The Arcane Ward

by Jeffrey L. Kohanek

  Puri glanced toward Chuli as the others emerged from the stairwell. The woman said something to Kiananni, and the man rose to his feet.

  The elder was of a height with Chuli, his long dark hair tied into a tail. At perhaps thirty-five summers, he might be old for a warrior, but he was quite young compared to the elders who had come before him. His body also lacked the scars and body art that warriors bore, his skin pale for a Tantarri since the sun had seldom touched it.

  “It is good to see you returned to us, Chuli Ultermane.”

  “Thank you, Elder Kiananni. It is good to be back, if only for one night.”

  He shook his head. “I am saddened that you must depart so quickly.” He stepped beside her and placed a palm on her shoulder. “Be well and may the Spirits guide you.”

  With those words, he walked off and faded into the stairwell that led up to his quarters.

  As Chuli approached the table, Puri and Cameron stood. Chuli had grown used to being among the tallest females in Fallbrandt, both at the combat academy and at the Ward. Even so, Puri’s presence was imposing, her height exceeded Chuli’s by an inch or two. The woman wore her long dark hair down, held back from her face with a jewel-encrusted headdress.

  “Welcome home, Niece.” Puri held her arms out, and Chuli moved close for a hug.

  “It is good to be back, Aunt Puri.”

  Cameron’s thick arms wrapped about both Puri and Chuli. “We missed you, Chuli.”

  He stepped back with a smile on his face. Standing at six-and-a-half feet tall, Cam towered over most crowds. His blond hair made him an oddity among the Tantarri. Of course, his parents were Torinlanders – a fair complexion and light-colored hair and eyes quite common there.

  “Who are your friends?” Cam asked. “I recall seeing the dark one the last time I visited the Ward.”

  Not waiting for an introduction, Thiron gave a shallow bow. “My name is Thiron Hawking. I am a ranger, like your niece.”

  Puri arched a brow at Chuli. “A warden?”

  “Yes. Since last spring. Thiron is my mentor, teaching me to hone my ranger skills.”

  A grin crossed Puri’s face and she gave Chuli a nod. “You honor the Tantarri with your commitment, Chuli. Cameron and I know well the importance of wardens with the threat in the east.”

  Pride filled Chuli’s heart. She could not help but bask in the glow of her aunt’s approval. After a moment, she shed her smile and refocused, waving her other companions over.

  “These two are Jonah Selbin and Torney Jacobs. Both are arcanists.”

  “Selbin? From Nor Torin?” Cam asked. When Jonah nodded, Cam added, “You are among my father’s recruits.”

  “Yes, Sir. I trained at the citadel for a year before heading to Fallbrandt.”

  Chuli addressed Puri. “We need to talk. I must tell you of what we have learned and what we are planning. ICON prepares for the worst. The Tantarri must prepare as well. And…there is more. I must speak to you about Curan.”

  A grimace crossed Puri’s face as she glanced toward Cam. “Curan?”

  “Yes. The leaders have requested that he join us. They believe that his skills can be better utilized with training.”

  “They wish him to become a warden?” Cam asked.

  “Yes.”

  Cam stared at Puri for a long moment. “Benny would only send a request for Curan if it were important.”

  With narrowed eyes, Puri took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. “We will discuss Curan later…in private.” She turned to Chuli. “I must send a message for the clan leaders to join us. They must also hear the news from Fallbrandt. I believe all are currently in Mondomi, so we can meet this afternoon. Afterward, I invite you and your friends to join us for dinner. Please extend an invitation to your mother as well.”

  “Yes, Puri.”

  Puri headed toward the stairwell with Cam trailing close behind. While she watched her aunt and uncle depart, Chuli considered the information she needed to share with the clan leaders…and of the request she must extend to them.

  “Look at this!”

  Chuli turned to find Jonah standing at the low wall surrounding the terrace and she, along with Torney and Thiron, crossed the open space to stand beside him. The sight of her home brought a smile to her face.

