The City of Pillars Read Online Free PDF

long and tiring days Rondel and Andrasta had ducked the city watch. They slept in shifts, usually an hour at a time, huddled up in seldom-used alleys, many times laying in old urine and trash as those places were the safest to rest.
    Rondel yawned. I’d sleep in worse if it meant getting a full night of rest.
    Twice, someone tried to mug them. Twice, the muggers wished they hadn’t.
    Rondel didn’t care so much about the muggers. They dared not stay too long in one spot because it seemed more guards joined the hunt every day.
    Once, the guards nearly had them when Rondel was busy removing the broken arrow shaft from Andrasta’s shoulder and cleaning the wound. But they recovered quickly and managed to escape after killing three guards and wounding two more. Adding bodies to the number they were already blamed for won them no friends. People throughout the city spat out the names Rondel and Andrasta as if they were the worst filth imaginable.
    And then there’re the missing children.
    Stories of children being snatched away in the night had begun weeks ago. Rumors of small, chewed bones being discovered throughout Zafar followed. Something had even cracked them for marrow. Rondel never bothered learning the truth behind those tales. He hadn’t the time. However, living on the streets had suddenly made the stories seem more important. Though he was no child, the last thing he wanted was to wake up with something gnawing on his leg.
    Rondel found himself agreeing more and more with Andrasta’s desire to kill Kamal and Wabu.
    Just give me one minute. Well, give me five.
    His stomach growled. They hadn’t eaten in at least a day and then most of what they had filled their stomachs with they probably shouldn’t have.
    Likely to die of disease before the guards find us.
    They were on their way to the market, hoping to steal something to quiet their empty bellies.
    “I’m sick of this,” Rondel muttered as he walked behind Andrasta, hunched and using a makeshift cane.
    “What?” Andrasta limped just ahead of him, trying to appear drunk, occasionally scraping a nearby wall.
    “All this running. And smelling like the inside of a camel’s rear. Next time we have to steal clothes, let’s make sure the people aren’t dead yet.”
    “The rot is why most people are avoiding us. Now, keep it down. I’ll go out first. Count to ten before following. We’ll meet later at the other side of the market.”
    Rondel leaned against the wall at the alley’s mouth while Andrasta continued on. He rubbed the leg he pretended to favor.
    He reached ten and eased himself into the open. The market bustled with activity—merchants hawking their ware, moneylenders haggling over interest rates, and prospective buyers arguing over the quality of goods.
    In his past life as a minstrel, he would don the persona of the heroes he sang about, acting out the parts as much as he sang them. Because of this, it was relatively easy for him to slip into the beggar’s role he had cobbled together. He kept his head low, eyes on the ground, and his upper back hunched. With a shaky hand he moved his cane forward, sliding his feet slowly as if he lacked the strength to lift them.
    He wore gloves on both hands, the fingertips of the left stuffed with cloth to conceal his injury.
    Despite the stench permeating his clothes, the smells emanating from food stands overpowered the odor. He had to will himself not to run toward the grilling lamb and chicken spiced with black peppercorns, cloves, coriander, and cumin. He swallowed pooling saliva before it spilled from the corners of his mouth.
    Though that might add to the character.
    He passed barrels of dried rice, lentils, and fava beans as well as open boxes of cucumbers and eggplant. He gave the stone jars of olives, dates, figs, pomegranates, and the other selections barely more than a glance. He had been living off rotten vegetables, nuts, and the occasional piece of fruit for the last three days. His