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The stench of sweaty men and horse dung tainted the scent of the river and the tang of spices coming from the carts.
Young boys lifted crates larger than themselves off the boats bobbing in the river, hauling them up the dock and into the waiting wagons. The wagon men leaned against the sides of their carts, chatting while the children did the work.
“Are those men Guilded?” I asked, keeping a close eye on the river dock as my horse followed Liam toward the city.
Liam’s neck tensed before he looked at the wagons. He studied the people there for a moment before speaking. “No, just laxe.”
“What?” I guided my horse to ride beside Liam.
“I thought you were supposed to be ill,” Emmet said.
I gave a great cough in his direction. “Better?”
“Do you not call your merchants laxe in Harane?