  “It’s a city,” Torney said, his tone filled with wonder. “A city made of stone, carved from the mountain itself.”

  Mondomi stretched out below the terrace, with narrow streets and open plazas that divided square stone buildings. Running fountains occupied the two primary plazas, drawing citizens to the running water. Children played in one square, while carts of produce filled the other. Above everything, stood a series of rooftop plazas, the plaza directly below Chuli being the largest.

  ‘Welcome to Mondomi,” Chuli said. “Only a handful of Outlanders have ever seen it and lived.”

  Jonah turned toward her. “Lived? You killed people who came here?”

  Chuli shrugged. “So I am told. It was years ago, before I was born…when the Empire still ruled Issalia. While our war with them was not one of our choosing, the secrecy of our home is also its best defense.”

  Jonah’s eyes narrowed at the thought before nodding. “Fair enough.”

  The clopping of hooves drowned out the sound of the surf below. Shrubs lined the road, filling in the narrow space between the gravel and the cliff’s edge – the drop exceeding two-hundred feet. The white-capped sea below appeared rough, the sky overhead dark and cloudy. Chuli expected rain to fall soon, and she was thankful that they neared their destination. Rounding a bend, the city of Hipoint came into view.

  Tucked back in a bay that acted as a natural harbor, Hipoint was constructed in tiers that lined a steep hillside. A single two-masted ship and three smaller boats were moored in the harbor. Sailors and workers on the docks looked like ants from the distance, milling around as they went about their business. A wide row of steps led from the pier at the bottom to the road atop the hill. Beside the road, stood the garrison – their destination.

  The road turned, and Chuli lost view of the city. She glanced toward her companions and found them staring toward the sea. Moving at a trot, her fellow riders bounced along with their steeds.

  Riding to Chuli’s side, Thiron appeared at ease, although the man’s hawk-like eyes never ceased scanning his surroundings. Torney appeared worn, exhausted from their journey. As usual while riding horseback, Jonah’s face was a grimace of discomfort. Chuli chuckled to herself. You would think that six days of riding would have forced him to adapt.

  Chuli turned to look forward as they rounded another bend. The garrison came back into view – this time far closer than the previous glimpse.

  Wooden palisades encircled the structure, fifteen-feet tall with each log sharpened to a point. Hundreds of feet beyond it, rows of thinner logs had been wedged into the ground at an angle that faced southeast, each also sharpened to a point. Like honed arrows, all pointing toward the Empire, Chuli thought.

  The group slowed their horses as they neared the fort and the stairs down to the city. Two porters finished loading a wagon atop the steps. The driver climbed into his seat and gave his team a shout while snapping the reins. The wagon lurched into motion, the man tipping his hat to Chuli as she rode past him.

  As Chuli’s horse approached the gate, a tug on the mane brought Rhychue to a stop. Thiron’s horse settled beside her while Chuli dismounted. He dropped to the ground, and the two approached the garrison. Two soldiers dressed in the black, red, and gold of Kantaria stood beside the gate – a squat, husky man with shorn brown hair and a taller, thinner fellow with black hair that touched his shoulders. The taller one had dark eyes and a few days growth of a dark beard on his young face. The other had a scar from his forehead down to his cheek. Also unshaven, he seemed to be the more seasoned of the two guards.

  “State your business,” the shorter man said.

  “My name is Thiron Hawking and these are my companions. We have
been sent here by Captain Goren.” Thiron removed a piece of paper from his jerkin and handed it to the man.

  After reading it, the guard folded it and handed the paper to Thiron. “Wait here.”

  The man rapped on the gate. “It’s Olusk. Let me in.”

  When the gate eased open, the man slid inside. Three minutes later, he returned with a woman beside him. Her red hair was tied back, her green eyes measuring, her lips pressed together. Matching Chuli in height, she was tall for a woman, but was easily ten years Chuli’s senior. Gold stripes on the woman’s shoulders marked her as an officer.

  “Greetings. I am Captain Marcella. The Hipoint garrison is under my command.”

