"What if he doesn't?"
"Then we go our separate ways. If he does, though — and I bet he will — then you get his name and a lead on Goran Kell and the Brotherhood knows who to call on and put down."
Gabriella knew that Feyn wouldn't honour his end of the bargain and was sure he must know that she couldn't honour hers either. He would never give up the location of someone as senior as Goran Kell to the Faith. Evidently neither of them intended to let the other leave this tavern alive. She searched Crowe's face, looking for any sign as to which side he was on. She didn't see anything.
Gabriella smiled. "All right."
Feyn led her to a low couch by the window. "I'm just going to talk, all right. Listen to my voice and only my voice."
Gabriella soon found herself falling into the snow-laden morning of the wedding and suddenly she was running again. Faces rushed past her and disappeared into the darkness as she pursued the fleeing assassin.
Somewhere in the distance a voice was whispering.
Suddenly she awoke and found her finger stained with charcoal and a detailed sketch beneath her right hand.
"Well, well," Feyn was saying. "Joachim Foll."
"Who is this Joachim Foll?"
"A mercenary. He used to be one of Mandrian's lieutenants in the Hands."
"Mandrian's Hands…" Gabriella said to herself. "I've heard of them. They fought at Freiport in the war, for the Faith and Vos."
"This has all been a scam, hasn't it?" Feyn's voice rose to a shout as he sensed a conspiracy closing on him. "A con to get this Faith bitch in here where she can kill me!"
The man behind the bar, Erno, suddenly lifted a heavy crossbow and trained it on Gabriella. She wasn't stupid enough to try to run away, but instead grabbed Feyn and pulled him in front of her just as the barman loosed the bolt. It took Feyn in the gut. Crowe grabbed the weapon from the barman's hands and shoved the stock into his face. Feyn lay on the floor, screaming like a stuck pig.
Gabriella knelt beside Feyn. "Tell me where I can find Goran Kell and I'll stop the pain."
"Freedom," he gasped. "He's gone to Freedom."
"At the Glass Mountain?" Gabriella taunted him and was rewarded with a look of utter horror. "We already know about it. And now I know you're not going to be able to warn him, even if any of your spies find out before we get there." She derived satisfaction from his appalled expression. In fact, she got more satisfaction from that than from the way the light went out of his eyes when she broke his neck a second later.
"Come on," Crowe grabbed Gabriella's hand and shoved her out of the tavern. They bolted onto the streets of Turnitia and made a series of quick turns at the first couple of junctions they came to. Racing onto a wide thoroughfare, they bowled over a young man in a grey woollen cloak and then came to a dead stop in front of a platoon of Imperial Vos guards.
Their Captain stepped forward. "You seem to be in a hurry. Perhaps you'd care to explain the great rush at the Citadel?"
Rolling her eyes slightly, Gabriella thrust a scroll into his hand, along with an amulet. "Five ducks migrate in winter," she said.
The guard Captain blanched at the words and quickly looked over the scroll and amulet, before handing them back.
"A thousand apologies, Enlightened Sister… I had no idea."
"Obviously. I don't suppose you could give us an escort out of the city?"
The Captain smiled ingratiatingly. "Of course, Enlightened Sister." He snapped his fingers and his men put away their weapons.
As they began to move at a more relaxed pace, Gabriella took the opportunity to catch up with developments regarding the Brotherhood in Turnitia.
"How are arrests going? Brotherhood and morality crimes in particular?"
"I'm proud to say that the rate of morality crime has been dropping by the week," the Captain said primly. "Every other vice den and Brotherhood safe house has been empty for weeks, some even for months. Of course the thieves guilds still provide problems."
"Thank you, Captain," Gabriella said thoughtfully. She could feel an idea forming at the back of her mind, or at least a fragment of an idea. She didn't like it much at all.
"I don't see why you had to kill him." Crowe said, as they rode together on the road south. "With Feyn dead, you've lost me a valuable employer."
