‘This place is incredible,’ Atlon said. ‘I’ve never seen so many people, and so many trades being plied in one place. And so many different buildings! I’m beginning to think that Rinter was telling the truth after all.’
‘What about?’ Dvolci grunted acidly.
‘About the size of the place. I thought he was just telling us a local’s yarn. Every street you look down, there are others branching off… more shops and stalls, more people…’
‘… More noise, more stink, more dust.’ Dvolci chattered his teeth irritably. ‘This place is rapidly becoming the stuff of my worst nightmares.’
‘Ah, confirms your darkest fears about what mankind can sink to when it’s so inclined, eh?’ Atlon said mockingly.
‘I don’t need any confirmation of that, I’ve seen you in battle.’ Dvolci’s tone was unexpectedly grim. Atlon reached up and touched the felci’s head.
‘Come on,’ he said gently. ‘It’s a bewildering place, for sure, but at least it’s full of energy and bustle. The people here are getting on with their lives. Not like those we saw in the Spills.’
‘Oh yes. Plenty of energy and bustle, but to what end? And how many of these people do you see smiling?’
Atlon had no answer to the first point and, looking around, could only concede the second. As usual however, when Dvolci was in this vein, Atlon found himself provoked to speak in defence of his own kind.
‘They’re probably all very busy,’ he said, knowing it was a mistake even as he spoke.
‘To what end?’ Dvolci rasped again. ‘Getting rid of appalling areas like the Spills, perhaps? Renewing them, whatever that meant. Riding down potty old women?’ He snorted. ‘You know what they’re doing well enough, don’t you? They’re busy wasting this minute in their haste to get to the next, that’s all. Every one of them. You can smell it. You people can be staggeringly unaware of where you are, at times.’
Despite himself, Atlon raised his voice. ‘Even at home, people don’t go around grinning at everybody else all the time.’
‘No, but they know what matters. They stop and talk with friends, pass the time of day. You don’t see pushing and elbowing like this even on market days.’
Atlon gave up. There was a testy, impatient quality about the bustle around them, and his own training and temperament gave him as clear an insight into its true nature as Dvolci’s.
‘People have their different ways,’ he persisted. ‘And the heat is a bit wearing.’
Dvolci did not pursue his victory. He was silent for a little while, apparently lost in thought. Then, ‘Do you remember those… rat things… the ones we met in the tunnels?’ he asked eventually.
Atlon looked at him blankly.
‘You can’t have forgotten. A great black sea of them – bright red eyes. We all had to dive for cover.’ Then he tutted to himself. ‘I’m sorry. You weren’t there, were you? I forgot. Anyway, I’m sure you’ve heard the tale.’
‘Many times, now you mention it.’ Atlon just managed to keep an edge from his voice. It had been a nasty incident for those involved, one of many in a dark time – a time whose shadow still lingered with sufficient menace to draw him out on this journey. ‘What’s your point?’
‘I keep seeing them when I look at these crowds. Rats, trampling over one another, trying to escape from that creature chasing them.’
Atlon frowned. This was not a re-opening of their well-rehearsed spat. Dvolci rarely referred to those times. Now he had a serious point to make. ‘You’re being unusually severe,’ Atlon said. ‘There’s no panic here, still less any ancient predator. We’re new here. It’s confusing. We’re just not used to these people’s ways.’
Dvolci looked around again. ‘Just speaking as I feel,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘The image persists and I can’t ignore it. There’s something about this place that’s very unsettling – something more than the crowds and the general confusion. I don’t know what it is, but I’ll not find it by staying quiet, you know that.’
Atlon nodded. He too, had been sensing something disturbing about the place, something other than the general clamour. It had grown as they had neared the city. And Dvolci’s intuition was sharper than his by far. It would be foolish not to pay heed to him.
They walked on, a gentle eddy in the torrent.
‘On the topic of fruitless activity, we seem to be doing little better ourselves,’ Atlon said, as they reached the top of another hill to find the street opening out into a wide square. ‘We’ve passed all manner of shops and stalls and traders – I’ve never seen so much relentless buying and selling – but nothing that seems to have anything to do with the crystal trade.’ He grimaced. ‘And the day’s slipping by. I’ll have to find some kind of employment if we’re going to stay here. I don’t think our host Ghreel is over-burdened with charity for impoverished travellers.’
