Curiously, several areas near the very harbor itself looked entirely intact. Rhonin would have expected
these to be in the worst condition, but other than a sullenness among the workers they saw, everything
here looked as if Hasic had never been attacked.
“Perhaps the ship survived after all,” he muttered to Vereesa.
“I do not think so. Not if that is any sign.”
He looked out into the harbor itself, to the place at which the ranger pointed. The wizard squinted, trying
to identify what exactly he saw.
“The mast of a ship, spellcaster,” Duncan gruffly informed him. “The rest of the vessel and her valiant
crew no doubt reside in the water below.”
Rhonin bit back a curse. Surveying the harbor, he now saw that bits and pieces of wood and other
material dotted the surface, flotsam from more than a dozen ships, the mage suspected. Now he realized
in part why the port itself had survived; the orcs must have directed their mounts to attack the Alliance
vessels first, not wanting them to escape. It did not explain why the outer reaches of Hasic had suffered
worse than the interior, but perhaps most of that damage had taken place after the coming of the
gryphon-riders. Not the first time that a settlement had found itself caught in the midst of a violent struggle
and suffered for it. Still, the devastation would have been a lot worse if the dwarves had not come along.
The orcs would have had their dragons level the port and try to slay everyone within sight.
Speculation, however, did not help with the problem at hand, namely the fact that now he had no ship on
which to travel to Khaz Modan.
“Your quest is ended, wizard,” Lord Senturus announced for no good reason that Rhonin could see.
“You have failed.”
“There may yet be a boat. I've the funds to hire one—”
“And who here will sail to Khaz Modan for your silver? These poor wretches have suffered through
enough trials. Do you expect some of them to sail willingly to a land still held by the very orcs who did
this?”
“I can only try to find out. I thank you for your time, my lord, and wish you well.” Turning to the elf,
Rhonin added, “And you as well, rang—Vereesa. You're a credit to your calling.”
She looked startled. “I'm not leaving you yet.”
“But your task—”
“Is incomplete. I cannot in good conscience leave you here with nowhere to go. If you still seek a way to
Khaz Modan, I shall do what I can to help you—Rhonin.”
Duncan suddenly straightened in the saddle. “And certainly we cannot leave matters so, either! By our
honor, if you believe this task still worthy of continuation, then I and my fellows will also do what we can
to seek transport for you!”
Vereesa's decision to remain for the time being had pleased Rhonin, but he could have done without the
Knights of the Silver Hand. “I thank you, my lord, but there're many in need here. Wouldn't it be best if
your order helped the good people of Hasic to recover?”
For the space of a breath, he actually thought that he had rid himself of the elder warrior, but after some
clear deliberation with himself, Duncan finally announced, “Your words have some merit for once,
wizard, yet I think we can arrange that both your mission and Hasic can benefit from our presence. My
men will aid the citizens in recovery efforts while I take a personal hand in seeing if we can find a craft for
you! That should settle the matter rightly, eh?”
Defeated, Rhonin simply nodded. At his side, Vereesa reacted with more grace. “Your assistance will
no doubt prove invaluable, Duncan. Thank you.”
After the senior paladin had sent the other knights on their way, he, Rhonin, and the ranger briefly
discussed how best to go about their search. They soon agreed that separate paths would cover more
ground, with all three returning at evening meal to discuss any possibilities. Lord Senturus clearly doubted
that any of them would have success, but his duty to Lordaeron and the Alliance—and possibly his
infatuation with Vereesa— demanded he do his part.
Rhonin scoured the northern area of the port, seeking out any craft larger than a dinghy. The dragons
had been thorough, however, and as the day waned, he found himself with nothing yet to report. It
gradually got to the point where he remained uncertain as to which bothered him more—being unable to
find transport, or fearing that the so-grand lord knight would be the one to present them with the answer
to Rhonin's predicament.
There were methods by which a wizard could span such long distances, but only those like the both
legendary and cursed Medivh had ever used them with confidence. Even if Rhonin did successfully cast
the spell, he risked not only possible detection by any orc warlock in the area, but also unexpected
changes in his destination due to the emanations from the region where the Dark Portal lay. Rhonin did
not want to find himself materializing over an active volcano. Yet, by what other method could he make
his journey?
