“To Anamat,” Thorat said.
And so they set off down the mountain. Thorat brandished his fish-gutting knife and glared at the stunned bandits. They let him pass, watching anxiously as thunderclouds swept away over the peaks.
At the end of Thorat’s story, they walked back toward Fisherman’s Wharf, where they’d slept before.
“We need a place to shelter, something better than that dock,” Darna said. The sand had been damp from the harbor’s waters and the dew leaked down from above.
“The minstrel said that there was a place he remembered on the East Canal,” Myril said.
“Let’s have a look, then,” Thorat said.
Darna led the way. They took a couple of turns and skirted through the back alleys, keeping the East Canal nearby. A long warehouse, extending all the way up to the canal, forced th
