Chapter Four
Out in the street, the three Horadrim moved a short distance away from the alehouse and stepped into an alley to regroup, but Donan kept his eye on the alehouse door.
The barkeep had obviously feared the presence of an informant among his clientele, and if such a person had been listening in, they now had something to report and might leave the tavern shortly.
“I think I’d like to meet this Harbormaster,” Lorath said.
Donan suppressed a sigh of frustration. “What happened to avoiding unnecessary conflict?”
“You saw how that barkeep squirmed,” Lorath said.
“It’s obvious the Harbormaster runs this port.
I doubt any ship comes or goes but by their leave.
We can keep asking around, and we might eventually find someone willing to talk, if we get lucky, but we’ll rouse a lot of suspicion along the way.
” He turned to Tyrael. “It would save time if we go right to the top, and it might even earn us a bit of respect.”
Just then, Donan noticed someone step out of the tavern, the old man with the missing ear. He looked back and forth, turned eastward, and set off in a hurry.
“How do you propose we find this Harbormaster?” Tyrael asked.
“We could follow Old Pike,” Donan said, pointing down the wharf.
The other two quickly grasped Donan’s meaning, and the three of them left the alley to trail the old man.
They followed him along the harbor frontage beneath a leaden sky, making no effort to conceal themselves.
Along the way, they passed several ships anchored to the barnacle-encrusted piers extending outward from the wharf into the bay.
Donan studied the sailors at work on the different vessels, noting the design and styling of each ship.
One appeared to have come from Lut Gholein across the Twin Seas, while another came from Gea Kul, the city where Donan had been born and raised. He looked away from the latter quickly.
Old Pike eventually led them to a large warehouse and disappeared inside. Several dockhands worked on the wharf before it, hauling barrels and crates while plainly keeping their eyes on the Horadrim.
“Do we go in through the front door?” Lorath asked. “Or wait here for an invitation?”
“Let us show restraint and patience,” Tyrael said. “They are aware of our presence. I doubt we shall have to wait long.”
Donan turned and looked out past the anchored ships to the sea beyond.
Somewhere over the stormy horizon lay Skovos.
He had read about the isles, of course, but he wondered how accurate his sources would prove to be; much of what was written could easily be dismissed as myth or legend.
However, such tales sometimes carried elements of truth forward through the centuries, obscured by exaggeration and symbols.
It thrilled him to think he might soon see for himself.
Some time later, Old Pike exited the warehouse in the company of two brutes wielding cudgels and walked directly toward the three Horadrim.
“The Harbormaster would like a word,” he said.
“Good.” Lorath clapped his hands together. “We were hoping for an audience.”
Old Pike smirked. “I think you might regret that.”
He and his two associates escorted the Horadrim inside the warehouse, where Donan was surprised to find a tidy, well-ordered enterprise underway.
He saw sacks of grain, barrels of dried foodstuffs, objects of fine metalwork, and bolts of silk from Kehjistan.
The aroma of raw spices and herbs called to mind the open-air markets of his youth.
Cats prowled freely to control vermin, and all the various goods appeared to be stored in clean conditions.
Legal or otherwise, sanctioned or not, a part of Donan welcomed the sight of commerce and chose to take it as a sign that perhaps the world had begun its return to the way things had been before Malthael’s culling.
At the rear of the building, Old Pike showed them into a private room furnished as opulently as a noble household.
Thick woven rugs softened the floor, tapestries and hangings decorated the walls, and incense sweetened the air.
A table in the center of the room bore an impressive and mouthwatering assortment of food, including meats, breads, cheeses, and fruits.
Old Pike left them without a word, closing the door behind him.
“He didn’t take our weapons,” Donan said, an oversight he assumed reflected the Harbormaster’s confidence rather than incompetence.
Then a woman entered the room through another door, which had been hidden behind one of the hangings.
She appeared to be middle-aged, of stout build, with gray hair cropped short.
A long scar stretched from her temple to her jaw down one side of her face.
She wore long leather boots, flowing trousers, and a blouse of red silk, with a well-used sword hanging from her belt.
In one hand, she carried a glass bottle by its neck.
“I hear you have a taste for Skovos wine,” she said. “Please, have a seat. Eat, if you’re hungry.”
