The Arcane Ward

by Jeffrey L. Kohanek

  “Pintalli’s Inn, as requested, good sir.” The driver tipped his hat.

  “Thank you.” Delvin placed coins in the man’s palm and climbed from the wagon. He then extended an arm toward Quinn. “If you please, Miss Glynnis.”

  She gripped his hand, lifted her skirts with the other, and climbed down. Two boys, both a few years younger than Quinn, emerged from the open stable and waved to greet them. Both were stout of stature and had dark hair, one with curls and large eyes while the other boy’s hair was long and straight.

  “Hello, Miss,” the curly-haired boy said as he drew near. “We’re here to take your chest.”

  Quinn nodded. “Very good. I will be staying the night.”

  “Go on in and ask for Pintalli. He will set you up. We will be right along with the chest.” The two boys each stood to one end of the wagon bed gate and began pulling the pins.

  Without a word, Delvin headed toward the green door at the rear of the red brick building. Quinn followed him inside and realized that this was the last night before her mission truly began. Tomorrow, he would leave her, and she would be on her own, entering the den of the enemy. The fate of thousands might rest upon her success. One misstep might lead to her death. Her stomach squirmed at the thought.

  The carriage ride from Vinata to Sol Polis was quiet. Lost in thought, Quinn stared blankly out the window. The coastline and the ocean beyond it faded from view in intervals when obscured by foliage growing along the road. Hours passed before the carriage turned inland and the view changed to rolling hills of yellowed grass as the road headed west, toward her destination.

  After months of longing to go on a mission, chomping at the bit for a chance to prove herself, Quinn found her eagerness buried beneath a mountain of anxiety and self-doubt. In the past, her determination and relentless drive had overcome most obstacles. In contrast, the nature of her new task required finesse, patience, and a subtlety that were outside her comfort zone. Her thoughts drifted to Chuli and the jealously she had experienced when her friend had been offered a mission before Quinn. Why couldn’t they just send me off to kill a monster? When the wagon crested a rise, the white walls of Sol Polis came into view. Quinn sat forward and peered out the window in curiosity.

  Outside the city walls, dilapidated buildings lay in ruin. As with every other city east of Yarth, Sol Polis had fallen to The Horde and the city had yet to return to its full glory. Within minutes, the wagon neared the buildings, broken, overgrown with weeds and moss – an abandoned graveyard of what once was. Quinn wondered if the city would ever again spread beyond the walls as it had during its prominence.

  The carriage approached the gate and slowed. Quinn stuck her head out the window as a pair of armored guards dressed in white tabards stepped forward. The rune of Issal stood bold on their chests, sewn in blue to contrast the white. The taller soldier, a thin man with broad shoulders, addressed the driver.

  “State your name and purpose to enter the city,” he said in a deep voice.

  “My name is Lester. Lester Mastin. I was hired to bring the woman in the carriage to the citadel.”

  The guard narrowed her eyes at Quinn. “What is your business at the citadel?”

  “My name is Glynnis Mor. I journey from Port Hurns for work.” She held the note out the window and the man moved closer to take it. After a moment, he handed it back to her and waved them forward. The carriage lurched into motion and entered the city. As the arched opening slid past, Quinn spotted the pale spires of the citadel towers stretching toward the sky. A moment later, buildings lining the road obscured the towers. Quinn’s focus shifted to her immediate surroundings, seeking something that would help her better understand life under Empire rule. Instead, she found everything to be quite…normal.

  They passed a bakery, a cobbler, a butcher, a tailor, a jeweler, and a smithy. The people on the streets were dressed in short sleeves, light dresses, and loose tunics – suitable for the summer-like heat that lingered far longer than she was used to, having grown up in Cinti Mor. Otherwise, she saw nothing that might distinguish them from citizens anywhere else. Here and there, she spotted Empire soldiers dressed in white and blue, strolling the streets in pairs, and she saw how their hands rested on their weapons. Was there an air of tension? Or was it just her own anxiety that clouded her vision?

