peer at something to the north. Vaelin joined her, drawing up short at the sight that confronted him. It appeared to be a town of some kind, buildings and bridges clustered together in a confusing maze descending in tiers towards the shore of a huge body of water. To call it a lake seemed foolishly inadequate. It was more of an inland sea, the placid waters stretching away to a northern shore too distant to be glimpsed.
“Nushim-Lhi,” Chien said, nodding to the oddly configured town.
“Lock bridge?” Vaelin asked after puzzling over the translation.
“More like Lock Town,” Erlin said. “Any town with a bridge bears the name ‘khi,’ and this one has many. The canals come together here. Boats are conveyed to the lake by a series of locks. It’s quite a marvel of engineering, one your sister would surely find fascinating.”
“Will you look at that?” Sehmon breathed in awe. Vaelin turned to see him gazing towards the south. The source of his wonder wasn’t hard to find. The port city of Hahn-Shi stretched away to east and west, filling the horizon for at least fifty miles. Suburbs extended into the surrounding fields in dark masses, birthing roads that snaked across the orderly green landscape like the tendrils of some giant beast that had crawled from the sea.
“You could fit ten Varinsholds into that,” Sehmon said, “and still have room for more.”
“How many people live in this land?” Ellese asked Erlin, her expression more troubled than awed.
“So many the Merchant Kings have a great deal of difficulty counting them,” Erlin replied. “When I last came here the census estimated some thirty-five million in the Venerable Kingdom alone.”
“A million is a thousand thousands, yes?” Alum asked Vaelin.
“It is.”
The Moreska shook his head, letting out a grim laugh. “If my cousin hadn’t told me to follow you, I would now be insisting we turn back and find a ship to the Opal Isles. We cannot hope to remain hidden in such a land.”
A faint snort came from Chien as she started down the bank and into the fields below. Vaelin heard her mutter, “Foreigners have the wit of pigs,” as she set off towards the east without looking back.
“So, we’re not going to town,” Nortah observed.
“Faith no, the Dien-Ven would catch us in minutes,” Erlin said, descending the bank and following in Chien’s wake. “Come along. As I recall it’s only a seven- or eight-mile walk from here.”
* * *
◆ ◆ ◆
Their destination turned out to be an unedifying ramshackle mill-house on the lake-shore. The aged planks that formed its walls bowed inwards and the roof sagged. A waterwheel turned slowly in the current flowing into a broad irrigation channel, and a thin stream of grey smoke rose from the chimney. Chien came to a halt some thirty paces from the mill-house, motioning for Vaelin and the others to do the same.
“Say nothing,” she cautioned, continuing to stand as the seconds grew into minutes. Finally there came a rustle of disturbed vegetation and two men rose from the half-grown wheat stalks close by. They were each festooned with concealing leaves and faces blackened with earth. They also both carried crossbows, drawn and loaded with wickedly barbed bolts.
“You are not expected,” the man on the left told Chien. He squinted in deep suspicion as his gaze tracked over her companions.
“No, I am not,” Chien agreed. “Crab is inside?”
Although her tone lacked any emotion, something about her bearing seemed to increase the pair’s agitation. They exchanged a brief glance before stepping back, crossbows lowering to point their bolts at the ground. Chien walked past them without another glance, hefting her stick at Vaelin in a beckoning gesture. He gained a keen sense of being closely observed as she led them to the house, although the windows remained shuttered and no further rustling could be heard in the wheat stalks.
The door opened the moment Chien reached it, an old, stick-thin woman bowing low and standing aside. Following Chien inside, Vaelin blinked in surprise at finding himself in a brightly lit interior. Paper lanterns hung from the ceiling to illuminate a large space lacking stairs or rooms. Where the floor should have been there was a water-filled dock in which sat a narrow hulled boat some thirty feet from bow to stern. The mill-house, it was clear, was just a shell to conceal a hidden dock.
“Esteemed sister!” a stocky man called from the stern of the boat, raising a hand in greeting as he stepped onto the