“You have a good night, miss.” The guard nodded and stepped aside. Then turned and said, “I expect you’ll be wanting an inn. Head south along the inside wall for half a mile, and then turn left onto Towergate. The inns are down there, mostly.”
Brea curtsied again before leading the way into the city.
Gialyn blinked at the bright, pale-blue lights. Even at the edge of the city, in this lane that led along the side of the wall, the lamps burned bright. They followed the path as the guard had suggested. To the left, he could see the backs of shops or houses. Most had low walls and small yards or gardens. Every one was the same size, and very clean. The lane was quiet, too. There were none of the usual noises he would have associated with a city. No clanging as cats or dogs rummaging through the trash; no laughter of drunkards making their way home; no distant cackle of light-skirts, or the shrill call of folk scaring off beggars; it was all very… peaceful. Ominously so, he thought.
“I’ll admit, I wouldn’t mind a bath either,” Arfael said. It was only the third time he had spoken since arriving at the island. In fact, Gialyn couldn’t remember him saying much over the last few days. “I don’t mind telling you, this pack is heavy. One disadvantage of being human, I suppose.”
Brea scowled at him. “Not a very wise thing to say where folks might hear, Coln.”
Arfael looked around. “There’s nobody here. I doubt there’s as much as a rat in this alley. Can you see any bird droppings? Can you smell dung? When have you ever been in a city and not smelled horse dung in a narrow lane?” He pointed at the back entrance to what looked like a shop. “Look, even the rubbish has been tied up and packed in a straight line.”
He was right. All Gialyn could smell was the faint odour of cooking charcoal, and even that smelled like it had been scented with pine. This Witches Circle certainly did a good job of keeping order on the streets.
Brea opened her mouth but said nothing. She, too, gazed up and down the line of tidy yards and gardens. She shrugged. “That’s as may be, but we still don’t know who might be listening. Best not to tempt fate.”
Before long, they turned into Towergate. The guard was right, there were plenty of inns, and most still had a light in the window. They might have discussed which to try, but before anybody could say a word. Ealian walked into the first one they reached: The Maiden’s Rest.
Brea sniffed. “As good as any, I suppose.”
They followed Ealian inside.
* * *
The common room of The Maiden’s Rest looked more like a rich merchant’s dining room than a tavern. Candles in coloured glass bowls sat at the centre of the dark wood tables, the slate floor had been polished to a mirror-like shine, and every chair was cushioned in a bright fabric. The walls were hung with tasteful paintings – a mountain scene on the wall above the fireplace, a profile of a horse in the alcove. The bottles and jars on the shelf behind the bar were all facing label-front in order of height, and the bar itself was made of a stone that reminded Brea of black marble.
The willowy innkeeper was a tall, long-faced woman with dark hair bunched around her shoulders. She wore a thin silver chain in her curls. Dangling on the chain was a small green gem that hung in the centre of her forehead – probably a local fashion. Her finely-cut blue dress had a white ruffled neckline and cuffs. She wore a spotless narrow apron that covered the front to her knees. Brea thought she might have been pretty when she was younger, but the stern expression on her face, and the fine creases around her eyes spoke of years of responsibility.
Still, she smiled at Brea as she walked around from behind the bar, wiping her hands on a towel. She gestured toward a table, and then went back to the bar to fetch what looked like a menu. Brea sat down and tapped the back of the chair next to her.
Gialyn would probably stay standing if she didn’t tell him what to do. The boy was a chore, sometimes. It was hard to believe that he was older that she was, albeit by a month. He needed to start asserting himself if he was going to be of any use. This waffling, awkward child act was endearing, but if he was to fulfil his task – whatever that may be – he had to stop waiting around for permission and act on his own. It was hard to see how this man – boy – was going to save the day.
The other customers – two men and a woman at a table in the far corner, and another man sitting at the bar – glanced at her party before carrying on with what they were doing. The man at the bar did a clumsy bow. He was Salrian, by the look of him – short, with a bald head and bright grey eyes. Brea was relieved to see him. It seemed Ealian had led them to the right place; the Salrian was almost certainly a visiting merchant.
