Halfway to the river he passed a relatively new building—perhaps only five generations old—that housed a shrine to the Sleeping Gods. It was a simple stone structure without windows, a variety of symbols carved on the outside, a glow emanating through the door from the hundreds of candles burning inside, and once again Ramus felt its draw. I have my own beliefs, he would tell himself and anyone interested enough to listen. The god of knowledge and the power of the land. Nobody tells me what to think.

Still, sometimes he considered going inside. The Sleeping Gods had long been a fascination for the Voyagers, ever since the first Voyager, Sordon Perlenni, had set out to discover their legend one hundred and forty-three years before. He had returned again and again, from different parts of Noreela, but all he had ever brought back were more scraps of campfire myth. Some said those benevolent gods were Noreela's first, its founders and shapers, and that they had gone down to sleep—and left Noreela open and available—when the humans arrived.

Perlenni had vanished over a century before, and some believed he had found what he was seeking. Others suspected he had simply been swallowed into the distant parts of Noreela like so many Voyagers since.

A distant bell rang, and Ramus realized he would be late for his meeting with Nomi.

NARU MAY’S WAS an expensive eatery built on a heavy timber deck over the River Kash, and Ramus only ever ate here with Nomi. He much preferred the food from street vendors back in The Heights—it was fresher, cooked better and a tenth of the price—but the valley was where the wealth congregated. He didn't mind venturing down here on occasion, so long as Nomi paid.

He paused a hundred steps from the wooden bridge leading out to the deck, taking in the scenery.

The riverside was bustling. Fishing sloops bobbed on the waves, nets cast, and a few had already off-loaded their morning's catch. The scent of fresh fish filled the air, and impromptu auctions had started.

Along the riverfront, traders had set up stalls, and the largest was run by a dozen heavily tattooed Cantrass Angels selling fine woven cloth: silk so sheer it was almost weightless, rugs and decorative hangings. Some of the women were naked—clothed only in the complex and mystical tattoos—and their stall was busy. Ramus had never trusted their kind. There was far more going on with them than anyone ever saw, and he believed that one day they would be revealed as something more than simple weavers and traders. And indeed, buying and selling was not the only exchange occurring at their stall. While ten women displayed, two stood back in the shadows, examining the crowd with dark eyes and making cryptic marks on their bodies. Black ink, traced there using the claws of mountain wolves.

Ramus was certain their tattoos changed day by day.