by H. A. Harvey
“Ye drugged me!”
“Please,” Rowan gasped between ragged breaths, “Not that . . . stupid. It was . . . fairy wine.”
Kaesa appeared to be trying to remember the night before, though she kept Rowan suspended against the tree and fixed with her glare as she did so. Finally, Kaesa seemed to relent. She lowered Rowan to where his feet could support him, though she kept a tight grip around his throat.
“Think about it,” Rowan croaked, “If I’d drugged you, then you’d be groggy and slow, or at least hung over. As it is, you probably did a good bit of damage to your leg just now.”
“Doubt it,” Xain stated as he walked over, his remarkably long hair and beard unbraided and tied in knots, with dozens of tiny drawings on his face in what looked like berry stains. “Last I remember, one of little lights healed her leg. They did not like one guest not dancing.”
“Anyway, the fairies threw us a party as a diversion to buy Nian time to go fight the dragon.” Rowan turned back to Kaesa, “We can talk about this later.”
“No,” She answered, having recovered her tight-fitting undergarment of Jotun hair and tugging it on under her cloak, “We can not discuss dis ever, und I may kill de next person who offers me silver mead to drink.”
The next few minutes were spent gathering bits of discarded clothing and equipment from about the field and the lower branches of nearby trees. Nian seemed to have headed out leading Gatefyre as soon as they were all asleep and took Kaesa’s shield with him. Autumn had taken the bow Rowan made in an effort to cheer her during their wait. Rowan didn’t mind, since he’d woven it for her anyway, but she had emptied out Kaesa’s mythril pouch and taken the ancient arrowheads. The Dryad’s theft seemed to upset the Njord more than waking up wrapped around Rowan, and he wasn’t certain how that reunion was going to play out.
Rowan knelt at the edge of their camp where the tracks led into the Clockward valley. Nian had been walking his horse when he left, and probably wouldn’t have dared mount up until dawn. Even then, while the woods remained thick, he would be about as quick and spare the horse’s strength if he stayed afoot. Autumn had left hours later, likely close to dawn. It looked like she had been dodging shadows or ghosts . . . so probably fairies had tried to stop her with only marginal success. After evading the fairies, Autumn pursued the horse tracks at a dead run. Kaesa stalked over and stood back far enough to avoid either fouling the tracks, or appear to be speaking intimately with Rowan. He wasn’t certain which motivated her distance.
“Well?” Kaesa asked, her arms crossed over her breastplate, “Can we ketch Dem?”
“Depends on how far off the dragon is.” Rowan answered.
“Drake.”
“Right, because that’s what matters right now.” Rowan grumbled, “I’m trying to think if we should catch them. They seem to be working Clockward, so the surest way to overtake them would be using Tombo to take one or two people through the heavy branches of the grove . . . but that relies on the queen’s graces allowing us passage. On foot and following them directly, we are unlikely to be able to catch them before everything is over, one way or the other. The thing is though, I get what Nian is trying to do . . . but not sure if going or staying is the better action to help him.”
“He tries to trick Fate.” Kaesa observed.
“Sort-of.” Rowan nodded, “I think he’s not trying to trick Her exactly, but reach a result that leaves Autumn and Xain breathing, without putting others of the group in harm’s way in the process. The brogan showed us what I think was their prophecy wall, and it showed Tombo fighting the drag. . .drake. So, I’m thinking that steel weapons won’t help much against the drake, aside from maybe some piercing thrusts, but the extra targets to distract it enough for a decisive blow could help. However, if we’re trying to avoid the outcome the queen saw, do we go with the brogan prophecy or against it? Is it really a prophecy at all, or just a savage drugged out of his mind, drawing so many odd shapes that they’re bound to line up with something if you look long enough?”
“I dink dis is why, in de tales, most prophets go mad.” Kaesa answered in frustration. “Ye und de fairy girl take de beast drough de grove. She can talk to de fairies, ye track and Tombo only listens to ye. David und I will follow und keep Xain safe. Dis way maybe I don’t kill de Dryad when we catch her.”
