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“Shut
your face Grimrole, I’ve no belly to be drinking from the
dung-heap of your wisdom tonight.” The barman snapped. “They’ve
loyalty enough to those that have the gold, and those that have
the gold would be the ones being robed.”
“Not the ones killed!” Grimrole snapped back.
“That’s probably true enough.” The barman
grumbled and picked up another cup to wipe. Naill was sure that
no matter where she went in this world, if there was a bar,
there would be a barman cleaning a cup with a towel.
Soon after they were back on their horses heading for the gates
of Shelzar, and now those gates were in sight. The light from
the torches is much brighter than torches normally are, and
with the guards standing so close to them, Mac Anu reasons there
is magic involved. Twice as bright normally meant twice as hot,
and with as bright as these were, those guards would be on fire
if the flames were not magic.
It is strange to see magic being used in such a simple every
day way, and it tells more about the wealth inside these walls
than the gold rings and other jewelry on those passing through
to the streets beyond. In Darakeene's cities there were always
those who were wealthy and wore jewels with fine clothes, but
they were also walking through mud on the way to their gilded
coaches. Public areas were rarely maintained with more than
the required care to keep them functioning. Here were torches
made with magic, on the outside of the walls, so someone was
so wealthy that they had money for even mundane public items.
He told his logic to Naill, who looked at him in silence for
a long time and then laughed.
“What?” Mac Anu asked.
“They are everburning torches.” Naill said.
“Yes?” Mac Anu said, lifting his eyebrow.
She shook her head. “They are cheapskates. They would
rather purchase the torch once, knowing it will last for decades
if no one chops it off the wall, than to pay for the thousands
of torches or oil sacks it would take to do the same job over
the same amount of time.”
