by Max Irons
“I’m bored,” she said.
Iven glanced at her holstered pistolettes and raised both eyebrows at Galeron, his expression pleading. “Why can’t you have a cutthroat streak like every other sell-sword?”
He shrugged. “You picked me.”
“Aye, a decision I regret every time we owe someone something,” Iven said.
“You don’t—” Lonni started but Galeron and Iven both glared at her.
“Yes, we did,” Iven said. “Get over it.”
Lonni leaned back against the railing and said nothing, looking like she’d downed an entire pitcher of lemon drink. The rest of the day passed with little excitement, though Lonni continued expressing her dismay on Galeron and Iven’s lack of stimulating conversation.
“What does she expect from us?” asked Iven as they bedded down for the night below decks. “We aren’t here to keep her mind occupied.”
“She’s adjusting,” Galeron said, fluffing his bedroll. A useless gesture in its worn state, but it was habit.
“Like the Delktian spring thaw,” Iven said.
“That slow, huh?”
“Close enough.” He flopped on his back and stared up at the ceiling. “What are you going to do with her when we get to Keenan Caffar?”
Galeron shrugged and laid down as well. “Hadn’t thought that far ahead.”
“Can’t drag her around with us,” Iven said. “She won’t keep her mouth shut. No sense of tact either.”
“Haven’t you said the same thing about me?” asked Galeron.
“Your tact is terrible when you aren’t getting paid,” Iven said. “Hers is just terrible.”
Galeron grunted and rolled over, sleep descending on him in a dark wave.
“Get up. You’re going to want to see this.”
Galeron blearily opened one eye and sighed at Iven. “What?”
He stumbled to his feet and followed him onto the rolling deck. The sun, bouncing off the rippling waves, raked Galeron’s eyes as he stared out at the sea. Other vessels sailed by, tiny dinghies making their way along the shallows, and single-masted sloops catching the wind and weaving around lumbering cargo ships.
Galeron glared at Iven’s beaming face. “You dragged me out here to look at sea traffic.”
Iven sighed and pointed off the starboard side. “Look up.”
Galeron squinted as a passing cloud bank muted the sunlight. An enormous structure loomed over them. No, it wasn’t a structure. It was a lone mountain, plain and simple. Clouds circled around the peak, the height stirring a dizzying swooping sensation in Galeron’s gut. Keenan Caffar swarmed up the mountain like some kind of vine enveloping a giant tree. A sprawling burg surrounded the base of the mountain, its bulge contained only by the encroaching sea and low curtain walls about the perimeter.
Behind the burg stood the thick inner wall, studded at various points with conical turrets three and four across. Beyond that lay a forest of stone buildings, all sharp steeples and jagged edges, piercing the sky. Feather-thin support columns ran around the sides of some of the buildings, giving them the appearance of a multi-legged insect sitting amid the streets.
Galeron stared, his mouth partially open.
“There’s a reason they call it the city of cities,” Iven said. “What do you think?”
“It just keeps going,” Galeron said.
A further inner wall stood on the mountainside, and large mansions sat behind it, interspersed at varied distances. Some shone in the morning light, marble almost glowing on its own, while others simmered dully, as uncaring as the granite that formed their walls. Higher up, perhaps a third of the way up the slope, sat the largest hall Galeron had ever seen. Even at this distance, if he put his hand up, he could barely block out the hall’s form from his vision.
Massive doesn’t even begin to describe it.
“It’s nice,” Lonni said, stepping up beside him.
Iven frowned. “Nice? You’ve just seen the grandest city in the world, and all you can say is ‘nice?’”
“I’m not a Rayan,” said Lonni. “Personally, I think it’s a bit overdone. Flashy and eye-catching, but it doesn’t look all that efficient.”
“This city was founded by Artair Vaughan, the only mage-king to rule.” Iven rolled his eyes. “He didn’t build it to be efficient.”
“Where’s Aleor?” asked Galeron. There didn’t seem to be any defining markers.
