Valkwitch (The Valkwitch Saga Book 1)

by Michael Watson

  Tyrissa paid fleeting attention to whatever Alvedo was saying as she conferred with the waitress over the precise timing and details each round of tea, preferring to do her job and watch their surroundings. Hearing her name brought her back to their table just as the waitress walked away with a telling, tight smile.

  “And Jorensen… well I suppose you stand there and manage whatever it is that runs through your mind. If we need to crack open any walnuts, we’ll ask for you to lend a hand.”

  The other reason for her singular focus was simply because she was wrong last night. Alvedo’s little barbs only continued and Tyrissa tried her best to ignore them, unsure of when and how to respond.

  Alvedo’s guests, three young women, arrived in quick succession. Introductions were made, and through a remarkable coincidence each of Alvedo’s guests belonged to a different Prime guild, Harlin to Khalan North, Nina to Southwest, and Alene to Northwest. Though they wore no obvious guild insignia, Tyrissa was able to accurately guess which owed allegiance to which Prime from the color of their jewelry and clothing. Strange that Alvedo would cast her net so wide, so soon. Tyrissa was hardly a veteran of the city but had already internalized the idea that the rivalries ran deep between the Primes. They tried to undermine each other at every level, from grand trade agreements down to frivolous afternoon social calls in a tea house. The three were meikeen, a term Tyrissa had only learned this morning. It was a uniquely Khalan position, a hybrid of socialite and mercantile scout who initially vet potential partners and deals for their guilds when the other party is relatively unknown. The ‘getting to know you’ side of business was their entire job and establishments like the Countess’s Court were their arenas.

  Jesca smoothly introduced herself as Joyce, a friend and traveling companion of Olivianna’s. Alvedo neglected mention Tyrissa standing over them.

  “And who is this,” said Harlin, the severe-looking one from Khalan North.

  “Oh just some visible insurance,” Alvedo said. “Ransom is far more expensive than hiring a guard or two.” This lot fit the trend perfectly and the mere suggestion of the possibility could be enough for them to consider the idea for themselves. Tyrissa wasn’t just security, she was an advertisement.

  “Ah. Of course.”

  “There was another major one last week. Shian Hurlov, daughter of one of Rift’s board members.” Nina had wide, bright eyes and a face that would have had difficulty looking angry.

  Harlin scoffed, “Lovely. I look forward to hearing the story every single time I see her for the next year. How much did they pay?”

  “Fifteen thousand.”

  “That low?”

  “They probably gave her family a discount after they got to know her.”

  The first round of tea arrived right on time, just as the pleasantries and introductions died away.

  “This is a Felarin white tea from the Inner Zarvinas islands,” Alvedo said as the waitress served the cloudy white drink into five small porcelain cups, “Grown on plantations owned by my family for generations.” Alvedo had thickened her accent compared to last night’s introductions, which forced her guests to pay that much more attention to her words.

  “What brings you to Khalanheim, Olivianna?” asked Alene. With her wire frame glasses and hair tied back in a simple style, she looked almost a little too scholarly for the setting.

  “The same thing as everyone else. Chasing golden rays, as we say in Felarill.” Alvedo said. She received a trio of blank stares. “We call the current economic layout of the North ‘The Sunburst Model’ in Felarill.” That didn’t improve things.

  “You know, the—” she stopped herself and reached toward one of the pens planted amid the table’s central floral arrangement, a hidden convenience Tyrissa hadn’t noticed until now. Alvedo spread her cloth napkin flat and drew a circle labeled ‘Khalan’ on the fabric.

  “Khalanheim is like the sun at the center of a sunburst,” she continued. “The rays of light, being trade and capital, radiate outward from the city to the rest of the Federation and eventually beyond to Felarill, Jalarn, the Hithian remnants, and other less significant destinations up north.” She filled in the sketched model as she spoke, creating a rough half-circle to one side of Khalanheim. Olivianna paused, tapping the tip of the pen on the northern end of her diagram.

  “Jorensen,” she said after a moment, “Where did you say you were from again?”

  “Morgale,” Tyrissa replied in a strained neutral voice. “North of Vordeum.”

