodded. “We have a day navigator and a night navigator, for we cannot watch the sea all day and night without rest.”
Seems I would have been fit for that job, Laedron mused, thinking of his sleepless nights over the past week. “You’re the captain and the day navigator? You seem rather young for those tasks.”
“And I might point out that you seem a bit young, the lot of you, to be our blessed saviors.” The young man grinned with a certain arrogance. “I would have thought that my peers wouldn’t discriminate based merely upon my age, and especially not without seeing me in action.”
“Point taken,” Marac said, nudging Laedron.
“I meant no offense, and I apologize. I only mean to say that every ship’s captain that we’ve met thus far has been well along in years.”
“Perhaps that is a necessity on the open sea,” Bannelt said, gesturing for them to follow when he turned. “On the Sea of Pillars, you only need be gifted in the navigation symbols which guide the way. The helmsman is my second-in-command, and he is skilled in the handling of the ship and crew.”
Laedron glanced at the large wheel on the bridge, the man behind it carefully piloting the boat on its departure from the dock. “I’m intrigued to hear more about these symbols.”
“I can reveal little about them, unfortunately.”
“That’s something I wanted to ask you about. Why must the Arcanists be so secretive? Why the special navigational code?”
“To protect the ruins of Azuroth and the security of the theocracy. Things have not always been as they are now. In the centuries and millennium past, the Sea of Pillars served as a natural barrier to rampaging barbarian hordes and the intrigue of foreign nations. After the Great War, it served to protect the early settlers from many threats from the east, and we maintain these secrets so that the gains it offers will not be jeopardized.”
“So, the Arcanists agree with Azura’s use of magic?” Laedron asked when Bannelt stopped near the forecastle door.
“Not necessarily, no, but we must use that which exists to our advantage. Knowledge, science, technology, and yes, even magically created seas, can be exploited for our security and benefit.” Bannelt opened the door. “We are faithful to the church, and we hold knowledge and science above any mystical meddling.”
“Meddling? A true sorcerer is just as methodical and scholarly as any of the Arcanists I’ve met. What was that you said about judging people prematurely?”
“My apologies. I meant no harm with my comments. My only purpose was to explain our differences.”
“The symbols, what are they?” Brice asked, apparently trying to keep the exchange friendly.
Bannelt glanced at Brice. “According to all the records we possess, the pillars came about with symbols across each face, and the patterns were unique to each one, for the most part.”
Laedron furrowed his brow. “For the most part?”
“The patterns indicate our location in the sea, and it took years to find them and assign them a meaning.”
“You don’t know what they actually say?”
“No, but the patterns are indicative of the pillar you’re viewing, and you use that information to determine where you are and what your next turn will be. During our training, we memorize the ones we’ll need to know for a given route, and unless we are retrained or reassigned, we run that route our entire lives. All Arcanists must serve their time aboard the ships before moving on to bigger and better things. Some never move past navigation, and some like it that way.”