Robin took a deep breath, smelling spiced lamb, fried potatoes, and sour wine. He was in a corner of one of Noviel’s smaller marketplaces, but even here a veritable sea of humanity crashed and surged around him. Merchants hawked their wares, customers bartered and jingled coin pouches. Trade, lively and earthy, took place all around.

This was not one of the specialty markets, nor a place that rare curiosities were bought and sold. No, this was a smaller market, a place of life and food and common, everyday goods. Of course, everyone needed healing now and again, so there were several healers to be found, as well as the odd fortune teller, snake oil salesman, and seller of charms and trinkets.

Robin munched on an order of crispy fried potatoes. They were greasy and not nearly salty enough, so he applied [Lesser Phantasm] liberally to adjust their flavour. All of the taste and none of the negative health effects! Yes, he could have stopped eating them, but they were still hot and fresh and nice, so he kept on.

This was the seventh market he’d been to. Markets were places where gossip was traded as liberally as coin. All he needed to do was wander through, chatting to each healer he saw, and anyone that looked like they did regular business with healers (like herbalists and rag-sellers). He had no idea how many healers would show up for cheap drinks at the tavern, but better to cast as wide a net as possible, yes?

The hairs on the back of his neck stood to attention and Robin froze mid-chew. Something wasn’t right. He felt like he was being watched.

Casually, he turned, looking around the market, trying to spot what it was in all the chaos that was wigging him out. He didn’t have to look long. The source of. His discomfort made itself perfectly clear.

Made herself perfectly clear.

A woman was staring at him from a small fortune-teller booth across the street. She was slim and unnaturally pale, with long hair as fine as silk and white as snow. The only thing dark about her, really were her eyes; they were two pits of blackest, limpid night.

Robin had never seen anything so dark as those eyes.

She smiled and beckoned him over.

Nope. No way. Robin smiled and waved and shoved the last of his crispy fried potatoes in his face as he spun on his heel and marched away. He’d done enough work at this market. Time to be moving on.

Something about that woman alarmed him on a deep, instinctual level.

Robin slipped between a large man with green skin and hair in braids who was arguing with a bald-headed dwarf over the price of a shining saucepan. He’d lose himself in the crowd, then slip down the alley he had passed near to the place selling small strips of what the cook claimed was steak but Robin knew was anything but beef.

He was careful and soon found himself several streets away.

The uneasy feeling didn’t go away, however. Robin shook himself, trying to clear away the chill. Higher ground. He needed to get someplace he could see if he was being followed or not.

Fortunately, there was an eminently climbable warehouse nearby. The weathered stone provided ample handholds, and the massive bulk of the building was enough to raise him above the smaller houses and shops nearby. That should give him enough vantage to scope out anyone who might be tailing him.

After a bit of huffing and puffing—he really needed to invest some more in his Dexterity—Robin made it to the roof. He rolled over onto the warm tiles and panted a bit, catching his breath. That was harder than he thought it would be.

Rolling over on his stomach, Robin saw Noviel spread out before him like a blanket. The warehouse was on a natural rise toward the eastern edge of the city and he had a breathtaking view. For a moment, he forgot the eerie feeling of being watched, and just looked.

Noviel was laid out in ‘wards’, named either after the office responsible for them or for a notable event that occurred there at some point in the city’s history. He was currently in the Palefire district, so called for the magical accident that got out of hand and burned the ward to ash before the magic could be countered.

Seemed an odd thing to name a place after, but it wasn’t Robin’s city, so who was he to judge?

To his left he could see the businesslike sprawl of the Gatekeeper’s ward. There were three great gates piercing the walls of Noviel, but only the one to the south, and the ward around it, bore any kind of name that reflected its function. Robin couldn’t see the northwestern gate; the soaring buildings and massive central man-made-mountain of the Doge’s Ward blocked his view.

Fair enough. It was a breathtaking sight in its open right. Named for the one-time ruler of Noviel, the district held the remnants of the nobility of the old kingdom, those merchant families that had grown wealthy enough to buy their way into the ward, and the ornate residences of the elected councilmembers and powerful guild leaders.

The Ward of High Hosannahs was to the right of the Doge’s ward from Robin’s perch. Most of the temples had their official presences here. Smaller shrines and chapels were scattered throughout the city, but the ornate buildings and church quarters of the higher prelates were here, close to the nobility, close to the central hub of power of Noviel.

Not terribly surprising.

Robin shook himself away from his admiration of the city. He had hauled his arse up here for a completely different reason! He refocused his sight down along the streets and alleyways leading toward the warehouse.

He couldn’t see anyone, but that eerie feeling of being watched was still with him.

Robin looked again.

