The open fields on the east side of Ith were dotted with dense villages and known as the Low Dales District. Raya and her friends stayed the first night in an large inn on Lord Warl’s Road—it seemed most of the outer roads were named after lords or kings. Raya was uncertain if Lord Warl lived nearby or not, or if he lived at all, but the inn was comfortable. And expensive.
“We can’t stay in Ith long at a place like this,” Dondar said, sliding the last of the coins into the pile of those he had counted. He gave a craftsman that wandered past their tavern table a warning glare, before collecting their money in a pouch once more.
Raya nodded. “We’ll need to find a cheaper inn.”
“Could be dangerous,” Benn said, quietly.
“But it is necessary.” Dondar looked deeply into his drink. “I’ll stay close, in this city. We have less friends here.”
The ale was strong and bitter and Raya turned her nose after a mouthful too large. She slid the cup away from her. With their lunch finished, they had no reason, nor paid permission, to stay. They set out from the Warl’s Tavern soon after, along a neat cobblestone road with thick grass kept back by a row of gravel and a small stone wall.
It didn’t take long to see the reason for the luscious state of repair—Raya and her friends soon passed some workers, five young men working at the side of the road under the oversight of a guard. One, armed with a shovel, stood with a muscular and whip-scarred back to Raya. In between his shoulder blades was a bumpy mark, a fist sized brand. The tag was circular in design, with a few simple numbers and a name inside.
Raya shivered. It wasn’t right. Which claimed more lives—the destruction of Ellakar at the hands of unknown sorcerers or the ongoing scourge of the slave trade? She put aside the chilling thought. She had been sheltered in Olston. For the lumber workers, the merchants, and the mercenaries passing her by in the streets, this was the way things had been for hundreds, if not thousands, of years.
“The city proper,” Benn warned, as they passed out of the Low Dales and below the towering archway of the next district’s walls.
In Massed Alley, the streets were so narrow they sometimes had to walk single file between buildings three-stories tall. These were no large homes—they were tiny ones built on top of and beside one another, a maze of clay, stone, wood, thatched grass, smoky cooking, sweating skin. There were more slaves than freemen, more men than women, and more brothels than inns. Raya kept her head down until Dondar said, “Let’s check this place.”
He led them up a flight of stairs, past a sign nailed to the wall. It read Freeman’s Bunkhouse. On the second storey of a long structure was a smaller one, the size of Raya’s home in Olston. There was no door, just a drafty frame. It took Raya’s eyes a moment to adjust to the shadows, though it was not an overly bright day of course.
“You can pay?” asked a short woman with her hair in a greying braid.
Dondar showed his coin pouch. “How much?”
The short woman was plucking threads from an empty silkworm tray, her calloused hands plucking away and adding to a big white ball. “Ten kerin,” she mumbled. “Nah, I collect each night at twilight from anyone wants to stay that night.”
“Very well,” Dondar said, pocketing his money.
“Do you know the name Axar?” Raya asked. She glanced around the room, but bunkhouse was hidden behind a veil of beads. Only a small table, two armchairs, and a dusty old footlocker furnished the anteroom where they spoke.
The elderly woman looked up at her with narrow eyes. “Axar? He’s a magician, isn’t he?”
Raya nodded. “You know of him?”
“That’s all I know of him, girl,” she said. “Don’t be getting involved with someone like that. Nothing good’s ever come of sorcerers.”
“Why is your inn called ‘Freeman’s’?” Benn asked.
“I’m the only one on the street without a slave,” the old woman said, quietly. “Not that I could afford one anyway.”
Dondar pulled open the bead strings and Raya led the way through. The pattern had resembled an intricate tree before he had pulled it in half. Behind the tree was a room of much older wood. There were no rooms, she realized, just beds. The whole business was one room, with over twenty beds arranged in rows. Aside from camping under the stars, it was the first time Raya would be staying somewhere without her own room.
“Good day,” muttered a middle-aged man with a scared forehead on one of the first beds. He sat with his back against the outer wall, holding a small, battered book in front of him. Someone in the next row of beds was smoking a pipe, filling the air with a bitter stench. There were only four or five others.
Dondar chose three beds near one corner of the room. “Raya, Benn, me,” he said, indicating each cot as he passed it. “Because I’m not getting in between you two… Ha!”
Raya and Benn made awkward eye contact before looking away. They hadn’t talked about their relationship since that day outside Vagabond’s Rest, but it wasn’t an issue. Dondar just enjoyed making jokes at their discomfort. Benn tried to smile, and Raya just sighed. She sat down on the hard mattress and sighed again. It was going to be a restless night.