by Graeme Ing
You know that Phyxia was a good friend of mine? She smiled. I’m glad she kept her word.
She’d done no such thing. That was a subject I didn’t want to talk about.
I’ll help you, my mother said.
You will?
I sat back down. Ayla squatted beside me and slipped her hand into mine, giving it a gentle squeeze. She remained transfixed on the ghost hovering before us.
Talk to the masters, Mother said. Tell them what is going on beneath their noses.
I tried. I’m worried most of them are in on it. Begara is, for certain.
Her brow creased and her shoulders slumped. Try harder. It’s your responsibility.
That’s your idea of help? If I wait for them, nothing will get done. I have to do this.
Headstrong as ever. Then do it yourself. But stop blundering around. Learn your history. What links the Guildmaster and Caradan? Maybe you’ll understand the choice I was forced to make. Don’t look at me like that. If you want my help, you must help yourself. She began to fade. Good-bye, Maldren.
Her image swirled into a milky fog that was sucked back into her grave slab.
Wait!
Her presence had gone. I grabbed the beetle cage and stood.
“Your mother was so beautiful.”
“But not so helpful. Come on.” I led the way back toward the catacomb entry hole. “What did she say to you anyway?”
“I’m not telling.”
I picked up a fallen skull and tossed it back in its coffin. Typical of my mother to be more useful to Ayla than her son. I knew she wouldn’t help me. What a wasted day.
We’d emerged from the undercity and were halfway back to Boattown when I developed an itching sensation on my back. I glanced behind, and sure enough one of those annoying spies was following us. How long had he been back there? I snatched Ayla’s arm and turned a sharp right onto Curd Street. Through the window of the corner store, I glanced back and recognized his grim expression partially concealed beneath a wide-brimmed hat. He was still in the game, even after being tortured by Targ and the lochtar. Brave. Or stupid. Two rapiers hung from his belt. This could get ugly.
Once I was certain that he had taken the same turn as us, I pushed Ayla into a narrow alley and behind a pile of refuse.
“Stay hidden,” I said, silencing her complaints with a wave of my hand.
I drew my dagger. The gem still pulsed yellow. By the time the spy arrived at the mouth of the alley, I had the dagger clearly visible, and blue lightning crackled from my other hand. For good effect, I chilled the air into an icy mist that collected at the spy’s feet. He took a step back, and his hands dropped to rest on the hilts of his weapons.
“Are you that eager to meet the lochtar again?” I asked.
He jerked his hands away, and his gaze darted from side to side.
“I don’t want trouble. I bear a message from his Lordship.”
Cautiously, he slipped one hand into his coat, withdrew a folded piece of paper, and tossed it to the ground between us. The mist swirled and settled.
“That’s it. I’ll leave you alone.”
And he did, hurrying back the way we had come. I put away my dagger, dismissed the chilled fog, and retrieved the letter, right as Ayla came out of hiding.
“Who’s it from?” She came close beside me. With one glance at the wax seal she turned away with a snort. “My father.”
I broke the seal and read the few short lines, indeed signed by the Duke.
“He wants to meet us tonight, in secret.”
“That sounds like him, all cloak and daggers.”
She glanced at my dark robe and her gaze settled on my own dagger.
“See him without me,” she said.
Her eyes pleaded with me, not like a child, but more like a woman determined to make her own way in the world. I respected her independence. We were not so different. I laid a hand softly on her shoulder.
“I won’t make you see him, but just remember that he misses you. Stay on the boat, all right?”
She nodded.
I led us by a different route back to Boattown, keeping a closer eye out for tails. How had the man found us? Was I that easy to follow? I knew the streets of Eastside better than most. I scratched the stubble on my chin. The Duke wanted to meet in a small tavern, obviously picked so that he wouldn’t be recognized. Another of Fortak’s traps? I was still inclined to trust the Duke. He’d had numerous opportunities to find us in Boattown and steal Ayla back. With luck he’d be of greater help than my mother had been.
