The Tsayr withdrew deeper into shadow musing how odd she felt when the truth came from a liar. The Outer City tavern was bursting with rogue Illyr. Most Illyrian's eyes are as copper colored as a Maine coon cat's. But the coarse girl hanging on Pyton had the rarer Illyrbrand-blue-eyes. Her face was swelling fast with the toxins she'd imbibed. Her eyes would be mere slits in an hour. Pyton laughed at the inebriate. He wrenched out of her clutch. He said he was going for his cousin. The Tsayr felt relief that he was gone. It would be unpleasant waiting for him. If it weren't for the music, she would have left. It was a challenge sitting reposed in the swirl of ugly thoughts about her. These people lived too close together. They were stacked on each other. Their multi-storied buildings slopped all the way from the river to the main wall, as if they had been tossed there, like rubbish. Their revelry, sullen or abandoned, was harsh. They were talking too loud, laughing too loud, treating each other like rivals rather than fellow merry makers. They stank. Someone was retching their guts out behind the wall she sat against. She should leave. Yet Pyton was right. There was music here. She strained to lock out the tensions pounding around her. She wanted to remember this rondo tossing from instrument to instrument. Her lips bent in grim satisfaction. Despite what Pyton claimed, this was where his music had been born. It had the same uneasy blood as the sound she heard now. She had no need to wait in the dark and smell of vomit. She could leave now, oath satisfied, right after this tune. The downriver trip was a single evening. She would be much slower overland. The return trip would be uphill all the way. Her uneasiness had grown with the distance from Illyr. This hole was within the shadow of the city's walls. Her subconscious alarums had been clamoring to withdraw before they'd stooped through the portal. She had to go - right after one more song. Instinctively she glanced about the walls for fire escapes. There were none. Tightness increased in her neck as she refused to let her body react to this information. She'd noticed other evident physical dangers throughout Outer City. It wasn't intelligent to ignore so many warnings. She'd better move after the next piece. The Tsayr leaned away from the contaminated wall, straining to hear the musicians through the din. She canceled out her inner alarms and pressed her fingertips together with the down beats of the music. Her hood fell back from her face. The dim lights of the tavern crawled over her face like a nervous mist. She inched closer to the musicians. An Illyrian-eyed stranger caught sight of her profile and recognized her. Discovery, fear, and guilt flushed the thrill of recklessness off her face. She started to run and tripped before her second step. The Tsayr did not look at her. The stranger dodged the packed bodies to come fawning on the Tsayr. Gradually her excitement cut through the Tsayr's hard built concentration. ''You're a Tsayr, aren't you? The one that un-named Pyton's uncle? I didn't mean anything coming here. Pyton said no one would know.'' Home or Continue? |