The Halls of Stormweather s-1

by Philip Athans

  Magdon returned. From her ivory hand dangled a jangly contraption. The sixteen silver coins were alternately threaded on a silver chain with a black bead, an owl's skull, a scallop shell, three blue feathers, a cork, a lumpy gray stone, and other bits. From the bottom hung a curved strip of gold foil beaten so thin it shivered in no breeze at all. The device looked like a child's windchime.

  "What is it?" asked Escevar.

  "A compass." Hoisting the charmed chain, Magdon puffed at the gold foil. As it shimmied and bobbed, blue sparkles sizzled up and down the chain. Gradually the gold foil settled and pointed. "It doesn't point north but at a larger hoard of triangle coins."

  "Really?" Refreshed by a nap, Tamlin reached to touch, but Magdon steered it away.

  "The magic is delicate as a spiderweb. I'll hold it."

  "You'll go with us?"

  "We all will. Apprentices need guidance." Helara promenaded into the room like a queen. A floor-sweeping robe of red was quilted with a purple lining and hemmed with tiger hide that set off her wild tawny hair. Magdon and Ophelia donned plain cloaks of gray with gathered hoods that almost covered their heads. Escevar nodded to see them. In Sembia, peasant girls bound for "service in the city" were invariably given such cloaks as a going-away present. No doubt the girls' talents had been discovered in some village and they bound over to the Wizards' Guild. Yet if Magdon were a "gadget wizard," as Escevar thought, he wondered about Ophelia's "hidden talents" and flaming embroidery.

  Passing into a bitter night wind ripe with sea salt, the three men, three women, and three housecarls found Magdon's windchime-compass jingled and jangled, blown every whichway. The three mages had to cluster with their cloaks to shield the flimsy artifact. Settling, it pointed up Rampart Street and onto Rose.

  Whipped by winter winds, they pursued tedious rounds of walking, huddling, waiting, and moving on. Slowly, the women assured them, they steered to a trove of triangular coins. The seekers weren't so sure, but Escevar reflected they needn't pay the magicians if they flubbed the magical tracking.

  Occasionally they spotted friends scurrying from pub to pub in the cold. By Ironmonger's Lane, a small, lithe woman attached herself to Tamlin. The noble had dallied with Iris a time or two, and smiled as she rubbed against him. Rail thin, Iris wore only a jacket and trousers of rabbitskin, and tilted the neck to show nothing beneath.

  "Lovely, dear, if goose-bumpled. We're in a hurry, but I'll stop by later. I hope." Plodding onward, Tamlin mused, "For some reason, Iris reminds me of Longjaw. Where's she at these days?"

  "Haven't seen her since the Sahuagin Wars," said Escevar. "But pirates and smugglers don't live long even in peacetime. What was the name of that artist? She'd make a tasty morsel if you fattened her up."

  Rambling, the young men speculated about various women they knew, oblivious to the albino sisters and tawny-haired Helara, who sniffled either in disgust or from the wintry wind.

  The keen lessened in the shadow of the Hulorn's Hunting Garden. Not-so-high on a crag was perched the Hulorn's spired palace like a quiver of upright arrows, and at its feet ran a high stone wall enclosing a ten-acre hunting garden of wild weedy woods. Whether any animals lurked within, and whether the Hulorn actually hunted them, no one knew. No one had seen the erstwhile governor for quite a while, and the usual strange stories circulated. Hunting Street ran along the wall, lit in spots by glow-globes to discourage poachers. Opposite the wall, the snobby neighborhood sported houses gaudy even by Selgauntian standards. Mismatched towers, archways, curved staircases, hedged gardens, turrets, tricolor chimneys, false fronts, frescoes, balconies, and other ridiculous trappings decorated the block.

  "That's it." Helara pointed to a two-story house of brick and timber behind a jig-jog brick wall with deep arches. A large house shrouded by trees and gardens. As proof, the red-robed mage and the albino sisters shielded the magic compass. Peeking over their shoulders by the light of glow-globes, the men saw the slip of gold foil curled rocksteady toward the house. "It's the only place in the city those triangle-cut coins can be."

  "Splendid!" Tamlin stared at the shadowed house. "Uh, now what?"

  No answers.

  Escevar said, "Perhaps if we tell the Hulorn's Guards that the house owner… might know hillmen with flying dogs… No, I guess not."

  Shivering and sniffling, the statuesque Helara said, "Why not knock on the door and see who answers?"