  The street ended at an open square with a hill in the center. Walls atop the hill encased the citadel inside them, and stairs led to a gate at the top where guards stood to inspect those who would enter the grounds. The carriage turned and headed north, up a shallow incline, and then turned west at the next intersection. Here, at the rear of the complex, the citadel hill and the street behind it became level. At the middle of the north wall was a guarded iron gate. When they reached the gate and the driver stopped the team, a ruddy-faced woman approached the carriage. The gold stripes on her white and blue tabard marked her as an officer.

  Rather than wait, Quinn leaned out the window and waved the note. “Good afternoon. My name is Glynnis Mor. I have been hired to work for the citadel staff. Here is a letter from Abner Sheen, inviting me.”

  With a grimace, the female guard walked over to take the note. As she read it, Quinn examined the woman. Tall for a female, her black hair was tied back in a tail. She had severe eyebrows that Quinn decided would make her look angry regardless of her mood. The woman’s dark eyes and stern disposition made it that much worse. When she finished, the woman handed the paper to Quinn.

  “Open the door and step outside.”

  “Yes, of course.” Quinn did as requested. Contrary to her nature, she did her best to appear timid, looking toward the ground and shuffling her slippers as she shifted away from the carriage.

  The woman leaned into the carriage and poked around for a moment. She then stepped back and circled to the rear. “What’s in the chest?”

  “My things. Mostly dresses, shoes…smallclothes.”

  “Open it.”

  Quinn pushed her frustration aside, swallowed her pride, and moved to the back of the wagon. After fumbling with the straps that held the chest in place, she loosened them and flipped the latch.

  The woman pointed toward the chest. “Lift the lid.”

  With a sigh, Quinn opened it and shifted aside. The woman began to rummage through it, pushing clothing, shoes, and other items aside. After a moment, she pulled out an oval-shaped metal disk, the bronze glittering in the afternoon sunlight. Quinn’s heart began to pound when she recognized the item.

  “What’s this?”

  Stifling anxiety, Quinn forced anger into her response. “What do you think? That’s my makeup, you ninny.” She then took up a haughty expression. “Or, perhaps you remain unaware of what makeup is. Judging by your complexion, you could use a bit, you know.”

  The woman’s grimace twisted to a sneer, and she tossed the item into the chest before slamming the lid shut.

  “Get back in the carriage before I throw you inside.”

  Without a word, Quinn scrambled into the carriage.

  The guard thumped the carriage door closed and climbed up beside the driver. “I’m riding in with you to make sure everything is as it seems.”

  Quinn sat back in relief, knowing she had just dodged a trap. How many more would she face?

  Abner Sheen was a small man. Balding and possessing a pinched face, he barked orders to the people standing before him. The servants, consisting of women in navy blue dresses and men wearing white coats with navy trousers, exited the room and headed toward their posted positions. When the last person exited, Abner turned toward Quinn with a frown.

  “Now, what is this about?”

  She glanced toward her escort and took a breath. The female guard’s stern glare remained fixed on Quinn, her face a grimace. Quinn took a breath and extended the note toward the man.

  “My uncle Welden sent me from Port Hurns with this note. I understand that there is an open position as a handmaid.”

  Abner’s eyes narrowed
. He took the letter, opened it, and read it before nodding. “Thank, Issal. I was hoping that Weldon might have someone suitable.” He looked at Quinn. “You have some experience with the position?”

  “Yes. I was working as a handmaid for Baroness Rimini before the Empire stormed the city.” Quinn looked down, her voice quieting. “She was a fine woman, yet demanding. I am saddened that she died…” She shook her head and moved past the emotion. “Once things settled, I found work with a local merchant, but I was underused there...and underpaid. Working for nothing but a roof and food leaves much to be desired. Working for a merchant also lacks a greater purpose, which is something I had come to relish. So, when uncle Weldon told me you were seeking help, I begged him to hire a driver to bring me to Sol Polis, promising to repay him with my earnings here.”

  The man frowned. “That is somewhat presumptuous. You have not yet been hired.”

  “If you give me a chance to prove myself, I am confident you will be satisfied.”

  A yellow-haired woman burst into the room, pushed Quinn aside, and stood before Sheen with her hands on her hips. Pretty, with pouting lips and plenty of curves, the woman carried a haughty air despite wearing a dark blue dress like the other servants.