Dvolci jumped from Atlon’s shoulder on to the horse and, standing upright, scanned the square intently.
‘Nothing here, either,’ he declared, returning to Atlon’s shoulders.
Atlon blew out a worried breath and then cast an anxious glance at his horse. That was another problem. He must tend the animal before he bothered about himself. Perhaps if he could see one of the Weartans he might be able to seek advice, though from Rinter’s comments, and his own limited contact with them, he did not relish the prospect.
As he gazed around the square he could see many more streets joining it.
‘We’ll have to look at each one before we decide where to go next,’ he said wearily. Atlon was finding it increasingly difficult to keep his concerns for the immediate future at bay. In the mountains, in the countryside, he could fend for himself without too much difficulty, but here, surrounded by stone and brick and thousands of his own kind, the natural resources of the terrain seemed to be peculiarly limited. And, standing behind these worries were those about the purpose of his journey. That would have to be addressed, and soon.
‘Come on, then.’ Dvolci’s command set the horse walking.
‘Don’t do that!’ Atlon said crossly, hastily taking hold of the bridle. The horse was supposed to respond only to his voice – and neither he nor his companions at home had ever managed to work out why their horses would obey Dvolci. But then, there were funny things that felcis could do which puzzled finer minds than Atlon’s.
‘Well, you were dawdling.’
The brief exchange dispelled Atlon’s mood. His innate optimism came to the fore, albeit not very convincingly. He’d find something eventually. He should worry less about himself and more about his horse and Dvolci. The felci was not averse to travelling on his shoulder, or on the horse, but he much preferred to wander free. Today’s journeying would be taxing him sorely though he made no complaint.
They were about halfway along one side of the square when a familiar noise penetrated the hubbub and drew Atlon’s attention like a beacon. Following it came an equally familiar smell. It did not take him long to find the source of both. On the far side of the square was a blacksmith’s forge. It was a large and prosperous-looking establishment situated incongruously between a shop selling elegant clothes and one selling all manner of what appeared to be medicinal items. Over the wide entrance was a wooden sign bearing in bold letters the legend, ‘HEIRN – BLACKSMITH’, and displaying inaccurate but brightly painted pictures of harnesses, horseshoes and various other iron implements. The real counterparts of these hung under the sign and could be seen along the walls of the interior. As could the glow of a furnace and the shadow of a large figure working at an anvil. Atlon began making his way across the busy square. As he drew nearer he saw a large water trough and a long wooden bench in front of the forge.
He was about to lead his horse to the trough when he remembered he was in a strange place. ‘May I water my horse?’ he shouted to the hammering blacksmith.
The man looked at him narrowly for a moment, then struck a few more blows and plunged the hot iron shoe into a bucket of water.
‘From out of town, are you?’ he said, through the hissing steam.
‘Yes. Just arrived today.’
There was a pause as the man withdrew the steaming shoe, examined it, then hung it with others on a nail. He was almost a head taller than Atlon, with short-cropped black hair. He was also powerfully built, but his manner exuded no menace as he emerged from the forge, wiping his hands on a dirty rag. A white grin split his grimed face as he stopped in front of Atlon and looked down at him. ‘Thought so,’ he said, pushing the rag into his belt. ‘It’s a public trough, young man. Even the Prefect gets some things right from time to time. Like listening to people, for instance. Water your horse with pleasure. And yourself too, if you want – though I wouldn’t recommend the trough water.’ He produced a flask from a clutter of equipment hanging on the wall and held it out. Atlon smiled and pointed to one hanging from his saddle. ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘You’re very kind, but I’ve sufficient for the day.’
The blacksmith nodded, took a long drink from the flask himself then poured water into his cupped palm and splashed it over his face and neck. The ablution merely rearranged the dirt on his face, but he looked cooler. He pointed hesitantly at Dvolci, sitting on Atlon’s shoulder. ‘Does your pet… rat… want a drink?’
Atlon felt Dvolci stiffen. He reached up and touched him nervously.