  Lacking a better plan, the nine hunters trooped through a brick archway and bumped into an ornate iron gate, locked. Vox swung his axe's thick poll and the gate popped open. Without speaking, the nine mounted a narrow gallery that ran half around the silent house. Winter shutters rimmed by felt sealed in sound and light, if any. The door was red with a simple iron thumblatch. With no signs of life, the searchers began to feel foolish, like children caught spying. Everyone looked to Helara.

  "All right. I'll knock. But if no one-Yowl"

  One rap set off a shower of yellow sparks that sizzled and skittered across the door's face. Thrown backward, Helara nearly pitched off the gallery before Vox caught her. The door was marred by a smoking scorch mark. Hissing, Helara found her knuckles and fist blistered and her gown's sleeve charred past her wrist.

  "You bastards!" she panted. "I'll show you!"

  Eight companions reared back as Helara pulled back her sleeves, spat on her palms, and uttered a low spell like a curse. Bracing her feet, the mage slapped both palms against the door. Flashing yellow light blossomed. It lit the gallery, frizzed Helara's hair, and made her clothes smoke. Over the sputtering and spitting of sparks, the mage shouted in a gravelly voice, "Ras-pal sky-y! Ras-pantle a-too! Ras-pah sen ma-nan-tal!"

  Either her spell worked, or its power merged with the door's charm, or together they doubled and tripled, for Helara got results.

  The door and most of the front wall exploded.

  Broken bricks and hunks of wood shot in all directions like catapulted missiles. Only Helara's personal shield, her first muttered spell, kept Tamlin and friends from being killed by flying flinders, for the deadly rain blew around the mage in a soaring arc like an invisible bubble. Chunks of wall collapsed, crunching inside the house and on the gallery, though no one saw much because brick dust, smoke, paint chips, and other debris swirled like trash caught in a dust devil. Portions of the second floor collapsed alarmingly, then the house corner slumped with a creak and crunch. People shouted and screamed as the gallery let go, dipping toward the missing door. The companions skidded downslope and blundered into a crumbling brick wall. More dust roiled and boiled, making people sneeze and choke.

  Tamlin and the albino sisters were tangled in a gap in the wreckage. Vox gained his feet and yanked them free of the hole. Two Uskevren housecarls tumbled into bushes, and now stayed on the ground to guard. Helara kicked and swore and tore her red robe on iron nails jutting from the door's threshold, which suffered a big, blackened bite.

  Above the scuffling and grousing, Escevar called, "Someone's home!"

  A foyer and staircase were smothered in laths and plaster and broken tiles. Floorboards jutted over black space. A swarthy black-bearded man in a green robe had slunk down the stairs to peek at the enemy. Stunned by the destruction, he lingered too long.

  Handed up by Vox, the tall Helara gained the crumpled littered floor. Batting back her smoking red-and-tigerhide cape, the mage saw the skulker. "Ratigan? You fumble-fingered pie-thief! You snake-eyed cross-patch! I warned you never to crawl back into my city!"

  Screeching an arcane curse, Helara crossed her forearms. Trapped on the stairs, Ratigan reeled as a hailstorm of icicles shattered against his personal shield. Ice stabbed the walls, tore portraits, and chipped the bannister, freezing instantly, making every surface slippery as glass.

  Crouching to keep his feet, Ratigan crooked three fingers and conjured a flush of desert heat that steamed the ice into clouds. Yet he barely avoided skidding down the stairs.

  Shooting her fingers downward, Helara hurled a secon
d spell. Acid rain gushed from the ceiling. Ratigan writhed as his flesh corroded, and his robe smoked. Gamely he struggled to conjure. Fog blossomed around Helara's feet, then coalesced into snaky heads with teeth. Without a pause in her spellcasting, the red-robed wizard stamped one foot, and the snake heads evaporated.

  Over the chanting of mages and creaking and groaning of the house, Tamlin called to Escevar, "I remember now! Padrig mentioned Ratigan the Green! Should we have told Helara?"

  Escevar never got to answer, for familiar deadly whistles keened behind the house. Within seconds, fearsome gnashers boiled around the ruined gallery. Lunging low or half-sailing on stubby wings, the beasts barked and snarled frantically, hot to tear into the invaders. After them trotted the foreign hillmen in rough smocks and gnasher-fur vests. They couldn't hang back far as they shouted commands because brick walls hemmed the house.