The Stout and Puke was definitely not a tavern to take your woman to. A block north of Canal Street, it nestled, or some would say it was squashed, between a gambling den and a brewery, with the result that its taproom was choked with gamblers day or night. Beer fresh from next door was hard to beat, and its owners weren’t picky over their clientele.
A stench of fish wafted up from the harbor on a persistent breeze. Swords clashed somewhere in that direction, along with shouts and cheers. Dogs barked from a nearby house. I stood under a vandalized street lantern, watching men come and go from the tavern. The Duke’s stated time for the meeting had long since passed, but he could wait. Aristos needed to learn not everyone jumps at their beck and call. If his spies or Guild members had indeed established an ambush, they’d stationed themselves long ago.
I slipped in tight behind a group of punters and followed them into the taproom. Copious lanterns did little to dispel the gloom in the large room. I coughed on a smoky haze so thick you could almost chew it. Loudmouthed drinkers jammed against every table, bench, and corner. Boys squeezed among the throng, clutching pitchers tightly to their chests, yet still the beer slopped in every direction. Sticky clumps of straw littered the floor.
Obviously, the Duke wouldn’t be prancing about in his finest regalia, so I looked for his men, and caught the eye of a burly, bearded man perched on the back stair. He jerked his head in my direction and started up the stairs. By the time I had fought my way through the crowd and up the rickety steps, he was waiting, arms folded, at the end of a long hallway. He turned and entered the room behind him. Talkative fellow.
I followed him inside, and he closed the door and stood purposefully in front of it. The din of the taproom faded, as did the stink of beer and street-weed. Burning logs crackled in a small fireplace, before which had been set two worn but serviceable armchairs. The Duke relaxed in one of them, dressed in simple merchant robes and leathers, no ostentatious jewelry.
“Fix yourself a plate and join me.” He gestured to a side table laden with a selection of food.
My stomach growled. Never one to turn down a meal, I helped myself to cheeses, orjak pâté, still-warm fruit bread, and sweetmeats. My fingers hovered over the jit-nuts and moved on. I’d never be able to eat them again. I poured Akra into a goblet and breathed deep of its complex caramel aroma. With a glance at the guard, who watched my every move, I took my food and drink and sat in the other chair, facing the Duke.
“Go for a beer,” he said over his shoulder.
The guard left without a word, but the Duke remained silent for several minutes, allowing me the opportunity to spread gooey cheese on my bread and top it with pâté.
“What do you have for me?” I asked between bites. “I appreciate your previous tip. That was an intriguing meeting of your Covenant, or whatever you call yourselves.”
He stroked his graying goatee.
“I won’t ask how you evaded Fortak’s stupid skeletons, but you’ve proven your abilities.”
He waved his hand dismissively, as if done with that topic. He stared at the ragged rug before the fire.
“How’s my daughter? I’d hoped she would come.”
“She’s safe. I told you I would look after her.”
He searched my face, and then nodded. “I don’t blame you for wanting a bargaining chit. Does she miss me at all?”
His weakness for Ayla crippled his negotiation skills. Good. I had
a bona fide Duke under my thumb.
His lips parted as if he wanted to say more, but instead he raised his goblet and drank.
“How’s Phyxia?” I asked, my voice breaking. I faked a cough. Kristach, I’d just revealed my own weakness, but I had to find out. “The ambassador?”
“That’s the second time you’ve asked about her.” He raised a single eyebrow.
“Your spies were thorough in finding her.” Had I led them there?
“Her place was empty when they got there. Seems she had already met with Fortak of her own volition.”
So it was true.
I stuffed a hunk of bread and pâté into my mouth and chewed hastily. Only the superb vintage kept me from chugging the Akra, so I sipped instead, washing it around my mouth to release the intense flavors. Even in a poor solar, Akra never failed to deliver. At least some things remain true.
The Duke set down his goblet. “To business. Fortak plans to release the elemental tomorrow morning, for another…demonstration.”
Logs in the fire crackled and spat.
