alien perils or deadly magic were hidden within.
From the shadow of the Spires he descended quickly into the trading district at the foot of Keldon Head, where half a dozen tradeyards clustered near the wharves of the harbor. Here Geran slowed his pace and began to pay attention. The storehouse compound belonging to House Sokol of Phlan had stood in Hulburg for many years, but large new yards belonging to House Veruna of Mulmaster and the Double Moon Coster of Thentia were new. He turned eastward on Cart Street and found a striking new building, the Merchant Council’s Hall, standing not far from the merchant yards. A pair of armed guards stood in front of it, men who wore cuirasses of iron and carried short pikesthe Council Watch, or so he guessed. He didn’t like the idea of an armed company in Hulburg other than the Shieldsworn, but the town seemed full of mercenaries and sellswords.
Geran threaded his way through heavier crowds along Cart Street. The triangle of tangled streets between the Harbor, Angar’s Square, and the Low Bridge was the heart of Hulburg. Clerks hurried from place to place, carrying ledgers and quills. Porters threw barrels of ale or sacks of flour over the shoulders and carried them off. Children ran and shouted among the oxcarts and porters. “It seems that Hulburg isn’t a backwater anymore,” Geran muttered to himself. Was this what the harmach had meant when he mentioned Sergen’s designs for the town?
He turned the corner to Plank Street, and his footsteps faltered. He hadn’t even realized where he was allowing his feet to carry him, but now he was here, not more than ten feet from a familiar hammer-and-grain-sheaf emblem, hanging above a door. The signboard was old and battered, but he could still make out the faded lettering: ERSTENWOLD PROVISIONER.
The storefront was old and weatherworn too, but it was
tidy. Barrels full of last fall’s apples stood by the wooden steps. To his right, a large workyard and storehouse adjoined the store. The Erstenwolds had made a decent living for two generations by supplying foodstuffs, rope, canvas, woolen blankets, and iron tools to the ships that called on Hulburg and the miners and woodcutters who worked the hills to the north and east. Jarad’s family could still look after themselves, and that was a small comfort at least.
He hesitated for a moment, studying the storefront while passersby made their way around him. What are you waiting for? he wondered. His mouth twisted with a grimace of irritation, and he deliberately set foot on the wooden steps leading to the door. Two quick strides, then he pushed it open and let himself inside.
The Erstenwold store consisted of a single long wooden counter that spanned the width of the room. Thick, smooth planks of hardwood gleamed underfoot, old and stained. Dim daylight filtered in through a row of thick glass-paned windows high on the opposite wall. Tack and harness filled the room with the rich smell of fresh leather, and rows of barrels, sacks, and crates lined the walls. A couple of customerswoodcutters in town to stock up on supplies, Geran guessednegotiated with a clerk behind the counter.
It looks pretty much the same as ever, Geran decided. He knew the Erstenwolds’ place of business almost as well as he knew his own rooms in Griffonwatch. Not terribly busy at the moment, but that was not unusual. If no ships or big supply trains were stocking up, a day could be surprisingly slow here.
“Can I help you, sir?” A dark-haired woman bustled into the room from a doorway behind the counter, brushing her hands against her apron. She was tall and slender, with strong, sharp features and wide-set eyes of a striking glacial blue. She wore her hair pulled back in a single stern braid, but a small spray of freckles danced across her cheekbones and the bridge of her nose in defiance of her unsmiling expression. When Geran didn’t answer immediately, she gave a soft snort of annoyance and
From the shadow of the Spires he descended quickly into the trading district at the foot of Keldon Head, where half a dozen tradeyards clustered near the wharves of the harbor. Here Geran slowed his pace and began to pay attention. The storehouse compound belonging to House Sokol of Phlan had stood in Hulburg for many years, but large new yards belonging to House Veruna of Mulmaster and the Double Moon Coster of Thentia were new. He turned eastward on Cart Street and found a striking new building, the Merchant Council’s Hall, standing not far from the merchant yards. A pair of armed guards stood in front of it, men who wore cuirasses of iron and carried short pikesthe Council Watch, or so he guessed. He didn’t like the idea of an armed company in Hulburg other than the Shieldsworn, but the town seemed full of mercenaries and sellswords.
Geran threaded his way through heavier crowds along Cart Street. The triangle of tangled streets between the Harbor, Angar’s Square, and the Low Bridge was the heart of Hulburg. Clerks hurried from place to place, carrying ledgers and quills. Porters threw barrels of ale or sacks of flour over the shoulders and carried them off. Children ran and shouted among the oxcarts and porters. “It seems that Hulburg isn’t a backwater anymore,” Geran muttered to himself. Was this what the harmach had meant when he mentioned Sergen’s designs for the town?
He turned the corner to Plank Street, and his footsteps faltered. He hadn’t even realized where he was allowing his feet to carry him, but now he was here, not more than ten feet from a familiar hammer-and-grain-sheaf emblem, hanging above a door. The signboard was old and battered, but he could still make out the faded lettering: ERSTENWOLD PROVISIONER.
The storefront was old and weatherworn too, but it was
tidy. Barrels full of last fall’s apples stood by the wooden steps. To his right, a large workyard and storehouse adjoined the store. The Erstenwolds had made a decent living for two generations by supplying foodstuffs, rope, canvas, woolen blankets, and iron tools to the ships that called on Hulburg and the miners and woodcutters who worked the hills to the north and east. Jarad’s family could still look after themselves, and that was a small comfort at least.
He hesitated for a moment, studying the storefront while passersby made their way around him. What are you waiting for? he wondered. His mouth twisted with a grimace of irritation, and he deliberately set foot on the wooden steps leading to the door. Two quick strides, then he pushed it open and let himself inside.
The Erstenwold store consisted of a single long wooden counter that spanned the width of the room. Thick, smooth planks of hardwood gleamed underfoot, old and stained. Dim daylight filtered in through a row of thick glass-paned windows high on the opposite wall. Tack and harness filled the room with the rich smell of fresh leather, and rows of barrels, sacks, and crates lined the walls. A couple of customerswoodcutters in town to stock up on supplies, Geran guessednegotiated with a clerk behind the counter.
It looks pretty much the same as ever, Geran decided. He knew the Erstenwolds’ place of business almost as well as he knew his own rooms in Griffonwatch. Not terribly busy at the moment, but that was not unusual. If no ships or big supply trains were stocking up, a day could be surprisingly slow here.
“Can I help you, sir?” A dark-haired woman bustled into the room from a doorway behind the counter, brushing her hands against her apron. She was tall and slender, with strong, sharp features and wide-set eyes of a striking glacial blue. She wore her hair pulled back in a single stern braid, but a small spray of freckles danced across her cheekbones and the bridge of her nose in defiance of her unsmiling expression. When Geran didn’t answer immediately, she gave a soft snort of annoyance and
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