The Arcane Ward

by Jeffrey L. Kohanek

  Wayport

  The setting sun painted the walls of Wayport orange. Thick with traffic, the road outside the city was lined with farmers selling produce from wagon beds. Delvin slowed his horse from a trot to an easy walk and Quinn did likewise. Of Tantarri stock, the steeds seemed to have many miles left in them, despite two consecutive long days of travel. Unlike most Tantarri horses, these mounts had been taught to accept a bridle, ensuring that the riders would not attract undue attention. Attention was the last thing Quinn and Delvin needed.

  As they approached the gate, Delvin gave the guards on duty a nod. Dressed in the black, red, and gold of Kantaria, the guards ignored Delvin and continued to monitor the incoming traffic. Quinn noted the ready stance of the guards, who appeared to take their job seriously. Well trained, she thought. Either that, or on alert because of a warning of trouble.

  When they entered the city, the gravel roadway ended and cobblestone streets began, fanning out from a square just inside the gate. A breeze came from the direction of the bay, carrying salt air with it. Quinn tugged on the front of her tunic in hope of allowing the breeze to cool her. The tunic was damp with sweat – a reminder of the thick humidity, if she needed a reminder. While autumn had begun to take hold in Fallbrandt valley, summer still held Wayport firmly in its grip.

  Delvin pulled his reins, stopping his horse as Quinn did likewise. Dismounting, they each took their reins and began leading their horses down one of the narrow streets.

  People on foot traveled in both directions. A cart came toward them, pulled by an ox that lumbered slowly and left Quinn wondering if the beast suffered from the humidity as she did. The cart passed them, filled with barrels that she suspected came from the harbor. A woman exited a shop door with an armful of cloth and walked past them. Quinn looked up and found a sign that read Wayport Looms above the shop’s door. Her focus shifted to the building beside it and found a sign that read Gulley’s Inn. Delvin angled toward an alley just past the inn and led his horse around back with Quinn and her horse a step behind. A gravel yard and stables waited behind the building, the area covered in shadows. Quinn spotted a workhorse drinking from a trough and an empty wagon beside the stables. A man kneeling beside one of the wagon wheels turned toward them, stood, and wiped his hands on his trousers. The man’s skin was dark, his black hair shorn close to the scalp. The arms of his tunic were pushed up to his elbows, the laces loose to expose his chest, which was visibly covered in sweat. He gave them a grin as he approached.

  “You’re back with company, I see.”

  “Yes, Furley,” Delvin replied. “We’ll only stay for the night, but the horses will remain for a week, perhaps longer.”

  The man nodded. “I’ll get them fed and check their shoes. You go on in and settle with Libby.”

  Delvin handed the reins over and led Quinn inside. They ducked through a door that led them down a corridor with stairs to the upper levels beside it. The hallway opened to a taproom with half the tables occupied, as were half the stools along the bar at the far end of the room. Without pause, Delvin led Quinn to the bar and took an open stool. Quinn rested her pack on the floor and sat beside him, placing her elbows on the bar to emulate the man.

  A thin woman with long black hair stood behind the bar, pouring a tankard of ale. She slid it onto the counter before a man with a thick black beard and then turned toward Delvin. A grimace crossed her face, and she strolled over to him.

  “I see you’re back,” she said.

  “You are most observant, Libby.”

  Her eyes flicked toward Quinn. “I hope you’re not teaching this innocent girl anything unsavory.”

  He held his hands up in surrender. “What do you think of me?”

  Libby snorted. “I’ll let you guess at the response.” She leaned closer. “No gambling. Keep your dice in your pocket.”

  Delvin’s face took on a pained expression. “You can be most hurtful, Libby. I did learn my lesson last time.”

  “I wish I could believe that.” Her mouth twisted, and her brow furrowed. “How long are you here?”

  “Just tonight. The girl and I have an appointment in the morning.”

  “One room or two?”

  Delvin thumbed toward Quinn. “Two. The girl can take care of herself.”

  Libby’s large, dark eyes shifted toward Quinn. “Good to know.”