Rowan walked over to Kaesa and set a hand on her shoulder, “Please don’t complicate things more than they already are.”
“Do not dink because of a night neider of us remembers, ye ken tell me what to do,” Kaesa responded evenly, then dropped her eyes to look at Rowan’s hand, “Or touch me widout leave.”
Rowan withdrew his hand quickly, “That’s not what I meant, Kaesa. I’m just asking that you try to understand her motive was to help Nian, and we’ve lost enough friends on this journey already. We’ll get your father’s work back, I promise.”
Kaesa stared back at him in silence, then tugged the thong around her neck. Without the wooden blocks containing the arrowheads, the pouch was able to slide from under her breastplate without unbuckling. Kaesa shook one of the unstamped coins of mythril into the palm of her gauntlet and held it out toward Rowan.
“Ye’ll need a gift t’ gain passage drough de grove.” She stated simply. “Wid how fair folk love magic, dis should buy passage.”
Rowan blinked at the lustrous circle of blue-green metal, then nodded and dropped it into his satchel. “Thank you, Kaesa. Not just for this, but . . . well for not breaking me in half . . . twice I guess.”
“I said not to talk about dat.” Kaesa replied sternly as she donned her helm, though Rowan thought he caught a glimpse of her smile before she turned back toward the camp. He found himself wishing he remembered anything that had transpired after they sat around the fairy platters the night before, as well as whether the famed Dwarven constitution allowed her more recollection than Rowan.
16
A City in Shadow
Captain Gerizim scratched the stone railing of his balcony with one of his talons as the colored light of dusk glinted off the lustrous red and black scales of his bare chest. He stood in the cool wind out on the parapet of his chambers. It was hardly the highest point in Kadis Keep, but this vantage had been his for seven years now. From this height, he could overlook all of Kadis, as far out as the main gate at Needle Pass. Yet, he was still near enough that he could at once oversee the watchmen along the inner curtain, the keep’s main courtyard, and the drill grounds of the Iron Garrison. He had made it his unofficial duty post, citing its efficiency as his reasoning, but were he completely honest, he simply enjoyed standing and watching the mightiest city in Baeden.
The city was carved out of a natural valley that lay between the peaks of the Dragonfang and Icesong mountains; both steep, jagged daggers of tough, enduring stone. The two mountains each extended long, arcing arms out to embrace the small, ovoid valley in a natural wall impervious to the most determined of siege weapons. The only publicly known entrances were the Needle Pass, where the two arms nearly met, but the Crystal River had carved a narrow path through long before miners first found the valley, and the long, dark tunnel into Irongate Pass, called the Undergate. The hidden depression within had once been little more than a half-dozen mining camps, but had grown to be the heart of the wealthiest barony in the Baeden mountains.
Kadis was a living, breathing beast of iron and stone; austere, noble and strong. The keep sat at the Spireward edge of the city, nestled securely in the cradle of Mount Icesong’s tallest cliff. Ringing the valley, the city descended in broad, low terraces to reach the Needle Pass standing opposite the keep’s central tower. To Gerizim’s left, the terraces segregated the homes of the city’s nobles, merchants, and common folk, while those to the right began with the Iron Garrison, then moved through the many mines that were the source of Kadis’ wealth. Most were still active, but others had long ago closed, and their sto
rage and crew houses converted into forges, foundries, and a medley of artisan shops. The terraces descended around a central platform that sat level with the keep’s courtyard. The circular pedastal of stone served as the market of Kadis and a central plaza, ringed with permanent shops and taverns, was populated by an ever-shifting collage of shacks, tents, and carpets.
The city itself had earned its nickname of The Shadowed City thanks to the tight embrace of its protective mountains. The high, sheer cliffs kept the city in deep shade for most of the day. Even in summer, direct light only shone onto the lower streets of the common quarter for perhaps two hours at midday. In winter, only the upper levels of the keep ever received Phoenix’s kiss. As a result, the local inhabitants made extensive use of torches, coal and oil lamps, and even magical lighting. Gerizim fancied there were few places outside the Avan Empire where so many magical sparks filled the air.
