Ilbus

Chapter 20 — Ilbus

Jandar decided within five minutes that the guard did not know how to handle a boat.

Within ten, he had become certain.

The man held the steering oar too tightly, corrected too late, and treated every change in the river as though it had personally offended him.

Jandar sat near the stern and watched in silence.

For almost three minutes.

Then he could not do it anymore.

“You’re fighting the current.”

The guard looked over his shoulder.

“I’m steering.”

“You’re arguing.”

“With the river?”

“Yes.”

The guard stared at him.

Jandar pointed ahead.

“See that bend?”

“Yes.”

“You’re going to start turning too late.”

“I’ve traveled this river for twelve years.”

“That doesn’t mean you’ve improved.”

Deacon made a quiet sound from the middle of the boat.

Jandar looked at him.

The fighter had one shoulder against the gunwale, crossbow resting across his knees. Dried blood still marked one sleeve from the fight at the bridge. He looked exhausted.

He was also smiling.

Barely.

Jandar pointed at him.

“You agree.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t need to.”

The boat reached the bend.

The current caught the bow.

The guard swore and pulled hard on the oar.

The boat swung too far.

Zook grabbed the side.

Vegon looked up from the notes he had somehow managed to produce even on a moving boat.

Xil simply closed his eyes.

Jandar held out one hand.

“May I?”

“No.”

The boat drifted toward a half-submerged log.

Jandar watched it approach.

“So this is how we die.”

“We are not going to die.”

“I survived a volcano for this.”

The guard shoved the oar hard.

The stern kicked sideways.

The boat missed the log by perhaps two feet.

Jandar nodded solemnly.

“Masterful.”

“Do you want to swim?”

“No. I want to steer.”

The guard looked ahead.

For several seconds Jandar thought that would be the end of it.

Then the man held out the oar.

“Fine.”

Jandar smiled.

“Excellent decision.”

Deacon groaned.

The moment Jandar took the oar, the river made sense again.

Not this river specifically.

Water.

Current.

Weight.

Wind.

The faint pressure through the wood told him more than any road ever did.

He relaxed his grip.

Let the current move the boat.

Corrected before the bend rather than after it.

The hull came around smoothly.

No wasted motion.

No fight.

The guard said nothing.

That was satisfying.

Zook looked back from the bow.

“You’ve done this before.”

“A boat?”

“Yes.”

“I’ve encountered several.”

Vegon looked at him over the edge of his notebook.

“You said you could handle one.”

“I say many things.”

“Yes. That is why confirmation is useful.”

Jandar shifted the steering oar slightly.

The boat slid around another bend.

Xil opened his eyes.

The drow had spent most of the journey sitting with his cloak drawn close around him, pale hair tied back from his face. River travel did not appear to offend him exactly.

But he also looked like a man who preferred stone beneath his feet.

Jandar nodded toward him.

“Enjoying yourself?”

“No.”

“At least you’re honest.”

“I am sitting in a piece of wood floating over water.”

“That is generally what a boat is.”

“I understand the principle.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

Xil looked over the gunwale at the dark water.

“I prefer problems I can stab.”

Zook laughed.

Jandar grinned.

“Give the river time.”

Deacon shifted his weight.

“Don’t encourage it.”

Jandar turned his attention forward.

The river widened as they traveled north. Trees crowded both banks at first, then gradually gave way to low wet ground where reeds grew taller than Zook.

Which was not particularly difficult.

The gnome sat at the bow with his short legs hanging over the edge, bright red hair moving in the river breeze.

Jandar wondered if Zook had ever been on a boat before.

He decided not to ask.

If the answer was no, Zook would probably decide to stand on the gunwale just to prove it did not matter.

The afternoon passed.

For the first time in days, nobody attacked them.

That felt suspicious.

They had fought gnolls.

They had found a second blue crystal.

They had freed something calling itself Fate.

They had helped hold a bridge against what looked increasingly like an army.

Now the river simply carried them north.

No screaming.

No ambushes.

No ancient magic.

No dead warlocks.

Jandar found himself waiting for something terrible to come out of the water.

