their business, pushing past without a second glance. In a nearby doorway a girl nursed a baby. A pair of old men sat smoking long pipes on a doorstep, their voices croaking like two skinny toads. From twenty yards away she could hear the noise and jubilation of a tavern, its golden light pouring like spilt ale onto the street.
Emelia shuffled down the road, keeping her head low and her cloak tight around her. The state of the buildings spoke to her of Cheapside, the furthermost district of the lower city before the road that descended to the plateau of Minerstown. This was not an area for a young girl to be at night alone, especially a naïve housemaid like her.
A gang of lads emerged from the tavern laughing and hooting. They were well dressed for such a neighbourhood. A flurry of hope arose in her as she saw them. Perhaps she could implore them for assistance and an escort to the upper city. Emelia advanced, fixing her gaze on the tallest boy and trying not to catch the eye of any of the street’s other denizens.
“Uthor, my old mate, this is a splendid jape. Where are we to drink next? There’ll be no taverns left that’ll serve us after your trick with that serving wench!” one of the smaller men said, sloshing ale from a tankard.
Emelia froze at the sight of Uthor Ebon-Farr. Uthor snorted then began to urinate against the wall of the tavern.
“Plenty of places down here, boys. This is how the Thetorians celebrate—they have the right idea—not like our stuffy countrymen. Got to enjoy yourself while you can. Father sends me to the Knights soon enough, then there’ll be no rounds on good old Uthor.”
Emelia retreated and walked straight into a drunken man staggering towards the tavern. He groped at her, chortling loudly, his scabby hands trying to get hold of her shoulders. Emelia moved with surprising speed, side-stepping his fumbling. The oaf fell onto the muddy road and roared in anger, his hand darting back and grasping her ankle.
Uthor and his companions turned to stare at the commotion. One of the lads, a short nobleman with a petulant face, pointed with a swaying arm.
“Look boys, a harlot in distress. Who’s for saving the day?”
The group erupted into laughter and Uthor looked with recognition at Emelia as she tried to liberate her ankle.
“No rescue needed, chums. She’s a floor scrubber at home. Father can always buy another.”
Fury roared through Emelia’s ears and she kicked out at the drunk who clutched her foot. The kick struck the bridge of his nose and it split like a ripe tomato flecking blood over the cobbles. He screamed and released her; she whirled and ran.
Streets flashed past as her shoes echoed on the stones of Cheapside. Emelia was in many ways a natural athlete, with strong muscular legs and a nimble frame, and the distance she put between her and Uthor’s gang was admirable. After ten minutes, she began to tire. She chanced a glance over her shoulder, then slowed to a more civil pace and walked down a deserted back street.
The buildings were changing in character, the patchwork nature of Cheapside giving way to older structures. It was dark now and the moonlight provided limited visibility as she entered a small square that lay before a large pair of iron gates. The sound of flowing water was near and with relief she realised it must be one of the two rivers in the lower city, the Garnet or the River of Stars. That would give her a chance to get her bearings.
A figure caught her eye as she entered the square and she instinctively stepped back into the shadows of a large house. It was a slender man, with a dark cloak and jet black hair and he was stood at the iron gates. He eased through a narrow gap in the gates and disappeared from view.
She wondered whether this stranger may be implored to help her. It felt a better option than retracing her steps and encountering Uthor. Emelia walked over to the gates and glanced at the sign. It made no sense to her
Emelia shuffled down the road, keeping her head low and her cloak tight around her. The state of the buildings spoke to her of Cheapside, the furthermost district of the lower city before the road that descended to the plateau of Minerstown. This was not an area for a young girl to be at night alone, especially a naïve housemaid like her.
A gang of lads emerged from the tavern laughing and hooting. They were well dressed for such a neighbourhood. A flurry of hope arose in her as she saw them. Perhaps she could implore them for assistance and an escort to the upper city. Emelia advanced, fixing her gaze on the tallest boy and trying not to catch the eye of any of the street’s other denizens.
“Uthor, my old mate, this is a splendid jape. Where are we to drink next? There’ll be no taverns left that’ll serve us after your trick with that serving wench!” one of the smaller men said, sloshing ale from a tankard.
Emelia froze at the sight of Uthor Ebon-Farr. Uthor snorted then began to urinate against the wall of the tavern.
“Plenty of places down here, boys. This is how the Thetorians celebrate—they have the right idea—not like our stuffy countrymen. Got to enjoy yourself while you can. Father sends me to the Knights soon enough, then there’ll be no rounds on good old Uthor.”
Emelia retreated and walked straight into a drunken man staggering towards the tavern. He groped at her, chortling loudly, his scabby hands trying to get hold of her shoulders. Emelia moved with surprising speed, side-stepping his fumbling. The oaf fell onto the muddy road and roared in anger, his hand darting back and grasping her ankle.
Uthor and his companions turned to stare at the commotion. One of the lads, a short nobleman with a petulant face, pointed with a swaying arm.
“Look boys, a harlot in distress. Who’s for saving the day?”
The group erupted into laughter and Uthor looked with recognition at Emelia as she tried to liberate her ankle.
“No rescue needed, chums. She’s a floor scrubber at home. Father can always buy another.”
Fury roared through Emelia’s ears and she kicked out at the drunk who clutched her foot. The kick struck the bridge of his nose and it split like a ripe tomato flecking blood over the cobbles. He screamed and released her; she whirled and ran.
Streets flashed past as her shoes echoed on the stones of Cheapside. Emelia was in many ways a natural athlete, with strong muscular legs and a nimble frame, and the distance she put between her and Uthor’s gang was admirable. After ten minutes, she began to tire. She chanced a glance over her shoulder, then slowed to a more civil pace and walked down a deserted back street.
The buildings were changing in character, the patchwork nature of Cheapside giving way to older structures. It was dark now and the moonlight provided limited visibility as she entered a small square that lay before a large pair of iron gates. The sound of flowing water was near and with relief she realised it must be one of the two rivers in the lower city, the Garnet or the River of Stars. That would give her a chance to get her bearings.
A figure caught her eye as she entered the square and she instinctively stepped back into the shadows of a large house. It was a slender man, with a dark cloak and jet black hair and he was stood at the iron gates. He eased through a narrow gap in the gates and disappeared from view.
She wondered whether this stranger may be implored to help her. It felt a better option than retracing her steps and encountering Uthor. Emelia walked over to the gates and glanced at the sign. It made no sense to her
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