Chapter 2: Summer

One morning, it had to be in my third month in Storm Harbour, I had just finished breakfast and was pampering Muffins with some leftovers, Harok slapped his meaty hand on my shoulder.

“Good news! The Guard has their annual veteran meeting and I’m invited.”

I nudged his ribs with my elbow. “Did they invite a necromancer too? If you’re in, all the fallen should be too,”

“Watch yer tongue, elf. I may be blind, but I don’t need eyes to choke you with it. Ready for a walk?”

“Sure. Just let me get my gear.” I fondled Muffins between the ears one last time, then got up.

“What are you two up to now?” Zejka asked, swooping in to collect my breakfast cutlery.

“Man stuff, wench,” Harok huffed.

“Don’t you get Gheeran in any trouble, you hear?” the innkeep warned

“Zejka, sweetheart. I’m a big boy,” I said. By now I knew the taproom of the Toothless Godling well enough to traverse it safely, even without my cane. As long as Muffins didn’t decide to sleep in the middle of the floor or some patron forgot to push his stool under the table, I was fine.

“And Harok is trouble for three.” Zejka stomped back behind the bar, dumping the crockery into a tub as she went. “Just be careful, that’s all I ask.”

A few moments later, I had my weapons and enchanted arm guards on me and returned back to the taproom, wrapped in my cloak. “Ready.”

“Good. The sooner we’re there, the more we can drink,” Harok said, rubbing his hands together. Then I heard him make his way to the Godling’s front door.

“We’re taking Carpenter’s Walk up to the small market and then a bit of Trident Way. You think you can manage that?” he asked once we were outside. I nodded. Carpenter’s Walk was notoriously crowded with long wagons carrying everything from tree trunks to planks to finished furniture and the draft horses would be tired and bad-tempered, but I liked the smell of freshly cut wood and sawdust. The small market was open all week, one of the places where those living in the Craftsman’s Quarter could get fresh food. The monotonous “tock, tock” of our canes gave the walk something soothing, and before I knew it, I already smelled Carpenter’s Walk, that aroma of sawdust, wood and horse manure. We were close to Midsummer’s Eve and Storm Harbour was steaming under the unrelenting sun. There was the occasional breeze off the ocean, but by the time it reached into the Quarter, it was heavy with the stink of too many people and hardly refreshing.

We ran the gauntlet of overhanging cargo our canes couldn’t detect, bustling loaders not paying attention and bad-tempered horses trying to get a kick out of kicking us.

“I wish I had me axe,” Harok grumbled once we reached the end of Carpenter’s Walk. “I wouldn’t mind a bit of fresh horse. Beats the stale bread Mercy’s giving out lately.”

“You’re not allowed to keep your weapon?” I asked him, incredulous.

“Nah. All me gear was property o’the city. Once they kicked me outta the Guard, they kept the armor and the axe. And I had no coin to buy a new one. Besides, when ya gotta choose between food, drink, wenches and weapons, a weapon comes up pretty late:”

I shuddered at the thought of stinking Harok writhing on top of a prostitute. I was truly glad that Zejka allowed me to use the Godling’s bath without charging extra, if only to keep me from chasing away customers by being unwashed. I got yanked out of my musings when I bumped into Harok. The dwarf had suddenly stopped.

“By the shrivelled dick of the Soul-Forger, elf. Would ye mind where ye’re bloody walking?” he spat.

“Why did you stop in the first place?” I asked him.

“Listen.”

I cocked my head and strained my ears. Around me, I heard the noises of the city. People talking, children yelling at each other, the occasional cockerel, dogs barking...

“City noise.” I said, shrugging.

“What did I told ya about walking with me?” he barked.

“Umm... ‘Always know where ye are, elf?’”

“Damn right ye are. So?”

“Hm. Unless you lost your way, we should be pretty close to the market, right?”

“Aye. So?”

I puzzled over his strange behaviour, then it hit me. There were no peddlers trying ot outcry each other. In fact, it was way too quiet, apart from what sounded like a lot of people talking to each other.

“No market?” I asked him.

“Sounds like. Let’s find out what this is about, shall we?”

We rounded the last few corners and my suspicion proved correct. No stalls, no criers hawking their wares, no nice smells of roasting meat or fresh veggies. And most curious of all, we got intercepted by two guards.

“Oh, it’s you Harok. How are you?” one of them asked my companion. I even heard him snap off a smart salute.

“I would feel better if I knew where the blasted market has gone,” the dwarf snapped back.

“Oh, that’s right. Market’s closed for today. Lady Dunwall wants to make a public appearance.”

“One of the five Storm Lords herself, eh? That should be fun,” Harok said. “May we pass?”

“No throwing stuff at her, you hear?” the guard cautioned him.

“Me? Throwing stuff at her? Ye know I love that lass to bits,” the dwarf said. To my amazement, there wasn’t even a hint of his customary venom in his statement. Intrigued, I followed him as he ploughed a way through the throng. The smell got progressively worse the further we went. Eventually, Harok stopped. I could hear steps at about face level creaking on wooden boards. They had erected some kind of stage on the market place and people were busy doing the gods only knew what up there. The people around us were shoving and jostling like crazy. I had to grab Harok’s shoulder. This was twice as bad as that one time when I first came here.

“Calm down, people, calm down,” a booming voice commanded. A voice I knew. It had to be Leo, the paladin, and his voice held enough authority to actually calm the jostling mob around us.

“I give you ... Lady Keira Dunwall,” Leo proclaimed amidst a chorus of rousing cheers. I noticed Harok pumping his fist in the air. Then a hush set in. Maybe this Lady Dunwall had waved her hand imploringly. Or she had realized what kind of people were cheering at her and was scowling at us. I knew that our own nobles would have answered the cheers of peasants, beggars and poor people with a hail of sleep-venom tipped crossbow bolts.