“Where?”
“Gilt Road. After the jewelers and artificers open up shop.”
“That’s going to be a bloodbath.” I looked him in the eye. “Tell me, do you sleep at nights?”
His gaze flicked to the closed door, and he leaned in toward me.
“It was never meant to go this far. Fortak tricked me. He had Ayla.”
“Tell the Council the truth,” I said. “You have a seat there. Get an audience with the Crown Prince.”
He shook his head. “After everything I’ve told the Council, they’ll strip my title if they discovered my part in this.”
Did he plan to reveal his entire hand to me? Political suicide.
“So you’re pinning all your hopes on me sorting out this mess?”
“I’ve checked up on you…and the Guild. I have a good spy network.” He smirked. “Easy to see why few in the Guild would go against Fortak. You, though…” He gestured with a hunk of cheese. “You aren’t afraid of him, and that’s important. You seem to have principles, and you’re tenacious and resourceful.”
All right, maybe he was a good negotiator after all. He could stroke my ego anytime he liked.
The Duke took a sip of Akra and savored it. “Trade and commerce I know, mining I dominate, but this magic business is going to ruin my reputation. The best I can hope for is that the Council gives in, Fortak gets the power he seeks, and this whole dirty secret gets forgotten. And I get Ayla back.”
“You forgot the ending where I destroy the elemental and save the day.” I smiled. “Then I single you out as the mole who helped me defeat the Guildmaster at every turn, right?”
He sat back, his brow furrowed. Firelight flickered orange across his face. Having a grateful Duke could do wonders for my career.
“Thanks for the information,” I said. “Help me defeat the Covenant and I’ll bring Ayla home safe.”
I couldn’t tell him that she wouldn’t stay home.
A knock on the door startled us both.
“Protect Ayla,” he said. “Please.”
“Enter,” he said loud enough to be heard through the door.
The burly guard strode in, his beard glistening with beer. I glanced at the Duke. His expression was full of control and regality. I nodded to him and stood. An interesting meeting—I hadn’t realized an aristo could be so anguished.
The next morning, Ayla and I left Boattown and headed for Gilt Road. I allowed extra time to lead us on an intricate path, as I had the day before, to be certain that no one followed us. I was conscious of the holes and scorch marks on my Guild robe, but I had no spares and that was the least of my problems. Not that it mattered—everyone looked at me with disdain anyway. Ayla, on the other hand, wore a tan skirt and blue blouse with matching cloak.
We sat at a street café on Gilt Road and ordered breakfast. I fidgeted in my chair. A pack of dogs ran past our table, barking and growling at random people. Merchants and artificers hurried by, eager to reach their stores and begin the day’s business.
I wanted to cry out, order them to flee and empty the street, but I knew they wouldn’t listen to me. A pair of Black and Reds loitered at the next intersection and I’d soon be arrested. It hurt to be condemned every time I tried to help.
Ayla’s chair rocked awkwardly on the uneven cobbles. She inched it to one side and bit into her steaming sabata, chewing and swallowing fully before speaking.
“What else did he say?”
I gulped my karra, now barely lukewarm. She’d been quizzing me about her father all the way here.
“He misses you but accepts that you will visit him in your own time. I think he’s pleased that I’m looking after you.”
She chuckled, almost choking on her food. “Oh, is that how you explained it? More like I’m keeping you out of trouble.”
“Speaking of which, I’d rather you weren’t here.”
She frowned. “We’ve been through this. After the barrow, I’m not letting you fight these creatures alone.”
I rolled my eyes. “Yes, Mother.”
I was glad to have her with me. It was lonely being the only one trying to stop the Covenant’s disgusting plan. My finger drummed on the table. Inside, my stomach flipped and I fought back the rising nausea. Would my plan work? Could the soul wraith destroy the elemental?
She touched my forearm. Her fingers were warm and soft.
“I know you worry about me, but aren’t I allowed to worry about you?”
Her brown eyes locked on mine. I hadn’t noticed her blue eyeliner before, and she’d rouged her lips a little.
