Martin Hengst - The Darkest Hour

What Tiadaria didn’t know, what she couldn’t know, was that she was the reason that Wynn hadn’t accepted censure as a viable option. Even now, as he lay looking up at the ceiling, he was terrified. He was scared of what they would face and even more scared of how he would react to it. He couldn’t bear the thought of disappointing Tia again, but if it meant standing his ground in a fight, he just wasn’t sure he could do it. Faxon’s threat was a horrible contemplation in its own right, but at least it was a known quantity.

Wynn sighed. The coming dawn was beginning to chase night’s shadows from the ceiling. If he didn’t sleep now, it was going to be a very, very long day. He rolled over, willing his tumbled mind to settle, and tried to fall asleep.

* * *

The lower city was crowded during the day, but not nearly as packed as it had been the previous night. Faxon, upon returning from the meeting he wouldn’t talk about, had told them they were in for a special treat. They were going to the warehouse, he said, and no prodding would get him to give up any more detail. He seemed to be in a good enough mood though, so Tiadaria and Wynn opted to leave it alone.

Faxon seemed to know his way around the lower city quite well, a fact that Tia would remember to ask him about later. He navigated with the ease of a local. He didn’t get turned around in the various blind alleys and false roads they often encountered. Faxon lead them down wide roads and smaller byways and they finally emerged at the edge of a wide but slowly moving river.

Boats of every shape and size floated on the gently moving body of water. There were tiny little skiffs and massive trading vessels with three and four masts. Tiadaria was delighted. She had heard stories of great sailing ships and had sometimes seen them from afar on her duties in Dragonfell, but she had never been so close to them. She was happy to discover that Wynn was just as enamored with the boats as she was. He grabbed Tia’s hand and pulled her to the rope guarded pylons at the edge of the street, pointing at the ships with the brightest and most outlandishly colored sails.

Faxon joined them and Tia was pleased to see that he was smiling as well. This was the Faxon she was used to being around. The Faxon who was almost, but not quite, as good a mentor as the Captain had been. She reached for her collar, wondering if Royce would have enjoyed the floating chaos on the river as much as they did. He would have, she decided. If for no other reason than the fact that she found it so fascinating.

“There’s more to see, let’s go.” The elder quintessentialist set off down the narrow lane. It was lined with squat buildings on the left and the rope strung pilings on the right. Tia watched as gray birds wheeled and dove along the river, disappearing from view for a moment at impact and then climbing back up on powerful wings with tiny fish clutched in their beaks. She breathed deeply, relishing the crispness of the air and that fresh smell that only comes from a large body of water.

They turned a corner and were faced with a long building crouched at the edge of a busy wharf. The building was an enormous gray brick structure, two stories tall and easily as long as the main trade road in King’s Reach. Thick wood planks made up the roof and large windows were set into the upper floor. A massive set of doors, wide enough for two wagons to drive in abreast, were set on tracks that extended across the front of the building. The doors were pushed open to their full width allowing one to glimpse at the madness inside. People dashed to and fro, some laden with parcels, others moving flat trollies full of goods. The words Gunther’s Warehouse were stenciled over the door in peeling black paint.

As Faxon led them inside, Tiadaria could understand the need for so many windows. The light that shone in from them illuminated a vast space packed floor to ceiling with every type of good imaginable. There were pallets of flour sacks, barrels of ale, and bins of sweets. One entire section of wall was dedicated to hanks of rope of every length and diameter imaginable. Sailcloth hung in billowing folds from the highest rafters. There were weapons racks and cages of squawking birds and tiny chattering animals.

One particular display caught her eye. It was behind a long counter, mounted high up on the wall. Crafted from gold gilded glass, it contained a selection of dwarven hand cannons and one large, long barreled cannon. Tia had been so immersed in the wonder of the place that she had nearly lost track of Faxon and Wynn. She hastily weaved her way through the crowd, catching up with them just as Faxon approached the counter. A dwarf was perched on a crate behind the counter, bringing him level with Faxon’s line of sight.

The dwarf was a swarthy little man with a pock-marked face. His bulbous red nose extended out over a great bushy black beard and black eyes glittered beneath his fuzzy eyebrows. He had a battered digger's helmet crammed onto his head, its sides much scratched and dented. When he saw Faxon, his eyes lit up and a broad smile crept across his face. He leaned over the counter and took Faxon’s hand, pumping it up and down with both of his.

“Faxon, it’s good to see ye, lad. It’s been a long time, it has.” He peered at Wynn, then turned his shrewd gaze on Tia. She felt the weight of his gaze at the base of her spine, then the feeling passed and she shrugged it off. “I see ye brought friends to old Gunther’s Warehouse.”

“Gunther, this is Wynn, and Tiadaria.” Faxon nodded to each of them. Gunther shook Wynn’s hand and offered a bow to Tiadaria. His eyes lingered on her collar and then flicked to Faxon.

“She’s the one who wields my swords, aye?”

Faxon nodded. Gunther’s smile widened.

“Couldn’t have gone to a prettier girl. But ye’re not here to talk about my swordsmithing, aye? What can Gunther do for ye?”

“We need provisions and quickly. We need to head north before sunset.”

Gunther’s smile faded a trifle. He peered closely at Faxon. “Faxon, ye huntin, or being hunted?”

“Probably a little of both, which is why time is of the essence.”

Gunther nodded. “Oh aye, old Gunther’ll set ye right.” The dwarf put two stubby fingers in his mouth and issued such a piercing whistle that both Tia and Wynn winced.

A blur of forest green swung down from the upper platform behind the dwarf. The elvish woman landed lightly on the balls of her feet, bowing so deeply that Tia could see the half dozen gold rings that adorned the pointed tips of each ear. Her mud-brown hair was cropped short and spiked out at the top. When she smiled at them, her teeth glittered like pearls.

“This is Furia. She will get ye what ye need as quickly as you can give her a list.”

Gunther excused himself to attend to another customer and Faxon produced a long scroll of paper from inside his parchment. The elf scanned the paper, her oval eyes widening slightly at some of the entries on the list. Furia deftly rolled the list into a tight tube and handed it back to Faxon, who looked perplexed.

“You can hold on to this,” he said, offering her the list.

“No need,” she replied. Her voice was soft and gentle as a summer shower. “I know what you need.”

“How?” Faxon’s skepticism was plentiful and plainly apparent.

“Here,” she said, tapping her temple. She smiled. Furia grabbed the rope she had swung down on and briskly shimmied to the top of the platform.

Watching her move among the pallets and sacks, barrels and bags, was like watching an exceptionally skilled dancer execute an arrangement written for one. She dodged around others working from the same pallets, plucking items from cases, hangers, and bins and tossing them down to Faxon and the others. As she continued her lithe performance among the rafters, the pile of supplies and provisions grew until Tiadaria wondered how they were going to carry everything they apparently needed.