by Chad Queen
They walked down the hill to the entrance of the city, the smell of saltwater strong in the wind.
Cade took in the view of Ceywind from the top of the hill. It was sprawling, composed of innumerable open-air markets filled with peoples from all lands making deals and hawking their wares. Ceywind was the largest port in all of Chalice and served as a central hub for traders. He nodded to himself, thankful they could hide amongst the crowds here.
Row upon row of wide wooden docks, held up by large posts encrusted with barnacles, lined the shore. As many docks as there were, almost every berth was occupied. The city was alive day and night, and the unforgiving dock foremen ran the entire place like clockwork. By Cade’s estimation, there were over two hundred ships.
Despite not being connected to the main Pathways, Ceywind housed many Ancient structures, which was a large reason for its settlement in the founding days of the country.
The city itself was bookended by two steep cliffs on either side, a rather strange juxtaposition given how even the terrain was in Ceywind. It was already theorized that Ceywind, like other cities in Chalice, had been terraformed to the Ancients’ liking long ago.
“All we need to do is find the contact from the resistance they told us about. Ah, here it is.” Jace pulled out a slip of paper from his codex: “Captain Renalt.”
The scent in the wind began to change as they approached. Cade wrinkled his nose. Carrion?
“Did they give us a description?”
“Yes. He’s tall—about six measures, fair complexion, red hair, muscular build.” He frowned, turning over the note. “It doesn’t say where we should meet him.”
Ashlyn gasped.
“We won’t need to look far,” Cade said. Jace looked up and dropped his book.
Hanging from the gallows next to the entrance of the city was a fair-skinned man with long red hair. Around his neck a crude sign hung, with only one word painted in red lettering: Treason.
Cade motioned for Ashlyn to pull up her hood and ushered her into the city, with Jace trailing behind.
“What now?” asked Ashlyn despondently.
“We stick to General Carlon’s plan. First, we must get to Toltaire and secure the weapon. Any number of ships could take us there. We just need to find one that can be discreet,” said Cade. “Jace, let’s split up and start asking around the docks. Ashlyn, I think it’s best if you just keep your head down. We don’t want to risk you being recognized here.” Ashlyn nodded.
“We’re full,” said the foreman at the dock, eyes unmoving from the clipboard in front of him.
Cade had spent most of the day walking up and down the docks, with no result. Undeterred, he persisted. “We can pay you handsomely.”
The man heaved a sigh, put down his clipboard, and looked wearily at Cade. “Listen. The Crossfort Ball is happening in one week. Maybe you’ve heard of it?”
Cade did not like the man’s tone. The Crossfort Ball was the biggest event in Chalice. It was impossible not to know.
“Mine and every ship out here has got a full load of goods for that ball, and we have to get there with time to spare. They’d run me through all nine doors of the Forgotten Hells if I was short a single fork, and I don’t even want to think what would happen if we were late.” A bell sounded. The man looked back down to his clipboard and hurried away.
Jace walked back from the end of the dock toward Cade.
“Any luck?”
Jace shook his head, deflated.
“Come on, we still have one more option.”
They made their way to the Grid, the largest market in Ceywind, built around gigantic pylons of Ancient origin. The pylons were polished steel in appearance and thrust out of the ground over a hundred feet into the sky. They were spaced in columns and rows, a grid of unknown purpose. The most impressive thing about them, however, wasn’t their size, but what they could do. The pylons radiated cold air, providing refrigeration on a massive scale.
Fishermen hunched over their ramshackle stalls next to the pylons, busking about the catch of the day wearing long coats and fur-lined hats. Emanating frigid air, the pylons could keep food and other perishables fresh for days. The Grid was a bustling marketplace, with throngs of locals, sailors, and traders feverishly buying and selling around the clock.
As they walked farther from the pylons, the air grew warmer, and the lights of the marketplace grew dimmer. Not that the scant light mattered much—the market outside the pylons was not a pleasant sight. Dilapidated buildings, rotting food that hadn’t sold, and refuse illegally dumped by dock crews became more and more prevalent as they pushed their way through the thinning streams of people. Ashlyn broke down first and plugged her nose.