She winked. “I think you like protecting me. And I’m still waiting.”
What was she on about now? I couldn’t keep up with her erratic thoughts. I shrugged, tired of guessing.
“How did my father know about this morning? Stop holding back. What’s his link to this Covenant?” Her gaze dropped to the table.
Kristach. This wasn’t the time, but she had a right to know. My shoulders slumped and I scratched my forehead.
“He was tricked by Fortak.” Could I leave it at that?
She heaved an enormous sigh and I wanted to draw her into a hug. Not here. Not in public.
“He could go to the High Council or tell the Crown Prince,” she said.
Déjà vu from last night.
She snatched up her sabata and took a bite, meeting my gaze. “My father’s tricking you. I don’t trust him, and neither should you.”
“He hasn’t been wrong yet.”
She waved her sabata in the air. “This is what he does. Don’t you see? He plays every side to make sure he wins. The tristak son of a whore knows exactly what he’s doing. That’s why I hate him. Gods, he’s despicable.”
“Such language.” I grinned. “You’re blending in with us commoners much better.”
Part of me wanted to be mad at her disrespect for her father, but I understood. I really did. I couldn’t imagine running away from a life where you had everything, including servants to pamper you, to end up in the seedy end of town with me. Her inner strength continued to amaze me. Her seething made her whole body quiver, and her teeth were clenched tight. If I tried to console her I’d likely get my head bitten off.
“Look, forget about him,” I said. “We need to concentrate on the elemental and saving lives.”
She folded her arms but her eyes softened.
I tapped the dagger in my sheath for the fiftieth time that morning.
“I wish I knew some spells. I feel so useless. I can feel the magic inside me.” She thumped her belly. “But what use is it? Isn’t there something…anything you can teach me to do?”
“I would if it were possible, believe me. Just stay close and keep an eye out for flying debris. The smoke…”
She nodded and looked away.
It started with a distant shout, then a hissing sound as steam spewed from the sewer grates. More cries followed, and
then a crowd surged around the corner further up Gilt Road.
I leaped to my feet with Ayla right behind me, and we hurried up the street. The fleeing crowds surged around us, pushing us back the way we had come. Ayla’s hand slipped into mine and I clasped it tight, trying to pull her through the stampede. Shouts turned to screams, and people turned on each other, slapping them aside, punching and shoving. Many tripped and became trampled underfoot.
A man spun me around and I looked into the terrified face of a silversmith, evident by the trademarks on his coat sleeves.
“Necromancer scum,” he cried and spat.
Phlegm dribbled down my face. I wiped it from my eyes.
“Get him,” another man shouted.
Two others tried to drag me down. A punch to my stomach missed its mark, and I lashed out, pushing him away. Ayla kicked him in the shin and he fell back, knocked to the ground by the panicked crowd.
“Leave him, Jurga.” A third man pulled the artisan away. “We should storm their Guild and burn it down,” he said as the men fled.
I wanted to snap back with a smart retort, but they were closer to the truth than they knew. Damn my profession.
The streets were near empty now, and the cries became muted as the crowd descended the hill and spread out into adjacent streets. From far away came the clanging of fire cart bells. We were likely already too late. I led Ayla up the steep street, and as we rounded a tight corner, a blast of heat washed over us. Both sides of the road were alight with a sickly orange glow. Flames roared from manholes, igniting a wagon and sending the kalag hitched to it wild, crying, and lowing in its futile effort to break free. Ayla started toward it.
“Leave it,” I shouted above the roar of the inferno.
“We have to free it or—”
“I said no. Stay close.”
I continued upward, panting with the exertion. Stragglers fled the other way, their arms filled with looted jewelry and huge, clanking bags of coins. To my left, a man stumbled from a building as the walls crashed around him, spewing timber and stone into the street. The cloud of dust settled. A bloody arm protruded from the rubble amid scattered jewels. The arm twitched once and became still. Ayla turned away, hands to her mouth.
