Chapter 7: The Cliffside Market

The world beyond the archway suddenly unfolded.

I stood at the top of the stairs for a few seconds, not immediately descending. The lower city had been carved layer upon layer into the cliff face, streets clinging to the rock as they folded back and extended, stalls wedged into every crevice, as if someone had crumpled an entire city and stuffed it into the mountain's creases. The colors of the canvas awnings had been worn by the mountain wind into various degrees of fading—some had lost almost all trace of their original red, others still clung to a hint of deep blue. The passages between stalls were so narrow that only one person could squeeze through sideways. When someone approached from the opposite direction, both parties had to pull their shoulders in.

The smells arrived first.

The moist scent of herbs came first, metallic odors following behind, the smoke of roasting meat drifting up from the lower levels. And beneath all of this lay a scent resembling the air before a thunderstorm. I'd read in the literature that air soaked long-term in low-intensity magic retained this smell—supposedly the residue left after the air had been slightly torn by some kind of magnetism. I'd previously assumed that was just the kind of rhetoric writers preferred.

By the time I passed the first row of stalls, I had already counted seven things I'd never seen physical examples of in any court collection. Not only that, but wizards and witches in robes stood before each stall, along with merchants and hunters moving with hurried purpose. Those wizards could collect the materials they wanted into their bags with just a light touch of their fingers.

Glowing live beetles were housed individually in small glass jars, each label noting different luminescence durations—the shortest two hours, the longest two years. The stall keeper was a woman wearing leather wrist guards, currently using a thin needle to examine a beetle's leg, her expression focused. A few steps further, glass tubes sealed with wax contained mists of varying colors, classified by cloud source, from ordinary thunderclouds to volcanic ash clouds, with price differences reaching twenty-fold. Further down, behind a table stained old blue, sat a gaunt old man, his table displaying three types of memory-erasing agents, their labels formatted even more rigorously than royal pharmacopoeia standards, even the side effects column filled to capacity.

Down another row, my footsteps stopped.

Herbs listed as "legendary scarcity" in the court pharmacopoeia were laid out there in living bundles.

I counted—at least six varieties I couldn't buy with money at Thornside Market in the capital. For instance, Bittersorrel, usually only found in northern deep valleys, braided into small bunches hanging from beams. Greythorn roots, three years to maturity, the color of the cut ends clearly fresh.

Not only that, but everything was quite reasonably priced, not much more expensive than ordinary medicinal materials.

However, what surprised me most was that the stall keeper had put out Silverthread, also at normal market prices. This meant he hadn't acquired it from grave-robbing dealers and had a stable supply channel, unaffected by the eastern route disruption.

The books truly hadn't lied to me—in the wizards' lower city, you could find everything possible and impossible.

"That expression of yours makes it very hard to explain that you're not planning to rush over and buy out the entire stall."

Cade spoke inopportunely behind me, somewhat mocking in tone.

"I'm not that impulsive." Though I very much wanted to pick up and examine every herb I'd never seen, thinking of that damnable curse, I could only stand to one side without moving.

"You look very impulsive."

"I'm just casually looking."

I didn't even bother turning around as I spoke. He only snorted with laughter, not exposing me.

He took a step forward, nodding to a nearby stall keeper.

It was a stocky man, around fifty, with an old scar above his left eyebrow. The instant he saw Cade, his shoulders first tightened, then relaxed, returning a greeting I couldn't quite hear, the tone at the end rising with a questioning lilt. Cade's response was even shorter, an affirmative syllable.

Two more steps. The second stall keeper was a woman wearing silver earrings. When she saw Cade approaching, her gaze immediately shifted away, and she began organizing a bundle of sacks she had actually already organized, her fingers repeatedly hooking and releasing at the knotted places. Cade didn't go over to speak with her, his steps quickening slightly, as if not wanting to put her in an awkward position.

The next stall keeper was a very young boy, currently adding a cloth cover to a wooden box behind his table. The instant Cade passed by him, the boy's hand tightened sharply, securing the lid firmly. Cade didn't even look in that direction, but his footsteps had an extremely subtle pause as he passed the box, less than half a step. He knew the box had been closed. He knew the boy was avoiding him.

"Kid, don't be so nervous. I already paid you back for smashing up your stall last time. I didn't expect the tavern owner to get so worked up just because I owed a bit on my tab. There won't be a next time, I promise."

He had already quickened his pace to walk away, but seeing my suspicious gaze, he sighed, turned back, and spoke to the boy with a coaxing smile. The boy's expression remained guarded, and even after Cade walked away, he carefully put that jar away.

The lower city knew Cade.

Some people were willing to see him, some didn't want to run into him, and by the third boy's stall it had reached the point of actively hiding things. It seemed he'd caused quite a bit of trouble here, and also had quite a few friends.

I kept my footsteps at their original rhythm, too lazy to ask more questions, saving myself from his incessant explanations.

"The inn's up ahead," he snapped his fingers to get my attention, and after I turned my head sharply, he raised his hand to point toward a leaping horse sign in the distance. "Turn right, two intersections."

I rolled my eyes where he couldn't see.

"Who said I need lodging? You've already brought me to Elarin, mission accomplished."

I felt in my pocket and pulled out a few silver coins. I considered it a reasonable price for his services as a guide.

"Now you should take your money and leave."

But he didn't take the coins, just shrugged.

"Don't rush, Miss... Impatient. You clearly haven't been to Elarin before. You still need me to show you the way, wherever you're going."

He gave a sly smile, revealing a canine tooth. I stared at him for a long while—he was just like melted rubber, stuck on and impossible to shake off.

However, what he said wasn't wrong. The stone pavement here was pitted and uneven, directions obscured by shops and oddly-shaped wooden houses. My destination was the wizard's tower, which felt far away. The sun had already gradually sunk toward the horizon—it seemed I wouldn't be able to go there today.

I could only put the silver coins away first, looking at him with both wariness and incomprehension.

"Do as you like. But I won't be paying you extra."

"Fine, fine, my lady."

The inn was wedged into an indentation in the cliff face, its door so low I had to bend slightly to enter. Inside was brighter than outside, several magic lamps hanging from low beams, their light leaning yellow, warming the stone walls they illuminated. Behind the counter sat an old man with graying beard. He looked up and saw Cade, his face first showing brief surprise, then shifting to something I couldn't read, finally settling on a recognition that was neither particularly warm nor exactly cold.

"Back again," the old man said, tossing aside his rag. "This time with a friend."

The old man was at least smart enough not to say girlfriend. I pulled my hood down further. Cade was far too conspicuous—I really shouldn't be staying with someone like him.

His shoulders tensed briefly, then relaxed.

"Two rooms."

"Third floor then." The old man's eyes swept quickly from Cade to me, then back again. Then he fished out two keys from beneath the counter and placed them on the wooden board, saying nothing more.

I had originally wanted to pay for my own room, but Cade stopped me. He didn't use silver coins, but instead pulled out several paper notes and pushed them across. The old man licked his finger, counted them, and pocketed them.

"That's the common currency here, can't be traced by magic. Consider the room fee part of my service charge."

He winked at me in explanation. I didn't know whether it was true or false, just assumed he wanted to swindle more silver coins from me later.