by Devin Hanson
The man frowned thoughtfully. “What is your cargo?”
“Foodstuffs. Meat and grains.”
“I see. Wait here. Do not attempt to pass through the gates without approval. I will discuss your case with the gate commander.” He gave a piercing whistle and a group of similarly-dressed men and women came out of the gate and approached. Travis saw the bulges of hidden weaponry beneath their robes, in addition to the swords and other more obvious gear hanging from belts. “In the meantime, these wardens will examine your cargo.”
The robed wardens spread out and began to methodically go through the coldboxes and grain sacks. Travis was glad he hadn’t tried to smuggle anything into the city. They were very thorough and meticulous, carefully cutting open grain bags and sifting through their contents before stitching them shut again. These wardens were no strangers to searching for contraband.
The first warden reappeared, but stood apart, waiting patiently until the other wardens had finished searching the wagons. Travis wanted to scream. He didn’t care if they searched the wagons for another hour, just let him inside the walls while they did it!
One by one, the wardens finished their search and reported their findings before going back inside to safety. Finally complete, the first warden approached Travis. “The gate commander has approved your caravan for entry. You and your men will be shown to a warehouse where you can unload your goods. You may carry out your business, so long as you do not leave the market square. The interior of Andronath is off limits to you and your men. We will not tolerate violations.”
“Hey, whatever you want. I’m just here to trade.”
“Very well. You may enter the city. Follow the guide; she will show you to the warehouse.”
Travis’ relief of finally getting within the city walls was short-lived. The square they were confined to was a large one by Salian standards, a wide open plaza a hundred yards on a side, bordered by warehouses and all manner of trade depots, nearly all of which were empty. Andronath’s trade with Salia had been booming six months ago, now there was just a trickle of local trade rattling around in the enormous space.
The guide led them to the warehouse assigned to them, and on the way Travis got a good look at the market square and the people within. By all accounts, Andronath did not have a standing army, yet he saw no less than a division of these wardens carrying out their business. Vaguely, he remembered stories told by mercenaries employed by Trent, of being driven from Andronath by desert dervishes. If these wardens were one and the same, there were far more of them than even the most far-fetched recounting had estimated.
Breaking the rules was going to be difficult, but once night fell and the city shut down, he should be able to move freely.
The remainder of the day passed swiftly. Merchants and butchers showed up before the last wagon had come to a stop, happily paying outrageous prices for his cargo. A representative from the Academy made an appearance and calmly purchased over half of the meat and two thirds of the grain with a lockbox filled to the brim with gold crowns. It was a staggering display of casual wealth, more coin than Travis had ever seen in one place.
By the time night had fallen, nothing remained of his cargo but empty coldboxes and dust. Travis had made a killing. He had made over two thousand crowns, enough to buy a title in the Salian court, enough to purchase an entire airship from stern to stem. Surely it would suffice to get all the vitae they could possibly want.
The doors to the warehouse swung open and a small group of people walked in, most of which wore the dun robes of the wardens. Weary of haggling, Travis nearly told them to shove off, but reigned in his temper. He had garnered some goodwill by delivering a desperately needed cargo, it would be foolish to throw that away through rudeness at this late stage.
“Good evening,” Travis greeted the new arrivals smoothly. “I’m sorry to say, our goods have all been sold. If I had known such a shortage existed, I would have brought twice the cargo. Alas.”
“It is future trade opportunity that is of interest to us, not your current shipment,” one of the wardens said. She spoke Salian smoothly, though she had an accent that left Travis’ understanding of her words lagging a second behind.
“Ah, of course.” In truth, Travis had not yet decided if there was even going to be a second shipment. Though if it proved as lucrative as this first trip, maybe the entire Priah business interest would switch over to trading. It all came down to if he could get the vitae he needed. “Forgive my manners. My name is Travis Bellwether.”
“A pleasure, Mr. Bellwether. I am Iria Mian. This is my associate, Michael Esterforth.”