  “Now that we have the chit-chat out of the way, I’d love an ale and some food.”

  The innkeeper turned toward Quinn with a questioning look. “And you?”

  Quinn replied, “The same.”

  The woman spun about, walked the length of the bar, and opened the door to the kitchen. After poking her head inside and saying a few words, she turned to a cabinet on the wall. Two keys tied to cords dangled from her fist when she closed the cabinet door. She then grabbed two mugs from a shelf and opened the spigot on the barrel beside her.

  Having never tried ale before left Quinn a little concerned, but she was determined to drink it. Blending in was about adapting and that meant making as little fuss as possible. This might be the first time of many where drinking ale was the best way to remain unremarkable. When the woman returned with two foam-capped mugs, she placed the tankards and the keys on the bar before moving along to help another customer. Delvin picked his mug up, took a sip, and smacked his foam-covered lips before wiping them dry.

  “Ahh. Nothing like a cool mug of ale after a long, hot day on the road.” He swiped the keys from the bar and turned toward Quinn. “Give me your pack. I’ll put it in your room and open the window. Trust me. You’ll want the room to air out for a while before you head up there. The sun will soon set. Given a couple hours, the room might cool down enough to be almost tolerable.”

  Bending down, Quinn scooped up her pack and handed it to him. Delvin slid past her and disappeared into the hallway as she turned back to the bar and her waiting mug of ale. Quinn grabbed the handle, surprised by the weight of it. She lifted it to her lips and slurped. The flavor of the cool, bubbly drink reminded her of bread. When she swallowed, a bitterness lingered and triggered a desire to pucker her lips, which she resisted with a conscious effort. She took a deeper drink. Bubbles and foam slid down her throat. The cool drink tasted better, as if the first attempt had beaten down her defenses and convinced her taste buds that the hoppy flavor was acceptable. She put the mug down with a nod as she decided it was not bad. Turning, she began to examine the other patrons in the room.

  In one corner, she spotted a man slumped over to the side, his wide-brimmed hat partially covering his face. Near him, four men sat together, laughing over something said. A waitress approached their table, and one of the men tried to grab her. The woman swatted his hand and twisted away with laughter while exchanging insults. Further down, two men leaned over their table in quiet discussion. When the server approached, they shook their heads and she turned away to return to the bar. Quinn’s gaze followed her, and she counted four others sitting at the bar.

  The two men beside Delvin’s stool were comparing stories of their travels. Beyond them were a man and a woman, both appearing to be hunters. From the grimace on the woman’s face, she didn’t appear to be in a good mood. The man sipped his ale while his eyes flicked about the room nervously.

  Quinn turned and found a big man seated by the front door with his arms crossed, his head tilted as he dozed. The man had a cudgel in one hand, bruised knuckles on the other. Not far from that man, four men and two women sat around a table playing dice. Two of the men had shorn hair and stubble on their faces. The other two wore hats and sported trimmed beards while the women had their hair in braids – one blond, the other brunette. One of the women threw the dice and groaned while the others cheered. She handed the dice to the man beside her and took a drink of ale.

  Motion from the periphery tugged at Quinn’s attention. She spun about to find Libby emerging from the kitchen with two steaming plates. The woman slid them on the bar and turned away as Delvin reappear
ed and took his stool.

  “What is it?” Quinn asked with a frown.

  “Corn,” Delvin said with a grin.

  A sigh slipped out. “No. This” She pointed at the fish on her plate.

  “Fish.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I know that. But, why the odd things on its face?”

  Delvin cut through the fish’s crusty baked skin to reveal tender white meat beneath. “That is a Bootslick Fish. Bottom feeder. From the river.” He pointed toward her plate. “Try it. They’re good.”

  With a shrug, Quinn cut into her fish and took a bite.

  Over an hour later, Quinn and Delvin sat at a table in the same taproom. Their conversation had waned as they ran out of innocuous things to discuss. The entire time, Quinn had surveyed the room, noticing things that struck her as odd. When the dice players staggered out the door, it left her and Delvin alone in their corner. The moment of privacy prompted her to ask him a quiet question.

