by Adam Thomas
“You arrived a year ago on a ship from across the Glass Ocean like our ancestors of old. You began appearing at social gatherings a few month later – balls and dinners only, no picnics or garden parties.”
Rosamund rubbed her bare, porcelain arms. “My skin burns too easily for the pursuits of the day, I’m afraid.”
Devon grinned wolfishly. “And the pursuits of the night?”
Rosamund looked down, demurring. “The membership office?”
“Third floor on the right, and permit me to say, Miss Steele, the Society could not ask for a more beautiful flower to adorn our bouquet. Please consider me your orientation guide. I am, as I say, at your service.”
“Thank you, Devon. I shall employ that service immediately. Please help Heinrich shift my membership fee up the stairs. He shan’t make it on his own.”
Devon’s eyes went wide. “You brought coin?”
“Ten thousand platinum pieces from the Islands of Shattered Glass. I believe that works out to one hundred thousand gold arils. That is the fee, is it not?”
“It is. But most people simply transfer their funds through the Bank of Thousand Spires. We do not carry cash.”
“Ah, yes.” Rosamund snapped open her fan and fluttered it to give herself time to think. “Until I am settled, I prefer to keep my wealth close at hand. But at your knowledgeable recommendation, perhaps I will open an account.”
“I’d be glad to help. Now, come Heinrich, allow me to carry the lady’s fee the rest of the way.”
“Very good, sir,” the butler grunted as he dumped the bag into Devon’s arms. The rich, young man staggered under the weight but did not fall. Rosamund chuckled to herself. His attempt at showing off would get him nowhere. She almost pitied him. Almost.
As she mounted the stairs behind Devon, she scanned the rooms until she found her neighbor. Karin Astor lived alone in a large manor that took up the other half of the block where Rosamund’s recent purchase stood. The wealthiest of the wealthy owned entire blocks by themselves, people like the Hightowers and the Prices, of whom Rosamund assumed Devon was the heir. She took in Karin Astor’s movements, marking her. Rosamund would bide her time. Then one day, perhaps the widow Astor would be encouraged to reunite with her late husband.
Rosamund’s eyes wandered once more and alighted on the motto of the Kindred Society, which was carved in gold letters above the double doors: To enrich our lives.
She smiled her glamoured smile once more and rewrote the motto in her mind. To enrich my undeath.
four
The Sindars
The cooks at the Slipper and Gosling outdid themselves to impress Lord and Lady Sindar. The spread on the table was several levels of fancy above the workaday food the party had eaten the evening before. The cuts of meat were choicer, the soup more delicately flavored, and the dessert was an assortment of miniature eclairs filled with perfect custard.
Lord Pelagius Sindar chose an eclair and examined it like a jeweler grading a diamond. Apparently satisfied, he took a small bite, careful not to get chocolate on his mustache. “Thank you for your quick action at the orphanage. If there is something I can do for you beyond this excellent meal, I would hear it.”
Serafina looked pointedly at her husband. Alurel caught the glance and also noticed that the lady had not touched her food. “Lady Sindar, is there something wrong with the fare?”
Lady Sindar ignored Alurel’s question. Rhys put down his knife and fork and gestured for everyone else to do the same. “It’s not the food, Alurel,” he said.
Pelagius flushed with anger and embarrassment. Leaning towards Serafina, he whispered something, and she rose abruptly. Her chair skidded back several feet. “Thank you for your service,” she said through gritted teeth. “I’m afraid my affairs call me elsewhere. I leave you in my husband’s capable hands.”
The way she stressed the word ‘capable’ gave it just a hint of sardonic displeasure. Before anyone could respond, she had exited the inn.
“I am sorry for my lady wife,” Lord Sindar said. “I assure you, we do not see eye to eye on several things, not the least of which is –”
His words faltered and he looked everywhere but at Alurel. The half-elf took the hint and decided to be blunt. “Why are you married to a racist?”
