Ioth, City of Lights

by D P Woolliscroft

  They all nodded in reluctant agreement.

  “I think we should be grateful that it did not replace my Uncle,” said Neenahwi, relieved. She took a breath before continuing in a strong tone that indicated that she wanted everyone to take heed. “But it’s existence, and whether there are others like it, are cause for concern.”

  “Marlth’s sweaty tits,” muttered Mareth as he shuddered at the thought. “Dove, you need to watch for signs of these creatures in Kingshold. But discretely, understand?” The spymaster nodded grimly. “What other good news do you have to share?”

  “I’ll go first—” began Uthridge, before Neenahwi interrupted him.

  “Mareth,” she said earnestly, leaning forward to rest her arms on the polished table surface. “What you’re going to hear is important, and will make you think that we are truly are headed to war. But don’t rush to a decision yet; I am certain there are other plans afoot.”

  Mareth nodded, and then gestured for Uthridge to continue. The Lord Marshall explained in detail the Pyrfew troop build-ups that had been observed on the border, and the steps that had been taken to prepare Redpool for the repercussions. Fortifications were being repaired and enhanced, food stuffs and supplies were being stored, and plans were being prepared for how the city would be run in the event of a siege.

  “…and Folstencroft should have completed the search for a new governor,” said Uthridge. “Is there word?”

  “Yes,” confirmed Grey. “We received a bird with a message recommending either a man called Smith or a woman called Yardley. The first is a merchant with a good reputation of philanthropy, the second is a well-respected Justice. Given the circumstances, we are leaning toward Yardley.”

  Uthridge nodded. “I met her. I think she would be a good choice. We need to have her come to Kingshold so she can be adequately prepared for what is to come.”

  “Agreed. Let’s make that happen please, Chancellor,” said Mareth. “What have you got, Admiral?”

  Mareth listened intently as Crews described the naval engagements, their troubles with the fire ships and the loss of the good people on The Orca and The Falcon, the verbal shit piling up around his ears. The bad news compounded in his skull, creating a pain behind his temple. He rubbed at it with the heel of his hand, trying to massage away the pain and the troubles.

  “What are we going to do about these fire ships?” he asked.

  “I’m not sure right now, my lord,” said Crews. “Our ballistae aren’t powerful enough to pierce the hull of these vessels except at close range. Boarding is downright impossible as it means getting too close to the fire. Their size makes these turtle ships nimbler than our grander ships when at close quarters.”

  “Well, Admiral,” spat Mareth, a fire burning in his belly, “you better fucking well figure it out! We’re spending, what? Hundreds of thousands of crowns we don’t have on more ships that will become floating pyres.” Arkel’s head bobbed in confirmation upon his wiry neck.

  “If we could keep Lady Neenahwi with the fleet, I am sure we would be victorious,” said Crews. Neenahwi shot him a look. Mareth knew that was not part of her intentions. Would she do it if he asked? He wasn’t sure.

  “We need to discuss this with Ioth. See what they will share about these new ships they have built,” said Mareth. “Chancellor, when can we expect a delegation from Ioth?”

  “As yet, we have received no response to our outreach.”

  “Bastards.” Mareth sighed. “Alright, Neenahwi, what have you got to tell me?”

  She looked around the table, pausing at each face in turn, as if measuring each person. She’d done something similar that time they’d first met at the Royal Oak during the election; assessing how much she could trust the group. Hells, she was probably assessing how much she trusted him.

  “I cannot tell you anything with certainty at this moment. I have some hypotheses I need to research and assess. But I will say that this all feels wrong. Llewdon hasn’t been interested in Redpool for over a decade. It feels like his attention has moved somewhere else. Pyrfew is a massive land, and there is much wealth there in terms of natural resources, but, by all accounts, it does not have a big population. And with their presence in the Wild Continent, I don’t know how he can fight a war on multiple fronts. He must know that if his Iothan fleet turns hostile then the countries of the Jeweled Continent will come together again.”

