wild babble of voices which rose and fell as the sound of moving water.
“Pfarb Durim,” said Windlow. “City of legends. Here, so it is said, when our forefathers came to this place a thousand years ago, they found the city already built by other than we, by not-men, perhaps by those who built the arches.”
“It smells very human to me,” said Mertyn, wrinkling his nose.
“It has been occupied by humans for some time,” he replied.
They led their animals through the market, fascinated to see so many things being bought and sold, hearing the cries of the merchants as they would have heard strange birds in a forest, with as little understanding. The gate was guarded by several red-nosed men who looked them over casually, inquired whence they had come, and seemed inclined to accept Mavin and Mertyn as part of Windlow’s group without any special inquisition as to their origins. Once inside the walls, Mavin handed the reins of her horse to Twizzledale, who was riding a bit behind the others, and bowed to him from the street.
“We appreciate your kindness, Gamesman. Now we must leave you with our thanks.”
“Where are you meeting your ... whoever?” he asked, looking more closely at her than she found comfortable. “You’re welcome to stay with us until you are met.” Giving the lie to this, Prince Valdon shouted from the street corner.
“Leave the pawnstuff, Wizard! There’s wine waiting!”
Twizzledale flushed, but did not move. Mavin said, “Thank you again, Gamesman. But we will not inflict ourselves upon you further. I must obey the instructions I was given.” She smiled, more warmly than she had intended, backed away from him, and set out around the corner, Mertyn’s hand clutched firmly in her own. There she took refuge in a deep doorway while she tried to decide where to go next.
“Brother child, we need some cheap lodging to roost in while we find the best road to the Shadowmarches and Battlefox.”
“If you don’t want to run into the Seer and his students, we’d better see where they go,” said Mertyn, leaning around the corner, his voice betraying the sadness he felt. He had been looking forward to a few more hours with Boldery in pursuit of some form of exciting mischief. “It would have been nice to ...”
“Yes, it would have been nice to. But I didn’t dare. That Twizzledale kept looking at me as though he could see through to my smalls. I don’t think I made a convincing man. There’s something more to it than shape, and he was suspicious of something the whole time. I could smell it.”
“But he liked you.”
“That might have been the trouble,” she answered. “If he’d despised me, as Prince Valdon does, he would not have looked at me so closely.”
The boy was peering around the corner still, then turned to her, sighing. “They’ve gone into a big inn right at the wall. I guess we should go on into the city. Should we ask someone?”
“We should,” she agreed, and set about doing so. Within a few moments she had the names of three cheap lodging houses, all within a short distance of one another, as well as three sets of instructions how to reach them. They set off in a hopeful frame of mind which changed to a kind of dismay as they left the open ways near the gate and began to wend down damp alleys, shadowed by protruding stories in the buildings to either side and threatened by a constant shower of debris from the windows and roofs. “Gamelords, what a warren,” she said. “I had no idea.”
As they made a last turn, Mertyn ran full into a staggering man who gurgled ominously, supporting himself against the wall. Mertyn reached out to catch him, then drew back, fastidiously wiping his face where the man had drooled on him. “Play ... play ...” the man gasped, his eyes protruding with the effort. “Play ... ch’owt ...” And then he crumpled onto the stones, fingers scrabbling weakly at the slimy cobbles.
“Come on!”
“Pfarb Durim,” said Windlow. “City of legends. Here, so it is said, when our forefathers came to this place a thousand years ago, they found the city already built by other than we, by not-men, perhaps by those who built the arches.”
“It smells very human to me,” said Mertyn, wrinkling his nose.
“It has been occupied by humans for some time,” he replied.
They led their animals through the market, fascinated to see so many things being bought and sold, hearing the cries of the merchants as they would have heard strange birds in a forest, with as little understanding. The gate was guarded by several red-nosed men who looked them over casually, inquired whence they had come, and seemed inclined to accept Mavin and Mertyn as part of Windlow’s group without any special inquisition as to their origins. Once inside the walls, Mavin handed the reins of her horse to Twizzledale, who was riding a bit behind the others, and bowed to him from the street.
“We appreciate your kindness, Gamesman. Now we must leave you with our thanks.”
“Where are you meeting your ... whoever?” he asked, looking more closely at her than she found comfortable. “You’re welcome to stay with us until you are met.” Giving the lie to this, Prince Valdon shouted from the street corner.
“Leave the pawnstuff, Wizard! There’s wine waiting!”
Twizzledale flushed, but did not move. Mavin said, “Thank you again, Gamesman. But we will not inflict ourselves upon you further. I must obey the instructions I was given.” She smiled, more warmly than she had intended, backed away from him, and set out around the corner, Mertyn’s hand clutched firmly in her own. There she took refuge in a deep doorway while she tried to decide where to go next.
“Brother child, we need some cheap lodging to roost in while we find the best road to the Shadowmarches and Battlefox.”
“If you don’t want to run into the Seer and his students, we’d better see where they go,” said Mertyn, leaning around the corner, his voice betraying the sadness he felt. He had been looking forward to a few more hours with Boldery in pursuit of some form of exciting mischief. “It would have been nice to ...”
“Yes, it would have been nice to. But I didn’t dare. That Twizzledale kept looking at me as though he could see through to my smalls. I don’t think I made a convincing man. There’s something more to it than shape, and he was suspicious of something the whole time. I could smell it.”
“But he liked you.”
“That might have been the trouble,” she answered. “If he’d despised me, as Prince Valdon does, he would not have looked at me so closely.”
The boy was peering around the corner still, then turned to her, sighing. “They’ve gone into a big inn right at the wall. I guess we should go on into the city. Should we ask someone?”
“We should,” she agreed, and set about doing so. Within a few moments she had the names of three cheap lodging houses, all within a short distance of one another, as well as three sets of instructions how to reach them. They set off in a hopeful frame of mind which changed to a kind of dismay as they left the open ways near the gate and began to wend down damp alleys, shadowed by protruding stories in the buildings to either side and threatened by a constant shower of debris from the windows and roofs. “Gamelords, what a warren,” she said. “I had no idea.”
As they made a last turn, Mertyn ran full into a staggering man who gurgled ominously, supporting himself against the wall. Mertyn reached out to catch him, then drew back, fastidiously wiping his face where the man had drooled on him. “Play ... play ...” the man gasped, his eyes protruding with the effort. “Play ... ch’owt ...” And then he crumpled onto the stones, fingers scrabbling weakly at the slimy cobbles.
“Come on!”
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