"Sandor Feyn was on a list of proscribed men. It's the duty of all members of the Order of the Swords of Dawn to eliminate such dangerous men, regardless of any other considerations, if they are found."
"I hope it's a short list."
"There are thirteen names currently on it."
"And you just happen to have memorized them? Or just Feyn's?" He rolled his eyes. "Or are you just making this up?"
"It's part of the vows a Knight of the Swords takes when he or she is formally invested."
Crowe gritted his teeth and refused to speak for quite a while. "Well, it's done now. Feyn did his thing and you did yours." He continued reluctantly. "What was it like? Being helped to remember?"
"It was strange," Gabriella said. "When Feyn was talking I saw things. Memories, but… clearer. And some of them were places I'd never been, things I've never seen or done. Does it mean that Feyn was in my head?" Gabriella shuddered.
Crowe almost laughed at the thought. Feyn didn't have a magical bone in his body; just a talent for mild hypnosis.
He thought of telling Gabriella this, but knew in his heart that she wouldn't believe him. Truth to tell, he was as preoccupied about the goblin's mention of a Glass Mountain as she was. More so, really. He tried to tell himself that the gobbo was lying or delirious and that no such thing existed, but he couldn't stop himself feeling afraid.
"Something bothering you?" Gabriella asked.
"Old debts." He said quietly. "Just old debts."
"Debts from the 'Glass Mountain'?"
It was the last question Crowe expected her to ask. "No!"
"Lie to me again and I'll cut your tongue out!"
"I'm a thief, a liar, a murderer, and a lot of other nasty things, Dez. Get used to it."
"Then tell me what you know about the Glass Mountain."
"Really. I've never heard of it. But the name… reminded me of something else."
"Something similar?"
"It just reminded me of an old sailors' legend, but it strikes me that you probably haven't spent much time among sailors."
"However did you guess?"
"I more sort of hoped."
"The legend?" she pressed.
"The story goes that somewhere in the far oceans, beyond the Stormwall, a month west of Sarcre and then God know how far south, there's an island made of diamond. They call it the Isle of the Star, because supposedly it was a star that fell to Twilight. They say a man could make himself rich beyond the proverbial dreams of avarice just by picking up a handful of pebbles from the Isle's beach.
"Of course, with such treasures to be had, there had to be an equally great risk."
He nodded. "There's the Stormwall, which is utterly impassable, at least to normal ships. Imagine hurricanes that could smash the Great Cathedral of Scholten to rubble if they ever came inland, then imagine ten times worse. They say, the island is home to the sea devils." His eyes were looking somewhere more distant by now. Gabriella couldn't help but wonder what they were seeing. Treasures or terrors?
"You were on one of those ships bound for the island, weren't you Crowe?"
"Yes, the Brotherhood — well, I didn't know it was them at the time, who had chartered the ship — employed me for the voyage."
"I was a sword-for-hire looking for work. The ship's Captain, Margrave, was looking for mercenary guards and he hired me for the expedition. Someone was going to pay him handsomely to look for the Isle of the Star. Turns out that 'someone' was a high ranking member of the Brotherhood of the Divine Path, with a couple of really strong Brotherhood magicians on his payroll. None of the rest of us knew that at first. We were just a couple of hired blades and a lot of sailors."
"Do I look like I came home with a purse full of diamonds?"
"Yet, you did come home."
"Alone, yes."
"What happened?"
"The Stormwall. You might think you've experienced a storm — even a hurricane — but it's nothing, compared to a storm at sea."
"How many people were on your ship?"
"Seventy four." He remembered all their faces; he could see them now, and hear their voices. "Seventy three of them are dead."
"I'm sorry."
Gabriella felt drained just hearing the story. So many people in such a confined space. He must have known all of them and been friends with many. One loss was a killing pain to her — how must it feel, magnified seventy-fold? That was typical of the Brotherhood, not caring how many families they destroyed in their quest to promote and justify their apostasy
He smiled faintly. "Don't look so down, Dez. At least some of them were Brotherhood types. An investor and the two magicians."