  “Ah, of course. Rode down on the back of a worg no doubt.”

  “Worgs haven’t been seen in centuries,” Tyrissa said. “I rode down on a mastodon.”

  Harlin brightened up and said, “Jorensen! I thought you had a familiar look to you. Give my regards to your brother, will you?”

  “Certainly.”

  A scowl flashed across Alvedo’s at this exchange, as if personally slighted. “Anyway,” she said, turning back to the table, “Despite its position geographically, huge amounts of coin flow through Khalanheim. The Rift forms a stark division between the western nations and the Rhonian Empire and this city is the primary point of contact between the two. Thus anyone wishing to profit must follow the rays…” a handful of arrows appeared along the lines of the sunburst, “to the source.”

  “The Rhonians gave Khalanheim one of their styles,” Alene her tone bordering on lecturing. “The Reservoir of Coin. We’re the only city outside of the empire to have that honor.”

  Their talk wandered to other topics and Tyrissa’s attention faded with it. A second round of tea arrived just as their cups were all drained, this time accompanied by long, thin biscuits that seemed to be filled with chocolate.

  “This is a Vitu shadow tea,” Olivianna said. “One of many new delights from the Evelands that House Alvedo hopes to spread eastward.”

  “So what you want is to put yet another fracture into your Sunburst model,” Alene said.

  “That is our hope. As Khalanheim is the gateway to the Rhonian Empire, so too shall Felarill be the link between the North and the Evelands.”

  “The precarious balance between two empires,” Alene said, tapping a biscuit against the rim of her cup. “Shadows in the west, and the eternal legions to the east.”

  “Don’t be so dour, Alene. The Evelanders have been nothing but fair honest in Felarill so far.”

  “Aren’t there are two kinds of Evelanders?” Nina asked. “The Vitu and the… Zega… Ze…” she struggled for the right term.

  “Zegun,” Alene said, pointing at Nina with a biscuit held like a wand.

  “What’s the difference?”

  “They’re enemies, for one. The Zegun live in the southern areas of the Evelands continent and the Vitu are in the north.”

  “That’s right,” Alvedo said. “Both are establishing footholds in Felarill, though obviously in different cities.”

  “I’ll hold out on final judgment, but if their tea is any indication bring on the invasion,” Harlin said, raising her cup.

  The Khalans were certainly fond of the drink. The Countess’s Court had filled to capacity since Alvedo’s three guests arrived, the floor now a bustle of servers darting between tables and the kitchens. Their conversation veered wildly between gossip and light business, peppered with thinly veiled bragging over their respective connections.

  “Is House Alvedo seated?” Nina asked. Tyrissa’s ears perked up at that.

  “Oh no,” Olivianna said with a patronizing smile. “Not since before I was born. The King’s Table has become dominated by the old, conservative houses that stare only inward.”

  “My mistake” Nina said. “You made it seem otherwise in your letters.”

  “An easy mistake to make. Felarin politics are difficult for a foreigner to follow.”

  “Or care about in the first place,” Harlin said in a perfectly audible mutter.

  “If only we all had that luxury, Harlin.”

  “No more complicated than o
ur own guild system,” Nina said.

  “I agree. I’ll admit I’m nearly overwhelmed by your varied unwritten rules and undeclared rivalries.”

  “Speaking of, The Autumn Galas are next week,” Nina said. “You’ve come to the city just in time.”

  “Oh yes, I’m quite excited for those. I will, of course, be attending Khalan Southwest’s party,” Olivianna said.

  A rapid exchange of knowing looks fired across the table, a volley of unspoken arrows briefly blocking out the sunny, inconsequential mood. Nina smiled all the while. Apparently she had just won the day.

  Alvedo’s choice of party took the wind out of the conversation and their chatter wound down over the third and final round of tea. It was another Felarin strain, overly fragrant and tagged with an appropriate ‘Black Rose’ moniker. They concluded with Alvedo expressing the tragedy that she hadn’t yet been able to sample Khalanheim’s shopping.