  Thiron gave the woman a nod. “Thank you for meeting us, Captain. We have been sent here to lend assistance. May we come inside so we can discuss things in a more private setting?”

  Marcella frowned. “How do I know I can trust you? Your letter might be forged.”

  Thiron leaned close the woman. She twisted her head and listened as he whispered in her ear. Marcella’s eyes widened, and she stepped aside.

  “Come inside. Bring your horses. We have stables, food, and water for them.”

  Chuli led Rhychue through the gate and found the interior bustling with activity. In moments, she counted hundreds of soldiers, along with other men wearing clothes stained with red dirt. They had arrived in Hipoint and now had work to do. Worries of war lingered and left her wondering what dark days the future might hold.

  29

  The Color Purple

  “And when you are through scouring the floor, you had best run down to the laundry room and bring up the fresh bedding I requested yesterday. I’ll not wait for those useless porters to do the job or another week will pass before it arrives.”

  “Yes, Magistrate.” Quinn maintained an even tone that hid her frustration.

  Quinn scrubbed Magistrate Larrimor’s hair, wishing she could dig her nails in to the hateful woman’s scalp until she drew blood. With each day that passed, she despised the woman more than the day before it. She turned, dipped her hands into a bucket of water to rinse the foam away, and grabbed the pitcher beside it.

  “Ready to rinse,” Quinn announced.

  The woman sat forward in the copper tub and faced the ceiling. Quinn poured the pitcher of hot water over her head, rinsing away the soap. She then put the pitcher down and squeezed water from the woman’s gray hair. The woman stood and water ran down her wrinkled body into the tub as she waited for Quinn to dry her.

  “Hurry with the towel. I don’t have all day.”

  Quinn did as instructed while wishing she could wrap the towel around the Larrimor’s neck and strangle the old hag. Restraint. Patience, Quinn told herself. Killing the woman would also terminate the mission.

  With the woman dried, Quinn scrambled to snag the woman’s blue velvet robe from a hook and draped it over her shoulders. Magistrate Larrimor climbed out of the tub and onto the rug, waiting while Quinn knelt to towel off her lower legs and feet.

  “I changed my mind,” The woman said. “I’ll dress myself today. Remove the quilt and sheets from my bed and take them down now. Don’t come back until you have fresh bedding. Once you do, make the bed and then scrub the floor. When I return to my chamber after court, I expect to see the room’s appearance pristine, the bedding made and turned down.”

  Quinn stood and turned toward the woman’s bed, thankful she didn’t have to help her dress again. She pulled the summer quilt off, a thin version of what was used in the coming winter months. The sheets came next. When the mattress was bare, she added the wet towel to the pile and gathered it all into her arms before heading toward the door. Fumbling with the knob, she opened it and stepped into the hallway before pulling the door closed.

  Down the stairs she went, careful to watch over the bundle in her arms. Quinn’s descent continued until she reached the basement, the same floor where she and the other servants lived. Following a long corridor lit by glowlamp sconces mounted to the wall, she continued past her room and approached a pair of closed doors that led to her destination. She grabbed the knob and twisted it, stepping into a room busy with activity.

  A long counter divided the front from the storage and work areas. Behind the counter, rows of tall shelving occupied the far end of the room. Towels, bedding, soaps, and other supplies filled the shelves, while carts of clean clothing stood in a line beside them, ready to return to their owners. Launderers moved about as they gathered items into baskets. Once a basket was full, they would bring it to a cart, where it would sit until a porter picked it up.

  Quinn glanced toward the open doorway at the side of the room. Through the door, she saw four women sitting on stools, busily rubbing clothing up and down ribbed boards. Foam covered their hands, their dresses wet on the front. A man walked past the women, handing each another piece of laundry while taking the articles they had just cleaned. He then faded from view as he headed toward the rinsing station.

  “May I help you?”

  Quinn turned and found a short, heavy-set woman staring from behind the counter. Her graying hair was tied back in a tail, the white smock on her blue dress marked with stains. With her fists on her hips, the woman glared as if Quinn were interrupting something important.

