The Worlds of J D L Rosell

by J. D. L. Rosell

Nomusa and exchanged glances. We knew better than to believe a word of it.

  Finally, he arrived at the important points: how the silver-haired woman’s name was Iela, and that she was a feral warden who could do things with channeling — like creating ice sculptures — that Xaron could not. And he told of how this feral frightened Feiyan enough that she didn’t think her power was anything compared to the power Iela’s master wielded. Apprehension prickled my skin. I understood how she felt that way from just Xaron’s description. If this mysterious man had a feral warden working for him, who knew what other resources he might have at his disposal.

  After Xaron had finished his telling, Nomusa said in an awed voice, “Another feral warden.” She shook her head. “I do not like the idea of crossing her.”

  I remained silent. I didn’t like it any better than she, but I also knew we couldn’t abandon this hunt now. Too many lives could be at stake. Not to mention the opportunity this represented for us.

  “But what do you think they are really administering the pyrkin potions for?” Xaron wondered aloud. “It doesn’t make any sense. If it’s not meant to kill these people, what is it meant to do?”

  I shrugged. “I suppose Eazal would be able tell us if we could convince him. But beyond that, I don’t know of any other leads.” I screwed up my eyes in concentration. “I feel like we almost know enough of the picture for this to be something substantial, something of value to someone. But we still need evidence, tangible evidence.”

  “Or allies who only require rumors,” a voice said from further down the alley.

  We whirled, looking for the speaker. His voice seemed familiar. When the man stepped from the shadows a moment later, I instantly recognized who it was. “Talan the Guilder,” I greeted him grimly. “Still lurking about?” I wondered how much he had overheard.

  He bowed slightly. “It’s what I’m paid to do. You, however, seem to lack some skill in what you’re paid to do. Or did none of you observe me listening to your conversation?”

  “Perhaps not,” Nomusa said, sidling a step closer and falling into a balanced stance. I recognized it as one from her homeland’s martial art of Ixolo, which allowed for immediate offensive action. “But that’s not our only skill.”

  Next to me, Xaron had his fists clenched like he might try striking at the Guilder as well. I knew I had to handle the situation quickly, or things could get out of hand. Guilders were not a defenseless sort of people, and I didn’t want either of my friends to be in danger.

  “What do you want?” I said. “You must want something if you’re announcing yourself.”

  Talan inclined his head towards me, a half-sneer plastered over his face. He seemed to take little note of Nomusa and Xaron’s aggression. “How very astute of you. Yes, I want something. What you’ve learned through your—” His lips twitched. “—brave endeavors promise to be precisely the information I could use.”

  “Could it,” Nomusa said dryly. Her stance hadn’t shifted. “Well, now you have it.”

  “Ah, but I need the Finches as well as the scroll.” Talan spread his arms. “The tale is not the same without its embellishments.”

  Xaron flushed, so I spoke before he could. “I’m assuming this is a two-way offer?”

  “Of course.” The Guilder lowered his arms, and the smile faded as well. “You wish to achieve justice, no? For a man’s murder not to go unpunished, and to prevent the deaths of others? This is what I can offer. So long as you can stomach its flavor.”

  Justice by the Underguild — my stomach turned at the thought. But I didn’t see how we could have the conventional kind through the Tribunal. Reporting the silver-haired as a feral warden might draw too much scrutiny on ourselves — more specifically, on Xaron — for me to risk, as well as bring the scrutiny of whoever her master was upon us. If Feiyan was scared of this mysterious man, I certainly didn’t want to cross him before we were prepared with the proper allies.

  I looked at Nomusa, and though her brow was drawn, she nodded, apparently having arrived at the same conclusion. Xaron still stared distrustfully at Talan, but I nodded at the Guilder all the same. “I suppose we’ll take it.”

  Xaron’s eyebrows shot up, glancing between Nomusa and I, but I kept my eyes on Talan. He grinned. “Fantastic. Shall we be on our way then?”

  “On our way?” I asked cautiously.

  His grin turned sly. “You can’t make a deal with daemons without meeting them in their dark depths, can you?”

  Two turns of the sandglass later, we found ourselves in another alley and another deme, accepting blindfolds from Talan.