Pelagius sighed heavily and put down his half-eaten eclair. “She wasn’t like that when we met. But ever since she joined the Kindred Society, she has adopted a worldview that I find abhorrent. Believe me, we’ve fought over it many times. She even tried to pull our patronage of the orphans after they accepted a half-elf.”
“What is the Kindred Society?” Emric asked.
“A social club in the Diamond Spire. The richest of the rich meet together and, I suppose, count their money. I really don’t know what happens. But it seems prejudice against half-elves is fashionable among their lot.”
“You’re not a member?”
Pelagius laughed. “I’m not wealthy enough to join. I suppose I could muster the dues, but the kind of people who are members wouldn’t miss the hundred thousand gold arils.”
Jeral stopped with his fork halfway to his mouth. “A hundred thousand?”
“I’d rather be a big fish in a less wealthy pond like the Emerald Spire than try to hobnob with residents of the Diamond Spire. My wife sees it differently.”
Shonasir asked, “How did she foot the bill?”
“Her friend Rosamund paid her entry fee,” he said with a dismissive wave. “But enough about the Society. How might I help you? I’m not as wealthy as Malcolm Hightower or Karin Astor, but I do have some sway in the city. My company Secureswift handles much of the transportation needs to, from, and within Thousand Spires.”
“Isn’t there a series of runegates connecting the spires?”
“Yes, though not everyone can afford them. Also, the districts are still quite large beyond the central towers. Borrowing a horse or hiring a carriage is often the fleetest way to travel. But the bulk of my business is imports and exports.
“Business has slowed since the shutdown of Hightower’s diamond mines in Sul. That was my most lucrative contract.” Sindar took in Rhys’s red sash. “But since the coup in Kelen, I have entered into, shall we say, private contracts with your employer to slip by the Kelenite military. My wife does not know about those. If she did, she would surely file for divorce.”
“Doesn’t seem like that would be a bad thing,” Alurel said.
“I have contemplated it, but such a thing is not often done by the elite of the city. Estates are large enough for unhappy couples simply to inhabit opposite ends of their manors.”
“As an elite of the city, what news can you tell us?” Emric asked. “We’ve been traveling for several weeks.”
“The drums of war and potential war beat all around, I’m afraid. It’s bad for business.”
“Duna says the same thing,” Rhys said.
“He and I are of a mind.” Sindar popped the rest of the eclair in his mouth and selected a second one. “A civil war rages on Dragonclime following the assassination of the tyrant king Harringhorn Kasdann. Many have been displaced and a refugee crisis grows on our borders. The young dragonborn at the orphanage is just the first in what will surely be a steady stream of orphans.
He paused, chewed, and thought for a moment. “The orcs threatened Thousand Spires recently. There were rumors that the orcs had newfound magic that allowed them to impersonate people in the city.”
“We’ve heard about that one,” Jeral said. “But tell me, do you know anything about orcs from beyond the Storm Curtain?”
“Beyond the Curtain? Whatever is beyond the Curtain is of no matter to you and me. The storms are relentless and unending. No ship could pass through it.”
Shonasir gave Jeral a quizzical look. They studied meteorology at the university and had long wondered a
bout the Storm Curtain. But why would Jeral be so interested?
“The usurper’s army threatens the border town of Bridgewater to the south. Many suspect elven operatives might be getting ready to destroy the bridge to slow the Kelenite advance. Such an action would be a death knell to my business interests in Kelen.”
“Not taking that action would be death for my people,” Shonasir said, shifting their focus from Jeral back to Pelagius.
“There may be hope yet. At a recent meeting of the Lord Mayors of the Spires, Lord Day gave an encouraging report that a team of highly trained operatives working with the Guild of Secrets is on the ground in Bridgewater with plans of their own to halt the Kelenites.”
Alurel and Emric shot each other furtive glances at the mention of the guild. Before Verinurel’s tomb, they had a fortunate run-in with members of the Guild of Secrets. Emric shook his head slightly, signaling Alurel not to divulge this fact. Instead, she asked, “Who is Lord Day?”
