The Sable City

by M. Edward McNally

There was no water route all the way to Vod’Adia. The bullywugs took their passengers as far as they could and put them ashore at a landing in heavy woods with tall barren hills stretching away to the west. The group followed a rough trace road for what should have been the final three or four days of their journey, but halfway along the clouds rumbled and it started to rain without let up for almost a week. The trek through the hills became a perilous slog, bad enough that Tilda, Dugan, Claudja and Towsan roped themselves together on the steep trails. It took them eight days all told to traverse the route and they did not step up to the edge of the valley of Vod’Adia until noon of the Thirtieth and last day of Ninth Month. It was less then twenty-four hours before the hidden city filling the valley’s southern end was due to Open for the fifth time in four centuries.

  Tilda and Dugan stood side by side at the valley‘s edge, gazing at the lugubrious turning of the gray veil.

  “We better find the boys in a hurry,” Dugan said. “Unless you want to chase them into that.”

  “Not so much,” Tilda said.

  The Duchess spotted the pyramidal temple of Jobe within Camp Town and shook off the days of soaking misery to almost start running north around the valley’s rim until Towsan finally shouted for her to slow, as there was no way for the others to match her pace while carrying full packs. Claudja did slow down but Tilda could see from the flush on her face and the shine in her steely eyes that the Duchess was more than anxious to hurry on, now that she was this close to her goal.

  Tilda was far less enthused about her own arrival above Vod’Adia.

  The group made their way along the valley and then down through seven switchback roads in a massive work of black granite, finally reaching the streets of Camp Town with evening settling over the place. Towsan now set the pace with Claudja right behind him, as the streets were full of people beginning to realize that tomorrow would likely begin the decisive days of their lives. Some were quiet and pensive, but many more were drunk and boisterous.

  They made their way toward the temple visible above rooftops in the northwestern quadrant of the Camp Town, moving across logs and boards, shutters and doors, all thrown down in the streets for they were an utter disaster after all the rain. Some intersections were wholly impassable. The many people on the streets were adventuring types ranging from cloaked halflings to fully-armored knights. They should have been a wonder to Tilda but she could not summon much interest to see them. She only studied everyone she passed for a man with bright green eyes, or for anyone wearing a bit of Codian Legion gear or carrying a fat, stabbing short sword on his hip.

  The temple of Jobe was on a square block of its own, surrounded by a tall plank fence. Looking through the slats as she walked Tilda could see a compound of outbuildings around the great central temple, grassy yards and whitewashed walls. There were benches scattered around where some people sat at rest, and clean-cut men and women in handsome, light blue tunics moved purposefully about. It looked far nicer than the world outside the fence.

  Towsan led the way to a gate midway along the north side of the fence, where a small footbridge crossed a ditch overflowing with muddy water. Two heavily armored men guarded the end with heavy war hammers held at parade rest. Tilda thought she should say something to Claudja before they went any further, but at the sight of the men the Duchess ran forward and narrowly avoided spilling herself into the mud as she slid to a halt in front of them. She managed to turn her slide and near sprawl into something approximating a curtsy.

  The plate-armored acolytes had been eyeing a wild celebration in progress at an inn across the street, and were taken off guard for a moment before one offered the Builder’ blessing. The Duchess correctly returned their words as the others huffed up behind her.

  “I need to speak to the head of this temple, forthwith,” Claudja said, and the young men looked uncertainly at the rather disheveled, dirty, and damp young woman before them. Towsan stepped up beside her and spoke stilted but serviceable Codian for the first time in Tilda’s hearing. His tone was unmistakably that of a noble born.

  “I am Sir Gideon Towsan, Knight-Baron of Chengdea, Captain of the Hearth Order in service of the River Kingdom of Daul. This lady is in my charge, and forsooth needs must speak to the master of this Builder’s House.”

  The acolytes straightened, and gave short bows.

  “Of course, Sir. Please follow me.”

  One stepped aside, and the other led Claudja and Towsan over the short bridge. Tilda and Dugan followed closely behind the nobles and were not called to halt.

