XVI
“Do we have to go in there?” Simna stood atop the smooth-surfaced, rounded boulder of yellow-white sandstone looking across the flat, hardscrabble plain that separated the travelers from the first outlying structures.
Ehomba did not squint as he contemplated their imminent destination. He was used to the sun. “Unless you want to chance running out of water before we reach the mountains. I have seen men who tried to reach the coast of Naumkib from the interior but ran out of water before they found a stream or village. Even those who had not yet been located by scavengers were unpleasant to look upon.”
“A fine choice,” the swordsman grumbled. Resigned, he started down the gentle slope. “Hoy, maybe they’ll have cold beer.”
After a last, speculative glance, Ehomba followed and caught up to him. “Do you really believe that?”
“No,” Simna confessed, “but here lately I find that I prefer refreshing delusions to the reality of our actual surroundings.”
Skawpane turned out to be less appalling from a distance. From the disgusting state of the dirt streets that ran with dull green putrescence to the sewer grates designed to carry off flash floods of mucus, the act of merely walking quickly degenerated into a detestable activity. No edifice rose to a height of more than three stories, perhaps because of the lack of suitable building materials. Storefronts were fashioned of skin tanned to woody toughness by the repeated application of hot blood and salt water. The origin of these skins was a question the travelers by mutual unspoken consent decided not to ask.