Salen made a face and sidestepped as the slobbering man lying in the gutter vomited. The retching noise disturbed her, and she prayed fervently that M’sairas, the old seer she and Kyle were seeking, wasn’t lying in a gutter somewhere else, as sodden and drunken as this drooling man before her. Kyle took her elbow and discreetly steered her around a small, rickety table set up outside the Rangy Hound, where a fortune teller delt out a trio of tarot cards to another mercenary. “You’ll meet with grave misfortune tonight,” she intoned. “The cards are unclear, but I think I can see....” “A fraud,” Kyle finished quietly. They walked on toward the Bashful Maiden, where several women--none too bashful, Salen noticed--lounged on benches outside, wearing corsets and short skirts and little else. Kyle’s eyes wandered briefly over the women, though they whistled to him and Salen both. One stepped forward, brushing up against Kyle. “A copper for the night, sir?” she asked, batting her long lashes coyly. This girl could not have been more than fifteen, younger even than Salen. “I’m sorry, ladies,” Kyle apologized, “but my friend and I are busy tonight. Perhaps some other time.” The girls pouted, then moved on to the next set of passers-by. Kyle left Salen’s side for a moment, heading for a small stand that sold leathers. “I need a new sword-belt,” he told Salen, though she knew he would be asking for the whereabouts of M’sairas. She nodded and waited near the doorway to a tavern dubbed the Blind Seer. She glanced at the symbol on the sign plaque, a bent man holding a staff, and wondered if they’d ever find M’sairas. A scraggly old man bumped into her suddenly, stumbling out of the doorway to the Blind Seer. “Pardon, pardon,” he croaked, blinking up at her through bright, rheumy eyes. He reeked of liquor, and of sweat and vomit and something Salen didn’t want to know about. She waved a hand in front of her nose and backed up a pace. The old man followed. “Whacha’ doin’, starin’ at an old feller like meself?” he demanded, staggering drunkenly. His gnarled hands clenched at the rotten rags he wore. “You ain’t no man,” he added. “Not a man, not a man, sneaking aroun’ in some fanshy warrior getup.” The tavern owner stomped out of the Blind Seer, poking a cane at the old man. “Here now, leave that gentleman alone! I thought I told ye not to be botherin’ people out here! You got that room in the back of me tavern on me good graces, an’ they’s not stayin’ good so long!” Salen nodded to the tavernkeeper. “This man’s drunk,” she said, trying to keep her voice low. The tavernkeeper cocked an eyebrow at her. “I know, sir, he’s always drunk. Don’t know when to stop drinkin’ me ale, he don’t. Come now, git yer sorry hide out back to yer room afore I have Jag and Targ drag ye out to the city limits.” The old man hobbled toward Salen again. “I seen yer Aram,” he hissed, “little not-a-man. I seen ’im.” “Come on, M’sairas.” The inkeeper laid hold of the old man’s rags. “Wait.” Salen held out a hand. “Where’ve you seen him?” she asked the old man. “Who?” “Aram. Where’ve you seen Aram?” “Oh, ’im. Ye wants ta know now, do ye, little man-who-isn’t. I seen ’im workin’ Kobel’s fields, outsida’ the city. Wretched and worn down, he is, doin’ work no man should have to.” The man’s eyes grew a bit clearer, soberer. “Salen,” he whispered in a serious, and deeper voice, “Kobel is hunting me. He is hunting you. If you want to keep your life together, you’ll take yourself and that babe you carry far, far away from here. Seeking Aram now will only get you killed.” His eyes changed again, intoxicated once more. “Dark riders fly in the night, and the stallion dances with the she-wolf in the home of the lion. Catch yourself a rainbow before the sun sets, and fly ahead of the demons. Man-who-isn’t carries a two-faced mirror!” He twirled once with the tavernkeeper, before laying his finger by his nose. “But don’t take my word for it,” he added. “I’m drunk!” He cackled at his own cleverness as the tavernkeeper dragged him away. “That’s it,” the burly man growled, “yer going to get yer miserable rotten carcass out of Ylmarack City by dusk, or I’ll have the guards on yer tail!” Kyle moved up to stand beside Salen. “Who was that?” “M’sairas,” she whispered. “The seer? You can’t be serious.” “I am, and so was he. Come on. We need to leave Ylmarack. Now.”