maintained interest in the ship-building trade. Beyond those were the ramshackle piers used by the fishers. Warian walked down the Dolphin Pier holding Majeed's reins. Beyond a press of warehouses, innumerable offices, and nearly as many wharfside taverns, the towers of Vaelan pointed proudly at the sky. The towers housed the most influential 'chakas,' as trading families were sometimes called. Any family with aspirations to challenge the predominance of the eleven greatest chakas that made up the Trade Authority first built a tower-or purchased the tower of another family whose fortunes were declining.
Over a hundred pale towers pushed into the sky, some new since Warian had left the city behind. Chaka towers were generally confined to the Gold District, and enjoyed the protection of delicate-looking yet strong whitewashed stone walls. Beyond the ordered towers and their well-patrolled boundaries, the larger bulk of Vaelan hummed and buzzed, nearly as loud and well-lit at midnight as at midday. Aside from the towers, distinguishing discrete buildings amid the mass was a fool's game in Vaelan. Great connected complexes of white-plastered walls, balconies, stairs, galleries, promenades, and open courts stretched in all directions. Wide streets separated one press of mazelike architecture from the next, but high bridges, held up as much by minor enchantments as engineering, arched over the streets to connect rooftop bazaars. And the crowd! Everywhere Warian looked, people talked (in diverse dialects and languages), bartered (from countless windows, booths, wagons, and permanent storefronts), sought hard-to-find goods (such as philters guaranteed to bring the buyer true love, or cockroaches whose shells turned blue in the presence of magic), gossiped (about the future of Durpar if Veldorn's aggression wasn't checked), and enjoyed themselves (drinking from great glass vessels filled with weak but tasty beer- consumed nearly as fast as it was brewed). Warian was one of thousands of people thronging the streets, pushing his way forward as quickly and economically as possible. The trick of moving with the ebb and flow of the crowd came back to him with hardly any effort. He was elbowed in the side once, but ignoring such slights was part of getting where you wanted to go in a reasonable amount of time. He quickly found a public stable on the outskirts of the wharf district and paid a small sum to put Majeed up for several days. He hoped he wouldn't be around that long, but better to pay ahead than risk the stablemaster selling his horse.
Freed of worry about Majeed's well-being, Warian waved over a rickshaw pulled by a surprisingly short man with hair as red as fire. 'Where to?' asked the redhead, as Warian settled into the seat. 'West Gardens,' Warian told the rickshaw driver. 'It's a tenement district near Kazrim's Plunge.' The Plunge was a statue commemorating a Kazrim, whose heroics three hundred years prior were considered instrumental in freeing Vaelantar from the monsters. The driver nodded at Warian and pulled the transport out into the throng. Warian was a little surprised that the driver did not give his crystalline arm a second glance. He was accustomed, at the very least, to eyebrows raised in surprise, if not outright amazement, and often enough, hostility.
Whoever had ridden the rickshaw before had left behind the redolent perfume of cherry tobacco. Smoking tobacco from a water-cooled pipe was a vice Warian tried to cultivate when he still lived in Vaelan-his family had a long-standing taboo against smoking for some traditional reason, and he'd wanted to prove his independence-but he'd never managed to enjoy the sensation. Probably just as well. Moving through Vaelan's busy streets was enjoyable when someone else's worry and effort forged the path. Sitting back in his seat allowed Warian a chance to absorb the ambience and study the various city dwellers and visitors who strode to and fro, each intent on his own unknowable business. Many were from outside Durpar, having traveled from countries like the Shaar, Dambrath, or Halruaa. Others hailed from even farther shores, such as the nearly mythical Sembia or Cormyr.
Warian had never personally met anyone from places so distant, but he'd heard stories. The sharp, glinting light of sun through crystal caught Warian's eye. A woman walking out of a stylish saloon on the high balcony to his left carried a prism… no… The woman's hand was clear, as if made of glass! More than that, delicate traceries of crystal writhed across her whole arm, and marked her face, too, with an elaborate embroidery. Warian gaped. As he pulled closer, there was no doubt-the woman sported a crystal prosthesis, and then some, just as he did! Her body art reminded Warian of an intricate tattoo, but never had he seen one laid down in glass. He didn't doubt the glass of her prosthesis and decoration was Datharathi crystal. Warian waved to catch the woman's attention, but she turned and moved down an elevated path, and a bridge intervened as the rickshaw continued to move forward. 'Say,' Warian called to the driver who plodded along ahead of him. 'Do you see many people who have crystal like mine?' Warian tapped his arm even though the driver didn't turn. 'Like my crystal arm?' The driver shrugged without turning, and said, 'Sure. Plangents. Too rich for my blood.'
