He seemed to be walking among a mix of homes and businesses, though most houses were as busy as the inns and taverns. Every drinking establishment was lit with flame or magic, and the music of crowds poured out. Windows were thrown open to the beautiful summer night. Durae thought he overheard at least one coupling in progress, but the intense swearing might have been about something else.Not as if I have the experience to know the difference.
Just as he was about to give up hope, he caught sight of another well-lit building ahead of him that had an old sign over the door. Used to straining his sight against the night sky in an attempt to divine patterns, Durae spotted the faded symbol on the sign that was a match for the one on his map. He’d found the legendary pleasure house.
His certainty gave way to nerves as he closed the distance to the door. With the market starting on the morrow, any worthwhile companion would already be hired, wouldn’t they? Worse, what if his profound lack of experience made him a fool?It’d have to be bad for business to mock a client’s abilities in bed.But what if he was never good at sex? What if he neverhadgood sex because he married whoever his parents told him to?
Worries countless as the stars unveiled themselves in the sunset of his confidence.
But what was adventure without risk? So long as Durae kept moving, he would add to his story, and that was the point of living, wasn’t it?
Before Durae reached the door, a man in fine clothing stumbled out, hurried around the corner, and vomited in the alley between buildings. With an exasperated look, a woman leaned out a window and quickly cast a small breeze, which gathered up the sick and dumped it into a nearby sewer grate.
Likely, it wasn’t a brothel, but Durae’s feet were starting to hurt.Might as well investigate.Durae strode up to the open door. The room was crowded with elves dressed in a gambit of style and expense. Every seat seemed taken, and waiters were delivering drinks and plates of food. The tavern seemed in the midst of heavy celebration. No one was bound to recognize him tonight, but what if they did later in the week? His parents had said partying on the Glaesflod River was a good way to ruin one’s reputation.
“’Tis a nice night, but in or out, m’lord. You block the path,” a waiter called.
He’d snuck out to have a night of freedom. He couldn’t lose his nerve now. However, stepping through the door didn’t make Durae less of an obstacle, as others were moving about or too crowded together for him to slide between. Judging from the noise, Durae would be surprised to find a single empty seat within the tavern.
“You look lost, m’lord,” the same waiter said. He finished depositing drinks at a nearby table. “Meeting friends?”
“No,” Durae said. He could hardly hear himself speak.
“Find yourself a seat, then,” the waiter told him. “Don’t worry who you sit with. It’s market time. We’re all elves under the same stars, are we not?”
The long lectures Durae had endured most of his life said they weren’t, but the sentiment and warmth the words brought was so endearing he wished he could inscribe it over his heart.
“We’ve got a light ale or red wine left tonight,” the waiter said. “Also some lavender water, if you’re not wanting alcohol. I’m afraid the kitchen is in the process of closing. Running out of food.”
“I’d like a wine, please.”
“It’ll be a silver. Night like tonight, I take payment with each round.” The waiter nodded toward the back of the space, to what looked like a corner. Durae leaned over and saw that the building kept going. “There are some spare seats off that way. I won’t have any trouble finding you, m’lord.”
Before Durae could ask why he wouldn’t when the tavern was so full, the waiter was moving again, gathering empty plates and pitchers as he went. Durae headed in the direction the waiter had gestured and found that the tavern had several back rooms. They were filled with groups that seemed to know one another well. How could he intrude and take one of those rare seats?
“It’s got to run on earth magic!” a voice declared loudly.
Durae followed the voice around another corner and peeked through a doorway into a smaller room. The group within had similar rough clothing, and each wore an orange sash with a golden cart stitched onto it. Most had it around their arm, but a couple had it tied around their heads.
“Itcan’trun on that,” a different elf said. She sloshed ale as she gestured with her tankard. “All the basic craftwork is in cosmomancy. Trying to set it in elemental will fuck this cart the rest of the way.”
“Just proves that those pointy heads in Dun Steorra are wrong! The stars are not a magic source!” the first elf argued loudly.
The group of eight descended into cacophony. They hadn’t spotted Durae, but even if they had, he couldn’t barge into the room, no matter how much he longed to reprimand the first elf for his narrow-minded thinking. Elemental magic had many aspects in common with cosmomancy, and only a fool would hold them at odds with one another. Besides that, Dun Steorra had a rich history of magic that went back thousands of years. His ancestors had pioneered cosmomantic enchantments!
“The cartdidwork,” an elf said as he rose from his seat.
He strode to one wall with a confidence that spoke to comfort in the subject. He had a flush in his cheeks, which could have had more to do with ale than excitement, and his complexion was like the cool earth deep in a mountain cave. His short, curly hair was tinted light brown at the ends. On the back of his neck was a spot of grease that he’d wiped at, but he’d missed cleaning away the grime of his work. Even at a distance, his dark eyes flashed with passion and intelligence.
Flicking his wrist and murmuring a word, he cast a spell so he could write in an illusory script on the wall. It glowed goldagainst the wood, but it would fade when he was done. He began to write in an arcane language.
In cosmomancy, Durae realized. The elf was writing complex enchantments from memory. The longer he wrote, the more Durae recognized them. And he saw what was wrong. He rolled his eyes, but not at the elves gathered. The pathetic Aulage family of Tunbrae had been attempting to rip off his family for ages. This cart was another bastardization of Navisora work.
“Can we help you,sir?” one of the elves demanded.
Durae wasn’t sure he deserved that tone until, oops, he realized that he had crossed the threshold while admiring the handsome elf’s handiwork. A flush raced up his spine and across his forehead. He hadn’t had a sip of wine yet, but heat coursed through him like he’d drunk half a bottle.
The rest turned toward him, including the one who was writing. Durae’s mouth was locked shut. Nothing was coming out. He ought to apologize and back away.
Except he knew how to fix the flaw.
