JET 8.8: ROYAL REQUEST
“Let the wind pick you up and carry you away. Do not be afraid to lose yourself. What are you really afraid of risking? Lose yourself! You’ll no longer spend the nights frightened beneath the bedsheets, listening to the darkness whispering. You’ll whisper from it! You’ll lounge in the dark places and laugh in mockery at the pitiful creatures tiptoeing by.”
– from ‘Grandfather’s Open Arms’
“Okay guys, that’ll do. Perfect, good work!”
I waved down at my demons, returning most of them to Infernum. Pinktongue I placed back on my shoulder, where I left him most of the time now. The Scaleshaker’s captain was always giving me the stink-eye, muttering ‘warlock’ like it was a curse-word – I’d found that a visible reminder of my power was enough to keep him away, keep him and his glare off my back.
But a fair few of the crew didn’t seem to share his inhibitions. Horvin stood a few feet from me, a senior sailor with a long, thin brown beard and laughing eyes, and he applauded absent-mindedly as he perused what I’d achieved. The ships into Telior had to basically wait in a queue as the harbour wizards worked their way back and forth across the bay, breaking up the ice. Most ships didn’t have access to bintaborax weaponry and imp-fire, though, and I wasn’t staying on a boat a minute longer than I had to – the dark elves had already made me throw discretion to the cold north winds.
Horvin gave a few commands, and within a couple of minutes the ship started moving again. Ahead of us, Telior waited.
Telior looked like a gigantic ship that had beached itself against the black cliffs and then mated with the rocks, forming a horizontal forest of intertwined buildings, roots driven into the windswept coastline. The morning was grey – grey skies, grey seas – and there still had to be a thousand lanterns burning yellow-orange along the wooden town’s spray-soaked walkways, thousands more behind its salt-stained glass windows.
Not town – city. Sure, it wasn’t even as big as Salnifast, I supposed, and certainly it had none of the port-city’s beauty. But having seen Blackice Bay and Irontooth Gates, I knew the difference between a town and a city now. This was the latter. It was built on dozens of levels, each seemingly connected by various spans, ramps, stairs, ladders – even ropes… And in these harsh conditions, there was activity everywhere I looked. Thousands of people, streaming along the rickety-looking bridges, many bearing burdens under their arms or on their shoulders. I could even pick out the richer districts, where ramshackle constructions of various timbers gave way to ancient-looking structures of a single hue. These halls were weathered all the same, but had been curiously crafted with sweeping arches, struts shaped like the arcs made by fish leaping from the water.
I looked up at the dreary sky. If today was anything like yesterday, or the day before, the lights would be burning all day long anyway. Grey was the name of the game, when it came to these dire places at the ends of the earth. We were probably as far north as Zadhal, here, if the maps were to be trusted.
I faced into the wind, turning my attention to the twins as they came up onto the deck, clad in the warmest clothing I’d grabbed them before leaving Mund. I had my thick woollen vest and hose on under my robe, and both the pairs of socks I was wearing were pulled up to my knees, but at least I had the wraith to help me. I could tell they were suffering with the cold, even wrapped in furs, but Jaid was doing her best to hide it, looking off at the city with the familiar distance in her eyes. Meanwhile, Jaroan was indulging in his opportunity to moan, revelling in his shivers by flinging his body about dramatically, proclaiming his discomfort loudly with every passing moment – every slow, excruciating moment, sand being squeezed through the eye of time’s hourglass like blood squeezed from a pricked vein.
I reminded myself not to get attached to Telior. We’d be moving on as soon as Jaid’s boots hit the boardwalks, I was quite certain. We had left it up to her, after all.
As we finally approached our dock, I heard the choral music of Enye’s singers rising above the crashing of the waves on the piers, and I wished things could be different. I liked this place. I felt it in my soul already. I wanted to stay, if only for awhile. I was intrigued by the fact they had weather-magicians here, and wondered what I might be able to achieve in a place like this. The Magisterium had a long reach, but I was beyond their remit now. If I adopted a new name, cut my hair a bit, kept a glamour up to cover the scar… we could fit in here with little adjustment.
