by Devin Hanson
“So, Lady Jules Vierra and Andrew Condign No Title, explain why you are trespassing and killing in my city? With alchemy?”
“We were just,” Andrew started, waving helplessly back the way they had come.
“A mistake,” Jules said firmly. “An attempted shortcut, gone somewhat awry.”
“You do not know the alchemist you fought against? He did not hesitate to strike out at you.”
Andrew shrugged but stayed silent, happy to let Lady Vierra do the talking. “I have never seen him before in my life. Is he a criminal?”
“You could say that, but it is no business of yours.”
“On the contrary,” Jules said firmly. “A rogue alchemist is a threat to the whole Guild. If he is to be called to account, it is my responsibility to see it done.”
The man Condign seemed surprised at that statement, but stayed silent.
Iria pulled her sand mask off and shook her hair out. The sweat from the fight felt cool against her skin as the evening breeze came into the warehouse. “This man… the alchemist. He is like none other I have fought.” She glanced around the warehouse. “But this is not the place for such a discussion. You have a place to stay?”
Jules shook her head. “We were going to look for one, when… well. Not yet.”
“Enough. You will stay with me tonight and we will discuss things. Come, I will alert the guards and we can leave this place.”
Andrew followed the diminutive woman uncertainly after a questioning glance at Jules, who shrugged in response. Iria was short, barely coming up to his shoulder, but carried herself with a calm certainty that made her seem to fill the space she was in. Her face was elfin, her eyes big, brown and lined with faded khol. A faint scar ran down the center of one cheek, invisible but for when she spoke and the stiff line of tissue tugged her mouth up to one side in a sort of crooked smile.
She’d be cute if she wasn’t so angry.
He wasn’t too worried about her last comment. Clearly, she had used the wrong words by accident. Nobody purposefully summoned the city guard to the scene of a multiple homicide. His heart seemed to skip a beat in his chest as she strode up to the first guard they came across. Did they even have prisons in Nas Shahr? Or were murderers simply strung from the closest gibbet and left for the crows? To his surprise, the guard planted a closed fist over his heart and snapped out a bow before hurrying off. He hardly blinked at the news of a warehouse full of corpses.
As they followed Iria through the darkening streets, he found himself re-evaluating her. Far from the violent killer she had first appeared to be, an added depth started showing through her casual interactions with the people about her. People she knew waved at her, others showed respect to her uniform, almost a reverence. She might have just killed four people a half hour ago, but to the common people, she was loved or at least honored.
What was a balai?
He knew little about the legal system, though Jules and the Maar in the caravan had described to him the government. Nas Shahr was a nation ruled by an emperor, his Majesty the Emperor Asim Akram. The Nas Shahr legal system was broken down to local enforcement provided by levee forces, with oversight and additional reinforcement provided by the Rangers. The Rangers doubled as a sort of standing army, ensuring that the local militia toed the line and paid their taxes on time.
Nowhere in his impromptu education had anyone mentioned a balai.
Andrew was starting to flag under the weight of his pack when they arrived at Iria’s inn. It was full dark out, the streets illuminated sporadically by smoky lanterns lit by some sort of resiny fuel-oil that smelled like burning pine needles. The common room of the inn was half full with road-stained travelers and locals.
Iria’s entrance didn’t occasion comment, but Andrew found many eyes on himself and Jules, not all of them friendly. A bulky Salian tending the bar hurried over, wiping his hands on a rag, his brow furrowing with concern.
“Everything okay, Iria?” He glared at Andrew. “These two giving you any problems?”
Iria made a soothing gesture, steered the big man away talking quietly for a minute, then came back. “Up the stairs, last room on the left. Jeb has agreed that you can stay.”
“You didn’t threaten him?” Jules said dubiously, “I can pay, you know.”
“Of course not. You are my guests, and the Emperor’s purse is still weighty enough to show hospitality to visiting nobility. Show yourselves up. I have a quick matter to attend to, then we can speak.”
