The caravan reached Lonely Harbor as the sun began to set, casting their long shadows down the road to the east. A wooden palisade spanned the distance between the steep cliffs to the north and the sheltered bay to the south, similar in design to that of Whitewater Crossing but made of far larger and taller timbers. The stern men and women atop the wall wore Southlander uniforms but Morwyn was pleased to note they wore them properly, unlike the brigands that had slain the garrison to at the bridge. They were alert with dour expressions and gripped their spears and longbows intently. Rennock reined in his wagon a short walk from the gate and waved his hand back to halt the others.
One of the soldiers atop the wall held his hands up to his mouth and raised his voice across the open ground between them.
“State your purpose in approaching the town of Lonely Harbor!”
Morwyn raised an eyebrow and turned to look at Rennock. The old man scratched his beard for a moment before standing up with his arms spread amiably.
“My friends, I am Rennock. My fellows and I bring news from the west, as well as trade,” the old wizard replied. “Would that the news were better. I would speak to Captain Raine, if she is available. It has been some time since we have shared an ale.”
The man that cried the challenge pondered the response for a long moment then spoke to two of his nearby companions in a low tone. They saluted and descended the stairs behind the wall and out of sight. He then turned back to the caravan with a critical eye and crossed his arms across his chest.
“The captain will be with us shortly. In the meantime, I ask that any in your company who are armed must gather thirty paces from the wall and lay down their weapons.”
Morwyn and Eronir shared an uncomfortable glance, but Rennock interrupted them before they could voice their discontent.
“Do as he says,” he murmured to the pair. “We have an idea why they are ill at ease, after all. Argoth is aware. He and Lady Trux are on their way.”
Eronir muttered something under his breath that Morwyn couldn't make out before using his spear as a brace to help him descend from the wagon. She walked around the front to join him, making sure her cloak was pushed back to keep her sword from hiding in its silvery folds. She took up her place beside the elf, facing the wall, and began to unbuckle her baldric. Eronir let out a malcontented huff and unbuckled his belt, laying it along with a curved dagger upon the cobblestone.
“I don't like this,” Morwyn muttered as she lay her own weapons beside his. “Being cautious is one thing. Disarming travelers on the road is another.”
Eronir grunted his agreement, then laid his spear down as well. He stood with a grunt and stumbled slightly on his injured leg. Morwyn caught his elbow to steady him then slipped his arm around her shoulders for support. Surprisingly, the elf didn't protest.
“There's something going on here that we don't know. It could be related to the Crossing.”
“Do you think word of the attack made it here ahead of us?” Morwyn asked. Eronir considered for a moment then shook his head.
“Hard to say. Perhaps travelers from this side tried to cross and were waylaid or turned back. The timing is strange though... the last civilians we met before the bridge gave no report of danger or robbery, and we have seen no one else in the days since.”
“We should wait and see what Raine has to say,” a deep voice boomed from right behind them. “She's been rather accommodatin' in the past.”
Morwyn flinched. Eronir did not but he gave her a wry smile. He was clearly more used to Argoth's uncanny stealth, though she wasn't sure if she would ever quite come to terms with it. Argoth, with Lady Trux astride his massive shoulders, stepped up beside them. The dwarf snickered at Morwyn's reaction as Argoth lifted her off his shoulders and set her gently on her feet.
“Whatever the cause, they ought be on their best behavior too,” Trux said as she set down her crossbow and her daggers, wincing with one hand on her wounded side as she stepped back from the pile of weaponry. “I'm gettin' restless just sittin' there on a wagon all day.”
“You aren't the only one,” Eronir murmured. “I didn't even get to hunt the worgs.”
“Ah, so that's what the hold up was all about,” Argoth grinned. “Wouldn't have minded gettin' a piece of them myself. I'm guessin' you and the old man had all the fun then, Morwyn? I could hear the explosions all the way from the back of the caravan.”
Morwyn nodded and subconsciously rubbed her right wrist, flexing her hand as she did so.
“He certainly has an interesting attitude toward mortal danger,” she said with a chuckle.
“You don't know the half of it,” all three of the others replied at once. They turned to look at each other for a moment before bursting out into laughter, though it was cut short a moment later as the gate to the town began to creak open.
