of one eye, keeping his head lowered in the shadow of his hooded
cloak.
Once through the second set of gates, Padishar pulled them
from the Tyrsian Way, the main thoroughfare of homes and busi-
nesses that wound through the center of the city to the cliff walls
and what was once the palace of its rulers, and steered them
into a maze of side streets. There were shops and residences
here as well, but fewer soldiers and more beggars. The buildings
grew dilapidated as they walked and eventually they entered a
district of ale houses and brothels. Padishar did not seem to
notice. He kept them moving, ignoring the pleas of the beggars
and street vendors, working his way deeper into the city.
At last they emerged into a bright, open district containing
markets and small parks. A sprinkling of residences with yards
separated the markets, and there were carriages with silks and
ribbons on the horses. Vendors sold banners and sweets to
laughing children and their mothers. Street shows were being
performed on every comer-actors, clowns, magicians, musi-
cians, and animal trainers. Broad, colorful canopies shaded the
markets and the park pavilions where families spread their pic-
nic lunches, and the air was filled with shouts, laughter, and
applause.
Padishar Creel slowed, casting about for something. He took
them through several of the stalls, along tree-shaded blocks
where small gatherings were drawn by a multitude of delights,
then stopped finally at a cart selling apples. He bought a small
sackful for them all to share, took one for himself, and leaned
back idly against a lamp pole to eat it. It took Par several mo-
ments to realize that he was waiting for something. The Valeman
ate his apple with the others and looked about watchfully. Fruits
of all sorts were on display in the stalls of a market behind him,
there were ices being sold across the way, a juggler, a mime, a
girl doing sleight of hand, a pair of dancing monkeys with their
trainer, and a scattering of children and adults watching it all.
He found his eyes returning to the girl. She had naming red hair
that seemed redder still against the black silk of her clothing
and cape. She was drawing coins out of astonished children’s
ears, then making them disappear again. Once she brought fire
out of the air and sent it spinning away. He had never seen that
done before. The girl was very good.
He was so intent on watching her, in fact, that he almost
missed seeing Padishar Creel hand something to a dark-skinned
boy who had come up to him. The boy took what he was given
without a word and disappeared. Par looked to see where he
had gone, but it was as if the earth had swallowed him up.
They stayed where they were a few minutes longer, and then
the outlaw chief said, “Time to go,” and led them away. Par
took a final look at the red-haired girl and saw that she was
causing a ring to float in midair before her audience, while a
tiny, blond-headed boy leaped and squealed after it.
The Valeman smiled at the child’s delight.
On their way back through the gathering of market stalls,
Morgan Leah caught sight of Hirehone. The master of Kiltan
Forge was at the edge of a crowd applauding a juggler, his large
frame wrapped in a great cloak. There was only a momentary
glimpse of the bald pate and drooping mustaches, men he was
gone. Morgan blinked, deciding almost immediately that he had
been mistaken. What would Hirehone be doing in Tyrsis?
By the time they reached the next block, he had dismissed
the matter from his mind.
They spent the next several hours in the basement of a storage
house annexed to the shop of a weapons-maker, a man clearly
in the service of the outlaws, since Padishar Creel knew exactly
where in a crevice by the frame to find a key that would open
the door. He took them inside without hesitating. They found
food and drink waiting, along with pallets and blankets for
sleeping and water to wash up with. It was cool and dry in the