As the harbor came into view, it was as if the forest had released a chokehold from around Astore’s neck.
Ever since the night of the ooze’s attack, there had been this permeating sense of something being out there, just out of his view, watching them.
It was an unnatural sensation that had simply refused to let him go for the entire week of travel. Now, standing before open blue sea and with the stiff ocean breeze rolling through his hair, he felt as if he was coming home.
Well, coming home wasn’t what he was doing. Not yet. The town before them was merely a relay, where their ship was waiting for them.
Astore took a deep breath, reveling in the midday sun for a second longer, then he released the air once more and opened his eyes.
His gaze swept over his fellow travellers.
Massima had gone ahead to notify the captain of the ship of their impending arrival, but other than her, everyone had arrived without further complications.
The Ashenvale representative gloomily rode upon the back of one of the carts, as she had for the entire trip since they left the site of the attack. She had barely managed to stand on her own power yesterday, and he could tell that she was still greatly discomforted by the injuries inflicted on her legs. Well, she was lucky she had avoided any manner of infection.
“Your eyes wander, templar.” The humored voice of Giosué rises beside him.
“Mind your own business.” He responds, but he represses a smile. His old friend really did have the eyes of a hawk. So troublesome.
Astore replaces his helmet on his head.
“Well then, are you finished appreciating the, hm, landscape?” Giosué asks him.
“Yes, I am.” Astore sighs, and resumes walking ahead of the foreign entourage.
As they approach the outer walls of the city, Astore notes the town around them. The settlement is bigger than its’ current population requires, by a factor of almost twofold. The streets are painstakingly cobbled, and the buildings carved out of either local sandstone, or more precious stone imported from elsewhere.
It gives the sensation of being somewhat depopulated.
A year ago, the city would be bustling with traders handling imports of fine cloth, silver and slaves. Exports of marble, weapons and art from the old capital. Salt and wine from the fertile lands to the northeast.
That trade dried up with the rebellion, and now the town was dying.
What remained was the local fisheries and those who would attempt to profit off of the civil war by selling goods and mercenaries to the cities that hadn’t fallen to the rebellion yet, up and down the coast.
Still, it was a ghost of what it had been.
The local guards had been informed beforehand of the nature of their mission, and kept a wide berth, getting whatever drunk mercenaries and sailors out of their way before they approached.
It was really a sign in their favour that their final approach to the harbor was flawlessly smooth.
“What’s with this place?”
Bertrand, the Ashenvale representative’s bodyguard, looked visibly uncomfortable as he walked down the city street.
Figures. An ominous forest filled with unseen dangers, and he’s unnerved by a city?
“This whole town used to be a glorified slave market, and hub of export from the capital. As you can understand, that business isn’t particularly lucrative right now.” The Guild representative explained, as matter-of-fact as if discussing the weather. “The guilds have withdrawn from here, and instead use the harbor of Linguria to the west, as it is now a more lucrative path to the remaining markets of the Empire’s successors, and the harbor of Palona, where we trade with yourselves.”
“So it’s a slave town.” Bertrand says with no small disdain in his voice.
“Used to be.” Joteim admitted. “Though I highly doubt that part will resurface anytime soon.”
“Wait, you said the guilds withdrew from here? Does that mean that you trade slaves?”
“Well, traded” Joteim responds. “After we formally accepted you as a sovereign state, it was discontinued.”
“What do you mean discontinued? You guys traded slaves and just stopped?” Bertrand’s voice had now risen quite a bit, as he seemed to become quite heated.
Looking back at the others, Astore notes how the conversation has attracted the attention of the remainder of the travellers.
“Yes. It was deemed no longer politically viable, and thus we discontinued the practice.”
“And you’re fine with that? Trading people?!” Bertrand was nearly shouting at this point.
“No need to shout. I can hear you perfectly fine. You have to understand, it was no judgement call of mine to either start or stop trading in Slaves. And it’s been seen as a perfectly normal practice since the-”
“Stop.” Astore silenced the dwarf. “This is neither the time nor place for this conversation.”
He stops walking and turns to face the two.
“Sir Bertrand, would you please walk with me?”