Nothing did.

He disliked how disappointing that felt.

“You’re smiling,” Deacon said.

Jandar glanced toward him.

“So?”

“You only smile like that when you’re about to do something.”

“I’m steering a boat.”

“You’re enjoying it.”

“Is that forbidden by the Silver Crown?”

“Probably.”

Jandar laughed.

The guard watched him from farther forward.

“You really have done this before.”

Jandar looked ahead.

The river had become broad enough now that the afternoon sky reflected almost cleanly across its surface.

“A little.”

The guard snorted.

“That isn’t a little.”

Jandar felt Deacon looking at him.

Vegon too.

He ignored both.

“Some people grow up around farms,” Jandar said.

“And you?”

Jandar smiled.

“Bad influences.”

That earned him a look from Xil.

Jandar decided the conversation had gone far enough.

“Someone tell me about Ilbus.”

The guard accepted the change of subject.

“Not much to tell.”

“Every town has something.”

“Fish.”

Jandar waited.

“That’s it?”

“Mostly.”

“Excellent. I have always wanted to visit a place whose entire identity could be cooked in butter.”

The guard smiled despite himself.

“It’s small. Most people work the river. Some trade south. Some fish the waters near the swamp.”

“The swamp?”

“Not in it.”

That distinction came quickly.

Jandar noticed.

“So no one fishes inside?”

“No.”

“Why?”

The guard looked north.

“Because people who know this country don’t go into the Great Swamp.”

Jandar glanced at Deacon.

The fighter had noticed too.

“Creatures?” Deacon asked.

“Yes.”

“What kind?”

The guard shrugged.

“Depends who you ask.”

“That means stories.”

“That means bodies.”

The boat grew quieter.

Jandar looked again toward the northern horizon.

The river disappeared into low country beneath gathering clouds.

Somewhere beyond that lay the Temple of Orozon.

He had spent enough of his life around dangerous places to distrust anyone who described one simply as the swamp.

People gave harmless places better names.

Ilbus smelled like fish.

Not faintly.

Completely.

Jandar smelled it before he saw the first building.

Then the river bent, and the settlement appeared along the western bank.

Dozens of wooden houses and sheds crowded the water. Narrow docks reached into the river like fingers. Nets hung from poles. Small boats were pulled halfway onto muddy banks while others were tied three and four deep at the larger piers.

Smoke rose from low chimneys.

Fish hung from drying racks.

More fish lay in baskets.

There appeared to be fish on almost every available surface.

Jandar guided the boat toward an open section of dock.

“Slow,” the guard said.

Jandar looked at him.

The guard raised both hands.

“Habit.”

“Bad one.”

Jandar turned the boat into the current, let the water take away most of their speed, then brought them alongside with barely a bump.

Zook stepped onto the dock.

The guard stared at Jandar.

“What?”

“That was clean.”

Jandar handed him the oar.

“I got lucky.”

“No, you didn’t.”

Jandar smiled.

“Then let us never speak of it again.”

He climbed out.

Behind him, Deacon stepped onto the dock.

“I’m beginning to think prison took away a promising career.”

Jandar stopped.

Deacon’s face remained completely straight.

Jandar stared.

“That was almost humor.”

“Don’t spread it around.”

Xil came past them.

“I witnessed it.”

“Then we have a problem,” Deacon said.

Jandar looked from one to the other.

“You two are becoming disturbing.”

Vegon climbed out last, his tall frame forcing him to duck beneath a line of drying nets.

“Can we find somewhere that does not smell like this?”

A fisherman carrying a basket walked past.

“You get used to it.”

Vegon watched him leave.

“I do not intend to remain long enough.”

Jandar breathed deeply.

Salt, mud, smoke, fish, wet wood.

Not the sea.

But close enough to something familiar that he felt his shoulders loosen.

He liked Ilbus immediately.

The settlement was larger than it had appeared from the river, but not by much.

No walls.

No great stone buildings.

No Citadel.

No visible Silver Crown post.

Ilbus lived because the river lived.

Everything else seemed secondary.