  “I can’t believe we’re doing this,” Xaron muttered for the tenth time.

  “I can’t believe you are, either,” Talan taunted as he pulled Xaron’s blindfold tighter. Xaron yelped in surprise and tried striking the Guilder, but the man easily dodged him and smiled wider.

  I was the last to be blindfolded and stood nervously as Talan came up behind me. His arms moved about on either side, encircling me as he brought up the blindfold. “You knew this was standard practice,” I said to Xaron as my vision disappeared, trying to ignore the closeness of the Guilder. Contrary to my expectation, he didn’t smell at all dirty, but had an almost pleasant earthiness to his scent. I pushed it out of mind. “This is all part of the plan.” I didn’t mention how nervous I was myself to put ourselves wholly at the mercy of this Guilder. By all I’d seen of him, Talan was self-serving, self-centered, and far too smug. Hardly the most trustworthy of allies. But desperation calls for foolish gestures, as it's said.

  Blind as newborn mice, we held hands as Talan led us forward. Assumedly, we went to the secret entry point into the Underguild’s underground network. I was in the middle of our line, with Nomusa in front holding Talan’s hand, and Xaron coming last holding mine. He squeezed it at one point, and I squeezed back, glad that at least I went with friends.

  We stumbled along a stony path for a while. The ground underneath eventually changed to dirt, then wooden planks some time after that. I felt the cool pressure of being underground settle around us and shivered. I wondered if, even now, people lined the edges of our passage watching us and weighing our merits. Or perhaps they eagerly awaited our condemnation; it seemed as if walking the passages of the Underguild might warrant such a measure. But no knives pierced us, and no harsh words called out. The phantoms were in my imagination, but it didn’t make them any less real.

  Barely half a turn must have passed before we halted, but it felt much longer. “Here is fine,” Talan said, and I heard Nomusa's murmur of relief as her blindfold was removed. My own followed soon after, and I held back a sigh as I looked around, blinking. A vast cavern rose up around us, the edges of it lit by long scars filled with glowing pyrkin. But it wasn’t all a crude cave. Pillars carved an indeterminably long time ago rose to form the edges of the rough walls. On every surface were colors and patterns worn down and weathered by time. It looked like a cathedral to some forgotten god more ancient than the Eidola. I couldn’t imagine where we were under the city to have so much space around us.

  “What is this place?” I whispered to no one in particular.

  Talan stopped next to me. “The legacy of our forebears, built by the ancestors of those whom Oedijans call honors. We’re always looking to the Pyrthae and sky above for great things, and forget the hidden wonders lying below.”

  I looked over at him, startled to hear almost poetic words from the rogue’s lips. I recognized also that I knew very little of the history behind the honors indeed. “I suppose you don’t forget.”

  For once, he didn’t smirk. “Not yet.”

  I pondered that as my eyes lingered on his shaved chin, thoughts aimlessly wandering over his inconsistencies when the door we waited before suddenly opened. A herald that could have passed for a cutpurse slouched in. “Well, don’t leave the masters waiting!” he snapped. “In you go!”

  My companions and I looked at each other, but we’d come this far. No t
urning back now.

  We entered a chamber even grander than the one before. More ruined pillars rose to unplumbable blackness, and only ghostly smears of pyrkin along the stone kept the darkness at bay.

  We approached the far end of the hall, where five chairs rose upon a naturally formed dais occupied by three men and two women. These were the Guildmasters. Their number, it was said, was in mocking salute to the five Stratechons, the elected military officials in charge of the nation's defense. As above, so below — the old Eidolan saying that directed its followers to adhere to the ways of the Pyrthae ironically came to mind.

  I knew their names, or at least the names they went by, as did everyone else with half an ear in Oedija. Peralda, Xalfar, Hax, Lae, and Kalindi — the puppeteers behind so many of the workings of the city, both ill and good. Perhaps they were permitted certain liberties that weren't completely legal, but they also provided many services, such as finding and punishing perpetrators of violent crimes, or those who didn't pay the requisite taxes for petty crimes like pickpocketing and burglary. Such measures went a long way. After all, there’s no better way to limit an activity than to tax it.