  “What is this place?”

  He gave her a smirk and turned toward the bar. “It’s an inn, like any other.”

  Quinn shook her head. “Not like any other. “

  Delvin took a drink of his ale while giving her a sidelong glance. He put the ale down and wiped his lips dry. “Tell me.”

  Quinn stared at him for a moment as she assembled her thoughts. “When we arrived, the stable hand and the bartender knew you.”

  He shrugged. “Not uncommon. Travelers typically frequent the same inn repeatedly.”

  “True. Yet, neither of them said your name. Places like this will go out of their way to use the names of repeat customers. It helps to establish a personal connection and to encourage a return visit. They want you to feel like they care. Besides, you did not use my name when you spoke with Libby.” Quinn’s eyes narrowed. “You are trying to blend in without identifying yourself.”

  He sat back and took another drink before setting his mug down. “Fair assessment, but not quite surprising, given our circumstances.”

  “Oh, there is more.” Quinn leaned forward. “What about coin? The woman gave us drinks, food, and rooms without one mention of coin. I have yet to see a business owner hand out things without establishing the price or payment in advance.” Quinn gestured across the room. “The man in the corner with the hat half covering his face. He has been watching…listening. I caught his eyes open twice. His breathing is too shallow, too rapid for him to be asleep.” She turned toward the bar. “The two men exchanging stories at the bar have been there since before we arrived, yet their mugs have yet to be refilled. And then, there is the bartender.”

  Delvin’s brow rose.

  “She apparently owns…or at least runs this inn. Yet, she had no rune on her head despite being well north of thirty summers. That makes her an Unchosen. I know things have changed since the Empire and the Ministry were disbanded, but I suspect she has come into such a position in an uncommon manner.” She locked eyes with Delvin, the man staring at her for a long moment before he nodded.

  “Good. You didn’t catch everything, but enough to prove yourself.” He downed the last of his ale and plopped the mug on the table. “You’re correct. This place – without naming names – was purchased about ten years back by the father of a certain pair of twins you know. He then put Libby in charge of the inn because she is someone he trusts.” He ran his fingers across the table. “We use it as the center of our business in Wayport, and we have similar facilities in cities throughout Issalia.”

  Quinn considered his words and realized that the network she was now part of was more extensive than she had imagined. “Those who are in the Ward – they are just the trainees.”

  “Yes and no. The gadgeteers likely will remain there. As will many of the arcanists, for they are required to enchant objects. A few, such as Thiron and Wyck, come and go. The others will likely move on when they are ready and a suitable assignment arises.”

  “What about my assignment?” Quinn asked. “Will you finally tell me?”

  He grinned. “Not yet.”

  “When?”

  “Soon.”

  She rolled her eyes and sat back, frowning.

  Delvin stood. “Now, we can go to our rooms.”

  “What? Why now?”

  “Because I was waiting until you proved that you are observing as you were trained.”

  Quinn rose from her chair. “That’s why we’ve been sitting down here?”

  “That and the fact that our rooms are likely to feel like someone locked them tight and then left a kettle boiling on an open flame.”

  25

  Mission Objective

  Twilight from the purple sky above offered faint illumination to the quiet streets. Waning glowlamps at the intersections added little light to aid Quinn and Delvin’s passage toward the harbor. Every couple intersections, Delvin would turn from a wide thoroughfare to a narrow alley, dark and foreboding. Quinn found her hand searching for the pommel of her sword more than once, but her hip was bare. Once again, she wished she hadn’t been forced to leave her swords behind at the Ward. They are too noticeable, Delvin had said. They also do not fit the persona you will portray. She understood his point, but she didn’t have to like it.

  As they neared the south wall, she began to spot others moving about. Unlike the sleepy city behind her, when they passed through the harbor gate and the view opened to the docks, Quinn found them awake and teeming with life.