  “Look, all I really care about is Edland.” Mareth could feel the heat rising in his face, his temples pounding. “I’m no general, but the way I see it, any war would hurt us. But if he doesn’t want that then great. It does beg the question though: what is he after, instead?” He looked at Neenahwi expectantly.

  “I’m…not sure right now,” said the wizard. She looked down at the table as she spoke, her shame at not having the answers to hand evident.

  “Well that doesn’t help me much!” Something inside him snapped. Expectation. Pressure. Uncertainty. All of it combining and leaving him bereft. Mareth stood, knuckles pushed down into the table. He glared at everyone around the table. “All of you. Go and figure it the fuck out! I need to know what to do!”

  Mareth pushed his chair back and stomped across the room; his field of vision had narrowed from anger so he didn’t see the shocked reactions of the council members as he burst out into the corridor.

  Mareth riffled the Spires cards on the table. This was the solid, dependable table from the Royal Oak that he and his friends had plotted around during the election. Jules had been quite accommodating about him taking it; at least once he’d offered to replace it. He had thought about using it for the privy council meetings but it turned out it was too small, so he’d decided to leave the lacquered, gold-leafed, frankly over-the-top table that King Roland had commissioned in the chamber. Instead, this table now resided in one of the smaller rooms of his apartments, looking decidedly out of place amongst the other furnishings. If this table had feelings, he was pretty sure they would mirror his own.

  He put the shuffled cards to one side and then organized gold-painted wooden coins into equal piles, singing softly to himself as he did so.

  Please don’t be afraid my dear,

  Though the nights are long,

  And we hear the marching drum,

  There’ll be naught to fear,

  Safe here in my arms.

  Singing and organizing these small things made Mareth feel more at peace. He felt a little ashamed about blowing up earlier that day. But what was he supposed to feel? The torrent of bad news from abroad did not seem to have an end. Just when he thought they were making some real, if measured, progress here in Kingshold, there were these other external factors that threatened to throw all the cards up in the air.

  There was a knock at the door but it opened without pause. It was Petra, followed by the old crew. Alana, Motega, Trypp and Florian took their customary seats. Petra came over and gave him a much-needed kiss.

  “I hear you had a bad day,” she said.

  “Yes, but it looks a lot better now.”

  Neenahwi stood at the opposite end of the table, not yet taking her seat.

  “So, am I allowed a night off or should I be somewhere else trying to figure it all the fuck out?” she demanded.

  He smiled back at the wizard. “As long as you’re here to play, that’s fine by me.” Neenahwi took her seat opposite Mareth, while he put the cards down and addressed the group. “Before we start, I should tell you what happened today.”

  “No need,” said Florian, as he reached out to grab one of the tankards of beer waiting in the middle of the table. “She already told us everything.” He nodded his head toward Neenahwi. “Don’t worry, Mareth. We’ll figure it out. Always have done in the past.”

  “Thanks. And thank you, Neenahwi, for respecting state secrets.”

  “Piffle. My father did what he liked. It’s expected that I continue in the tradition.”

  Mareth dealt the cards while everyone organized their stacks of
fake coins. They played their first few hands talking about nothing much in particular. Alana and Petra were a great source of gossip given how much time they spent in the city. Maddie, one of his favorite barmaids from the Giant’s Toe, was pregnant again—a brief flush of concern swept over him—but Alana followed it up saying she had shacked up with the big doorman there. Master Gonal had been enjoying his new status as head of the Merchant’s guild, apparently his close personal friendship with the new Lord Protector had been a deciding factor in their hustings. Mareth smiled at hearing the news, even though his luck with cards that night was as terrible as his luck with running countries.

  “Shit, I forgot to ask. Florian, how are you feeling?” asked Mareth. How had it slipped his mind that one of his friends had nearly died following his orders? He’d swore an oath to himself that he’d never get a friend killed again after his old companions had perished. For a long time he’d made that a reality by having the bottle or tankard be his only comrade. Now he knew that the chances of him keeping that vow were getting slimmer by the day.

