by Devin Hanson
“Likewise, my lord, yet I’m afraid I must insist. This dock is not for visiting nobles, however otherwise welcome.”
“And what of paying customers?” Corvis asked mildly, knowing the answer before he asked.
Vernan scowled, but nodded grudgingly. “If you’re here on business, I won’t turn you away, I suppose.”
“Come now, Master Howell. As much as I enjoy your sunny disposition, there are better entertainments to be had, even in Ardhal, than getting yelled at by you.”
“Fah. Like as not, you’d regret going to Ardhal anyway. Place is lousy with murders these last few weeks. The constable is going mad and the Duke is nigh about to skin him and find a replacement.”
“Really? How strange. So much fuss for a few murders?”
“A few?” Howell chuckled darkly. “Oh no. There were a dozen just last night, my lord. And those were only the ones that have been found. All with their chests ripped open and their hearts torn out. Barbaric, if you ask me.”
Corvis masked his surprise as best he could with the bland disinterest of one of the gentry. It was Trent, of course, Trent and his fellow alchemists. Corvis had murdered his way to wealth and power, it was true, but he had never killed when it could be avoided. After all, kill all the merchants, and soon there wouldn’t be any left alive to steal from. Trent’s excesses, on the other hand, were targeted against innocents. And so many!
“Dear me. A dozen? I’ve never heard of such a thing. The constable must be truly incompetent if he’s allowing this to continue.”
“Incompetent or in league, I say. But what can I help you with, my lord? I’m sure you have better things to do than pass the breeze with a man such as myself.”
“To business, then! In fact, I came in expectation of a delivery of vitae.”
“Vitae!” The Master Engineer’s eyes gleamed. “You found a source?”
“I hope. My man should be arriving in Ardhal shortly with what he could procure.”
“May I ask where? I’ve searched Ardhal top to bottom and had my men scouring Salia. I haven’t found so much as a drop of dragongas.”
“Andronath.”
“But trade is blocked! The men I sent have been turned away from the gates without a fare-you-well.”
“All men, and cities, in this case, have their price. Summer is coming to an end and Andronath has no fertile fields growing food for the winter. Without trade, they will starve. I expect they won’t turn away a caravan of food.”
“Now, why didn’t I think of that?”
Corvis smiled, but little amusement made it to his eyes. “Whether my man will be able to trade for vitae is another matter. I came here hoping for the best.”
“I’ll hope with you, then. It pains me to have airships sitting iron-heavy in my hangers, lacking only vitae for them to fly.” Vernan scowled a little then sighed. “Come on, then. Let’s go to my studio. I can entertain you with what comforts I have available while you wait.”
“You’re too kind, but I won’t have you put out on my account. The Drake has more than enough on board to occupy me while I wait. And I may just take a jaunt to the city proper. This murderer of yours has me intrigued.”
Vernan frowned and shook his head. “As you will, my lord, but have a care. I make airships for my living, and you’re the only one right now with the gumption to make the pieces come together. I would not like to hear of your death on the morrow.”
“I appreciate your concern, Master Howell, but I have a feeling I will be quite safe. Good day.”
Vernan Howell sketched a bow. “And a good day to you, my lord. If you have need of me, send a runner and I will do what I can to assist.” The Master Engineer turned on his heel and left the bridge of the Drake, leaving Corvis staring after him.
Damn Trent. If the constable or the duke discovered his son’s depredations, Corvis wouldn’t be able to lift a finger in his defense. The laws of the King overrode any weight he might bring to bear. Military might could free Trent if it came to that, but it would drive the entire Priah house into exile. And Corvis wasn’t sure Trent was worth that.
Beyond the danger to his own life, Trent was threatening the honor of his house. Corvis had worked long and hard to gain the king’s ear in military matters. If his only son were found to be a mass murderer, any influence he had managed to gain would be lost in an instant. For the first time, Corvis found himself contemplating killing his own son.