Jules sketched a short bow and led the way up the stairs. The second floor stretched the length of the building, with the last door on the left opening into a slightly cramped but well-finished room with its own partitioned-off bath and, Andrew saw with a mixed confusion of feelings, two beds.
“Well, could be a good deal worse,” Jules said, throwing her pack down on the far bed. “I don’t suppose our balai friend is going to give us enough time for a bath and a meal.”
“I didn’t get that impression,” Andrew said with a smile. “I can’t put a finger on what balai are, exactly, beyond maybe some extension of the Rangers.”
“I’ll be sure to ask. I’m more curious about that alchemist. I didn’t get a good look at him.”
“Neither did I,” Andrew said, sobering at the thought of the fight an hour earlier. “He was slinging Sayings I’ve never heard of before.”
Jules nodded. “I heard the tail end of one. Something-lani.”
“Doco,” Andrew filled in for her. “He was calling the iron nails in the loft floor to me. Strong enough to rip them straight out of the wood.”
“Right. Do, the rune of force. You know the rest.”
“Can you sketch the rune?”
“Sure.” Jules went to her pack and returned with a pad of paper and a runing pencil. “The Do rune is found only on the teeth of the southern dragons native to Nas Shahr.” She carefully drew the rune out and passed the paper over to Andrew.
Andrew studied the rune, and after a moment, sketched in where Co fit into the pattern. Jules moved to pick up the paper and found it was stuck to one of the iron straps holding the table together. As she pulled, the paper tore and broke the runeword.
“That was fast, Andrew,” Jules said, with a shake of her head.
Andrew took the pencil from her and sketched out the Do rune again on one of the paper scraps.
“Not quite. Here, on the side,” Jules pointed, “it has a slight curve to the jag.”
He copied the rune again, making the indicated correction. “It’s hard to learn runes from paper,” he grumbled as he repeated the rune a few times. Each time, Jules pointed out some minor flaw in the rune and repeated it herself until she was satisfied Andrew had it right.
“We’ve really got to get you one of these desert dragon teeth,” Jules sighed. “There are some useful runes on them.”
“They’re also illegal.”
Andrew spun at Iria’s voice, the shield saying coming to mind reflexively. He held back just in time, though. He wasn’t sure he’d like the balai’s reaction to alchemy being used near her. “Tiny gods, you surprised me.”
Iria arched an eyebrow at him. Sometime in the last few minutes she had changed out of the voluminous robes and into clothing more appropriate for a drawing room than fighting duels in the desert. She had a clean bandage around one forearm, jarring with the silk wraparound… Andrew realized he didn’t know what it was called. He swallowed and snapped his eyes back up to her face, flushing when he saw her watching.
She stepped into the room and Andrew saw the bulk of at least one sheathed weapon strapped to her leg and another in plain view on her belt. Even in her casual clothes, Iria remained armed. She probably slept with a knife under her pillow.
“So,” Iria said, “you hunt criminal alchemists?”
“Not exclusively,” Jules hedged. “The Guild has a very strict code of conduct. Using alchemy as a weapon for hire has rather severe punishments. It is not something we condone.”<
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“And you exact those punishments?”
Jules held up a hand. “I am authorized to do so.”
“You never told me about that,” Andrew said, surprised.
She gave him a level look. “As I said, it’s not an exclusive job.”
“This man, the alchemist in maroon. I have fought him before,” Iria said.
“You’re lucky, then,” Jules said. “Not many fight alchemists and live to tell of it.”
“It was not luck,” Iria replied stiffly. “Four of my balai were killed in the effort, and a Ranger who was tracking him.”
“And you escaped?” Andrew asked.
“I killed him,” Iria said.
“Well then it’s not the same–”
Suddenly Iria was pressed up against Andrew, and he felt the cold steel of her curving dagger pressing into his chest. “I stabbed him,” she said darkly. “Here, under the ribs. To the hilt.” She stepped back, holding the blade against his chest as if measuring. “Even on one as tall as you, it would be fatal. He was in the middle of the desert, an hour from camp and days from Nok Norrah.”
