Chapter 145: Shrimp Peninsula
With Professor Damire leading the way, the group made their way along a narrow path through the rainforest — a trail worn by local beastmen out hunting, sometimes barely a path at all, but any trail beat none. They pushed north along it, tense but disciplined. No one paused for rare plants or creatures along the way anymore; Jessica felt the loss of it, though she understood well enough that danger still lingered close. Their owls were long spent, and the signal arrows carried only a range of a few dozen miles at most — not that it slowed the group down any.
The moment Damire had cleared the half-plane, he'd sent off a magical letter, its range capped at a thousand miles, addressed to a peninsula at the southern tip of Tyrenese called Shrimp Island — named for its shape and the abundance of sea shrimp found there. Sparsely populated, its northern reaches buried under dense forest, threaded through by a single narrow path connecting it to the rest of the continent. Sitting along the coast, facing the Barbarian Continent across open water — barely three hundred miles away — it might have served as a natural gateway to the new continent, if not for the long, narrow Scorpion Tail Peninsula jutting out a hundred miles to the east, coming within less than two hundred miles of the Barbarian coast and blessed with a deep-water harbor besides, which had made it the preferred route for travel to the new continent instead. Shrimp Peninsula, by contrast, had fallen into obscurity — dense forest, rugged terrain, a forgotten corner of the map.
And yet Hollingburton kept a transport array here, hidden in a cave, staffed year-round, treating this remote spot as its gateway to the Barbarian Continent. Every year, around August or September, wagons would come rolling through the forest from the north, carrying new students bound for the array and the journey beyond. Hollingburton's presence here had, in time, given rise to a small town at the base of the mountain, complete with a modest chapel staffed by three clergy — one of them part-time. The parish priest, Father Lena Storm, was a man in his fifties, brown hair speckled here and there with grey, his old cassock worn but always clean. He'd been here for over thirty years, they said, and greeted everyone with the same easy smile.
Damire's magical letter had gone out to this very outpost. This year's watch fell to Senior Mage Mikoyan, still fairly new to the posting, though the place suited him well enough — quiet, the sea and sky calm most days. He found himself thinking, unbidden, of the storm from a month back — rain pouring like a tear in the sky, wind whipping the downpour sideways, waves crashing against the rocks with force enough to shake the ground. That had been the very night Professor Damire and his graduating class had come through the array.
The lighthouse on a distant reef had gone dark that same night. Mikoyan had gone out himself to check, only to find the old keeper had passed away. He'd relit the lamp himself and sent word down to the town below — he'd heard Father Storm had personally seen to the old man's burial, though Mikoyan hadn't attended himself. This place drew the occasional adventurer passing through, though they never lingered long, which suited Mikoyan fine — a good spot, he thought, for quiet contemplation.
Professor Damire had stayed ten days before the weather cleared and he'd boarded a ship out — schedules ran irregular here, but ships did come, docking at the simple wharf. Most of the townsfolk made their living fishing, a hard life, though the settlement belonged to no particular noble house.
Not long after, word had reached Mikoyan from Hollingburton that Damire's expedition had come under attack, and real worry had gripped him for his old friend — though there was little he could do, stationed alone as the only senior mage in this remote outpost. He'd heard headquarters had bypassed the usual channels entirely, using a legendary mage's spellwork to deposit the rescue party directly at the site. Still, he'd spent the following days on edge, dreading news of his friend's death. Then, today, a small blue-eyed bird had streaked in like an arrow, resolving into a letter before him. He read it through, and a smile spread across his face. Damire had made it out safely.
Word would likely reach headquarters within a few more days, he thought, and decided to send a letter of his own back to Hollingburton, opting to send it directly through the transport array despite the considerable cost and the need for a senior mage to cast it — worth it, given the circumstances.
In Hollingburton's transport hall, the array suddenly flared to life. Two attendants glanced over — a transport array in the far south of Tyrenese, activating out of nowhere. The array saw little use outside of term openings and school breaks, given the expense involved, reserved mostly for students traveling from distant regions. Today wasn't any such occasion. Why would it be lighting up now?
Once the glow faded, a letter lay within the array's circle. The attendant checked it — an urgent dispatch, addressed to Ortlando. She picked it up, called out to her colleague, and hurried off.
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Evan's group was pressing forward along the narrow trail when they sensed someone ahead. Evan raised a hand, and the group halted and scattered at once, spells readying. The other party sensed them too and stopped. A man's voice called out. "We're from the Solomon Academy of Magic. Who are you?"
The group let out a breath of relief at that, though wariness lingered. "Honored colleague from Solomon Academy, we're from Hollingburton Academy of Magic. Did you come in response to our distress call?"
