The Great Bazaar and Other Stories by Peter V. Brett

Author:Peter V. Brett
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Fantasy
ISBN: 9781596062894
Publisher: Subterranean
Published: 2010-06-15T04:00:00+00:00

"WE'LL NEED TO wear these," Abban said, holding up black dal'Sharum robes. Arlen stared at him in surprise. Even though he sometimes fought beside dal'Sharum in the Maze, Arlen was not allowed to wear the black, and Abban...

"What will happen if we're caught wearing those?" he asked.

Abban took a swig of couzi right from the bottle and passed it to Arlen. "Best not dwell on such things," he said. "We'll be doing the exchange at night, and the robes should hide us well in the darkness. Even if we are seen, the night veils will add a measure of disguise, so long as we outrun any who see us."

Arlen looked at Abban's lame leg doubtfully, but made no mention of it. "We're going out at night?" he asked. "Isn't that forbidden under Evejan law?"

"What about this Nie-spawned transaction isn't, Par'chin?" Abban snapped, grabbing the couzi bottle and drinking again. "The city is well warded. There hasn't been a demon on the streets of Krasia in living memory."

Arlen shrugged. "Makes no difference to me," he said.

"Of course not," Abban muttered, taking another pull of couzi. "The Par'chin fears nothing."

They waited for the sun to set, and then slipped into the black warrior robes. Arlen admired himself in one of Abban's many mirrors, surprised to see that with a bit of makeup around his eyes and his night veil drawn, he looked just like any other Krasian warrior, if a few inches shorter.

Abban, on the other hand, would not withstand close scrutiny. He was tall like a warrior, but without his crutch, he leaned heavily on his spear, and the bulk stretching the robes about his midsection was most unlike a warrior's lean form.

It was full dark when they opened the tent flap and looked outside. In the distance, Arlen heard the signal horns of the dal'Sharum and the reports of their artillery, and longed to fight beside them.

Anything is safer than that, the voice in his head said, and for once, Arlen agreed. Alagai'sharak was a beautiful madness, but without the combat wards of old, it was madness nonetheless. But the way of the north, cowering behind wards each night, was no saner. One way killed the men's bodies, and the other, their spirits. The world needed a third choice, but only the wards of old could give it to them.

They rode a small camel cart to their destination. The camel's feet, as well as the wheels of the cart, were wrapped in cushioned leather for silence, and whispered in the dusty sandstone streets. They dared no light as they crossed the city, but the stars in the desert were bright, and the flashing of the wards in the Maze was like lightning, illuminating everything for a moment at random intervals.

"We meet Jamere at Sharik Hora, the temple of Heroes' Bones," Abban said. "He cannot venture far from the acolyte cells."

Arlen weathered a moment's guilt. Mammoth Sharik Hora was both temple and graveyard, the entire structure built from the dal'Sharum who had died in alagai'sharak.

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