for a moment, people who knew little more than the fact that their homes and possessions had
been destroyed; then he walked quietly over to them and joined the line.
The choking smoke made talking difficult, but after a while the scope of the devastation became clear to him. It was not quite of the scale of the burning of Inverlaw Eich - he'd been through the ruins of that city less than a month after the fire razed it to the ground - but it seemed to have struck hardest at the most vulnerable citizens, people with menial jobs and nowhere else to live. Apparently a group of outsiders was coordinating a resettlement effort through the local markets. The old man smiled. Leadership would always arise in the absence of good government. He worked for a while longer, then moved on.
All over the old city the picture was the same. Struere always suffered most in times of devastation, the old man reflected. Instruere began life as two separate settlements, Inna and Struere, founded by Raupa and Furist on the northern and southern shores respectively of the large island located near the place where the River of rivers ceased being tidal. These settlements fought with each other for centuries, until they grew together, sharing in the prosperity generated by their advantageous location and casual disregard for the rules of fair trading. However, in the fifteen-hundred years since the island had been walled around and known as Instruere, the northern city of Inna had become the resi' dence of choice for the wealthy and respectable, while Struere was used as a dumping ground for the less respectable of the city. It was this that contributed in large measure to the destruction, the Sna Vazthan observed as he walked the unpaved lanes. Houses built flimsily, too close together, with no water supply save the open sewers. Warehouses set cheek by jowl, so fire in one spread easily to the next. Narrow roads, making
escape difficult for the residents. So much different to the clean, wide streets of Inmennost of the Snows.
The man spent a further hour with another group of neighbours trying to douse a burning building. The bravest among them would take it in turns to rush up the stairwell and tip his or her meagre bucket over the flames. Here again the people were too weary to say much, but they, too, told him of a small band of northerners who were trying to organise everyone's efforts, so the people in most desperate need might receive help first. He shared a flask of wine with the firefighters, accepted their grateful thanks, bade them farewell and moved on.
It was near sunset when he came upon a gathering near the ruin of the Struere Gate. Perhaps five hundred people stood patiently in a series of lines moving slowly forward. The man from Sna Vaztha joined one of the lines, and without betraying his ignorance learned he was waiting in line for some bread. Apparently a group of people - not from Struere, but where they were from was unclear; some said Deuverre, some said further north - had organised food and shelter for those who had suffered loss in the fires. These were the same people, said one woman, who had rescued the Ecclesia last night. It was true, a young man agreed. He had been there, having been promised a part in the cleansing of the hated Council from the City.
But the whole thing turned out to be a trap, he said angrily. The Instruian Guard had been waiting for them. On and on the boy talked, painting in their minds a graphic picture of the confrontation. The youth told them how his sister had been struck down by a guard, though she had begged for mercy. He himself received a wound to the leg, he said, though when he was pressed, he showed them a scar that looked weeks old. He had been healed, he claimed, along with many others. No, he wasn't imagining it, he wasn't making the story up. He repeated these claims in spite of the scepticism of those around him.
The Sna Vazthan found himself puzzled by the boy's story. Though
been destroyed; then he walked quietly over to them and joined the line.
The choking smoke made talking difficult, but after a while the scope of the devastation became clear to him. It was not quite of the scale of the burning of Inverlaw Eich - he'd been through the ruins of that city less than a month after the fire razed it to the ground - but it seemed to have struck hardest at the most vulnerable citizens, people with menial jobs and nowhere else to live. Apparently a group of outsiders was coordinating a resettlement effort through the local markets. The old man smiled. Leadership would always arise in the absence of good government. He worked for a while longer, then moved on.
All over the old city the picture was the same. Struere always suffered most in times of devastation, the old man reflected. Instruere began life as two separate settlements, Inna and Struere, founded by Raupa and Furist on the northern and southern shores respectively of the large island located near the place where the River of rivers ceased being tidal. These settlements fought with each other for centuries, until they grew together, sharing in the prosperity generated by their advantageous location and casual disregard for the rules of fair trading. However, in the fifteen-hundred years since the island had been walled around and known as Instruere, the northern city of Inna had become the resi' dence of choice for the wealthy and respectable, while Struere was used as a dumping ground for the less respectable of the city. It was this that contributed in large measure to the destruction, the Sna Vazthan observed as he walked the unpaved lanes. Houses built flimsily, too close together, with no water supply save the open sewers. Warehouses set cheek by jowl, so fire in one spread easily to the next. Narrow roads, making
escape difficult for the residents. So much different to the clean, wide streets of Inmennost of the Snows.
The man spent a further hour with another group of neighbours trying to douse a burning building. The bravest among them would take it in turns to rush up the stairwell and tip his or her meagre bucket over the flames. Here again the people were too weary to say much, but they, too, told him of a small band of northerners who were trying to organise everyone's efforts, so the people in most desperate need might receive help first. He shared a flask of wine with the firefighters, accepted their grateful thanks, bade them farewell and moved on.
It was near sunset when he came upon a gathering near the ruin of the Struere Gate. Perhaps five hundred people stood patiently in a series of lines moving slowly forward. The man from Sna Vaztha joined one of the lines, and without betraying his ignorance learned he was waiting in line for some bread. Apparently a group of people - not from Struere, but where they were from was unclear; some said Deuverre, some said further north - had organised food and shelter for those who had suffered loss in the fires. These were the same people, said one woman, who had rescued the Ecclesia last night. It was true, a young man agreed. He had been there, having been promised a part in the cleansing of the hated Council from the City.
But the whole thing turned out to be a trap, he said angrily. The Instruian Guard had been waiting for them. On and on the boy talked, painting in their minds a graphic picture of the confrontation. The youth told them how his sister had been struck down by a guard, though she had begged for mercy. He himself received a wound to the leg, he said, though when he was pressed, he showed them a scar that looked weeks old. He had been healed, he claimed, along with many others. No, he wasn't imagining it, he wasn't making the story up. He repeated these claims in spite of the scepticism of those around him.
The Sna Vazthan found himself puzzled by the boy's story. Though
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