"Honored colleague, we did indeed come for your distress signal — though we ran into some trouble of our own along the way. After reaching the Barbarian Continent, we were held up for several days by beastman officials at the port city of Kaines, and only broke free today. I hadn't expected you'd already gotten yourselves clear," the man said as his group approached, magic rippling faintly around them, their robes bearing Solomon Academy's insignia. Sensing no hostility, Evan gave a small gesture, and the tension in his own group eased.
Evan offered a mage's bow. "Thank you for extending a hand of friendship. On behalf of Hollingburton, please accept our sincere gratitude. I'm Evan Wang. May I ask your name, honored sir?"
The man facing him looked to be in his thirties, pale gold hair, an open, easy smile showing brilliant white teeth, carrying a mature sort of charm. He returned the bow. "No need for thanks — I'm simply glad to see you've already gotten yourselves out safely. We're all mages here, and helping one another is only natural. I'm Nikolai Waltram."
Waltram introduced the rest of his party, and Evan's group gave a brief account of their own circumstances, thanking their Solomon colleagues once more for their help.
Waltram's expedition had clearly gone all out on this — three senior mages among them alone, along with several students in the fifth-to-sixth tier range. They asked how Evan's group had managed to escape, and Evan gave them a brief summary of events. Hearing that Hollingburton had used long-range teleportation to reach the site directly, Waltram couldn't help but praise it, calling the rescue remarkably swift.
The two groups joined forces from there. This time Evan didn't reorganize the formation — they weren't Hollingburton's own people, after all — and seeing their combined numbers had crossed fifty, he felt a measure of relief settle in. The Gonuo Society, he suspected, wouldn't risk anything rash against a force this size.
A few watchful eyes tracked them along the way here and there, though nothing ever came of it. Two days later, they reached Kaines, a port city on the northern edge of the Barbarian Continent, coastal batteries lining the shore. Whatever their differences, Tyrenese and Barbarian civilizations, given their proximity, had developed along fairly similar lines. The two groups parted ways here — Evan's party would need to wait a day, since the next ship to Shrimp Peninsula didn't leave until tomorrow, though they counted themselves fortunate not to be stuck waiting days longer. The Solomon party had it easier, with a ship to Scorpion Tail Peninsula departing that same day.
Evan's group found an inn to stay at in Kaines. Damire and Emma went out to buy passage. Evan let himself relax somewhat — within beastman-controlled territory, their enemies were unlikely to move openly — though he still cautioned the students to stay careful and forbade anyone from wandering off alone. He meant to see them all home safe, and though a few students grumbled under their breath, they knew well enough it came from concern for them.
What Evan didn't know was that Viscount Modi was in Kaines too, holed up in the governor's residence. Kaines followed the Creationist Church mainly, though a portion of the local population held to the native faith of the nine pillar-gods, worshipping Amun-Ra, god of the sun. Plenty of pale-skinned people lived in this beastman city as well, along with mixed-blood offspring of humans and beastmen.
Viscount Modi had known the governor of Kaines, Erichio, for some five years now. Erichio was a greedy man, thick with fat, and he and Modi had long since fallen into a mutually beneficial arrangement — Modi captured beastmen, and Erichio looked the other way, handsomely compensated for the favor. Modi hunted beastmen in the jungle and, on the side, sold off Erichio's political rivals to the continent of Eyan as well. A partnership built on shared corruption if ever there was one.
Since striking up his friendship with Modi, Erichio's fortunes had grown considerably. Today, though, another visitor had come along too — Corey. He offered the governor a gentleman's bow. "Noble governor of Kaines, honored administrator of the Sun Empire's northern province of Ejū, your faithful friend Corey sends his regards."
After working his way through that long, unwieldy string of formalities, the governor finally spoke with a smile. "I did you quite a favor, you know — held the Solomon Academy's people for questioning under the guise of inspection, nearly turned it into a diplomatic incident."
"Thank you for that, Governor. The Gonuo Society regrets any trouble we've caused you." Corey produced a small, finely made box and presented it. The governor took it, cracked it open just enough to catch a glimpse of glittering jewels within, and closed it again with a satisfied smile.
Seeing the governor's mood improve, Corey pressed his advantage. "Governor, might we trouble you to expedite a shipment of goods? We'd like to leave tomorrow."
"Which ship?"
"The Northern St. Yardi. Departing tomorrow," Corey said.
The governor scribbled out a note and stamped it with his official seal. Corey bowed deeply again in thanks.
Back in Evan's room, the teachers were talking things over. "Tickets are secured," Damire said. "First class was sold out — we got second-class instead."
"Which ship?"
"The passenger liner Northern St. Yardi."