  “The Crossing Market is tomorrow,” Harlin said, “You’ll never know what you might find there.” The previous iteration of the Crossing Market had taken Tyrissa by surprise, transforming the square overnight just when she had gotten familiar with it, then vanishing just as quickly. What Harlin left unsaid was that most merchants working the Crossing Market paid dues to Khalan North, if the dominance of black and blue crests above the shops and stalls were any indication.

  “I’d be happy to show you around, Olivianna,” Jesca offered. ‘Joyce’ remained largely silent throughout the afternoon, keeping watch in her own way over the rim of a teacup, though she still laughed or dropped in a word or two on cue when needed.

  “I planned on seeing more of the city tomorrow. This Crossing Market will be a fine starting point.” Alvedo said as if it was entirely her idea.

  Jesca turned to Tyrissa with a sly grin on her face. “Jorensen,” she said, “Please let your superiors at the Cadre know of tomorrow new plans.”

  “Of course, Joyce.”

  Though she passed through Crossing Square multiple times a day Tyrissa had a hard time recognizing it now. The shops that occupied the ground floors of the buildings ringing the square had thrown open their doors and set up exterior racks of goods while other vendors had erected mobile carts and stalls in numbered rows that filled the flagstones of the square. The fountain statue of Trade Prince Julian, normally a dominating centerpiece of the square, was nearly lost in the flood of visitors and oversaw the mercantile frenzy with magnanimous approval.

  The evening was cool for once, the clinging heat of the southern summer finally giving way to autumn’s occasional chill. Tyrissa shrugged in her guild coat, still as awkwardly fitting as ever. At least it was versatile, with many pockets inside and out and a pair of metal rings at the shoulders whose exact purpose eluded her. The Cadre’s red and white crest adorned the back and ringed the cuffs.

  Tyrissa couldn’t shake her guilt over getting distracted from why she was here. Liran assured her he was listening for any hints on the whereabouts of the Pact Witch. There was no news, no slain or freed Pactbound turning up in the morgues or alleyways. The witch had gone dormant before they arrived in the city. As she scanned the crowds milling through the bazaar, Tyrissa could understand how someone could disappear here. The volume of people never stopped being staggering.

  Even though she was alone, Alvedo delivered home, Tyrissa still looked for passing phantom threats, eyes gliding over the stalls that crowded the square. Thinking about Felarin girl’s constant little slights summoned a minor flash of anger. Wandering the Crossing Market allowed her to remove the stoic mask that hid her pent up frustration, letting it fade away while browsing the wares of the bazaar. Many of the merchants on this side hawked racks of women’s clothing, riots of dyed cloth. Interspersed were smaller vendors of jewelry and those ubiquitous handbags that Khalan women were fond of. Tyrissa wandered, browsing for anything to catch her eye. The clothes were fine, but promoted fashion over function. Not her style.

  Not my style? Did she even have one? Tyrissa pushed away such frivolous questions. The city’s ways were starting to infect her.

  “Endo’s fabulous wares,” came a shout from a nearby stall. “The bounty of the earth here to beautify and amaze!”

  The man had every look of a prospector who masqueraded as a merchant once a week, with a poorly tamed black beard and the pale complexion of a life spent in tunnels. With a wild, desperate look in his eyes, he would make a fine thug in a darkened alleyway. His ‘fabulous’ wares consisted of cheap gemstones at best, painted rocks at worst, arranged atop a stall that looked ready to collapse on itself. Tyrissa supposed he fancied himself a jeweler.

  Endo must have seen Tyrissa’s gaze lingering on his collection of fancy rocks, and waved her closer.

  “You! Young woman, let me show you something amazing.”

  “As long as it’s more impressive than that stone you dipped in blue lacquer.”

  “Jalarni Sky Rock, very rare, only three sivs,” he said with the crazed look of someone who believed their own lies. “But this, this is better,” he raised a set of deep gray squares fixed to a length of leather. They looked like blocks of pencil lead.

  “Observe the natural magicks of the earth,” Endo whispered, drawing a handful of drab iron coins from a coat pocket and placing them in a line through the clear space on tabletop. With a lazy flourish he waved the leather strap six inches above the coins, and drew it over the line. One by one the coins jumped up to the gray blocks with hollow clinks, clinging as if suddenly glued in place.