Corvis doubted his ability to deal directly with Trent. Between his son’s skill with alchemy and this new power he had found, Trent would prove nigh impossible to kill directly. But Corvis knew where his son slept. Ordering the Brendil to put a broadside through the wall of his chambers would surely put matters to rest.
Maybe he should. Corvis returned to the forward cabin and poured himself a drink. The alcohol was nearly tasteless beyond the accompanying sting. He sighed and set down the glass. It was too early in the day to get seriously drunk and anything less wouldn’t be worth his time. Burn it, but he hated waiting.
With a grimace, he knocked back the remainder of his drink and put the glass back on the shelf. To Ardhal, then. He could find out what the constable knew while he waited for Bellwether to return from Andronath.
Returning to Ardhal again for the first time in years gave Andrew mixed feelings. It was the city of his birth, and he remembered with fondness the public parks, the laughing fountains, the smell of green in the spring air. But it was also the place where his parents had died, burned to death in the aftermath of a destroyed airship.
He stood on the forward deck, letting the wind blow his hair, trying to shake the feeling that the rich merchants clothing he wore was a disguise. He had to get into the spirit of things, get his mind focused on the matters at hand. But all he could think about was Ava winging her way into the north, rallying sympathetic dragons to their cause. He wanted to help Ava, and hunting Incantors was the best way he could assist her.
The head of an Incantor on a stick would help prove to the dragons that he took his role as Kossirith seriously and had no intention of allowing things to slip into chaos as they had two thousand years ago.
Andrew spotted the faint smudge on the horizon that was the first sign of the city. The land they passed over was forested, with large swaths cleared for grazing land. Sheep and cattle dotted the fields, always within a short dash to camouflaged shelters. Where there wasn’t grazing land, the fields were planted in dense rows of grain just starting to turn gold.
He couldn’t help but compare this secure and settled land with the wilderness in and around the ruins of Vanali. How could Ava expect him to restore that city? It would take many lifetimes of back-breaking labor to accomplish. And that was assuming he could somehow convince thousands of people to head deep into dragon country on a whim. It was ludicrous. Impossible.
A footstep sounded behind him and Andrew turned, one hand falling unconsciously to his belt where a blade would have rested if he hadn’t been masquerading as a merchant. He felt naked for a moment, until the weight of the blade strapped to his forearm restored some equilibrium. He had grown almost as bad as Iria.
Travis Bellwether waved to him and approached, a good-natured smile on his face. Behind Travis, Andrew watched as wardens suddenly found excuses to be on the deck. Despite Andrew’s assurances, the Speaker’s Guard didn’t like having strangers around Andrew when he was potentially vulnerable. Oblivious to it all, Travis leaned against the railing and shaded his eyes. “I say, is that Ardhal?”
“It is. We’ll be docked within the hour.”
“You seem pretty calm about it. Does airship travel not stir excitement within you any longer?”
Compared to flying dragon back, Andrew thought, poking along on an airship is pretty tame. “Once you’ve made the trip a hundred times, it gets to be routine.” Maintaining the façade of a bored Master Merchant was difficult around Bellwether. It was fortunate the young man obviously didn’t know the first thing about trade, but i
f Andrew was going to fool the merchants in Ardhal, he’d have to play the role to perfection.
“I envy you, sir.”
Andrew waved a hand, dismissing the comment. “Nonsense. It is I who envy you, Bellwether. You’ve had a singularly successful journey. On your first foray, no less! An accomplishment to be proud of.”
Travis patted his jacket, comforting himself with the solid weight of the dragongas vials strapped to his chest.
Michael Esterforth had engaged in a masterful bargaining session, fleecing Bellwether for every coin he had for a paltry dozen vials, and somehow managing it so Bellwether felt he had come out on top. A year ago, a dozen vials of dragongas would have sold, to an alchemist in good standing with the Guild, for five crowns each, coming to a total of sixty crowns. Michael had somehow inflated the price nearly six fold, citing everything from the weather (perfectly balmy) to the destruction of purifying facilities (a flat-out lie) for the increase in price.
