One of them rides up from the gate to my right, slowing his horse from a trot to a walk, probably six to eight strides away. He carries papers in his hands, staring from them to me over the heads of a dozen other people.
“Don’t look at him,” the Collector says as he comes alongside me, making himself into a human shield. He presses his hand to the small of my back as we walk past a fountain and set of steps leading to another street level. “They can’t see through glamours,” he says at my ear, “but they’re excellent at detecting magick, and you and I are like two fucking comets in a starless sky. I’m trying to shield us, but he’s curious.”
Oh gods. This is bad. I wish he would’ve mentioned this earlier. And I wish I would’ve inquired further when Joran first mentioned Fia Drumera’s elite guard. He said that enough of them could take down the Collector. How? What are their abilities? I worry about Nephele who is only a few steps behind me, walking with Joran. She’s more powerful than me. For that matter, Joran is even more powerful than me. I have to hope that the Collector is protecting all of us.
Three mounted guards come around the corner in the distance. Their faces are unconcerned at first, but as they look past our group, their expressions seem to change.
Orlena pauses and turns to me, laughing over nothing, and slips her arm in mine as though we’ve been best of friends for an age.
“Let’s visit the bazar, yes?” She glances back at everyone with a smile, nodding her head, laughing again as though I said something funny.
The Collector laughs too, widening his eyes at me just enough that I realize that not only is this my worst nightmare, they want me to put on a show as well.
I attempt a smile as Orlena turns us from the main street into a massive gateway that opens to what seems like another city stuffed within the constraints of walls. The lofty ceilings are arched and ornamented with brightly colored tiles, and along the sides of this place are galleries and stalls and shops, overflowing with wares and goods. Every scent imaginable is contained here, from fish to cinnamon to citrus fruits to sandalwood and ambergris to raw leather to cedar. I could pick apart a hundred scents if I tried.
Merchants and trades people loiter in the early morning coolness, chatting as they set up their places of business for the day. Patrons pour into the streets from every direction, carrying baskets to be filled. And here we are, ten foreigners and a smuggler, avoiding murderous guards by hiding within a giant market.
The Collector glances over his shoulder, then looks straight ahead. “They’re following us.”
The moment he says those words, my abyss awakens, a yawning darkness.
“Let’s split up, then,” Orlena says. “If you go two avenues down and take a left, then another left and two rights, we can meet at the armory bazar.”
“The armory?” Doubt saturates the Collector’s voice, but the armory sounds like a grand plan to me.
“If they come after you,” Orlena says, “you’re going to need easy access to weapons and horses and a lot of magick to get out of here. I can get you to the first two, the last one is on you. Trust me. Do as I say.”
Smiling and laughing again, she slips behind us and wraps her arm in Rhonin’s. The next thing I know, Hel, Nephele, and Zahira are joining me and the Collector. They lock arms with us and flash fake smiles as we head toward the second avenue ahead. Again, I sense my abyss.
“Don’t look back,” the Collector says, turning us onto a new avenue just as the urge to check on our friends strikes me. It isn’t easy, but I obey.
In minutes, we take another left, walking past a gallery of rugs and tapestries and another of pottery, dishware, and cutlery before—just as luck would have it—we cross paths with a gallery laden with every sort of mirror one could imagine.
After we pass, I snick open the little silver-framed vanity mirror I swiped from a basket of similar affairs.
When I use it to discreetly look over my shoulder, the Collector squeezes my arm and lets out a small laugh. “I can’t take you anywhere.”
He certainly won’t be able to if we don’t ditch the Dread Viper riding through this bazar on a horse, heavy on our heels.
I hand the Collector the mirror, my abyss at full attention now, and pick up our pace as we make our first right into another bazar.
The book bazar.
Though we’re all now fully aware that we’re being thoroughly followed, the four of us women gasp at the same time. There are more books here than if Winterhold and Zahira’s libraries were combined and multiplied ten times over.
The Collector looks into the mirror, then shoves it into his pocket. “Ladies, I know this is a mighty temptation, but now is not the time for book shopping.”
He leads us onward, and we take that last right into the armory bazar, an avenue bedecked in steel, iron, and rust.
“My gods, this is glorious,” Hel says under her breath, restraining a squee of delight in the face of possible danger.
Orlena and Rhonin and the others haven’t arrived yet, which makes my blood vibrate with worry. But at the same time, relief pours through me, because we’re surrounded with weaponry—new and ancient alike.
I gawk at the jewel encrusted swords as Nephele stares at a deadly dagger. Some of the blades are straight like they mean to spear, while others are curved, as though designed to arc toward a waiting heart.
There are shields too, made of steel and wood and shell, and then there are knives and maces, bows, arrows, and quivers, and armor and helmets. I would’ve never imagined seeing so many forms of armament in one place. Some are polished to a gleam. Others rusted. But they all look like they can kill, and that’s all that matters.
We don’t get a chance to peruse what we might need before the Dread Viper who’d been following us turns the corner to my left, halting his tall horse at the entry to the bazar.