"It's still seventy innocents, as well as those three."
"Weather is God's doing, isn't it? Drunkards, brawlers and whoremongers every one. I wouldn't mourn their loss."
"Come on, sinner. We're going."
"And where are we going?"
"We're going to see my mother."
"I have to admit, lass, it's a long time since any skirt took me home to meet her mother. But this isn't exactly how I imagined our relationship going." "She's an archivist for the Faith, at the Cathedral in Andon. I want to consult some of the records she's got in her library there. She used to tell me a story when I was a child and I need to know the original historical version."
"What story? What records?"
"The records about Mandrian's Hands and the story about the Glass Mountain. If it exists, and has been recorded by the Faith, there'll be a location, or even a map, in the Archive. There's a much bigger archive at Scholten, but my mother will have a better chance of having the Glass Mountain story. Mandrian's records might not be there, but he fought in Pontaine so a copy should have been kept when the originals went to Scholten."
Crowe was silent for a long time. "Why would the Faith have records about Joachim of Mandrian?"
"Because if he fought with the Hands at Freiport, then he fought for us. And the Faith records everything."
"That I believe. But, why am I coming with you? It seems to me that the opposite direction is looking pretty bloody good right now."
"If you want to go somewhere, I won't stop you. The Faith is fair, sinner."
Crowe scowled as if he'd tasted something particularly unpleasant. "Can't say as I feel particularly redeemed, love."
She could have said that he had helped her and so she felt she owed the same, but she suspected that he wouldn't appreciate that sentiment. She saw that there was something in his soul that needed healing and it would be fair turnabout for what he had done in Solnos.
"You've been a hired blade, Crowe, right?" He nodded. "You've been working on the same task as I have, but now it's finished." He repeated the nod. "So, it strikes me that you're now a blade for hire."
"Now, you're not going to suggest you want to hire me? Haven't I mentioned my dislike of the Faith?"
"You've mentioned feeling similarly about both the Faith and the Brotherhood. You did a job for them, you can do a job for us."
"Since when did the Swords need the likes of me?"
"You're a smuggler and I may need to be smuggled into Freedom. I'll pay you a stipend out of the late Kurt Stoll's funds."
"Where you're going, it'll cost the lot."
"What's the price of a soul?" she murmured under her breath.
CHAPTER 14
The journey to Andon had been quite relaxing this time. Various of Pontaine's military factions were patrolling in case of more goblin incursions, but most of the travellers they passed were merchant caravans with mercenary escorts
She and Crowe made their way into the city and up to the walled Faith complex that was dominated by the cathedral. They were greeted at the door by Marta DeZantez.
Marta took a half step back, looking Gabriella up and down. "My daughter, I didn't expect you back so soon."
"I'm afraid that this isn't just a social visit mother. I'm here to make use of the archive."
"Well, you're more than welcome." Marta let go of her daughter, and looked at Crowe. "Who…?"
"This is Travis Crowe," Gabriella said. "He's working with me."
"The hired help," Crowe supplied helpfully. He stuck out a hand. "Pleased to meet you, missus." Marta shook his hand with a bemused look, then led the way through a dim archway into a high-ceilinged room filled with the musk of paper.
Two men were examining a thick leather-bound volume in an ante-room when Gabriella and Crowe passed through. Both wore the simple, comfortable robes of scholars, but the muscles on their forearms were thickly corded.
One of the men was swarthy, with a neat beard and oiled hair tied into a ponytail. The other, slightly taller, man was clean-shaven and had lank hair. Both carried themselves like warriors and Gabriella wondered if they were members of Pontaine's nobility.
"Excellent," Chaga said, pretending to study the book they had laid on the lectern between them. "So, this is Sister DeZantez. She's not how I imagined her. Somehow I expected a mannish, raven-haired banshee."
"If she recognises either of us, you may see her as a banshee yet, boss."
"Don't worry," Chaga reassured his subordinate. "The last thing we want on our hands is a fight here in the Faith's largest embassy to Pontaine."
