Rsiran thought of the child starving outside his new smithy. “But why? If it’s all so valuable—”
Brusus nodded. “I had the same reaction, Rsiran. But as the Elvraeth have wealth, they do not value things the same as the rest of us. From what I’ve learned, everything stored here was simply gifted to the Elvraeth.”
Rsiran looked around, seeing how massive the warehouse was and how many boxes were stored here. There were probably thousands. He could not imagine so much wealth that you simply did not care about it. “And you want to do what with this, exactly?”
Brusus snorted and wandered farther down the line of boxes. Rsiran had to hurry to catch him, feet stirring up clouds of dry dust that sifted into his mouth with each step. He quickly raised his arm across his mouth.
Rsiran almost reached Brusus as he ducked in between two towering stacks of crates that stretched nearly to the ceiling. They were carefully aligned so that they could not fall. The lowermost had barely visible lettering with lines that angled backward, sloping in harsh unreadable lines. The exterior of these was different than some of the others, and he ran his hand along the lower boxes, touching smooth wood that felt almost slippery to the touch, as if coated with fresh oil. As much as he hated the urge, he wanted to pry an end off, peer inside, and learn what secrets the Elvraeth hid here. Though they may not value the wealth stored within, Rsiran still did.
He finally found Brusus standing in a small clearing of boxes. A window above had been cleared of much of the dust and dirt, leaving it smeared but letting more light stream into the warehouse, almost as if focused on this spot. The clearing was framed with six of the massive crates, all arranged in an even shape. All looked much like the last, strange angular lettering barely visible, the same smooth and glistening wood. He touched the nearest one and ran his hand across it, rubbing the oil between his fingers.
“Why did you bring me here, Brusus?”
Brusus turned and look at the crates, shaking his head, speaking softly. “Not long ago, I was hired for a job. Brought here to see an example of something before I did the job. I cannot imagine all that is stored here. Hundreds of years of history. Items of value and power.” He turned to look at Rsiran.
He led Rsiran to a crate along the edge of the small clearing. Two other boxes were stacked atop it, both made of the strange old and oiled wood, their surfaces marked with the faded lettering that he could not read.
The end of the crate had been forced open. Rather than splintering, the wood seemed to peel away in layers, looking more like stacked paper than any type of wood Rsiran had ever seen. Inside the crate, were other smaller boxes. It was then he recognized the lettering. “Jessa had one of these.”
Brusus nodded and an angry tilt came to his eyes. “She reclaimed one, yes.”
“What’s in them?”
Brusus slipped one of the boxes out. It was long and narrow and made of the same wood that the rest of the crate was made from, the surface slightly less slick. Two faded brass hinges mounted along one side, and a solid clasp held the lid closed. The lettering appeared burned into the wood, charred into the surface with the slashing writing.
“Is there a key?” Rsiran asked.
Brusus shrugged. “Probably was once. Not sure that even the Elvraeth would know anymore. It took me quite a while to figure out how to get into the crate. The wood wouldn’t gouge at all. Wasn’t until I tried chiseling it off that I realized I could simply peel apart the layers. Then it opened easy enough.”
Rsiran grabbed one of the stacks of peeled wood. It bent easily enough but was still stiff, like bark peeled from a tree, nothing like the stiff sheaf of parchment it appeared to be. Taken together, the stack peeled from the crate seemed more like layers of something other than wood, with whatever oily substance he felt on the surface used to hold it together.
Brusus pulled the worn leather pack out of his pocket and unrolled it again. Rsiran noted that he set it away from the crate and the stacked pieces from the end, careful to let the leather touch nothing but the packed dirt ground. Thumbing through the slender rods placed within the pack, he settled on one and took it out. As he worked it in the lock, he muttered to himself inaudibly. Finally, there was a soft click, and the clasp popped open.
Rsiran realized he was holding his breath. As Brusus opened the lid, he let it out slowly. Inside, tucked into a soft velvet pad to keep it from moving, was a long metal cylinder with strange markings along the side, almost runes of a sort Rsiran had never seen, running from one end to the other.
Brusus carefully lifted it and held it up, twisting it. The color of the metal seemed to shift and shimmer, drifting from gold to bluish grey to silver as he spun the cylinder. The runes along the sides took on more or less light, depending on how he twisted it, almost seeming to move.
Rsiran blinked, and the effect stopped.
Brusus handed it over to Rsiran, and he took it carefully. The cylinder was heavier than he expected, the metal denser than steel or even lorcith. Up close, the colors shifting along the shaft glimmered faintly, sliding from one to the next depending on how he held it. The markings, characters etched with painstaking detail and looking like animals or trees or even figures holding weapons, still moved, the effect unsettling this close. Each end of the cylinder was open, one seemingly tapered slightly more than the other.
“Do you recognize it?” Brusus asked.
Rsiran shook his head. “Not any alloy I have ever seen.”
“What if it’s not an alloy?”
Rsiran looked over to Brusus. “Then this is even more impressive. What sort of metal shimmers like this?”
