Unlike the Tangles, where decades of dirt clung to the buildings, the villas that lined the winding streets of Gavalene reflected the sun's brilliance.Įskander's destination, the Grinding Wheel, was an inn that straddled the border between the privileged elite of Gavalene and the sweaty plebeians of the craftsmen's ward.
The pale stones of Therander Lane gleamed in the morning sunlight, creating a magnificent path that ascended straight from Tinker's Notch into the heart of Gavalene Hill. Paid shills sang out promises of quality and low prices, tailoring their spiels to the passersby like fishermen angling for the big catch.Įskander spurred his horse into a canter as he turned into a less crowded street. The spicy scent of roasting meats roused hungry bellies while imported Terranakan perfumes enraptured the senses. The crowd parted before him like a school of baitfish around a gliding shark. His tunic bore the ochre and sky-blue checkered pattern of the Ca'Dezer Cavalry, the uniform assured his unhindered progress more than the iron-shod hooves of his warhorse. It was midday and Tinker's Notch was crowded with throngs of customers seeking the district's artisanal wares.Įskander rode down the boulevard the steady hoof beats of his stallion heralding his presence. The ringing of tinkers' hammers echoed off the white plastered façades, a shrill counterpoint to the clamorous buzz of negotiations. Two and three-story buildings butted up against each other along the thoroughfare like the walls of an angular canyon. The traders were well into their haggling when Eskander reined his charger onto Ardaran Road.
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