by Regina Watts
BENEATH SKYTHORN
OUR RETURN TO the inn was tense. Heads ringing with Fortisto’s advice, Valeria and I found ourselves hyper-aware of every guard we passed, and the feeling was mutual. With my new sword unmarked by the Order and carried open on my hip without a sheath, I was neither a potential peer nor possible superior, but instead a likely rabble rouser.
Then, there were the citizens. The silver hilt of an Order blade was recognizable to everyone in the city. The blade that was once the gilded Scepter of Weltyr simply marked me as either a man of wealth or of supreme skill in battle, and the general sense of curiosity this drew was worrisome. If asked about us, people would remember.
Yet I could not be made to fully care. My senses were bright and crisp with victory. My heart soared every step, exultant. The sword swung at my side as though to perpetually remind me of Weltyr’s favor: of his remaining eye, following me through the city streets.
Impossible as it is to think, a small boy inside me was still afraid I had done something very wrong just then. The image of my old intentions decried me as a blasphemer and false prophet. I had turned away from the Order and quite literally run off with one of the many species to which they were, I discovered, opposed. How many men were confirmed into the Order completely before learning such a fact? How many remained not because they thought it was right or Weltyr’s will but because they had no other options left to them by that point?
But Father Fortisto’s parting words had taken root far more than any condemnation of Zweiding’s. He had lauded me! It was now my impossible task to not feel an excess of pride at being called a true servant of Weltyr by a man who was himself among the most godly I had ever known.
I was resolved, therefore, that I had acted in accordance with Weltyr’s will…but all this about the spirit-thieves was far more disturbing.
Though I had been aware that the presence of spirit-thieves on Urde was unnatural by one manner or another, (interplanetary or interdimensional, it made no difference to me then), I had never fully considered what that meant for all the species of mankinds. Why should I? Spirit-thieves were barely even spoken of anymore by the common citizen of Cascadia. Only those who had close dealings with dwarves (or, it would seem, durrow) knew what a danger they presented—and if even one quarter of what Zweiding had told me was true, that danger was greater than I had ever been taught.
The drowned temple with the images of the sleeping squid-god returned to me. If it was resources they wanted, what use was rousing it from its nightmares? It seemed to me that they only wished to prolong their own existences, and bringing the Sleeper into this reality would certainly not contribute to their own extensive lifespans. I had heard it said the thing drove men mad to look upon—that it devoured worlds and bred infinite offspring which, though lesser than itself, were a thousandfold more horrible than the basest of demons permitted to slip through the cracks of the Wyrd and perpetrate its sins on Urde.
Why, then? What was the will of the spirit-thieves, and, more important, what was the will of my God?
“Do you really think all that was true back there?” As I spoke, Valeria glanced into my face and looked away only before we crossed a certain busy street near the inn. “That business about spirit-thieves producing mankinds other than human.”
Though her expression briefly changed, as if she was first shocked I should ask such a thing, I watched her sort out the rationality and, moreover, neutrality of my question. Given a few seconds with it, she suggested, “I, myself, have questioned what was said by the witch woman in Soot. About elves coming from the durrow people rather than the other way around. Rest assured, if anyone remembered such a thing, my people would not let it be forgotten.”
I chuckled, thinking of Odile in particular. “No doubt! If such a long span of time has passed that even the durrow have forgotten they were the originators of the elvish peoples, I should think it long enough for aboveground folk with common knowledge to forget the origins of the species. But…”
“But?”
“But for Zweiding to suggest that such a thing could ever be accomplished without the blessing of Weltyr—that is the greater blasphemy.”
Her stare bored into me. I turned to see she in fact smiled. Brooding Valeria was so seldom given to such genuine expressions that, taken aback, I laughed even in the chaos of our in-progress flight from Skythorn. “What is it?”
“Nothing,” she said, her tone exceptionally fond. Her hand lowered to mine, patting me through the armor. “I love you, Rorke.”
