DragonKnight - Donita K. Paul [18]
Bardon walked through the streets of midtown Norst, sizing up the people and the nature of the city. He made a swift survey of the races represented in the market around him. The mixture of populace contained tumanhofers, mariones, and o’rants, typical of most cities in the south-western regions of Amara. He saw no small kimens nor any huge urohms. This didn’t surprise him. The smallest and largest of the seven high races tended to keep to themselves. He saw two doneels, obviously businessmen by their dress. But no emerlindians walked along the market district.
I wonder how amazed these people would be if they knew of their two visitors. The presence of emerlindians among the other six high races has steadily declined for over a hundred years. And what a clamor would arise if they discovered Jue Seeno!
He glanced around at those on the street once more. This crowd is representative of the statistics Professor Gledupkonstepper liked to quote in class. “Only three of the high races populate the majority of Amara’s average cities.”
The economic situation for the township seemed stable. Open doors with people going in and out indicated that the businesses he passed were thriving. Small donkeys pulled carts over the cobblestone, creating a background beat to the musical quality of the conversations. Friendly greetings, cheerful hawking of wares, and shoppers’ chatter as they moved from one store to the next wiped the frown from Bardon’s face. Optimism pushed aside his pragmatic temperament.
The question is, How can I find work for a day or two so that I can fill our purse with enough coins to get this quest underway? That comet is not going to wait for me to gather funds.
He stopped and read the names of all the shops on a bustling corner. Grocer, Dressmaker, Music, Barber, Books, Furniture. Not one thing I could lend my hand to and earn a significant amount of money. I shall have to look further.
He strolled down one street, looking for a busier tavern than the one that held the gateway. The Rafters filled the bill. He crossed the threshold and scanned the crowd for a likely looking group of men. He headed for a half-dozen workers eating a hearty meal. They must have been up early and labored hard to be downing such a large quantity of food at midmorning.
Ordering a tall mug of Korskan tea from a passing maidservant, Bardon sat down at the long plank table where the men ate.
“I’m looking for work,” he announced.
The men nodded their heads and continued to chew.
“I’m squire to a doneel in Wittoom and find I need some traveling funds.”
They nodded again. Bardon waited.
One of the marione men took a draft of his ale, wiped his bearded mouth on his sleeve, and looked at the stranger.
“Corduff is hiring mine workers. Good pay if you live.”
“Naw, don’t send him there,” said a red-headed o’rant. “Gallatennodken is looking for a scholar to translate a parchment brought in by one of his treasure seekers. Said it was in some ancient doneel language. Maybe he can help there.”
A tumanhofer lifted his head from the soup bowl he held to his lips. “Heard he found a linguist two days ago.”
Except for slurping and smacking of lips, the crew at the table fell silent. The maid delivered Bardon’s drink, and he gave her a coin. The cold tea tasted good, having a citrus tang that cut the otherwise sweet brew.
“There’s Hoddack,” said the red-headed o’rant.
The other men remained silent.
“Hoddack’s looking for someone to break six young kindias. Their training time is running out.”
The tumanhofer removed his face from his soup bowl again. “Tell him what happened to the last breaker. Only fair.”
The o’rant snorted. “Got stepped on is all. The job is to stay on until the animal is biddable. The breaker didn’t do his job.”
Bardon’s fingers, encircling the glass mug, tightened as he looked deep into the tawny brown liquid. He’d ridden kindias as part of his training. Taller and wider than horses, the beasts could travel at incredible speeds through rugged terrain. Their backs sloped down from their