With no warning, Stone stepped out of the grass. Moon twitched in spite of himself. Stone was in his groundling form now too, with gray skin and hair, in battered clothes much like Moon’s, and a pack slung across his shoulder. He was somehow already dry and mostly clean, despite having been buried in a mud wallow for most of the afternoon. Clearly not in any better a mood than Moon was, he said, “What’s taking you so long?”
“I’m waiting for you.” Moon hissed at him and followed him back through the grass.
The port that lay just beyond the wetland was far enough from the protected Imperial Kish territories to be wary of Fell. Since Raksuran consorts were almost always mistaken for Fell by uninformed groundlings, approaching it by air in the late afternoon daylight had been impossible. Also, it had been several long days and nights of flight across the archipelago to the mainland coast, and they had needed a few hours rest. If their quarry had come here, they were already too late to catch them; the best they hoped for was some confirmation that they were on the right track.
They slogged through the weeds until they came to a seawall constructed of huge chunks of sandy-colored rock. It was nearly fifty paces tall, and reminded Moon of the ancient roadways in the east and down in the Abascene peninsula. Following Stone, Moon clambered up, the rough texture of the rock still holding the day’s heat and warm against the hard soles of his feet.
At the top Moon saw the lights of the port, though it was already dark enough not to be able to make out much detail. But Rorra had described it well enough for Moon to know what they were looking at.
A long curve of lights marked the dock area where the sea-going ships would tie up, though many lay at anchor in the protected harbor. Just past the docks were tall dome-shapes dotted with light that weren’t made of stone or metal or wood, but were a kind of resin excreted by tame creatures that sounded like a combination of herdbeast grasseaters and skylings. The domes were used as dwellings and warehouses for cargo. Past them were clusters of tall spindly metal structures that looked like giant flowers; those were docks for flying boats. Between them a mutli-storied web of bridges and walkways and suspended structures linked the stalks for the groundling crews and formed an upper city for the skylings.
They made their way along the seawall as it sloped down slightly until it was only twelve or so paces above the muddy ground. When it turned toward the harbor, Moon and Stone climbed down and headed in toward the domes.
Moon tasted the air and winced. Groundling cities held a myriad of different scents, but this place had a bitter undertone of predator musk that confirmed all of Rorra’s warnings. It also made the skin of Moon’s fingertips itch, an urge to flex the claws he didn’t have in this form.
The area around the nearest dome was lit by tall lamps hanging from metal poles. The dangling glass bubbles were filled with the darting, glowing flickers of trapped insects. More light spilled out of a large round door, and figures moved inside.
It was too far from the flying boat docks to be useful to them, so Moon meant to pass it by. But as they crossed the circle of light, a shape came rumbling out toward them.
It was large and thick, with heavy muscles in its arms and legs, and slick light green skin. Its head was a rounded lump set directly on its shoulders, and its nose and wide mouth were equally compressed, as if it was designed not to give an enemy anything to get a grip on. Its hands were big and clawed, and bone spikes stood out all over its body, along its arms, on its shoulders and the top of its head. Moon thought they were inserted, not natural, since there was bruising on the skin around them. It was wearing a harness of fishskin with various sharp metal implements attached to it and a bone armor plate over its genitals. From the webbing on its feet, Moon guessed it was a swampling.
It advanced on them, making a gargling noise Moon realized was a laugh. In gravelly Kedaic, it said, “Soft skins. You know what we do with soft skins here?”
Stone stopped and tilted his head to regard the swampling with his one good eye. The other eye was clouded, and had been from birth; Moon had never been sure how well Stone could see out of it. Stone said, easily, “No. What do you think I’ll do when I find out?”
Moon winced and rubbed his temple, and said in Raksuran, “Don’t.” They had been traveling hard, Stone doing the flying so they could move as fast as possible, feeding on nothing but the fish Moon could catch during the brief rests when they found an uninhabited island or a sandbar. If Stone’s temper snapped, it would just make this harder.
To the swampling, Stone said, “Wait.” He turned to Moon and said in Raksuran, “‘Don’t’ what? You’re the one with the temper.”
Moon folded his arms. “You’re senile and delusional.” Admittedly, Moon wasn’t exactly in a good mood either.
“After him, you’re next.” Stone turned back to the swampling. “Now what do you want?”
The swampling hesitated, rocking on its heels, the blades on its harness jingling. It had clearly expected them to be afraid. That they weren’t implied its estimation of their ability to defend themselves was incorrect, possibly fatally so. But it rallied and said, “There’s nothing but trouble for softskins here.”
Stone said, “Good, that’s exactly how we like it.”
Moon snarled in irritation and asked the swampling, “Is there a resting place for flying boat crews?”
The swampling looked from Moon to Stone. Stone seemed to be taking up far more room than could be accounted for by the size of his groundling body. The swampling stepped back and pointed. “They mostly stay on the hive masts, and the webs.”
That was no help. Moon suppressed a hiss of frustration. They didn’t have time to search the whole upper city.
Stone eyed the swampling a moment more, then stepped past it and walked on into the darkness. As Moon followed, the swampling made a last attempt to dominate the encounter and called after them, “Careful. Somebody might get eaten.”
“Not just now. Maybe later,” Stone called back.
Moon hissed. “That’s not funny.”
Stone glanced at him. Moon couldn’t read his expression in the dark, but he was fairly sure he was getting that annoyed look again.
There were broad pathways of hard-packed dirt between the domes, and no real attempt to light the way. The other structures seemed makeshift at best: shacks and lean-tos made of driftwood and fragments of large insect carapaces, probably from the same creatures who made the resin for the domes. Huddled figures sat outside, watching the foot traffic pass. The scents were intense, bitter and smoky and rotten and sweet, and Moon could identify few of them. Stone didn’t react, but then Stone didn’t react to a lot of things. Though his senses were far more acute than Moon’s, he was able to filter out scents and sounds much more effectively.
They found their way through a cluster of domes, most rowdy with small crowds of various species of swampling and other scaled groundlings. Like the first swampling had said, Moon didn’t see any groundlings with soft skin. No one approached them, and most ignored them, but Moon caught one or two watching them with a possessive intensity. It made his back teeth ache and his prey reflex twitch. He hoped he and Stone could do their business and get out of here without killing anybody. He said in Raksuran, “Maybe we should have done this in daylight.”
“No, it wasn’t worth the risk.” Stone sounded less irritable. “The last thing we need is for some ally of the Hians to figure out that we’re on the right trail.”
Moon hoped they were on the right trail. When they had left the others, Lithe’s visions had still been indicating movement.