Before we stepped into the inn, I caught her and kissed her as I had after the battle. She sighed, patted my chest, and leaned into me even as we parted. Then, stepping into the Mongoose, we straightaway spotted Lively and Erdwud having breakfast with Sharp at a corner table in the presently quiet establishment.
All three looked up; Sharp seemed about to stand before he recognized us. Then, relaxing back down, he expected us to return to our rooms and delivered little more than a casual nod. The friends turned to resume their conversation.
Instead, Valeria and I went straight to them. Sharp’s face fell at the prospect of work, but nonetheless he gave us his attention. “What is it then?”
“Don’t be so crude.” Lively swatted Sharp’s hand before beaming to hold Erdwud’s. “Thanks to them, my Erdie’s all right, and already back to putting on the weight he lost while hidin’ in them woods.”
Muttering under his breath, Sharp said louder, “Right, well done. What can I do for yous?”
“We’ll be checking out today,” I said, provoking a sad little noise from Lively. “And, if you could, we need a bit of advice on how to get to the airport quickly…without attracting attention. It’s not a part of the city I’ve ever seen before.”
“Right! You’re aiming to leave today, in the blimp headed eastward? Could have mentioned that to me a mite sooner so I could have planned my chambermaid’s schedule today.”
“Our leaving is a bit short notice.”
Arching a brow, Sharp asked, “Do you lot even have tickets?
Valeria and I exchanged a glance. “How much are they?”
He named a price that made my mouth fall open.
“Surely not,” I said.
Erdwud, however, swallowed his bite of food and leaned forward, waving dismissively with a napkin still between his thumb and the palm of his hand.
“Don’t listen to him,” said the rural innkeeper who was, perhaps ironically, the more worldly of the two. “Sharp won’t even go near the bloody airport! He’s afraid of blimps.”
“I’m not bloody afraid, you cock! I just don’t cherish the idea of being waylaid by pirates or dying in a fiery crash.”
“Pirates! Listen to you. Ten years old…probably secretly wish The Flying Rhinemaid’ll drift by and all the lovely lassies will avail themselves of your—”
Lively cleared her throat.
“Right,” Erdwud, red-faced and laughing now. “Anyhoo, he’s talking about the price for a cabin. The price for an economy ticket is much more reasonable. I’ve even heard you can give a few copper to the baggage crew and they’ll let you ride in the cargo hold, but they don’t take responsibility if you’re crushed by something, of course.”
I tried not to look impatient—but, much as Valeria might have felt through the frequency of her prayer the forthcoming waves of spiders, I could feel the information on our new warrant spreading through the city. When leaving El’ryh we had the benefit of slipping out before anyone knew we were gone. In Skythorn, we were wanted already. Keeping my tone even, I asked, “How much for an economy ticket?”
“Oh, shouldn’t be more than two ounce of gold apiece.”
“That’s good information,” I said, nodding. “Will you come by our rooms in a few minutes, Erdwud? I have a few more questions to ask, and I’m afraid we must pack.”
“Of course! No problem, no problem at all. What a shame to see you lot move on!”
I could see him wanting
to ask where we were headed, but, pressed for time, I smiled at him and said, “Yes, it is a pity in some ways—we’ve all grown quite attached to you and Lively.”
Then, hand in the small of Valeria’s back, I steered her toward the stairs and we hurried to our rooms.
Not more than five minutes later the whole party stood together, Indra and Branwen packing while Odile, the self-appointed treasurer of our group, complained, “Why do we keep having to spend all our money!”
“It does us no favors weighing down our hips,” answered Valeria while helping me out of my armor, which otherwise made us too obvious as subjects of investigation.
Odile scoffed. “Easy for you to say, Materna. You’ve never had to worry about money in your life. What if we need it later on down the line?”
“Weltyr has plenty of money,” I assured everyone. “As we require it, more will be allocated to us. For now, we have to trust in him and spend it. Certainly I know no better way to flee our current circumstances and race toward our goal at the same time.”
