The Sable City

by M. Edward McNally

Uriako Shikashe was the first to step through the mist-shrouded gatehouse and emerge into the round plaza just inside Vod’Adia. Nesha-tari was close behind him. The vendors looked at the grim samurai with his bared white blade and the beige-cloaked woman whose flashing blue eyes returned their looks smugly, and no one felt the need to tout their wares. These people looked like they knew what they were doing.

  Amatesu came out next with a pack on her shoulder and carrying an unlit lantern. Tilda followed with an arrow nocked in her short bow. Brother Heggenauer and John Deskata appeared with mace and heavy short sword, both of them armored now as the ex-legionnaire had stripped the breastplate and greaves off of one of his fallen fellows. He also carried, once again, the tall tower shield of the Legions.

  The six of them looked around surprised by the market-day atmosphere of the place, and weapons were finally slid back into sheaths or at least rested on shoulders. Nesha-tari crossed her arms and spoke, but no one translated. Everyone looked around.

  “Where’s the other guy?” Deskata asked.

  “His name is Zebulon,” Amatesu said. Quick introductions had been made once already.

  “Whatever. Where is he?”

  The samurai grunted and nodded his flaring kabuto helmet back at the gatehouse, where a raised crossbow was just easing out of the dense mist in the passageway. The weapon was followed by Zeb’s head, bushy hair poking out from beneath his Ayzant helmet. He looked around over the bow then lowered it and jogged over to the others with his ring mail jingling.

  “I got lost in the gatehouse,” he mumbled.

  “It was a straight hallway,” Tilda said. He had no response.

  Nesha-tari spoke again, and Zeb translated. The woman’s words sounded like commands but Zeb repeated them as suggestions. She thought everyone should disperse to ask around after the men they were after before setting off into the city.

  Brother Heggenauer frowned deeply at the woman as she spoke in Zantish, but he made no comment before striding for a tall building with a white shield freshly painted on the black bricks above the open door. Deskata and Zebulon went off in other directions while the two Westerners remained with Nesha-tari. She crossed her arms and stood on one foot to admire the shiny new, knee-length boot of dark leather on the other. The Shugak had hurriedly provided her with the new footwear, along with some supplies now distributed among the party.

  Before she went off on her own Tilda looked over the Westerners. She was guessing that Uriako Shikashe was samurai, but was pretty sure she was right as he carried both katana and wakizashi swords and wore a full suit of o-yori that must have cost a fortune. The woman Amatesu always added the highly respectful suffix -sama to his family name as well. The Western woman had introduced herself with just a single name, but Tilda had seen her heal Zebulon’s throat with only a touch.

  “Shukenja?” Tilda asked Amatesu, and the woman with the wreck of a hair style raised a black eyebrow and nodded.

  “Good,” Tilda said.

  “You are familiar with the ways of the Western Lands?” the shukenja asked.

  “A little,” Tilda said. “I am from Miilark.”

  Amatesu looked at Tilda’s black half-cloak.

  “Guilder?”

  Tilda raised one of her own black eyebrows as she nodded.

  “Good,” Amatesu said.

  Tilda moved across the plaza and talked to a gnome who tried very hard to sell her a map of the city. He had a smile as wide as Fitzyear Coalmounderan’s but there was a different quality in his eyes. Tilda suspected his maps were fake. He had however seen the legionnaires a few hours ago or so, but not where they had gone. Tilda rejoined the others. Zeb knew no more than she did but Heggenauer said that Shanatarian priests had healed two men in Imperial armor, one from a bad leg wound and another with two fingers cut off.

  “I should have picked up the Sarge’s digits for him,” John Deskata growled as he was the last to arrive. His manner now was scarcely anything like it had been while he was calling himself Dugan, and Tilda supposed that this gruff, angry man was the real him.

  “There is a bunch of Agintans in that building,” Deskata jerked a thumb. “They saw our boys move off on the first street heading south. I looked around back there but the streets are a maze.”

  “What do we know of this heart of Vod’Adia they seek?” Heggenauer asked. Deskata shrugged.

  “It is some castle or palace smack-dab in the middle of the city. That’s all the seer could get from the book.”

  The party looked to the south and toward the middle of town, but as far as they could see they perceived only rising rooftops and a few towers. Nothing that looked like a castle on its own.

  Nesha-tari spoke even as she started walking around the building Deskata had indicated.

  “Madame Nesha-tari suggests we discuss this on the move,” Zeb said, following the Westerners who were already following the Zantish woman. “Instead of standing here like a bunch of…well. Never mind.”

  Tilda joined them and fell into step beside Brother Heggenauer, the acolyte of Jobe. His handsome face was determined and as he noticed Tilda looking at him he gave her a short smile and a nod.

  “Are you going to be in trouble with your temple?” Tilda asked, as she had not had an opportunity to ask him anything since the party had rushed to the Shugak palisade and onto the road into Vod’Adia. Heggenauer shook his head.

  “Sister Paveline did not order me directly to stay out. She knows the right thing to do is to go to the Duchess’s aid.”

  “She didn’t let any of the other Jobians come in,” Tilda said. Heggenauer frowned ever so slightly.