But I had to ignore what I wanted, yet again. I knew in my bones, I couldn’t be satisfied until they were happy. Both of them. Maybe that meant I’d never be happy again, never be able to look myself in the eye in the mirror and know peace –
– the last one slipped and slid through the blood, snarling against the pain of her injuries, clawing with delicate fingers at the contorted robes and slick flesh of her fallen comrades in a desperate attempt to escape; but her gleaming hair became caught on the treacherous belt-buckle of a dead man, and the predator caught up with her, extending a hand to cut off her pitiful struggle, letting her own redness join the river –
– but I had to do what was right by them, or die trying.
Maybe – just maybe – one day they would be settled, wherever we ended up, and I could go back…
“What’re you thinking about?” Jaroan asked me suspiciously, striding over.
“Nothing,” I lied. “This place… It looks cool, to me.”
“Me too.” You couldn’t tell from his expressionless expression. He glanced without the least covertness over his shoulder at Jaid. “We’re going to be outvoted by the minority, though.”
“My thoughts exactly.” I did my best to smile. “You never know your luck, eh?”
“No, you do.” He frowned, and curled his lip at Telior. “That’s why we’re here, isn’t it? Why we had to go.”
I put my hand on his shoulder, and he recoiled, shrugged me away.
“Okay, whatever.” I put my arm back down. “Can you hear that, Jaid? That’s the Daffodil Chant, only the words are different.”
She came up towards the rail, turning her nose up at the familiar music floating across the broken ice. “It’s cold, Kas. I don’t like it here.”
Jaroan moaned theatrically, flinging his arms up in his best imitation of our sister.
“Horvin,” I said, turning aside to face the man, “do you have archmages here in Telior?”
He was conversing in Telese with one of his subordinates, but he turned to me and replied in Mundic.
“There are two. Two archmage. Sin-Aidre – Greenheart, you vould call her in your tongue. She is a… How do you say? Mender?”
“Healer? A druid?”
“Druid.” The bearded sailor nodded. “She does not take payment. No one knows her true name. She vill appear, and she vill leave. She has many shape.”
A champion, basically, then… But without the Magisterium – without receiving payment – what would she do for a living?
“And the second?”
“Orcan Finfaltik. He is – vizard. He has saved Telior many time. But he is old. He has book from your Mund, and teach many vot he knows – ve hope enough.”
I looked back at the open sea, the shrouded sky, and I understood.
“How did you get on before Orcan?” I asked.
“There vere more magician before. More archmage. More people, before Black Vinter.” He shrugged, turning back to his colleague. “Immonaz o camogh si it af alent…”
I looked back at the pier-coated coastline, the jabbering crowds. I could make out faces, now. These people looked happy, on the whole. There was little shiftiness to their expressions and they seemed to greet one another merrily-enough as they went about their business.
Yet, if there had been a decline in the population… Was this place on its way out? What was the Black Winter? Horvin didn’t seem keen on explaining, for whatever reason, yet he’d usually been forthcoming with information whenever I’d asked. I’d learned from him that Telior paid its tribute to Mund in the form of rare pearls discovered in the bellies of certain aquatic monsters – Mund’s navy laid claims to all the oceans, apparently, and for hundreds of years Telior’s kings had bowed and scraped before the magical empire’s envoys. He didn’t seem to mind discussing topics that might frame his society as less than perfect, which made his reticence now all the more intriguing.
We finally drew up to the quayside, the Scaleshaker surrounded in bobbing ice-floes, melted to their gleaming white cores by wizardry. I paid the shifty-eyed captain, letting a single gorgeous gold coin fall into his grubby palm, then gestured for the twins to go ashore ahead of me. They disembarked, and I followed them, dismissing Pinktongue as I went.
I took a deep breath before setting my foot – the good, right one that wasn’t half see-through beneath the robe, the one that could still feel – on solid ground. The urge came over me to fling myself down on my face, hug the earth, promise it I’d never leave it again. Quivering slightly, I mastered myself. Jaid accepted my arm across her shoulders, and I used her to steady myself, steering us across the docks and into the strange crowds.
