blood-kin. Here in this distant land, she missed them all.
The question remained, though: should she visit Kothifir on this of all days? Did she want to risk getting mixed up with the elemental Four again, assuming they had any role in this city at all? So far, she had only met the Old Pantheon goddess Mother Vedia and such New Pantheon deities as Krothen and Ruso. The suspicion nagged, though, that if the Kencyrath was to make a real home anywhere on Rathillien, it had to come to terms with that world’s native powers, and no one but Jame seemed to be making that effort.
Anyway, she was curious.
And by good fortune, the sixty-sixth of Summer happened to fall on one of the cadets’ free days.
Hence by midmorning Jame again found herself Overcliff, at the foot of the avenue that curved inward away from the Rim. The street swarmed with people, mostly apprentices gay in their holiday attire, bedecked with ribbons denoting their guild alliances. The shop shutters were closed against their boisterous nature, although many had set up small stands out front to sell the holiday makers refreshments and trinkets in honor of the day. There were also many spectators, mostly pushed to the side or leaning over balconies above. From the excited overall roil, it appeared that the crowd was waiting for something.
“Come to join the run?” asked a voice in Jame’s ear.
She turned to find Kroaky loitering at her elbow, festooned, it seemed, with the ribbons of every guild in the city. He grinned down at her from his lanky height.
“What run?”
“Look. Tell me what you see.”
Jame scanned the mob. It was made up of young men and women but also of child apprentices in their own huddles. Now she saw that similar ribbons clustered together and that one in each group carried something golden—a glove, a carved piece of wood, a fire-iron, each apparently the emblem of their guild.
“Look,” said Kroaky again, and pointed at a walkway over the street. Three figures stood there. Ruso, Lord Artifice, blazed in his red armor. Beside him stood a plump youngster in a white tunic whom Jame recognized as Lady Professionate. The tall, elderly man stooping next to her must therefore be Lord Merchandy.
The latter spoke to the crowd, but his thin voice was inaudible this far back. Kroaky grabbed Jame’s wrist and tugged her toward the front of the crowd of spectators. Lord Merchandy gestured, and the child ’prentices pushed forward chattering like so many sparrows. Then a silence fell on them and they tensed. A white handkerchief fluttered down. When it hit the ground, they rushed forward, many of them carried off their feet in the crush. The crowd roared. The hurtling youngsters took a sharp left into the next side avenue, trailed by someone’s crying toddler. Birds fluttered up as the runners pursued their torturous course through the canyons of the city and distant onlookers cheered their progress.
Lady Professionate spoke next. Stray words reached Jame as she neared: “. . . city . . . guild . . . honor . . .”
The young women among the runners pushed to the front. Down flitted another white cloth and off they went, this time turning right onto the next side street.
Kroaky put his hands on Jame’s shoulders. “Now comes the main event, a straight dash to the central plaza.”
The young men jostled forward. As with the previous groups, each centered protectively about someone carrying something golden, but at the edges fights had already begun with the neighboring clusters of apprentices. This race was shaping up to be a running battle before it even started.
Ruso addressed the boys in his booming voice: “For the honor of your city, your guild, and the Great Mother whose day this is . . . here now, wait for it!”
One group, jumping the signal, had surged forward. It checked and drew back to jeers from the others. Ruso waited a beat longer until it was in position, and then down came his handkerchief.
Simultaneously,
The question remained, though: should she visit Kothifir on this of all days? Did she want to risk getting mixed up with the elemental Four again, assuming they had any role in this city at all? So far, she had only met the Old Pantheon goddess Mother Vedia and such New Pantheon deities as Krothen and Ruso. The suspicion nagged, though, that if the Kencyrath was to make a real home anywhere on Rathillien, it had to come to terms with that world’s native powers, and no one but Jame seemed to be making that effort.
Anyway, she was curious.
And by good fortune, the sixty-sixth of Summer happened to fall on one of the cadets’ free days.
Hence by midmorning Jame again found herself Overcliff, at the foot of the avenue that curved inward away from the Rim. The street swarmed with people, mostly apprentices gay in their holiday attire, bedecked with ribbons denoting their guild alliances. The shop shutters were closed against their boisterous nature, although many had set up small stands out front to sell the holiday makers refreshments and trinkets in honor of the day. There were also many spectators, mostly pushed to the side or leaning over balconies above. From the excited overall roil, it appeared that the crowd was waiting for something.
“Come to join the run?” asked a voice in Jame’s ear.
She turned to find Kroaky loitering at her elbow, festooned, it seemed, with the ribbons of every guild in the city. He grinned down at her from his lanky height.
“What run?”
“Look. Tell me what you see.”
Jame scanned the mob. It was made up of young men and women but also of child apprentices in their own huddles. Now she saw that similar ribbons clustered together and that one in each group carried something golden—a glove, a carved piece of wood, a fire-iron, each apparently the emblem of their guild.
“Look,” said Kroaky again, and pointed at a walkway over the street. Three figures stood there. Ruso, Lord Artifice, blazed in his red armor. Beside him stood a plump youngster in a white tunic whom Jame recognized as Lady Professionate. The tall, elderly man stooping next to her must therefore be Lord Merchandy.
The latter spoke to the crowd, but his thin voice was inaudible this far back. Kroaky grabbed Jame’s wrist and tugged her toward the front of the crowd of spectators. Lord Merchandy gestured, and the child ’prentices pushed forward chattering like so many sparrows. Then a silence fell on them and they tensed. A white handkerchief fluttered down. When it hit the ground, they rushed forward, many of them carried off their feet in the crush. The crowd roared. The hurtling youngsters took a sharp left into the next side avenue, trailed by someone’s crying toddler. Birds fluttered up as the runners pursued their torturous course through the canyons of the city and distant onlookers cheered their progress.
Lady Professionate spoke next. Stray words reached Jame as she neared: “. . . city . . . guild . . . honor . . .”
The young women among the runners pushed to the front. Down flitted another white cloth and off they went, this time turning right onto the next side street.
Kroaky put his hands on Jame’s shoulders. “Now comes the main event, a straight dash to the central plaza.”
The young men jostled forward. As with the previous groups, each centered protectively about someone carrying something golden, but at the edges fights had already begun with the neighboring clusters of apprentices. This race was shaping up to be a running battle before it even started.
Ruso addressed the boys in his booming voice: “For the honor of your city, your guild, and the Great Mother whose day this is . . . here now, wait for it!”
One group, jumping the signal, had surged forward. It checked and drew back to jeers from the others. Ruso waited a beat longer until it was in position, and then down came his handkerchief.
Simultaneously,
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