Ulin’s sister, Linsha, had spent years in Sanction, and after her return to Solace had described its charms to him in long and admiring detail. She told him of the inns and taverns, the gardens and shops, the large Souk Bazaar where virtually everything that was for sale on Ansalon could be found. She described the City Guards in their scarlet uniforms and the Governor’s Palace set like a white fortress upon a northern hill. Her descriptions had been so complete that Ulin found his eyes searching the city and its harbor for landmarks he felt should be there.
“It is so lovely,” Lucy said beside him. Her eyes were wide with curiosity. “Look at those volcanoes. They’re smoking!”
“Yes,” Challie agreed. “It’s not bad, for a city under siege.”
Sadly, Sanction had been a city under siege for a long time. The Knights of Neraka-the Knights who had, until recently, called themselves the Knights of Takhisis-had changed not only their commander and their name in the past year, they had also changed their strategy concerning Sanction. For years they had wanted control of the port city but had contented themselves with minor attacks and blockading the only two major land routes into the city while they studied the policies and activities of the powerful, magic-wielding lord governor, Hogan Bight. However, when magic began to fail all over Ansalon, the Dark Knights’ new leader, Morham Targonne, decided the chance to defeat Lord Bight had finally arrived. He launched a major offensive against the city’s fortifications that nearly overwhelmed the valiant City Guard, still weakened in numbers by the plague that decimated the city three years before. Only the fierce determination of Lord Bight and the courage of the Sanction defenders had kept the dark forces at bay. Eventually, even Lord Bight was forced to admit the city needed help. Against his better judgment, Lord Bight acquiesced to the demands of his frightened city council and made a pact with the Knights of Solamnia.
As far as Ulin knew, little had changed in the city since the arrival of the Solamnic relief force. The Knights of Neraka still beat at the eastern gates, and the city’s defenders still held them to a stalemate. At least the harbor was still open. Although the Dark Knights tried to blockade Sanction Bay, Lord Bight’s forces and the Solamnic Knights managed to keep the seawall open. It was the only lifeline to the rest of Ansalon still remaining to the beleaguered city.
Through this lifeline, Captain Tethlin had brought his ship into Sanction Bay under cover of early dawn. Now, as the sun rose over the mountains, he maneuvered her into the port.
Rigged with only enough sail for guidance, the freighter slid through the crowded harbor and took her place at the largest of Sanction’s piers, the southernmost Long Dock. Dockhands caught the freighter’s ropes and pulled her snug against the pier for unloading. Immediately, the Harbormaster’s aide hurried on board to check Captain Tethlin’s manifest and cargo and give the crew permission to unload.
The three travelers watched the bustling activity for a few more minutes then went to their cabin to collect their belongings. Ulin was about to close their door behind him on their way out when Captain Tethlin came bustling down the narrow corridor to see them off.
A big man, he beamed down at Challie and tousled her hair. “Quite a cruise, eh?” He chuckled.
Although Chalcedony was a head shorter than Lucy, she was older than Ulin and Lucy combined and she did not appreciate big people who treated her like a child. With quiet dignity she drew back from the captain’s reach and gave him a glare fierce enough to melt the brass on his buttons.
Captain Tethlin never noticed. “So, Ulin, are you staying in Sanction? Do you plan to meet the lord governor?”
Ulin had considered introducing himself to the city’s governor, Lord Bight, simply for curiosity’s sake. Linsha had described Hogan Bight in such glowing terms that Ulin had to admit he was intrigued by the man who had roused such loyal friendship in his sister. But while Linsha had told him about Sanction and its governor, she had never explained to his satisfaction what she was doing there for the Solamnic Knights or why she had had to leave Sanction so precipitously. Perhaps it would be better to leave that stone unturned. He decided, too, to stay anonymous. Challie had told him they would have to travel to Flotsam with the Khurs, and the Majere name was well known and would not be welcome among the Khurish merchants and traders that ran their caravans to Khuri-Khan and Flotsam. The Khur tribes were known to deal with the Knights of Neraka and their ilk and would not hesitate to kidnap or murder.