The drill grounds were what currently held Gerizim’s attention. The flat training area was filled with armored men and horses milling about chaotically. The baron had been growing impatient with the process of producing his invincible heavy cavalry. The old man had assumed it would simply be a matter of dropping steel and rider onto the trained war horses before they were ready to devastate the battlefield. The horses had arrived only two days ago, and already Baron Urdan and General Ebal both were sending impatient demands by kyte for the secret weapon’s delivery.
The reality was that even the best of Kadis soldiers had little or no experience riding horses for travel, let alone on a battlefield. The chain barding that had been produced in anticipation of the horses’ arrival was heavier than they were used to, and only the massive destriers were able to wear it without tiring quickly. Of course, the smithies had underestimated the size of the destriers, so the plate reinforcements for them had to be resized before he’d know if they could carry the added weight. Even having commandeered every smithy in Kadis, which was no small number, it would be a month before all the resizing and lightening could be finished.
The baron would be furious, of course. He’d been anticipating a campaign already well underway with several decisive victories by the time the Mountain Council convened to respond to the Tyrian aggression. With the fall of Broadstone and the return of the Scourge of Shaleridge, the council was certain to see the need for a high king. However, as the battle at Broadstone left almost two dead Baedites for every Tyrian slain and the Ogre had escaped as well, Baron Urdan could hardly be certain that the remaining barons would see him as the natural choice. His Lordship needed a clean victory, and soon.
A sharp knock at the door disrupted Gerizim’s thoughts. The powerfully built Dracis growled to himself before turning back into his chambers. He pulled up the sash of linked chain that dangled at the belt of his plated skirt, tossing it idly over his shoulder. Gerizim leaned the knuckles of his fists on the stone table that served as his desk.
“Enter!” Gerizim boomed.
The latch lifted on the captain’s steel door and it swung outward. Sergeant Garik stepped around the door and entered Gerizim’s chambers. The soldier pulled the door closed and smiled. He crossed the floor and set a tiny scroll on the table between Gerizim’s fists.
“Doesn’t it defeat tha purpose of having that door if you don’t lock it?” Garik chuckled, his puffy face curling his silver beard almost comically. “I could have been an assassin. We are at war after all.”
“Assassins come for lords and generals, not captains. Besides, at this point, I’d welcome a skilled assassin. It’d be more interesting than watching a pack of clumsy humans fall off of oversized dogs.” Gerizim chuckled as he picked up the scroll, “Another demand for elite cavalry?”
“No, a report.” Garik answered, “From General Ebal for the prophet, or the steward, or whatever he calls himself now.”
“Then why bring it to me?” Gerizim asked as he scanned the tiny scroll, “Nevermind . . . because it’s bad news.”
“And he won’t disappear you for bad news.” The sergeant chuckled. “Besides, I figured you’d wanna keep in tha loop.”
The captain nodded, “Alright, get back down there and tell those idiots to try just sitting on tha horses. Tha stupid beasts know more about cavalry formations than they do, maybe if they focus on balance we can at least get them in a straight line. I’ll deliver this. It may do me some good to see that horrid face twist in as much frustration as I’ve had these last two days.”
The sergeant saluted sharply with a fist to his heart, then turned and trotted out. Gerizim grinned to himself and snapped the scroll into a fist before heading out himself. He marched briskly through the keep’s hallways. On the way to the throne room, he spied Tyvus through a window as the Falon walked through the courtyard. Gerizim altered his route to find a nearby stairwell. By the time he reached the ground floor and stepped out on the courtyard, Tyvus had been joined by Baroness Idala and her entourage.
Captain Gerizim balked a little. While he thoroughly disliked the disfigured Falon, and suspected most, if not all, of his “prophecies” were elaborate deceptions, the captain was quite certain he hated the sadistic and manipulative little Fae. He was equally sure that the feeling was mutual. More than half of his displeasure since the arrival of the horses had been that she had come with them ‘to recover from her injuries’.