  The acolyte led the way to a sort of pavilion, a wooden floor raised a step off the ground with a canvas roof on a wooden frame. A table and chairs sat under the shelter, made of wood that looked recently hewn and still smelled of dried varnish. The acolyte lit a lamp on the table before speaking.

  “If you will wait here, I shall see if Father Corallo is available. Feel free to ask anyone about should you require anything.”

  The acolyte headed for the tall doorway of the pyramid from which a low sound of rhythmic chanting could be heard.

  Towsan, Tilda, and Dugan set down their packs and the latter two fell into chairs. Towsan remained standing as was the Duchess, looking all around the compound at people under similar pavilions or else sitting out in front of outbuildings with wide windows under cloth canopies. The people were a variety of adventurers who must have come to some harm in Camp Town, as many had bandaged wounds and were only lightly armed and equipped, if at all.

  “Some sort of hospital,” Claudja said to herself, but Dugan answered.

  “The Jobians of the Empire have a vow of charity.”

  The Duchess nodded. “They do as well in Chengdea.” She seemed to remember for the first time that Tilda and Dugan were still here, and looked at both of them.

  “I am sorry. I am where you promised to deliver me, and you are owed the second half of your payment. Twenty-two gold worth of bank notes, correct?”

  Claudja removed a long leather wallet from a deep pocket inside her rough coat. Tilda surprised herself by raising a hand, and even more with the words that came out of her mouth.

  “Keep it, your Grace.”

  Claudja blinked at her, then furrowed her brow. “Who are you, and what have you done with the Miilarkian girl?”

  Tilda smiled for a moment, but shook her head. “Claudja, I did absolutely nothing to help you get here. What you have paid already is more than fair, and if anyone did any protecting on the way, it was you more than it was us.”

  The Duchess looked at Tilda for a long time.

  “I appreciated the company, Tilda. And the friendship.”

  “So did I. You need not pay me for those, either.”

  Claudja put the wallet back in her coat, then impulsively stepped around the table and wrapped her arms around Tilda. Tilda was surprised but hugged the Duchess warmly and patted her on the back. Though Claudja was slightly older than Tilda she was about the size of Tilda’s fourteen year old sister, Kiselda. Actually, Kissy had turned fifteen since Tilda had left Miilark months back without her big sister there for her birthday. The combination of a wave of homesickness and simple human contact brought a catch to Tilda’s throat and may have made her eyes well up had they not suddenly widened at the approach of another of Jobe’s faithful.

  The acolyte who had gone inside the temple emerged and headed back for the gate, but another who came out with him turned and approached the pavilion. He was just about the most handsome man Tilda had ever seen in her life.

  His light blue tunic stitched with Jobe’s Arch fit snuggly over a strong frame, and he stepped smartly in dark trousers and polished boots. He was blonde, his hair a trifle long, but cleanly shaven and with a complexion that would have been light but for days spent at work in the out-of-doors. His features were very good with a strong jaw and wide, deeply blue eyes. The cast of his features may normally have looked a bit proud, but that effect was presently spoiled by a pink tinge of newly-pe
eled sunburn on his nose which Tilda had to admit was adorable. She tapped Claudja briskly on the shoulder until the Duchess let her go and turned around.

  The man bowed fluidly from the waist and arose with a brilliant white smile.

  “I am Brother Kendall Heggenauer of Jobe, and it is my honor to serve as adjunct to our temple master, Father Corallo. Your lordship Sir Towsan, the Father will see you now.”

  Towsan stepped forward, as did Claudja, and Tilda thought Brother Heggenauer’s smile turned up a bit more at one side as he turned to the striking young Duchess.

  “My lady if it is not rude to ask, might I have your name to announce to the Father?”

  It took Claudia a moment to speak, but when she did her voice was level.

  “Claudja Perforce.”

  Heggenauer started to bow again but stopped and looked up at Claudja, then to Towsan, then back.

  “Claudja Perforce, of Chengdea?” he said. “The Duchess Claudja of Chengdea?”

