Pools of Darkness - James M Brown [13]
"You're my last customer, Tarl. Once you're on your way, I'm going to bolt the shutters and head for home. My cats will probably be wondering where I am." Celie added up Tarl's purchases.
Without a word, Tarl went to latch the bakery's shutters. Their stout oak wouldn't be much good against fiends or magical fire, but bolting the shutters somehow felt right amid the chaos of life in the cavern. When Tarl was finished, Celie scolded him. "Now, you know you didn't have to do that. I'd have gotten to it."
"Can't have anything happen to the best bakery on the Moonsea, now can we? And I'll be walking you home, Celie. No arguing."
Celie made a face, though she knew Tarl was right. Tarl paid for his purchases, then Celie asked if he wouldn't mind locking the back door for her. While his back was turned, she slipped a large poppyseed cake, his wife's favorite, into his basket.
They locked the shop together, then headed into the streets. Celie's home was a little out of the way, but Tarl didn't care.
As they walked, Tarl told Celie of his pleasure at the readiness of the troops. He could see the relief on her face as he described the city's condition.
"Phlan has never looked stronger. We may be stuck in some magical hole, but we're prepared for any type of battle. The priests have all been blessing buckets and buckets of arrows and crossbow bolts. They're the best thing next to magic to destroy fiends.
"The walls are solid and weren't damaged at all when we were transported here. We lost less than two dozen men and women during the first attack. Our food stores look good. I'm certain we can weather this disaster like we have the other battles that have found Phlan."
With Celie safely inside her cottage, Tarl gripped his basket and turned for home. Despite the late hour, Tarl stopped to help Celie's neighbors shutter their windows and rescue a cat trapped on a roof.
As Tarl hurried through the streets, he noticed a crowd gathered in a tiny square. Wondering what would keep these folks out in the streets at such a late hour, he approached.
Tarl recognized an ancient warrior named Garanos standing on a stone bench, addressing the crowd. The people seemed restless, but they were listening intently. Garanos was a renowned hero of Phlan and perhaps its oldest warrior. His tone was proud and inspiring.
"Even the flight of dragons three centuries ago did not destroy our city. We refused to surrender, in spite of the horrors and the sieges. We have always been a strong, spirited people. Our ancestors accepted disasters as a way of life, but fought hard and conquered even the worst enemies.
"No wizard or scholar in all of Faerun could explain why hundreds of dragons would take to the skies and wreak devastation on the countryside. But Phlan survived and rebuilt after the dragon attacks. That was before my great-great-grandfather was born. Phlan became an important trade center and sailing port. Merchants came to depend on our waters. But we all know that this progress was not without a price.
"The influence of humans stirred up the creatures living in the older ruins of Phlan. But even the nightly raids that killed hundreds did not cause Phlan to collapse. Our relatives banded together to save their city. Hordes of creatures streamed down from the north, from the Dragonspine Mountains and the Grey Land of Thar. Still Phlan refused to yield. Our city became an armed camp. Fortifications were built. The rings of walls that we now call home were constructed to stop the attacks of monsters. Those walls have protected us for decades, and they protect us still."
Garanos noticed Tarl standing at the back of the crowd. He shouted to the cleric to join him. Those who watched also began chanting Tarl's name. Flushing slightly, Tarl wound through the throng and stepped up onto the bench.