Read Online Darkvision by Bruce R. Cordell - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Bruce R. Cordell
Ads: Link
profitable ship-building businesses. Datharathi Minerals had, like many of the most influential merchant families, 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 toweror 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 beerconsumed 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 Vaelanhis family had a long-standing taboo against smoking for some traditional reason, and he’d wanted to prove his independencebut 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.
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 toweror 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 beerconsumed 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 Vaelanhis family had a long-standing taboo against smoking for some traditional reason, and he’d wanted to prove his independencebut 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.
Similar Books