A brief shake of his head answered the captain’s question. “We’ll look for a caravan going east.”
“That won’t be easy. Very few get out of Sanction past the Knights of Neraka. Their blockades are growing stronger by the day. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if they close off this port within a week or two. We were lucky to get through this time.” He stroked his beard with a callused hand. “You ought to follow those bales of wool.” He pointed to where several sailors were hauling the bales of wool fleeces onto the dock. “They’re going to Garzan the rug maker in the Souk Bazaar. He has managed to send out caravans several times this year. If he can’t help you, maybe he’ll know someone who can.” Tethlin shook Ulin’s hand, bowed over Lucy’s, and waved to Challie. “Farewell and good luck to you!” he called, already hurrying back to work.
The three stood in the corridor with their bags and packs and stared at each other. They had been so occupied after the storm they had not had time to discuss the details of making arrangements in Sanction.
“Where to?” Ulin asked Challie.
“His information is as good as mine,” replied the dwarf. “I talked to Garzan about a caravan when I was here last month. We will speak to him.”
“Lunch first,” suggested Lucy. “After two days of keeping my head in a bucket, I’m starving.”
Ulin agreed. “Lunch it is. We’ll find an inn, leave our bags, and go look for Challie’s rug merchant.”
“And the Souk Bazaar,” added Challie. “We’ll need a tent, some clothes suitable for the desert, and provisions for the trip: weapons, probably horses …” She strode purposefully for the gangplank.
Ulin and Lucy exchanged a humorous glance and hurried after her.
From the Long Dock they were directed to Shipmaker’s Road, the main east-west road that bisected the city from the teeming harbor district to the huge guard camp on the eastern side. Along the road, they were told, they could find everything they needed, from inns and taverns to shops and the Souk Bazaar.
Just outside the towering city wall they found a small inn named the Brimming Barrel that offered good beer, hot meals, and a few clean rooms. The innkeeper was a retired guardsman who kept the inn more for his pleasure than necessity and strove to ensure his customers were as comfortable as he. While Ulin, Lucy, and Challie ate their midday meal, the keeper answered their questions about Sanction and filled them in on the latest news about the siege.
“The Solamnics,” he grumbled. He rubbed a towel over a clean tankard and slid it down the bar to join a line of others. “They’ve been here over six months now and damned all they’ve done so far. Lord Bight called ’em to help after the Knights of Neraka stepped up their attacks on the eastern fortifications. At first we thought they’d sweep in, kick the Dark Knights out of here, and save the day.” He made a rude noise. “All they want to do is sit on their armored backsides and ‘study the situation.’ Lord Bight must be ready to burst a blood vessel.”
Ulin remembered something else his sister mentioned about Sanction. “Whatever happened to the bronze dragon that saved the city during the plague?”
The innkeeper shook his grizzled head. “Haven’t seen it in a long time. Word around town is the dragon’s dead, probably killed by that black bitch, Sable.” He broke off to polish another tankard. “Too bad. We could really use that dragon about now.”
After their meal the three travelers left their cloaks and bags behind and walked out onto Shipmaker’s Road. Sanction had one of the most diverse populations in Ansalon, and every one of
its inhabitants seemed to be out in the streets. The paved thoroughfares thronged with carts, wagons, horses, and draft animals. Pedestrians and peddlers, hawkers and laborers crowded the wooden sidewalks. City Guards in their scarlet uniforms patrolled the docks and alleys and walked on the high city wall, while squads of Solamnic Knights marched through the busy streets.
Following the innkeeper’s advice, Ulin and the women made their way through the traffic to the Souk Bazaar and the waymeet of the north-south road. There they turned onto the Street of Weavers that bordered the southern edge of the great square.