A tall, uniformed man with a grim expression strode purposefully down the road with a contingent of a dozen soldiers on his heels. He gave a hand signal to his entourage and half of the soldiers split off to the side, forming a half circle around the caravan guards as the captain and his remaining men made their way toward Rennock. Though they didn't level their spears at the party, they looked as if they might want to do so. Morwyn's pulse began to rise and she felt Eronir tense beside her. Trux growled under her breath but said nothing. Argoth stood tall, arms crossed, with what would be a pleasant smile on any other face but on his it looked like a snarl.
One of the six soldiers in front of them took half a step forward, eyeing the weapons laid out on the ground before her. She tightened her grip on her spear and looked up toward Argoth.
“I don't see anything here that suits the likes of you,” she said haughtily, the slight quiver in her tone drawing attention to the falseness of her confidence. “Where is your weapon?”
“My apologies,” Argoth replied with a grin and a shrug. He grabbed his right bicep and flexed, the strapping on his armor creaking as he did so. “I can't exactly lay down these arms.”
Flustered, the female soldier glared at him from beneath her helmet.
“I see. Well... you lot just stay put. Don't try for your weapons or you'll regret it.”
“Might I ask what all this is about?” Morwyn cut in, raising her hands to show her empty palms. “We weren't expecting such... an abundance of caution.”
The soldier shifted her grip on her weapon and turned to face Morwyn, her expression no less intense. She started to turn back to her companions but stopped herself and faced forward once more. Morwyn realized the other woman must've been new to her role as a leader and was uncomfortable being put on the spot. The soldier took a deep breath and eventually did respond.
“There's a security risk in the area. Bad one. Now be quiet and don't ask anything else unless Captain Gryndon clears you.”
“Who is Gryndon? Where is Captain Raine?” Argoth asked, ignoring the order as his expression hardened. “She knows us. We've dealt with her for, what, near on fifteen years.”
The soldier swallowed hard and made as if to reply when one of her comrades coughed meaningfully behind her. She sighed and shook herself ever so slightly before she spoke again.
“No more questions. Once the captain has made his assessment, we will proceed accordingly.”
Argoth frowned deeply and lowered his arms to his sides, clearly unhappy with the response. Before he could say anything else belligerent they all heard the rapid approach of boots on the cobblestones to their left side. Rennock and the captain walked side by side with the soldiers behind them, struggling slightly to keep pace with the long strides of the two towering men. Captain Gryndon halted directly in front of them as his men formed a second rank in the semicircle. Rennock, his expression inscrutable, stood slightly off to the captain's right side.
“Your leader claims that you were waylaid at Whitewater Crossing, that the garrison was slain to a man and replaced by bandits, and that you killed the impostors.” Gryndon's hard eyes scoured each of them in turn, lingering particularly on Argoth. He scratched the stubble on his strong jaw and folded his arms across his chest. Morwyn could see from the dark circles under the man's eyes that he was exhausted, yet his voice was firm and carried the air of authority that his subordinate leader lacked.
“Aye,” Argoth replied simply.
“How many?” Gryndon inquired.
“Sixteen, by my count,” Eronir spoke up. The captain turned his critical gaze to the elf, noting his bandaged leg and the way he leaned against Morwyn.
“Tell me what happened,” the captain commanded as he began to pace, rubbing his tired eyes with one hand.
Argoth nudged Morwyn with his elbow. She glanced sideways at him and he gave her a brief nod. She frowned as she concentrated on remembering the details.
“Eronir sensed that something was off at the crossing before we approached. No guards in the towers, no horses at the stables. From a distance it looked abandoned. We decided to investigate ahead of the caravan. As we got closer we were challenged by men wearing the uniform of the Southlands, though it was clear they were no soldiers. They demanded a high toll to cross the bridge. In order to investigate, we agreed to pay and they let us in the gate... after which they surrounded us and doubled the price with a threat. And, well... negotiations broke down from there.”
Argoth grinned at the captain, giving him a shrug. Gryndon raised an eyebrow at the orc then turned to address Morwyn directly.
“The fact that you're alive is either an indication of skill or confirmation that the gods favor fools,” the man stated dryly. “Now describe these men.”
Morwyn rubbed the back of her neck for a moment to give herself time to think.
“They were... unkempt. Rough. They wore the Southlander uniforms poorly. I believe they were mostly humans, although there was a large orc amongst them as well. Their leader was well-spoken, carried himself with confidence. His hair was long, and I believe his eyes were green.”
