Harbend de Garak?

Harbend wheeled, but there was no one there.

Harbend de Garak? The voice, no, not voice, but thought came to his mind as if placed there. Ah, Neritan. She was sending him a message.

"What do you want?" he said to the wall in his cabin.

The caravan is safe. It was an enemy of Arthur's who attacked. It's been taken care of. I'll accompany the caravan back to Erkateren. You should greet your woman there.

The presence was reassuring, but Harbend still had questions. Neritan must have known it, bridging the gap between Belgera and the Narrow Sea, and she continued. Outworlder soldiers took care of outworlder problems. Arthur's no longer hunted by his own. Tell him as much. Be careful when you arrive at home. The Council of Twelve knows much more than I can tell you.

Harbend chose not to make any more questions. He didn't know how the golden mage could have found him here, and he didn't dare to aggravate her by asking. Knowing the caravan was safe, that Nakora was safe had to be enough.

Harbend smiled as the presence vanished. Now only returning home remained, and at least this last leg of his journey he could spend without worries.

***

There was one last surprise as Harbend learned that they were heading directly for Hasselden rather than straight across the Narrow Sea. A battle had been waged along the northern coast of the Narrow Sea, a battle the western raiders lost, and shipwrecks made the harbors unsafe. Apart from the change of destination the voyage was uneventful, with the possible exception of Arthur's relief when he learned about how things had turned out in Belgera. Half a year together and Harbend had never known Arthur believed himself a hunted man.

Less than an eightday later Harbend recognized the coastline they were hugging. He balanced his way to the starboard side. Only a few days on a ship, but he was already becoming used to the constant movement under his feet as the wood heaved and sank rhythmically with the waves.

He longed for some luxuries, like a hot bath. Now that was something to look forward to. A wonderful bath with scented oils, and massage afterwards. To be able to sleep in a wide bed of his own at the time he chose, feeling as relaxed as only a good massage could make him feel.

Harbend stared longingly at the coast. The first sign of Hasselden would be pillars of smoke from the shipyard where they repaired ships that got caught when their crews dared going sea hunting despite the risk the raiders posed. Well, some never came back, but most did as they never ventured far from the town. A few new ships were built as well, but not as many as when he'd first come there.

The smoke pillars would have different colors dependent on if the craftsmen were boiling wood or oil.

There! He could see the smoke now. Home! They were close enough to see it. Harbend stood on his toes as if that extra height would make him come closer to Hasselden. If only it could, but he'd have to accept over half a day of waiting before his impatience could finally be curbed. Something about the smoke caught his interest. At first Harbend thought the wharfs must be especially busy, but as they slowly came closer his curiosity was replaced by despair.

Smoke was everywhere, smoke and soot. He fervently wished they'd taken a coach instead. Hasselden was a ghost, still burning in places and the entire harbor a maze of shipwrecks that would take a long time to clear up. It would be cleared up, eventually. Keen was too practical to abandon their southern port to a disaster, but Harbend knew, without doubt, the wounds would take years to heal, and for those still living who had lost most they would never heal.

Arthur came up behind him. "The captain says we can't make landfall here. He wants to go further north." Harbend hardly noticed the hand Arthur placed on his shoulder.

"I know," Harbend said. He rubbed a hand over his eyes as if that would banish the sight. "I can see the wrecks in the harbor. What happened here?"

"I don't know. I'm sorry. You said you used to live here," There was silent respect in the voice, and fingers gripped harder in unvoiced support.

"I did. I wonder what has happened to my people," Harbend whispered, no longer able to keep emotions away. Tears crept to his eyes, and he had to wipe them again.

"Family?"

"No, employees. You remember I sent money with a courier when we were in Verd?"

Harbend could see Arthur searching his mind but finding nothing. "Not really."

"The day you asked about the farwriter," Harbend explained, knowing he was rambling. Talking was better than watching.

"Ah, yes, the telegraph."

"I have a storefront here. It is not close enough to the harbor for us to see from here, so I would fail to know if it is still there. I hope so, and I hope both my men are safe."

Harbend looked across the water again, but there was nothing he could do. It would have to wait. Gods! He'd made the voyage here without being seasick, but now the sight of his first home in Keen forced bile to his throat, and he heaved and heaved. This, at least, was not of his doing, he thought when his stomach was empty.

***

They made landfall later that day, but they never traveled to Hasselden. Instead they spent two days trekking inland to avoid meeting any raiders. Harbend didn't speak much during those days. The awful homecoming had a profound effect on him but what occupied most of his thoughts were the implied threats in the message Neritan had sent. The Council of Twelve could only mean politics, and he had no wish to become involved in such matters. It was bad for business and it was sure to draw unwelcome attention to him. To Arthur as well. By now the rumors of the outworlder taleweaver had to have reached the capital.

When they reached the highway and caught a coach for Verd it was too late for sharing his misgivings with Arthur. With Hasselden in ruins Keen was sure to have spies everywhere and the only places Harbend trusted to have no unwelcome ears was his office and the Tree.

Arriving in Verd one late evening Harbend and Arthur made their way to the small office where Harbend had met his relatives an eternity earlier. He was back again. Back in a place he never thought he would call home, but in a sense it was. This was the home he had made instead of the one he left.

Less than a year, a shorter journey than some he'd undertaken earlier, and in a way a more straightforward one. And still, how was it possible it felt like the longest of them all? So much had happened, so much pain and grief to fulfill a need he'd barely seen when he embarked upon the project. Now he had in a way finished it, even if the caravan had just started its long trek back.

So good to stay here, for a few eightdays at least, but if Neritan was right Verd would be a dangerous place, and besides, he'd made Arthur a promise. He owed Arthur that much. At least that much.

Harbend sighed and turned. "Well, Arthur, now I have been home."

Arthur gave him a look full of sympathy, but didn't answer.

"Arthur, you decide this time."

"Do I have to?" Arthur asked, no longer able to avoid speaking.

"Yes, I am afraid so. This journey is yours from the beginning."

"Then I say we ride for the Roadhouse, turn north to Ri Khi and gather supplies there. Might even hire an escort there as well," Arthur said and gave Harbend an amused glance.

Harbend felt his cheeks heat. Thank you Arthur, thank you for making me remember that priceless gift instead of my misgivings. Harbend coughed to hide his embarrassment. "As you say," he responded after a while.

"You're the one who said I need to find a taleweaver to learn from," Arthur said. "I won't do so by sitting in Verd, and Ri Khi is as good a start as any. Tomorrow then?" he continued.

"Tomorrow," Harbend agreed.