The innkeeper approached, bearing a jug of what must be water in one hand and a paper menu in the other.
“It’s unusual for customers to arrive at this time of night, my lady. Were you visiting the market? It’s easy to get lost down there.”
Brea helped her with the jug and took the menu. “No… uh… madam, we haven’t been to the market yet. I was looking for an old friend and lost track of the time. This is my first visit to Bhail.” Best not to pretend to have visited before; the woman might ask questions.
“Well, you have come to the right place. Most merchants stay in the taverns at this end of Towergate. You’ll find good contacts here, I’m sure of it, and the service at The Maiden’s Rest is among the best. First time here, you won’t know that all the inns and taverns charge the same for room and board. Our good service sets us apart from the rest. We have three maids, two excellent cooks, and one of the cleanest stables in Bhail. My name is Mistress Harrington, but most folk call me Mo.”
“Thank you, Mo. I think we will stay here. My name is B— Affrair Noial. This is my partner, Coln Brewen, and my guards, Ealian and Gialyn. Please, you must call me Affrair.”
The woman smiled.
From the corner of her eye, Brea saw Ealian fidgeting, looking like he wanted to join the conversation. She gave him a surreptitious glare, and said to Mo, “Ealian was hoping for a bath. Is it too late?”
“Of course not,” Mo answered. “We always have hot water.”
Ealian’s eyes lit up. Seems she was right.
“Ah, good,” Ealian said. “Thank you, Mistress… thank you, Mo. If you could just point me in the right direction.”
“By all means, sir. I’ll have one of the maids escort you.”
“I don’t need a maid. Just tell me where it is.”
Brea ground her teeth and suppressed the urge to scold him. Did he have to be so rude? A few manners wouldn’t go amiss.
Mistress Harrington shuffled uneasily where she stood. “You really should go with a maid, sir. The water comes from the hot springs under the city. The pipes can be a bit… temperamental. If you go through the kitchen, Leeza should be there; ask her to show you.”
Ealian managed a bow, gathered his pack, and left without another word.
“I apologise for my guard, Mo,” Brea said. “He’s young and needs to learn how to conduct himself properly.” She said the last around the innkeeper, hoping that Ealian might hear. If he did, he made no show of it.
“I’ll just have some wine, bread and cheese, please, Mo,” Arfael said.
Brea had almost forgotten the Cinnè’arth was there; he’d been so quiet lately. Nothing like the brash young man she had met in the Tunnels of Aldregair.
Gialyn nodded his agreement. “Me too, please, Mistress Mo. And can I have the crusty end?”
Brea closed her eyes and slowly shook her head. They were supposed to be her guards, not her children. This would never work if they couldn’t show her some respect. They were behaving as equals. She would have to have words with them, but tomorrow.
“And I’ll have the same,” she told Mo.
“As you say,” Mo said. “That won’t take long. I’ll be right back with your food.” She collected the menu and returned to the bar. Then poked her head through a shuttered hole in the wall and relayed their food order.
“Are yo
u going to ask her, or shall I?” Arfael whispered around his cup of water.
“Ask what?” Brea had a feeling she already knew the answer, but…
“Ask her where the temple is. That is why we are here.”
Tor hadn’t been sure where the temple was. Likely as not, it was inside one of those towers, probably the largest, and probably underground – the Barrowstone was, after all, Ein’laig’s stone, the earthen power. That being said, she didn’t want Arfael rushing off and doing something bull-headed before she had a chance to meet with the witches. He would likely ruin everything. “I’ll ask in the morning. Let’s not get onto that subject tonight. It might prove… complicated.”
“Why ‘complicated’? Either she knows where it is, or she doesn’t.”
“Of course she will know,” Brea said. “But it’s not—”
“If you don’t ask her, I will. You said yourself that we can’t afford to waste time. I want to be up and gone at first light.”
Brea sighed. She filled a cup that was already on the table with some water and took a sip. Treat her with respect? Ha! She would make with not being rude. “Very well. I’ll ask her when she comes back.”
