allowed access to and from the great southern desert, and to one of the few land routes to the Iron Pass.
The Sin Eater, having studied many of the old scrolls and the books of Tir’an’fal for a long time, knew all of these facts, of course. He knew that Fuldoon was run by a council, said to be one of the most powerful organizations this side of the Inner Sea, who kept a complicated system of loans, loyalties, and debts with most of the world. He knew the facts of Fuldoon’s history, and he had read the reports and the rumors of pirate collusion.
None of this knowledge even came close to preparing him for the experience of being there, though. A cacophony of voices assaulted him.
“Harris Crabs! Three for a guillion!”
“Last call! Red Boat to Seamouth!”
“Gundadam spices? Taste before you buy!”
“Workers needed! Everyone able-bodied hired!”
“Clean beds for the night! Best establishment in town!”
“How dare you! Get your hands off of me!”
Vekal felt turned around and bowled over by it all. He felt like he was drowning as people pushed and shoved themselves up against him, pushing him out of the way or saying things in dialects and languages that he didn’t understand.
There were old faces and young, different colors and different creeds, some with tattoos and piercings, others with face paint. Head-dresses like triangles of cloth from some vague eclectic cult, to the cloth caps of the sailors and dock workers. Vekal had never been surrounded by so many living, smiling, scowling, angry, and bored people before in his life. He felt like all of the world must already be contained here.
“Vekal!” It was Suriyen, already separated from him but reaching back. Her gauntleted hand looked like salvation to him as she thrust it between the early morning crowds at the gate and grabbed his arm. Her other arm was curled protectively around Talon, hugging him to her body as she pushed her way through the crowds.
Another few more minutes, during which time they followed the wake of a small company of burly dock workers carrying large crates of something sweet and floral smelling, and Suriyen pulled them down a wide side street where she paused, panting.
“How does anyone stand it,” Vekal was gasping. “And it is so early, too. Is it always like this?”
“Pretty much.” Suriyen laughed, shaking her head. “But it can be a bit much for a first timer.” She cast a worried look over both of her charges. Talon, for all of his recent trials and tribulations, looked as though he had become re-energized by the experience, grinning from ear to ear. “It’s the fish markets,” she continued. “It’s always busy when the night catch comes in.” She breathed, smoothed her jerkin, and laughed at the look on Vekal’s face. “Yeah. Fresh fish. I bet that you don’t have that out there in the desert, huh?”
Vekal shook his head, grinning like a fool despite himself. Tir was a somber city by anyone’s standards, and especially so compared to Fuldoon. It was the sacred city of the gods, the most ancient necropolis from which thousands, millions, of people had come and gone over the years. But now, to Vekal, it almost felt like a dead place.
“Ha! Yes! This is heaven compared to it, is it not?” Ikrit slid up to his mind.
No, not heaven. That would be sacrilegious, Vekal thought, chastising himself. I must remember what I am. One of the dead and undying. In this world but not of it. I belong somewhere else…
“But it is tantalizing, is it not?” the devil purred at him, turning his head to look back at the main open gates that they had pressed through.
The main gates were a large drawbridge of wooden planks, lowered down to form a link with the first moored bridge-boat. From it, people were still streaming, as well as numerous lifters, carriers, sherpas, carts, and wagons. The city was getting fed every morning, and most of it seemed to be coming directly from the river outside.
On the
The Sin Eater, having studied many of the old scrolls and the books of Tir’an’fal for a long time, knew all of these facts, of course. He knew that Fuldoon was run by a council, said to be one of the most powerful organizations this side of the Inner Sea, who kept a complicated system of loans, loyalties, and debts with most of the world. He knew the facts of Fuldoon’s history, and he had read the reports and the rumors of pirate collusion.
None of this knowledge even came close to preparing him for the experience of being there, though. A cacophony of voices assaulted him.
“Harris Crabs! Three for a guillion!”
“Last call! Red Boat to Seamouth!”
“Gundadam spices? Taste before you buy!”
“Workers needed! Everyone able-bodied hired!”
“Clean beds for the night! Best establishment in town!”
“How dare you! Get your hands off of me!”
Vekal felt turned around and bowled over by it all. He felt like he was drowning as people pushed and shoved themselves up against him, pushing him out of the way or saying things in dialects and languages that he didn’t understand.
There were old faces and young, different colors and different creeds, some with tattoos and piercings, others with face paint. Head-dresses like triangles of cloth from some vague eclectic cult, to the cloth caps of the sailors and dock workers. Vekal had never been surrounded by so many living, smiling, scowling, angry, and bored people before in his life. He felt like all of the world must already be contained here.
“Vekal!” It was Suriyen, already separated from him but reaching back. Her gauntleted hand looked like salvation to him as she thrust it between the early morning crowds at the gate and grabbed his arm. Her other arm was curled protectively around Talon, hugging him to her body as she pushed her way through the crowds.
Another few more minutes, during which time they followed the wake of a small company of burly dock workers carrying large crates of something sweet and floral smelling, and Suriyen pulled them down a wide side street where she paused, panting.
“How does anyone stand it,” Vekal was gasping. “And it is so early, too. Is it always like this?”
“Pretty much.” Suriyen laughed, shaking her head. “But it can be a bit much for a first timer.” She cast a worried look over both of her charges. Talon, for all of his recent trials and tribulations, looked as though he had become re-energized by the experience, grinning from ear to ear. “It’s the fish markets,” she continued. “It’s always busy when the night catch comes in.” She breathed, smoothed her jerkin, and laughed at the look on Vekal’s face. “Yeah. Fresh fish. I bet that you don’t have that out there in the desert, huh?”
Vekal shook his head, grinning like a fool despite himself. Tir was a somber city by anyone’s standards, and especially so compared to Fuldoon. It was the sacred city of the gods, the most ancient necropolis from which thousands, millions, of people had come and gone over the years. But now, to Vekal, it almost felt like a dead place.
“Ha! Yes! This is heaven compared to it, is it not?” Ikrit slid up to his mind.
No, not heaven. That would be sacrilegious, Vekal thought, chastising himself. I must remember what I am. One of the dead and undying. In this world but not of it. I belong somewhere else…
“But it is tantalizing, is it not?” the devil purred at him, turning his head to look back at the main open gates that they had pressed through.
The main gates were a large drawbridge of wooden planks, lowered down to form a link with the first moored bridge-boat. From it, people were still streaming, as well as numerous lifters, carriers, sherpas, carts, and wagons. The city was getting fed every morning, and most of it seemed to be coming directly from the river outside.
On the
Similar Books