Fishermen repaired nets outside their homes. Children carried baskets toward the docks. Women scraped scales from the day's catch over wooden tables while gulls screamed from every roof nearby.

People noticed them.

Jandar was used to that.

Five armed strangers arriving in a fishing village tended to attract attention.

Xil attracted more.

The first fisherman who passed them stared openly at the drow.

Then another.

A woman stopped speaking midway through a conversation.

Two children whispered until their mother pulled them closer.

Xil noticed.

Of course he did.

His expression did not change.

Dark skin and pale hair made hiding what he was impossible unless he used magic, and Jandar had begun to understand that Xil disliked having to pretend.

He also understood when survival made pride expensive.

Xil pulled his hood forward.

Jandar walked beside him.

“They’re staring.”

“I had noticed.”

“You could charge them.”

Xil looked at him.

“For looking?”

“Small fee.”

“Perhaps I should charge you.”

“You’d be wealthy.”

Xil’s mouth moved.

Barely.

Good enough.

They found the inn near the center of town.

A weathered wooden sign hung above the door.

THE WEARY FOOT

Jandar stopped.

“At last.”

Deacon looked at the sign.

“What?”

“A place that understands me.”

“You were sitting in a boat for three hours.”

“My emotional feet are exhausted.”

Zook pushed open the door.

“Food.”

Jandar followed immediately.

“See? Zook understands priorities.”

The Weary Foot was crowded.

Mostly fishermen.

Men and women who had spent the day working outside and looked as though they had brought part of the river indoors with them.

The room smelled of smoke, beer, wet wool and cooked fish.

Jandar loved it.

Conversation dipped when they entered.

Then nearly stopped when Xil stepped through the door.

Someone whispered.

Xil paused.

Jandar saw it happen.

One heartbeat.

The decision.

Then Xil turned and walked back outside.

“Where’s he going?” Zook asked.

Vegon sighed.

“I believe I know.”

A few moments later, a stranger entered.

Human.

At least apparently.

Different cloak.

Different hair.

Different face.

Jandar looked at him.

The stranger looked back.

Jandar nodded toward their table.

“Evening. You seem trustworthy.”

Xil sat down.

“Say anything else and I will let you bleed the next time something bites you.”

Jandar smiled.

“There he is.”

Deacon took a seat.

“I almost preferred the disguise.”

Xil looked offended.

Vegon sat beside him.

“You changed the cloak too?”

“Yes.”

“Interesting.”

Xil pointed at him.

“No.”

Vegon frowned.

“I was only asking—”

“No.”

Zook laughed.

Jandar leaned back.

For several minutes, nobody discussed gnolls.

Or crystals.

Or prophecies.

Or ancient cities.

They ordered food.

That turned out to mean catfish.

Jandar approved.

The fish arrived fried in cornmeal with potatoes and dark bread. Zook took one bite and immediately ordered another portion.

Deacon watched him.

“You haven’t finished that one.”

“I’m planning.”

“That is not planning.”

“It is when food is involved.”

Jandar raised his cup.

“To Zook. The only one among us thinking ahead.”

Vegon took a drink.

“To surviving long enough to regret encouraging him.”

They drank.

Even Xil.

Jandar realized somewhere during the second plate of fish that he was happy.

The thought surprised him.

Not because the food was especially good.

It was.

Not because the beer was strong.

It was not.

Because the five of them were sitting around a table with no one trying to kill them.

Vegon was complaining that fried fish had somehow left grease on one of his notes.

Zook was eating enough for a human twice his size.

Deacon had finally removed his crossbow and leaned it against the wall.

Xil's disguise flickered once when he became distracted, revealing silver eyes where a human's should have been before settling again.

Jandar laughed.

Xil glared.

Normal.

It felt absurdly normal.

A few weeks ago, Jandar would not have chosen any of these people as drinking companions.

Vegon talked too much when he became interested in something.

Xil could turn a single word into a warning.

Deacon looked at every doorway as though expecting an attack.

Zook—

Jandar considered Zook.

Zook was fine.

He raised his cup.

“I have decided something.”

Deacon groaned.

