Chương 27: Ultán

Róise leaped up from her seat, but a meaty hand clamped down on her shoulder, forcing her back down.

"Let's not get hasty, now," the same voice rumbled.

"I'm just a little tired, that's all." Standing behind Róise was a large man who seemed withered with age, though he still towered over the pixie. He wore loose sailor's clothes, but they were mostly black, with accents of gray in a scarf and a loose rope belt. A short gray cloak was tossed over his left shoulder. His hair was a startling white, matched by a thin beard. What was most disconcerting were his eyes - black sclera with white irises. Scars marred his face, often bisecting and interrupting wrinkles.

He pulled up another chair and sat down at their table as if he were an old friend, firmly keeping one hand on Róise's shoulder. Miriam was frozen like all the rest of the crew, unsure what to make of this interloper. The most worrying thing was that she could see Róise straining against the man's hand to no avail - he was orders of magnitude stronger than she was. Miriam hadn't really gotten the knack of sensing forsa density yet, but the man felt weighty. She'd have guessed he was at least near Eoin's level.

"My name is Ultán. I was hired six months ago to stop a troupe of thieves." He raised one hand to the waitress, signalling for an ale.

"These two… hmm. Lowest of the low, I'm told. Stole a precious artifact and scarpered straight out of the Third Ring with it. But what do I care about that? I'm a sailor and there's no sea in that quarter of the Third. It's only when my client gets word that these thieves have continued their thievin' - stole a vampire ship from a loyal and patriotic officer of the Second Ring - that they entered my wheelhouse." Ultán graciously accepted a flagon from the returning waiter and took a long sip. He grimaced.

"The ale here is as bad as the weather."

"Let me assure you, sir -" Cormac began.

"I'm not done with my tale yet, son." Ultán looked at him dangerously.

"You should let me finish telling it. It will just increase the time you have left to live. Not by a lot, but when minutes are all that's left, seconds count, eh?" Róise grunted loudly, clearly trying once more to break the man's grip, but she was unable to rise even an inch off her chair.

"Where was I?" Ultán mused, sucking down some errant foam from his mug.

"Ah, yes. You see, there's a reason I get certain kinds of jobs. I'm a Wind nature. Nothing special out here on these waters, but I have some unique skills that make me well sought after for jobs like this." He set his mug down and raised two fingers pressed together. He looked at the air in front of him, tilting his head this way and that as if looking for the right angle for a painting, then he tapped an empty spot in front of him. A golden dot swelled there, then a line erupted from it.

It only moved in straight lines or right angles, tracing a path through the world across some hidden geometry Miriam couldn't begin to fathom, but ending squarely at Cormac's chest.

"Heh," the old sailor coughed.

"I'm a Pathfinder Adept. That there is the path which will lead me to the thieves who stole the Architect's Compass. And it just alighted on you, my boy. That would be bad enough to get you on my bad side - what sort of bounty hunter doesn't respect the law, after all? But six months ago I set a path - where will the thieves of the Architect's Compass next make port? I followed that path diligently, like the bloodhound I am." Ultán drank another long pull on his flagon, sighing deeply.

"I am an efficient sailor, you know. Like all men who make their living on the Irounil Sea, I make the best possible time I can. I expected to beat you here." Abruptly he slammed the mug down onto the table, shattering it to pieces, scattering the remaining ale inside.

"I didn't expect to beat you here by three months! What in the name of the gods could you possibly be doing that it took you twice as long to get here as you should? I was a little worried, truth be told - a Selkie-driven ship can be a hard thing to keep up with, much less get ahead of, but instead I show up ninety days early?" Cormac looked a little sheepish.

"Well, we had some trouble along the way. We may have gotten a little lost…"

"Lost? Lost?" Ultán stared unbelievingly at the Captain.

"On a Selkie ship? On a Selkie Vampire Ship?" If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

"It was our first time out at sea!" Cormac protested, waving his arms in the air more than Miriam thought was really necessary.

"We might have made some… rookie mistakes?" Ultán sighed, a long, wheezy sound.

"Ye gods, man. It makes me sad to know I've wasted so much time on such incompetents. I didn't even think it was possible to be this worthless!" He shook his head sadly.

"All right. Enough bellyachin' I suppose. The rest of you Firsts - you just took a job, so I ain't here for you. You want to clear on out of here, you need not have any part of what comes next. I'm sure you can catch another boat out of here at some point in the next few months. Better than dying." The crew looked at each other anxiously, then as one, they all stood up from the table.