  Warehouses and holding yards occupied the area between the city and the wharf. A boardwalk of wooden planks encircled the harbor while long wooden piers stretched out into the bay. Without pause, Delvin lead Quinn down one such pier, toward the three ships moored beside it.

  Quinn examined the first ship as they walked past where dockworkers were busy loading barrels into the hold, forcing her and Delvin to circle around them. The vessel had two masts and a wide, low body. Sailors lounged on the deck, chatting as they waited to set sail.

  The next ship was also being loaded. Dockworkers emptied a wagon filled with crates into the hold while another wagon waited behind it. It was a freighter, like the first – its hull built to carry cargo.

  When they approached the third ship, Quinn observed differences in its construction. Taller, but with an aggressively shaped hull, it had the look of something built for speed. A long black beam – narrowed at the end – jutted out from the prow. Matching the beam, the rails that surrounded the ship were coated with a shiny black lacquer. With three masts and a high quarterdeck at the rear, Quinn stared in awe, thinking it a thing of beauty.

  Delvin stopped and shouted. “Yo! Star Razer!”

  A moment later, a man stood at the railing. He rested his bare arms on it, his skin exposed from the shoulder of his sleeveless cream tunic. The man pushed his long dark bangs from his forehead, exposing the Order rune that marked it. With dark eyes, tanned skin, and an affable smile, Quinn decided she might find him attractive if she were fifteen years older.

  “You made it,” the man said.

  “Did you miss me, Parker?”

  “I’ll admit that I miss watching you and Tenzi exchange barbs,” Parker chuckled.

  “It’s wonderful to find someone who appreciates my talents.”

  “I’ll not comment on that.” Parker moved toward the middle of the ship. “I’ll have the plank extended.”

  He turned from the rail and faded from view. Moments later, two men removed a section of the railing while two others fed a long plank over the edge until it tipped, the far end landing on the dock with a thud. Without pause, Delvin walked up the plank, using the boards nailed to it to keep from sliding down. Quinn trailed behind him as memories of her adventures on the Jungle surfaced. In comparison, walking up a foot-wide plank was nothing of note.

  When she reached the top, Quinn climbed off to find Parker and Delvin clasping forearms and patting each other’s opposite shoulder. Parker then turned toward Quinn.

  “So, this is the girl?”

  Delvi
n nodded.

  Parker’s gaze lingered for a moment. “She isn’t much to look at.”

  Quinn’s face clouded over, her knuckles turning white, her eyes narrowing as she glared at the man.

  “Careful, Parker. Don’t poke this one. Her bite is far worse than her bark.” Delvin smirked.

  “I know another female with those traits,” Parker said. “If you are ready, we’ll set sail.”

  “We are ready. You know our destination?”

  The man spoke over his shoulder as he walked across the deck. “I do, but more importantly, the captain knows.”

  He stopped before the door below the quarterdeck and knocked. “Captain! Our guests are here and are ready to set sail!”

  A moment later, the door opened and a woman emerged. “If they are ready, call the order. I’ll take the helm.”

  Quinn was surprised when Parker nodded toward the woman and responded, “Yes, Captain.”

  The captain shook her blond hair and pulled it behind her head before slipping a black hat on. With a wide brim and white plume, Quinn thought the hat looked quite dashing. The woman then strode toward Delvin, her mouth turned up in a sardonic smirk.

  “So, the miscreant returns for another voyage.”

  Parker’s voice called out, relaying orders as he strolled the length of the ship.

  Delvin flashed a wide grin. “Admit that you missed me, Tenzi.”

  She snorted. “Yes. Much like I miss the feeling I get the morning after I over-indulge. I recall how little I enjoy it, yet I continually return for more.”

  His expression was one of pain. “You cut me to the quick, Captain. Am I not a most gracious guest when aboard your ship?”

  “Yes. You continuously gift me with your childish humor and snide remarks. And then you steal my men’s coin before making off like a bandit.”

  “Wait. I did not steal a thing. They lost fairly.”

  “Whose dice were you using?”

  Delvin shrugged. “Mine were handy.”