‘It’s all right,’ Dvolci’s whisper was heavy with restraint. ‘If he thinks you’re a young man, his eyesight’s probably not too good. Lift me down, I want to get a closer look. This one’s interesting.’
Atlon did as he was told. ‘He’s not a rat, he’s a felci,’ he said to the blacksmith. ‘And he’s not a pet, he’s a friend. Someone who’s travelling the same way. He’s also very curious – can he stretch his legs around the forge? It’s not very comfortable for him sitting on my shoulders or the horse all day and it’s too dangerous for him on the ground.’
Dvolci stood up and, resting his forefeet on the blacksmith’s knee, stared up at him. The blacksmith smiled and reached down to stroke him. Unexpectedly, the felci did not avoid the huge hand.
The blacksmith could be trusted then?
‘I can see he’s no rat now. My apologies. I’ve never seen a… felci… before. In fact, I’ve not even heard the name.’
‘That’s not surprising,’ Atlon said. ‘They’re mountain creatures, and they don’t bother too much with people.’
The blacksmith nodded. ‘As wise as he’s fine-looking, eh?’ Then, a little concerned, ‘He won’t frighten the horses, will he?’
‘No,’ Atlon replied, indicating his own horse.
Dvolci dropped on to all fours and sauntered off into the forge. The blacksmith watched him for a moment, then splashed his face again.
‘Poor weather for this kind of work,’ Atlon said, putting his horse to the trough.
‘It is indeed,’ the man replied. ‘Never known a summer like it. Day after day, no clouds, no rain. It feels as if it’s been like this for ever and will go on like this for ever.’ He chuckled. ‘Still, I suppose with the first cold wind and rain, it’ll all be forgotten. Winter’s kiss and all. Shrivels most things.’ He turned casually to look at Atlon’s horse. Almost immediately his interest quickened. ‘May I?’ he asked, eyes widening.
Atlon nodded.
The blacksmith was silent as he ran his hands expertly over the horse, but he could not disguise his enthusiasm. The horse’s quiet response confirmed Dvolci’s assessment to Atlon.
‘How much do you want for it?’
The blacksmith’s manner was so blunt and open, that Atlon could not help laughing. ‘He’s not for sale, I’m afraid.’ He looked at the smith squarely. ‘Would you sell a horse like that if you had one?’
The unexpected question made the smith start. ‘I could do,’ he replied hesitantly, after a brief reflection.
‘Yes, but you wouldn’t, would you? You couldn’t part with it. And I doubt you’ve any need for such an animal, so you wouldn’t buy it in the first place, even if it was for sale.’
The blacksmith’s brow furrowed as he considered this reasoning. ‘Are you sure you’re from out of town?’ he asked.
Atlon laughed again and ignored the question. ‘Tell me, does everyone in this city buy and sell all the time?’
The blacksmith ignored the question in its turn. ‘Where are you from?’
‘The north.’
The blacksmith’s expression darkened and the furrows deepened. ‘Heard there’s been a war up there.’ Atlon said nothing and the blacksmith did not pursue the matter. ‘Never been much beyond the city myself, though I’ve heard tell of a land to the north that’s full of fine horses and riders. A place where the people ride before they can walk and spend more time in the saddle than on their feet.’ He was examining the harness now, with the same attentiveness he had shown to the horse.
‘We like horses,’ Atlon said.
‘I can see that.’ The smith moved to the horse’s feet. He lifted one and let out a low whistle. Then he stood up and cast an equally assessing eye over Atlon. ‘This is better tack than I’ve ever seen, and I’d consider myself a master of my trade indeed if I could make shoes half as good as these.’ He straightened up and pointed to the sign above. ‘I’m Heirn. Not much of a sign-writer, as you can see, but the best blacksmith in the whole of Arash-Felloren. Until the man who shod your horse arrives, that is.’
Atlon gave a slight bow. ‘It was a woman, actually,’ he said. ‘And she’s well content to stay where she is.’
‘A woman!’ Heirn laughed loudly and shook his head. ‘Then I’d be doubly lost if she set up here. I’d probably have to marry her to stay in business.’ He thrust out a hand. Atlon watched nervously as his own hand disappeared into it, but the big man’s grip was very gentle.
