Fireblood (Whispers from Mirrowen) Read Online Free PDF Page A

purse, there is a Bhikhu who will chase him down and box his ears for it.”
    “A Bhikhu?” Annon asked.
    “You’ll recognize them when you get to the city. They dress in gray tunics and sandals. The men shear their hair down to the nubs. You’ll see them on the street. If you get lost or have any troubles, seek one out. They won’t take a pent from you. Good advice for a newcomer, and it cost you nothing.” The docks of Kenatos were hulking and swollen with people arriving into different slips and disgorging their cargoes. Annon thanked the ferryman and Graves and gritted his teeth at the commotion as he advanced down the docks into the throngs filling up at the mouth of the outer gates. He felt practically naked being so far from the woods. Not even a mutter from a spirit creature. He had not expected to hear any, though.
    Within the portcullis, there were a dozen black-robed Rikes of Seithrall speaking to everyone who entered and exited. They had rings on their fingers with dull black stones, which purportedly allowed them to divine falsehoods uttered in their ears. Annon wondered if the powers of the rings were just legends to frighten the people into being honest. The crowds jostled him. He waited sullenly in line until it was his turn to speak to one of the Rikes, anxious to get past the throng.
    “A Druidecht, excellent. Seithrall’s blessing be upon you.” This was said with a wry and discourteous smile. There was no love between the Rikes and the Druidechts. “Have you ever been to Kenatos, Druidecht?”
    “No.”
    “What is the purpose of your visit then?”
    “I am here to see my uncle.”
    “What is his profession?”
    Annon smiled blandly. “I believe you may know him. He is called Tyrus of Kenatos.”
    The Rike started, his eyes widening with shock. He blinked several times, as if he was not sure he had heard Annon correctly. “Indeed,” came a curt reply. “Your uncle may be found in the Paracelsus Towers. Do you see it there, to the west of the temple? There?”
    Annon did. The city was built on a hill in the middle of the lake, as so it rose before him in a crisscross of streets and buildings. Despite the plumes of sooty smoke, the air was clear enough to see an enormous keep with four ornate spires rising from each corner, the capstones forked. It stood prominently by itself, rising up from the island like a torch. It certainly lacked the massive bulk of the temple, which was the dominating presence of the skyline at the crest. But it was only barely inferior in intricacy and design. The temple was made of glistening white granite,full of sculpted walls, towers, interconnecting bridges, and iron-capped parapets. How many from Stonehollow had been hired to build it, he wondered. How many centuries had they labored?
    Annon nodded and was bid to enter the city.
    Kenatos teemed with life, a mix of all the races together. Most were young, his age, born after the last Plague. There were Cruithne and Preachán, easily seen. The Cruithne were big and sturdy, each weighing nearly as much as a horse, so they never rode. They were not overly tall, nor were they short. Their skin glistened grayish-black. While their skin was all the same color, their hair varied from pale blond to coarse brown. Never red and never black. They were an inventive people, creating machines powered by fire or water that milled grain. They were slow and ponderous in their walking, but incredibly strong. Their footfalls rattled the ground.
    The Preachán were a contrast, with fair skin and ruddy hair. They were not a tall race, nor were they heavy like the Cruithne. They were lithe and quick, slipping through the crowds like quicksilver, hawking goods and huddled in clusters, casting dice with each other. They were incessantly talking, trading, bargaining, and most often, deceiving, as Reeder put it.
    Not far after crossing the gates, one Preachán had tried to sell Annon a new pair of boots since his looked so worn out.