It wasn’t like it was really solid ground, anyway. The quay wasn’t immune to the swells of the waves, swaying slightly as it bucked the tide. Spray coming over the lip of the promenade formed ten-foot-high whips of icy foam. Even though I could see the way up to the next level, a ramp not fifty yards off, getting there was an altogether different proposition. Dozens upon dozens of dock-hands were everywhere – unloading crate after crate, hefting them here and there, bellowing all the while over the cries of the sea in their own equally-foreign voices… This was all new, and suddenly I felt afraid.
It was a new kind of fear. Isolation. I’d overextended. Where was I? Where had my machinations brought us?
At least I had some funds, and my magic that would ensure I kept hold of it. We were only spared repeated jostling by the fact I wore a magician’s garment, judging by the looks I got. The fact that neither of the twins asked what the women in the shadows under the walkways were doing there in such weather-defying outfits, pouting at the workers as they went about their shifts – this was no less a cause for concern than our location, our isolation, even if was only abstract for now. Did I have to talk to them about that sort of thing? I couldn’t even remember what Dad had said to me, years ago, when I was their age, a bit older… I’d always basically assumed Xantaire would cover that with Jaid, and when it came to my brother, well… It wasn’t like I had this all planned out.
I quickly led them away from the shadow-clad ladies, up the broad wooden ramp into the city proper. Within two minutes we were in the midst of a market district overhanging the bay, surrounded by light and music and laughter.
What a difference a few cooking-pits and bards made. We warmed up by one of the bonfires, and we basked in the wonderful aromas of food-stuffs that didn’t originate in the sea. Yes, there were hundreds of fish and oysters to go around, but what I could smell was chicken, or some similar bird. Pork, too. Even roast carrot, covered in some kind of delicious herb.
After a minute I managed to fix a smile on my face, and, the way I figured it, so long as I was trying to buy ten or less of something, I was going to be fine. I could fake being normal. For the first time in what felt like forever I ate a carrot, and all my concerns melted away. I lingered there, chewing on the lovely purple thing in bliss while the twins went about exploring, their own snacks of choice in hand. The locals cast me strange looks, but the vendors accepted my copper without question and gave me change in their own denomination, trading a single fat Mundic coin for two tiny Telese ones and some copper bits. One of them, a big, red-cheeked woman with an otter-fur hat, looked a bit afraid when she handed me my change, but I did my best to smile reassuringly, pocketing the metal pieces without question. I could figure it all out later, and it made it easier to give the twins some spends. Myself, too – I spent a good fifteen minutes inspecting the masterful work of a wood-carver, and, unable to decide between the awesome dual-wielding knight and the smiling dwarf, I bought both. They sort of reminded me of Phanar and Herreld, respectively, and those were parts of Mund that weren’t tainted in my memory. People I could remember without scowling.
Most of the natives were speaking in their own tongue – it was remarkably similar to what I’d heard of Onsoloric, given the vast distance between the two regions – but there were tradesmen from other places here, and the Mundic language was the common tongue of the world. These more-worldly types were less fazed by my mage-robe, and I ended up talking with a cinnamon merchant, a short, raven-haired woman called Ysara Hoad, and her packhorse of a husband, Pegoras, who were actual Mundians. They’d resettled here with their family a decade back: “getting away from all the craziness,” that was how Ysara chose to put it.
“You’re going to have to watch out,” I warned her, “telling the truth about things like that. The priests of a certain god will be conscripting you as a soothsayer.”
She loosed a short burst of laughter like a horn. “Oh, not here they won’t. The priests of most gods don’t have much power in Telior – it’s not like Mund, you know? I do think there’s a priest of Kultemeren here, somewhere… But only the Twelve and Wyrda… Virdut, here by the way… only they’ve got proper shrines. And they take their religion pretty seriously. Pray over their food and the like.” She turned back to the barrel-carrying Pegoras, directing his positioning of their wares atop their stall, then returned her gaze to me, eyeing me critically. “That’s something else, you know… How old are you, lad?”
I scrutinised her. I didn’t really want to give away my real age, did I? Every fact that could pinpoint Kastyr Mortenn would have to be avoided, every shred of information adjusted slightly to allow for betrayal…
“Good answer,” she commented before I could say anything. “Look, I’m guessing you’re not eighteen yet. Here, you’ve got to be eighteen to be an adult, legally. You’re lucky you’re tall… I’d watch what I said, if I was you. Especially around the king’s men. If you’re brought before ‘em, the knights are just as like to throw you in jail, magic or –“
“Wait – they have knights here?”
