Free The Magic of Recluce by L. E. Modesitt Page A

the base of the hill. Even accounting for more stone exposed on the downhill side, I didn't think the wall was nearly that high. But speculating on optical illusions wouldn't tell me any more about Nylan.
    Once on the streets of the harbor area, everything felt more normal. People talked, and I could hear the babble of the market square ahead. With all the black stone, the city should have felt warmer, especially on a summer afternoon, but the breeze from the west was cool enough, apparently, to keep the temperature comfortable.
    A sailor, red-haired and red-bearded, gave me a long glance as I entered the square. Half the booths, those on the north side, seemed permanent, workmanlike and well-crafted. Those on the south side, some of which were no more than half-tents or canvas-covered tables, seemed shoddy by comparison. Several seemed untended.
    I nodded. The outland traders and ships had their wares on the south side.
    "Young fellow-come see the amber from Brysta!"
    ". . . fire-diamonds from Afrit! Here alone! . . ."
    Still, the calls from the hucksters were muted. Perhaps thirty shoppers filled the entire square, split among nearly as many vendors. Most of the shoppers were young, not much older than me. Dangergelders, those doing duty with the Brotherhood, I guessed as I looked first at the booths on the north side of the square.
    The first displayed some ceramics. Good work, but nothing to compare to my mother's. The colors were too vivid. A man sat behind them, perched on a stool, who gave me a passing grin as if to acknowledge I would buy nothing.
    In quick order, I passed some carved and gilded mirrors; a goldsmith's display of rings, necklaces, and pendants; a smith's array of assorted steel tools, which seemed of high quality; leather goods, including purses, belts, packs, and sheaths for various sizes of knives; a bootmaker's display with several gaudy, if well-tooled, sets of boots.
    At the woodworking stall, I stopped, surveying the items on display. All were small-breadboards, book holders, and mostly carved boxes. No furniture, except a tiny pedestal table and a two-shelf bookcase of gray oak.
    "You know wood," observed the boy minding the display. His brown eyes almost matched his brown hair, and he wore a tan shirt.
    "Some. You do any of these?"
    "Only the breadboards. My older brother did most of the rest, except the table and the shelves."
    "Your father?"
    "Mother. She sells mostly on consignment to Hamor."
    The breadboards were adequate, as were the boxes, but I had been doing better when I had left Uncle Sardit. Only the pedestal table was clearly better than I could do.
    "You think you do better work?" asked the boy.
    "It doesn't matter now," I answered absently. Whatever I did from there on out, it wouldn't be woodwork.
    I left without saying more and walked across the square. The first cloth-draped table was the trader who had been screeching forth about amber. A single look told me that the amber was fair at best, and the silver settings in which most of it was encased were worse.
    The trader glanced away from my scrutiny, not even speaking.
    The adjoining table was filled with uncut fire diamonds. Even from the spread stones, I could pick out three or four clearly superior to the others. Not bigger, just better. Displaying what I might have called more order. But I couldn't afford them, and there wasn't much point in bargaining over a lesser stone, not when I would need funds more than diamonds before very long.
    Several tables were vacant, their canvas flapping in the breeze, barely held down by stones.
    Further toward the corner closest to the harbor was a tiny man sitting behind a half-dozen small and elaborately-carved ivory figures. Those alone matched the quality of crafts displayed on the north side of the square.
    For a long time, I studied the figures. One, that of a young man carrying a dark staff, appealed to me. Once again, I passed on without even trying to bargain. Nor did the trader or