Iven pointed at the mountain’s peak. “Up there. We’re on the wrong side. If we rode in from the west, you’d have seen Aleor but no Keenan Caffar.”
Lonni sighed. “You’ve proved my point. Inefficient.”
“Mind your manners,” said Iven. “You’re technically my guest here. I don’t want to keep apologizing because you can’t keep a civil tongue.”
Her nostrils flared, but she said nothing. However, Lonni had a point about the mages. Living that far up the mountain had to be a serious inconvenience. Why had they chosen to construct their city so high up? Galeron bit the inside of his mouth. Maybe they had magic to make it easier. A jolt hit him as he stared at the growing city. Magic was legal here. He’d known that, but who knew what it really meant for a country?
Galeron swallowed. He was about to find out.
The Bonnie Fair approached the harbor entrance, a pair of elongated and curving stone jetties, interrupted every so often by circular towers bearing the weight of two or three ballistae and soldiers manning them. Signal sloops darted around the inner waters, small porting flags raised to indicate which piers were open. The Bonnie Fair slid into the docks, bobbing gently as the sailors tossed mooring lines to the men on the pier. Galeron, Iven, and Lonni went back below deck to gather their things before disembarking.
His pack slung over his shoulder, Galeron breathed a sigh of relief as his boots hit the solid wood of the pier. No more pitching and tossing in the seas for him. Iven looked about the dockyard.
“There they are,” he mumbled.
Galeron followed his gaze. A carriage and team of horses stood a good distance away, out of the bustle of unloading cargo ships and scrambling workers. A banner snapped in the sea breeze, a blackened field with the green image of a bull emblazoned in its cloth.
“Yours, I presume?” asked Galeron.
Iven nodded. “The colors of House Porter.” He grunted. “So, it begins already.”
They started walking towards the carriage, but a hand on Galeron’s shoulder stopped him cold. He turned around. Arlana, still in her deckhand’s guise, held him at arm’s length.
“I’ll be a minute,” Galeron said, glancing at Iven.
“Suit yourself,” Iven said.
Galeron focused on Arlana. What did she want this time, and why was she still wearing the disguises?
“Keep your eyes open,” she said. “Don’t come visit me in the royal quarters. Send a message through the archer’s couriers instead. You cannot have yourself linked to me visibly.”
Galeron nodded. “And if something should happen that is time-sensitive, what then?”
“Then take care of it,” Arlana said. A slow smile emerged. “After all, that’s what I’m paying you for. Now go be a good lackey for Raya’s newest lord.”
He sighed.
“And Galeron?”
“Yes?”
She met his gaze, dark eyes threatening to drown him once again. “Trust no one.”
That drew a smirk from him. “I never do.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Galeron rejoined Iven and Lonni at the Porter carriage. The driver took his pack and stowed it on top of the roof, lashing it down with the other items of luggage as Iven carried on a very animated conversation with a tall, willowy woman with similar sandy hair.
“That must be one of the sisters,” Galeron said.
Lonni snorted. “What gave it away?”
The woman slapped Iven across the face and then crushed his ribs in an embrace.
“That,” Galeron said. “I’m told families fight li
ke that often.”
Lonni shot him a quizzical look. “You’re told? You don’t know?”
He shrugged. “Hard to say. I haven’t had one in a very long time.”
She studied him for a long while but said nothing. Iven wormed his way out of the woman’s hug and strode over to them, massaging his face.
“Galeron, Lonni, meet my youngest sister, Dianna.” He gestured to the woman. “Dianna, these are my guests, Lonni Tomkin and Galeron Triste.”
Dianna regarded them with cool gray eyes and approached. Along with his hair, she also had Iven’s cheekbones, sharp enough for a man to shave with. The crown of her head came up to Iven’s chin, putting her about even height with Galeron himself.
Interesting. She was short for a Rayan. Her flowing pale-blue dress swished as she walked, all hoops and petticoats, but despite the frippery, a noticeable bulge protruded from her lower abdomen. Iven was going to be an uncle at some point.