With a hefty sigh of displeasure and a look at the leather sack still sitting on her dresser, Odile snapped, “Fine. But don’t come crying to me when our coffers are empty and we need to bribe a guard somewhere. I still can’t believe this! Why on Urde did you ever agree to such a stupid duel? And please! Don’t say it’s because of Weltyr.”
“I confess that he is the only reason why I do anything, Odile.” Sighing and rolling her eyes, Odile fetched the party’s purse. “Trust in Weltyr’s will was the reason I went agreeably with you two to El’ryh.”
“I’m starting to regret that deal,” she said, shaking her head while checking through the coins to make sure we had enough. “And I’m really starting to get sick of fleeing from cities…can we make this the last time?”
“If I can help it,” I promised her merrily.
Branwen, meanwhile, seemed drawn with concern and paused over the bag she packed, one hand resting against her forehead. I slid my arms around her and asked, “Are you coming with us?”
“I’ve never been to Rhineland before,” she said with reluctance, “or on an airship…but…”
Her lower lip disappeared between her teeth and her eyes lowered to the sword over which the ladies had been given little time to marvel.
“All right,” she said, looking up at me seriously. “After all we’ve been through, and the ways I let you down—I can’t stay here worrying about you. But are we really going to make it to the airport before being intercepted? I don’t know how fast word travels in Skythorn, but…”
“It’s true, I’m concerned about the actual path we’re to take. That’s why—ah!”
A knock rang out upon the door. Hurrying over, I threw it open to reveal Lively and Erdwud’s smiling faces.
“Just in time,” I said, my tone still somehow effortlessly carefree. I felt anything but. “Hello, friends! Erdwud, could you explain to us how we would get to the airport?”
I won’t bore one with the details, especially because they proved irrelevant. The women hovered about between the rooms, hastily packing, and for a span I swore to be shorter than four minutes we were given a chance to figure out a general route of escape. A difficult task, given how notoriously bad Erdwud was with directions!
Before he had even finished, however, a commotion from the street cut through all the city noise. My companions and I froze, exchanging urgent looks.
Erdwud noticed our expressions belatedly, connected them to the sound, and asked, “What’s that going on out there?” just as the door to the tavern blew open.
I and the ladies retreated into the rooms immediately. Erdwud and Lively, exchanging glances, stepped into the doorways and stood as if they were guests of the inn leaning out to find the source of the noise. The clamor of city guards entering the inn was crystal clear around the corner of the upstairs hallway.
“No weapons in the tavern,” said Sharp calmly, this immediate reprimand so audacious I would have laughed under another circumstance. “The lot of you will have to let one of my employees check them.”
With an audible scoff, whatever captain had led his detail in responded, “We’re city guards, you numbskull. Looking for a heretic who’s running loose in the city and responsible for an attack on Commander Zweiding’s life.”
“I don’t muck about in religion,” was the impeccable innkeeper’s response. “I only know the law, and the law says no weapons in my tavern or I can lose my license, and no barging in on private property without a certified warrant in your hand.”
“You may not “muck about in religion,” but that doesn’t change the privileges extended to the Order when dealing with heretics.” While I pondered how difficult it would be to put my armor on without making too much noise, I drew the unchristened blade and prepared to make battle.
I ought to have had more faith in Sharp, given the rough area where his tavern was situated.
“Privilege is one thing, but law is another. Bring a beadle around with you or get lost for good.”
“I think you need to learn how to speak to—”
A few men gasped beneath the distinct cocking of a dwarvish pistol. Such items were illegal in Skythorn, as I believe I already mentioned: at minimum, he risked a fine and confiscation of the item by brandishing it in our defense. When brandishing at an officer, Sharp most certainly inviting imprisonment. I could only pray he would not see his inn taken from him as a result of this incident. Weltyr bless him, the man the rough around the edges but loyal to those guests whom he was sworn to protect.