Nothing.

‘I’m afraid you won’t find me down there.’

Robin nearly fell off the roof of the warehouse. His head whipped around. There, sitting not three feet from him, was the pale woman from earlier. The one with the eyes like black holes.

‘I mean you no harm,’ she said quickly. ‘Merry Christmas, Happy Chanukah, Joyous Kwanzaa.’

Robin blinked. Those words! How did she know those words? Accented and stumbling, but unmistakably from his world! Curiosity stayed his hand, kept him planted where he was.

‘How do you—?’

‘In addition to being a very skilled healer, I am a skilled diviner and an Acolyte of,’ she paused, watching him closely, ‘Vera-Sass.’

Robin has never heard it the deity. His [Bardic Lore] also came up empty. So he just looked blank.

The woman relaxed fractionally.

‘Vera-Sass is the deity most connected to divination of any surviving power. My name is Savra. I’m sorry for the discomfort you feel. Part of that comes from Rhyth’s relationship to Vera-Sass, and part from the natural shadeling response to luxians.’ She indicated herself with that last.

Luxians, apparently, was something his lore power could help him with! They were sort of the natural opposite to shadelings. Their natural abilities were linked to light instead of shadow, to divination instead of illusion. He was unlikely to ever feel fully at ease around Savra. It was like she was designed to be the arrow aimed straight at his Achilles heel.

Well, that explained a bit.

Wait.

‘You’re a skilled healer and diviner,’ he said, ‘does that mean you’re here because you wish to join our party?’

‘Yes and no,’ Savra replied. ‘Personally, I’m not sure I really want to spend that much time delving beneath the city and facing the horrific dangers that breed in the dark down there.’ She shuddered dramatically. ‘I’ve seen too much of them from here, thank you.’

‘Then why—’

‘Vera-Sass asked me to. As a favour.’ Savra leaned in conspiratorially. ‘Between you and me, I think she misses Rhyth. Or feels guilty that Urkhan used divination spells of her design to find and destroy him.’

Robin blinked as another piece of the story fell into his lap.

‘You seem pretty calm for someone with a connection to a deity who arguably can see all. Your…Lady must be very forgiving if you’re not in fear of being smote for spilling secrets like that.’ Robin avoided addressing the deity directly by name. Just in case.

‘It can be a bit of a coin toss, but that’s something one accepts as an Acolyte.’ Savra shrugged.

‘Of course,’ Robin said, not seeing at all.

‘I know it’s not simply a matter of asking you and being granted a spot,’ Savra continued, ‘so I’ll see you at the little event you’re hosting.’ She cocked her head to one side. ‘Though you should probably think about how you can expand capacity and lay in more alcohol. You’re going to get a much bigger response than you’re expecting.’

‘Your divinations have revealed that?’ Robin’s curiosity was growing and the uneasy feeling was abating.

It didn’t fully go away, but knowing who and what was causing it helped. It made sense that a deity of illusions would be nervous around a deity of divination.

Especially one that might have contributed, even indirectly, to his current difficulties.

‘No.’ Savra smiled. ‘My knowledge of healers has revealed that. It’s a challenging path, and many of us—not all, but many—appreciate a bit of liquid comfort along the way. Also, we’re all almost always strapped. Supplies are expensive, so saving money anywhere is welcome. You’re quite possibly going to be overrun.’

Oh. Oh dear.

‘That’s…great,’ Robin said weakly. ‘The more the merrier, right? And the more candidates to choose from.’

‘You’ll not be lacking in that department,’ Savra said cheerfully.

‘No, it doesn’t sound like it.’ Robin squinted at the diviner. ‘Unless you’re lying to me to reduce competition because you really want the spot.’

Savra laughed.

‘Don’t tell me you knew I was going to say that.’

‘No.’ Savra shook her head. ‘My divination isn’t that advanced yet. But I knew you’d be suspicious. I just didn’t expect it would be so amusing. No wonder Vera-Sass misses Rhyth.’

Before Robin could suss out precisely what she meant by that, Savra rose lithely to her feet and began to walk away along the edge of the warehouse roof.

‘I’ll see you later,’ she called over her shoulder. ‘But I have a few more errands to run for Vera-Sass before then. Don’t worry. We’ll be seeing a lot of one another. You’re going to end up with me in your party.’

‘Did your goddess tell you that?’ Robin called after her.

‘She didn’t have to,’ came the reply just before Savra slipped over the edge of the roof. ‘I’m too interesting for you not to pick me. Besides, I know more about Rhyth, Vera-Sass, and Urkhan, and I know you can’t resist a mystery.’

‘That’s blackmail!’ Robin shouted.

Sara’s laugh was the only response he got.