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however. His stare was cold. His mouth had slowly twisted into a humorless
smile.
Tyve gestured toward him.  This is Wilar the Dreamweaver, he said, enjoying
the importance of the introduction.  Wilar the Dreamweaver, this is 
 Auraya of the White, Leiard said quietly.  We ve met.
Tyve radiated surprise and curiosity.  You know each other?
 Yes, she replied.  Though he went by a different name then. And his hair
wasn t dark, she added silently. It does not suit him.
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 A name I have put behind me, he replied.  Along with the mistakes I made. I
would prefer you did not use my old name, he told her.  I am Wilar now.
 Wilar, then, she said. Mistakes? Does he mean our affair, or his unkind
method of ending it by fleeing into the arms of a whore? She felt a sullen
anger rising, but pushed it aside. It doesn t matter. I d prefer the Siyee did
not know about our past, so if he wants to be called Wilar that s good enough
for me. I ve hardly got the time to dwell on it anyway. There are sick Siyee
to attend to. They are more important.
She crossed her arms.  So, Wilar the Dreamweaver. What state is this tribe in,
and where would my help be of most benefit?
A strong southwesterly wind had sent Emerahl along the coast of Genria in what
she would have said was good time, except she was in no hurry and had no
particular destination in mind. The steady wind seemed to want her to speed
along in that direction, and she was still reluctant to spend more than a day
or two in any seaside town, so she had given herself up to its will. Her only
concern was that if she travelled too quickly, and The Gull, having found her
message, was following her, he might not be able to catch up.
The sun was baking her from high above when Aime appeared around a bluff
ahead. Like Jarime, the city had grown around an estuary, but this was a river
mouth of a much larger scale. The tributaries of the river were too wide for
bridges or at least nobody had been successful at building one since the last
time Emerahl was there. As more of the estuary came into sight she saw that
the water was just as crowded with ferries as it always had been.
On each point of land was a cluster of buildings. She could only suppose that
matters were still the same here: with each cluster so independent of the
others that they may as well be considered cities themselves. Each had its own
docks, market, laws and ruling family.
As another group of buildings appeared Emerahl smiled in recognition. The Isle
of Kings hadn t changed, though there might have been a few more buildings in
the garden area. Colorful banners painted with an ancient design told her that
the King of Genria still lived in there, though it looked as if there was a
different ruling family in charge.
Everything looks the same, she thought. I expect the language has developed,
as the Toren one has. The money- changers will give me a terrible exchange
rate that never changes. What is& ?
She sat up straighter as something completely unfamiliar appeared. A large
ship with black sails was moored in the estuary. On its side had been painted
a large white star.
Pentadrians! What are they doing here? She directed her little boat toward the
strange vessel. Maybe the Genrians had captured it. As she drew closer she saw
two black-robed men on deck, talking to four well-dressed locals. Tied close
to the hull was a smaller Genrian vessel. Workers were lowering boxes from the
ship into the boat.
This is some kind of trade, Emerahl mused. Less than a year since the war and
already everyone s friendly enough for a business transaction or two. Changing
direction, she headed toward the nearest docks. Maybe not that friendly, she
amended. The ship is a long way from land. The king may have forbidden them to
dock. His position might not be strong enough for him to outlaw trading with
the Pentadrians, however. I wonder which family decided to, and if they did so
because the goods are worthwhile or just to annoy the king.
She directed her boat toward the leftmost edge of the city, selecting one of
the smaller mooring areas where wooden piers had been built for minor craft
like hers. Several fishing vessels were tied up and all was quiet, since their
occupants would have left for the markets hours before. As she neared the
wooden structure a cheerful-looking round man stepped out of a building and
walked to the edge of the pier.
 Good morning, she called.  Would you be the master of moorings?
He grinned.  I am. My name is Toore Steerer.
She smiled.  Greetings, Toore Steerer. How much for a mooring?
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He chewed on his bottom lip.  How long you staying?
 A few days. I m hoping to earn some money with my healing skills before I
move on.
Toore s eyebrows rose.  Healing skills, eh? I ll put the word about that
you re here. What s your name?
 That s kind of you. My name is Limma. Limma Curer.
He chewed on his lip some more.  Two coppers a day. Mind you, don t tell
anyone, though, or they ll come asking why I m selling moorings so cheap.
She put a finger to her lips.  Not a word of it will escape these lips.
Toore grinned.  Can I give you a hand up?
 Yes, thank you. Stuffing the last of her belongings into her bag, she took
his hand and let him help her onto the pier. She slung her bag over her
shoulder and started toward the shore, the dock master beside her.
 How much for your services, lady? he asked.  Do you think you could do
anything for my leg?
She turned to regard him.  What happened to it?
 Got caught between a ship and the wharf, a long time ago. Managed well enough
until these last few years, when it gets to aching.
 I can sell you something for the ache, she told him.  Maybe do a bit of [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]