“It reeks worse than a slaughter pen,” Thealos muttered, trying to ignore the pervasive stench. “This makes Dos-Aralon smell like mint, and I thought it was ill-kept.”
“Sol has been like this for a while. She has a great deal of laundry that hasn’t been washed, so to speak.” Pausing, he turned around, his black cloak whipping. “See the garrison tower over there? The symbols have almost faded, but you can still make them out. Those were part of the original watchpost. Most of the towers are gone now, but there used to be long catwalks connecting them.” His fingers traced across the sky. “The Shae could pass quickly, while the humans lived down here in the squalor of the streets.”
“The humans lived here even then?”
Jaerod nodded with certainty. “Sol has always been a trading hub. The towers were heavily guarded from below so that the Shae would be undisturbed by what the humans did down in the streets.” He shook his head regretfully. “Imagine how it made the survivors of the Sol don Orai destruction feel. The Shae were always watching them, keeping them down in the grime and mire. Armed guards prevented any contact between the races. And you wondered last night why humans never learn. The refugees from the destruction were taught by the Shae’s example.” He sighed. “The towers are gone now, the catwalks stripped away to make things equal. Visitors from the East Kingdoms stop here to trade with Dos-Aralon, but this is all they can see.”
“Do the Bandits trade here, too?”
“Of course they do. Whether don Rion is ignorant of it or not, who can say? The Bandits have connections with the League of Ilvaren – in fact, one of their battle commanders used to be an Ilvaren pirate. If you refuse to trade with a pirate, then you get attacked on the high seas. An Ilvaren gold piece is worth the same as Aralonian crowns to the merchants and moneylenders of Sol. A Sheven-Ingen blade costs the same regardless. The garrison is well provisioned, so the Bandit Rebellion does not cause much trouble within the city itself. They don’t want to end up in the River Cellars, the old Shae prisons along the wharves.” He wrinkled his nose. “And you thought the gatehouse reeked…”
Thealos nodded briskly. He was anxious to get their business done and leave, but he didn’t want it to show on his face. He was much more comfortable in the open plains anyway. The walls and buildings pressed in on him, and the air was thicker than he was used to breathing. He couldn’t feel the presence of Earth magic at all in the city. It was worse than Dos-Aralon. “Where do we go from here?”
“For now, you can wander about as you’d like. There are shops that sell new clothes,” he added, giving Thealos a scrutinizing glance. Thealos had to admit it – he did have the look of a common wayfarer. “I have a visit to make before I join you again. Meet me at dusk at the Foxtale Inn, near the Sheven-Ingen docks. It is a well-kept tavern along the piers. Oh, and don’t play Bones with the Drugaen there. He cheats.”
“Why can’t I go with you?” Thealos asked.
The Sleepwalker looked at him with a smirk. “I have my reasons. Which I doubt you would ever truly appreciate unless you became a Sleepwalker yourself. Now buy yourself some clothes and I’ll meet you at the inn later. Watch for thieves. I’m trusting the son of a barter can handle himself in a city.”