They sat in silence while they waited. The Salrian had gone, probably to bed, and the other group looked as if they were about to do the same. Tor was right; these folk were friendly, but dare she ask about the temple where anyone could overhear? Using her mother’s name wasn’t much of a disguise – who knew what other characters might be staying at the inn. Still, she didn’t have any choice, not now. Curse that Arfael; why couldn’t he just let her lead? Cinnè’arth or not, she was the Oracle. No, that wasn’t fair; he had just as much right to ask as she did. Maybe more. The witch, Vila’slae, had taken over a century from him. Oh, he had his memory back, but had spent decades wandering the continent, trying to discover his past… Yes, he had every right.
Mo returned with a pitcher of wine, followed by a maid carrying a large silver tray. The maid stood while Mo served, first placing a plate in front of everyone, and then a larger plate full of bread, which she put in the middle of the table. Two smaller plates of different cheeses were arranged either side.
“There we are, madam, sirs, enjoy your food. Just call if you need anything else.”
Brea thanked her, and then, “A question, if you don’t mind, Mo. We are quite keen to get to know the city better. We thought we might visit the temple tomorrow. Can you tell me where it is?”
Mo’s face turned to pale ash. She forced herself to swallow while looking over her shoulder. Brea glanced at Arfael and Gialyn. Both were staring with mouths open.
“Didn’t the guards ask you for the pledge?” Mo asked. “And if not, why? Where did you say you came from?”
Now what? Curse Arfael. She’s going to throw us out. I knew we shouldn’t have asked. At least not until morning.
“My apologies, Mo,” Arfael said, bowing. “The truth is we only entered the city an hour ago, through a side gate. The guards were kind enough to let us through in return for a few wraps of kalli. They didn’t tell us about the pledge.”
What is he doing? He’s going to make things worse. Sneaking into the city: She could have us arrested.
Arfael continued. “We really are looking for a friend. She would have arrived yesterday. As for us, we landed on the northern coast at dusk. Please, it’s important that we find our friend. She may be in grave danger. Vila’slae has her.”
Brea felt like the wind had been knocked out of her. Telling her they had sneaked into the city, and now mentioning the witch. Had he gone mad?
A long moment passed while Mo regarded them in turns. Brea bit her lip, wondering if she could knock the woman out with her staff before she called for the guards. What was Arfael thinking?
Finally, Mo replied. “They wouldn’t have given you the pledge if they were taking bribes. It’s one thing to break the rules, but to break the rules when the pledge has been sworn…” Mo said softly. Then louder, “If the council found out, they would have been sent to the mines for sure.”
“What is the pledge?” Brea asked.
“The pledge is a promise every visitor to Bhail must make. They must swear to abide by the four tenants of Eiras; do no harm, share what you don’t need, respect the covenant, and do not venture beyond the tower gates.
“So no visiting the temple then,” Gialyn asked.
“No, but if you’re looking for the Oracle, she will be at the Keep.”
Brea startled, and met Arfael’s gawping gaze. “Oracle? What Oracle?” she said.
Mo chuckled, of all things. “There’s no need to hide, Vila’slae was arrested this afternoon. Everybody knows that. And there’s talk she was holding an Oracle prisoner. The council have taken the girl to the Barrow Keep. She’s quite safe.”
Gialyn’s forehead hit the tabletop. “Thank the gods,” he whispered.
Mo looked surprised. “Are you kin to her? Is she a sister?” she asked Gialyn.
“No,” Gialyn answered. “I… she’s just a friend. Well, she’s Ealian’s sister.” He pointed to the door Elspeth’s brother had used. “We are from the same town.”
“We are here to… uh… rescue her,” Brea said. It sounded foolish, even to her.
Mo laughed. “Rescue her from Vila’slae? You must be braver than you look. I’ve heard some terrible things about her.”
Arfael nodded.
“You knew, didn’t you?” Brea asked him.
“Vila is no friend of the Circle of Twelve. I was hoping they might take her in hand.”