  We were twenty paces away when Talan gestured for us to halt. “Efendi and hanims—” the Guilder said smoothly.

  “Leave your Avvadin formalities out of this, Wraithsbane!” a big man clad in rough leathers boomed. Xalfar, unless I was mistaken. He had the ruddy complexion of those long familiar with the allures of drink. “You’ve taken a great burning gamble with your well-being by bringing these three down here.”

  Wraithsbane? I glanced over at Talan, whose smile was twitching. I wondered what that odd moniker signified about him.

  “Master Xalfar,” Talan said, his tone no longer dulcet, “I fully appreciate the risks. But I assure you, your suspicions are ill-founded in this instance.” His eyes flickered to me. “I have been watching them for some time now, and I know they can be trusted as much as any one of our organization.”

  I kept my face composed. A lie? Or had he truly been tailing us before this? If he had, it evoked the question of what had brought him to it. And it made me wonder who else's attention we of Canopy might have attracted.

  “You know this, do you?” a tall, bowed Guildmaster said — Lae, I believed. She had such long proportions that I suspected she'd spent a good deal of time on the rack at some point in her nefarious career. “Tell me, Guilder Talan: how is it that you can see the intentions in another's heart?”

  “All such secrets are laid bare to one who has studied hearts all their life.” Suddenly, a knife flicked up from the Guilder into the air, and everyone flinched. Everyone except Talan — he snatched it and secreted it away again in a flash. The two Guildmasters who had spoken thus far frowned deeper.

  I wondered how Talan maintained his precarious position here when he antagonized, even threatened, his superiors. But a tinkling bell of laughter from the chair on the far left promised to clear up the mystery. A plump woman in robes the blue of the summer sea leaned forward, a smile still playing on her lips. The generous amount of gray in her curled hair told her age, yet she had a mischievous youthful expression in her eyes. It seemed Guildmaster Peralda had a special liking for our Wraithsbane.

  “Now, now, my Avvadin hound,” she cooed. “We can't go barking at every hare, can we?”

  Talan’s expression went carefully neutral as he regarded Peralda. “Yes, hanim,” he said, his tone subdued.

  I stared. For all his attitude, he had practically rolled over and shown her his belly. I wondered what the story was behind that as well. So many mysteries surrounding this man, and I'd trusted him enough to blindfold me and my companions and lead us down to the Eleven only knew where. For a Finch like me, his secrets had an almost irresistible allure. I itched to uncover them then and there, before I remembered the more salient mystery of murder before me.

  “Enough,” the fourth Guildmaster said in a hoarse whisper that, despite being soft, distinctly carried through the large chamber. He sat in the middle of the five and spoke with an authority of a master among masters. This must be Hax, the longest-serving Guildmaster and de facto head of the Underguild, insomuch as was possible for the syndicate. From what I'd heard, he had survived multiple assassination attempts in the two decades he’d held his position, and his wasted body — the pitted skin, the sunken eyes, the hoarse voice — showed that the tales were likely accurate.

  “No more of this squabbling,” Hax continued. “We know why these Finches are here.” He didn't stumble over the term, nor did his expression shift when he said it. He at least did not mock us for owning the label. Despite the precarious situation, my chest warmed with pride.

  “Someone has challenged our reputation.” He paused, his tongue wetting his lips. I cringed; even at a glimpse, I could see it was purpled and bloated. “This cannot pass unacknowledged. To do so would be to deny what the Underguild is.”

  I glanced at Xaron and Nomusa and saw my restrained hope reflected in their expressions.

  “However,” Hax continued, “I have not built the Underguild through hasty and rash punishment. We will hear what you have to say, Airene, Nomusa, and Xaron of Port. But the measure of our justice will be our own decision.” He made a small gesture, and Talan nodded at me to speak.

  I glanced at Nomusa and Xaron, then turned to the leaders of the Underguild. “Guildmasters, my companions and I have been investigating the death of the patrician Agmon of Iris for this past day and night.” I hesitated, wondering how much of the whole truth I should tell. “We were concerned about justice for Agmon, as well as what the mysterious nature of his death might portend.”

