To Market

Cita looked around with interest as they approached the market. Sturdy brick buildings rose overhead. Thick shutters were flung wide to collect any stray breeze in the hot afternoon air. Above the steeply pitched roofs, tiny figures patrolled the wooden walls enclosing the township.

'Are the walls to keep something out? Or to keep something in?' Cita shuddered.

The heightening sound of sellers hawking their wares drew Cita's attention back to the present. Unfamiliar scents taunted his nose, distracting him from his tumultuous afternoon. He limped faster.

"There are many merchants gathered here at this time of year. They appreciate the safety provided by thick stone walls, and few trade towns can compete with Lord Blaah's defenses." Bilal led the way with smooth strides, his wrapped shirt and leather pants showing worn spots where his sheaths normally rode. Instead, he bore a bag filled with the tanned Infected furs he'd harvested. Cita carried a similar bag full of rough-tanned pelts.

'I'm glad Bilal skinned that swarm while I was unconscious. Is it weird that he insists they're mine? Whatever. I'll take what I can get at this point — otherwise, I'm entirely dependent on Bilal. I've got my bow and arrows, and a couple knives, but that's about it.' Cita's fingers twitched. 'My weapons are at the inn. They're fine there. I'm fine without them. It's all fine.'

*How asinine can you be, leaving your only line of defence behind? It makes you think you want it to happen again. Still, here or there, it doesn't matter.* A cruel chuckle cut through the gathering shadows. *Once your arrows are lost, and your knives are dulled, you're fair game again.*

Cita glanced around, but the few people on the street weren't looking at him. 'They're not like that here, right? But it doesn't hurt to be prepared.'

"Do you think there will be anyone with arrows like mine? I can't use wooden ones with my compound bow, and I'm not sure what to do if there's no way to replace them." I broke one already, Cita recalled. Remembered copper flooded his mouth, and he breathed deeply to slow his racing heart.

"Your … compound … bow? Is that what you call it? I have not seen anything like it in my travels, save perhaps … no. It could not be that." Bilal shook his head and frowned. "Perhaps the mage crafters can fabricate arrows. What are your arrows made from? They felt like no material I have encountered."

"Mage crafters? That's so cool! My arrows are carbon fiber. But I've used aluminum ones before." Cita met Bilal's blank stare and looked away. "Sorry."

"I do not think it likely we will find someone who can make arrows like that here. We can ask, however."

Cita scrubbed his fingers through his short, black hair and sniffed his hand before shrugging. 'Okay. Don't push. But I don't have that many arrows, and I'm no expert with Tobias's daggers.'

Pain lanced through Cita's head. Pausing, he rubbed his forehead and frowned at the deep blue sky.

'Wait, what about my daggers? I'm pretty good with them when I need to be.' Cita shrugged and hurried to catch up with Bilal.

Bilal led Cita around a corner, and the narrow street opened into a large plaza. Market stands pressed close together, clogging the available space. Cramped paths snaked between, choked with people. Cita's eyes flew wide at the sights as his hands clamped over his ears to dampen the cacophony. Exotic spices warred with the unrefined aroma of excrement, triggering an insurrection.

'Good thing I didn't eat anything before we left the inn. I'd die if I blew chunks here.'

**Is that all it would take?** Laughter swirled around him.

Cita shook his head, trying to clear a faint blue haze from his vision. "Who said that?" he asked. 'That's not the voice from before, and it's not the voice that translated Bilal's gibberish earlier.'

"Are you all right?" Bilal bellowed over the clamor.

Cita nodded instead of shouting back while his skin crawled as if ants shuttled up and down his body. No. Not ants. Spiders — dozens of them. He shuddered, rubbing his arms and the sensation subsided.

"Good. The pennant here," Bilal gestured at the patterned flag above their heads as he spoke, "marks Carriad Road. You should be able to see it from anywhere in the market. If you get lost, Carriad will take you back to the inn." Bilal grinned at Cita's stunned expression. "Here we go!"

Bilal dove into the bustle like a shark reentering the ocean.

Cita dropped his hands as he strove to keep up with tight steps, flinching away from the strangers pressing close.

Bilal had no such issue; the crowd parted around the one-winged adventurer.

Bilal's broad back sheltered Cita from the merchants' curious eyes as they moved from stall to stall.

"Is this wheat flour? Or rye?" Bilal asked one. "Can you deliver five pounds, double-bagged, to Marcus's inn?"

"This is pressed olives, right?" he asked another. "Yes, I'll take the smaller jug if you can drop it off at Marcus's inn."

