Not that her daytime wear invited questions: thigh-boots of soft doeskin over tight, faded blue breeches, a loose white shirt indifferently fastened, a leather jerkin armoured after a fashion with a layer of chain mail and a lady’s cymar—overmantle—flung over all as if to mark her sex. With the complex hilt of a Jouvaine estoc riding at her shoulder and the arm-plates from somebody’s battle armour strapped over her sleeves, Tehal Kyrin made a brave show alongside the equally picturesque but rather more sombre Aldric. Neither was the sort of person idly approached by passersby. There were many such; peasants riding ox-carts or walking in noisy groups, well-heeled merchants in their carriages and those less wealthy jolting in horse-palanquins. Certain elderly kailinin cast disapproving looks at the younger set, fantastically tricked out in the latest fashion of the Imperial court, the Jouvaine city-states or wherever else took their current fancy. Aldric was relieved to notice that in this holiday atmosphere his and Kyrin’s attire was dismissed as whimsical fancy dress.