  Mouth open in a mute warcry, Vox slung his axe high and jumped off the gallery to the attack. Escevar, sword and smatchet sizzling, slashed and hacked the first dog that touched down on the tilted porch. Tamlin drew his long sword, but almost stabbed Magdon who, no fighter, whipped behind him for protection, her pale pink eyes round as lanterns. Hollering "Uskevren!" the housecarls stabbed wildly at gnashers and hillmen. Meanwhile, in the crumbling foyer, Helara heaped abuse and spells on the besieged Ratigan.

  Amidst this mad melee, the albino Ophelia unleashed her "hidden talents."

  With a nerve-grating screech of "Al-scara-tway!" her stubby hand sliced a swath in the air. Five stripes of fire pinwheeled into the night, then struck, stuck, and burned-everywhere. Oncoming gnashers suddenly wore burning mustaches and fire-streaked backs. Vox's bear-fur cape charred with a nauseating stink. A housecarl's tunic burned across his shoulders. Paint, brick, splinters, bushes, and leafless trees ignited in stripes that dripped flame like candle wax.

  Ophelia flexed her left hand, shouted, and swiped again. Another five-fingered rainbow of fire sizzled on people and gnashers. Primed for more, the fingers of her right hand glowed.

  "Doesn't she have any other spells?" Tamlin called over his shoulder.

  "We're new to magic!" confessed Magdon. Her sister slung fire to the winds, igniting friend and foe alike.

  Squatting, Tamlin surveyed the brawling, spellcasting, shrieking, stabbing, and dogfighting that boiled around and inside the teetering smoking house. He called, "I say, Magdon, everything seems to be under control! I'm going to explore a bit!"

  "Don't leave me!" chirped the gadget-mage. Clutching for Tamlin's cape, she missed and skidded backward down the porch.

  Sword in hand, cape over his head, Tamlin hopped through the shattered door, dodged the shrieking Helara, skidded on ice, ducked a flaming tapestry curling off a wall, and scampered down a dark hallway.

  Not so dark, he discovered. Ophelia's errant spell had rooted in the upper story. Flames licked above Ratigan's head as he clung desperately to the ruined stairs. This old house would burn like candlewood, Tamlin reckoned, unless it collapsed first. The floor wobbled while smoke thickened. The young lord wondered if he should bolt.

  A scream came from the second floor. A familiar scream.

  Unable to climb the front stairs, Tamlin dashed to the back of the house. While opening doors he found a barracks where the hillmen had obviously bunked, a dining hall, a pantry, a filthy kitchen-and a back stair for servants.

  Sheathing his sword, Tamlin clattered to the top. Fire chased across the ceiling and licked at paint and varnish. Above Helara's shrieks and Ratigan's bellows, Tamlin heard the scream again from a front room. The floor was painted with red and yellow squares. Superstitious, Tamlin skip-hopped from yellow to yellow to gain the door.

  When Tamlin grabbed the thumblatch, a spark scorched a hole in his kid glove. Cursing, the young lord studied the door. Locked and magically warded, he decided, same as the front door, though not as strong a spell. The ward was probably meant to keep out the hillmen. It shouldn't stop someone really determined, as Tamlin was, perhaps for the first time in his life.

  Snagging his cape around his shoulder, the lordling rammed the door. Sparks flared and burned and blinded. His cape smoldered and charred. Hissing, Tamlin gritted his teeth and bulled again, harder. Again. To his surprise, the door burst. The young lord tripped on the threshold and sprawled on a bare dusty floor.

  "Tamlin! Thank the gods! Free me, please!"

  Scrambling up, Tamlin grinned with delight. Zarrin was disheveled and hollow-eyed but alive. Her wrist manacles encircled a stout post where plaster was gouged from the wall. A sagging settle and bucket were the only furnishings. The floor canted like a ship's deck as the gutted house settled.

  "Tamlin!" Tears streaked Zarrin's dirty cheeks. Her purple vest lacked gold buttons, stolen. "Oh, I'm so glad you came! I smelled the smoke and feared to burn-"

  "Yes, yes, don't fret. Rescuing's in my blood, after all, like heroism. And we Uskevren always keep our promises." Tamlin fumbled with Zarrin's fetters, feeling immensely smug at finding her. Still, he hurried, for flames licked at the doorway and smoke pooled on the ceiling. "What a story this will make for the pubs! Think how proud Vox will be, and Father-Oh, no! Wait!"

  Tamlin let go the chains. "We must settle up first."

