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Flotsam lay on the southwestern edge of the Blood Sea in the shelter of Blood Bay. It owed its name and much of its existence to the ancient kingdom of Istar whose Kingpriest awoke the wrath of the gods and brought cataclysm upon Krynn. His fabled city sank to the bottom of the Blood Sea where it was lost beneath the great Maelstrom. Bits and pieces, trash and relics washed ashore along miles of coastline, but due to the currents and the curves of the shoreline, much of the flotsam washed into Blood Bay. Drawn by the hope of valuables, the lure of magic artifacts, and ready availability of building materials, a diverse collection of people settled in the area and named their town with simple honesty. Flotsam had gone through many changes since its founding. It had been a pirate hideout, a dragonarmy base, and a flourishing port. Now, under the merciless rule of the Red Marauder, about two thousand of its surviving citizens eked out a rough existence as best they could.

Because of the town’s isolation, the population considered the arrival of a caravan from Sanction and Khur a big event. The Silver Fox’s men had spread the word that the wagons were due by noon, so when the wagons wound down out of the hills and into the valley of Flotsam, most of the residents came out to greet them.

At the dusty end of the caravan, the cook wagon crested the low ridge and started down the long slope. Lucy reined her horse to a halt and stared down on the valley below. The port lay in a cup-shaped vale surrounded by bare hills that ended in bluffs at the water’s edge. A small but deep harbor sat like a blue bowl on the eastern side of the valley, and on the east side of the bay sat the Rock, a thumb-shaped, rugged headland that projected out into the bay and rose more than thirty feet above the water. The Rock was a natural fortress and formed Flotsam’s strongest defense and shelter from the rough storms that plagued the Blood Sea.

In the midst of this valley, curving around the circular bay like an old dump, stood the most ramshackle, disreputable excuse for a town Lucy and Ulin had ever seen. For a moment they were struck dumb by what they observed.

“I’ve seen gully dwarf towns that look better than that,” Lucy finally remarked.

Challie shrugged. “It certainly fits its name.”

“Welcome to Flotsam, ladies!” Lysandros called. He waved cheerily as he cantered his horse past the wagons. “I’ll see you in town.” He and his men rode on past the caravan and down the road where they disappeared among the rowdy crowd waiting to greet the newcomers.

Lucy slapped the reins to urge the horse forward, and they followed the other wagons down the hills. They passed a few farms with fields newly plowed for spring planting. Some gentle slopes were rowed with grape vines and olive trees, and here and there a few cows and sheep grazed in small pastures beside the farmhouses. For the most part, the land around Flotsam sat empty and ill-tended. Ruins of burned-out cottages and the gray skeletons of wrecked barns were scattered across the valley, attesting to the numerous depredations of Malys. The closer the caravan drew to the town the more the years of damage became apparent. Crumbling cottages and outbuildings sat in ruins beside the road, some nearly lost in tumbled vines and overgrown weeds. A few huts and hovels looked inhabited, but they were ill kept and shoddy.

On the freight wagon, Ulin glanced back at Lucy and saw the expression on her face. It probably mirrored his own. His grandfather, Caramon, had been in Flotsam many years before when the Blue Lady’s dragonarmy made the town its headquarters, and he remembered some of his grandfather’s tales about the town. He looked to find some of the landmarks Caramon mentioned, yet nothing looked the way he thought it should. Where the city wall and its guard towers once stood, he saw only the rubble of its foundations and cut stones scattered across the fields. Where the busy wharves had been, there was only empty water and the bones of old pilings. Two wharves had been rebuilt to service the fishing fleet and the few merchants that sailed in, but the breakwater and its beacon had been destroyed and most of the warehouses were ashes. What was left of Flotsam after thirty years under Malys’s iron claw was perhaps half the original population and the seediest, most dilapidated collection of shops, tenements, taverns, and bawdy houses Ulin could imagine.

The people who hurried out of these buildings to welcome the caravan were hardly any better. The denizens of Flotsam were almost as varied as Sanction’s, including various humans, kender, and a scattering of half-elves, wild elves, dwarves, hobgoblins, ogres, and gully dwarves. The difference was that while Sanction’s people looked fed and prosperous under their circumstances, these people were ragged, thin, and harassed.

They seemed happy enough at the moment, though, as they cheered the caravan’s arrival. Children ran to the wagons and clung to the sides for a ride into town. Ulin found himself with five boys of varied ages hanging like sprites on the wagon and two more riding his oxen. They all grinned and waved to him.

Ulin returned their greeting and tried to look pleased. He combed his fingers through his wind-tangled hair, straightened his loose robes, and waved back to the people. It would be good, he thought, to claim the father’s body and get out of Flotsam as soon as possible. Maybe, if their luck held, they could return to Khuri-Khan with Garzan’s wagons within the next few days.

Following Akkar-bin and his guards, the wagons rumbled into Flotsam past the razed city walls and between the jumble of crude buildings. Years before, in more prosperous days, the streets had been paved with stone. In recent times, however, the stones had been removed for repair or rebuilding purposes, and now the streets ran dry and dusty through out the town. A few wooden sidewalks lined the main road, and a group of enterprising storekeepers had put up water troughs and hitching posts in front of their crude storefronts.

In the center of town, located just behind the wharf area, was the town’s marketplace where a few struggling merchants, farmers, and fishermen came to sell their wares in canopied stalls or open carts. Akkar-bin, ignoring waves and greetings, led his wagons to the open market and parked them in two rows of five. With the skill of long practice, the drivers quickly set to work. Several set up Garzan’s colorful booth while the rest unhitched and led away the oxen before anyone could offer to buy them or try to steal them. The Khurs took no chances with their transportation.

Ulin pulled his wagon into line with a sigh of relief. Wearily, he applied the brake and dropped the whip. His small passengers dropped off and came around to accost him. Their grinning faces looked up at him hopefully, and their hands reached out to him.

“Spare a few coppers, sir?” implored the loudest of the lot. “Just a few? We haven’t eaten in days,”

Akkar-bin strode over to them before Ulin could respond. His whip cracked in the air, scattering them in all directions. “Be off, ye greedy little street urchins!” he yelled.

“Master Akkar!” Lucy’s voice snapped with the speed of the Khur’s whip. “How dare you? They are just hungry little boys.”

Akkar-bin coiled his whip and shrugged. With more patience than Ulin would have given him credit for, he replied, “Mistress Lucy, they are merely emissaries. If you give them even the tiniest copper, they and every other child in town will be hovering around you every time you set foot out a door. They are incorrigible beggars.”

Ulin jumped down from the wagon to forestall further argument from his tenderhearted betrothed. “Master Akkar,” he said, “It is time to complete our business.”

The caravan master nodded and drew a leather bag out of his voluminous waistband. “Your coins, as stated in the contract. The sword must be returned, of course.”

“You may keep the sword, Ulin of Solace, as a gift from me,” a familiar voice called out. The Silver Fox appeared behind Akkar-bin. He had changed out of his sand-colored clothing to a faded blue tunic trimmed with gray fox fur and flowing pants. A dingy yellow burnoose hid his silver hair and pointed ears. Several men were with him, and one carried a small ironbound chest. “The price as agreed with Garzan,” Lysandros said, indicating the box.