  “Eh? Eh? Are you not impressed with Endo’s Spectacular Magnetic Wonders?”

  “I am,” Tyrissa admitted. “Hold it up, I have an idea.” Endo scrapped the coins from the magnets, letting them ring on the table, and presented the strip. Tyrissa lowered her staff across the table, holding one of the embedded steel rings over the magnets. The strip jumped from Endo’s hands, and held fast to the metal band.

  “Where are these from?”

  “From the earthen domains that ring the distant Ten Brothers! Wrested from the nests of Stone Golems, they were!”

  Tyrissa had her doubts about that, but didn’t let it deter her. She could make use of these and a number of ideas had already come to mind.

  “How much for all of them?” she asked.

  Endo’s eyes darted back and forth, either in suspicion of disbelief at his fortune, a perceived scam coming to fruition.

  “Three Gilders?” His fingers twitched around one of the magnets, starting to pry them off.

  “Two and a half and you throw in the leather strap.” Tyrissa still didn’t have an effortless grasp of a gilder’s value. It was probably for the best.

  “Yes, yes!” He held the strap out in one hand, the other empty and quivering for payment. Endo smiled a gap-toothed smile as she dropped the three coins into his waiting palm, one silver, two a faint gold.

  Tyrissa turned the length of magnetic bricks over in one hand. They were softer to the touch than other metals, almost malleable by hand. She felt nothing magickal radiating off of them, her Pact was quiet. They were perhaps a weaker sort of elchemical material. She held the strap near the central band of her staff, the magnets clicking against the iron. The magnets were shorter than the band, but not by much. It took a firm tug to separate the two. Pleased, Tyrissa stuffed her new acquisition into an inner coat pocket.

  I’ll have to find a leatherworker. She patted at her near-empty coin pouch beneath the guild coat and frowned.

  Next time I’m paid.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Tyrissa wouldn’t have thought twice about walking the distance between the Alvedos’ rented house and Southwest’s guildhall, and their carriage could have made the trip in a fraction of the time by taking the side streets. But that wasn’t the point tonight and Alvedo had insisted that they go through the Prime Circle. Tonight was all about maintaining appearances and it seemed half the city was in on it. The night was warm enough and their open topped carriage would be suitable for the e
ntrance, though their exit might be considerably cooler.

  “A perfect night,” Alvedo purred, likely to herself.

  “Olivianna, you are looking lovely tonight,” Jesca said.

  Alvedo wore a pale orange dress, again in the Felarin style of wider, ruffled skirts and lower necklines, accented with a wide black sash around her waist. Jesca, as Joyce, was just as fine in yellow, though her sleeves were unfashionably long and loose to hide her out of character arms, scars, and knives.

  “As are you, Joyce. And Jorensen,” Alvedo gave her a slow look of amused contempt. “Well, I suppose two out of three isn’t too bad.”

  Ignore that. Words are all she has.

  Alvedo proved herself to be buoyant as she was caustic tonight. If anything, Alvedo’s little insults were the highlight of their time together. Tyrissa saw them as tests, little failed attempts by her client to provoke a response.

  For her part, Tyrissa looked the best she could manage. Caliss, the guild’s tailor, was in a seemingly permanent scramble for supplying the Cadre’s uniforms, and had limited time to polish up Tyrissa’s appearance among the dozens of other contracts for tonight’s dueling parties.

  The Prime Circle was the heart of Khalanheim, where the opulent headquarters of the five Prime trade companies ringed a precisely manicured park filled with discrete meeting places and quiet retreats. The streets at the center of Khalanheim (and, by extension, the center of the world according to Khalan logic) were never empty, but tonight they were thick with traffic, an endless flow of carriages directed by beleaguered Central guardsmen in their tricolor coats. Their carriage entered on the west point of the circle between Khalan Northwest and Southwest, both guild halls lit up in all their glory. Northwest’s campus of pillar-fronted buildings glowed from lights at the base of each pillar that painted the stonework in varied autumnal colors. Their party was mostly outdoors under an expansive multi-peaked pavilion. The wooded grounds of Khalan North shone just out of sight; Liran would be there tonight.