Garzan the rug maker had a large shop at the Souk Bazaar and a warehouse on the south side of the city. He was a prosperous merchant, able to afford a warehouse on the inside of the city wall and a large contingent of laborers, haulers, drivers, and guards. What he lacked on that particular afternoon was a cook. His caravan was almost ready to depart, but the night before his cook had enjoyed one too many flagons of ale at his favorite tavern, tripped over a kender trying to “borrow” his purse, and fallen hard against the stone-flagged floor. His subsequent broken arm and concussion had left him unable to fulfill his duties.
Garzan was livid.
By the time the noon sun poured golden light across the smoking volcanoes, everyone in the Souk Bazaar knew Garzan was looking for an experienced cook who could leave the next day. Few thought he’d find one.
Lucy, Ulin, and Challie heard the news shortly after they walked into the rug merchant’s shop. Garzan was there, talking to his overseer at the top of his substantial lungs.
“The fool fell over a kender. A kender! Can you believe it? Drunk as a farmer on mushroom spirits. If he survives the blow to his head, I just might throttle him and finish the business.” Garzan stood behind the board that served as a display table and counter. Rolled rugs lay in stacks about him while others hung like tapestries on the walls or lay in piles on the tables around the big room. A second man stood beside him, his dark bearded face thunderous.
“Where will I find another cook so quickly?” Garzan continued. He brought a meaty fist down on the board with a crash. Suddenly he saw Ulin and his companions, and anger evaporated from his face to be replaced by a large smile. A Khur by birth, Garzan was a stocky man with swarthy skin, black hair to his shoulders, and mustaches of impressive length. His mercurial temper was known to all who dealt with him, as was his habit to drive hard bargains.
“A pleasant afternoon, good people. What may I do to help you? Would you like to see a rug?” he offered, waving an expansive hand at his wares.
Challie bowed her head in greeting. “I am Chalcedony of Flotsam. It is not rugs that bring us to see your inestimable self, my good sir, but fleeces.”
“Ah, yes! So you wish to inspect my fleeces. They are the finest Schallsea wool. Excellent texture, long fiber …” He went on at some length describing the qualities of the wool.
Ulin and Challie let him talk in spite of their own impatience and Lucy’s increasing fidgets. Khurs loved to talk, to sing, to tell tales, and to bargain, often in extravagant tones and phrases. Even dwarves had learned the hard way that it was not polite to interrupt a Khurish merchant in the midst of establishing a deal.
The merchant carried on for several minutes then asked the nature of their business with fleece.
“In truth, good sir, we do not wish to purchase the fleece. We wish to travel with it.” Challie replied with a bland smile. “If you are kind enough to remember, I talked to you last month about a return journey to Flotsam.”
Garzan’s left eyebrow rose upward. “Indeed. So, you inquire about my caravans? How far do you intend to go?”
“We are traveling to Flotsam,” Challie replied, her words clipped with barely suppressed annoyance.
“Ah.” A speculative light lit the merchant’s eyes. “Yes. Caravans are the only way to reach that fair port from Sanction without months of sea travel.”
Ulin bowed in respect. “And we heard yours were the largest, the safest, and most prestigious.”
Lucy fought to keep a grin off her face. They’d heard no such thing, but she was beginning to understand the process of negotiation with a Khur.
“It is unfortunate you did not hear that I no longer allow passengers on my caravans,” Garzan said with mock gravity. “You must understand, the trail we must take to bypass the siege forces is long, the way is dangerous, and the tribute we must pay to her Magnificence, Malystryx, is exorbitant. Every beast and wagon I send is fully laden, every driver and guard who attends the goods must work to their utmost to see to the safe arrival of the caravan. Passengers are a hindrance and a nuisance.”
Undismayed by the Khur’s words, Ulin cut off Challie’s indignant exclamation with a chop of his hand. He said smoothly, “Even ones who pay well?”
Garzan rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Perhaps if there was something you could do …” he said, studying the trio before him.
Ulin, Challie, and Lucy exchanged puzzled glances. Working for their passage had not occurred to any of them. What could they do for a caravan? Challie was short, even for a dwarf, and knew nothing useful about driving a freight wagon. Lucy was pleasant-looking and totally innocuous, and Ulin was lean and gawky. All of them were dressed in plain, travel-worn garments with nothing more than daggers and one small axe between them. Not one of them could pass as a guard, mercenary, or even wagon driver. Just what did the merchant have in mind?