  “I’m fine,” said Florian who was staring intently at his cards.

  “Heh. You should have seen him,” said Motega. “At first I thought he was waving his arms in victory, taunting those Pyrfew assholes.” Motega had his own arms in the air, pantomiming a roar. “But he wasn’t even standing. That spear had got stuck in the ground. Propped him up like a drunk at a bar.” Motega laughed again as Florian took it all in good grace. “The stupid bugger didn’t want to drop his swords.”

  “They are very special, Motty. I couldn’t trust you two to remember to pick them up, now could I?”

  Motega and Trypp laughed heartily but Florian seemed quite serious about the swords. Mareth and the others joined in, more at Florian’s reaction, until he eventually chuckled along.

  “Hey, want to hear something else funny?” asked Mareth, who continued without waiting for affirmation. “We had all of these delegations come visit, and one of them was a giant from Wespar. Biggest thing on two legs I’ve ever seen, but he looked like he wouldn’t harm a fly. Anyway, all the other delegations were trying to butter me up, or offer me things…” Mareth looked at Petra, “which I have no interest in-” suddenly realizing that he was about to open an old wound. “Anyway, he didn’t want anything, except he said I had to go visit his mother!”

  His friends laughed. All except Neenahwi.

  “Did the giant say the Matron wanted you to visit?” she asked.

  He nodded, still chuckling to himself. The company of his friends and a few tankards of beer were easing some of the burden on his shoulders.

  “That’s not his mother. That’s the crazy old bat that all of the giants follow. What else did he say?”

  Mareth tried to remember the details. “He said something like, ‘She has seen what may come, and she wants me to see it myself.’ Why aren’t you laughing? You’re not really thinking I should go?”

  “I don’t know. Probably not. The Matron is definitely some kind of mystic. Jyuth and I visited there once to talk with her, but she spoke in riddles. Half senile I thought at the time. We didn’t stay long, my father didn’t have the patience, even though it seemed like they had known one another for a long time. In any case, I don’t think it would be safe for you to travel to Wespar at the moment.”

  “Do you want to go instead?”

  “I don’t think that’s how it works with the Matron. If she has seen visions with you in them, and she’s asked for you, then I don’t think I’ll do in your place.” She breathed deeply and Mareth knew there was more to come. “Anyway, I have to leave tomorrow.”

  The table erupted. You only just got back. Where are you going? Only Motega didn’t speak. Mareth bet he knew what was going on.

  “I have to go and look for something. It’s just a theory, but it might help us understand Llewdon’s intentions.” She explained about the tower in Redpool, and her belief that could have been what Llewdon had been looking for all along. And he’d likely already found it. “I’ve read the notes that I transcribed in that tower many times, and it mentions another tower in what we now call Hyfil. I need to go and find it, see if there are more clues. I don’t think it is a coincidence that Pyrfew has a fleet in the Sapphire Sea, operating around that same island.”

  Mareth listened, soaking it all in. He knew to trust Neenahwi, and besides, he knew she wouldn’t listen to him even if he disagreed.

  “Who would you like to go with you?” he asked, looking to her brother and his friends.

  Neenahwi shook her head. “I’ll go alone. I can fly there faster and safer than going by ship. But I’ll leave the boys here for you to look after.” Now she cracked a smile.

  “We’ll miss you,” said Florian. “But at least I can get back to training my favorite students now?”

  “We’re your only students,” said Petra, smirking, looking to Alana.

  “True. Very true. But favorite nonetheless. Of course, I’ll probably have to undo everything that Dolph has taught you while I’ve been gone.”

  “Dolph says that I’m better with the rapier than Mareth now!” announced Alana proudly.

  “That’s not difficult,” deadpanned Trypp, and Mareth splurted out his beer.

  “Well, I am glad to hear that,” said Florian, nodding earnestly. “Next time he needs a champion, you can take my place.”