She sheathed the knife fluidly. “He should be dead. And yet he is here, in the city, hunting me still.”
“Incantor,” Jules hissed. “He must be.”
“I do not know this word,” Iria said.
“They are an abomination,” Andrew filled in. “Alchemists who have corrupted themselves in search of further power.”
“All alchemy is an abomination,” Iria said seriously. “These Incantors are a special kind?”
“I would speak more on the Incantors,” Jules said, “but first, who are you? What is a balai?”
Iria frowned. “I forget that you are not Maar and do not know. Balai are the will of the Emperor. We are Rangers and carry out enforcement beyond the writ of law. Balai are entrusted to act always for the good of the Empire, and have no oversight beyond the Emperor himself.”
“How did this alchemist, the Incantor, come to be a target of the balai?” Andrew asked.
“We were on the walk. Dragons are attacking villages bordering on the Sunwell, so we went to investigate. I do not know what happened for certain, but I know that the balai were betrayed and this alchemist orchestrated it somehow.”
Iria paced the room, her clothing whispering on itself as she moved. Andrew couldn’t help but see the woman was fit and trim, muscles standing firm in her legs as she paced.
“I told you about the balai,” Iria continued, “I have questions of my own.”
“Ask,” Jules invited. “I will answer all that I can.”
“First, what brings you to Nas Shahr? Are your people not planning a war against us?”
“You heard about that,” Jules sighed. “The war is a political ploy. There were false accusations made against your people designed to incite violence. I highly doubt troops will actually march. My purpose, our purpose, is to reach your Emperor and get him to understand such.”
“You are diplomats,” Iria frowned. “Two alchemists would play diplomat in Nas Shahr?”
“I am the daughter of Duke Vierra, Master Alchemist, and Runemaster. In my land, there are few who hold as much power as I.”
Iria pursed her lips. “I saw you fight and you hunt the evil in the land as I do.” She seemed to come to a decision and held her hand out. “I would be honored to hunt by your side.”
Jules looked surprised for a moment then shook her hand. “You fight for your people. It is my honor to assist.”
“And what of you, Andrew of no title?” Iria asked, “I know why the Lady Vierra is here, but you are still a mystery.”
“He is my pupil,” Jules answered.
“That may be,” the balai continued, staring at Andrew, “but there is more to this tall man than study of alchemy. Speak. I would hear what it is if you are to have my trust.”
Andrew looked helplessly over at Jules and got a shrug in return. “It is difficult to explain,” he said.
“Men are difficult,” Iria acknowledged. “But this is not. Who are you, Andrew Condign?”
Andrew sighed. They had to get to Khar Bora, and if befriending this violent little woman would assist with that, he would do what he could. “I am a student of runes,” he said. “But I am also kossirith.”
“You are a Speaker?” Iria asked, confused. “That is a title in the court of the Emperor. Traditionally the Emperor’s advisors are called Kossirith, but it is an old word, only used in formal speech.”
“It’s older than that,” Andrew said. “Two thousand years ago, a kossirith was the companion of a dragon, one who spoke the dragon tongue and was a master of alchemy. I speak to dragons.” He wanted to take it back once the words were out. He sounded like an idiot.
Iria folded her arms, looked to Jules for confirmation and got a nod. “This is not so. Dragons do not speak.”
“They do,” Andrew spread his hands. “I know how it sounds. I am the first in two thousand years who can speak with the dragons. The dragon Avandakossi discovered the ability in me, and I was able to save her and her eggs.”
“You can prove this?” Iria asked, the doubt clear on her face.
“He has,” Jules confirmed, “to the most critical judges that exist.”
“I would see this feat,” Iria said, a gleam in her eyes. “We have legends of such, but they are just stories.”
“Is Ava…?” Jules asked.
Andrew shook his head. “No, she still travels north. It will be at least three or four days before she returns.”
