Chapter 8

I spun around. She groaned. But he didn't notice, the firedancer didn't, where he shuffled down the dock with his wounded hand wrapped with a bloodstained cloth and his head looking as blue and black as if he had fallen into an argument with a particularly ink-happy squid. I almost felt sorry for him. Then I remembered the red-dressed firedancers of my youth, how they had marched into our village, and the evil they had committed before the Giants had arrived. And I knew that this man must have followed me all the way from the North only to see me die with a flame in my heart, as a sacrifice and gift to his fireborn overlords. Almost I felt sorry for him, but only almost. I felt more sorry for myself, denied the pleasure that had just been a few minutes of Nightbreeze's love and care away.

He was still feeble and confused from the treatment we had given him, bumping into other people as he walked towards us, veering from the majestic warehouses on one side of the dock over to the other where a dangerously slippery ten foot fall led down into the relatively calm, yet deep waters where all the tall, triple-masted ships lay at anchor.

"We must follow him," I said abruptly, sense triumphing over lust this time. I did not want to meet this man again unprepared and uninformed. While laughable in his present state, a firedancer has powerful magic at his disposal and the flameknife was in a sheath at his belt.

"Yeah!" Nightbreeze grinned from ear to ear, an almost childish delight in her eyes, and now she did not even care about hiding the missing teeth as her hands were busy assisting her in getting out of her chair. "Good thinking, dear owner!"

I had never followed anyone clandestinely before, but I have a feeling that it would usually not be as easy as this. The man was completely oblivious to anything surrounding him, and on the short walk where he led us along the docks of the Magnoran quarter and then into the city proper again he was pushed aside by tall, burly dockworkers at least five times, stepped on four disgusting objects lying on the cobblestones, was nearly run over by three slave-driven carts (and once hit so hard on his shoulder that he spun round, still without seeing us), misunderstanding the business proposals of two prostitutes, and having his empty pockets unsuccessfully picked once.

All the while we went tagging along after him Nightbreeze was smiling. Clearly she was unafraid and eager to be doing something dangerous and exciting. Now and then she cast a quick grin my way, and I smiled stupidly back at her. Never a very brave man, still I now found myself wishing to seek out peril wherever it may dwell, if only I could do it together with her and her opal eyes and red, smiling lips.

Unlike their allies the Braghians the Magnorans were not averse to showing off their wealth and allegiances, turning the fronts of the tall, looming buildings in their quarter into a kind of colorful children's wonderland. There were lights shining through glass bulbs of different hues, woven banners hanging down from high above and nearly touching our heads as we walked, proudly proclaiming which merchant house owned which buildings. Even the walls bore house colors. I found myself wondering why I had chosen to stay in a hostel in Braghia proper instead of here where the Sea People, greedy yet friendly, offered far more pleasing accommodations. But the Braghians were cleaner, more quiet, and their spicy food was better. Still, that was all that could be said for them. I had had enough of this place.

"The merchant house Garoth," I said when the firedancer stopped and looked up at a building dressed in dark red and orange stripes. The depictions of flames were prevalent upon the tapestries hanging down from the heights above. A dragon's head, almost charming in its tasteless pomposity, was placed above the massive column-flanked entrance portal.

"I am impressed," Nightbreeze said as the firedancer chose not to enter the building through the portal, but rather disappeared into the alley on the far side from us. "How do you know the name of the house? There are so many!"

"The sign."

"Those fiery letters?"

"Yes. 'The Garoth, the Glorious House of Fire'."

"You can read?" She looked genuinely surprised as we walked quickly up to the mouth of the alley.

"The priests at the Cloister have to spend hours studying ancient texts. I can read four languages, of which Olthian is the only useful one."

"Showoff!" she stuck her tongue out at me before she peered into the alley while I stood waiting behind her. Her hair had grown even more in the short time since we had left the taverna. Two or even three inches I would guess, and the little light that reached down to ground level made it shine like black jewelry as she moved her head.