  Mareth was thankful that the conversation had turned lighter, though Neenahwi’s news still troubled him. They played cards until the early hours of the morning, Trypp and Alana coming out on top as usual. Trypp winning didn’t surprise him, the man had a way of reading you that made bluffing all but impossible. But the fact that Alana had turned out to be so good at Spires had surprised him. He’d asked her who had taught her how to play. It turned out that she’d never played before. “It’s easy,” she’d said, “don’t you just count the cards too?”

  He said good night to his friends, while Petra lingered. She was going to stay. As he saw them off at the door, Neenahwi pulled him to one side.

  “I know you’re eager to get rid of us. But there are a few things that you and I must talk about first.”

  Mareth’s anticipation of some time alone with Petra faded.

  This was probably not going to be good.

  Chapter 10

  In Search of Towers

  The hours blurred the further she flew. It always happened.

  For a while after she left Kingshold, soaring over the white flecked sea far below, she was Neenahwi enough to consider again what she was doing.

  The visions she had received during her Quana had been clear. Llewdon had become obsessed with the disappearance of Myank, the wizard who long ago had taught her father. So much so that he’d destroyed his own people trying to do the same thing that he thought Myank had done; become a god. Just a few months ago she had never even heard of this old wizard; Jyuth had been particularly coy about revealing who had taught him when he was passing on his knowledge to her. But now everything seemed to point to Myank. Jyuth mentioned him in his final letter to her. He was the unseen protagonist for Llewdon’s plans in her vision. And now, after stumbling into Myank’s tower in Redpool, things were starting to click together.

  That is, assuming she wasn’t reading this all wrong.

  These were the things she thought about until the life of the albatross took over. The search for up-drafts, peering through the misty morning for sights of shore and landmasses by which she could navigate. The occasional flapping of her wings and look-out for signs of food to hunt took most of her attention. It was near a thousand miles to Hyfil and the journey would take many days without once touching down. She did take notice of the ships she saw far below; partially on the lookout for more of the Pyrfew fleet, but mainly as the people on board could be a good source of easy sustenance, eager to feed a bird seen as a lucky omen. Most of these ships were headed the way she had come, toward Kingshold, but some were also bound for Redpool. It was not until s
he left the Arz Sea far behind, flying high above the deep blue Sapphire Sea, that she saw more of the ships that she had done battle with recently.

  On at least three occasions she saw those now-familiar groups of four ships; a first or second-class ship accompanied by three of the turtle ships. There seemed to be nothing untoward about what they were doing; there were no battles or attacks on other vessels. But she assumed this meant that they must be patrolling this great blue pond that had been relatively free of Pyrfew influence for so long. But now, whether invited by Ioth, or more likely established through subterfuge, they were here.

  An island came into view ahead. Hyfil, her destination, and she forced her humanity to the fore.

  From the many notes she had transcribed in Myank’s tower in Redpool, she had discovered references to another home of the wizard’s. Starras. Myank had described it in his own handwriting as his retreat, or at least she presumed it was his handwriting, it was much neater than her father’s. In other places he had called it his ‘quiet place for contemplation’, and his place for study. One particular missive, the writing hurried and the language hyperbolic, revealed the author’s excitement at his discovery of locus points; parts of the world where magical energy seemed to be naturally magnified. It shed no further light on what she herself knew from Jyuth’s own journals on the subject, but she at least now guessed the source of her father’s knowledge.

  And then, finally, she had found the note that Myank had left his students.

  I have taught you all you need to know. Go forth. Learn from the world. Take your studies in directions of your own choosing.

  For I have a long journey ahead of me,

  And I must retreat and prepare myself.

  Neenahwi had mused on this during the journey back to Kingshold from Redpool, locked in her cabin for much of the time, away from the commotion of the ship. The use of the word ‘retreat’ in that note and the other descriptions kept ringing out to her. Could it mean that he had traveled to this other place, to Starras? It was the only lead she could identify, the only proactive course of action that seemed available to her. Her father had suggested she ‘step on her front foot.’ So that’s what she was doing.