Anvar rounded the bend to see the dark bulk of the dead horse lying in the road. The body still steamed. The great bully who had been riding it stood over it, quite unscathed and scalding the air with oaths. Anvar was consumed with anger. Without pausing to consider the consequences, he leapt from the cart and hurled himself at the big, bearded horseman. “You bastard!” he screamed. “You callous bastard!” The man ignored him completely, his eye suddenly lighting on the cart. Brushing Anvar aside with casual, contemptuous strength, he ran forward and drew a dagger from his belt to cut the old horse free from the traces.
Anvar hauled himself out of the ditch, horrified at the result of his folly. “No!” he yelled and ran forward to tug at the madman’s arm. A blow sent him spinning. The big man threw the last of the harness aside, cut off the trailing ends of the long reins, and leapt astride the horse’s bare back. Lazy shied, rolling his eyes, and the man gave a savage jerk at the reins. Anvar picked himself up, tears in his eyes, and hauled desperately at the rider’s muddy cloak. “Please, sir,” he begged, “he’s old. You can’t—”
The stranger turned to look at him as though noticing him for the first time, his grim expression suddenly softening to compassion and regret. “I’m truly sorry, lad,” he said gently, “but it’s an emergency. There’s a young girl’s life at stake, and I must get to the Healer. Try to understand, I’ll leave him at the Academy. Tell them Forral sent you,” He clasped Anvar’s shoulder briefly, and was gone with a clatter of hooves. Anvar stared after him for a long moment, then turned to contemplate the abandoned cart with its precious load. The flour would be late that morning and Tori would be unable to start work. They would lose money through this, for sure. Anvar sighed, and set off walking back toward the mill to borrow a horse. His father was going to be absolutely livid,
Anvar’s family lived in the north of Nexis, in the thickly populated labyrinth of narrow stpeet|pthat clustered within the great city wall -on the upper slopes of the broad valley. Farther down were the great stone thoroughfares with their magnificent, colonnaded buildings and marvelous markets and shops. Slightly apart, on a plateau where the slope leveled briefly before continuing its descent, stood the large gray fortresslike complex of the legendary Garrison. Lining the northern river-bank at the bottom of the vale were the warehouses and wharves of the merchants, with their usual dockside complement of rats, beggars, cutpurses, and whores. Elegant bridges leapt across the river’s broad flow at various points, connecting the working areas in the north of the city to the very different environment on the south bank.
South of the rivejr,, the valley sloped upward in a series of steep wooded terraces. Set like jewels among the trees were the opulent mansions of the merchants with their smooth lawns and lush, glowing gardens where colored lanterns burned on balmy summer evenings when the air was thick with the scent of many flowers. At the mid-point of its journey through the city, the river made a detour, looping north in an oxbow before reemerging to resume its path to the sea. Within this loop stood a high, rocky promontory, almost an island, connected to the southern bank by a narrow tongue of land barred with an arched white gate. Set on top of the promontory, the highest point in the city, were the white-walled towers of the Academy where the Magefolk dwelt in splendid and lofty isolation.
The morning was wearing away when Anvar drove his borrowed horse past the guards at the northern city gate and threaded his way through the narrow streets toward home. The houses and workshops in this part of the city were simply but solidly constructed of wood, brick, and plaster. Most of the homes were well cared for, and the streets were cobbled but clean. Anvar had heard that in smaller towns, people threw their waste out of the windows, turning the thoroughfares into an open sewer. In Nexis, jewel among cities and home of the Magefolk, such a thing would be unthinkable. Some two hundred years previously, Bavordran, a Mage skilled in Water-magic, had designed an elaborate and effective system of underground sewers to furnish the entire city, and the Magefolk, for once, (for they were not exactly famed for helping the Mortal population of Nexis,) took the duty of their magical upkeep very seriously indeed.
Anvar’s family lived above Tori’s bakery, where bread, cakes, and pies were made to sell in the little market held daily in a nearby square. Usually the fragrance of baking loaves filled the street, but not today. As he neared the house, Anvar could hear his father’s voice raised in anger, and chewed his lip nervously. He’d be in trouble over this, for sure. He turned the cart carefully down the narrow alleyway that led to the little stable behind the house, and made Jard’s horse comfortable in Lazy’s stall. There was no point in delaying. The later he was, the more angry Tori would become. Squaring his shoulders, Anvar crossed the yard and went reluctantly into the bakery. He hoped that his father would give him a chance to explain.
Tori was in no mood for excuses. “But it wasn’t my fault!” Anvar pleaded. “He knocked me down and took the horse—”
“And you just let him! That animal is our livelihood, you stupid boy. Do you know what you’ve done? Do you?” Tori raised his big fist, his arm brawny from years of lifting bags of flour and kneading stiff dough. Anvar ducked and the blow caught him on the shoulder, spinning him into the corner where he knocked over a clattering stack of empty bread trays in falling. “Clumsy fool!” His father advanced on him like a great, menacing shadow, hauled him up and hit him again. “Stay still, you!” The baker began to unbuckle his belt.
“Leave him alone, Tori. It wasn’t the boy’s fault.” Grandpa’s voice was filled with quiet authority. Anvar, nursing his bruises, sagged with relief at the unexpected reprieve. The old man was the only person who could defy his son’s temper when Tori was in this mood.
Grandpa was Anvar’s confidant, teacher, protector, and friend. He was a great hulk of a man, with a shock of white hair, a gentle expression, and a bristling moustache. He’d been a carpenter by trade, and his thick-fingered hands could do miracles of intricate, delicate carving that were much in demand, and brought in welcome pennies to the household. But he gave away as many pieces as he sold—much to Tori’s disgust. A countryman at heart, the old man had come to live with his son after the tragic early death of his wife, a sweet and lovely person—and a legendary cook. It was she who had taught Tori the skills that made his^baking so much in demand. For years Grandpa had tried to bury his grief in his work, but now he was content to rest and enjoy his grandsons, trying to teach them the older, simpler values of his youth. In Anvar he had a willing pupil, but Bern, the younger brother, was his father’s son, from his dark, sturdy appearance to his love of the business and the worship of profit.
Tori scowled. Letting go of Anvar, he turned on Grandpa. “You stay out of this, old man!”
“I don’t think so, Tori. Not this time.” Grandpa placed himself between the wrathful baker and his victim. “You’re too hard on the lad.”
“And you spoil him, you and his wretched mother! No wonder the boy is good, for nothing!”
“He’s good for a great many things, if you would give him a chance,” Grandpa said firmly. “Instead of taking it out on him, why don’t you go up to the Academy and see what’s happened to the horse?”
“What? Trek all the way across town and up that bloody great hill? Have you lost your wits, Father? Enough of today’s been wasted, thanks to this idiot!”
“Nonsense, Tori. You can take Jard’s horse, and the trip may well be worth your time. It won’t hurt to have your name known at the Academy—they eat bread too, you know. We can start the baking while you’re gone, and there’s a good chance that you’ll be compensated by this Forral. From what Anvar said, he seemed an honorable man, and if it was an emergency, what else could he do? You’d have done the same thing yourself, if anything had happened to Bern.”