They saw it before the road opened into it.
Stacked and sprawling on a dark plain, taller and whiter than Keth-Arel had ever been. Towers pressed against each other in generations of construction, buckling under the weight of accumulated foundations. Bridges strung between upper districts. Smoke and a low lamp glare bled from the lower wards. Already, this place suggested motion and intent.
Sera inhaled sharply. "This is not another dock town."
"No," Istra said. "This is Varn Thall. Mide-plane trade city. Old enough to have its own laws, large enough to swallow strangers. Not big enough to conceal a man with his description already ahead of him."
Lucian kept walking. "We do not approach as men seeking to disappear."
"Good," Istra murmured. "Because the opportunity has passed."