  “Though our Church practices some military discipline, I was one of the few at the temple raised in Camp Town with…actual experience of a martial kind.”

  “Were you a knight?” Tilda asked, as everything about Heggenauer’s manner made that seem likely.

  “I was a squire for a time,” he said. “Before I heard Jobe’s call.”

  The group had moved out of the plaza and to the next block over. Looking down a street running more or less south Tilda saw what Deskata had meant, for two lanes split off from it on the right side at different angles and the main route disappeared around a corner only a little further on. Looking at the dark, cobblestone surface of the roads and the smooth black flagstones of the sidewalks, Tilda did not think any passersby would leave enough signs to track. She said so and the others slowed and looked around at each other.

  “Priest?” Deskata asked Heggenauer. “How about a spell?”

  The acolyte of an Imperial Church did not look kindly toward the ex-legionnaire. He shook his head.

  “What about you?” Deskata asked Amatesu. The shukenja also shook her head.

  “I would need an object belonging to a person I wished to follow.”

  Tilda looked at Deskata. He was not wearing the great emerald ring but he surely had it somewhere on his person, probably back on the cord around his neck beneath the dead legionnaire’s breastplate.

  “What about an object one of them had carried, or worn, for a few months?” Tilda asked. Amatesu looked thoughtful.

  “Perhaps. Though possession is not the same as belonging.”

  Deskata ignored her and pointed at Nesha-tari. “And her? She is a mage of some kind, right?”

  Zebulon spoke to Nesha-tari in Zantish and the woman gave a long answer that sounded negative. Zeb asked her something else and she grinned back at him while she answered, which seemed to make the man uncomfortable.

  “She can’t smell Phinneas anymore, either. Not right now.”

  “Smell?” Tilda asked.

  Zeb sighed at her. “Please don’t ask.”

  They had reached the first of the branching streets which ran off roughly west before angling a bit back to the north. It was plainly not the way to go but Nesha-tari stopped on the sharp corner of the curb and looked back over the group. She spoke and Zeb translated.

  “If we can’t track them we will
only overtake them by luck. We should go quickly to where they are bound to head them off.”

  “They could all be killed in this dark place before they are anywhere near it,” Heggenauer said.

  “Nesha-tari says that would be a satisfactory conclusion. Sorry.”

  Deskata ran a hand along the top rim of his tower shield and peered to the south.

  “They cannot afford to mess around in here, and they know it. They will move as quick as they can and try to avoid anything risky. Go to ground at night when the bad things are supposed to run the streets. If we get to where they are going first, we can set up a base and start working our way back on different routes, with smaller groups.”

  “You really think we should split up in here?” Zeb asked.

  “If we must,” Deskata said. Tilda did not doubt for a moment that the man was already thinking far ahead, as to how he intended to get the mage and the book into his own possession.

  Nesha-tari yawned and turned to head south again, but Uriako Shikashe held up a gauntleted hand and spoke through Amatesu.

  “Uriako-sama cautions that this is not the sort of place we should blunder through, quickly or otherwise. He suggests we form an order of march.”

  The samurai looked over each of the others. Tilda felt the weight of his serious attention when he sized her up, and the unsmiling warrior reminded her for a moment of Captain Block.

  They continued to move south once an order had been worked out. Tilda and Amatesu moved at the front for as a trained Guilder Tilda had some ability to spot various sorts of traps, and the shukenja had magic of a similar kind. Tilda carried her bow with an arrow on the string, ready to draw it back in a hurry. John Deskata kept close behind them, with Uriako Shikashe and Nesha-tari a few paces further back. Zeb with his crossbow and Brother Heggenauer with mace and shield were the rear guard. The group traveled mostly in silence, though even from the front of the line Tilda occasionally heard a profound sigh from Zeb, far in the rear.

  For most of the day the group made their way at a decent if not quite brisk pace further south along the black streets. Every building in the city seemed to have been fashioned from the same stone material, albeit cut into blocks of different sizes. The walls of some structures were stacked simply like bricks, while others were assembled in complicated patterns almost like pictographs. After a few hours of moving while carefully scanning the street ahead for any sign of a tripwire or trigger, Tilda found the unremitting sameness of the surroundings to be very hard on her eyes. A time or two she had to stop and clear her head as her surroundings began to bleed together into one indistinguishable mass, a phenomenon she knew could happen on a gray day at sea when the sky and the water were virtually the same color.

  The surroundings became ever more bland as the white disk of the sun visible in the mist above moved to the west. Night would fall early in the city on the valley floor and the party began to observe the buildings they passed more closely, seeking one in which they could spend the hours of darkness. They had all in one place or another heard some legends and rumors of Vod’Adia. During the day a party might move on the streets unmolested, only finding harm if they ventured indoors. Of course adventurers would have to go indoors to find anything worth looting, but that was not what Tilda’s band was after. At night the situation in Blackstone was reversed, for the monstrous denizens of the place ventured out, while the wise party found a place to batten down the hatches.