My mind showed me the pictures of guys in silver armour, resplendent on their white steeds, pennants flowing like ribbons from their lances as they rode through green fields.
Not likely here.
But Ysara was nodding. “Course. Not like the paladins, you know, but the sons of the nearby nobles are all Auvri This and Auvri That, just like in the stories of far-off places… Oh… I mean, Sir This and Sir That, in Telese… Anyway, yeah, they’ve all got to be the biggest and baddest, got to impress their daddies and their girlfriends. Barely a pleasant soul between ‘em, never mind amongst ‘em.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. But I can promise you this – I won’t be going to prison.”
I glanced around at the foreign faces, the vertical Sticktown cladding the bay… this place, this Telior that had just received a seasoned champion, an exile of the coven of magic-users that existed in the heart of the world.
Would it follow me across the oceans? The trouble, the misery, the grief – did it belong to Mund, or did it cling to my shadow as we rode the waves?
I looked back at Ysara only to find that she was regarding me with a certain amount of trepidation now. Being a Mundian, she perhaps had some notion of what terrifying power I might have concealed inside this youthful body.
“I don’t think I’ll be staying,” I said by way of explanation, and she settled somewhat. “Or if I am staying, and they want to take me in for some reason, I’ll just leave. Don’t worry – I’m not here to cause trouble. At all.”
She nodded again, understanding in her eyes. “No, I know that. No one comes here, from there, if they’re looking to cause trouble… This is nowhere.”
She offered a wan smile by way of parting, turning away to her husband.
For a moment I looked at them, safe in their cocoon of normalcy, the pleasant average lives they shared. I was firmly on the other side of the fence now. In a matter of months I’d gone from wondering how to make my mark on the world, to wondering what it would be like not to have a hand in the fate of all things.
The truth was, this cocoon of normalcy they shared wasn’t safe at all. The slightest suggestion of dragon’s breath would pop it like a bubble of red saliva on the lips of an elf’s corpse. The doom of Mund would be the doom of the world before long, if it came to pass.
I closed my eyes, imagining what it would be like. The Dracofont, alive again. Every inhabitant of the Realm a target, a morsel to be churned in their millions within the bellies of our resurgent overlords. Every archmage a liability, sought out by the demons in the Incursions…
We should’ve all left – my predecessors should’ve all departed years ago. Let the city and its prophecies die. Forced the Magisterium to give up on their vain dream – to keep the reins of fate in their hands, ride the chariot until it crumbled beneath their feet and churned their bones to join the dust below.
Now I was here, listening to the incomprehensible chanting, the cries of sailors and sea – and they were still there in their marble jail, still taking part in the nightmare.
Maybe now I could be normal. Maybe I could be like the Hoads. Find some simple work. Get married, have children, live, die… Timesnatcher and the others would deal with the dragons somehow…
“I’ll remember you, if I decide to stick around and take up a baker’s mittens.” I eyed the pungent barrels of cinnamon-sticks; Ysara and Pegoras swung their heads about at me, and Ysara laughed briefly in polite acknowledgement.
I headed off to find the twins, but I’d only gone three steps before she shouted at my back: “Lad! If you’re looking for lodgings, try the Flying Swordfish. Run by a Mundian. Five streets up!”
I tried to thank her, but the crowd got between us, and rather than stand there like a gormless idiot I hoped she got the message and left the stall behind.
Jaid was throwing away copper bits on some game that had her tossing wooden hoops onto three upright sticks – the prize for the winner was a porcelain doll that could’ve been a miniaturised mekkustremin, replete with tangled hair, scary eyes, a painted-on smile. I could see immediately that getting a hoop onto the farthest stick was going to be ten times more difficult than the previous one.
Once she failed again – to her credit, she took it well, losing with her dignity intact – I took over. Satyr-reflexes went some way to aiding me with accuracy, and I only failed the last throw once, sending my hoop spinning around the final stick on my second try. Jaid hugged me, then hugged her new doll; over her shoulder I saw the sour look on the face of the supervisor as he regarded me in my mage’s robe.