The captain stopped his pacing and gave her a grim look. Several of the soldiers behind him stiffened, clearly recognizing the description of the man.
“Rennock told me that you killed all of these brigands. You're absolutely certain that none escaped? Especially their leader?”
Argoth held up a hand to silence Morwyn as she was about to continue. He reached into his haversack, far deeper than the bottom of the bag should go, and pulled out a fistful of long, greasy hair.
“Pretty gods-damned sure,” he growled, tossing the man's severed head on the ground at the captain's feet. “Morwyn here saw to that.”
Morwyn's eyes grew wide and Trux let out a low whistle at the gruesome sight. There was a long moment of tense silence as Gryndon stared down at the head, rolling it upright with the toe of his boot. He closed his eyes and muttered something under his breath, his shoulders visibly relaxing. With a wave of his hand he told the soldiers behind him to stand down and they relaxed as well, muttering amongst themselves. Some looked relieved, others looked as if they would be sick. The captain let out a deep sigh and tucked his thumbs into his sword-belt.
“I do apologize for the cold reception upon your arrival. This piece of shit,” he emphasized by spitting on the severed head, “organized a jailbreak about a fortnight ago. He and his men killed ten soldiers on their way out, including Captain Raine, an a near equal number of civilians. We sent a rider to warn Whitewater of the escaped convicts... they must have intercepted him.”
Rennock stepped forward and gave an earnest bow of his head, his arms crossed in his sleeves.
“We are sorry to hear of the loss of Captain Raine. She was a good woman and will be remembered fondly, as will your other men.”
Gryndon gave Rennock a nod then stooped and retrieved the head from the ground, the look of disgust on his face due in part to its decaying nature as well as revulsion for the murderer to which it used to belong. He held it out to his junior officer, the woman who had spoken to them earlier.
“Lieutenant, have this put on a spike above the prison courtyard. Let the others know what happens to the likes of him.”
The woman's face went pale but she dutifully stepped forward, gingerly taking the head by the ends of the hair and holding it as far out to one side as she could before jogging back through the gate and out of sight. The captain turned to Rennock and reached forward to shake his hand. Rennock obliged, then gestured back toward the caravan.
“May we enter, Captain? We are weary from our travels and our troubles on the road.”
“Ah, yes. Again, my apologies for detaining you,” Captain Gryndon said with a tired sigh. “Jakon, Elbar! Spread the word to stand down. I'll bring word to the baron myself. Master Rennock, will you join me? I'm sure Lord Denton will appreciate your presence.” At his command, two soldiers saluted smartly and ran back through the gate. Rennock nodded in agreement and turned to Argoth.
“Get the caravan settled then come join us. There are a few others I would speak to after meeting with the baron.”
Argoth gave him a smart salute of one fist to his chest, just as the soldiers had done for Gryndon. Rennock held his eye for a moment before a small smile tugged at one corner of his mouth. He turned to follow the captain and his men, rolling his eyes. When they were some distance away, Argoth retrieved the caravan guards' weapons from the ground and passed them out to their respective owners. Eronir grunted as he transferred his weight from Morwyn to his spear. Argoth picked Trux up from behind and placed her back on his shoulders despite a spirited protest.
“Alright, you lot. Let's get our folk settled in at the usual spot, the grounds by the eastern wall. They deserve the rest.”
Morwyn looked over to him curiously as she buckled her baldric back over her shoulder, settling her cloak over the harness once it was properly in place. The weight of the sword was a comfort. She hadn't realized how naked she felt without it, even briefly.
“Any instructions once you're off to meet Rennock?” she asked as they made their way back toward the wagons. The old orc chuckled.
“Yes, actually. You are ordered to rest and recover. Do whatever the hells you like, as long as you're back with us in three days.”
“Last chance to spend your gold before we head east,” Trux chimed in. “Don't spend it all on booze like I did the first time. You don't want to face the Narrows with a hangover!”
“She won't have to purchase any while we're here. You and I each owe her a drink or two. Perhaps three in your case,” Eronir said as he mounted Rennock's wagon once more. Trux nodded, resting her hands on top of Argoth's head as she leaned down to speak to Morwyn.
“Another piece of advice, friend. Never challenge an elf to a drinking contest, especially a grim poet like that sod.”
Morwyn chuckled as Eronir and Trux traded playful insults as Argoth walked away and the lead wagon began to roll forward. As good as a stiff drink sounded, she much preferred the idea of a hearty meal and a long, hot bath.
