Most of the dusky-skinned and dark-haired people on the waterfront wore light, loose-fitting cloth shifts or equally loose leggings or pantaloons. Wraps upon their heads were done up in all sorts of mounds, short or tall, thick or thin. Perhaps there weren’t as many people as there would be during the day, but there were far more than she’d seen in any port at night during her travels.
Some herded goats or carried square baskets of chickens or birds she couldn’t name. Many spoke to one another, but she couldn’t follow much of what was said. She read the common dialect of Sumanese quite well and even spoke a bit of it, but all languages in common usage tended to evolve like living things. Her knowledge of it was more scholarly than practical.
A number of people glanced at her or her companions, and she could hardly blame them.
Osha towered over everyone, and though he was dressed in brown pants and a simple tunic, his tan skin and large but slanted amber eyes were exotic in this place. Worse was his white-blond hair, which glowed too brightly whenever he passed under an oil lamp.
Chane wasn’t much better, with his pale face and jaggedly cut red-brown hair. Dressed like a traveling nobleman in a well-tailored but well-worn white shirt, dark pants, and high boots, he would likely be fixed upon by any cutpurse around. That is, until they spotted the two sheathed swords at his waist instead of one. Fortunately, his unusual eyes might not stand out as much as Osha’s in passing. Once, Chane’s irises had been light brown, but the longer he existed as an undead, the more they lost their color. When he grew angry or agitated, they turned crystal clear.
Wynn looked down once more at the tall black dog—or wolf—walking at her side. She buried her small fingers into the fur between Shade’s shoulders, mostly for her own comfort.
Who wouldn’t glance at all of them?
Looking into the city, she saw no trees or plant life anywhere, only an endless stretch of light-toned buildings. They stepped off the pier’s landward end and onto the walkway along the shore.
“You know ... where go?” Osha asked in his broken Numanese.
It was easier for the two of them to speak in Elvish, he in his an’Cróan dialect and she in that of the Lhoin’na (“[Those] of the Glade”)—the elves of this continent. But he often attempted either Belaskian or Numanese, either for practice or to be polite.
In the journey’s previous moon, he’d improved a little in both ... sort of.
“Where to go,” she corrected, glancing back at Osha following behind Chane. “From what I’ve read, the guild’s Suman branch is a huge compound with numerous structures located on the capital’s northwest side. If we stay near the waterfront, we should spot it down an inland street.”
Chane frowned, as if he’d expected her to know more—or perhaps because she spoke to Osha and not him.
Wynn turned ahead, taking a slow breath. Dealing with those two in their separate feelings for her, let alone any feelings she had for either of them, wasn’t something she could let distract her right now.
A sandstone arch stretched between two buildings like a gate into the city. Wanting out of the crowd and trying to appear confident, Wynn walked through the arch. When they reached the next street parallel to the waterfront, she turned north again. Along the way, she peered up the side streets, looking for one wide enough that it might reveal their destination.
Shade kept pressed into her leg, and when Wynn glanced back, she noticed that Osha was carrying his own belongings on his back and both of Chane’s packs in his arms. Wynn carried her own pack over her left shoulder, and Chane carried the chest with the orb—which was heavy—but Osha was burdened with everything else. She would have noticed sooner if she hadn’t been so distracted.
And then Chane looked back as well and half turned. “Put one of my packs on top of the chest.”
Osha slowed, keeping more than an arm’s length behind Chane. “I ... fine.”
Chane moved on with a subtle sneer, and Wynn sighed as she headed onward. She’d hoped the two would’ve learned to tolerate each other by now. This quietly hostile competition was becoming annoying.
The mainway was almost as well lit as the waterfront by streetlamps hung high at every intersection. As she’d expected, the smells grew stronger, trapped by still air between the buildings. The scent of jasmine sharpened in her nose, though she saw none blooming along the rows of shops and eateries they passed. It thickened even more as she passed a dark-haired woman in a gauzy wrap and bangles of brass around her neck and wrists.
Even the people here overperfumed themselves; without warning, memory-words rose in Wynn’s mind.
—Too many ... people ... too many ... smells—
“I know,” she whispered.
Shade was no ordinary dog as a majay-hì. She was descended from wolves of ancient times inhabited by the Fay during the Great War at the end of the world’s Forgotten History. The descendants of those first Fay-born had become the guardians of the elves, first the Lhoin’na and then later the separate an’Cróan on the world’s far side. In the lands of the latter, Shade’s homeland, majay-hì barred all but the elves from entering their vast so-called Elven Territories. More than this, and due to a plan hatched by her father, Chap, Shade had traveled across the far ocean and the whole central continent to protect Wynn.
Among a few unusual abilities, Shade communicated with Wynn by raising memory-words in her mind.
“We’ll find the guild soon,” Wynn added, scratching lightly between Shade’s shoulder blades. “We’ll be welcome there and maybe it won’t be so ... scented.”
In truth, she didn’t know what kind of welcome they would receive. As a sage, she should be offered shelter for herself and her companions. But of the few Suman sages she’d met, even fewer shared much about the customs of their own branch. She respected Domin il’Sänke’s knowledge and abilities but didn’t exactly trust him. He had assisted her in the past, but at other times he’d done everything he could to stop her own pursuits.
“Wait, stop,” Chane rasped.
Wynn looked back to find him halted before the side street she’d just passed. He jutted his chin up that street.
“This looks best, if we need to go farther inland,” Chane added.
Wynn nodded and headed for the side street. From what she saw, there were no street signs or markers pointing toward anything, and she grew worried. In order to find Magiere, she needed to find the domin, and to find him, she needed to find the guild. Then she spotted an elderly man with a heavily lined dusky face coming her way, and she tried her best in simple Sumanese.
“Pardon.”
The man stopped, blinked several times, and took in the sight of her companions. Perhaps his eyes widened a little at the huge black “dog,” since few Sumans would have ever seen a “wolf.”
“Guild ... Sagecraft?” she asked in Sumanese, hoping either word came out like a question.
He looked over her short-robe and nodded once. Instead of answering, he held up six fingers and then pointed up the way. Before she could nod, he pointed northward and held up four fingers. Wynn smiled—six blocks inland and four to the north.
“Thank you,” she said, or hoped it was a close equivalent.
He nodded more slowly, with a smile of his own, and continued onward.
Wynn pressed on along the route she’d been given. Before she’d even finished the final four blocks, she saw a low wall beyond and out the end of the street.
“There it is,” she said, though likely the others saw it before she had.
She quickened the pace and soon reached a seemingly endless stone wall stretching in both directions. It was surprisingly short and was probably just something to mark the extents of the grounds and keep the public from wandering in. Standing on tiptoes, Wynn pulled herself up to peek over the wall’s top.