Velindre would have stepped around him but the flagway was too crowded. ‘Get out of my way,’ she said coldly.
The pedlar’s cheeky grin widened now that she had been forced to acknowledge him. ‘Such gorgeous golden hair you have, my lady. Northern blood makes for such beauties—’
‘My forebears may have had northern blood, I neither know nor care.’ Velindre fixed him with a forbidding glare. ‘I am from Hadrumal and if you don’t let me pass, I’ll curdle every jar of unguent and snake oil that you possess.’
Mouth slack with shock, the pedlar pressed himself back against a sweetmeat seller’s handcart. Velindre pushed past to leave the two men arguing as the throng closed behind her. Seeing several women with entourages of maids and children pausing for mutual consultation and effectively blocking the flagway ahead, Velindre glanced at an urchin clutching a broom and ready to sweep a crossing in exchange for some copper. She reconsidered as a heavy dray rumbled past, barrels clunking together as the horses checked, their path obstructed by a carriage slowing to find an indistinct side alley. It would be quicker to force a path between the indignant women than to wait for a gap in the traffic.
She pressed on until she had left the thriving mercantile heart of Relshaz. Now she had reached a quieter quarter where windowless warehouses rose high on each side of the narrow lanes. Waggoners bringing their creaking carts to be emptied or lashing their reluctant horses to pull a new load slowed to look at the unaccompanied magewoman with open curiosity. ‘What are you looking for, blondie?”Are you lost? I’ll trade you a ride for a ride, sweetheart.’
‘What’s a handsome piece like you doing in these parts?’ Velindre ignored honest concern and ribald jocularity alike. Taking a cross street and then cutting through a short entry, she emerged on to a broad dockside solidly built of pale stone. There were precious few Relshazri to be seen here. The storehouses were guarded by dark-skinned men in gleaming mail, expressionless behind their all-concealing beards. Each one carried more swords and daggers at his brass-studded belt than he had hands to use. Shutters above stood wide open, women in flowing gowns of brilliant silks sitting on the shallow windowsills. They sipped from sparkling glass goblets as they looked down at dutiful slaves carrying bales of linen cloth and nameless barrels. Their laughter rang out across the unintelligible harshness of orders and rebukes shouted hither and thither.
Velindre looked at the great swollen-bellied galleys bobbing gently, safe within the embrace of the massive breakwaters that reached far out into the open waters of the gulf. She had always known that all the goods of these civilised countries were brought down to Relshaz by the rivers and roads that threaded through the vast hinterland. It was another thing entirely to see the countless quantities of cargo waiting to be taken aboard the ships. She had never seen any need to visit the docks when she’d been in Relshaz before. She had never caught more than a glimpse of the Aldabreshi who set aside their lethal quarrels and fragmented alliances alike for the opportunity of trading the goods of the Archipelago for the mainland’s bounty. It was a trifle unnerving to see armoured slaves carrying iron-bound chests behind Aldabreshin men on their way to repay some Relshazri merchant’s generosity. Masters and slaves alike wore vivid jewels set in gold and silver around their necks and wrists in ostentatious token of the rewards of such trade.
One such Aldabreshin merchant paused to stare openly at Velindre, with her golden hair and pale, unpainted face. Her plain-cut lavender gown was certainly unlike the calculatedly seductive dresses of the decorated Arch-ipelagan women. The tnagewoman ignored him, walking along the dock for a better view of the lean, predatory triremes tied up further around the sweep of the seawall. Dev had said it would be a fast trireme from the Chazen domain. Perhaps Mellitha could help her identify it discreetly.
A hand caught her arm just above the elbow. ‘You would be Velindre,’ a soft female voice said in fluent if strongly accented Tormalin.
Velindre found a thin-faced Aldabreshin girl half her age at her side, her head barely reaching the wizard’s shoulder. She wore a plain straight dress of cotton as blue as her piercing eyes. Her straight black hair barely brushed her shoulders, unlike the flowing tresses of the other women on the quayside.
‘I saw you, with Dev’s warlord.’ Velindre tried to free her arm but the girl was stronger than she looked. Her bony fingers held firm, unyielding.
‘My name is Risala.’ She retreated, pulling Velindre with her. ‘Over there.’ Now the girl was pushing her forward, towards a dark doorway.
‘I don’t think so.’ Velindre stood firm, catching up a passing breeze to bolster her resistance. She saw that a crescent dagger had appeared in the girl’s hand. ‘You’: threatening me? Have you any idea what I could do to you?’
‘I’m protecting you,’ the girl retorted. ‘Or at least I’ll try to, till both of us are cut to pieces. Work any magic on this wharf and there will be bloodshed. Do you know nothing about the Archipelago?’
‘We’re not in the Archipelago.’ Velindre wrenched her arm free. ‘This is Relshaz.’
Do you think the Relshazri will deny themselves Aldabreshin gems and hardwoods and all the infinite craftsmanship of a myriad domains because some swordsman couldn’t restrain his revulsion at seeing a wizard threatening our ships with sorcery?’ asked Risala sarcastically. She looked warily around. ‘Come. We need to talk before you join the ship.’
Velindre narrowed her eyes. ‘We need to talk about whether or not I’m joining your ship.’
Risala opened her mouth on a question before changing her mind and urging Velindre towards the dark doorway once more.
The wizard yielded and curbed a rebellious impulse to flood the shadowy room with magelight as she entered. ‘What is this place?’ she asked instead.
Risala replaced her dagger in the sheath hanging beside a small purse on her plaited lizardskin belt. She fumbled for a spark-maker in the leather bag and lit the wick of a shallow cup-shaped lamp. The soft golden light revealed a cloth-covered table set with a fine Aldabreshin ewer and goblets in beaten bronze. ‘Please, sit down.’ She gestured towards a low stool before crossing the darkness to lock the door behind them. ‘This is a warehouse belonging to an ally of my master. He knew it would be empty, so he is allowing us to use it.’
‘Your master? ‘Velindre sat down warily. ‘You’re Chazen Kheda’s slave?’
Risala’s laugh surprised her. ‘Slave? No, I’m a free islander and not even Chazen born.’
‘But he’s your master nevertheless?’ Velindre looked around the blackness of the windowless, cavernous room. ‘Calling yourself “free” sounds like making a distinction without a difference.’
Risala poured pale golden liquid from the ewer. ‘I thought it was all agreed that you would join us.’
‘I need to speak with Dev before I go aboard your ship.’ Velindre sipped from her goblet to cover her hesitation. ‘Things have turned out to be a little more complicated than I expected.’ She wiped a drop of the sweet wine from the corner of her mouth.
‘You do know how to defeat the dragon?’ Risala demanded.
‘Yes,’ said Velindre slowly, but I need to know more before I agree to try, or even agree to share that knowledge. These are things I must discuss with Dev.’
‘What things?’ Risala held the ewer tightly between her hands.
‘Mage concerns,’ responded Velindre composedly. ‘I have been trying to reach Dev but he seems unwilling or unable to respond to my spells.’ She ignored an uneasy spasm in her belly at the latter notion. ‘I don’t suppose you want me to work the necessary magic here, so I shall return to my lodging and try again. You can wait here, I take it, for a day or so? I’ll let you know where we go from here, both of us, as soon as I have an answer from Dev.’ She drained her goblet to avoid looking at the Aldabreshin girl.