Galeron met Dianna’s gaze, his own stare unwavering, and he offered her a polite inclination of his head. She raised a thin eyebrow but said nothing. Instead, she moved on to Lonni, drawn face contorting into a mass of scrunched brows.
“Is she feral?” Dianna asked, her voice nasal and high-pitched.
Galeron blinked. That was a very strange question to ask. He shot Lonni a glower, and she held her mouth shut, though her lips vanished she pursed them so tightly.
“I’m not sure what you mean,” said Iven, scratching his head.
“She cavorts about in battle armor and carries firelocks like some northern savage,” Dianna said. “Such behavior is disgraceful.”
“Dianna, Lonni is a Broton, not a Rayan,” Iven said. “They do things differently there. Besides, if she’s such a disgrace to your eyes, shouldn’t we be going so you aren’t seen with her in public?”
Dianna stared at him and then nodded. “Perhaps you won’t be impossible to train after all.” She strode toward the carriage, the driver holding the door open for her.
Iven rolled his eyes, whispering to Galeron, “Hurry up and find that murderer before I kill the rest of my family.”
Galeron bit down hard on a laugh and followed him. Two bench seats ran along opposite ends, cushions made up of some soft and smooth purple fabric Galeron couldn’t place. He shifted positions on the bench, and Lonni slid in next to him. She eyed Dianna but still held her tongue. How long would that last? Iven crawled in last and the driver shut the door behind him. He settled next to his sister and put his hands in his lap, sitting stone-faced and looking generally uncomfortable.
“There are a great many things demanding your attention, brother dear,” Dianna said as the carriage started moving.
Iven sighed. “I figured as much. Marcus never liked paperwork.”
“That is only part of your long list,” she said. “You have an appointment with the king himself tomorrow.”
“His majesty has a light schedule?” asked Iven.
“Standing orders.” Dianna interlaced her fingers. “The day after the Porter heir arrives he is to present himself before the crown.”
“Wonderful,” Iven said. “Speaking of people I’d rather not see, how is Falco?”
“Still peeved at you,” she said. “He holds a grudge.”
“It must have fermented by now,” Iven said. “He’s been carrying that around since the war ended.”
Dianna glared at him. “You vomited all over him at Marcus’s birthday celebrations.”
“Too much mead makes a man do that.” Iven rubbed the bridge of his nose. “He needs to get over it.”
“I’m sure he’d be delighted to hear you say that.”
Dianna rattled on about the state of house Porter, but Galeron stopped listening for the most part. He kept one ear open, just in case she happened to mention something interesting, but all she seemed concerned with was mapping out Iven’s itinerary for the future, and possibly the rest of his life. Galeron held his face in a mask of stone, but he slipped and winked at Iven. The archer glared at him but said nothing.
After a while, the carriage finally came to a halt. Iven scrambled for the door and jumped out. Galeron and the rest followed him, emerging onto a cobblestone street on the mountainside. Before them stood a small mansion, outer facade entirely a dull gray granite with a red-shingled roof. Two pillars supported the outer portico, and the windows, four visible on each of the two floors, stood shuttered against the elements, despite the fair weather.
“Nice place,” Galeron said.
“Aye,” Iven said. “Can we go back to the Broken Blade?”
Dianna shook her head and gestured to the driver, who hauled their belongings to the doorstep. Two menservants gathered the luggage and toted it through the wide double doors.
“Brother,” Dianna said. “I would have a word with you in private.” She glared at Galeron.
Galeron squinted one eye at her. What had he done? Did Dianna just have something against anyone who wasn’t nobility?
Iven winced. “Fine, if you insist.” He turned to Galeron. “You and Lonni can take any rooms you like on the second floor. I’ll be up in a bit.”
Galeron passed through the threshold and into the main atrium of the mansion. A high ribbed and vaulted ceiling stretched overhead, wooden planks in place of the typical stone found in such spaces. A grand dark wooden staircase wrapped around the wall of the huge room, leading up to a balcony overlooking the entryway before branching off into the second floor. On the far wall, underneath the stairs, sat a line of alcoves with huge marble busts of thin-faced, clean-shaven men. They stared blankly at Galeron and Lonni as they ascended the stairs.
