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here she is," says the caravan master, whose name (as Caeric has learned) is Huilud. "The desert's heart." In the distance, Caeric can see the rising spires and sandstone walls of Harava, City of Tears. The caravan folk have gifted him with some of the songs and stories surrounding Harava, some concerning her status as favored of the desert gods and the famous fountain at her center, some concerning her rebellion against the desert's lords. He has seen grander cities, in his time...but after days of scorching heat and nights of burning stars, she is hardly unpleasant to the eyes. They are not the first caravan to approach this evening; others are ahead of them, and the dust is a palpable golden cloud around the gates. From the towers flies Harava's banner, the Weeping Sun: a golden, many-rayed disc upon a field of deep blue...the blue of the ocean Caeric has seen, and that the Haravai probably have not. [Qenar's landlocked, and you have to travel a ways south of the desert to get to significant bodies of water.] Huilud speaks briefly with one of the guards at the gate, and coins exchange hands: the caravan's entry tax. The guard gestures at Caeric and asks, "Where does he come from?" Smoothly, Huilud says, "He's a musician from a far land, a traveller who wishes to see the world's wonders." The guards' captain is a man who goes veiled and wears the loose robes best suited to the desert climate, though he has a grey surcoat over the robes and the strip of skin left visible by the veil's opening is pale rather than olive. The captain gives Caeric an unconvinced look, then says to him, "If you carry weapons, keep the peace knot tied if you want to keep out of trouble...traveller." He holds up his own shortsword, deftly unties the knot, then slowly reties it so Caeric can watch if he chooses; the knot re-emerges as a half-frayed and decidedly dusty rosette. With a sudden grin, the captain adds, "I'd say use your common sense, except what's 'common' to locals isn't to a foreigner. Any questions about the city ordinances?" Once they're inside the city, Huilud gives Caeric a dignified parting salaam and says, "May we meet again in rainy times, Khaarik. Stick to the better-lit guesthouses and you won't go far wrong...and if a highborn lord or lady asks for a favor, think carefully before saying no, and think carefully once again before saying yes." [Khaarik = mangled version of Caeric.] With that, Caeric is left loose in the city. There are numerous small children wearing ragged white clothes, offering to show around travellers for "just a bit of coin"; peddlers just inside the gates hawk iced wine and silk scarves "to keep the ladies' skin as fair as petals." Nearby, an intriguing sight presents itself to him: a female dancer wearing brightly-dyed clothes that leave her midriff exposed. Unlike most of the city's passing inhabitants, her hair is the lighter color of deerhide rather than black. Her golden zills tinkle, and there is a hush around her in the city's bustle so they, and the sinuous tune of the shawm-player who accompanies her, are actually audible. Her eyes are modestly downcast, though her watchers seem appreciative enough. [The shawm was a precursor to the oboe. Alas, I'm not as familiar with Middle Eastern instruments as I'd like; let's say it was "imported" from Qenar.] Other sights offer themselves to him: fruit-sellers, passing Qenaren patrols (judging by their grey uniforms), an old man creakily asking passers-by for a bite to eat...and, carefully ignored by the patrols, what looks like a duel just beginning in a circle, between two veiled men. 
Back: Caeric: Interlude 1 Sun image provided by Clipart Castle.
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