“Lord Sondal Day, Minister of League Affairs. He is in charge of the day to day tasks of running the Sularin League, as well as managing the league’s relationship with the city of Thousand Spires.”
“He’s also extraordinarily wealthy,” Shonasir added. “There are buildings named for him and his family at the university.”
“Sounds like our kind of patron,” Jeral said.
“Is he in the Kindred Society?” Alurel asked.
“Not to my knowledge,” Pelagius answered. “He’s too busy for social clubs.”
“A wealthy person actually working?”
“We do exist. I made my fortune while Day was born into his, though he’s a good sort, and the hardest working man in the city. He’s also a leading philanthropist. He gives away more money each year than I make in the same amount of time.”
“Can you introduce us?” Emric asked.
“For your action at the orphanage, it is the least I can do. I will write up a letter of introduction and have it delivered here first thing tomorrow. Lord Day’s offices are in the League Quarter just north of here.” Sindar gave Alurel a look of pained remorse. “Also, as an apology for my lady wife’s behavior, I’ll pick up the fees for your rooms.”
He stood up and gave them a curt bow before heading to the bar to settle the account. After Sindar left, Alurel said, “So what do we think?”
Emric drummed his fingers on the table rhythmically. “If this Lord Day is as hardworking as Sindar says he is, then I’ll wager he’s always looking for capable teams to do jobs for him. Might be a good way to earn some easy coin.”
“Count me in,” Jeral said. “Easy coins are the best kind.”
“Me too,” Alurel said. “As long as he’s not in this Kindred Society.”
“Duna will be glad to know I’ve made such important connections in the city,” Rhys said.
They turned to Shonasir. The elf grinned. “Perhaps a semester abroad is just what I need. I can go back to school later.”
“Before we go to bed, I’ve just remembered something,” Alurel said, pulling out the small parcel that Jazrin had given her. Inside were the earrings worn by the orphans. “Here, put these on. I want to try something.”
Of the others, Rhys was the only one with a piercing. He swapped out a small ring with the iron made from Granny Esme’s wicked fingernails. Alurel walked to the other end of the tavern and whispered, “Rhys, can you hear me?”
“Loud and clear!”
Alurel put on her best impression of the hag’s sweet, elderly voice. “Upset Emric’s soup!”
Without delay, Rhys smacked the dwarf’s spoon and it went flying, spattering soup in a wide arc which managed to hit Jeral and no one else.
Alurel returned to the table, cackling with glee. “Everyone’s getting their ears pierced!”
That night as the companions slept in the comfort of the Slipper and Gosling, Jeral sank into a dream. He was impossibly tall, and his face was silhouetted by the piercing light of the round sun. Whichever way he went, the sun remained, crowning him. He walked the long, cold climes of Sul – alone and...and...not a dragonborn. As he tried to see the face of the silhouette, all he could discern was that its shape did not own the curve of a scaled snout. He turned this way and that trying to see, but the sun remained stubbornly behind his head. Then he realized he was seeing from the view of his own shadow. And a horrible thought crawled into his sleeping mind: his shadowy patron was always watching him, and in this nightmare Jeral was seeing through its eyes. Suddenly, the scene shifted and he was rowing a small boat into the madness of the Storm Curtain. Its flashes of lightning made his perspective dance dizzily around him. Jeral woke as the boat sank beneath the heaving ocean.
When morning came, the rest of the team met a bleary-eyed Jeral in the inn’s common room for breakfast, and then they headed north to the League Quarter. They arrived at the First Minister’s Tower, and Emric presented the letter Lord Sindar had left for them at the Slipper and Gosling. They placed their weapons in a row of lockers discreetly built into the wall behind the welcome desk. An attendant ushered them to the ninth floor of the ten-story building.
“Who is on the top floor, I wonder,” Emric said under his breath.
The attendant heard him in the echoing stairwell. “That would be First Minister Rhiannon Tempest’s offices. As her right hand, Lord Day’s chambers are as close as possible. This way, please.”
They entered a waiting area filled with attractive and functional furniture. There was nothing of the ostentation they expected from the super wealthy, just finely crafted wooden chairs and tables.