‘My name’s Atlon,’ he said. He waved vaguely into the forge. ‘And my friend’s name is Dvolci.’
‘Welcome to the centre of the world, Atlon,’ Heirn announced, raising an ironic eyebrow. He motioned Atlon to the bench and sat down next to him. His long legs sprawled out, so that passers-by had to move around him. Taking another drink from his flask he leaned back against the wall. No sooner had he settled himself than Dvolci appeared from the forge and, quietly clambering on to his lap, curled up. The blacksmith began to stroke him.
He looked from Atlon to the horse and back again and seemed to come to a decision.
‘Your first day here, you say?’
Atlon nodded.
Heirn pursed his lips. ‘You’ll have to forgive my speaking to you like this. I wouldn’t normally, to a stranger. Not my affair. But I can see from your manner and your horse and your… friend that you’re an honest kind of a man, so there’s things you’ll need to know about this place.’
Atlon was finding it increasingly difficult to maintain any sense of caution about this bluff figure.
‘I’m sure there is,’ he said, meeting Heirn’s inquiring gaze. ‘It’s bewildering, to say the least. I’d appreciate any advice you can offer.’
Having gained permission, Heirn now seemed uncertain about where to start. After taking another small drink and clearing his throat, he said, ‘Answering your question, most people do buy and sell here, myself included. It’s the way of things. Anything’s to be had in this city if you know where to look. And everything’s for sale if you know the price.’ He leaned towards Atlon, confidentially. ‘But there’s more than a few people who just take. Some with fast words, others with…’ He stopped stroking Dvolci and punched his fist into his palm, very gently, as if reluctant to disturb the apparently sleeping felci. ‘Watch your horse and your goods carefully – very carefully. And your back. And trust…’ He hesitated. ‘Trust no one.’ He pointed significantly at the staff hanging from Atlon’s saddle. ‘Don’t be afraid to use that if you have to. A man needs to be able to fend for himself here.’
Atlon gave an acknowledging nod. ‘I’ll heed what you say, but you seem rather harsh in your judgement of your fellows.’
‘That’s also the way of things here, I’m afraid. There’s plenty of good things and fine people in this city, but more than enough bad ones to mar the whole, and there’s no point saying otherwise. As I said, I wouldn’t normally talk to a stranger like this, but there’s something about you, and I’ve a feeling I wouldn’t sleep easy tonight if I’d let you go on your way innocent of what could happen to you here.’
Almost in spite of himself, Atlon was moved by the man’s genuine concern. ‘I’m truly grateful to you,’ he said. ‘Perhaps I might ask more advice of you?’
The blacksmith motioned him to continue.
‘I’m staying at a place called The Wyndering.’ A thought suddenly jolted him, bringing his hand to his head. ‘And I’ve no idea how to get back to it, now I think about it.’ He waved the problem aside. ‘But that wasn’t what I wanted to ask you.’
The blacksmith chuckled. ‘It’s no great problem, young man. Any road east is likely to take you back to The Wyndering sooner or later, but ask what you want to ask, and then I’ll tell you the easiest way.’
Atlon thought for a moment, but finding no subtle approach, voiced his problem directly. ‘I need work. I’ve got things to do in the city that’ll take me some time, and I’ve only got enough money to keep me at The Wyndering for a few days.’
Heirn glanced at the horse again as if considering making another offer for it, then rejected the idea. ‘What can you do?’ he asked.
‘I’m a teacher by profession, but I can work crystals and that’s the business I came here to learn about. We’ve been wandering the city all day in search of a crystal merchant or a workshop of some kind, but without success. Can you tell me where I can find one?’
Heirn wrinkled his nose unhappily. ‘Not a good business to be involved in, crystals.’ He looked at Atlon earnestly. ‘I wouldn’t have taken you for one of those poor souls drawn here in hope of finding the rainbow vein, or looking to find the streets strewn with crystals. You’ve not heard such tales, have you? Because if you have, I suggest you turn about and head for home right away.’
Atlon shook his head. ‘I’ve no idea what the rainbow vein is, and I’ve got all the real wealth I need. I just need money so that I can buy food and lodging for my horse and myself. And as I have to learn about the crystal business and have some skill in working them, a job in a workshop or with a merchant would probably serve both ends.’