“No.”

“You don’t know what I’m going to say.”

“That has never helped.”

Jandar ignored him.

“I think we’re getting good at this.”

Vegon looked up.

“At what?”

“Being heroes.”

Xil stared at him.

Zook stopped eating.

Deacon said, “You nearly died yesterday.”

“I said good. Not perfect.”

Vegon smiled despite himself.

Jandar leaned forward.

“We saved the bridge.”

“We helped save the bridge,” Deacon corrected.

“Fine. Humility noted. We found Tavalon.”

“Accidentally,” Vegon said.

“We found it.”

“We were sent there.”

“Still counts.”

Xil lifted his drink.

“We also released an unknown supernatural entity into the world.”

Jandar pointed at him.

“And she thanked us.”

“That does not improve the story.”

“I disagree.”

Zook chewed thoughtfully.

“We destroyed a crystal.”

“Yes.”

“We almost drowned.”

Jandar frowned.

“You’re all very bad at celebrations.”

Deacon picked up his cup.

“You’re alive.”

Jandar looked at him.

Deacon shrugged.

“That’s worth drinking to.”

For once, Jandar did not have a better line.

He raised his cup.

“So are you.”

The others followed.

Five cups met over the table.

It was a small sound.

Jandar remembered it anyway.

The talk around the inn eventually returned to the swamp.

It was impossible to avoid.

The serving woman who brought their third round heard Zook ask about a guide.

She laughed.

Not cruelly.

Nervously.

“No guide.”

Zook looked up.

“No one?”

“Not anyone sensible.”

Jandar leaned back.

“We have had mixed luck with sensible people.”

The woman did not smile.

“You going across?”

“Yes,” Deacon said.

Her expression changed.

“Why?”

“Work.”

“What kind?”

“The unpleasant kind,” Jandar said.

Deacon looked at him.

“What? It is.”

The woman wiped her hands on her apron.

“Boats can get you across the river in the morning. After that, you're on your own.”

“People don't travel through the swamp?” Vegon asked.

“Some do.”

“That contradicts what you just said.”

“Some don't come back.”

Vegon stopped.

The woman nodded.

“That's why sensible people don't.”

Xil leaned forward.

“What kills them?”

The serving woman looked toward him.

His disguise still held.

“Depends which story you believe.”

“Give us several.”

She shrugged.

“Things in the water. Poison. Lizards. Snakes big enough to swallow a man. Lights that lead people off dry ground.”

Zook asked, “Paths?”

“Sometimes.”

“Marked?”

“If you can find them.”

Deacon said, “Settlements?”

“Not human ones.”

That drew everyone's attention.

The woman immediately looked as though she regretted saying it.

Jandar smiled.

“What kind?”

“I don't know.”

“That's less interesting.”

“Good.”

She gathered empty plates.

“Go to the docks in the morning. Someone will take you over. Once you're across, don't expect anybody from Ilbus to follow.”

She started away.

Then stopped.

“If you find Mills, tell him his room isn't free forever.”

Jandar looked up.

“Mills?”

The woman rolled her eyes.

“Our minstrel.”

“You have a minstrel?”

“We had one.”

Jandar glanced around.

The room seemed exactly like the sort of place that could use one.

“What happened?”

“Beer.”

Deacon nodded.

“A dangerous profession.”

The woman continued.

“He got drunk. Took a boat out. Said he was going to find something worth writing a song about.”

“When?” Zook asked.

“Few days.”

“And he hasn't come back?”

“If he'd come back, I wouldn't be complaining about his room.”

Deacon looked at the others.

Jandar saw the question forming.

He stopped it.

“No.”

Zook frowned.

“No what?”

“We are not accepting another mission.”

“No one asked us to.”

“You were about to make the face.”

“What face?”

“The helpful one.”

Zook seemed genuinely confused.

Jandar pointed toward the serving woman.

“If we happen across your drunken minstrel, we'll mention the rent.”

“That's all I'm asking.”

“Excellent.”

She left.

Deacon watched her go.

“You know we're going to find him.”

Jandar drank.

“No.”