Michael’s estimation was that an alchemist who knew what he was doing would be able to transmute the parts for a single airship engine with that amount of vitae. Personally, he could have done it with half the vitae, but he had spent years doing it professionally and knew all the tricks. An alchemist who wasn’t trained specifically in rapid etching of Tan runes would find the work considerably more difficult.
“It has been a long journey,” Travis said with a smile, “but I’m confident my masters will be satisfied.”
“We will have to celebrate your success,” Andrew said, dreading it even as he smiled and clapped Bellwether’s shoulder. “Drinks on me, I insist.”
“Oh, I couldn’t possibly… What I mean, is I’ll be so busy once we land, I won’t have time to. But I appreciate the offer.”
“No matter,” Andrew shrugged. “I do hope you continue trading after this venture. It can be quite rewarding.”
“I’m quite sure the interests I work for will continue. Whether I personally will be involved remains to be seen.” He hesitated. “Though the thought of continuing my acquaintance with Iria is tantalizing.”
Andrew stared at Travis in surprise. The man had a thing for Iria? Oh, was he in for a shock. “Is that right?” he managed after a few seconds.
“I’ve never met anyone quite like her before. So open and friendly!” Travis leaned toward Andrew with a conspiratorial smile. “And I must say, I find short women appealing. Most Salian women are so tall, nearly as tall as us men.”
Andrew raised an eyebrow. He quite preferred being with someone he didn’t have to bend down to embrace, but to each his own. “And has Iria, ah, reciprocated?”
“Who can tell, with women?” Travis shook his head. “All I know is she doesn’t completely loath me. I must keep heart and move slowly. It’s all any man can do.”
“Well.” Andrew smiled a little. “Best of luck with that.”
Travis turned back forward and shaded his eyes, straining to make out the mooring towers of Ardhal. “Our time together draws to an end, it would seem,” he said. “Excuse me, I should go prepare and take my leave of Iria.”
Andrew watched him go and pondered on human nature. Travis Bellwether was an enemy by association. He worked for Baron Corvis Priah and was trying to rebuild a pirating armada. Yet he had a certain guileless cheer about him that had Andrew almost liking him. He wondered if Iria felt anything for the man at all, or if she was merely playing him along.
If they had met under more violent circumstances, Andrew would have killed him without even a momentary qualm. What did that say about him? If Travis had nothing to do with the Priah family, Andrew could even see himself becoming friends with the man. Ultimately, Andrew decided, so long as Travis wasn’t acting to harm anyone, he could live and let live.
“Lord Speaker,” one of the wardens said, speaking Maari, “the Captain says we will arrive in half a glass.”
Andrew nodded. “Thank you, but while we are around Salians, do not address me as such. At least for the duration of this mission. Your tongue is not completely unknown in these lands.”
“My apologies.”
“We are deep in enemy territory now. We can afford no mistakes. Spread the word. I do not want to hear the title, even in private.”
“It will be done.” The warden bowed his head and hurried off.
In the distance, the tops of the mooring towers were visible above the tree cover. They were almost to Ardhal.
Travis Bellwether fingered the leather strap on his knapsack, the only baggage he carried with him. Under his jacket, the hard pureglass vials of dragongas were a comforting weight strapped to his chest. He hadn’t let the vials out of physical touch since acquiring them. Each one was worth more than most craftsmen would make in a year. And beyond their pure monetary worth, they were desperately needed to complete the airships.
The mooring tower loomed over the airship and the docking platform crept closer by slow feet. Travis stood on the aft deck, watching the bustle of merchants and their guards. Time and again, his eye caught on the diminutive figure of Iria Mian as she ran herd on the guards. He had never seen a woman so sure of herself before.
