Healer of Sakkara

Chapter 6 - Wanted

Once through the gate, Galen dashed along the narrow, curving street that hugged the inside of Dern's great wall. It was the fastest way to reach the opposite side of the waterfront, where the larger ships anchored off the end of a long wharf.

He hadn't imagined he'd see the stranger again, much less right here in Dern, and the possibility of retrieving his pendant loomed large in his mind, eclipsing all other thoughts.

As he neared the next gate, however, his steps slowed. What was his plan? Did he intend to march right up to the stranger and demand his pendant back? Would he even get close enough to try? The stranger hadn't hurt him in the forest, and hadn't seemed to want to; but that didn't mean he wouldn't. If he was as wealthy and important as his mode of arrival implied, and if he had guards under his command, he could have Galen arrested—or worse—just for bothering him.

He had to be careful, he decided, as he passed through the arched gates and jogged down the slippery steps towards the 'business end' of the quay; he'd watch, and wait for his chance.

At least he stood out less on the docks than he did anywhere else in Dern. As the trade ships came and went, loading and unloading cargo, the crews came ashore to stretch their legs and spend their coin; but they did that here, for the most part—outside the city walls, in the ever-changing market of little stalls that popped up along the docks. Galen was still the only Pyrran, but it was much harder to spot him amidst the diverse blend of clothing and the different shades of skin and hair.

There were bronze-skinned Yuthis with red-brown curls and green eyes; dark-skinned Edraxi with eyes like smoldering coals; strangely pale Abarrans with their white hair and red eyes, who often lost their sight at a young age; a few Sakkarans, who resembled Thrynians but had dark eyes; and, rarest of all, the reclusive Naqqiri—tall and thin, with skin nearly as black as the Edraxi, but with startling blue irises.

Usually, there would be many Thrynians here, too, mingling with the itinerant merchants and hawking their own wares, but Galen saw few blond or red heads among the crowds lining the docks.

Keeping his own head down, he ducked and scurried along the narrow path between the stalls, and made his way towards the wharf.

The wharf was a long, wide platform of wood, built on stone pillars and extending out into the deeper channel, where the larger ships docked. The Sakkaran vessel was just coming alongside as Galen reached the last market stall before the row of taverns and brothels that catered almost exclusively to the foreign merchant crews.

Situated beneath a high, sheer cliff of perpetually wet stone, above which rose the walls of Dern, the Shades—as the area was known—deserved its name in more ways than one. There were places there where the sun never shone, and if you were looking to do some less-than-legitimate business, the Shades was where to come.

Of course, Galen was forbidden to go there; but he'd been once or twice with Behn, on a dare, and knew his way around well enough.

Nearer the wharf, there were stacks of boxes and large wooden crates piled at intervals all along the quay, waiting to be wheeled out to the ships, or carted into Dern.

Galen lingered by one of these, and when he was certain no one observed him, he slipped into the shadowed space between two stacks. There, he waited and watched through the gaps as a gangplank was raised to the side of the sleek Sakkaran ship, and figures began to descend.

It wasn't a merchant vessel, Galen thought. The twenty-mile stretch of river between the seaport at Lotte's Landing and Dern was a quarter-mile wide, on average: slow-moving, and calm. Merchants packed every available space with cargo, including the decks, and the Sakarran ship's decks were clear. The crew was minimal, too, and the only passengers seemed to be the five who descended to the wharf, among whom walked the stranger with the long black braid.