“Then I will wait until then, Kossirith Condign,” Iria said, giving him the Maari title.
Andrew cleared his throat. “Just Andrew, please. I’m not ready for the title.”
“But you Speak,” Iria said, the capital letter coming through clearly. “Wanting the title has nothing to do with it. This is a fact that you will learn in life, Just Andrew. You are who you are. You cannot avoid it because you do not want the name of it.”
“Well, okay. But it would get awkward having to say it all the time. Do I address you as balai lieutenant Iria Mian every time I want your attention?”
Iria narrowed her eyes then nodded. “The point is made, Andrew. You have just arrived in the city, and fought after that. You must be hungry.”
The abrupt shift in the conversation gave Andrew pause, but his stomach answered before he did. Just the mention of food made a clearly audible growl.
“Jeb is Salian like you, but he has refined his sense of flavor since marrying a Maar,” Iria said, “If you ask nicely, he might prepare a tasteless meal for you.”
Washed and changed out of their traveling clothes, Andrew and Jules made their way down to the common room and discovered that it had emptied during their brief trip to their rooms. Iria waved them over to a table close to the bar where she sat with another woman.
“The place emptied out quick,” Andrew commented as he helped Jules to her chair and sat. “I would have thought they’d be drinking for another few hours still.”
“The purse of the Emperor convinced them to drink elsewhere this night,” Iria explained briefly. “This is Rajya Sahra, the other survivor of our fight against the alchemist. Rajya, this is Lady Jules Vierra and Speaker Andrew Condign.”
Andrew winced a little at the title, but copied the woman’s seated bow. “Charmed.”
“They are both alchemists,” Iria said, and Rajya’s face froze halfway into a smile. “They hunt the same man we do.”
“Alchemists rarely hunt each other,” Rajya said, her Salian thick with Maari accents. “Would that they did so more often.” She was taller than Iria, her shoulders thicker with muscle. Where Iria was slender and lithe, Rajya had the heavy arms and calloused hands Andrew associated with mercenaries and professional soldiers. Her hair was cut short and her skin was so deep an olive that it was nearly black. Against her dark skin, dozens of scars stood out pale on her arms like traceries of spider webs.
Jeb showed up and offered
them some meal options, none of which Andrew recognized, so he followed Jules’s lead.
Once they were alone again, Jules spoke up. “I would like to hear more about your fight with the alchemist. How did you bring him down? It couldn’t have been easy.”
“It was not,” Iria agreed.
Haltingly, Rajya and Iria described the events of the night in the desert. Rajya’s account trailed off shortly after the dose of piroki, leaving Iria to fill in the gaps.
“You carried her out of the desert?” Andrew asked, visually comparing the two. Rajya probably weighed half again as much as Iria.
“Only the last day,” Iria said. “It was not too hard.”
“Still,” Jules said, “an impressive feat. Were you able to figure out what the alchemist was after in the desert?”
“The teeth of the dragon,” Rajya said, as if Jules hadn’t been paying attention.
“No, I don’t think so,” Jules said thoughtfully. “Claiming the tooth was likely just being opportunistic. If all they were after was teeth, I would think this Colonel Mohandi could get them easily enough without having to go to the desert and wait on an alchemist.”
Rajya opened her mouth, but quieted when Iria held up a hand. “It is an angle I did not consider,” Iria said, overriding Rajya’s objection. “But we are still missing a part of the puzzle.”
“Yeah,” Andrew said, “what does killing dragons have to do with any of this.”
“And a lot of dragons,” Jules added. “You said you went out into the desert in the first place to investigate why the dragons were attacking the nearby villages. No alchemist would need that many teeth. Just one or two would do for years unless he was performing large amounts of alchemy every day.”
“I do not know the details of how alchemists make use of their butchery,” Iria said, “but if what you say is true, killing dragons must have some other purpose.”
“We need to go out and see these dragons for ourselves,” Andrew said.