"Best of luck, Captain," Abreu said - the deckhand with the furry arms.

"No hard feelings."

"Traitors, all of you," Cormac grumbled, but Miriam didn't feel any real animosity. What could any of the crew do against an upper ringer like Ultán? He then looked back at Abreu sharply.

"Maybe on your way out… you could get the fiddler to play a tune?" Abreu's eyes darted to Róise, and nodded.

"Aye, Captain." Miriam was startled to find that alone among the crew, only she had not walked away from the table. Why hadn't she? It was stupid - this was probably her best chance to sneak back aboard the Líadan and find a way to free Iohannes. She instructed her legs to get up and follow the crew out the door. But she didn't. Róise and Cormac had become friends over the last few weeks. She had no doubt they were thieves - but they didn't deserve to die for that. The real question was… did she?

Ultán was an obstacle she couldn't fathom overcoming. Even if she unleashed the Blight in her heart, he was too powerful. For all of Solas's experience, he had been First Ring still, and only seconds from being able to overcome her attack. This was something she had figured out on the Líadan - the reason why her dryad command over wood barely affected the ship. It was a Second Ring construction.

While wood from the First Ring was more or less putty in her hands, higher ring materials were just too forsa-dense for her to work with. Had Solas been even Second Ring, her Blight would have likely been no more than an inconvenience. Then again… she wasn't alone here. She knew Róise was formidable, and even though her strength seemed dwarfed by Ultán's. In combination with Cormac they might be enough to at least escape. Did she really want to gamble on that for these two? Miriam set her jaw.

In her previous life she had made choices she had regretted and had at times compromised her ideals for as little as pragmatism or blatant self-interest. She would not waste her new life on the same mistakes. Unless she wanted to sail back to the Golden Swamp and live as a hermit for the rest of her time in the Tir, she needed to make connections. And Cormac and Róise… they seemed like good people to be connected to.

"Sticking with your captain, huh?" Ultán squinted one eye at her.

"Huh. Why? You ain't one of the thieves I've got a contract out for. You could just go your merry way." Miriam looked him in the eye. All of the fear and worry about the strength of this man threatening them faded away.

"They saved my life. Any time I have left in this world is a gift I never expected to have. I won't miser it away by leaving my friends in the dust." Ultán looked moved.

"That's not the sort of sentiment I hear out in the First Ring too much. We live a bit too hardscrabble out here for that sort of loyalty." She snorted.

"And why are you scrabbling hard out here? You're clearly from an inner ring. Why are you playing big fish in this little pond?" Ultán laughed, casually putting more pressure on Róise's shoulder. She winced visibly.

"That's retirement for you, girl! It happens with everyone. Anyone with a lick of ambition gets all fired up about making it to the Tenth Ring, but everyone usually fails. When they do, is it better to stay as far as you made it, in constant battle with people who just want to use you as a stepping stone? Or to go back where you know that no matter what happens, you're not likely to run into trouble you can't handle? Smart money's on the latter." Miriam shrugged.

"I can understand that. Never been to an inner ring before myself. I guess we'll have to see how I react once I get there." The old bounty hunter smiled.

"You got spirit, girl! Tell you what. I'll take care of these two, then you and me can chat about the inner rings. I could even help you get there." She considered it. He probably could help. Like Eoin, he clearly knew a lot about how to improve someone's forsa. Miriam shook her head.

"I won't abandon my friends," she repeated. Ultán shook his head.

"I'm afraid you won't have much choice in the matter." Three things happened simultaneously. Because of the constant, intense pressure Ultán was inflicting on Róise, her chair - flimsy First Ring wood - was beginning to crack. A tiny fracture in the back right leg. At the same time, the tavern fiddler - a patchy, almost furry man with a threadbare violin - began the opening strains of a bawdy tavern song - a request from the departing Abreu.

Lastly, Miriam whipped out a Lash with her vines, pouring every ounce of unlocked forsa she had into it. The chair broke, sending Róise tumbling out of Ultán's grip. The lash pinned Ultán's right hand to the table. And Róise flipped to her feet, already swaying to the beat of a familiar tune. Banks of Red Roses. Cormac smiled, pulling his threads tight.

"That's some good luck, isn't it?"