  “Yes,” Quinn approached the counter with a smile, her voice full of honey. “I’m sorry to bother you, Mavis. Larrimor forced me to come down to retrieve new bedding. To save the porters a trip, I brought her dirty bedding and towel with me.”

  The woman’s grimace softened as she snorted. “That woman can be quite trying. I don’t envy you, Glynnis.”

  “I do what I can to…” A woman’s voice from behind interrupted Quinn.

  “Excuse me.” Jeshica shouldered Quinn as she walked past and put her hands on the counter. “The Archon sent me to get fresh towels, soap, and a new bottle of dye.”

  Mavis scowled as she stared at the woman. “I was speaking with Glynnis, Jeshica.”

  The woman gave Quinn a sidelong look, her blue eyes assessing her as she pursed her lips. “I hardly think that this girl’s needs are more important than the Archon’s.”

  “Are you here, Archon Varius?” In an exaggerated manner, Mavis surveyed the room and then glowered at Jeshica. “I don’t see the Archon. It appears that only her handmaid is present, a handmaid who does not know how to act civil and wait her turn.”

  Jeshica leaned across the counter, eyeing Mavis. “If you don’t bring me the requested items immediately, I’ll report you to the Archon. I’d like to see how you respond when she comes down because you refused her request.”

  Fire burned in Mavis’ glare. After two heavy breaths, Mavis sneered. “Fine. Wait here.”

  The woman turned, grabbed a basket, and disappeared down one of the aisles. Jeshica looked back at Quinn with a smirk on her face. Quinn’s eyes narrowed, and her lips pressed together. She longed to punch the pretentious woman, maybe even break a bone or two. While there were many other servants at the citadel, Jeshica was the only handmaid besides Quinn, with the Archon the only female on the Council and Larrimor the only female magistrate. The manservants assigned to the male officials all treated Quinn with the respect of a peer. Jeshica was another story. Quinn suspected that Jeshica’s looks, if one were attracted to a simpering blond with a curvaceous figure, contributed to her entitled behavior. The woman’s position as the Archon’s handmaid seemed to have further inflated her self-opinion.

  Mavis reappeared with a basket filled with fresh towels, a clean robe, a bar of soap, and a corked bottle. “Here are the items the Archon requested, save for the dye. We had one bottle of black left, but it broke yesterday when it fell off the shelf, staining the tile forever. The next delivery won’t arrive until sometime next week.”

  “What?” Jeshica sounded outraged. “This is unacceptable. What is the Archon to do? You know her hair will gray without it.”

  The grimace returned to Mavis’ face. “That is not my proble
m. When a new delivery comes in, I will gladly send the bottle up to the Archon. Until then, I can do nothing.”

  Jeshica’s eyes narrowed, her face pinching as if she smelled something rotten. “I suppose I will have to go buy some myself.”

  “That is not my concern.”

  “Fine.” Jeshica said with a huff before taking the basket and storming out the door.

  As the woman’s stomping feet faded down the corridor, an idea began to form in Quinn’s mind. She recalled a story Brandt had shared regarding one of his many childhood pranks. An opportunity had presented itself, one that required boldness. She decided it was time for action. Although risky, if successful, her gambit might solve two problems at once.

  “Sorry about that, Glynnis,” Mavis said.

  “I understand, Mavis. The Archon is an important person.”

  “True, but I would like to strangle Jeshica.”

  “Perhaps she will be gone soon.”

  “Oh, if that were true, I’d drop to my knees and kiss the ground while thanking Issal.”

  “In that case,” Quinn grinned, “Where does one purchase dye in this city?”

  The stairwell was quiet save for the soft footsteps of Quinn’s slippered feet. Rather than sneak, she walked as if she belonged, while internally praying she remained unnoticed. She turned the corner at the landing and continued upward until she emerged at the fifth level. A guard on patrol had his back facing her as he walked toward the opposite end of the corridor. She eased forward, walking such that her footsteps matched the beat of the armored man. When she reached the third door on the right, she turned the knob and found it locked.