Lonely Harbor was a buzz of activity as they rolled through the gates. A crowd of onlookers gathered on either side of the road to watch them pass while others held whispered conversations beneath the awnings of various businesses lining the main street. Even in the dying light of the sunset Morwyn was taken aback by the chaotic variety of colors that contrasted with buildings of brown brick and gray stone. Flowers bloomed in long planters along window sills, brightly painted signs advertising shops hung above doorways, and the people were dressed in all manner of vibrant livery. As they passed by the harbor itself she caught sight of dozens of masts peeking above the clay tiled roofs, sails furled but banners drifting lazily on the ocean breeze.
Not such a lonely place after all, she thought as she kept pace with the lead wagon.
Some distance ahead she caught a glimpse of Rennock and Captain Gryndon as they reached a central square with a large fountain, a mermaid immortalized in granite at its center. The pair, along with their tailing soldiers, turned to the north and out of sight. Eronir drove slowly on through the square and circumvented the fountain as passers by hurried to avoid the oncoming wagon train.
“It's hard to believe such a lively place exists this far to the east,” Morwyn called up to Eronir, overwhelmed by the bustle of the town even at the dusk. The elf allowed himself a small smile as he remained focused on the task of avoiding pedestrians.
“Lonely Harbor a hub for trade by sea to the southern continent as well as the last hospitality one can expect before striking out for the frontier. Hence the defenses, and the wealth.” The elf pointed to the north, indicating an impressive keep at the height of the sloping town that appeared to be carved into the side of the cliff. “Baron Luxley rules the place. He's one of the seven lords of the Southlands.”
Morwyn's eyes lingered on the keep for a moment as she strode on. It appeared somewhat dwarven in design, or at least inspired by dwarven architecture. The columns of the facade blended seamlessly into the stone around them and the guard towers on each side of the long staircase that led to its massive double doors were dotted with numerous arrow slits. She could just make out the indistinct forms of the guards at the door, their armor gleaming in the light of large braziers, before a nearby storefront obscured the view once more.
“I'm impressed. We don't have anything of the kind on Skeldrûn. Not that I've seen at least,” Morwyn said, returning her attention to the road ahead. Eronir gave her a sideways glance and flicked the reins to gently increase the wagon's speed as they moved beyond the congested town square.
“I thought you might be an islander,” he replied with a nod to himself. “I've run across your people before. It certainly explains your resilience, I don't believe I've ever met such a sturdy folk. Don't tell Trux I said that though.”
Morwyn perked up at the elf's revelation. She stepped closer to the wagon as she walked.
“You've met Skeldrûnar before? How did you meet them?”
“A long time ago, at a coastal town called Ulmar's Bluff... during a raid,” he said, lifting a finger to indicate a thin scar on his eyebrow. “Quite the unforgettable experience.”
Morwyn's excitement was immediately quelled and she looked to the ground, embarrassed. Though they were few in number compared to the whole population of the island, it made sense that foreigners would have had more encounters with raiding parties than they would with average citizens. She'd landed in Ulmar's Bluff herself when she'd sailed to the mainland. It was a thriving community with no ill will toward her upon arrival, but she guessed that Eronir's encounter had likely taken place many years prior.
“Oh... I'm sorry,” she murmured, slightly crestfallen. “For whatever it's worth, my family were not raiders. My father served in the Sea Guard, defending the island.”
Eronir let out a chuckle, shaking his head slightly as he did so.
“I think you misunderstand,” he said, turning the wagon off the main road at the edge of town and onto a dirt path heading toward a large field that spanned all the way to the eastern wall. “The drengr that came ashore challenged us to a fair fight, calling forth any who would oppose them in open battle before they took the town. Perhaps they didn't expect a company of elven soldiers to be passing through that far north, but nonetheless they didn't shirk when we took to the field. It was a good fight, with many wounded but few dead. When they realized they were outmatched, they retreated to their ships in good order and left the town be. An honorable challenge and a graceful defeat.”
Morwyn was stunned to silence for a moment, not having expected Eronir to hold such regard for a people that had tried to kill him. She allowed herself a small spark of pride that, despite being raiders, they had conducted themselves with honor. Their captain must've been a fair man, as not all raiding parties would have behaved with the same grace.