These merchant guards wore typical leathers and rough cloth, but they moved with military efficiency. Travis could tell by their body language that they were used to taking orders, but none had the hang-dog look of mercenaries with their initiative beaten out of them. If the guards weren’t military, they had served in one, and recently. It was well. He felt better knowing Iria was in good hands.
The airship shuddered as connection to the dock was made and lashings were drawn tight. The constant sub-aural thumping of the engines shuddered to a stop. A trio of guards advanced onto the platform. None had weapons drawn, but Travis couldn’t help but draw the comparison of soldiers securing a safe zone.
Andrew, the master trader, followed after them, and the rest of the guards surged off the airship onto the dock. The dock master burst from his cabin and advanced on Andrew, only to be drawn up short by a pair of guards who instantly blocked his path. At this distance, Travis couldn’t make out words being said, but it was clear the dock master wasn’t happy about something.
Iria turned to face him and gave a wave, and Travis’ stomach flopped over. He waved back and got a smile in return. A tall maid came out of the forward cabins, weighed down with baggage, her head covered by a scarf. The maid said something to Iria and together the two turned and disembarked, quickly becoming lost in the churn of bodies on the dock. Whatever confrontation Andrew was having with the dock master seemed to have been resolved. Neither of them was visible any longer.
There was no sense delaying any longer. Travis hitched the knapsack higher onto his shoulder and made his way off the airship. He hadn’t made more than a dozen steps before a man fell into step next to him, breathing hard and sweating from his swift run up the mooring tower stairs.
“You Bellwether? Travis Bellwether?”
Travis nodded, taking half a step back. The man had breath like a rotting skunk and gave off a reek of sour sweat from his mismatched fighting leathers. One shoulder was blazoned with a stylized P, marking him as a Priah mercenary. Travis couldn’t help but compare him to the neat professionalism of the merchant guards. “I am. What can I do for you?”
“Baron Priah sends his regards and asks that you meet him, hasty-like.”
“Of course. Where is he?”
“On the Black Drake. Been waiting two days he has. Going stir-crazy if you ask me.”
“Lead on, then. Let’s not keep him waiting any longer.”
“Mr. Bellwether?”
Travis stopped in his tracks and turned to find Iria making her way toward him. He felt unreasonably embarrassed by the presence of the mercenary at his shoulder, could imagine the leer on the man’s face, the way his eyes would travel up and down Iria’s body. His hand tightened on the rapier at his hip, but he forced a pleasant smile onto his face.
“Milady,” he greeted her, giving a little half-bow.
“Nothing that will stop you from trading, I hope?” Travis could feel the mercenary fidgeting behind him, bored with the pleasantries already.
“I hope not,” Iria shook her head. “Multiple murders! I am afraid such disturbances are unheard of where I come from. But that is not why I wanted to speak with you.”
“I’m all ears, milady.”
“Bellwether, the Baron–”
“Can wait one minute more,” Travis snapped, glaring at the mercenary.
“Oh, am I keeping you?” Iria made as if to leave.
“No! Please. Of course I have time.”
“I just wanted to say, we are to get lodgings at the Dancing Horse, if you wished to look us up when you complete your business. I would give preference to your trading company, if you were to still be interested.”
Travis nodded. “I would, but I must report to my master first. I won’t know until then what the future may hold.”
“Certainly. Until next we meet, Mr. Bellwether.” Iria waved and left, returning to the merchant guards.
It was curious, Travis thought as he watched her leave, that none of the guards seemed concerned with her safety, particularly since there was a murderer about town. They seemed quite diligent when it came to protecting the master trader.
“That’s a dish,” the mercenary chuckled. “You getting some of that?”
“Be silent,” Travis growled, “and lead the way to the Baron.”
“I was just sayin’ –”
“If you cannot hold your tongue, I’ll cut it from your head so you can use both hands to keep it still.”
The mercenary gave him a wounded look, but didn’t press the issue. “This way, my lord.”