While he struggled to find an answer, the recovery of Hasic took place around him. Women and children
gathered what wreckage they found floating in from the harbor, scavenging whatever still seemed of use
and piling the rest to one side for later disposal. A special unit of the town guard went along the shoreline,
searching for the waterlogged corpses of any of the mariners who had gone down with their ships. A few
of the people stared at the somber, dark-clad mage as he walked among them, some of the parents
pulling their children to them as he passed. Now and then Rhonin read expressions that hinted of blame,
as if somehow he had been responsible for this terrible assault. Even under such dire conditions the
common folk could not forget their prejudices and fears concerning his kind.
Above him, a pair of the gryphons flew past, the dwarves maintaining watch for any new attack. Rhonin
doubted the region would be seeing any dragon strikes soon, the last one having cost the orcs far too
much. Falstad and his companions would have better served the port by landing and helping those left,
but the wary spellcaster suspected that the dwarves, not the most friendly of Lordaeron's allies, preferred
to stay aloft and aloof. Given any good reason, they no doubt would have even abandoned Hasic entirely
rather than—
Another reason?
“Of course . . .” Rhonin muttered. He watched the two creatures and their riders descend to the
southwest. Who else but the dwarves might find his offer tempting? Who else was insane enough?
Disregarding the spectacle he might be making of himself, Rhonin ran after the dwindling figures.
Vereesa left the southernmost edge of the docks in total disgust. Not only had she met with no success,
but of all the human settlements she had visited, Hasic ranked among the highest in stench. It had little to
do with the disaster or even the smell of fish. Hasic just stank. Most humans had little enough sense of
smell; the people here clearly had none.
The ranger wanted to be rid of this place, to return to her own kind so that she could be appointed to a
more critical role, but until Vereesa could satisfy herself that she had done all she could for Rhonin, the
ranger could not, in good conscience, depart. Yet there seemed no method by which the wizard might
continue with his journey, one she now remained positive had to do with more than simply observation.
Rhonin had revealed himself far too determined to be simply going on such a minor mission. No, he had
something else in mind.
If only she knew what it might be . . .
The time for evening meal fast approached. With no sign of hope, the ranger headed inland, utilizing the
most direct streets and alleys available despite the sometimes overwhelming scents. Hasic also maintained
land routes to its neighbors, especially the major realms of Hillsbrad and Southshore. Although it would
take more than a week to reach either one, perhaps that remained the only chance.
“Well . . . my beautiful elven lady!”
She looked the wrong way at first, thinking one of the humans spoke so with her, but then Vereesa
recalled who had last used such terms. The ranger turned to her right and shifted her gaze more
earthward . . . there to see Falstad in all his half-sized glory, the wild dwarf 's eyes bright and his mouth
open in a wide, knowing grin. He carried a sack over one shoulder and had his great hammer slung over
the other. The weight of either would have left many an elf or human slumping from effort, but Falstad
carried both with the ease of his kind.
“Master Falstad. Greetings to you.”
“Please! I am Falstad to my friends! I am master of nothing save my own wondrous fate!”
“And I am simply Vereesa to my friends.” Although the dwarf seemed to have a high opinion of himself,
something in his manner made it hard not to like him, albeit not as much as Falstad possibly hoped. He
did little to hide his interest in her, even allowing his eyes now and then to wander below her face. The
ranger decided she had to deal with that situation immediately. “And they remain my friends only so long
as they treat me with the respect with which I in turn treat them.”
The dark orbs shot back up to meet her own, but otherwise Falstad pretended innocence. “How goes
your quest to set the wizard on the water, my elven lady? Not good, I'd say, not good at all!”
“No, not good. It seems that the only vessels not damaged took to the sea as soon as they could for
safer climes. Hasic is a port without function. . . .”
“A pity, a pity! We should discuss this further over a good flagon of spirits! What say you?”
She held back the slight smile his jovial persistence stirred. “Another time, perhaps. I still have a task to
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