The blacksmith’s expression did not ease and he folded his arms and let out a noisy sigh. ‘Why crystals, of all things?’ he asked. ‘There’s miners, diseased and broken, all over the Thlosgaral, trying to wrench the damned things from the ground. There’s Barran gradually taking control over the whole trade, and who knows what else, by murder and extortion. And then there’s the Kyrosdyn.’ He shook his head. ‘They’re stranger than ever since Imorren became Ailad. I wouldn’t even hazard a guess at what they’re up to, other than that it’s for no one’s good except their own.’ He became stern. ‘Arash-Felloren’s always been a wild place, but it’s much worse now than it was when I was young. And I’d say most of its problems these last ten, twenty years, stem, in one way or another, from crystals. None of my business, of course, but I wouldn’t recommend anyone I called a friend to have anything to do with them, be it digging, buying, selling, working – anything.’
Atlon was weighing consequences. He had had few qualms about raising the matter of work with the blacksmith but the purpose of his journey was a different matter. But, as he had reminded himself barely minutes earlier, it would have to be addressed, and preferably sooner rather than later. Both his horse and Dvolci had signalled their trust in this man and neither gave that lightly. His own instinct was to do the same. Still, he should be cautious. He had strange things to relate, and Heirn was nothing if not down to earth. It was difficult to judge how he would respond. He met Heirn’s gaze.
‘I appreciate what you’re saying, and your frankness. I know only too well that crystals can present problems, but I don’t really have any choice. I’m tasked by others with discovering about the crystal trade in the city, and I must do it.’
‘Why?’ The question was abrupt. Like any resident, Heirn might criticize his city, but the threat of prying outsiders struck deeper chords.
‘The tale’s not fully mine to tell,’ Atlon replied. ‘But there’s no ill intent involved, for what you feel my word is worth. It’s just that as crystals have caused difficulties here, so they’ve caused them elsewhere. Far further away than I suspect you’d imagine.’ Heirn was watching him intently. He continued, softly and slowly. ‘Also, in the hands of certain people, crystals can be used for far more than making mere ornaments.’
Heirn’s expression announced that he was being told something he already knew. He nodded and flicked a thumb back into the forge, almost relieved. ‘I use them to make my iron stronger, or harder, or easier to work – whatever’s needed.’ The thumb moved on to the shops on either side. ‘Don’t use them myself but some swear by their medicinal qualities, and crystal needles – good ones – are better than anything I can make.’
Atlon held up a hand that was both restraining and reassuring. ‘Yes, I know that crystals have many valuable uses, perhaps more than we know, but they can also be used…’ He hesitated. Was he going too far? Could this man really be trusted?
More than anyone he had met so far for sure, he decided finally. A colder thought came: should he prove difficult, Heirn could always be made to forget! Atlon suppressed a shiver as he set the thought aside. That would be a last extremity. It was up to him to see that such a conclusion was unnecessary. He pressed on. ‘They can also be used as weapons. Not just for hardening the tips of spears and the edges of swords and knives, but as a means of harnessing and directing forces – natural forces – to unnatural ends. Awful ends.’
Heirn’s expression became suspicious.
‘Let me show you something.’ Atlon stood up and began searching through one of his saddlebags. After a brief struggle he pulled out a small flat box and opened it as he sat down again by the blacksmith. Inside, each in its own shaped recess, lay two rows of crystals. Heirn stared at them uncomprehendingly for a moment, then he drew in a sharp breath. Very quickly but with a deliberate affectation of casualness, he reached across Atlon and closed the box.
‘They were tinted crystals, weren’t they?’ he said incredulously under his breath. He was still maintaining an air of massive unconcern, but his eyes were flicking up and down the street frantically.
‘Most of them, yes.’
‘Including a green one?’
‘Yes.’
‘In the name of sanity, man, keep them out of sight! Have you no idea how much that green alone is worth, let alone all the others?’
‘A great deal, it would seem, judging by your response.’