Brusus placed his narrow lock pick back into the leather pack and carefully rolled it back up, sliding it into his pocket before standing. “After hearing you talk about the different metals, I had hoped you might recognize it.”
“What’s this for?” Rsiran held the cylinder in front of him. The craftsmanship that had gone into making it was impressive. More impressive was the level detail in the runes. He could almost imagine the tiny characters were alive.
Brusus took it from him and set it back into the box. After closing the lid, he locked the clasp again. “I don’t know. I’ve opened nearly a dozen, and each is a similar shape but has different markings. Most seem to be made of the same metal, but a few were different. One was solid gold. Another silver. Haern thinks they are all part of something greater, meant to be assembled once the crates arrived in Elaeavn. Of course, he also tells me I should leave this place alone. Not sure how I could when they simply collect dust here in the warehouse.”
“They are skillfully made.”
Brusus nodded. “And likely worth nothing other than as a curiosity,” he said ruefully. “Oh, the gold one has value. As does the silver. But these,” he pointed to the small box, “made of some unknown metal are only valuable to collectors. The only collectors are the Elvraeth or those close to them.” He shrugged and pointed toward the opened crate.
“What about outside of Elaeavn? There must be collectors in other cities.”
Brusus nodded. “I’m certain there would be. The universities in Asador or Thyr would likely have interest, but there are problems with trying that. First is simple transportation. These boxes are quite heavy. Weight equals cost.” He smiled and shrugged. “The other is as problematic. I’m not ready to draw the full attention of the Elvraeth upon me. So… worthless. I’ve sent what I can with Firell—items that could come from anywhere—but there is much more here, much that I don’t fully understand.”
Rsiran kneeled next to the box and ran his hand over the surface. He didn’t know what the cylinders were made from or their purpose, but was sure they weren’t worthless.
“This crate is probably five hundred years old,” Brusus said. “And someone thought it important to ship to the Elvraeth.” He thumped the crate with an angry smack. “Now we’re left with questions, curiosity only, trying to understand what it is that was forgotten here all those year
s ago.”
Each crate in the warehouse was nearly ten paces long and half as wide, standing nearly to his neck. Stacked as they were atop each other, the topmost one touched the ceiling. Inside each one there was so much wonder. Rsiran could not help but feel curious about what was in the others.
“Is this the only one you’ve opened?”
Brusus smiled and shook his head. “The only one that has proved interesting. Each has been challenging to open. I suspect the design is particular to the Elvraeth, something they requested, which is likely why these are so damned hard to break into. Probably why they store them here so openly. Who else would waste so much time trying to break into these crates?” he asked disgustedly. “The first took me nearly two nights to crack open. Two nights! And all it held was stacks of paper. The quality was fine enough, but had I known…” Brusus sighed. “Another held fabrics woven in a rough design and nearly worthless. There was one full of fine porcelain. Nice quality and painted with interesting detail, but that box took me a day and a half to crack.”
In spite of Brusus’s apparent annoyance, Rsiran smiled. “How long did this crate take to open?”
Brusus saw the tilt of a smile on his face and glared at him. “Nearly a week. Took me most of that time to figure out how to peel away the layers. Once I learned that, then it opened easily.”
Could he Slide into one of the crates to see what they contained? Likely he would end up trapped… or worse. Injured or impaled on something inside. To Slide successfully, he needed to know there was an open place to emerge. He could not always tell that when he started. Maybe with enough practice he could get better, but for now, it would be safer to not risk it.
“What were you asked to do?”
“I wasn’t asked to do anything with the crates stored here,” Brusus admitted. “They were shown to me as an example. Probably a warning too. If they can leave all this wealth here, why do I matter?” Brusus ran his fingers along the nearest crate. “I doubt he even knows I’ve returned. Or maybe he does. The man who brought me here is like that crate. He works in layers. The outermost layer is not often the real reason. With him, I have learned to look deeper, peel away until I find something beneath. I still don’t know if I have peeled away enough, but I think there was another reason I was brought here.” Brusus looked with a longing expression at the crates.
Rsiran could almost see him calculating how much wealth was stored within, could sense the disappointment he would have felt when this crate was finally opened only to learn that whatever was stored inside was not something he could easily sell.
“Who showed them to you?”
Rsiran knew this must be where Brusus had gone the day after he’d first met him.
Brusus looked up and met Rsiran’s eyes. For a moment, Rsiran thought there was a surge of green there but decided it must be some trick of the light coming through the dirty windows overhead.
“Someone who is more at home here than I am.”
“A merchant?”
Brusus shook his head. “No merchant is allowed within this warehouse. As I said, I don’t think any but a select few of the Elvraeth even know what is stored here.”
“If none other than the Elvraeth know about the warehouse, then how did your…” Rsiran trailed off as he suddenly understood. “One of the Elvraeth showed this to you?”
Which meant Brusus owed money to one of the Elvraeth. Brusus’s desire for Rsiran’s knives took on new urgency. Brusus didn’t simply need a little money. With the Elvraeth involved, Rsiran couldn’t begin to fathom the sums Brusus might owe. And maybe the overheard comment about a rebellion had something more to it.