  The trick would be making the switch, and finding a safe place to hide without disturbing something already within. When the sun was so low that the shadows were obscuring the street, they spotted a place that seemed likely. It was a free-standing square structure situated on a corner, lower at two stories than its neighbors but far enough away from them to make getting to the roof difficult. The only access was by two doors on the adjoining streets, which both gave into the same angled front hall. The windows were all on the second floor and they were narrow as arrow slits. The roof looked to be flat and was lined with battlements. The place looked like a miniature fortress, and Deskata ventured the guess it had been a base for city constables, or perhaps some sort of armory.

  With only a half hour of useful daylight remaining Tilda and Amatesu crept in to reconnoiter the place, accompanied respectively by Heggenauer and Zebulon. They covered the ground floor rapidly, finding that the building was a hollow square with an empty central courtyard. The high-ceilinged chambers of the first floor had been kitchens, storage, and a dining hall, but all had clearly been ransacked long ago. Stairs were found leading both up and down, and as they heard not the faintest noise in the place nor saw any tracks in the ample dust, the pairs split up to save time. Amatesu crept upstairs with a lantern, Zeb behind her with his crossbow at the ready, while Tilda stepped down a narrow flight of stone steps with her bow at a half pull, Heggenauer behind her with a torch and his mace, shield on his back.

  The basement had been an armory. There was a great iron door at a landing but it had been blasted open and the chambers beyond contained only empty racks. Tilda looked at the ruined lock of the door and wondered if it had been destroyed by magic or a powder charge. Given that it had probably been done at least a hundred years ago at an earlier Opening of Vod’Adia, she supposed it had not been powder.

  Before she could return up the stairs Heggenauer stopped Tilda by saying her name, or at least, “Miss Lanai.”

  Tilda looked at him. They stood in the small circle of torchlight and the flickering flame played to good effect across the acolyte’s handsome features. Tilda knew that was neither here nor there at the moment, but she did notice.

  “Brother Heggenauer?”

  His face was serious and his blue eyes focused on her intently. Tilda resisted the urge to push any loose strands of hair from her braid back behind her ears.

  “You told Sister Paveline you would go after the Duchess, as the lady was under your protection.”

  “Yes,” Tilda said. “So did you.”

  Heggenauer nodded. “I want to know if you meant it. Is helping the Duchess your true reason for entering Vod’Adia?”

  Tilda knew exactly why she was here, even if she had not said it out loud. She did so now.

  “Claudja is my friend,” she said quietly, but with force.

  Heggenauer smiled faintly, and his posture relaxed. “Good,” he said, and looked up the stairs. There was no sound from above but he took a step closer, holding the torch out to the side and speaking in a low whisper.

  “I do not trust the woman, Nesha-tari. She may be here just to stop the Circle Wizard and retrieve his book for the Shugak, but I am not so sure she is as disinterested in the Duchess’s fate as has been implied. She is a Zant after all, as were the men who arranged the Duchess’s abduction.”

  Tilda blinked. “Yes, but didn’t she and her people fight against the Ayonites with you and Sir Towsan?”

  “They did, but protecting the Duchess did not seem to factor in that. Ayzantium, politically and otherwise, is a contentious place. Nesha-tari could be of a faction opposed to the Fire Priests, yet she could still have her own nefarious plans. The Duchess Perforce may be a part of them.”

  Tilda thumbed the string of her short bow.

  “You are telling me this as more than a warning,” she said. “You want me to do something.”

  The corner of Heggenauer’s mouth turned up a bit more.

  “I have heard Miilarkians have sharp eyes, I see now that it is true. Yes, Miss Lanai. While I do not trust the Zant woman, I find it harder to make judgment on the foreigners with her.”

  “Foreigners?” Tilda asked, perhaps a tad defensive.

  “The Far Westerners, and the Minauan as well. They may be in Madame Nesha-tari’s employ, but they seem…somehow more honorable.”

  Tilda could have told Heggenauer that as a samurai and a shukenja, the Westerners were not so different than a Norothian knight and a cleric. They would know as much about honor as a Jobian from Exland, if not more
. She could not immediately think of a way to say that however that would not have come out as waspish, and she found she did not want to hurt Heggenauer’s feelings. He was the only person here apart from Tilda herself who seemed to be worried about Claudja.

  “What exactly do you want me to do?” she asked.

  There was noise from above, Zebulon’s ring mail jingling as he and Amatesu returned down the stairs to the first floor. Heggenauer leaned in close to Tilda’s ear and whispered.

  “I have been walking next to Zebulon all day. He likes you. You may be able to talk to him.”

  Tilda blinked again. “He said something?”

  Both sides of Heggenauer’s mouth turned up in a smile.

  “No. But I have seen where he rests his eyes.”

  The light of Amatesu’s lamp was approaching the top of the stairs.

  “We should go,” Heggenauer said, and turned to lead the way.

  “Brother Heggenauer,” Tilda said, but when he turned to look back she closed her mouth and shook her head. They both went up the stairs to meet the others.

  The Islanders of Miilark often drew sharp distinctions between themselves and foreigners as well. Tilda had almost violated that sort of chauvinism, and possibly the interests of her House, as for a moment she had wanted to warn the Codian cleric to trust John Deskata least of all.