  Claudja looked genuinely surprised, and very pretty even in her rough garb.

  “Your knowledge of a foreign court is most impressive, Brother Heggenauer.”

  “I am from Exland,” Heggenauer said, though it was the first time Tilda had heard that statement made where it did not sound like bragging. “The courtly life is a peril of my tribe.”

  Claudja tilted her head fetchingly. “Heggenauer. Would that be of the Konigsburg Heggenauers?”

  Heggenauer’s brilliant smile became more so.

  “Touché, as you say in Daul, your Grace.”

  The two of them grinned at each other like they were at a dinner party somewhere until Towsan cleared his throat. Brother Heggenauer excused himself and turned to lead the way to the temple.

  “Brother,” Dugan said before the trio walked off, and Tilda had a moment of mortification that given Dugan’s feelings for the nobility, particularly its knightly members, he was about to say something awful.

  “Is there a priest here who oversees those who avail themselves of the Builder’s charity? Maybe someone who could help us find a few fellows?”

  Heggenauer looked over Dugan who with his beard, helmet, and cracked leather armor looked like the worst sort of thug. He glanced at Tilda as well and raised an eyebrow as he recognized the style of the half-cloak on her shoulders, which Tilda felt the urge to smooth even as she stood up a bit straighter.

  “Sister Paveline,” Heggenauer said. “Though she is with a patient right now.”

  “A patient?” Tilda asked, mostly because the opportunity was there.

  “Bar fights,” Heggenauer said. “They are the most popular local sport hereabouts.”

  Tilda and Claudja both laughed though it had not really been all that funny.

  “I shall send her word you are here, if you would care to wait. It should not be long.”

  Tilda nodded and Heggenauer led Towsan and Claudja away. The Duchess looked back over her shoulder a final time and she and Tilda raised their eyebrows and nodded at each other, which made both smile.

  “The answer is no, by the way,” Dugan said once the others were gone.

  “What’s that?”

  “If you are wondering whether the Jobians of the Empire have a vow of celibacy.”

  Tilda looked at Dugan sideways. “You should have made a pass at him, then.”

  Dugan snorted. “I’ll get in line.”

  Once Claudja and the others had disappeared into the temple, Tilda leaned against the table and crossed her arms. The sounds of the Camp Town’s streets roiled on beyond the fenced yard.

  “It was a good idea to ask here, after John Deskata and the others,” she said. “They are Codians, and likely strapped for cash.”

  Dugan put his feet up on the table and leaned back in his chair.

  “Sounds like we’ve reached that bridge you want to burn.”

  Tilda turned around to look at him.

  “I studied every man we passed on the way here, and it struck me. I would not know John Deskata by sight, nor any of his men. And there is no way to know now if they are still outfitted as Legion men.”

  “I’d be surprised if they were,” Dugan nodded.

  Tilda took in and let out a slow breath.

  “I still need your help.”

  Dugan smirked. He had taken to wearing the string of beads that was his pass to enter Vod’Adia around his neck on the cord he had moved from his wrist, and he now patted the charm through his shirt.

  “You have me for eight days, Tilda. Unless a party of adventurers makes me a better offer.”

  Tilda looked at Dugan levelly and told him the decision she had made a few days ago.

  “Once we have found them, I want you to leave, Dugan. Just go on your way and leave the rest to me.”

  “You on your own?”

  “That is all I need,” Tilda said, almost like she believed it.

  Dugan ran a thumb over the beaded trinket through his shirt, regarding Tilda with an expression of deep thought. His shoulders shrugged before he nodded, and he said, “As you wish.”

  Some ten minutes later Claudja and Towsan came out of the temple, following Brother Heggenauer who was now outfitted for Camp Town’s streets in plate armor and helmet, carrying a large mace and a shield bearing Jobe’s holy symbol. The Duchess waved to Tilda though she looked completely serious now, and determined, and the trio left by the compound’s southern gate.

  It was another twenty minutes before Sister Paveline showed up.