Mr. Esterforth was a tall young man dressed plainly, if neatly. His clothes, while not ostentatious, were without holes or stains, his shoes well-maintained. Iria, on the other hand, wore the ubiquitous dun robes of the wardens, though she also wore a heavy woolen scarf dyed a flagrant blue, an affectation that contrasted jarringly with the muted colors of the robe. The evening air was barely cool to Travis and the scarf confirmed her native land being Nas Shahr. Any native Salian would find the scarf sweltering.
“My people tell me you have not yet had the opportunity to trade for your return journey,” Iria continued. “The city of Andronath has much to offer.”
Travis nodded, a little put off at how fast the conversation had come to the point. Did this petite warden intend to negotiate for her own profit? No matter. Perhaps she could help him after all. “Indeed. I’m afraid I was engaged in selling my cargo nearly non-stop since arriving.”
“What is it you wish to trade for?”
Again, Travis hesitated. Was this a trap? Some sort of scheme to trick him into giving away what he really intended? The warehouse suddenly seemed close, the air stifling. He cleared his throat and loosened his collar. “As you may know,” he said, feeling his way carefully, “the cities of Salia are heavily dependent on alchemy in our infrastructure. Coldboxes, illumination, dozens of mundane applications; we’ve become quite reliant on your fair city.”
“And all the alchemists are now here, in Andronath,” Iria said, nodding in understanding. “I see the difficulty.”
“Oh, my apologies, but not all the alchemists have left,” Travis lied. “Some few still remain. Yet they lack the essential ingredient to their craft.”
“Vitae,” Michael supplied.
“Just so. Without vitae, there is no alchemy.”
Iria nodded to Michael and took half a step back, subtly handing over the conversation. “You have my name,” Michael said, “but you should also know my position. I am an alchemist. It has been my business to trade with the people of Salia in the past.”
“It is an honor, sir.”
“Your situation is not one we are used to dealing with. If I may presume, you have been hired on behalf of a particular city, or group of alchemists?”
“You have the right of it,” Travis allowed vaguely.
Michael spread his hands and shrugged. “Normally, alchemists purchase their vitae in person, in what we consider small quantities. It is unusual for Andronath to sell large quantities of vitae to someone not a member of the Guild.”
Yes, Travis thought, that is exactly the problem. “I don’t suppose it would ease your concern to know the vitae is going directly to the alchemists?”
“It certainly doesn’t hurt,” Michael said doubtfully. “It is in Andronath’s interests to renew the trade previously enjoyed with Salia. Fear and misgivings between your nation and our city aid no one, but the vitae we alchemists require for our trade is of more value than purely monetary.”
“So there is no hope, then? I will be forced to return empty-handed and our city doomed to decay?” Travis pleaded, the fear in his voice unfeigned, though for a different reason than what his words suggested.
“Perhaps something can be worked out,” Iria said, her voice soft with sympathy. “After all, innocents should not suffer for the crimes of others.” She laid a hand on Travis’ arm, turning to face Michael.
Michael put up his hands, unable to deny them both, and sighed. “Of course. After all, you did pay us no small service with your trade. I trust you profited well?”
Travis nodded, struggling to keep a neutral expression. Iria’s hand on his arm was warm and impossible to ignore. “We made out within our expectations, I should think. I wouldn’t want to take advantage of your current difficulties, after all.”
“Speaking of which,” Iria said, “I am sure whatever vitae you are able to purchase will not satisfy your needs indefinitely. It would be possible, I think, to negotiate a continued trade. Your cargo was valuable, but only partially satisfied the needs of Andronath.”
The prospect of more chests of gold coins made Travis bob his head in immediate agreement. “Of course! I would like nothing better.”
“Oh, I am so glad,” Iria gushed, giving Travis’ arm a squeeze. “I will have to make arrangements. What is the closest Salian city to Andronath? Ardhal, was it not? I have never taken a trip by airship before. And Travis, may I call you Travis? It would be so wonderful if you would come with us. Is Ardhal on your route to delivery of the vitae?”
