Fallen Read Free

course. A goat from here is the same as a goat from there, she'd said. But he had reminded her of her own voyages to Ventgoria, and what she had seen there, and her expression had clouded for a few beats before she waved his concerns away.
    He had heard of ravens, existing far to the south, that stole dreams. Pecked holes in skulls while their victims were asleep. Bring a few mating pairs of those things to Long Marrakash and—
    “Ramus!”
    He blinked, looked at the wooden bridge and saw Nomi standing there. A tall, slender man stood behind her, head bowed. She beckoned Ramus over.
    “Ramus, this is Ten.”
    Ramus nodded at the tall man. “First name, last or one in between?”
    “Only name,” Ten said.
    Ramus held out his hands and, after a brief pause, the man grasped them in his own. “Good travels,” Ramus said.
    Ten smiled, a hint of mockery behind the leathery mask of his face.
    “Let's eat!” Nomi said. “I'm starving. I hear they caught a cloud of river plumes last night. Shall we?”
    Nomi went first and, after an awkward moment, Ten followed. Ramus came last, using the time it took them to reach Naru May's to examine the man.
    He really was a wanderer. Ramus had been doubtful last night, but the man's true nature was obvious. The mix of clothes, the skin leathered by the sun and elements, the neutral accent—although Ramus thought he'd detected a twang of the Pavissia Steppes somewhere in there. Ten also exuded the vague superiority projected by every wanderer when they visited a settlement, especially one as large as Long Marrakash. The feeling was often well earned; the average wanderer had seen more than most Noreelans.
    It was also rare that they lived into old age. The dangers of Noreela would take them—the harsh elements; clashes with other wanderers, nomadic tribes or marauders or falling prey to some of Noreela's deadlier wildlife. This man looked ten years Ramus's senior, which Ramus could respect. He carried a longbow over his left shoulder, a quiver of arrows across his back and a short, wide sword in a scabbard strapped to his leg. Ramus could hear the clinks of other weapons secreted beneath his cloak.
    They took a table close to the edge of the deck and a server hurried across, ignoring the outstretched hands of several other patrons.
    “Savi,” Nomi said, “it's a good morning, and we have a guest. I want a bowl of sautéed river plumes, a selection of bread, a bottle of cydrax . . .” She looked at Ramus, eyebrows raised.
    “Sheebok testicles?” Ramus asked. The girl nodded, then looked at Ten.
    The tall man said nothing.
    “And a bowl of plumes for my guest,” Nomi said. “And Savi? The good plumes. Make sure they haven't dried out.”
    “Of course, Mam Hyden.” The girl hurried away to the covered kitchen at the corner of the deck.
    “You might as well own this place,” Ramus said.
    Nomi shrugged. “Ten, this is the man I was telling you about.”
    “The Voyager?” Ten looked at Ramus, appraising him for the first time. “Where have you been?”
    For a heartbeat Ramus was ready to curse him. But he sensed Nomi's tension, her simmering excitement, and he was intrigued. Piss, he was more than intrigued, he was interested.
    “My main interest is the unnamed mountains, bordering Ventgoria and—”
    “I know where they are,” Ten said. “Where else?”
    “Pengulfin Woods,” Ramus said. “The Cantrassan coast. Some of the islands of The Spine.”
    Ten nodded thoughtfully. “I've been to the Divide.”
    The table fell silent. Ramus held his breath, waiting for Ten's expression to break into a mocking smile, but it did not. His eyes were cool, his mouth downturned.
    Nomi's eyes glittered.
    “No one has been there and returned,” Ramus said.
    Ten snorted and rolled his eyes. “You believe that?”
    “Of course. I know that. I'm a Voyager, of the Guild of Voyagers. I know three Voyagers who went south for the Great Divide over the space of ten years. No one has