  “Archon Varius requested that her dinner be served in her chamber,” the woman said. “Be sure it arrives on time and that it is still hot. If it is cold like the last time you served her in her chamber, you will feel the depth of her wrath.”

  Sheen scowled at the woman. “Don’t tell me how to do my job, Jeshica. I will deal with it.”

  “Good.” Jeshica turned toward Quinn. “Who are you?”

  “My name is Glynnis. I’ve come for a position as a handmaid.”

  A sardonic grin twisted the woman’s lips. “Huh. You’ll be working for Larrimor, then. Good luck with that woman.” She pushed past Quinn again but stopped to look back before exiting the room. “Be sure to keep your skirts lowered. You don’t want to find yourself with child and end up like the last girl in your position. Larrimor almost killed her when she found out. A repeat of the situation might put the old hag over the edge.”

  Quinn glared at Jeshica’s back as she disappeared into the corridor. When she turned back toward Master Sheen, she found him doing the same.

  “That girl is insufferable,” he muttered.

  “So I’ve heard,” the female guard said.

  Sheen turned his focus on Quinn, staring at her for a long moment.

  “I’ll give you a week.” Sheen pointed toward the door. “Head down the corridor, take the stairwell up three levels, and knock at the first door on the right. Tell Magistrate Larrimor that I sent you. She will inform you of your duties for now. Attend to her needs well. I will meet with her in seven days for a report…if you last that long.”

  28

  Mondomi

  Chuli closed her eyes, embracing the thrill of riding – focusing on the connection she felt with Rhychue beneath her. The horse’s muscles flexed with each stride, and Chuli flowed with the rhythm of the gallop, the two as one. She opened her eyes and gazed toward the cloud-covered sky overhead. Autumn was upon the plains, and storms came with the drastic temperature swings that accompanied the season. Riding in the rain was less than ideal, and she would rather reach Mondomi before it began.

  The tall grass surrounding her flowed past while the horse sped across the rolling fields, vast and sprawling. Wind-driven ripples flowed across the plains, the sea of grass appearing as if it were an ocean. A backward glance revealed her companions trailing behind.

  Thiron rode a white and brown piebald, the man’s horse one length to Chuli’s right and three lengths behind her. To her left, and further back, Torney rode with a grimace and a fraction of the grace Thiron displayed. At the tail end of the group, Jonah stood in his saddle, doing his best to keep up without getting tossed. Chuli shook her head at his poor form, his lack of ability to flow with the chestnut mare he rode. After three days in the saddle, his discomfort was well known to the others. Jonah was not known for keeping his opinions to himself.

  When she turned to look forward, the red-tinted hills at the southwest edge of the plains had drawn close. A dozen narrow canyons split those hills, each possessing steep inclines that made one appear much the same as any other. Chuli spotted a pale gray boulder atop a bluff and headed toward it, slowing as she approached the ravine below the rock.

  The others stopped beside her, their horses shifting nervously.

  “We are near Mondomi. Please follow, but be aware that you are entering protected grounds. The wrong move might result in a few arrows sticking from your ribs…or worse.”

  “Or worse?” Jonah frowned. “First, you beat us into submission by racing your blasted horse across the plains and now you threaten to have us shot with arrows.”

  Chuli tilted her head, her tone serious. “When you agreed to stop by my home during our journey, did you think it would be without a price?”

  Torney and Jonah looked at each other. Thiron, held his hand over his mouth to cover his smile. The dark-skinned man behaved much like a Tantarri and left Chuli to wonder at his background. Other than his birth in Sunbleth and his teen years spent in the forests surrounding the Skyspike Mountains, she knew little of her mentor.

  “Come,” Chuli waved them forward as she kicked Rhychue into a trot. The horse hardly needed direction as it returned to its former home. A half mile into the canyon, the horse slowed to a walk and angled up a rocky slope that appeared to lead nowhere. When Chuli crested the rock, she rode Rhychue up a narrow ledge that ran along the canyon wall. They turned a corner, and the ledge grew wide enough that two horses could ride in tandem. Without waiting, Chuli led the party upward with the canyon floor falling farther and farther below them.