Brusus held his gaze. “Not from one of the high families, but he knew and showed me to this place.” Seeing the puzzled look, Brusus explained. “As I told you, the Elvraeth are not simply one family—they are many, all joined by common bloodlines. But only the high families rule, the families that trace their ancestors back generations ago to when they claim the Great Watcher himself gave them a gift.”
The Elvraeth were gifted with varying degrees of all the known abilities. Some manifested more powerfully than others, but every member of the family had each ability in some form. It was this that granted the Elvraeth the right to rule, and they had ruled over Elaeavn since before it moved to the sea.
“So the Elvraeth you owe money to brought you here?”
Brusus shot him a look. “He brought me here to discuss a job.”
Rsiran felt an itching in his head, like someone trying to Read him, and looked around. Other than Brusus, he thought they were alone.
“Is that why you didn’t fear the sellsword seeing you enter the warehouse?”
Brusus shook his head. “I’m not certain my friend was permitted to share what he knew of the warehouse.”
“Not permitted? Why would one of the Elvraeth share it with you if he wasn’t permitted?”
“That is another of the layers I have yet to peel away.”
“How much do you owe him?” It was only one of the questions he wanted to ask.
The itching in his head continued, and Rsiran turned, pretending to look at the boxes.
“Doesn’t matter. Not if I do this.”
“Brusus—this is one of the Elvraeth!”
Brusus’s eyes narrowed and his face hardened. “I think I understand that better than most. Besides, he’s hired me several times before. Always the jobs have been simple and paid well. The last… let’s just say it didn’t go as he planned. He’s offered me a way out of that debt.” He looked around the warehouse and shook his head. “Probably didn’t intend for me to return and open the crates, but what choice did he give me?” He shook his head again. “He knows I have to do what he asks or he’ll report me to the constables. And my coin won’t get me out of that when one of the Elvraeth does the reporting.”
“Brusus… are you sure you should be doing this? I mean, you are working for one of the Elvraeth but also against the Elvraeth. Don’t you think that’s dangerous?”
Brusus clapped a hand on Rsiran’s shoulder. “You have been spending far too much time around Jessa.”
Rsiran felt his face flush.
“That is the same question she asked. I will tell you the same as I told her—I don’t know. There are Elvraeth politics at play here. I suspect even if I hadn’t taken this job I would somehow end up mixed into them. I would rather be in control, if possible.”
Rsiran looked around the warehouse before turning to look at the open crate, the long box still lying on the floor. Something about the dirty floor or possibly the thin light reminded him of the mines and the men sentenced by the Elvraeth council to serve, and he wondered—with the Elvraeth, could one ever really be in control?
Chapter 23
As Brusus tucked the box containing the strange metal cylinder back into the crate, Rsiran looked again and counted the boxes that remained. From what he could tell, there were nearly two dozen, all lined and stacked neatly. He couldn’t help wondering what they were meant for, what purpose had the people that made and shipped them to the Elvraeth intended for the strange items?
Given the space remaining, it would seem other boxes had not been returned to the crate. “What did you do with the others?”
“Others?” Brusus turned and looked at him.
“You said there was one of gold and of silver?”
Brusus shrugged. “Those I’ve kept.”
“Will you try to sell them?” Rsiran imagined one of the Elvraeth learning of something missing. How much more trouble could Brusus get himself into then?
He shrugged. “Not in their current form. Too many questions.” As he led the way away from the small clearing, Brusus waved his hands around and tried to explain. “They’re solid gold, solid silver. I would have to melt them down before I could try to move them.” He shrugged again. “Besides, I’m not sure I want to sell them quite yet. They’re a part of whatever it is that is stored there, and until I know what that th
ing is, I don’t want to give up any of its parts. And… I will have another source of income soon.”
Rsiran felt some of the pressure coming off of him. If Brusus didn’t need him to create weapons of lorcith, he wouldn’t need to risk Sliding back to the mines.
Brusus turned. “If you ever manage to get that forge working, we can sell those blades of yours. If this job goes wrong…” He forced a smile. “Might need something else to offer.”
Rsiran nodded slowly. How could he not help Brusus? “The forge isn’t the issue.”
“I saw that.”
“After seeing this place, I do wonder if there might be anything here that we could use. Even tools that I wouldn’t have to forge would help.”
“There might be, Rsiran, but seeing how long it takes to open a single crate, searching through them all would take far too much time. Better to simply move forward with your plan.” Brusus took a few more steps, moving away from the lighted part of the warehouse, now where long shadows stretched that reminded Rsiran too much of the mines. “You do have a plan, don’t you?”
“I do,” he answered quickly. Except, after what happened last night, he wasn’t sure that he could go through with it anymore.
When they reached the door, Brusus motioned for him to be silent and pulled it open a crack. Sunlight and fresh air spilled through. Brusus shoved his face up to the door and looked. Once content, he slipped through and ducked along the wall, keeping his head low. Rsiran followed, pulling the door closed behind him. Dust from the stairs stuck to his tongue.
The Dark Ability Page 17
