AN: This chapter contains some quite strange formatting and punctuation, which I apologise for in advance... the problem is that fanfiction won't let me have the layout I want, so I've been forced to do the best I can.

Seventh day after Sun's Height, 30016 DC

Emlyn resettled his pack on his shoulders, looking around him at the busy main street with lively interest. As a city, Northport seemed to him to have all the bustling vibrancy that Goldport was lacking. It was so strange to think that only yesterday he'd been in that sullen, fearful atmosphere! Here everything seemed to be in bright colours, from the clothes of the people who bustled through the streets to the goods stacked up for sale on wooden stands and in shop windows. Emlyn could see children laughing and shrieking as they played with a ball, a noblewoman's escort clearing a way for her through the noisy crowd and the occasional flash of magic. He could still smell the salt tang of the sea, and, using his height to crane over the heads of the crowd, he could see the glitter of water at the end of the street. In a little patch of clear space at a street corner, an acrobat showed off her slender and well-muscled body in a series of somersaults. A strip of silver material in her tight-fitting costume caught the light like the ocean, and the crowd around her applauded and called encouragement, adding to the babble of noise in the street.

When they'd arrived at the docks Emlyn'd barely been able to take in the scale of it all. He could see why Northport was Iluen's most important trading city. He'd never seen so many ships in one place! Most of them were merchantmen, loading up their holds with finely crafted goods from the Islands and further north, preparatory to sailing out on the trade winds. One or two of them seemed to be recruiting crew members – one particular captain, a shrewd-looking halfling, had caught Emlyn's eye as he inspected a handful of potential sailors.

Over at the far side of the harbour had been Northport's fleet. Northisle had the largest population of all the Islands, and could contribute eight full crews when the Islands were threatened. But Emlyn wasn't especially impressed with their ships – loyalty had compelled the ruling council of Northisle to buy from their own shipyards, and in Emlyn's eyes their vessels lacked the elegance and seaworthiness of Haven's ships. Some of the merchant ships were far more beautiful. Briefly his mind flickered to the lovely Wave Dancer.

'Come on, dreamer,' Tynan said in his ear, and Emlyn jumped, turning to face his cousin. 'Let's go and find somewhere to stay. You can have a look around in the morning.'

It was beginning to get dark, Emlyn saw. It didn't seem to make a difference to the number of people on the streets, but the bright day was beginning to turn dusky as the sun sank towards the horizon. A guard in battered chain mail was making her way down the street, lighting torches that were fixed to the side of buildings as she went. The city's ensignia of a scroll and a lightning bolt gleamed on the side of her helmet.

Emlyn turned and followed his cousin and Shadow up the street. Ensa had left them already, intending to find lodgings near the city's east gate as the first stop in her journey to Loremaster Eladrissinel's house. Emlyn half wished they'd gone with her. He'd like to see the sights of Northisle, like the famous Stormlord's Circle, and it'd have been nice to get to know Ensa more as well – but after all, if you were going to see Northisle, where better to start than the capital city? And it was exciting to be here! Emlyn could see the stately pillared building that was Northport's city hall. That was where the original copy of the Island Charter was kept, he remembered. Maybe he could go and see that. And visit the temples! Emlyn'd never seen proper temples until he went to Graveisle. He could go and see the temple of Koron here.

The crowds were thinning out a little as the three adventurers drifted up the street, away from the docks. Up ahead somewhere, Emlyn could hear music. As the shining notes floated down towards them, he began to recognise the tune. 'That's Island Maids.'

'You know it?' Tynan asked, absently. He was scanning the buildings either side of them for an inn.

'Every Islander knows it!' Emlyn was at a loss to explain how deeply the popular sea shanty was engrained in local culture. 'Listen, you can hear them.' Sure enough, as the musician swung into the chorus of the song, a crowd of voices took it up, and the words suddenly became clear:

'If you'd make port before nightfall

Then heave, lads, heave away!

There's wealth and glory to be made

So heave, lads, heave!

The Islands is our port of call

So heave, lads, heave away!

Think of a sweet Island maid

And heave, lads, heave!'

Emlyn sang the tune under his breath as Tynan located its source, a brightly-lit and cheerful looking inn, and headed towards it.

'It might be full,' the ranger said doubtfully, stopping outside. 'There's a lot of people in there.'

'Oh, come on,' said Emlyn, pleadingly. He already had his hand on the door.

Tynan grinned. 'I'm teasing you. We can ask, anyway.'

Emlyn pulled a face at him, and pushed open the door, letting out a blast of sound and warm, smoky air. A lone voice was just beginning on the final verse of the song – a female voice that was as warm and sweet and golden as honey. A few patrons looked round at them as they came in, but most were intent on the singer, who was hidden from Emlyn's view by the crowd. Many of them were, like Emlyn, mouthing the words.

'The maids of Graveisle will beat you

In any kind of a fight

And the maids of Goldisle will cheat you

As soon as you hove in sight.

Oh, the maids of Northisle are pretty

And the maids of Windisle are tall

And in the Inner Isles you won't

Find any maids at all!'