  “And what would that be?” Lae interrupted.

  “Agmon had a hand in an illicit business with his partner, Eazal of Sandglass. They—” Once again, I paused. Revealing Eazal’s trade might endanger him, depending on whether or not he was sanctioned by the Underguild.

  “Yes?” Xalfar prompted impatiently.

  I kept my eyes on Hax, who stared at me without blinking. “They brewed tinctures using pyrkin and distributed them for a variety of effects to their clients. Allegedly, they were safe. Then a woman named Iela came as an emissary to her master, and that all changed.”

  The Guildmasters looked among themselves with raised eyebrows. “Iela,” Hax said in his hoarse voice. “A woman with hair of silver and blue?”

  I nodded, and the Guildmasters began muttering. Then they knew her. It wasn’t so surprising, considering how rare such a hair color was.

  Hax waved a hand. “Tell us the rest, Finch.”

  So I did. I told of how Iela had them change the potions into ones that could harm, for a reason we had not been able to yet uncover. I also told of how Agmon balked at doing this and sought a way out, which was when Iela had him murdered with one of their own creations. I recounted how we followed the trail at Eazal’s suggestion to Feiyan’s estate, as she was to be the new distributor, and how Iela seemed to be forcing the newly raised Servant as much as she had the other two.

  Once I’d finished, Hax leaned back. “Is there anything else?”

  Xaron glanced at me, a question in his eyes. I wondered myself how much he should tell, but we’d already committed ourselves this far. I nodded.

  Xaron cleared his throat. “This Iela is a warden.”

  The last Guildmaster, who had been shrouded in shadow, leaned forward so quickly that I flinched, almost expecting him to jump at us. Kalindi stared balefully from beneath long, black bangs. His dark features might have been handsome were not they not accompanied by a pair of gleaming, cold eyes, that almost seemed to catch the meager light of the hall. “How did you overhear a private conversation between a mistress and her servant? How did you, of all people, discover Feiyan was dealing with a feral warden?” A wicked grin grew on the Guildmaster’s face as he watched Xaron squirm.

  My mind spun for explanations while Xaron spluttered a reply. But to my surprise, it was Talan who interceded. “Xaron i
s a house-breaker, Master Kalindi. Perhaps you are familiar with the specialty?”

  The Guildmaster turned his wolfish gaze on the Guilder. “Perhaps I am. But the estate of Servant Feiyan is inaccessible to those of… ordinary skill.”

  Talan shrugged. “I myself would not have an issue with it, though admittedly I am not of ordinary skill. However, I have seen Xaron at work. He is quite capable of the task.”

  Fear suddenly struck me. If Talan had truly seen Xaron at work, he would also have seen him channeling. I studied the Guilder, but I couldn’t detect anything behind his mask of bemused contempt. A mask — that was exactly what his expressions came to. If only I could see beneath. But here he was, standing up for Xaron before his superiors, who might kill him for lying to them. Either he didn’t know, or he wasn’t revealing it for his own reasons. Yet it put me ill at ease to have to trust Xaron’s secret to a Guilder’s good intentions.

  Kalindi melted back into his chair and said nothing, but the grin had dissipated, and he looked away, apparently bored again.

  Hax studied his fellow Guildmaster for a moment, then turned back to us. “We have heard your accusation and your evidence. Now we will hear what reward you seek for this information.”

  That was one thing you had to appreciate about the Underguild — dishonest work earned honest pay. But I swallowed hard and said, “We don't need a reward."

  Nomusa and Xaron shot bewildered looks my way, but I didn’t meet their eyes. “Nothing?” Xalfar scoffed. “And we’re supposed to believe that!”

  Lae looked similarly skeptical. ‘“Surely there must be something.”

  Hax seemed to be waiting for an answer, just as I’d hoped. After pausing a long moment so that I would appear hesitant, I said tentatively, “If we might be granted a boon, then it would simply be this. First, that Eazal not be harmed. I do not believe he should be held responsible for Agmon’s death, nor the others his tinctures may have harmed.”

  When Xaron flashed a look of gratefulness at me, I knew I’d done the right thing.