Xil said, “We probably are.”

“No.”

Vegon wiped grease from his notes.

“Statistically, our recent experience suggests—”

“No.”

Zook smiled.

Jandar pointed around the table.

“This is exactly why people stop traveling in groups.”

The rain began during the night.

Not heavily.

A soft patter against the inn roof.

Jandar woke once, heard it, and went back to sleep.

By morning it had strengthened.

Not enough to flood the streets.

Enough to make everything gray.

They bought what supplies Ilbus could provide.

Oilcloth.

Dry cord.

Food that would survive damp better than bread.

Extra lamp oil.

A second tinderbox after Deacon pointed out what should have been obvious about entering a swamp during rain.

Jandar inspected the local boats while the others gathered provisions.

Most were built for fishing.

Too deep.

Too heavy.

Wrong for shallow marsh water.

One narrow flat-bottomed craft caught his attention.

He crouched beside it.

“Looking to buy?”

Jandar turned.

An older man stood behind him.

He walked with a pronounced limp.

“Rent.”

The man looked toward the river.

“You going across?”

“Yes.”

“Swamp?”

“Unfortunately.”

“One gold.”

Jandar laughed.

The man did not.

“For what?”

“Crossing.”

“I can cross the river myself.”

“Then swim.”

Jandar liked him immediately.

They settled on a price.

Mostly because Deacon arrived before Jandar could turn the negotiation into something needlessly complicated.

The old man rowed them across.

Jandar sat where he could watch.

Naturally.

The man noticed.

“You a sailor?”

Jandar smiled.

“I've been accused of worse.”

“You watch the water like one.”

Jandar looked toward the opposite bank.

“I don't like surprises.”

“Water's full of them.”

“Exactly.”

The old man studied him for another moment.

Then let the subject go.

Good man.

The opposite bank drew closer.

Ilbus sat behind them beneath the rain.

From the river, the village looked almost peaceful.

Smoke rising.

Boats tied to docks.

Fishermen beginning another day.

The Weary Foot somewhere among the buildings.

People who complained about the smell of fish and missing minstrels and expected to wake tomorrow to do the same things again.

Jandar found himself hoping they did.

That was new.

Once, towns had been places you passed through.

Places with money.

Food.

People who could be lied to, charmed, cheated, avoided or occasionally robbed.

He had never thought much about what happened after he left.

Now the bridge behind them mattered.

Ilbus mattered.

The people in the Weary Foot mattered.

He suspected this was how heroism trapped you.

Not with prophecies.

With names.

With meals.

With people whose lives became harder to ignore once you had sat at their tables.

He disliked the realization.

It felt expensive.

The boat touched the eastern bank.

The old man held it steady.

“This is as far as I go.”

Jandar stepped into ankle-deep mud.

“Wise.”

“I'd say the same to you.”

“I've rarely been accused of wisdom.”

Deacon climbed out behind him.

“We can confirm that.”

The others followed.

Xil's disguise was gone.

His pale hair was already gathering rain.

Vegon pulled up his hood.

Zook stared ahead.

The land changed almost immediately beyond the river.

Trees rose from standing water.

Long curtains of moss hung from branches.

The ground existed only in patches between dark pools and channels covered in green growth.

No road.

No clear trail.

Only swamp.

Zook took the lead.

Jandar sighed.

“My boots were dry.”

No one answered.

He took another step.

Mud swallowed his foot almost to the ankle.

“Excellent.”

Xil passed him.

“You wanted adventure.”

“I have reconsidered.”

Deacon followed.

“Too late.”

Vegon looked toward the sky.

“This rain may stop.”

Thunder sounded somewhere beyond the trees.

Jandar looked at him.

Vegon frowned.

“It may.”

The five of them moved beneath the first line of trees.

Behind them, Ilbus disappeared slowly through sheets of gray rain.

Ahead, the Great Swamp opened around them.

The rain grew heavier.

By noon, it had not stopped.

By evening, it was worse.

And by the time Jandar realized he could no longer remember the last moment any part of him had been completely dry, he had begun to suspect that it never would.