‘Nah, it’s just dirty,’ said Sharfy, rubbing it harder. The scale did not get any brighter. ‘Wait. It is black! Wish your luck’d start spreading around.’

Kiown made a noise like he was going to be sick. He looked at Eric in accusing disbelief. ‘You know how many black ones I’ve seen in my life? One! That one!’

Eric thought he was about to be struck by Kiown’s accusing, pointing arms. ‘It’s about the only thing in this world that I own,’ he said. ‘Does that make you feel any better? And can someone tell me what these are exactly?’

‘Scales,’ said Sharfy with a gleam in his eye. ‘Dragon scales.’

Eric looked closely at one of his other three. It gleamed a beautiful deep ruby red. ‘From the Dragon?’

‘No, from the mighty god-chicken, whose beak can peck at Time Itself,’ said Kiown in disgust. He stormed off, wringing his hands.

‘Ignore him,’ said Sharfy. ‘Lots of scales buried, over at World’s End, in the ground.’ He unfolded a small map, showing an oval shape, and pointed at a line running dead down the middle. ‘That’s World’s End. That line there’s the Wall, runs all across. Scales buried near it, mostly in the middle part, deep in the ground. Shallow ones all got dug out back when they started to use em for trading. Mad rush for scales. Now, only way they get new ones is in the mines, dirt from way down deep.’

‘Why so many, over in that spot?’

Sharfy waved away this clearly unworthy question, which Eric had learned meant he didn’t have the foggiest idea of its answer.

‘Professor Sharfy!’ Kiown called mockingly from up the pathway. ‘Say, Professor? Why are some men born short and ugly?’

‘How’s your eye, precious?’ Sharfy replied. ‘Aw, did you hurt yourself?’

‘Stop your squabbling,’ yelled an old shirtless man from one of the other fires. Apparently to himself, he said, ‘We been on this hilltop too long, like I told him. Past the point of being safe, by now. Is a tight squeeze now, oh aye.’

‘Ignore him too,’ Sharfy muttered.

‘What makes these things valuable?’ said Eric, putting the scales in his pockets.

‘Rare, pretty. Plus you can crush em up for visions. Not many people do that. Show you why.’ He took Eric’s black scale, laid it on the rocky floor, then tried to smash it with the handle of his knife, many times. The scale didn’t break or crack. The underside of Sharfy’s knife handle had some new slits cut into it. ‘See? Got magic in em. Hard to crush up — that’s why no one knows about the visions. Good thing, too. Visions sometimes show you too much.’

In that moment, Eric resolved to do a vision as a matter of priority. ‘So how would I crush it up, if I wanted to?’

‘Shh!’ Sharfy’s lopsided eyes bulged with alarm. ‘Against Anfen’s rules. He won’t have it, not while we’re on the road. But if you wanted to, that’s who you talk to.’ He pointed at the grisly old man, who now lay flat on his back, snoring.

‘What the hell is he supposed to be, anyway?’

‘Him? That’s Loup. He’s our magician.’

The magician in question farted loud enough to turn heads all across the platform his way.

‘Not quite Merlin,’ Eric murmured. ‘Not quite Gandalf. Live and learn, I guess.’

Anfen’s voice called from the upper platform. ‘Pack up camp. We ride soon.’

21

The women changed their dress out in the open, unconcerned if they were seen naked. Likewise the men. Eric found he was seeking out the one who’d shot an arrow at the train, hoping for a look at her changing garments, but when he saw her, she was watching him.

She stood and approached, the long braided plaits of hair swaying against a hide tunic which hung stiff over her, showing little of her figure. She stood close to him, chocolate-dark skin accentuating the whites of her eyes. Her tongue ran across her lips and, later, looking back, it was that one moment he’d look back on, as though it were a seed planted, or perhaps a bomb set. ‘My name is Siel. Come with me,’ she said, unsmiling.

Eric shot a questioning look at Sharfy, who seemed to be very carefully examining a stray thread in his sleeve and was totally absorbed in the task. A few heads turned to watch as Eric followed her further along the winding path, his heart beating fast. One of two things, he knew, was probably about to happen. The curved knife she’d used to cut up his briefcase hung from her belt, and he envisioned her hand moving it across his skin, opening it with the same gentle ease, spilling its contents. Her bow was still slung across her. His hand went to the gun at his side.

They came to a point on the rock path where the encampment was no longer visible behind them, nor could its noise be heard. She stopped and moved a little away from him. To their right, the rock shelf dropped off, giving a view of a paved road winding below, visible a short distance away till hidden by the hillsides through which it wound.

He wanted to gently run a finger along the bumps of her braids, see her skin below her tanned animal hide. Just that — if he could just see it, he would need nothing more.

For some reason she paced as though wrestling with a private decision. ‘You are a prince?’ she said, turning to look at him again.

Not a hard question, he found. ‘Yes.’

She bit her bottom lip, seemed to silently curse, none of which he could make the least sense of. She resumed pacing. ‘I must watch here to ensure the road is clear when we depart. Go some way further, look to your left. You’ve seen war mages. You can now see the stoneshaper mages, down below.’ Seeing the look on his face, she said, ‘Don’t fear, they aren’t aware of us and don’t care. They are far too busy building things. Watch them.’

‘Why do you want me to?’

‘You are new to Levaal. You have little time to learn about it before you will need the knowledge.’ She unslung her bow, set it down and sat with her back against a boulder, one knee raised, an arm resting on it. He did not avert his gaze from the part of her skirt that fell away and showed a smooth muscled column of thigh; in fact briefly he couldn’t avert it. Her other hand rested between her legs as though to protect modesty, though she remained in that pose, watching as he pulled his gaze away with some effort and headed up the path.

The area beneath was like a huge flat bowl scooped out of the basaltic hillside, in which taller shafts of rock had been raised and placed like buildings in a street. Milling around these were twenty or more men in drab robes. They had horns on their heads similar to those the war mages wore, but straighter, and pointing outwards rather than curling down. They looked decidedly more human, though all appeared to be tired, old men, so similar that each could’ve been the twin of any other. They shuffled around like sleepwalkers.

A group of them coalesced around a short pillar of rock. They stood murmuring for some time, then all moved their arms skywards. The rock piece jolted, and a crumbling sound carried up the canyon. With perfect synchronicity, the mages lowered and raised their arms, each time making the rock pillar rise further. At its base the rock seemed to flow like liquid. Soon they had its top level with the tallest around it, then they dispersed and shuffled away to a new location, to begin the process again. Some crouched down to rest, smoke trailing from the tips of their horns.

‘They are building a new city here.’ Siel’s voice made him jump. He’d not heard her approach, yet she was right behind him. ‘It’s all they do. They are nearly machines. Later they will hollow out the insides of the pillars, make buildings of them. In a year it will be ready for people to move in. It will be filled with those who swear to Vous, and it will be a place where life is easy, at first. Others will learn to worship him, so they too may live this way. It is why most Aligned cities accept starvation. People cling to their old ways so stubbornly.’

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