  Zarrin gaped in horror. "Don't joke, Tamlin! Release me! The fire-"

  "No, I'm sorry. Business before pleasure, as Father likes to nag. I have to renegotiate the gate tariffs." Tamlin raised his voice over the crackle of flames, groaning of the house, and clash of spells and arms outside. Smoke made him cough. "Father was not happy with our bargain. You wouldn't believe the nasty names I endured, Zar! Now let's see… As I recall, you get to collect duties on the North Gate and we got stuck with the western. Or was it the other way around? No, that's it. So we need-"

  "Are you mad? Are you drunk or crazy?" Zarrin rattled her manacles. "Get these chains off immediately! Get me out of here or I'll kill you!"

  "No, I'm afraid-ouch!" Rubbing his chin, Tamlin gouged a scab from an earlier fight. "Wheels of the wizards, this is my night to suffer!"

  "Very well, you can have the gate!" Tears from fright and smoke poured from Zarrin's eyes. "You can have the northern gate and I'll take the western! Just please-"

  "No." Tamlin fought to think. It had been a long night. "Escevar said never to accept the first offer. But how about-"

  "All right, you can have both double-dark damned gates!" shrieked the woman. "Take them! I, Zarrin Foxmantle, hereby transfer to you, Tamlin Bloody Heartless Monster Uskevren, all taxes and duties collected at both gates! The Foxmantles divest themselves of any gates! Every gate in the city! Now get me loose or I'll skin you alive!"

  "I guess that'll do." Tamlin coughed as he fiddled with the shackles. The locks were of new brass but the chains antique. Drawing his smatchet, Tamlin whacked the fetters against the wooden post. The new-fangled smatchet, weakened by its fancy blade-catching groove, immediately snapped.

  "Drat the dark! No wonder Vox hates these things!" Drawing his long sword, Tamlin used both hands to whack at the chains. Finally he cut them. Zarrin leaped off the settle like a rocket and pelted for the door, chains jingling. Spitting smoke, Tamlin left his sword wedged in the post and followed.

  Fire rippled and flared everywhere. No wizards warred on the stairs, for the front of the house had almost crunched flat. Zarrin and Tamlin skidded down the ruined stairs, slithered out the squashed doorway, clawed across the splintered gallery, and finally dashed to the safety of the street.

  Panting, breath frosting, Tamlin wrapped his cape around the shivering Zarrin. Huddled, they gaped at the ongoing chaos.

  The tilted house burned brightly. Chunks toppled into the gardens. Flaming trees shot sparks that the breeze blew throughout the neighborhood. Citizens scurried in flickering darkness, carrying buckets and lugging fire-hooks. The Hulorn's Guards worked in teams with spears to kill the last of the gnashers. Other guards fought the fire or shepherded neighbors to safety. Two hillmen lay dead and two
more were trussed on their knees. Household goods, books, and clothes were strewn in the street. Proud Helara watched the blaze, a smirk on her face. Magdon and Ophelia stared in awe. Selgauntians milled, clustered, asked questions, and got in the way.

  From the madness, Escevar trotted up and clapped Tamlin's shoulder. He was smudgy and bloody but grinning. "Deuce! Thank the fates you're alive! And you found Zarrin! Bravo! We won all around! Ratigan, that green wizard, ran screaming with his clothes half-turned to stone and his hair afire! And you'll never guess who showed up! Padrig the Palmer! He ran up flapping his hands because his house was burning! He rented it to the wizard! That's how he knew about Ratigan!"

  "That answers a few questions." Tamlin spoke over Zarrin's blonde head. "So what did you do? "

  "Oh, nothing," Escevar evaded. "What with all those flying sword blades, Padrig got whacked on the head and fell in the cellar, poor chap."

  With a rush and gush, the house collapsed into its foundation. Sparks vomited into the sky. Trees sizzled like fireworks. People shouted. Escevar spotted someone and ran off with a laugh.

  "I can't believe you took advantage of my misfortune." Zarrin peered from the folds of Tamlin's cape. "That was unfair, Tamlin. It was low and rotten. Holding someone's feet to the fire to drive a better bargain is vile, slimy, underhanded, deceitful and-unkind."

  The girl shivered and snuggled into Tamlin's arms. "I'm just cold, so don't get any ideas. I'll admit, though, you were clever. I'd have done the same. Maybe there's hope for you, Tamlin. With all the schemes coming to a boil in this city, my family might find you useful if you care to stay with business."