The Khur shouted an order to two of his drivers. Moments later they returned, carrying the crate of “Wool Dye” Ulin had opened.
Ulin’s eyes narrowed. So, the Khur merchant who dealt with the Knights of Neraka also sold arms to the rebels in the red dragon’s realm. The man’s reach was wide indeed.
Lysandros opened the crate in front of Akkar-bin and lifted a corner of the dye bags. He nodded with satisfaction and passed the small chest to the caravan master. “Tell Garzan we will take more when he can send another shipment.”
The Khur turned to go, his business finished, when Lucy caught his arm and indicated the bay horse hitched to the cook wagon. “Master Akkar-bin, I would like to buy that horse.” She ran hand down the animal’s neck. “We will need a horse for the return journey, and I have become rather fond of this one.”
The old Khur’s expression did not change. “The horse is stolen. If it wasn’t for your help with the bandits, we might have lost the caravan. Keep the horse.” Pivoting on his heel, he strode away to supervise the unloading of the cargo.
Lucy watched him go, her lips parted in surprise. “I guess that was his way of saying thank you.”
The captain chuckled. “Knowing Akkar-bin, that was the closest thing to a compliment he’s ever given. Just don’t let any Dark Knights see that brand.”
Ulin pulled the sword out from under the wagon seat and laid it with the others in the crate. The half-elf watched, his arms crossed. “I gave that weapon to you, Ulin. Do you refuse it?”
The young Majere bowed. “I am grateful, but I do not want to be obligated to someone in a town I must leave so quickly.”
Lysandros’s rich laugh filled the space between the wagons. “Whether you go or stay, you will need a weapon around here. Keep it. Do not worry about obligation.”
Annoyance flickered in the back of Ulin’s mind. He did not want to accept a sword from this man, for honor demanded that he find some way to repay the rebel leader for this generous gift, but to refuse it now would be an insult. Hiding a scowl, he belted the sword to his waist and tried to appear pleased.
With a brief bow, the captain bade farewell to the newcomers, and with his men, he blended into the crowd with the skill of a pickpocket.
“Thought he’d never leave,” grumbled Challie. “Now, bring your gear. There are some people who want to meet you.”
“Does this have anything to do with my father?” Lucy asked wearily.
“It does. The city council has been waiting for some time, hoping to meet you. I thought they could give you news about him, perhaps tell you more about how he, uh, died.”
Lucy said nothing. She and Ulin eyed the magistrate for a moment then looked at each other and hoisted their packs to their backs. Wordlessly, they followed the dwarf out of the marketplace and into the streets.
Lucy, keeping a firm grip on her horse’s halter, brought up the rear of the little group as the magistrate led them along a street that followed the curve of the harbor. Clusters of rickety one-story buildings sat on both sides of the street. Each had a crude name painted above the door, and from the racket of raucous voices, loud music, and the occasional crack of breaking furniture, the buildings were taverns and gaming houses with several gaily painted bawdy houses for variation. The businesses and streets in this area were busy even at this time of day with hawkers, pickpockets, barkers, and a rowdy clientele that did not seem to have much else to do in the day’s heat.
Ulin and Lucy stared at the streets and buildings in a mix of distaste and amazement. Every edifice in town appeared to be hastily thrown together from whatever building material was available at the time. One enterprising tavern keeper had hauled an old wrecked carrack out of the water, cut off her masts and rudder, planted her keel in the dirt, and opened for business under the name of The Ship Wreck. Other people used crates or old ship timbers, stones from the city walls, canvas, and even whale bones to construct a hodgepodge of homes, shops, and businesses. Nothing was the same, and nothing looked strong enough to survive a good wind.
The other characteristic of Flotsam the travelers noticed immediately was the smell. In the heat of early summer on a windless day like this one, the odors rose from the town in powerful waves that assaulted the nostrils of new arrivals who had not had time to become inured to the stench. Ulin recognized the smells of tar, horse manure, refuse of all kinds, dead fish, and poor sanitation before he gave up and tried to breath through his mouth. He just hoped the sea breeze would pick up very soon.
Following the curve of the harbor, the small group soon arrived at a complex of large stone buildings on the northwest shore, directly across the water from the Rock. Most of the outer buildings had collapsed into rubble, but the main wing still stood. Scorched by old fires and missing part of its roof, it remained a silent testimony to the skill of its original builders.
“This used to be the barracks of the Black and White armies stationed here before the Chaos War,” Challie said before anyone could ask. “Malys has burned it several times, but I think it has protective wards built into the walls. It won’t fall down.”
“What is it now?” asked Ulin.
“Our lord mayor uses it as his city hall.”
A laugh welled out of Lucy. “This place has a mayor?”
The dwarf nodded, her dark eyes unblinking. “To give him credit, he tries.”
The title of lord mayor triggered a memory in Ulin’s mind of another detail from his grandfather’s tales. “What happened to Highmaster Toede?”
“Who?” Lucy said.
“He was a hobgoblin who wormed and kicked his way into a position of power in the service of the Dragon Highlord.” Ulin explained. “He was lord mayor of Flotsam for years.”
Challie agreed with his description. “The old monster died about five years ago after Malys razed his manor and everything else on the Rock.”
Ulin found his gaze searching the rocky headland for landmarks he’d heard about. Nothing was there. The Rock had been stripped bare of Toede’s two-story manor, the inn called the Saltbreeze, the treasury, and every hut, house, shed, or outhouse all the way down to the wharves at its base.
“The Red Marauder has been rather hard on this town,” Challie observed.
An obvious understatement, thought Ulin.
A party of four waited for them on the step in front of the old barracks. They greeted Challie warmly then turned to meet the two new arrivals with barely concealed relief.
Challie made the introductions. “Ulin, Lucy, this is Lord Mayor Efrim Getani and the Flotsam City Council.”
Mayor Efrim bowed stiffly, and Ulin feared for a moment the mayor would not be able to straighten up again. The man was at least as old as his grandfather and not nearly as hale. His fragile body swayed within his red robes that seemed several sizes too big for him. Pushing on his cane, he managed to lever himself to an upright position and bestow a toothless smile on everyone. A thin beard framed his narrow face and continued in a ring of white around his bald head.
“Mayor Efrim was a pirate once,” Challie said, eyeing the old man with a glint of irritable respect. “He and my grandfather fought together.”
“Saved your life, too, you old rascal,” Efrim said through toothless gums.
“And he thinks I’m my grandfather,” the dwarf added to her two companions.
“I, however, suffer no such delusions,” said the second man. He was much younger, perhaps in his fifties, and the only portly man they had seen so far in Flotsam. His round face sweated profusely in the hot afternoon sun, and he constantly wiped it with a damp handkerchief. He took the mayor’s arm to help support him. “I am Geoff Aylesworthy of the Flotsam City Council. I am also the owner of the Jetties, the finest inn in Flotsam. Please allow me to reserve two rooms for you at my establishment.”