One day, over two hundred years ago, a great navigator came to this land, and he found barbarian fisherfolk dwelling in caves under the cliffs, living off whatever the sea could provide. These little stones, his father had once said, holding one up into the sun, these are what began this great city of ours. Much later Gabriel would sit on the beach with his father and watch the people remove the precious pearls from the soft rotting flesh. Some of the oysters would be sold for food in the marketplace, but many would be left in piles on the beach to putrefy. It was wonderful to watch the young men and women dive deep, deep into the murky waters, and come up again with string baskets full of rough oyster shells. He loved the sea and loved the times his father took him out on the oyster boats. He could smell the sea, if he sniffed hard could smell the rank odor of the oyster shells piled two hundred years deep along the beach, and the salty air blowing in from the ocean. Satisfied that he was alone, he settled more comfortably into his hiding place and listened to the river gurgling over the rocks as it tumbled, close to theshadowed east wall, on its way to the sea. His fair hair shone with red-gold lights, and clung about his wary face in long, damp curls. The setting sun struck his eyes, changing their vivid, translucent blue to violet.
Turning from the prison, he scanned the evening skies and the deserted banks of the River Cravan. People never came out, it was said, except to be buried or beheaded. The boy shivered, thinking of the stories he had heard about the inside of that place. On the wide crests of the walls guards walked, crossbows gleaming as the sunset struck them. The stones in these mighty prison ramparts had only slits for windows. Glancing behind him, he saw the darker stones of the ancient northeast corner of the city, marking the outer confines of the prison. Hidden, safe for the moment, he wiped his grubby hands across his eyes and enjoyed a momentary respite from his troubles. He discovered a deep crevice in the stones and squeezed himself into it. There was something ominous in that quiet thundering, and the boy shrank from it, pressing himself harder against the bridge. The whole city of Navora seemed to vibrate and boom within its walls, like a mighty heart preparing for the night. From cobbled roads far beyond the wall came the rumble of chariot and wagon wheels, and the neighing of horses. Behind him towered the vast outer wall of the city, crimson-drenched in the sunset.
He pressed his hot, wet face against the ancient stones and fought to stop the waves of nausea that swept through him. Trembling, the boy crouched in the shadow of the bridge.
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