The song ended in a burst of clapping and cheering. The crowd shuffled a little to make space for the three new entrants – who were clapping as loudly as anyone – and Emlyn got a view of the two figures standing at the end of the cramped, dimly-lit room for the first time.

Standing upright and smiling in a friendly, confident way at the mass of Islanders was a short, neat female figure. She had curly fair hair and blue eyes, but her skin was a luxurious chestnut brown. Emlyn, who had never met any gnomes, was taken aback for a minute, finding it hard to place her. It was obviously she who had been singing. As she turned to speak to her companion, gold embroidery flashed at the collar of her deep-ochre tunic, and her boots had intricate patterns tooled into the leather.

Lounging against the wall behind her, the tall human that she was speaking to couldn't have been more of a contrast. His hair was grey and his clothes were dusty and worn, of indeterminate colours that might pass anywhere without notice. He was slightly hunched over, and Emlyn saw that his long, lean fingers were caressing the shape of a small travelling harp. Unlike anything else about the man, the instrument gleamed. Even as he bent his head to listen to the pretty gnome he was touching the strings, almost soundlessly.

As Emlyn watched, the man nodded his head at something his companion said, and moved his fingers more decisively to draw three louder chords out of his instrument. Almost instantly, the crowd began to quieten down.

'Thank you,' said the gnome, smiling charmingly at them. 'Thank you, that's very kind. Your songs here on the Islands aren't quite like anything else, that's why I love coming here.'

'Another one!' someone shouted.

'Yeah, that's right,' added a female voice. 'Something for us girls!'

The young gnome grinned at them. 'Not right now. We're going to tell a story.'

There was a general interested muttering from the crowd. They wanted to know what this personable young bard would make of telling a tale. A number of people who had been standing looked for somewhere to settle down. Emlyn heard his name called quietly and half turned to find Tynan and Shadow had moved away from their positions behind him and were seated at a small table in the corner of the room. He crossed over to them and slung his pack under the table with theirs, immediately swivelling the sturdy wooden chair so that he could carry on watching the show.

'What sort of a story do you want?' the gnome asked. 'Something you know? Or something you haven't heard before?' Her voice was soothing and sweet. Emlyn could have quite happily listened all night. He absent-mindedly accepted a mug of ale from his cousin and held it on his knee.

A number of coversations had started up as people debated what kind of story they wanted the young bard to tell, but most people had barely decided when a gruff voice called from the opposite side of the room, 'Let's have Nara, girl! Nara and the Gates of Eternity!'

Along with a number of other people, Emlyn craned his neck to try and see who had spoken. As far as he could tell, it was a swarthy dwarf, who was leaning on the shaft of a double-headed axe and watching the gnome speculatively.

The bard smiled. 'Ah! That one's always popular with dwarfs. Does anyone have any objection to that?' she asked, raising her voice to address the room in general. 'No? Then that'll be the one. C'mon, Markiss – let's have Nara's section out of Amarill's Sacrifice.' She turned her head to smile at her companion, and then folded her legs and sat gracefully on the floor, leaving the tall man to face the crowd.

There was a startled moment as people realised that the young gnome didn't intend to tell the story herself, but as the shabbier bard struck a ripple of notes on his harp, the muttering died away. The notes were sharp and sparkling and true, and they fell into the listener's ear like a line of poetry, each note distinct and yet part of a greater whole.

Emlyn could hear the expectant breathing of the crowd, and felt himself sit up straighter. Although his mother had taught him the famous legends of Iluen's history, he'd never heard any of Amarill's Sacrifice, supposedly the greatest bardic poem ever written. He caught his breath when the tall man – Markiss – began to speak across the music, half-chanting, half-saying the words of the ancient lay:

See her / Touch her

The girl / Nara

Dwarf-child / Orphan

Kinless / Outcast

Lonely / Frightened

Cold and / Hungry

She walks / Dark paths.

Deepest / She finds

The paths / Of death

And she / Wanders

Far from / Sun's light.

Dwarf-child / Delver

She finds / Black Gates

His voice wasn't as startlingly beautiful as the gnome girl's, but as Emlyn listened he felt himself drawn into the world the bard was evoking. The words and the solitary, disconnected notes of the harp wrapped around each other and fused together, sending a shiver up the young fighter's spine as he felt the utter darkness and the gaping immensity of Nara's world.

Emlyn was lost. He barely noticed when Tynan rescued his still-full mug from slipping to the floor and replaced it securely on the table.

Tynan regarded his young cousin with amused affection, and turned to grin at Shadow, who was listening with only half an ear to the story as he scanned the intent crowd with his inscrutable dark eyes. 'He's well away,' the ranger muttered.

The elf flicked a glance at his friend, who saw again the hint of laughter at the back of his eyes. 'Oh, well, at least he's got the taste to fall for something good,' he breathed in reply.

Tynan smiled and leaned back in his chair. The bards were very good – but he was already stifled in the town. It was crowded and noisy in the inn, and the smells of smoke, ale and tightly-packed bodies were cloying in his nostrils. He could see exactly why Emlyn found Northport so exciting, but Tynan would trade it in a second for the brisk cold emptiness of the starlit night outside.