Ardhal was his destination, of course, and the momentary misgivings he felt when Iria mentioned it soothed away. She was just trying to expedite trade and had no interest in the construction of airships. “It is, milady. To tell the truth, I dreaded the return trip by wagon. Taking an airship to Ardhal would remove much burden from me.”
“It is settled then. My people and I will charter an airship to Ardhal, with you as our guest. Once Michael has settled the cost of the vitae to everyone’s satisfaction, we shall hasten to Ardhal!”
“I should like that,” Travis said, and tried to dampen the sense of loss when Iria withdrew her hand, returning to Michael’s side.
“Excellent. Travis, I cannot wait for tomorrow! Are you restricted to the market square? Oh bother. Well, on the morrow, I will have the wardens escort you to the mooring tower. They will not refuse me, I think. Until then.”
Travis bowed and Iria swept out of the warehouse, her hips swaying. One of the wardens waiting outside the door bent his head and nodded as Iria whispered rapid instructions. With a last smile back toward Travis, she disappeared with her escort of wardens.
“What a fascinating woman,” Travis said quietly to Michael, staring after Iria bemusedly. “I believe I quite like her.”
“You have no idea,” Michael said with a small smile. “Shall we get to business, then? I don’t know about you, but I’m starving. Let us get some food and discuss your coming purchase over the meal.”
Iria hastened up the twisted streets of the city to the Academy Alchemic. She had once harbored the idle worry that she would lose her fighting form in Andrew’s service. Running up and down the streets of Andronath had quickly cured her of that.
The building within the Academy where Andrew had his quarters was guarded by wardens, some visible, most not. The warden at the door recognized her as she approached, but still stood in her path until she gave the correct response to the challenge.
“The Speaker is still within his study, Spear.”
“Thank you. Send a runner to find Captain Hakhim and have him meet me in the Speaker’s study.”
The guard nodded and Iria went past him, taking the stairs three at a time to the second floor. The entire second story was set aside for the Speaker, though he was under the (carefully cultivated) impression that only a few of the rooms were his. The rest was occupied by the Speaker’s Guard under various pretenses.
Iria came to a halt outside the study and took a moment to compose herself before pushing the door open. Jules Vierra paced by the window while Andrew leaned over a large desk covered with maps. Both turned to her as she entered, expectation on their faces.
“Your sources were right,” Iria said, “Travis Bellwether is an agent of Baron Priah, there is no doubt about that. He is here to purchase vitae. He gave some story about the cities of Salia needing vitae to maintain city infrastructure, but I can spot a lie that poorly told.”
“Michael was a help to you, then?” Andrew asked.
“He was. Followed my lead perfectly, too. Better still, I think I’ve solved our problem of getting into Salia.” Iria outlined her arrangement with Travis.
“That should work nicely, Iria. Well done.” Jules tapped her lip thoughtfully. “Travis may recognize me. I can’t say I remember the name, but that’s not surprising. I’ll have to play a reserved role in our little charade. I’ll be your maid, I think. Quite shy.”
“I know enough to play the part of a master trader,” Andrew offered. “That’s not something that can just be faked.”
“You’ll be okay?” Jules asked.
“It’s unlikely anyone will recognize me. It’s been many years since I was last in Ardhal,” Andrew shrugged. “But I’ll go disguised if I have to. Dye my hair dark or something. The only person likely to recognize me is Trent, and he won’t be looking for me in Ardhal.”
“That wasn’t what I meant.”
“Oh.” Andrew’s face fell briefly. “It’s been years since my parents died. I haven’t thought of them in a long time.”
A knock sounded at the door, and Iria opened it, gesturing Captain Hakhim to enter the room.
“We can talk of it later, if you like,” Jules offered.
Andrew shook his head. “Honestly, there’s nothing to talk about.”
“I can come back,” Hakhim offered.
“Nonsense. Come in, Captain,” Andrew said. “How goes the guarding business?”
“Easy enough, so long as my charge stays away from dragons,” Hakhim fired back, his face the picture of guileless innocence.
“Take heart, then. The only dragon I know is off on business of her own.”