“Come back with a beadle and a warrant,” said Sharp in a firm tone, “or don’t come back at all. Sound reasonable?”
“Oh,” answered the captain to the sound of a sword being sheathed, “we’ll certainly be back. Don’t go anywhere.”
With a snarl that his men should remain around the inn and guard the exits in case we tried to leave or someone arrived, the captain stormed from the building. His men filed out after him while Lively and Erdwud relaxed their postures. They turned to us, expressions lined with concern.
“I don’t suppose it’d do any good asking what’s happened this morning,” observed Erdwudwhile the women slung their packs over their shoulders.
I hurried to finish packing my armor and suggested, “The less you know, the less trouble of your own you’re likely to be in.”
Sharp’s footfall upon the stair had me out in the hall again. “You lot need to clear out of here immediately,” he warned us, the flintlock still in his hand, “and I’m thinking I might need to do the same. I got something close to good news for you, though.”
Soon we were downstairs, all of us crouched around a trap door on the floor of the tavern’s cellar. He’d had to push aside a cask of mead to do it, and while Indra sniffed at its contents with a sigh of remorse to leave it untasted, I peered into the darkness below.
“What is this?”
Without so much as a word, Valeria’s blue wisp flame appeared in the darkness and illuminated a gray concrete floor far beneath us.
“This,” said Sharp, with the first bit of genuine pleasure I had seen him exhibit, “is precisely why I bought this place, and why I cater to the kinds of clientele I do.”
“You two really are diametrically opposed,” observed Valeria absently, her pale eyes lingering on the mine cart system of some sort established below the building. Darkness expanded from far off, implying a long tunnel sequence about which I’d heard growing up.
“This was a kind of old transport system,” I explained while Sharp nodded. “These are all over the city, and off-limits…too dangerous. People live down there, too. As you can imagine, they’re not the most savory individuals…then there’s rumors of monsters, but probably nothing more than the average slime.”
Valeria sat up a bit from her investigation of the darkness. “How far does it go?”
“’Round about forty leagues running northwest, southwest, southeast and northeast, bit like a gr
eat ‘x’ beneath Skythorn. City must have been very small when it were built for it to have served any use!”
“And where are we on that ‘x’ relative to the airport, friend?”
“We’re over here”—he drew a crooked ‘x’ in the unsavory amount of dust on his cellar floor, pointing with the tip of his finger—“and the airport’s about here, but there’s only a few places you can cross over between these tunnels. Don’t know where precisely they are, since I’ve just gone north and then only a bit. It’s hard to explore. Skythorn guards send patrols through every once in awhile to keep kids from hurtin’ themselves, and them aside, you don’t want no unsavory sort watching your comings and goings with regularity. But if you go south, and just keep trying to follow them tunnels as far south as south can be, you’ll get to the airport. Close to it, anyway—it’s collapsed in parts, and other parts have caved out so you can get to the Old City bits. And that is dangerous, because you go too far you’ll end up in the Nightlands…though I don’t suppose you lot care about that.”
“Depending on where we end up,” Valeria answered, “it could be quite dangerous for us. But thank you, friend, for your advice.”
“And thank you for your patronage…Erdwud? I don’t suppose I can ask you to watch the tavern ’till the heat is off?”
“No problem at all…Lively’s assistant is fixing up the building at home after all that bad business, and I hear we ought to be expecting a few new trainees! I’ll let her break ‘em in.”
While Sharp descended the ladder that extended from the mouth of the trap door to the tunnels blow, I glanced between Lively and her husband.
“Is there any chance”—I addressed the more unassuming of the pair—“you might do us a favor? I’m not convinced that we’re going to be able to make the airport in anything approaching a timely fashion if these tunnels are as much a labyrinth as I fear they may be. You’ll surely get there sooner aboveground than we will below, or I’d wager as much anyway. Besides—if we’re wanted, it might be hard for us to buy seats. Will you take our money and purchase tickets for us?”