It was time to take Rial to the council. The custom was only that the council should be informed of any newcomers, at which point they would themselves decide if they merited meeting, but Tala had no doubt in her mind that they would want to meet him.

They had spoken through the day and into the night, and though dawn had once again come her head remained full of questions. She grit her teeth in frustration as she guided Rial through the streets.

The man had asked many questions and given as many answers, but Tala could not help feeling she had got the short end of the deal. His answers were without exception elaborate and overly long, filled with qualifications and exceptions that only served to create more mysteries than they answered. Her answers, on the other hand, had been quick and to the point, and he had lapped up every one, a beaming smile of pleasure on his face.

Somehow this mysterious "friend" was at the heart of it all.

It took her a while to realise he was no longer behind her. She swore under her breath as she hurriedly retraced her steps. He shouldn't have been able to give her the slip like that; the man moved like a ghost.

Rial was standing at the previous crossroads, one formed on three sides by open street and on the last by an open patch of land, one of the many city squares that had once held markets and events and now lay strewn with debris and the remains of a decayed society. He was staring open-mouthed at a group of children sat gathered around an older man, the lot of them perched on discarded tables or battered furniture. The children were listening intently as the man spoke, the same look of rapt fascination and wonder in their eyes as now filled Rial's.

"Far far to the east," the man was saying, not yet aware of the newcomers, "lies a place where the oceans meet the land. I went there once, before the Wasting and all that has happened, and saw this port city carved into the hillside in one smooth chunk as if cast from some giant mould. No one could say how it was done, much like the walls of this city, but it was not for this that the vast crowds of people gathered there. No, it was for what lay in the bay."

The storyteller leaned forward, pausing and smiling as the children shifted tensely, impatient for what was to come.

"Far out into the bay, surrounded on the day I saw it by schooners and galleys whose high masts were dwarfed by what lay behind, are three huge and perfect spheres. They tower higher than any hill there is in that land, matched only by the mountains far to the north of here, and they shine even on the darkest day. 'The lament of the gods,' they call them, for it is said that when humanity first came to this world the gami cried for their lost children, teardrops that fell into the oceans and remain, a constant reminder that we are lost."

"He does this every day," said Tala, sidling up besides Rial as she spoke. "Telling the children of things they'll never see as if he enjoys inspiring false hope."

"There is nothing false about it," replied the fellow, hearing her comments from afar without looking up. "Is there, children? No," he continued as tens of heads shook in agreement. "No, they want to know about the world outside. They need to know."

"Rial, we need to go. You can speak to anyone you like later, even..."

"Trian."

Tala's head jerked up as Rial said the name.

Trian's face had turned white the instant he heard her companions name, highlighting the livid scars that criss-crossed his face and continued down his neck. Waving away the children, the storyteller stood and came over to them.

"Rial... What are you doing here? Where...?"

Trian's hands were shaking, Tala saw. She was surprised; hardly anything fazed this man, who had spent years out in the wilderness before she had even been on her first scouting party. Though he rarely left the city these days, despite his relative health, he was still considered a formidable fighter and valuable advisor to the council. Her mother, before passing, had spoken well of him, and his knowledge of the lands around them ran further if not deeper than any other's.

That was one of the reasons Tala didn't like him; she resented the fact that he would stay within the city walls and waste his time telling stories to children when he should be out there, helping the city to survive.

She stared up at the two as Trian stepped closer to Rial, who now had a wide smile on his face. Trian looked as if he had seen a ghost, and Tala realised that was exactly what he had seen; a ghost from his past, before he came to the city.

"So you two know each other?"

She hadn't even got the words out fully before she was interrupted, Trian bursting out in a huge bellow of laughter that put her on edge. Laughter was not a sound she was used to, nor did she think of it as anything other than a liability, making you unnecessarily obvious to what lurked in the night. The laughter increased as Rial joined in, and the two men threw their arms around each other in a hug of greeting. It irritated her.

She could barely keep up with what they were saying to each other. Both of them had quickly lapsed into a dialect she had never heard before, the same soft form Rial had first spoken in where words flowed into each other without pause in one long stream of language. It made the dialect she was used to seem harsh, almost guttural. It also meant she had no idea what they were saying.

Rial must have noticed the look on her face. He turned to her and once again spoke in comprehensible tones.

“We are old friends. From the same village, a long time ago,” he explained.

“And I’m coming with you,” said Trian, cutting in. “I need to make sure Rial knows how things work around here. It’s a much less trusting world these days.”

This last comment was obviously directed at Rial, much of the joy of meeting an old friend gone from Trian's voice.

“Less trusting? I’ll be careful,” replied Rial.

There was more to that comment than it at first seemed, Tala could tell.

They headed to meet the council, peppered by questions from the trail of children running behind.