"Ah." Bilal grinned, white teeth flashing over his dark shoulder. "Cita, you should come see this — it is salt, brought up from the distant sea. Have you seen the like before?" A glass jar, wide enough to require two hands to lift, was filled with dirty-white crystals.

Cita's eyes widened at the stack of coins Bilal exchanged for a tiny parcel of the sea salt, poured with care from the jar.

Bilal tucked it in a pouch and continued deeper into the market.

As they walked, Cita couldn't help but dart glances to the sides. Each unexpected touch made him flinch. His fingers itched for his long dagger. Or even the short one, he lamented.

After a while, Cita's arms loosened, and his stride opened up. He still followed Bilal but strayed here and there as goods caught his attention. Bilal was not hard to track, standing a few inches taller than most people in the market. And they always left that small gap around him, opening as he moved forward and closing behind him.

"Hist! Do ya take a look at that one? Yer down ta the mountains e'ry summer — ya e'er seen a Dracaenaekin wit'out both wings?"

"Wha'? Nah, man. No Dracaenaekin materfamilias would let such filth pollute her lineage! Poor cripple."

Cita mouthed the unfamiliar word: Dracaenaekin. He lingered near the merchants' whispered discussion.

The first laughed, "Whatcha think will happen when 'is kinfolk catch 'em?"

"I'd pay a silver weight ta see it! Na likely though, wha' wit' it bein' so far ta the mountains."

"Dincha hear? There's a passel of 'em 'round the corner by Tarban's stall."

"Wha? Magrit!" The merchant hollered at the stall to his right. "Woman!"

An auburn-haired woman poked her head up.

"Have ya got yer children close ta hand?"

The woman looked at the merchant, and then at Bilal's retreating back. "Are ya daft? He's here every spring, which ya'd know if ya weren't chasin' down ta 'Leans fer ta booze. When the spring swarms hit, ya want him in yer guard escort."

"The Infected ain't swarming now! Wha's he doin' 'ere?"

"Do I look like 'is keeper?" Magrit retorted.

Cita hurried away as Bilal went around a corner. His tight shoulders relaxed as he caught sight of the one-winged back again.

A stand full of fanciful wooden carvings distracted him, and Cita lingered. A fine-limbed horse pranced next to a flaming dragon. A tiny helmeted knight stood guard over an enthroned queen.

'How much do they want for these? If I got a few and found some paper, I could draw up some stats. Then I could start a campaign. But that would take at least one other person. Would Bilal …?' He glanced after the broad back.

*You've got a few scraps of fur, and the first thing you want to buy is stupid game pieces? You're hopeless.* A cold shadow flitted close, drowning out the afternoon light.

"It's not stupid!" Cita ground his teeth. "It's …"

The artisan eyed him. "Can I help you?"

"N-no. Not just now." Cita edged away with a last glance at a robed magician-figurine with a tiny blue orb resting on his open palm.

Despite his distraction, instinct kept a sliver of his attention on Bilal. He didn't miss the adventurer's sudden stop. Turning as if to inspect a woven pouch, Cita cloaked his interest.

Bilal moved forward to an isolated stand selling weapons.

These merchants were taller, winged people, like Bilal. They wore their hair braided or twisted into cords and bound back with golden-bead accents. The weapons they carried had hilts similar to Bilal's blades. But where Bilal had one dragon-like wing and scars that made his flesh appear melted, these people had two balanced wings and smooth, ebony skin.

'Is this the Dracaenaekin? Does he know them?'

Bilal gestured at a staff tipped with a long metal blade. A merchant shook his head in response and tossed a hand into the air, shooing Bilal away like a pesky insect. The other merchants closed in. They folded their arms across their chests, wings flaring proudly.

Discarding all sense of caution, Cita fought through the crowds.

Bilal asked again, and Cita caught one word of the merchant's response that froze him in his tracks. 'Cripple.'

Red washed Cita's vision like a filter flipped over the lens of a camera. No way. Uh-uh.

Two of the winged men moved toward Bilal.

Bilal stalked off, shoulders stiff.

Cita clenched his fists to still their shaking, watching the crowds part and close as a stray lick of flame danced over his hand. He flicked his fingers, but the fire persisted.

'This isn't right!' Cita beat his hand against his side, brushing the bag of furs. He paused. The mischievous flame was forgotten. An evil grin spread over his face and he half-sang, "Here fishy, fishy, fishy. I've got a pretty lure for you!"