Heirn closed his eyes as if searching for guidance. ‘A great deal indeed. I don’t know what they’re worth where you come from, and I’m no expert in these things, but I suspect you’re casually carrying around with you crystals worth more in this place than I’ve earned in ten good years. I’d say that not only have you no need to seek work, you’ve no need either to fret about your food and lodging for a very long time.’ He laid a powerful hand on Atlon’s arm. ‘I pride myself on being an honest man but there’s wealth in that box that would tempt anyone. You’re really going to have to learn about this city. There are people here who wouldn’t hesitate to cut your throat for a fraction of what you’re carrying in that box.’
Atlon slid the box gently from under Heirn’s hand and slipped it into his pocket. ‘They’re worth a great deal where I come from also,’ he said, ‘but in a different way. I think. I…’
Heirn, increasingly agitated, interrupted him. ‘Let’s get back inside. Too many eyes and ears out here. And for pity’s sake, keep your hand on that box. There’s pickpockets about as well as cut-throats.’ Uncertainly, he shook Dvolci gently to wake him, then lowered him to the ground before standing up and striding back into the comparative gloom of the forge. ‘Bring your horse,’ he called over his shoulder. ‘There’s stalls back here.’ Atlon hesitated for a moment then tapped his horse and moved after the smith, keeping his hand in his pocket. The horse followed him.
At the back of the forge, Heirn opened a door and beckoned Atlon. Atlon whispered something to his horse, which positioned itself so that it could see both the door and the entrance to the forge.
The door opened on to a small room. There were no windows, but Heirn was turning up an oil lamp which lit the place adequately. A small table stood at the centre, surrounded by old, well-worn chairs. A few bedraggled papers were scattered about the table, some covered in figures, others with sketches. There was also a plate with the remnants of a loaf on it.
Heirn indicated a chair and pulled one up for himself. He ran an arm across his brow.
‘Did I really see what I think I saw?’ he asked, studying Atlon anxiously. ‘Or was it just the brightness out there after being so long at my anvil?’
Atlon took the box from his pocket, laid it on the table and opened it. Heirn leaned forward to examine the crystals, then sat back and put his hands to his temples. He was wide-eyed when he looked at Atlon. ‘Who are you? What can you want here – looking for work with these in your pack? Have you really no idea what they’re worth?’ He leaned forward again and reached out as if to touch the green crystal, but his fingers curled as they drew near. ‘They’re dangerous, aren’t they?’ he asked nervously.
Atlon made to close the box then changed his mind. ‘They can be,’ he said. ‘They can have a very… peculiar effect on people. But only if you handle them for a long time or are surrounded by a great many or… do other things with them.’ He picked up the green crystal and held it out to the smith. ‘Look at it. Hold it. No harm will come to you. Especially with me here.’ His mouth twitched as if that might draw the words back. He hurried on. ‘Perhaps here, in this city, this stone could indeed bring you coffers full of coins, but I think, like me, you know what true wealth is. You know that, beyond a certain point, those coins would be merely dross. Worse, perhaps, they’d become a burden, binding you to a life you didn’t want. Imprisoning you. Have you constantly looking up and down the street in fear, as you just were.’
Heirn nodded, but Atlon was not sure that he was even listening as his shaking hand took the crystal. He held it up between his thumb and forefinger and peered at the hissing lamp through it. A green hue suffused his face, making him look sinister and dangerous.
‘See it as it is,’ Atlon said softly. ‘A beautiful thing come down to us through spans of time we can’t even measure. Full of echoes of the forces that shaped the world. Bound there in the endless complexity of its structure.’
Heirn was breathing heavily and his hand was still shaking as he placed the crystal back in the box. His fingers hovered over the box uncertainly for a moment as if receiving warmth. Then he ran his arm across his brow again. He looked distressed. ‘There’ve been times in my life – dark times – when I’d have laid you out and left you in an alley for the least of these.’ Atlon stayed silent.
Heirn slowly closed the box and pushed it away from him. Many emotions were playing across his face, not the least of which was fear.
‘Tell me the truth of all this, stranger,’ he said coldly.
Atlon looked at him uncertainly, then at Dvolci.
The felci jumped on to his knee and placed his forefeet on the table. He studied Heirn for a moment then turned to Atlon.
‘Tell him,’ he said.