but she knew the offer would be refused. All Tevi could do was smile and take her place by Verron. When she looked back, there was no sign of Aigur among the market crowd.
Marith, with Derry beside her, steered the leading wagon. Kimal rode on a saddle pony that was dwarfed by the huge carthorses. The wagons crawled through the busy streets, rumbling over uneven cobbles. Tevi watched the stream of mean faces flow past. She was not sorry to be leaving. The weather was at its most dismal for their departure, a grey overcast morning holding the promise of rain. Colours were muted in the sullen light. To the east, the Aldrak Mountains were lost in cloud.
A ruined gatehouse marked the remains of the old city walls. Thereafter, the dwellings became even more squalid, and the road turned into a rutted dirt track. Soon, they left the last miserable hovels behind and began the steep ascent into the hills south of Torhafn. As the gradient sharpened, the horses strained against the load, their harness creaking alarmingly. A niche cut into the rock held a small shrine. Tevi stared at the statue to take her mind off the sheer drop on the other side of the road. The nearer horse snorted.
“Is this road safe?” Tevi asked.
“There won’t be any bandits this close to town,”
“I was thinking more about falling.”
Verron smiled. “The horses will manage fine.”
After more hairpin bends, the road levelled out. Verron leaned back and relaxed his grip on the reins. “I’m always glad to get out of Torhafn. It’s the worst town I know, and I’ve seen some rough spots. Marith and I used to work the eastern seas, out past Ekranos and the straits of Perithia. We even travelled north to Tirakhalod a few times.”
“You don’t go there anymore?”
“They can be dangerous places. We risked it because there’s a fortune to be made. But now we’re getting older, we prefer a quieter life. For the last few seasons, we’ve done the southern trade route. It’s a lot safer, apart from Torhafn. There’s not as much profit, but we’ve built enough capital to trade in luxuries.”
“I’d heard that in the Protectorate, the sorcerers take everyone’s money.”
“Not all of it. We pay our tithes to the Guild, who pass some on to the Coven as taxes.”
“You don’t mind paying taxes?”
Verron laughed. “I admit I’d rather not, but there isn’t any option. Sorcerers have controlled every civilisation since time began. The Coven of Lyremouth leads the Protectorate, but they let the guilds manage their own internal affairs. It’s benign and, best of all, stable. The Protectorate has been going for over four hundred years, which makes it unique.”
“What happened to the other civilisations?”
“They collapsed when the sorcerer who built them died. But when the head of the Coven dies, they just elect another Guardian.”
Tevi frowned. “Aigur said the Protectorate was a good place to live.”
“It is, but you’ll have to wait to see it—not until we reach Serac in the autumn.”
The wagons reached the crest of the hill. Ahead of them, the road dipped across a swathe of rolling moor. Tevi twisted in her seat and looked back. Seen from a distance, Torhafn was not so bad. If you did not know better, you could imagine the docks were quaint. Tevi’s gaze shifted to the horizon, a grey blur of rain and mist. Far out to sea was Storenseg. Then the wagons rolled forward, and both town and sea were lost over the brow of the hill.
*
Despite Verron’s fears, the journey to Scathberg went without incident. The only people on the road were fellow traders and couriers. To pass the time, Verron gave Tevi lessons in steering the wagon, and Kimal taught her riding.
The mountainous islands had not favoured land travel; the sea was the main highway and the original settlers had not taken horses with them. As a girl, Tevi had sat on the wiry donkeys that were used to pull carts, but that had been a game for children, not a
Marith, with Derry beside her, steered the leading wagon. Kimal rode on a saddle pony that was dwarfed by the huge carthorses. The wagons crawled through the busy streets, rumbling over uneven cobbles. Tevi watched the stream of mean faces flow past. She was not sorry to be leaving. The weather was at its most dismal for their departure, a grey overcast morning holding the promise of rain. Colours were muted in the sullen light. To the east, the Aldrak Mountains were lost in cloud.
A ruined gatehouse marked the remains of the old city walls. Thereafter, the dwellings became even more squalid, and the road turned into a rutted dirt track. Soon, they left the last miserable hovels behind and began the steep ascent into the hills south of Torhafn. As the gradient sharpened, the horses strained against the load, their harness creaking alarmingly. A niche cut into the rock held a small shrine. Tevi stared at the statue to take her mind off the sheer drop on the other side of the road. The nearer horse snorted.
“Is this road safe?” Tevi asked.
“There won’t be any bandits this close to town,”
“I was thinking more about falling.”
Verron smiled. “The horses will manage fine.”
After more hairpin bends, the road levelled out. Verron leaned back and relaxed his grip on the reins. “I’m always glad to get out of Torhafn. It’s the worst town I know, and I’ve seen some rough spots. Marith and I used to work the eastern seas, out past Ekranos and the straits of Perithia. We even travelled north to Tirakhalod a few times.”
“You don’t go there anymore?”
“They can be dangerous places. We risked it because there’s a fortune to be made. But now we’re getting older, we prefer a quieter life. For the last few seasons, we’ve done the southern trade route. It’s a lot safer, apart from Torhafn. There’s not as much profit, but we’ve built enough capital to trade in luxuries.”
“I’d heard that in the Protectorate, the sorcerers take everyone’s money.”
“Not all of it. We pay our tithes to the Guild, who pass some on to the Coven as taxes.”
“You don’t mind paying taxes?”
Verron laughed. “I admit I’d rather not, but there isn’t any option. Sorcerers have controlled every civilisation since time began. The Coven of Lyremouth leads the Protectorate, but they let the guilds manage their own internal affairs. It’s benign and, best of all, stable. The Protectorate has been going for over four hundred years, which makes it unique.”
“What happened to the other civilisations?”
“They collapsed when the sorcerer who built them died. But when the head of the Coven dies, they just elect another Guardian.”
Tevi frowned. “Aigur said the Protectorate was a good place to live.”
“It is, but you’ll have to wait to see it—not until we reach Serac in the autumn.”
The wagons reached the crest of the hill. Ahead of them, the road dipped across a swathe of rolling moor. Tevi twisted in her seat and looked back. Seen from a distance, Torhafn was not so bad. If you did not know better, you could imagine the docks were quaint. Tevi’s gaze shifted to the horizon, a grey blur of rain and mist. Far out to sea was Storenseg. Then the wagons rolled forward, and both town and sea were lost over the brow of the hill.
*
Despite Verron’s fears, the journey to Scathberg went without incident. The only people on the road were fellow traders and couriers. To pass the time, Verron gave Tevi lessons in steering the wagon, and Kimal taught her riding.
The mountainous islands had not favoured land travel; the sea was the main highway and the original settlers had not taken horses with them. As a girl, Tevi had sat on the wiry donkeys that were used to pull carts, but that had been a game for children, not a
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