Robert Asprin: Storm Season

Walegrin fumed but settled back to sweat out the time until the meeting was over, knowing full well the value of the information that might be forthcoming if he could convince Illyra to share the tribe's secrets with him.

The Downwinders were jubilant when they heard the news. As those currently at the bottom of the social structures, any change would have to be for the better, though the more imaginative cautioned that this need not be true. Still, the scavengers anticipated the fleet's arrival with far more enthusiasm than could be found anywhere else in town.

The Vulgar Unicorn was crowded with those seeking to stave off the future with a tankard of ale. One-Thumb stoically refused to give either discounts or credit, wishing secretly that he had the courage to raise the prices instead. It took men to man ships, and men drank, especially when they landed in a new town. He could be rich by tomorrow, rich enough to leave this town for good, if ...

If these low lifes didn't drain his cellars completely before the fleet arrived. With an angry bellow he answered the next request for credit by smashing the asker in the face with a tankard.

The docks were deserted now. The fisherfolk had fled inland, leaving the area free for the garrison troops. The city's soldiers had not yet arrived and there was some doubt that they ever would. Most felt the Prince would keep them at the palace rather than run the risk of having them desert before they reached the enemy.

Only one person kept the seabirds company as they watched the fleet move closer. Hakiem, the storyteller, sat crosslegged on a crate in the shade of a ragged canvas awning that flapped noisily in the stillness of the empty wharf. He had purloined two bottles of good wine from an abandoned tavern and he sipped at them alternately as he squinted at the distant sails.

He had not been idle since his conversation with Omat and he knew now the approaching ships matched the descriptions of those used by the Fish-Eyed-Folk of old legends...and that a similar ship had captured the Old Man and his son months before.

Whether friendly or hostile, the fleets' arrival promised to be the most noteworthy event in this generation's history-and,Hakiem intended to witness it firsthand. He was not unaware of the potential danger, but he feared even more the possibility of missing the moment of landfall.

It might prove to be the end of the Old Man's story, and it would definitely be the beginning of a new story for Sanctuary. The fact that it might be the end of Hakiem's story was inconsequential.

Shooing away a random fly, the storyteller drank again, and waited.