It was evening in Oard, and the last of the shipment
from Alisander was hoisted from the decks of the Falcon and lowered down to
the docks. Sailors and dockhands labored to organize the crates into separate
piles for their respective Oardian merchants. The
men did not move quickly. It would have been bad form for men of the guild
to work more than was necessary. One man, a shipwright, perhaps, seemed to
take greater liberties about his duties, for he was in plain sight, leaning
against a crate and smoking a pipe, even as the others moved and worked around
him.
“Oy, there!”
The man blew a puff of smoke.
“You there! You mind giving us a hand over here?”
The shipwright looked up with lazy eyes. “Eh?”
“You! You mind givin’ us a hand?”
“Not at all.” The man tapped out his ashes, then tucked the pipe into
his long, drab trenchcoat. He moved over to where
several men were dragging a long crate full of ivory. “Heavy, eh?”
“You bet your sweet arse, it’s heavy!”
The man bent down and leaned into it with the others. After a three-count,
they hoisted the crate up and set it onto a low wagon, presumably headed for
the markets.
“Thank you!”
“No problem.”
“What’s your name, then?” he asked, fishing a copper out of his pocket.
“Roland, sir, and there’s no need for that.”
“All right, then, Roland,” he waved. “Thanks all the same.”
The man turned and walked back toward the Falcon. Roland smiled inwardly,
then took a seat on another nearby crate. He thought about relighting his pipe,
but noticed that the sun would soon be down and decided against it. All the
while, unbeknownst to the Chaos Lord of Oard, a woman had been approaching.
“Hello there, Roland! I see that you’ve gotten your old job back.”
Roland turned and saw Phoebe behind him. “Oh,” he said. “You mean the
crate?”
“Well, yes, I saw you heaving away at it. I guess you still have the
stamina of your old shipwright days. Gremag would be proud.”
Roland smiled faintly, then quickly attempted to keep the pleasure of
the compliment from showing overtly on his dour face. “Well,” he said gruffly.
“Lifting crates is hardly like building ships.”
Phoebe put her hands on her hips and tilted her head at the Lord of Oard.
“Now, you know what I meant.”
Roland shifted uncomfortably beneath her knowing gaze. It had become
evident to him in recent weeks that Phoebe was no longer the shy flower he had
encountered so long ago. She had become a woman of power and unabashed sexuality.
His protective feelings towards her had grown into something more, something
he was not sure he wished to admit to himself. “You’re right,” he said apologetically.
“It does me good to visit the docks, regardless of what I am doing here. I
miss the shipyards and the river. Life moves slower here, I think.”
Phoebe nodded in agreement. “I know what you mean,” she said. “It sure
seems like things have gotten a lot more complicated since we first met. Who
would have guessed that we would be here in Oard, and that there would be so
much responsibility involved? Sometimes I wish I could just make time stop
for a while and enjoy this beautiful place instead of always having to defend
it. It can make a girl weary.”
Roland looked over to his friend and smiled genuinely. “Aye,” he nodded.
And for the first time in his life, Roland allowed himself to really look at
Phoebe, to take her in as a woman and not a child. He studied her lovely face
and her eyes, like rain clouds that never storm, but blow on. He gazed at her
neck, piloted down the slope of her shoulders, navigated the swell of her bosoms,
and as he gazed at her, his concerns and his duties vanished from his mind,
and all that was left was a strange feeling within his soul that put him in
mind of his youth.
He stood up, then, and pulled up another crate. “I was about to watch
the sun go down,” he said. “Would you like to watch it with me? I mean, if
you’re not too busy.”
“I would love to,” she said. “Thanks.” Phoebe blushed as she thought
she had seen Roland’s eyes admiring her. She hoped that she was right. Secretly
she had always admired Roland, but her naiveté in love and sexuality had kept
her from revealing her true feelings for him. Now that she had been released
from the curse of life long virginity, she felt she may have an opportunity.
Phoebe sat down on the crate next to Roland and enjoyed the view. After
a while she glanced over at him and noticed the strong features of his face.
Time had begun to etch the lines of character into his tanned skin. Most of
the lines revealed the strength of heart that few men bore. There was a definite
line of worry upon his brow, one that had not always been there, but had grown
in recent days. Although he was not born of noble lineage his nose had a distinct
flare that belied his kingly nature. He disguised himself well in his shabby
attire, but underneath Phoebe knew he was everything she had ever wanted in
a man and everything she had ever dreamed of.