The human was still fuming as they walked the final stretch to the harbor, but the conversation had been silenced before more of a scene had been created.
Up ahead, the Dart was waiting for them.
The low, sleek profile of the ship was very familiar to Astore.
After all, which seaborne elf wasn’t? It was one of the most classic designs produced by their kin. Two decks tall, a slightly raised sterncastle, a reinforced fore with a plow-shaped ram and two masts with currently furled triangular sails waiting for them to take to the sea.
The Galley was waiting for them. Finally. The crew was already mustered, and the colors of the ship proudly displayed its’ allegiance to the lady of Naves. It had only been a few weeks since they had arrived here in Spelia, but it had felt like so much more, and it was a true balm for the soul to see it wait there to bring him home.
The wagon came to a stop at the base of the gangplank.
“I’m afraid this is as far as your wagon will take us.” Gio said. “Sir Astore, would you kindly assist the lady onboard?”
Oh, Giosué was a bastard most of the time, but sometimes he really looked out for Astore. Astore swiftly walked up beside Eyla where she sat on the cart.
“Miss?”
Eyla’s eyes met his, and they glittered beautifully in the sun.
Astore offered her his hand, and she accepted it. As she stood, she shifted much of her weight onto him, and Astore was quick to switch from just giving her his hand to having her arm over his shoulder so that he could adequately support her.
“Will you manage like this? If you’d prefer, I can carry you.”
She laughed.
“No, thank you. I believe this will do.”
Astore’s heart had sped up ever so slightly at the contact with her.
He felt a warmth surround her, like the radiance of the sun, and for someone who had spent almost two weeks on the road she smelled wonderfully.
As they boarded the ship together, Astore guided her to the sterncastle, where he gently placed her down upon the padded seating bench.
“Do you commonly suffer from seasickness, miss?” he asked.
“I wouldn’t know. I haven’t spent much time at sea.” she said, gifting him a slight smile.
“Very well. I’ll get you something for you, just in case. We’ll arrive tomorrow, if the wind favours us.”
“Thank you, you’re very kind.”
Astore bows slightly to the beautiful woman. “I.. hm. It’s merely my duty to see to your comfort, miss.”
He turns on his heel, and walks away. Passing by the malodorous one of the two dwarves, who had silently approached from behind.
For someone who was built like a box, he could be a silent one.
“Master Ghergon.”
“Elf.” The dwarf gives him a slight nod, and a smile that reveals a couple of missing teeth, and a yellowing of his other ones.
Astore weaves around him, contemplating if someone would be upset if he accidentally bumped the dwarf into the harbor, so that he would finally take a damn bath.
“Ey lass.” Gherg said, as he sat down on the bench next to her.
“Yes?” Eyla said, leaning back against the pillows, relieving the remaining pressure placed on her lower legs.
“‘E’s been awful close to ye this last week, that one.” Ghergon comments.
“What, Astore?” Eyla asked. This fact hadn’t escaped her, either. But she didn’t know what to make of it. “You think he has ill intentions?”
Gherg shrugged. “Feck if I know. Jus’ beware tha ‘e is. Them elves have been whisperin’ when they think we can’t hear.”
Eyla casts a quick look around to see if anyone is listening in on them, before loweing her voice. “Have you been spying on them?”
“Spyin’?” The dwarf responds, his voice as unconstrained as always. “Nay! Jus’ keepin’ me ears open. Ah dunno wha’ they be talkin’ about, but I’ve seen ‘em whisperin’. And ah think ye should know. Might be ‘e’s got shady intentions. Might be they’ve been discussin’ dinner plans or somethin’. But first ye get attacked by a fecking subterranean beastie in tha middle of a forest, elves be whisperin’, then ‘e gets all interested in ye? Not sayin’ they’s the cause o’ the attack. But things are happenin’, and we best beware.”
“Thank you for your concern. But I think I can handle my own. And I think their goals are genuine. I don’t take Sir Astore as a man of deception.”
“Nay, I figure yer right on tha. But the Massima woman? She’s a sneaky git, she is. An’ Giosué’s a politician type. Cannae trust ‘em. Keep yer eyes and ears about ye.”