“You could have said something,” Gialyn told him.
Arfael shrugged.
“Well,” Brea said, “seems our work has been done for us. Can you tell us where this ‘Barrow Tower’ is?”
“Tell you? You can see it from every street. It’s the tallest of the Blue Towers.”
Brea nodded her head as she gazed at the plate in front of her. That was a bit of luck. She could attach herself to Elspeth and visit the Circle of Twelve.
For the next half hour, they ate in relative quiet. Quiet, apart from Gialyn’s intermittent prattle about Elspeth, and how it was “such a relief” that she was safe. Of course, Brea was happy, too, but the boy was clearly in love with her. It was very annoying.
After supper, she asked Mo to have Leeza show her to her room. She didn’t have much time, not if she was going to make it to the tower tonight. It felt wrong, leaving Gialyn and the others behind, but what she had to do was not for them. It would be hard enough as it was.
They think Elspeth is an Oracle. It must be a mistake. Why did the Circle think that? For that matter, how did they know that Vila was on her way? Mo said that the guards had arrested her; they must have known she was coming. Whoever told them about Vila must have mentioned an Oracle, too. It was the only explanation. Still, why did they think it was Elspeth? Surely they could tell that the girl had no power. Or did she? It had never occurred to Brea to check, there just wasn’t time. Most people could learn at least some of the Voice, especially women. Maybe Elspeth did have a spark within her.
Dismissing that thought – it was hardly important, at least not for now – she dropped her pack on the wide bed. Gialyn and the others were sharing a large room, much to Ealian’s chagrin, but Mo insisted that Brea should have a room to herself. It was a very good room: fine furnishing, a thick mattress, ornate washstand, and more of those tasteful pictures hung on the walls. The thick velvet curtains had been drawn and the maid had turned down her bed. Brea gave the girl half a silver krùn – which Leeza only accepted if Brea promised not to tell anyone.
As soon as the maid left, Brea pulled her long cloak from her pack and hung it ready on the peg behind the door. Fumbling through her pockets, she took her blue stone necklace – or Arcstone, as Tor had called it – out and fastened it around her neck. That would likely be proof enough that she was the Oracle, although she doubted a guard would recognise it. Once set, she pulled the cloak around he
r shoulders, sat on the edge of the bed, and waited.
Half an hour later, when she was sure the others would be in bed, if not asleep, she sneaked out of her room and down the servants’ stairway that led to the rear door. Carefully unfastening the lock, she stepped out into the courtyard. It was cold, and the clouds still hadn’t cleared. She smiled to herself upon noticing that most of the city lights were out. In near darkness, and after a look back to check she wasn’t being followed, Brea left through the back gate and headed for the Barrow Tower.
CHAPTER 19
The Blue Tower
Brea stood under the covered doorway of a baker’s store, the hood of her dark cloak pulled up to hide her face. Peering around the doorframe, she watched as the two guards march back and forth in front of the gate. This was the second gate she had visited. The first she approached confidently, hoping the guards would let her into the tower grounds. She hadn’t really expected it to work, but as Jorgen had once told her, “Try the lock before you kick down the door.” No, that wasn’t going to work. She had to come up with another plan. This couldn’t wait until tomorrow.
The ten towers loomed large beyond the two-span-high walls. They still gave off a blue-grey glow, despite the dark night shrouding the city. The six on the outer perimeter were taller than anything she had imagined. The three inside were half again as high, and the centre tower, the Barrow Tower, was taller still. Did the witches build them? It was hard to believe that even they could have managed such a thing. But if not them, who?
She knew the symbolism of those towers – the six represented the Sentriarchs, the An’eyr’rann, and their fight for balance within the three earthly powers; the three towers symbolized the Ventriarchs, the Voices. The tower in the centre, the one the Circle had named the Barrow Tower, belonged to Aregolas, the White Spirit. Brea shuddered as she remembered Tor’s warning. Aregolas’s tower… What might there be inside? She knew about the Stone, but a different Power had created those towers.
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