“I assume one of you is the tower master?” Dalan asked, stepping forward and greeting the thugs with a disconcertingly pleasant smile.
“Er, yes, that would be me,” said the leader of the group. He was the largest of the four, an unkempt man whose wealth of dirt and stubble was broken only by a crisscross white scar on his neck. “Docking fee is two gold per week.”
“Omax, please pay these gentlemen,” Dalan said.
Omax reached into his pocket and drew out two gold coins. The money looked ridiculously small cupped in his adamantine palm as he offered it to the men. The tower master shouldered one of his henchmen, who nervously stepped forward to snatch the coins. Omax closed his hand over the coins with a clank, nearly snatching the man’s fingers. He drew back with a start.
Dalan chuckled and looked embarrassed. “My apologies, but my associate is a stickler for formalities,” Dalan said. “I shall need to see the King’s Seal, tower master, just to make certain that you are in fact the proper authority.”
The tower master chuckled. “This is Black Pit, my friend,” he said. “We don’t need any official sanction from the King here.”
“I see,” Dalan answered. “How very interesting. It has long been my personal belief that a man willing to call a total stranger ‘my friend’ is invariably the least friendly, most untrustworthy sort of person. As pleasing as it is to see that once again I am not wrong, that is no excuse for either your behavior or your odor. If you are not an official authority, then your presence is irrelevant to me. Get away from my ship, or Omax will remove you.”
Seren’s hand moved to the dagger tucked in the back of her belt as she edged back toward the ship. Dalan glanced back at her, his eyes narrowing, making her stop where she was. Seren caught his meaning-a united front was important. Dalan looked back at the four men and folded his arms across his chest. Standing before the thugs, his face remained calm and unafraid. Omax stepped in front of the guildmaster, calmly tucking the coins back into his pocket. He fell into a relaxed stance, hands curled into fists near his waist, and bowed his head to the four men.
“Bah,” the tower master said with a sneer. “Don’t let the fat man and his golem intimidate you. I’ve fought my share of warforged. They die just like men.”
Omax lunged forward, seized the man’s chest in one hand, and hurled him from the tower bridge. There was a shrill yelp of terror, followed by the soft splat of a man landing heavily in the mud. Omax turned and faced the three remaining men calmly. They backed into the tower, then ran down the stairs as quickly as they were able.
“He survived,” Dalan said, looking down as the tower master staggered to his feet and limped hurriedly away.
“What purpose would killing him serve?” Omax asked.
“He may come back,” Dalan said, sighing as he strode back onto the ship.
“And if he were to die, others might come seeking vengeance,” Omax said, following him.
“If there would be risk whether he lived or died,” Dalan said, looking back at the warforged. “Then why let him live? That man is useless scum. Probably a killer.”
Omax shrugged at Dalan. “Or just a desperate man,” the warforged said. “Mercy can put a desperate man on a path to redemption.”
“Or grant him the opportunity to kill another day,” Dalan said.
“Not everyone is a killer, Dalan,” Tristam said tersely.
“Tristam, you misunderstand me,” Dalan said, looking at the artificer with a smirk. “I trust Omax’s judgment and I value his opinions, even if I disagree with them. I was having a philosophical discussion. If you cannot add anything insightful to our discourse, then stay quiet and listen.”
Tristam looked away, face darkening. Seren thought she might take some small joy in seeing Tristam humiliated after the way he’d insulted her, but she did not.
“But this is not the time for conversation,” Dalan said, heading toward the cabin. “Tristam, get into the village and find Zed Arthen. Take Seren with you to keep you out of trouble.”
“I don’t really know this village,” Seren said to Dalan’s back.
“Neither, thankfully, do any of us, save by reputation,” Dalan said, pausing at the door. “Nonetheless, if you could survive on the streets of Wroat, I’m certain you’ll do well enough here. You’ll do far better than Tristam, in any case.”
“I will let no harm come to either of you, Seren,” Omax said.
“Your loyalty is duly noted, Omax, but I need you to remain here,” Dalan said. “I cannot risk leaving Karia Naille undefended in case the ‘local authorities’ return.”
“The ship isn’t exactly undefended, Dalan,” Tristam said.
“Contingencies only retain their strength when they remain in place,” Dalan said cryptically. “Omax will remain here as our first line of defense.”
The warforged looked at Tristam, waiting for his decision. The artificer looked at Dalan, who peered back with a patient, thoughtful expression.
“Better listen to Dalan, Omax,” Tristam said quietly.
Omax bowed to his friend. Dalan closed his cabin door
“Good luck, both of you,” Gerith said cheerfully. The halfling climbed back onto the deck, carrying a struggling chicken under one arm. He headed toward the galley.
“Let’s go,” Seren said, brushing past Tristam and hurrying down the tower stairs.
She exited the tower to find Tristam already waiting at the bottom. She did a double-take, looking from him back at the door behind her.
“Feather fall ring,” he said, holding up a hand to display a bronze ring with a smirk. “What good’s a little magic if you can’t show it off, right?”
“You made that?” she asked.
“I haven’t mastered ringcraft, but soon,” he said. “My friend Orren Thardis gave it to me after Ashrem suspended my teaching. He was brilliant; probably taught me as much as Ashrem did.” Tristam bent low to examine the tower’s doorknob. “I think he gave me the ring because he felt sorry for me.”
Seren surveyed the area for any signs of danger. A number of locals were still staring at the ship in wonder. The locals all looked generally shady and suspicious, making it difficult to tell if anyone was a relevant danger.
“Wisdom,” Tristam said under his breath.
“What?” she asked, looking back.
“That’s the password to get through the ward I just put on this door,” he said, looking at her earnestly. “Remember it, Seren. Please. I don’t want you hurt.”
She nodded and gestured for him to follow. She took to the middle of the road, staying as visible as possible to reduce the chance of ambush. Tristam followed, remaining silent for a long time.
“Seren,” he finally said, still walking a step behind her. “Did Omax talk to you?”
“I don’t like apologies,” Seren said. “They’re just words.”
“Oh,” Tristam said. “Well, by that logic, when I stupidly called you a thief, that was just words too. Therefore no harm done and I don’t need to offer a worthless apology. Right?”
Seren scowled at Tristam. He offered a crooked grin, and she had a difficult time remembering just why she was so angry at him.
“Fine. Apology accepted,” she said, rolling her eyes. They continued walking down the street.
“Boldrei’s blood, that’s a relief,” he said, exhaling. He walked beside her instead of behind, a bit of his cocky self-assurance returning. “I have enough problems without worrying about you stealing something from me in revenge.”
She glared at him again, but his quick laugh took the sting off his words. “Joking! If there’s one man in all of Khorvaire who has no right to judge you for your past, it’s me. All in all, I think if you compared our respective professions yours is more worthy of respect. At least a thief is honest.”
“How do you figure that?” she asked. “You’re an artificer. You make things that change people’s lives.”