  Cresting the top of the trail – yet still three-hundred feet below the upper reaches of the surrounding hills – the horses entered a wide tunnel and slowed to an easy walk. Two Tantarri emerged from the shadows as Chuli coaxed Rhychue to a stop. Both Tantarri had the shaved heads of warriors, each with a black topknot hanging in the rear. The shorter of the two stepped forward to greet Chuli.

  “Welcome home, Chuli Ultermane,” the woman said with the tilt of her head.

  “It is good to see you, Bruxi Hornblower.”

  “You bring Outlanders to Mondomi?” The tall man crossed his muscled arms over his chest, his face bent in a grimace.

  “Yes, Gothan.” Chuli slid off her horse.

  “And you have permission to do so?”

  “No. However, these men are wardens, like me. They are allies of the highest calling, and they can be trusted”

  The man grunted. “We will see what the head clanswoman says.”

  “Good,” Chuli replied as Thiron stood beside her. “I must speak with my aunt regardless.”

  “Come, then,” Bruxi waved for them to follow.

  Chuli glanced back and found Torney helping Jonah dismount. Jonah’s foot became stuck on the saddle horn, and he fell on his backside, taking Torney with him. Torney landed on his back with Jonah atop him. A sigh slipped from Chuli’s lips. She chanced a glance back at Bruxi and found the woman smiling. Chuli squeezed her eyes shut in a moment of embarrassment. When she opened them, she found the two boys climbing to their feet.

  Chuli said, “When we enter, allow me to do the talking until I tell you otherwise.”

  Thiron gave a slow nod of agreement, as did Torney, while dusting off his trousers.

  Jonah said, “I would really prefer to complain. My backside is likely permanently damaged, and it will kill me if I can’t complain about it for a while. In fact, I may need hours to do it justice.”

  “It would be odd if he did not complain,” Thiron added.

  Chuli found herself unable to restrain a chuckle. “I understand that you find riding uncomfortable – something you have made perfectly clear. Regardless, I beg you to save your whining for later. I’ll be sure to give you a proper platform, and you can then co
mplain as much as you wish. But for now, please be silent.”

  Chuli followed Bruxi while the others trailed behind with Gothan at the rear. They entered a curved side tunnel, wide enough for three people to walk together. Ancient drawings marked the torchlit walls, depicting battle scenes from an era long past. Having seen them countless times, Chuli ignored the artwork and considered what she must tell Puri. The tunnel opened to the receiving chamber, a natural cavern with one tunnel to the right and another entrance at the far end. As usual, orange coals from a brazier at the center offered light for those passing through. Chuli turned and found her companions staring upward as they eyed the uneven dome above them.

  Without pause, Bruxi led them down the far tunnel, which curved until it came to a stairwell cut in stone. Chuli knew that the stairwell down led to the city. Bruxi instead led them up another staircase, curved and illuminated by a torch at each end. When they emerged from the stairwell, daylight greeted them. Chuli stopped beside Bruxi and surveyed the scene.

  Head Clanswoman Puri and her husband Cameron were seated at a table on the high terrace, in the midst of a quiet conversation with the new elder, Kiananni. Chuli experienced a moment of sadness at the loss of Yuranni. She missed the kind, old elder, despite his idiosyncrasies. However, oddness was to be expected from someone who walked dreams and interacted with the spirit world. To young Chuli, the former elder had seemed as old as the stone walls of Mondomi. When he had finally died four years prior, there was much conjecture as to his real age, but nothing was ever confirmed. Rumors among the Tantarri placed the man somewhere north of one hundred summers. Some clan members believed the man had lived many more years than that. Unlike Yuranni, Kiananni was young and virile and would likely hold the position for many decades to come.

  Chuli looked up at the half-dome of rock, fifty-feet above her. The limestone ceiling extended for hundreds of feet until it met daylight. The sheer vertical face of the opposing canyon wall was visible from where she stood. On sunny days, hues of red, orange, and amber shone from that canyon wall, oftentimes the minerals within it sparkling in the direct light. Today, however, was a dreary overcast day that muted the colors that she so admired.