Darkvision - Bruce R. Cordell [73]
Essam clapped his hands and yelled, "Call the healer-we have visitors, and one is ill. Come! Do not stare, my friends-we shall have time to make their acquaintance when our visitors have rested and washed away the burdens of their journey." Essam paused and smiled openly at Kiril. "Perhaps we might hope for a story from our guests, describing how they found themselves on our porch, running before a gowaan storm."
Several children rushed forward, curious, along with a young elf woman in a blue caftan, hardly older than a child herself. She nodded at Kiril and said, "My name is Fadheela. You and your friend can stay in our guestroom. My father is a healer."
Kiril blinked, taking in the comfort of the round chamber. A covering stitched with desert stars hung from the ceiling. Soft sheepskin lay across the floor. A fire in a tiny side alcove burned away the subterranean chill. No smoke lingered in the room-the fireplace was apparently well vented. Kiril wondered briefly how fresh air was drawn in, then shrugged. The elves of Al Qahera had obviously worked it out.
* * * * *
"I do feel much better, Kiril," said Thormud in an irritated tone. The dwarf sat propped up on the small bed, his back against a wooden headboard carved with still more elaborate designs. "I'd like to go down to the plaza tonight to talk with the Qaherans."
"You heard Fadheela's father. You've caught some sort of dolor, and you need bed rest if you want to shake it off."
"But…"
"Tonight, you sleep."
The geomancer sighed. "Perhaps that would be best. I am strangely fatigued."
Kiril didn't tell the dwarf the entire diagnosis. Fadheela's father felt that the dwarf might be suffering from some sort of magical curse. It was a potential explanation for Thormud's lack of response to the healer's spell of purification.
"Damn right, it's for the best. Don't worry. I'll tell you everything that happens. Maybe they know something about what we're looking for. Maybe they've seen something strange out in the desert."
The dwarf nodded but was already blinking his eyes. He fell asleep a moment later.
Kiril pulled up his blanket, strapped Angul to her belt, and departed the small chamber.
Fadheela waited for her in the foyer of the apartment, one of many similar apartments on both sides, above, and below. The best apartments faced the central plaza of Al Qahera, and as a healer, Fadheela's father enjoyed some privilege.
"How is your friend?" Fadheela asked.
"Better. He's asleep. Maybe I'll take him something to eat later."
"Good-that sounds good!" Fadheela clapped happily, then reached forward to grasp one of Kiril's hands. The swordswoman, out of surprise, allowed the desert elf to complete the motion without losing a limb.
Fadheela said, "Come with me, then. Everyone's down in the plaza. You'll just love meeting everyone, I promise!" The girl pulled, and Kiril consciously forced herself not to resist the tug out of the apartment. They walked onto the wide balcony two stories above the tiled floor of the central courtyard and looked down.
Since she'd rested in Fadheela's rooms, answered her father's questions, and washed off several days of travel, the lamps in the courtyard had been turned down, dousing the corners of the chamber in warm shadow. A large bonfire blazed in a stone-lined firepit. Kiril traced the smoke as it rose up past their balcony and floated up a few more stories before exiting through a large cavity in the ceiling.
The odor of something succulent roasting over the flames pulled her gaze back down to the fire, where young Qaherans slowly turned several spits. Others were setting up large plank tables and stools. A group of elves tuned up flutes, sitars, drums, and other instruments. Well over a hundred people gathered in the plaza-and perhaps double that number.
"What's all this?" Kiril asked, an anxious note creeping into her voice.
Her enthusiastic guide smiled and said, "We do this every night-don't worry, you needn't