"Why are all the cities walled?" Brenna asked, looking ahead at Amruthar. "They can't possibly be afraid of Aglarond or Mulhorand this far into Thay, and Rashemen, the land of the witches, won't bother them."

"The wizards are afraid of each other, so they build walls," Wynter said. "Funny. I doubt any wall could stand up to a Red Wizard. But at least they keep out the undead." His pace was faster now.

The trio grew silent as they neared an august tower on the western side of Amruthar. It sat a few hundred yards south of the road they traveled on, and they gave it a wide berth because of the numerous guards milling around outside it. Several slaves tended herb gardens outside the tower's front doors. One looked up and stared at the Harpers and Brenna as they passed by and entered Amruthar through the main gates.

The gates were guarded by a quintet of heavily armed and armored men on top of the barbicon. Wynter surmised there were additional unseen guards and other defenses. The men watched the centaur and humans enter but said nothing. The Harpers tried not to look back and were pleased that their appearances had gotten them through without question.

It was late afternoon, and the city teemed with activity. The road led to a merchants' district, where the sites and sounds overwhelmed the druid. Stalls-some looking like permanent parts of the city and others appearing to have been carried in today-lined the street.

The nearest stall had rows of dried peppers hanging from strings, so many that little of the stall's wood showed through. On the ledge, peppers were piled high-long, thin green ones, pear-shaped yellow varieties, red peppers of many shapes and sizes, and purple ones that were large and bulbous and inviting. The vendor was a bald, hawk-nosed man with a ruddy complexion. He noticed the Harpers watching him and beckoned them closer.

"Hot chili peppers! Sweet bells! Mild wax peppers!" he barked. "The best in Amruthar!" His voice was scratchy and deep and had an irritating quality that cut through the noise of the crowd. Galvin and Wynter ignored him and moved deeper into the marketplace.

Brenna had become distracted by a booth off to the right. An elderly, heavyset woman with a sprinkling of age spots on her bald head was selling bolts of colorful cloth. In another time and place, the sorceress would have been tempted to buy some cloth from her and have the fabric made into dresses. The cloth looked rich-most of it, anyway. One bolt had metallic threads running through it and was no doubt expensive. Spotting Galvin and Wynter moving away from her, she hurried to catch up, elbowing her way through a group of gossiping women.

Brenna noted the market was just as busy, perhaps even busier, than the ones she frequented in Mesring, Dlusk, and Furthinghome back in Aglarond. The goods were similar-at least those she had been eyeing appeared to be. And the people wore the same expressions: the merchants seemed friendly, the shoppers looked stern-faced and ready to bargain, and the children eyed everything in wonder. The only difference was that nearly everyone she saw was bald. Those who had hair were few, and their hair was cut so short that parts of their scalps peeked through. She noticed only humans in this crowd. In Aglarond, the marketplaces in the largest cities would also attract dwarves, halflings, gnomes, and elves.

The sorceress was familiar enough with the social structures of cities to notice that most of those shopping were from the middle class. Their clothes were neat and reasonable, but they were made of simple material and lacked the embroidery and trim preferred by the wealthy. There were also some peasants, who seemed most interested in the stalls that sold second-hand wares. She spied a few people who were obviously affluent, judging by their clothes and bearing. One stood apart from the stalls and watched someone purchase oils. Brenna smiled. The person doing the buying was probably her servant, maybe a slave, as his hair fell to the lobes of his ears. Just as in any other city, she thought, the rich couldn't be bothered to soil their hands by purchasing something from a commoner on the street.

"Pretty lady? Pretty, pretty lady? Want to buy my fruit?" A peddler was calling to her. "Special price for you, pretty lady." He held up a bright pink, banana-shaped fruit.

Galvin took her by the arm and steered her to the center of the street, where there was less traffic and they were farther from the merchants. His hand felt clammy.

"Stop it," she whispered. "Let go of me. You're my slave, remember? Act the part."

The druid dropped her arm and glared at her. Falling in step behind her, he cast his head toward the ground, as he had observed other slaves doing. Peering out the corners of his eyes, he scanned the marketplace. It had been several years since he was in a district like this, and he found it threatening and close. It reminded him too much of his early life, when his parents would take him to a marketplace where the shoppers were ripe for pickpocketing. The victims would be distracted watching the cute young Galvin, so it was easy for his parents to cut their purses. The druid put his hand on his money pouch and continued through the market.

To his right, peddlers were selling candles, oil lamps, knitted blankets, brass trinkets, and citrus fruit. To his left, they bartered for chickens, tack, costume jewelry, pots, pans, and other household items. He noted a few were selling clothes, and he nudged Wynter.

"Not here," the centaur whispered. "The wealthy-and most of the middle class-don't buy their clothes and fineries in an open-air market. They go to shops where the prices are higher, but the goods are usually better."

The centaur reached forward and tapped Brenna on the shoulder. "We want to move through the market and into an established business district. One can't be far away. I'm going ahead. Follow me at a short distance and pretend you know where you're going."

"You're in charge here," Galvin said. "I'm out of my element." He studied the buildings as he walked behind Brenna. They were nearly through the open-air market. He felt relieved; ahead, the crowds thinned considerably.

Unlike other cities Galvin had visited, Amruthar had few wooden buildings. The stalls were wood, and the overhangs and posts supporting some of the balconies were wood. The wood looked old and weathered, showing that the city was far from new. But the majority of the buildings were made of clay bricks and mortar. A few had been added on to recently; the clay bricks on the second story were of a darker color, indicating they were newer than the ones on the ground floor.

A few blocks later, the street changed from hard-packed dirt to cobblestones, and the facades of the buildings looked fancier, evidence that people of wealth lived here. The druid felt caged in by the buildings, which stretched three stories tall in this neighborhood. There was no way out but to follow street after street like a rat running through a maze. He couldn't see a sign of trees or open spaces; the only green things were the sod roofs that covered nearly every structure. To him, the sod was the city's only redeeming feature. Too bad he couldn't walk on it. The cobblestones were uncomfortable.

Galvin knew he should adapt. Nearly all of the Harpers lived in cities, and the majority of missions were in well-populated areas. He had never declined an assignment from Harper leaders that would take him into a city, but he had frequently made himself scarce when he knew one was going to come up. He couldn't dodge all of them; he certainly didn't want his peers to realize his weakness. And this mission was one he welcomed because of his hatred of the Red Wizards.

For most of his life, he had considered city people weak, dependent on the city for food, shelter, clothing, and protection. Few could properly defend themselves, and fewer still would be able to survive in the wilderness. They feared being alone, Galvin thought, so they congregated in their stone buildings inside stone walls.