I had her go find Jaroan to show him her trophy, then sidled up to the man.
“Yeah, you got me – I cheated.” I did my best to crack a smile. “How much was it worth?”
“One of your fat Mundian silvers, I reckon, chum,” the Telese trickster replied in only slightly-accented Mundic.
“So, I’m going to assume you doubled that.” My smile was genuine now. “How about one of these little silver ones?”
“I don’t like you, Mundian.” He folded his arms across his chest. “A fat silver, chum, or I go to the overseers.”
I froze for a moment, shocked by his hostility. I’d extended the hand of friendship, openly, before he’d even commented on my apparel. My mind was cast adrift – I was the outsider here, the treacherous interloper – the murderous sorcerer – and then my anchor seized hold on the correct response.
“Or perhaps I didn’t do anything wrong at all,” I said coldly. I could hear the pitch of my own voice, my ever-so-slightly more-refined tone. “Goodbye.”
I turned on my heel, expecting to hear him call after me, cry out for the silver I’d offered – and I’d drop some copper bits in his hand, or on the floor at his feet if he continued to test me –
But he didn’t say anything and, feeling slightly miffed at the lost opportunity, I continued after Jaid. I didn’t need to be joined with a vampire to feel his gaze burning into my back.
And already, I’ve made an enemy, I sighed inwardly.
At least I had my answer.
It clung to my shadow as we rode the waves.
* * *
By noon I thought I had a handle on the place, and by one-ish I realised just how naive I’d been.
Telior really was Sticktown, but its warrens were even twistier, if such a thing were possible. What looked like a dozen ways into and out of a particular ‘street’ actually turned out to be a hundred, men and women and children all happily climbing what looked like rigging at the ends of alleyways. We made our way up five levels, bit by bit – there was nothing like a connecting ‘road’, no place where ramps or bridges took you more than one level at a time. You had to memorise each pathway, it seemed, or just find your way by getting lost. We were quite adept at the latter, and it was mid-afternoon before we reached the Flying Swordfish. The owner, a boisterous woman of advancing years, was already half-drunk when we arrived, competing with her patrons. She cast her bleary gaze over me a full three times before adopting a fawning, subservient tone of voice, breaking off her drinking game to escort us – on very wobbly feet – to our room. I very much got the impression that her servile attitude had a lot more to do with her expectation of tips than anything coming naturally to her. (She got a tip, and from her bright, wide eyes it was bigger than she’d hoped.)
Things were cheaper here, that much was for certain. I’d been afraid, seeing our pile of stolen money dwindle each time we replenished supplies, booking lodgings, booking the sea-voyage… But now? I paid a few copper bits, not even enough to get you a room the size of a coffin in Sticktown, never mind a nice part of Mund – but here in Telior it brought a spacious apartment, three separate beds, a sea-view through the glass…
“I don’t see why we’re even taking a room,” Jaid sniffed. “We should just leave already – we aren’t staying, I know that much.”
“Jaid,” I said firmly, removing my sodden robe, “I am sleeping in this bed tonight. This one, with its soft pillows and three blankets and unmoving foundation. Tomorrow, fine, we sleep on the road, in a ditch, wherever. Even another boat, if you really must. Tonight…” I lay down on the bed I’d chosen (or, more accurately, the bed I’d been left with). “This afternoon,” I corrected myself, “I’m in the Twelve Heavens.”
“Fine,” she huffed, pulling off her soaked outer clothing and sitting down on the stool by the small table.
“And now for our little friends.” I was too tired – the boat journey had really taken it out of me – so I summoned an imp by the shutters and had it open the window.
With a little bit of careful manoeuvring, my invisible minions brought through our chestful of belongings. Once it was in place by the wall under the window I gave them the rest of the day off. I’d commanded them all to avoid being overheard by strangers, so it was a grateful chorus of soft grunts and hisses that I received in reply from the exhausted critters, punctuated with one “Finally!” and a more than one muttered Infernal swear-word. I waved them away, and after a bit I got up and started trawling through our possessions, hunting some clean, dry clothing to wear to bed.
It turned out to be a fruitless search – the only dry options were dirty, caked in old sweat and salt-water. I picked out a stinky vest and some loose pants, and turned around to get changed.