Galeron chose a small room at the end of the hall, furnished only with a wardrobe, four-poster bed, and chair. The manservant carrying his things stared at him blankly as he took the pack.
“There are other rooms with better accommodations,” he said.
Galeron nodded. “I wouldn’t know what to do with them.”
Knowing his luck, he wouldn’t even be in the room much, anyway. The manservant shrugged and walked away, rubbing a hand over his balding head. Galeron dropped the pack on his bed and opened the shutters. The Porter mansion sat high enough to give him an excellent view of the surrounding city. It looked about the same from this vantage point, but he squinted at the outer burg. Pillars of smoke dotted the landscape, usually rising from some of the tightly packed sections of buildings. A few pillars also rose from inside the city walls, though mostly close to the outer edges.
His stomach turned over. Plague. They were burning the bodies. Everything had looked so normal at the docks, but in a city this large, it wouldn’t be hard to hide the symptoms.
“Those are the places we shouldn’t go?”
Galeron turned. Lonni stood behind him, also looking out at the view. He grunted. “Right.”
She pushed her way to the windowsill. “Why weren’t we searched or examined for it?”
“Knife gut doesn’t work that way,” Galeron said. “You don’t just catch it anywhere like the sniffles.” He fell silent for a moment, reestablishing an iron grip on his memories. “It crops up where there are a lot of people all at once, but no one really knows what causes it.”
“I’ve never heard of it,” Lonni said. “What does it do?”
Galeron clenched his teeth for a moment. “Exactly what it sounds like. Gives a man belly pain so fierce you’d have thought someone was disemboweling him. Sometimes it plugs up the guts, or it might make you lose control of them altogether. Combine all that with a raging fever that drives you to madness if it lasts long enough.”
She shuddered. “Have you had experience with it?”
“My luck’s held, but Iven came down with it during the wars.” Galeron looked back at the smoke drifting away on the sea winds. “He doesn’t talk about it much.”
Lonni didn’t say anything for a while, and then, “What’s our first step?”
First step? “What are you talking about?” h
e asked.
“You’ve come here to find a murderer, haven’t you?” Lonni brushed a strand of hair from her eyes. “I’m going to help you do it.”
That was all he needed. Lonni following in his footsteps as he tracked down potential murderers, her weapons as useful as sticks without the proper powders. One more thing to keep in the back of his head.
“We’re not going anywhere,” Galeron said. “I’m going to do some poking around as soon as Iven lets me.”
“Lets you?” Lonni snorted. “I thought you were the leader of the two.”
He scowled. In most places that was probably true, but this wasn’t most places. “I’m playing the role of Iven’s hired sword. To sell the illusion, even his family has to think that’s all I am.”
“Do you really think his family is a part of it?” she asked.
“No, but there’s a nobility connection somewhere,” Galeron said. “Our friendly deckhand was one of the Rayan court’s assassins. A sell-sword wouldn’t have cut his own throat like that.” He glanced over his shoulder, but no one was standing there. “Iven’s family might let something slip in idle conversation, and that’d tip my hand before I’m ready.”
“This is why you need me,” Lonni said. “I can come and go as I please. I have no station and—”
“And you’re a woman,” Galeron said.
“What does that have to do with it?”
He sighed. Even he knew some of this, and he’d never been to Raya. “How often do you interact with Rayan women?”
She arched one brow. “I don’t. Why?”
“Rayan women aren’t known for their brains, at least not socially,” Galeron said. “They probably are just as intelligent as everyone else—”
“Probably?”
Galeron threw up his hands. “I’m speaking from what I hear. I’ve been in Raya part of a morning, so I can’t say one way or another. Most women, save for the lower classes, are homebodies and social creatures. There’s a lot of gossiping, parties, and maintaining the hearth. If you try to get the information we need, you’ll brand yourself as a low-class woman. That won’t help anything, and it won’t pull information from the noble ladies.”