The attendant spoke in hushed tones with a man sitting at a desk near the far door. “I will let Lord Day know he has guests,” the secretary said, and he disappeared within clutching the letter from Sindar.
“I feel naked without my swords,” Rhys said.
“They can’t take our magic away,” Jeral said. “Plus, I hide my whip where no one can find it.”
“Jeral, yuck!” Alurel said.
“I meant in an extra-dimensional space.”
“Is that what dragonborn call it?”
The door opened, and the secretary waved them inside. Lord Sondal Day stood behind his desk, a curious half-smile on his pale face. His light brown hair was graying at the temples, and his eyes were sunken from worry and exhaustion. Here was a person who took his work seriously, and he wore every stress in the lines of his handsome face.
He held up a thin stack of papers. “So this is the team of adventurers I’ve read so much about. Welcome to Thousand Spires.”
five
Lord Day’s Audition
Lord Day gestured them to a conference table on one side of the large office. “Please, sit.”
“If I may be so bold, your lordship, what have you read?” Emric asked.
“There is no need to stand on ceremony here, my good dwarf. I’m only counted a lord because of my occupation and the fact that my family is rich. I look for boldness in potential freelancers. You may be as bold as you like with me.”
“Very well,” Emric said, and he pointed to the papers in Day’s hand.
“Yes, for starters, Lord Sindar sends his best regards. This business at the Emerald Orphanage is strange and terrible. You took decisive action for the better. Well done.” Day put Sindar’s letter on the table and thumbed through the rest of the stack. “This is a report from the Guild of Secrets on your team’s actions in Kelen tracking a conspirator of the unlawful regime. You were working with Padraig Duna at the time, as were we. Duna might be an unsavory character, but he’s the only person of means left in Kelen from whom the regent-in-exile can seek aid. Your unmasking of a mole in his house helped keep the regent and her children safe, or so the guild agent reports.”
“Did Grail Maverick write that report?” Alurel asked. “We met her i
n Kelentir. She helped us.”
“That is classified for the time being, I’m afraid. But if you work for me, I’ll be able to tell you more.”
Alurel sat back in her chair and crossed her arms. “We work for ourselves, not the Sularin League.”
“And if we enter an arrangement, that will remain. You will not be my employees, but a team I call upon when certain opportunities arise.”
While Alurel leaned back, Emric leaned forward. “What kind of opportunities?”
“Lucrative ones for you. Ones needing attention for me. What do you say?”
“We just killed a hag posing as a sweet, old nurse,” Alurel said. “I’m not exactly in the mood to be trusting. You tell us about Grail, and I might change my mind.”
Lord Day pursed his lips and nodded his head, considering. “All right. One moment please.” He raised his eyes to the ceiling. “Halla? Halla Haeron, I know you’re listening. Would you please join us?”
The companions looked around at each other, their faces pinched in confusion. But a moment later, everything made sense as a slight pressure, then a blinding flash filled the room. And there stood an elderly elf, bent over a cane topped with a crystal ball. The elf wore frayed robes, several shades of purple darker than her own light violet skin. Gold thread was worked through the robes in a labyrinthine pattern.
The elf grinned at Lord Day and said, “How did you know I was watching, Sonny?”
“You’re always watching, Halla.” Day turned to the group. “My new friends, this is Archmage Halla Haeron, Minister of Arcana. Halla, if you would please secure the room against magical intrusion.”
“I assure you, the only intrusion will be my own. An elf of my age needs her entertainment. I’m 674 years old, you know.” Halla laughed, a creaky cough-chuckle that was all the more exuberant for its difficulty. Her demeanor was odd, and yet she was so comfortable in her own skin that the party felt drawn to her despite their recent run-in with another old lady. Halla shuffled around the room muttering a spell. When she was done, the party felt another pressure change. “All set, Sonny. I’ll be staying – you don’t mind, do you? Of course not.” Halla winked broadly at the newcomers. “Sonny knows I like meeting new people.”