The Horadrim each took a chair. None of them reached for any food, though Donan found it difficult to avoid staring at the joint of venison in front of him.
“Shall I open the bottle?” the woman asked.
“That will not be necessary,” Tyrael said. “I assume you are the Harbormaster?”
“You assume correctly.” She set down the bottle and sat herself at the head of the table, sideways in her chair, with one leg dangling over the arm. “Now that I’ve seen you in person, I think my assumptions about you were also correct.”
“What were your assumptions?” Tyrael asked.
“Not yet,” she said. “First, you will tell me why you want to go to Skovos.”
“That isn’t any of your business,” Lorath said.
She laughed, but there was nothing friendly or mirthful in it. “It is most assuredly my business. And as you have seen, I take my business very seriously.”
“You seem to be doing quite well,” Donan said.
She bowed her head. “It is true I have been very fortunate.”
“You have, indeed,” said Lorath. “Especially when there are so many starving and suffering.”
The Harbormaster reached for an apple, picking up and discarding several before selecting one. “The difference between disaster and opportunity,” she said, “is often a matter of perspective.”
“The people of Sanctuary have lost much,” said Lorath. “Is death a matter of perspective?”
“One’s perspective on death is certainly important, wouldn’t you agree?
” She bit into her apple, then looked at the fruit with a wrinkled nose before tossing it back onto the table.
“We’ve all been living with death, haven’t we?
Ever since death itself came marching down our streets?
It’s waiting around every corner now. It always was, but now we know it.
You can either cower from that or you can get on with it. ”
“Get on with what?” Donan asked.
The Harbormaster shrugged. “Living the only life you’ll ever be given.” She sat upright suddenly, placing both feet on the floor. “Now: Skovos. I’m afraid I can’t let you go.”
“Can’t let us?” said Tyrael. “Who are you to—”
“I am the Harbormaster,” she said with the decisiveness of a drawn blade.
“I make sure things run smoothly around here. That’s what the good people of Kingsport want, you see?
But it wasn’t always this way. In the aftermath of the reapers, there were those who thought they wanted chaos.
They thought they wanted the freedom to do as they pleased.
Take whatever they wanted. Hurt whoever they wanted.
” She lifted her hand, and with the tip of her index finger, she traced the scar down the side of her face.
“Those were dark times. But that is not the kind of world most people want. Most people want stability. Predictability. They want the sort of lives that can only be obtained through orderly trade. They don’t want to be ruled, but they do want to know that someone is taking care of things. ”
“And that someone is you?” Lorath asked.
“For the moment,” she said. “And when it comes to Skovos, my business is…delicate. If you were to cause trouble there, and that trouble were to lead back to one of my ships—”
“What if we use someone else’s ship?” Donan asked.
“Mine are the only ships welcome there. Any other vessel would not be treated kindly.”
“A moment ago,” Tyrael said, “you spoke of your assumptions about us.”
The Harbormaster lifted one side of her mouth in a half grin. “On occasion, curious relics have crossed my hands.”
“What kind of relics?” Donan asked.
“The kind that call to mind certain rumors. Stories about an ancient order of scholars, wizards, and warriors. Horadrim, they’re called. Bane of demons.”
Tyrael and Lorath glanced at each other but said nothing.
“Don’t deny it. You bear their mark.” The Harbormaster spread her hands wide. “Why else would I have invited you here? I would have already disposed of you otherwise, but I wanted to see for myself if I was correct.”
The Horadrim were not a secret order. They had been around for too long and had involved themselves in far too many pivotal events in Sanctuary’s history to hide their existence completely.
But the Horadrim did keep a great many secrets, and for a variety of reasons, past members had often chosen to veil their identities.
Lorath and Tyrael did not appear comfortable with the Harbormaster knowing theirs, but Donan had to admit he felt a slight swell in his chest at having been recognized.
It still brought him a measure of personal pride to call himself Horadrim.
“You needn’t worry,” the Harbormaster said. “I didn’t get where I am by making powerful enemies needlessly. I shall leave you to your business, so long as you leave me to mine and respect my authority in Kingsport.”
“We do not wish to be your adversaries,” Tyrael said. “But our business takes us to Skovos. I assure you, our intentions are noble.”