Garzan fastened his gaze on Lucy. “Can you cook?” he asked.
Lucy chuckled. “I can barely boil water, but he can.” She pointed to Ulin. “He was raised in an inn.”
Ulin blinked as pieces began to fall into place. Truthfully, he had not been raised at the Inn of the Last Home. He’d had his own home with his parents and sister, but he had learned many of his grandmother’s recipes and secrets, and he could boil water.
“Is this true?” Garzan demanded, his excitement barely suppressed behind his sharp gaze.
Ulin lifted his hands in a dismissive gesture, “I am training to be an alchemist, yet in truth, the only differences between the two arts are the ingredients and the final results.”
The Khur merchant leaned over the table between them, his eyes shadowed by his heavy brows. “You need conveyance to Flotsam. I need a cook. Perhaps we can make a deal agreeable to all …?”
Challie crossed her arms and kept her face blank. If Ulin was willing to do this, she would not argue. The wages they earned would save the city council a fat fee. “What would the job entail?”
“I have a cook wagon already outfitted and stocked. The caravan leaves tonight at midnight. You must be able to drive a wagon and cook enough to feed at least twenty-five people. You may be called upon to tend injuries, fight brigands, and perhaps”-he pointed a finger at Lucy-“defend yourselves. My men will respect you if you feed them well, but if they do not like the food, they will not hesitate to tell you about it with their fists or knives.”
“Fair enough,” replied Ulin.
Garzan clapped his hands, and an older woman poked her head out through a curtained doorway behind him. “Bring kefre and cakes for five!” he ordered. “Writing a contract is hungry business.”
In a few minutes Garzan, his overseer, Ulin, Lucy, and Challie were seated around a small table in the back room. The elderly woman served them strong, black kefre-a drink made from the bark of one of the few shrubs that grew in the Khurs’ desert homeland-in tiny cups and plates of cakes with bowls of honey for dipping.
Lucy was still hungry after her bout of seasickness and plunged into the fare with gusto. Challie ate sparingly and, for once, let Ulin do the talking.
The men sipped their beverages and exchanged pleasantries for several minutes before Ulin asked, “I am curious to know. How do you take your caravans past the Knights of Neraka? Haven’t they been guarding the passes for years?”
The rug merchant nibbled his honey cake and chuckled as he wiped away the crumbs. “It is as I thought. You are new
to Sanction.”
“Just passing through.”
“Ah. Well, the Dark Knights covet this city for themselves, but they are not yet strong enough to take it. All they do is sit in the passes and prevent honest travelers and merchants from passing through.”
“But not dishonest ones?” Ulin remarked with a glimmer of a smile.
Garzan leaned back in his chair and twirled one end of his mustache through his thumb and forefinger. “Not the clever ones. We of the Khur have our own trails and our own ways over the mountains. If the Dark Knights know of our paths, they do not interfere. They owe us too much for their own trade to want to annoy our chiefs.”
Ulin nodded once. “Glad to hear it. So … what are your terms?”
A long and, to the women, somewhat tedious discussion followed about fees, wages, tasks for Ulin’s two “helpers,” and the length of the contract. Garzan’s overseer swiftly wrote the terms on a piece of parchment as they were agreed upon.
“Most of the train is bound for Khuri-Khan,” Garzan informed them. “However, some of the wagons will be added to another smaller caravan that will proceed to Flotsam. Sadly, we do not send many caravans there anymore. Since Malys destroyed their harbor facilities, their business has fallen considerably.”
“I can imagine,” Ulin said.
Garzan rose to his feet and opened his arms wide to include them all. “A safe journey, my friends. May the wind always blow at your back and your axles stay strong.”
Ulin, Lucy, and Challie rose and bowed their thanks.
The second stage of the journey began.
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