'Plangents?' 'Yeah.' The driver craned his neck to fix Warian with an assessing eye. 'Like you.' The driver turned his attention back to his path. Warian searched his memory, but came up blank. 'I'm sorry, I've been gone from Vaelan for most of the last five years. When I left, I was the only one who had such a… um, crystal prosthesis.' 'Hmph,' the driver snorted, and turned down a high but narrow alley. 'You're in good company now, eh? Datharathi's got the goods. They'll make you 'stronger, faster, smarter- better!' if you got the gold.' Warian shook his head and said, 'But this prosthesis is worse than a real arm. It's slow, weak, and I can't feel a thing through it! I have this arm because I lost my real one in an accident. Who'd want that?' But, indeed, what of the flash of potency, the reason he'd returned to Vaelan in the first place? 'Well,' the driver responded, chuckling.
'You got a bad deal. The plangents I've seen are none of that-you put a plangent against me in a pulling contest, and even though I've pulled this rickshaw every day for thirteen years, a plangent'd beat me every time, if he had a brand new overhaul.' 'What's this word you keep saying-plangent? Anyone who gets a prosthesis is a plangent?'
'Well, yeah, that's what we call 'em. But from what I heard, you can't just replace an arm, a leg, or an eye. They replace stuff on the inside, too, stuff we can't see. The plangents-they're supposed to live longer-they're their own thing now. A new thing. A plangent.' The driver snorted, then yelled at another porter who edged in front of him at an intersection. Warian sat back. Uncle Xaemar and Grandfather Shaddon had been busy. Warian was confident that the crystal of his arm stopped at his shoulder. Since he'd been given his fake arm, they must have refined and expanded the technique. And improved it-no one would give up the limb they were born with for something worse, like Warian's. Well, it was usually worse. Did all the plangents enjoy the strength and speed he'd accidentally discovered? A scary thought! He didn't know enough, clearly. All the more reason to seek out Eined first and get an unadulterated account from her before being propagandized by his elders.
Eined Datharathi lived in a quiet tenement in the upscale West Gardens district. Those who lived in West Gardens paid into a fund that employed spellcasting and sword-bearing sentries to make certain that things stayed quiet and safe. Thus, Warian was doubly surprised when he arrived to find Eined's door open, and her abode in the process of being robbed. The awful crash of breaking glass and the gruff sound of men's voices echoed from within, confounding Warian for only a moment. He dashed through the entry passage yelling, 'Eined!'
The entry parlor contained a single intruder, who whirled as Warian came upon him. The intruder, dressed all in gray and sporting greasy hair, held a metal prying bar clutched in one hand. All around the man, evidence of ransacking littered the room. Mirrors that once graced the walls were shattered on the floor. Carpets were pulled up, drapes were torn down, and chairs lay broken. 'Where is Eined?' 'She ain't here, and if you know what's good for you, you'll shove off, too,' said the man with the metal rod. Warian didn't know what was good for him. He willed his prosthesis, 'Go!' but it remained as dull as ever. So he punched the intruder with his flesh-and-blood hand. The man's head rocked back. 'Who are you? Where's my sister?' demanded Warian. The man shook his head, rubbing the back of his hand across the cut on his lip. He said, 'That was a mistake. Now I got to feed you this!' The intruder smacked the iron bar into his open palm, leering at Warian. But he didn't attack. Instead, he glanced down the hallway to the sitting room and yelled, 'Hey! Get your butts up front!
We got a visitor.' A voice called from farther in the house-a man's voice, not Eined's. 'What you talkin' about, Revi?' The man facing Warian, apparently named Revi, yelled back. 'Just get your ugly mugs out here, will ya? We got trouble-a plangent.' 'I'm not…' Warian trailed off. If they thought he was a plangent, maybe he could frighten them away. In a more assertive tone, Warian told the man,
'Put that bar down if you don't want to be the one who chokes on it.'
Warian raised his prosthesis and pointed it directly at his foe.
Revi's eyes widened slightly and he backed up a step, but then the man's friends rushed into the room. One yelled, 'Plangents are tough, but not tough enough for one to stand against five!' 'I'm warning you …' proclaimed Warian, feeling foolish. Greasy-haired Revi swung the pry bar like a sword at Warian's head. Warian's arm was still extended from his failed threat, and he needed only to raise and angle it just slightly to deflect the blow, which he felt only dully through his shoulder. One of Revi's friends simultaneously kicked Warian in the stomach, something Warian wasn't prepared for. He stumbled back, and two more rushed up and easily grabbed his arms, one on each.
