[Lowmarket District]
The streets narrowed as the squad rode deeper into Lowmarket. The buildings pressed closer together, their timber frames leaning at odd angles, snow clung to the beams and window ledges and packed thick along the eaves. The cobblestones had vanished beneath a layer of trampled snow and frozen slush, the street hardened into uneven ruts by days of passing boots and wheels.
The smell hit them first—sewage, rotting vegetables, unwashed bodies. It hung thick in the air, clinging to everything.
Kael dismounted near a small square where a well stood at the center. The others followed, tying their horses to a weathered post.
A man waited near the well. Middle-aged, well-dressed for this district—his coat was wool, recently cleaned, his boots leather and well-maintained. But his face was haggard, his eyes shadowed.
He straightened when he saw Kael. "Captain?"
Kael nodded. "You're the merchant?"