I had one leg in, one leg out, when I felt an intrusion on my barriers. I studied the flickering shapes around me for a moment, then teetered and toppled onto the bed, the wraith-foot unable to bear my weight.
Jaid asked if I was okay – I mumbled a response, concentrating.
I determined that there were some hostile people on the walkway outside the inn’s front door. They were pressing on my outermost shield, being repelled by what would look to them like thin air.
Some… It wasn’t just a few. I could tell from the amount of pressure – there was a whole row of aggressors, each of them stopped in their tracks.
Zero chance of getting through, from what I could tell so far, but they might’ve been armed with some magic they’d not yet brought to bear.
“What is it?” Jaroan demanded.
“Enemies.” I let the smelly shirt drop to the floor and pulled my soaked robe back on, wincing at the feel of the drenched, stiff material against my skin.
“Enemies?” Jaid whispered.
There came a knock at the door.
“Young maaaaster?” came the drunk innkeeper’s voice. “You in there?”
Then there was a sudden loud knock, which surprised me – I hadn’t yet locked it, and I wasn’t expecting such propriety. Why not just walk in?
Ill-will was a nebulous thing, teetering on the lip of unthought-of intentions.
Jaid was frowning, despondent eyes fixed on the floor; Jaroan was smiling, but all the colour had been washed from his face.
I steeled myself, double-checked my scar-masking illusion. “It’s open!”
There was some murmuring outside the room, then the handle turned, and a man stepped through the doorway.
He was almost as tall as me, but he had to be mid-thirties. Like most Telese, he was pale-skinned, almost sallow-looking, his eyes and hair and moustache all as dark as the sea. He wore a thick padded jacket and iron-shod boots; there was a plain-looking scabbard at his belt, and he rested his left hand casually on the grip of his sword – to steady the blade as he moved, or in preparation to draw it, I was uncertain. Upon his shoulders were pauldrons marked with some kind of scaly insignia – a symbol of rank, perhaps. The armour wasn’t ostentatious like the mantles worn by the waywatchers of Mund, however – it was practical, wrought from form-fitting steel, designed for use rather than display.
He halted on the threshold, and his sea-dark eyes scanned the room a single time before they settled, meeting my gaze coolly.
“Good afternoon, young sir.” He only barely had an accent, and spoke quietly, respectfully. “You have a good voyage?”
“Ah, yes.” I frowned. What did he want from me exactly? “If you’ve come seeking a review, I give the Scaleshaker top marks, but the captain definitely wanted to hand over several of my body parts to dark elves at one point, and Northril – well, let’s just say we had a falling out. It didn’t agree with me. At all.”
“Ah. You are very funny.” He said it like he’d never so much as smiled in his entire life. “Might I ask your name, young sir?”
“Might I ask yours?”
The man didn’t shrug, didn’t even blink –
“I am… Sergeant Fyorin. Of the Telior city watch. Sir.”
His politeness, the promptness of his reply, they gave me no choice.
Make it look like I feel I have no other choice – that I’m giving away the truth…
“Raz,” I replied, uneasily. “I’m Raz Tormenn. These are –”
“Your brother and sister, of course.” He looked from me to the twins. “The family resemblance… it is strong. Good afternoon, children.” When they didn’t respond, the dark gaze swept over the room’s contents and then back to me.
“The keeper of the inn; she said nothing about this chest.” Sergeant Fyorin pointed at our belongings. “It is checked for contraband, no? The dock guards are usually very, uh, thorough.”
“I – would you like to check it now?” Oh drop, what if ensorcelled weaponry is outlawed? “I – I mean, you shouldn’t, should you? Do you need the proper authorities… I’ll take it down to the docks, if you need me to.”
He was just staring at me, waiting for me to give up, and I sighed, let my shoulders slump in defeat.
“Look, I don’t know what you’re looking for… We’re probably only staying a day, so –“
“Forgive me, young sir, but you are not permitted to leave. The king demands audience. I have come to bring you to him.”
“The king?” I asked, perhaps a bit shrilly. “How does he know about me? What does he want me for?”
“This,” he said, perhaps just a trace of discontent in his voice, “I do not know.”
I looked at the twins, weighing my options, and caught Jaroan’s angry glare.