“Of course,” Iria said, “Now we’re planning a raid into Salia to slay a few Incantors.”
“Planning is good,” Hakhim said. “With plans, fewer things can go wrong.” His eyes narrowed and he glared accusingly at Iria. “Wait. Do not tell me. The Speaker is doing more than planning.”
“We fight Incantors, Adnan,” Andrew said. “I can’t ask anyone to do that for me.”
“You do not need to, Speaker. It is what we are sworn to do,” Hakhim protested.
“Which is fortunate, since you’re coming with us,” Andrew continued, smiling when the frown on Adnan’s face faltered.
“I am?”
“Two spears,” Jules affirmed. “Pick your best. Any that have taken up alchemy should be given priority.” Maar in general weren’t over-keen on alchemy as a subject, but a few had come to the conclusion that it was no more an abomination than any other science and had taken up tentative study at the Academy.
“We have a cover story, thanks to Iria’s quick thinking,” Andrew explained. “Once we arrive in Ardhal, we will start preparing for our return journey while we make contact with the Fraternity contacts in the city.”
“And we will hunt Incantors?” Adnan asked.
“We will. Details, of course, will have to be figured out once we have more data.”
“When do we leave?”
“Tomorrow, in the morning,” Iria answered. “Gather your spears. We will leave by the West Tower at first light.”
Chapter 5
Return to Ardhal
Baron Corvis Priah arrived in Ardhal in the late afternoon. According to his maps, Travis Bellwether should have arrived in Andronath yesterday. If the lad had any sense, he’d charter an airship for the return journey, assuming he was successful in purchasing vitae from the alchemists. Corvis intended to be on hand when Travis got to Ardhal, just in case Trent and his cronies had other plans for the vitae they weren’t sharing.
Trent might disdain the necessity of the airships, but battles weren’t won by traveling on foot. Even with the might of Trent’s new powers, he couldn’t win a fight he never arrived at. The Priah fleet was smaller now than it had been for more than twenty years, with only the Br
endil surviving of the war fleet. The Black Drake and the Storm Shadow were cutters; minimally armed, but built for speed and armored with airon plates. The Brendil, and the new ships being constructed in Ardhal, were warships, their decks heavy with cannon.
From the air, the hangers where the airships were being constructed looked like nothing more than a series of strangely regular hills. The human eye was quick to pick out patterns and straight lines, a trait that seemed to be lacking in dragons.
“Bring us in to the yard dock, Emil,” Corvis called up to his pilot.
“Aye,” Emil replied and put his weight to the wheel. The Drake came about, quickly losing speed and altitude until they pulled into a final, gradual approach. The shipyard airship dock was much lower than the usual mooring towers, and the keel of the Drake was no more than a dozen yards off the ground when they came to a halt and mooring lines were made firm. This low, the towering pines that grew thick in this part of Salia had their tops above the Drake’s single balloon.
The gangplank was extended, followed immediately by a furious gentleman in an oil-stained three-piece suit. “Here now!” he cried, waving his arms over his head. “This is no place for ships to– Oh, my lord Priah. Forgive me, I didn’t recognize the Drake.”
Corvis smiled, but didn’t challenge the point. Ships with the lines of the Drake were very rare. He didn’t doubt for a minute that Vernan Howell knew the ship was the Drake while they were still on approach. What the Master Engineer couldn’t know, was that Corvis himself was on board. “It’s good to see you again, Master Howell.”
Vernan gave a stiff bow. There were few men in Salia who had the power and respect, though lacking a noble title, to be less than courteous to nobles. The Master Engineer was one of them; a commoner, yet powerful enough in his own right to be able to tell a duke to go and burn himself, and be comfortable while doing so. Salia relied on airships, and Vernan was the mind behind Ardhal’s production. Out of necessity, King Delran couldn’t ennoble Vernan, despite his deservedness. Master Howell had to keep working on airships to be useful, and no noble would willingly put in the long hot hours that Vernan maintained. So a compromise was made: Vernan Howell had all the power and respect of an entitled noble, but remained a commoner in name.