She turned back to see the setting sun and was reminded of a vivid dream
she had had of Roland. As she remembered, a fire kindled within her.
They sat there for some time watching the sunset, neither one daring to
speak. Roland, for his part, was possessed by a sudden inability to look in
Phoebe’s direction for fear that he would reveal his own longing, a longing
he could scarcely admit to himself, let alone to Phoebe. He was certain that
she did not see him in that way. He had always been her protector of sorts,
like a second father or guardian. The relationship had always been platonic,
and though he had always secretly wished for more, he had never dared to voice
his desire. He was not so foolish as to think that a sweet girl like Phoebe
could love a man like him, a man whose past was filled with brawling, whoring,
and drinking. He could not remember a time that he had ever felt innocent,
and his delving into ancient lore and forbidden sites had made him even stranger
yet. Now, he was nothing more than a gruff old curmudgeon with nothing to offer
a lady but the life of a perverse misanthrope. Would she understand that he
saw her differently than the women of his past? Would she understand the needs
of his present? As he watched the sun sink below the western hills, he doubted
that this was possible. It was the dream of a man whose life had always been
hard. And somehow he knew that he was not meant to know the softer side of
life.
As Phoebe sat enjoying the beautiful changes in the color of the sky,
her mind kept wandering back to her thoughts of Roland. She wondered how she
would tell him of her desires. She was no longer an innocent girl, but a woman
who was well aware of her ability to give and receive pleasure. Her rites of
passage at the temple of Marush Hob had made her eager to explore all aspects
of sexual delight, and her curiosities were endless. But she wondered what
Roland would think of her if she told him of her desire for him. Would he enjoy
the changes in her? Of course, she knew that Roland was no stranger to women.
She had seen him with many a bar wench in the days when he and Gremag were together,
brazen and cautionless. She was no bar wench, of course, yet she was
a woman, and like other women, she, too, had desires. And desire, she had come
to realize, was natural and good.
“It sure is pretty, don’t you think?” Phoebe asked.
“The sunset?”
“Yes. Roland did you ever get to voyage on a ship you built?” she asked.
“Hmm? Oh, no. I just built them. I was a mast man. Carved out the
masts, helped set them, that sort of thing.”
“Oh, that’s interesting. Have you ever thought about doing it again?”
“Building ships?”
“Yes.”
“I have been drawing plans for ships recently, flying ones too. I like
designing them, but I think these days I’d have to have someone else actually
build them.”
“Well, I think that would be neat to build a ship. Yeah, a flying ship
would be great. Why don’t you think you could build it yourself?”
Roland watched the sun fade into mere bands of light above the horizon
and shifted on his crate as the air turned cooler. “Oh, I suppose the time.
I doubt I’d have the time to help build a ship anymore. It takes a while, after
all, and there always seems to be something here that diverts my attention.”
“I guess that’s true. I think it would be fun to do, though. Maybe one
day you will get to.” Phoebe started to feel a bit cold from the air that blew
off the river. She pulled up her knees and hugged them to her chest.
A silence ensued. The sun was gone. Phoebe shifted uncomfortably. “It’s
getting a little chilly.”
Roland turned to her. She was lovely in the waning light. Her golden
hair spilled down her shoulders and breasts, and with her legs held to her chest,
she appeared strangely demure and inviting. He frowned. “Yes,” he agreed.
“There’s a definite chill in the air.”
Phoebe looked at Roland, waiting. After an awkward moment in which neither
of them spoke, she stood with a shrug. “Well, I guess I should be getting back.”
Roland stood. “All right.”
Phoebe cast a hopeful glance at the Chaos Lord, then smiled to hide her
disappointment when he did not join her. “Well, good-bye,” she said, turning
to go.
Roland watched her for a moment, then cleared his throat. “Er, Phoebe!”
“Yes?”
“May I walk you back to the castle?”
She turned, her countenance radiant. “Of course, Roland. I’d be delighted.”
The Chaos Lord of Oard nodded stiffly then joined her. “It is a nice
evening for a walk, isn’t it?”
“Oh, yes,” she said, smiling brightly. “It’s wonderful.”