Crowe seemed professional enough as mercenaries went and Marta sensed she could trust him to do Gabriella no harm. She looked over at the two scholars in the anteroom. Something about them set her teeth on edge, but she couldn't say why.
"Was there anything specific you were looking for?" She asked Gabriella.
"I wondered if there are any records here detailing the actions of Mandrian's Hands in the last war."
Marta shook her head. "All the military records were taken back to the Order's central archive at Scholten."
"But weren't there copies?"
"Those were taken away a year or more back. On the orders of one of the Eminences. Kesar or Rhodon." She frowned. "Kesar, definitely."
Gabriella was visibly disappointed, but took it well. "Okay. No matter. The second thing I'm looking for may be related to a story you used to tell me. Have you heard of the Glass Mountain?"
"The Glass Mountain? Now that's a tale I've not heard in many years."
"But you do remember it?"
Marta chuckled. "Gabriella, you know that if there's a tale, I've heard of it." Different stories give different locations for it, and each story and setting has a different origin. The Tale of Wyngarde claims that the Dwarven people once had a great capital which glowed in the sunlight because it was made of cut-crystal glass, for example. That story is the most common one."
"Was Wyngarde a creation of fiction or did he actually exist?"
"Wyngarde certainly was a real person. He was a Preceptor in the Swords a couple of centuries ago. There will be records of his duties and campaigns kept at the Great Cathedral in Scholten, of course, but all I have here are the public tales as written down, because his Preceptory was in Gargas."
"Are there any maps of his travels?" Gabriella asked.
Marta blinked. "You know, there just might be. I haven't thought about it since you grew up…" She trailed off as she rooted through several large scrolls, before brandishing one with an exclamation. "This is the one." She unrolled it on a table, weighting the corners down with candlesticks. The map showed the Western regions of Pontaine, down to the World's Ridge and the edges of the great Sardenne forest.
It was there, just as Gabriella had hoped. A jagged fang drawn on vellum, and labelled 'Glass Mountain'. It was tucked away at the south-western end of the World's Ridge, just inland.<
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"Can we make a copy of this?" Gabriella asked.
"Of course. While I get one of the scribes to work on it, why don't you join us for dinner?"
The thought of the warmth and welcome of her parent's home was so overwhelming to Gabriella, after all that she had been through, that she began to cry.
"Gabriella, my sweet, what's the matter?"
"It's Erak… Erak's dead."
And with that Gabriella wept in her mother's arms.
Later that evening, Travis Crowe asked Marta for a word in private.
"Well?" She said, after leading him to her study. "What do you want to talk to me about?"
"I- How do I start?" He wasn't used to visiting women's mothers, if truth be told. He wasn't even sure why he was bothering, except that having fought together with Gabriella gave them a bond. That, and the voice that still whispered "protect" in his head. He knew it wasn't referring to her, but he also knew there was a connection between Gabriella and what the voice referred to.
Marta folded her arms and looked at him expectantly.
"At the beginning. Stories usually start there."
"Something happened recently, when Erak Brand was killed."
"If you need to ask about why someone is upset when a special person in her life is murdered, then you're far beyond any help I could give you."
Crowe grimaced. "The bloke who did it, Dai Batsen, was a Shadowmage."
Marta spat. "I heard. Another one of those debased heretics who think they can bargain with the spawn of the pits to get their way. Why should it be a surprise that he was a murderer?"
"That's not the surprise. He tried to use magic on Gabriella. But it didn't work."
"Of course not."
"Look, maybe you're not hearing me right. A Shadowmage was tossing fireballs at your daughter — "
"And she obviously survived. She's well trained, you know."
Crowe stopped and blinked. This wasn't the reaction he had been expecting. "Now, I may not be a bloody archivist, or a bloody expert on shadow magic or elemental magic or whatever-the-hell kind of magic, but I've never heard of that happening before. So I wondered if you'd heard of such a thing yourself."
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