Havaldr

This is proving to be fruitless.
The evening spent at the dockside tavern hadn't yielded anything of use, much like the day following Havaldr around while he dealt with his merchant's business. Only rumours and gossip of little value, a captain's unfaithful wife, the threat of corsairs looming closer to the city, fishermen's tall tales, the drunken boasting of thugs and lowlifes. 
And no lead on this Mendel fellow either.

"Home .."

"Trade licences? You'll need to speak with the Lord's steward, Tarias. He's new on the job, so I've not yet dealt with him myself, but he can't be worse than the last ones we've had."

"And now you forgot all about me again," grumbled Ameren when her sword easily slipped past Havaldr's shoddy attempt of a block, letting the flat side of the blade smack down on his arm. "Back to the start."

Kayrin smiled at the emerging stars, although they told her, she had steered the ship too much toward the South. She turned the tiller calmly, correcting their course. An Eglan steering a ship at the open sea. How wonderfully strange, she thought. Ameren or Sugar Plume as she liked to call her, appeared to be sleeping on the deck, she glanced at her briefly, imagining what sort of a woman she was.

"Lond Daer? It was once a great and proud harbour of the Númenóreans, now it's a free port and a haven for all manner of seafaring outlaws, scoundrels, rogues, and smugglers. It's still mostly a crumbling ruin that's been abandoned to the ages, but near the docks it has been rebuilt, then that's rotted and been partly rebuilt again, and that bit is bustling with all the activity of a small town.

Gods, that smells delicious...
Ameren peered over the back of her mare toward the campfire. The hillmen had caught a young doe earlier that afternoon and, after days of no fire and cold food, the aroma of roasting venison was damn near intoxicating. She stood there and just stared at the rotating meat for so long that the mare grew impatient of having her grooming interrupted, snorting and giving Ameren a shove to voice her discontent.

She'd known that their luck would run out eventually, that it was only a matter of time until they were discovered during their little trip through the orc-infested region. That it had to happen just then, on that narrow path along the cliffs by the Greyflood with heavy rain coming down and the blasted hillmen too far ahead to help, that was more than piss-poor luck.

"It's no good, damn orcs are everywhere down there," said Ameren, pulling her mare to a halt as she came closer to the cart. "If we still had the cover of rain we may have been able to slip past them, but on a beautiful day like this they'll see us coming from a mile off."

"Pathetic! Get up!"

Her muscles ached, arms and legs trembling as she tried to push herself up to at least get her head out of the dirt. She only just managed to dribble some bloody spittle onto the ground before they gave in and she found herself sprawled face down again.