Perhaps after all this, the highlords would grant him a real, permanent title, and award him Flotsam as his enfiefment. His own duchy. Perhaps that's what the dream meant.
Duchy of Flotsam. Duke of Flotsam. Had a nice ring to it, he thought, leaning against the windowsill.
He was still writing his acceptance speech and ordering his first series of retributive executions when Groag shook him awake. Dawn had broken, and far in the distance, there were dogs baying.
Now was the time to move on, Toede thought, to claim his rightful throne.
The land broadened quickly into the low rolling hills that surrounded Flotsam, ending finally in the bay upon which the city was built. It was, at last, territory familiar to Toede. They approached from the southeast, trundling over the low hills that flanked the city on that side. The hills had mostly been denuded, noted Toede, and rich fields of barley and wheat and plots of vegetables had replaced the wildlife and underbrush. The fields were brown earth sprinkled with the first tufts of green from the spring. When he had last ridden through the land, the grain had been a rich harvest gold, and the trees were heavy with fruit. It seemed a lifetime ago. As they topped the last low rise overlooking the city, Toede wondered what else had changed.
The pair of footsore travelers stopped and regarded Flotsam, sprawled out before them like a drunkard curled on the pavement. A low miasma hung over the city-the sum of collected exhalations, smokes, fumes, and fires of the inhabitants that even the steady breeze off Blood Bay could do nothing to diminish. The subtle stench of pirates, merchants, craftsmen, middlemen, travelers, adventurers, soldiers, entertainers, barbarians, and priests tickled his nostrils even at this distance.
Toede let out a contented sigh. Nothing had changed after all. Except…
"Groag," said the highmaster with a frown, "who decided to repair the wall?"
Indeed, the city wall, more of a ten-foot-high apology to advancing armies than any real impediment to a concentrated attack, had been restored. The wall ran along on its original foundation, forming a long, looping enclosure that cradled the harbor from southern edge to northern tip. The Southwest Gate was before them, framed by thirty-foot towers. A small trickle of wagons lined up as they passed by the guards. Toede squinted and could see similar traffic snags at the Southeast Gate on his right and the North Gate across the way.
"Uh, Gildentongue," mewled his companion, figuring (correctly) that this was a proper answer for any mischief committed in Toede's absence.
"Hmpf," snorted the highmaster. "If Gildentongue is really in charge, it shows what he knows. Why bother with walls when you have a wing of dragons camped out within your city? Typical Draconian overkill. No sense of subtlety in the least."
"Well, now that you mention it…" ventured Groag in his meekest voice.
Toede flexed an eyebrow, his time-honored method of recognizing a flunky about to deliver bad news. Groag kept his eyes focused on a spot two inches in front of Toede's boots.
"I had heard from Miss Taywin-Kronin's daughter- that the dragonarmy had… uh… relocated. Up the Rugged Coast and closer to the ogre territories. Better recruits and all was what they said, but the kender laughed and elbowed each other in the ribs, and I guessed it was too difficult to maintain the army inside the city walls. Rebels and sabotage and desertion and… all that."
The highmaster grumbled deeply, and Groag fell back two spaces.
The growl broke into discernible words. "Then what you're saying is that there is no dragonarmy in Flotsam?"
Groag nodded, then he gave a most irritating, almost kenderish shrug of his shoulders, and added, "That's what I heard, at least."
"So much for Plan A," muttered Toede. Louder, to Groag, he said, "Is there anything else that you should tell me about my domain that I don't already know?"
Again the shrug. "I have been held by the kender for some time now, Highmaster," said Groag. "I only heard about the dragonarmy changing its base because the kender themselves threw a great party when it happened. Seems they felt responsible for the move. I remember the feast-there were twelve geese to be stuffed, and two full stags…"
Toede waved the rendition of the menu aside. "The barracks are empty, then?"
"Well, they're probably used for warehouses and things like that."
"But the rest of the city is still as it was. No temples to Habbakuk or Mishakal? No gods or kindly-but-powerful wizards taking up residence within earshot of the gates?"
Groag looked up, hurt. "Other than some new cult-thingie the kender mentioned Gildentongue is wrapped up in, no. I mean, I don't think so," he said, stressing the word 'think' as if it implied true cogitation and analysis.
"And my own luxurious manor house still stands?"
"I suppose so," muttered Groag.
"And the rock upon which it rests has not been washed out to sea?"
Groag shot back, "I do not know, O Wise Highmaster. Perhaps the next time I get captured, I'll arrange in advance for a bard to visit with the current claque?" Groag's face tensed for a moment, then returned to its normal befuddled state. "I mean… Milord, you must understand if I am not fully up to date."
Toede smiled, and for once it was not a wicked smile. It was the first indication of spine Groag had shown since Toede encountered him in the kender encampment. Toede was afraid his companion had been swept away by a world of goose-cooking and poetry. Groag seemed to be regaining his old manner, now that he was restored to basking in Toede's illustrious presence.
Well enough. If Gildentongue proved unwilling to step aside, Toede might need someone with the fortitude to jam a knife between the draconian's ribs. At the moment, until he could gauge his own popular support, Toede had an army of one, and that one-Groag-had to suit.
Groag returned the smile uneasily, as if he were unsure whether the highmaster was laughing with him or at him. When no immediate rebuff came from his superior, Groag relaxed.
Toede looked out at his city, still stench-ridden but wrapped behind a new cloak of stone. Even so, he was home.
"Well, there's nothing for it, then," he said. "Let's go tell Gildentongue that his master has returned."
Wrapped about a deep-water harbor on the western shore of Blood Bay, Flotsam was so named for its red-tinged beaches and proximity to the larger (and more crimson-tinged) Blood Sea. The original city was built from the ruins of Istar (and other pre-Cataclysm sites now covered by the scarlet ocean) that had washed up on the new shoreline. The city's name reflected both the original junk used to make the houses and the nature of its population: a collection of drifters, refugees, would-be warriors, fleeing fighters, leaderless mercenaries, merchants, corsairs, and all manner of middlemen.
The great majority of the city evinced a hodgepodge of styles slapped together with whatever construction supplies were available at the moment. The most noticeable exception was the eastern part of the town, where a rugged headland jutted into the sea, forming the safe barrier of Flotsam Harbor. Here on "The Rock" were the most beautiful homes, the finest inns, the best taverns, and of course, raised just a little above all the others, the resplendent manor of Highmaster Toede himself.
During the war Flotsam had proved a haven for rebels and dragon highlords alike, under the supposedly ever-watchful eye of Highmaster Toede. Until the day of his disastrous hunt, Toede had ruled with a combination of carrot and stick, offering benefits to those who abided by his rule of law, and punishment to those who did not. All the players quickly learned what could and could not be done within Toede's city. Trade caravans from the inland territories made Flotsam their terminus for Blood Sea cities, and the city attracted those men and women looking for easy coins. Toede's court was full of them: sycophants and inventors and adventurers with all manner of honeyed words and magical maps and wonderful ideas.