“I'm glad you don't hold that scar against me and mine,” she said solemnly. Eronir pulled the wagon to a halt at the edge of the field under the watchful gaze of the soldiers atop the wall as the rest of the caravan began to form a half circle in line behind them. He gave Morwyn a respectful nod.
“Of course not. I've now had the pleasure of fighting alongside a drengr, rather than against one. And I won't hold this scar against you either,” he said with a smirk, patting his injured thigh. She helped him down off the driver's seat, wincing as the pressure on her left arm reminded her that despite the potion her collarbone wasn't fully healed. Eronir's smile faded and he lessened his hold on her hand and took his weight on his spear.
“Heed Argoth's advice, Morwyn. Get some rest and recover your strength. Gods know that I will, and may they bless whoever tries to make Trux do the same.”
Morwyn nodded, wincing as she tried to gingerly roll the stiffness out of her shoulder.
“I will, I promise. I just need to take care of a few things first,” she replied, searching the caravan for Hazel's wagon and finding it toward the middle. “And Eronir... thank you. It means a lot that you'd share that story with me.”
Eronir's small smile returned, this time with a hint of pride gleaming in his eyes.
“Of course. Perhaps someday you might like to hear the sonnet I wrote about the battle.”
Morwyn returned the smile and nodded as she walked away toward the healer's wagon.
“Drengr,” she whispered to herself as an unexpected warmth rose in her chest. If only her father could have seen an elf speaking their tongue, calling her a valiant warrior. He would've taken her in a bear hug, the kind that threatened to snap her spine, and told her that he was proud of her. The way he had done when she'd sailed with him for the first time. Tears began to well at the thought of being in his arms once more.
She was so lost within herself that she caught her foot on the tension line attached to a large wooden stake that Hazel was pounding into the soft earth with a wooden mallet.
“Oh, sorry, I didn't mean to...” Morwyn began to apologize as the halfling quickly stood up with a big grin, wiping the sweat from her brow. Her auburn ringlets bounced with her hasty movement. She stretched to her towering height of nearly four feet with her arms behind her back, sighing deeply as it popped several times.
“Not worries! You're just in time to...” The halfling's voice trailed off as she saw the tears threatening to fall from Morwyn's eyes. She dropped the mallet and took a step forward, her hand outstretched tentatively. “Oh, dear, something's happened. Are you okay?”
Morwyn clenched her jaw with her eyes shut tightly. She swallowed the lump in her throat and took several deep breaths through her nose to steady herself, hating how even the memory of her father's warm embrace still brought her to tears after all this time.
“I'm alright,” she said, kneeling down to retrieve the mallet and finish pounding in the stake. “Just some old memories coming back.” Hazel wrung her hands in silent distress as she watched Morwyn finish pitching the tent for her. When she made to move for the back of the wagon to begin unloading the cargo, Morwyn felt the halfling's hand on her wrist.
“Don't worry about that,” Hazel said in a soft, soothing tone. “I'll handle it. You take care of yourself. I'll be fine.”
Morwyn nodded and stood, unable to meet the other woman's eyes as she slowly removed her wrist from Hazel's gentle grip. She took a shaky breath and wiped her face with both hands before reaching in to the wagon to retrieve her pack. Slinging it over her shoulder, she turned back to face the healer and cleared her throat.
“I'm sorry, Hazel. I'll pull myself together. Too much going through my head right now.”
The look of genuine concern on the halfling's face nearly caused Morwyn's emotions to boil over. She checked herself hard, clamping her feelings into a steel box within her mind as she'd done so many times before. She was supposed to be strong. She had to be strong. The halfling before her and all the others in the caravan needed her to be strong.
“If you need to talk to someone...” Hazel let the offer trail off as Morwyn shook her head.
“I just need some time to sort myself out,” Morwyn said with finality, instantly regretting her sharp tone. She leaned down to take Hazel's hand and soften the blow of her words. “We can talk later... but now's not the time. I need to be alone.”
Hazel nodded slowly several times then lifted her chin high and put on her stern healer's face.
“Alright, I'll hold you to that,” she whispered. A halfhearted smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “It's not just your wounds I care about, you know. You're growing on me. Might even call you a friend someday.”
Morwyn squeezed Hazel's hand reassuringly and stepped back before turning to head toward the town. She stopped a few paces away and looked back over her shoulder.
“You're already my friend. I'm grateful for you, Hazel.” The words lingered heavily in the air between them as she walked off into the darkness.