If I leave them here, the shield will protect them.
Images flicked through my mind – the twins, neatly-stacked sacrifices sleeping on the altar, the darkmage standing over them, claw held aloft –
“They’re coming with me,” I decided, turning back to Fyorin. “My brother and sister don’t leave my side.”
“Even if you are jailed?” the sergeant asked.
I stared at him. “It won’t come to that.”
I had no idea who exactly I was trying to convince – the watchman, my brother and sister, or myself.
Together the three of us followed Fyorin down to the ground floor and out into the grey afternoon. At first I lowered almost all my barriers, but it was soon apparent that their ill-will was no longer triggering on the azure shapes, so I reinstated the shields as we stepped into the midst of the Telese watchmen, allowing them to escort us through the city. I’d placed a few imps inside the chest to dissuade any would-be thieves that might sneak in for a peek at our belongings while we were out.
The patrol that’d been sent to us was twelve-strong, and, aside from their leader, the eleven other watchmen stayed professionally silent as we were marched uphill – upcliff. They wore heavy cloth armour, swords sheathed at their belts, and everyone melted out of their path, standing to the side and watching as we passed. Soon small crowds formed, drawn to watch as a newcomer mage was escorted under guard…
I was smiling – mostly inwardly, though I could feel it touch the corners of my lips. I tried to quash down the feeling of amusement. It wouldn’t do to let on just how trivial their counter-measures were. Fear had melted into confidence in the face of a paltry opposition.
How easily I could lay waste to the city if I wanted to. I very much doubted Telior’s other two archmages would be able to stop me.
We were guided over bridges and up ramps, being taken ever higher and higher – I soon noticed the places where it would’ve been faster to climb a rope-ladder but the guards didn’t seem keen on that option despite my voluntary surrender.
“We take you to the High Hall,” the sergeant supplied when I asked, “the seat of King Deymar Northsword, of the Line of Fagelthril. Bow. Address him as Majesty. Do not speak unless invited, but always speak when invited. You must do this, or you will not be long for this life. Do you understand?”
I nodded, but I felt the black expression come over my face.
Wherever you go, it’s always the same. Bow. Scrape. Serve. Be grateful for your morsels.
I wondered idly if I ought to put Pinktongue back on my shoulder, just for effect.
The twins cast about in awe as we reached the highest levels, looking across an open space at what must’ve been the High Hall. I had a somewhat different reaction, eyeing with mistrust the cavern entrance at the top of the stair before us. The seat of the Line of Fagelthril was cut directly into the cliff, its doorway a neatly-hewn, rectangular opening, lit from within by torches. Twelve thirty-foot pillars, each carved in the likeness of a different deity of the pantheon, stood in order beneath the outcrop above, seeming to support the protruding rock with the crowns upon their heads. The craftsmanship was so detailed that they seemed to almost move as we approached, even the grey light causing the shaped surface of the columns to shift and ripple. The effect was so strong, it had to be magical in nature, whether the magic of men or of gods.
Yune, singing, her hands extended in welcome.
Tauremai, shivering, drawing the cloak about herself.
Ismethyl, preparing, her eight swords each in various stages of unsheathing.
Enye, laughing, a newborn babe in her arms.
Belestae, winking, hand raised to hide her crooked smile.
Chraunator, focussing, pen poised mid-word in his fingers.
Urdaith, drinking, her eyes closed in bliss.
Kaile, blessing, his hands lifted to address the masses.
Lynastra, weeping, showering tears of joy on her basket of apples.
Orovon, whispering, hand cupped to his lips.
Illodin, beckoning, pure serenity exuding from his far-off eyes.
Mortiforn, shrouded, his hooded form the only one shaped to stillness.
And it was only as we passed up the stair that I noticed the thirteenth carving awaiting us – this was no pillar, no full humanoid form. Just a face.
Wyrda, wild-haired, sullen-eyed and staring. The relief was shallow, hard to discern at first, but it was there all the same – the Fish-Queen, into whose mouth we would walk as we entered the High Hall’s opening. The tendrils snaking from her head wound about the walls on either side.
Did they even know what this would mean to a Mundian?
Wyrda’s maw. Wyrda’s maw indeed.
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