She liked men of all sorts, it seemed, and any that spent a good deal of time around her seemed to love her, despite her overtly cruel and selfish mannerisms. Whatever her strange appeal was, Gerizim didn’t see it. This was apparently some sort of offense against the baroness, which the captain considered to be one of his few pleasures since the pair ingratiated themselves to the Baron of Kadisvale a little over a year ago. Despite her physical beauty, which Gerizim knew was likely a lie since she was Fae, he found the witch utterly repulsive.
It was almost impossible to see her without a following of a half-dozen or more love-sick fools stumbling along after her, kept at a respectful distance by two of her bodyguards. The entourage seemed to forgo rest and meals as long as need be just to tag along in the hopes of an opportunity to please their mistress. Such chances could come from opening a door or performing some other menial task, or even serving as a willing target of her sadistic abuse whenever she was frustrated or simply bored. Gerizim’s men, who largely went out of their way to avoid Idala, reported that the pack all seemed to follow her in the hopes of being picked as a companion when she retired to her chambers. The pool of candidates for this “honor” was composed of as many married men as bachelors. It never seemed to dwindle, despite the fact that of those who entered Idala’s chambers, less than one in two emerged in the morning, or at all.
Captain Gerizim braced himself as though he were about to wade into a sewer and approached the pair as he gave a light tap of his claws against his scaled breast, not bothering to snap or ball his fist into a proper salute. His slight did not go unnoticed by either of the two. Perfect, he preferred to be in an honest adversarial position from the start to wasting time with platitudes and false deference.
“No wonder the Kadis soldiers find mastering horses such an impossible task,” Tyvus sneered, “When their commander lacks enough discipline for even basic courtesy.”
“A salute is respect manifest,” Gerizim countered, “If you wish a real one, earn real respect.”
“I am the Steward of Kadis, Gerizim!”
“Captain Gerizim, charred one,” Gerizim countered, “And you are steward only of tha Baron’s household. I command tha keep guard, and in tha absence of both Baron Urdan and tha Lord General, I command tha Iron Garrison and, by extension, Kadis herself.”
The Falon glared, “A task you seem overwhelmed by. You should take care with that tongue of yours. When Urdan is made High King, positions will shift, but you will still be simply a guard captain, and easily replaced.”
“Until then, you’ll get what protocol requires, nothing m
ore.” Gerizim held forth the rumpled scroll, “A message for you from tha front, Baroness.”
“That is Countess now.” The baroness demanded sharply. “You read messages not meant for you?”
“Security, Baroness.” Gerizim grinned toothily, “Could be poison on tha paper, or a spell hidden in tha text. And tha Mountain Council has not declared Broadstone to be yours yet.”
A young man from the entourage took several bold steps toward Gerizim. “You will call her Ladyship by tha title she has earned, you cu-rghk!”
The young soldier’s words were cut short as Gerizim wrapped his claws about the boy’s throat and effortlessly lifted him nearly a foot from the ground to meet his own draconic glare. By the baroness’ reaction, he guessed the young man was at least near the front of her list for the night’s entertainment. Gerizim considered snapping the youth’s neck and sparing him the witch’s undivided affections, but he did not lower himself to kill slaves, and anyone who would willingly be one deserved anything they got.
“As she is here recuperating with His Lordship’s hospitality, I do not call her tha title her behavior earns.” Gerizim sent the private tumbling back into his comrade-rivals with a flick of his wrist, “If tha council of barons decides she rates a title beyond baroness, it may occur to me to use it. In tha meantime, boy, you would do best to watch what direction you blow your stinking wind, lest I cut short your supply.”
“Enough,” Idala snapped, “Since you already opened my missive, what news, herald?”
Gerizim held back a snarl. He loathed being compared to a perfumed messenger, but it was worth a bit of humility to deliver this news.
“His Lordship is yet to be able to break through tha Spireward pass into tha Lone Wood. Tha fugitives have taken up raiding from tha woods and hills in tha area, and tha Iron Garrison troops have had to divert to Penance. It seems a force from Noorwood has laid siege to your city. Tha council has been set for three weeks hence, in Coronet. So, the Baron will have to leave Spireward command to Lieutenant Ernan while he attends. He will explain your absence to tha council as you already agreed.”