Ellen Under The Stairs by John Stockmyer

came the
packing, female slaveys of the castle given that task, Ellen taking
a hand in the preparations -- women forever insisting on taking too
much of everything.
    There was getting Zwicia to do the
most simple things to get ready for the move, John deciding to take
the Weird along. You could never command too much magic when trying
for respect in a Wizardly world.
    Coluth and his band of
sailors did the heavy lifting, Coluth shadowed by his Second,
Philelph, the young man quiet as usual. John had know them both
from his "hiding out" days as a merchant seaman aboard the Roamer. Old Orig was
also with the captain, as was Osago -- fat as ever -- and Falkie.
There were other, more recent additions to Coluth's crew, all told,
a band of fifteen.
    Coluth also commanded a squad of
Stil-de-grain soldiers; had thought to bring more, but had decided
not to, moving swiftly an impossibility with a large unit. The
Admiral had rescued John from Pfnaravin's cage by stealth, after
all.
    Though Ellen said she felt better
day-by-day, her health continued to be a worry. Still with a fever
after down-light. Still coughing in the night.
    Platinia begged to go with them, John
reluctant to take the fragile girl on what was certain to be a
punishing journey. In the end, decided that, since she'd made the
trip before, she'd be all right, Platinia apt to be safer in the
palace at Xanthin than at Hero Castle (John attempting to ignore
what he couldn't deny, that when Platinia looked at him in a
certain, pleading way, it was easy to give in to her desires, John
also hoping to make restitution to Platinia for that time he'd made
out-of-line love to the little girl.)
    Ready at last, they set out just after
up-light, the sailors carrying most of the packaged items -- food,
clothing -- the group struggling through the morning fog down a
steep, loose-rock trail, hurrying, as best they could, to reach the
first valley before down-light.
    Making it, but just barely (the women
foot-sore and exhausted), the group stayed that night in an inn
built to accommodate the occasional merchant or hunter -- the owner
and his wife strained to find food for them all, the soldiers and
sailors sleeping in an outbuilding.
    Two days later had them nearing the
foot of the Hero Mountains, John sending a soldier ahead to the
next inn, the man instructed to hire the best pony cart he could
find, the women to ride the rest of the way.
    With six, snorting shelties pulling
the women's cart, John made better time, crossing the Tartrazine
river by cable boat to find the wider road on the other side
clogged with merchant traffic -- men with back packs, others
push-pulling three wheeled carts similar to wheelbarrows, wealthy
salesmen driving pony wagons piled high with merchandise: metal
from Malachite, fruit from Realgar, grain from Stil-de-grain. John
spotted a rich trader hiding in the center of the press, the man
cradling an extremely light package that had to be cloth from
Cinnabar. Silk merchants -- like diamond couriers in John's world
-- attempted to slip by unnoticed.
    Following the plan, John's group
eventually arrived at Canaria harbor, its quays jutting into deep
water, merchant ships moored along the jetties, there to take on
cargo destined for many bands.
    Plus a Stil-de-grain naval vessel --
Admiral Coluth's cutter waiting at the end of the mole, the ship
sweeping John's party around the swirling circles of the sea, to
enter Xanthin harbor. Their goal: Xanthin palace further
on.
    News they were coming preceding them,
the populace had turned out to welcome the return of the Mage,
Xanthin's people in holiday finery, the men wearing colorful
jerkins and bright doublets above skin tight hose, short
waist-skirts flared to show well rounded buttocks and codpieces --
the women more conservatively dressed in long robes of assorted
colors, wimples covering head, neck, and chin. All cheering.
Waving. Promising eternal love and support. (John was careful to
remember that the same