The Sable City (The Norothian Cycle)

by M. Edward; mimulux McNally

  “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.r />
  “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.

  *

  The party was busy for the next hour as night settled over the city. They closed up the broken doors to the street and nailed them shut with tent spikes, then used a bunkroom’s worth of old bed frames with the ropes long since worn away to seal off one long gallery upstairs, along with the corner room that overlooked the adjoining streets through arrow slits. They set aside some boards to brace shut the door that gave access to the stairs connecting to the central courtyard and the flat roof, but left it unsealed for the time being.

  The supplies the Shugak had provided included some iron cookware, and Nesha-tari managed to start a small fire in the courtyard from old wood. Tilda did not see her do it but thought the woman may have had to use magic to fire some ancient boards as kindling sticks. With the dark misty dome blocking out the stars to make the sky wholly black, there was little chance of the smoke being spotted. When Amatesu began to heat the salted meat and dried vegetables provided by the hobs and wugs, there was some concern the good smell might attract attention. Everyone was hungry enough to forgo that concern, except it seemed for Nesha-tari who ate very little.

  The group spoke as they ate in the gallery upstairs, tentatively at first but a bit more openly as the warm food settled in their bellies. The subjects remained Vod’Adia itself, and specifically just what sort of monsters were actually supposed to occupy the city. Zebulon knew tavern tales, and Heggenauer said the Jobians believed the creatures to be other-worldly demons who came into Vod’Adia when it was “Open” to other realities. No one knew any real specifics.

  The party arranged a rotating shift of two guards to keep watch on the roof above, staggered so that the pair would not both be waking up or growing exhausted at the same time. Only six of them participated, as Nesha-tari had already curled up and fallen asleep atop her bedroll at a far wall. Tilda managed to get a middle shift and Uriako Shikashe awoke her after midnight with a toe on her shoulder. Tilda got back into her leather vest and sleeves, draped her Guild cloak over them and slung her bow. She tottered yawning up to the roof to join Zebulon for the rest of his time.

  They did not say much for awhile but only listened and stared out into the darkness, for the Vod’Adia night was more profoundly dark than any Tilda had ever seen. A faint silvery smudge in the blackness was as much of the moon as could be perceived through the mist, and the streets all around were only occasionally illuminated by orange flashes from what may have been lanterns or torches, always far away. The lights never stayed lit long enough for Tilda to be sure.

  There were more sounds. The distant crack of a gun, and maybe a shout or scream. Once it sounded as though someone ran by on the street below, but the heavy footfalls faded. Tilda and Zebulon had moved to that corner of the roof and both peered over the battlements in the direction the sound had receded.

  “I can’t see a damn thing out there,” Zeb muttered. “Might as well stand this shift blindfolded.”

  “If that is what you're into,” Tilda said, suddenly glad Zeb could not see her face as she rolled her eyes at herself.

  “What?”

  “Nothing.”

  After a moment of silence, Zeb sighed. Tilda heard jingling and some scuffs as he turned, put his back to the battlements, and slid down to a seat on the gravel-covered roof. After another pointless look out into the pitch black night, Tilda sat down cross-legged against the right angle of the corner.

  Zeb yawned faintly in the dark.

  “So how much did she pay you?” Tilda asked quietly.

  “Sorry?”

  “Nesha-tari. At the Shugak palisade. The four of you went aside into that separate area.”

  “And?” Zeb asked.

  “I may have peeked around the corner,” Tilda admitted. “Thought I saw a couple big hobgoblins lug out a chest, and open it up. Then it looked like Nesha-tari and the Westerners were running some negotiations, through you.”

  Zeb was quiet for several seconds, and when he spoke his voice was thoughtful.

  “You know, I don’t think Shikashe and Amatesu even cared about the money. They came to a price to continue on with Nesha-tari, but it was all a formality. The Shugak scratched them out a receipt but Amatesu just stuffed it in a pocket. I think the two of them wanted to come in here, it is the kind of thing they
do. Battling monsters and demons and Fire Priests and what-all.”

  “And you?” Tilda asked. Zeb sighed.

  “I am purely parrot on this gig. If Nesha-tari could speak to Amatesu or Shikashe without a translator they would have forgotten me somewhere along the way weeks ago.”

  “But you were paid as well, right?”

  Zeb patted something that made his ring mail jingle.

  “Got the receipt right here, close to my heart. I would have been a wealthy young man.”

  “Would have been?”

  “Well, obviously I am going to get killed in here.”

  Zeb’s tone was light, bantering, but it had a bit of an edge. Tilda would have liked to have been able to see his face just then.

  “You think?” she asked.

  “Oh, I always think I’m about to get killed,” Zeb said. “That way at the end of a day, no matter how bad it was, I am never disappointed. Just pleasantly surprised.”

  Tilda smiled in the dark, though she knew Zeb couldn’t see it.

  “I hope you are wrong,” she said. “But if you’re not…and you want someone to hold your receipt, know that I am here for you.”

  Zeb was quiet, and probably staring for a moment, then he threw back his head and laughed. It was too loud a sound to make for a man ostensibly standing guard duty, but Tilda found that she liked the sound of it.

  Zeb returned to his bedroll shortly thereafter, and Amatesu announced her arrival in the dark by speaking Tilda’s name at her shoulder, giving the Miilarkian a start for which the shukenja apologized. Tilda spent the next half hour or so wondering if she knew half as much about Far Western priests as she thought she did, for while she was aware of Amatesu moving about on the roof the woman hardly made a solitary sound on the loose gravel. Tilda crept about a bit herself, but her own steps sounded loud in her ears.

  She was considering asking Amatesu a question, when a tremendous roar split the night sky. Every living thing in Vod’Adia shuddered to its core.

  Chapter Thirty