They ignored the glares and the ugly remarks hurled at them by the city people who went by, but they kept their hands on their swords at all times.
As unhappy as she was to leave Nara, Gabria was glad now the Hunnuli mare had stayed behind. The guards would have noticed the huge black horse instantly. As it was, they still paid more attention to Gabria and her companions than she cared for as she and the two men rode by.
Athlone nodded to one guard and passed under the arched gateway as if he’d done it all his life. Bregan and Gabria were quick to follow. The road led them deep into the maze of crowded, crumbling houses and dark alleys of the old city. Then, unexpectedly, the road split. The right hand way led uphill, and the left gradually dropped down toward the harbor.
Athlone reined his horse to a stop in the middle of the fork and studied each road.
“Which way, Lord?” Bregan asked, coming up beside him.
“Khan’di said to look for the tall buildings with the flags,” said Gabria. “But I don’t see any.”
The three gazed at the city around them. To their right and atop a huge hill sat the temple of Elaja, its white columns and facade shining in the late afternoon sun. On a neighboring hill to the south was the magnificent palace of the Fon. Even from a distance the riders could see the palace’s multi-storied wings and the crenellated wall that surrounded the huge edifice.
Several buildings close by seemed to be barracks, and Athlone thought there was a dangerously large number of soldiers about. The presence of so many armed men around them alarmed him, so thinking quickly, Athlone spurred his horse to the left fork and trotted downhill. To his relief, the way opened up after a block or so, and he saw the full expanse of the busy harbor. At the bottom of the hill, just outside the city walls, were rows of tall buildings, each flying a different colored flag. Beyond those were the teeming wharves and the great crescent-shaped harbor.
Athlone allowed himself a grin of relief. He had not fancied the idea of asking a guardsman for directions. By the time the riders reached the rows of warehouses, the sun had sunk below the tops of the hills, the sign for laborers and workers to end their day. Athlone, Bregan, and Gabria found Keth and Valar loitering in the shadow of an alley between two warehouses. From there they watched the wool house and kept track of the workers as they left.
“Where’s Piers?” Athlone asked when he dismounted.
Keth shrugged. “I don’t know. We haven’t seen him or the Turic.”
“You don’t think he’s lost,” said Valar.
Athlone scratched his beard. “I doubt it. Piers knows this city better than any of us.”
“Maybe he went to find old ghosts,” Gabria said, as if to herself. The men glanced at her in surprise.
“Well, we can’t look for him. He’ll have to make it here on his own,” the chieftain noted. He took his place in the alley and waited for the remaining workers to leave the warehouse.
Twilight settled into the streets of Pra Desh, and the warehouse workers slowly filtered out and left. No one noticed the five riders waiting in the heavy shadows between the buildings.
At last the street was empty. Athlone was about to approach the warehouse when three horses, two packhorses, and a dog jogged down the street. The chief stepped out to meet them.
“Where have you been?” Athlone demanded.
“Gathering information of our own,” Piers answered. He helped Tam down from the horse.
Athlone crossed his arms. He had been more worried than angry. “You could have been betrayed to the guard.”
“Not by the people I talked to.”
“You really don’t trust him, do you?” asked the chieftain.
“Khan’di?” Piers’s shoulders shifted slightly under his healer’s robes. “Yes and no. I trust him only as long as we are useful to him.”
Athlone agreed. “All right. Listen to him tonight and tell me afterward what you think.”
The healer nodded with satisfaction. He had dreaded the possibility that Gabria was walking into a clever trap set by the Fon, a trap that sported Khan’di Kadoa as bait. Two magic-wielders would be an invincible weapon in the Fon’s hands. But after what Piers had heard this afternoon from old friends and connections in the Healers’ Guild, he doubted Khan’di was planning to betray Gabria.
It was common knowledge around the city that the Kadoa family had suffered severe financial losses because of the Fon.
Khan’di’s wife and son were in hiding, and several other family members had been arrested and had subsequently disappeared into the depths of the palace. The powerful Kadoa family had no reason to love the Fon and every reason to dispose of her. Several contacts had even hinted to Piers that Khan’di, as the most influential nobleman left in Pra Desh, stood a chance of assuming the coronet of the Fon if she were removed. Piers knew his former friend well enough to know that possibility alone would be enough to ensure Khan’di’s trustworthiness. The healer patted his mare thoughtfully. He would be very interested in hearing what Khan’di had to say tonight.
At a word from Athlone, Piers handed his reins to Sayyed and followed the chieftain toward the fifth warehouse. The others stayed behind to wait.
The huge timbered building loomed above them, dark and strange in the deepening twilight. The warehouse’s big wooden sign creaked in the night breeze. Athlone stifled a shiver as he looked up at the building. Its unfamiliar size and blank walls made him distinctly uncomfortable.
He was about to knock on the warehouse entrance when the door was whisked open and a short, portly man rushed out. The man was going so fast he did not see Athlone and slammed full force into the big Khulinin. Both men grunted and staggered back. The stranger would have fallen if Piers had not caught him.
The man gasped at the sight of the two strangers at his door and threw his hands up in alarm. The hand lamp he was carrying swayed wildly.
“It’s all right,” Athlone hastened to explain. “Khan’di sent us.”
The sound of that name seemed to reassure the man, for he straightened up and looked closely at the two men in the light of his lamp. When he saw the healer’s face, he lit up in amazement. “Piers Arganosta! I thought you were dead!”
Piers grimaced. “I’ve heard that a lot today.”
“You probably don’t remember me,” the Pra Deshian said with a grin. “I was quite a bit thinner in those days.”
The healer studied the other’s face for a moment, then he smiled in recognition. “Lord Athlone, this is Sengi Kadoa, Khan’di’s younger cousin and a page to the Fon.”
“The old Fon,” Sengi corrected, his voice edged in anger. “Today I am a wool merchant and—” a devious look flashed across his features in the lamplight “—a spy. That woman on the throne looks to me for mercantile advice.” Sengi looked around and ushered the two men into his warehouse. The door opened into a room obviously used as an office. He lit another lamp, and in the increased light the two men were able to get a closer look at their host.
Sengi bore a strong resemblance to Khan’di in the shape and density of his body frame, the heavy lines of his features, and in the ruddy coloration of his skin. But where Khan’di’s eyes were sharp and calculating and his expression readily showed his cunning intelligence, Sengi’s face was placid and his eyes were framed by skin crinkled from laughter.
The merchant straightened his rumpled robes with nervous hands and flicked his eyes from one man to the other. “Did Piers say ‘Lord Athlone?’” he asked after a hesitant pause. “You are a clan chieftain?”
“Of the Khulinin,” Athlone replied shortly.
The Pra Deshian’s expression melted in obvious relief. “Did you bring the sorceress? Is she here?”
Athlone jerked his head toward the door. “Outside.”
“Ah, praise Elaja!” Sengi clapped his hands. “Please, bring her in. The warehouse is empty. She will be safe.”