“Here it is—the Breakwater.” Cade knew more than a handful of the locals had alternatively christened it the Breakwind, for reasons unsurprising. “If we’re going to get to Toltaire, we’re going to need to find a captain not helming a transport ship. Not to mention one who won’t ask too many questions.” He pointed to the strip of taverns along the rough cobblestone road.
“Okay,” said Jace, “where should we start first? The Breakwater Lighter, the Hallowed Harem, or the Siren’s Song?”
Cade looked to the Lighter. He saw a few men with too-short necks loitering in the front, talking in hushed voices and looking over their shoulders. He turned his sights to the Harem. True to its name, he saw women in bright red dresses and deep red lipstick hollering to any passerby who looked like they might have a chipcoin to their name. Lastly, he looked to the Siren’s Song. There he saw a pile of passed-out men next to the garbage cans and another man doubled over and retching in the alley.
“There,” said Cade, pointing to the Siren’s Song.
Jace nodded. “All right, I’ll do the talking.”
“Wait. What?”
“It’s nothing personal, Cade. We need to charm them a bit first, right? Naturally, that’s me.”
“I’m charming. Besides, you look like a tax collector with that giant book tucked under your arm.”
Cade looked back at Jace, who met his gaze with narrowed eyes. “I’m doing the talking,” they said at once.
Jace put out his fist. Cade looked at him and followed suit. Ashlyn sighed, rolling her eyes.
“One, two, three!” they said in unison.
Cade’s hand remained a fist. Jace had made his hand into the shape of a gun.
Cade smiled. “Bomb beats caster.”
“I thought that caster beat bomb?”
“What? How do you not know that? We played this in school.”
Jace shrugged. “It was a long time ago.”
Satisfied, Cade, Ashlyn, and Jace walked into the Siren’s Song. Cade studied each of its occupants as they passed, making mental notes.
They were accosted only moments after they had seated themselves at the bar. A dried gourd of a man with a too-large head teetering upon a thin neck leaned against the bar. He stared at Jace, smoking a short pipe, his face only inches away from Jace’s.
Jace cleared his throat. “Can I help you?”
The man continued to stare at him, unblinking, and blew dark brown pipe smoke into Jace’s face. Cade made to stand up when the man slapped a large coin onto the bar in front of Jace.
A challenge coin. Chalician Navy, by the looks of it. Cade reached in his pocket and placed his own coin on the bar next to the man. Serif letters adorned its edge, which read, “Sons of the Traveler.” The man cast his eyes upon Cade. Cade met his gaze. “He’s with me.”
The man snorted, snapped up his coin, and skulked back to his table.
“What was that all about?” asked Jace.
“If you don’t have a coin of your own, you have to fight the challenger in a duel.”
“What?”
Cade laughed. “I’m joking. You’d just have to buy him a drink. Though if I hadn’t put my coin down, the whole bar would have eventually cleaned you out. There appear to be quite a few veterans here, from the looks
of it.”
The barmaid approached, a buxom young woman with olive green eyes. “What’ll it be, travelers? Rockland Rooter? Wraith’s Draught? Grinolt Gassers, perhaps?”
Cade shook his head and slid a large chipcoin toward the girl. “Not here to drink.”
In a single deft yet graceful motion, the girl pocketed the coin. Occupational skill, no doubt. Cade did notice a string of small hilts jutting out from behind her leather bodice as she put the coin away. Throwing knives, by the look of them. He had a hunch that working here she knew how to use them. The girl, expression now serious, nodded to Cade.
“We’re looking for a captain with a ship to take us to Toltaire. The faster the better.”
“Captains we have, aye. Most of these cowards can’t even piss straight, much less sail. But there’s a few.” She pointed to a proud-looking woman, eyes like lit torches. “That there is Tryst Forecall. Best sailor in the joint, by my estimation. Though a word of caution, she’s got a temper like a loosed arrow and a mouth to match.”
The captain sat with a group of men in blue uniforms. Cade had seen them before. King’s Navy. Hells.
“Who else?”
She shrugged. “I’m not sure. It’s a pretty crowded place.”
Cade sighed and slid another chipcoin across the bar. The girl smiled.
“That man with the wide hat there has right solid sea legs. His skiff isn’t the fastest one out there, but you’ll find none more reliable.” Damn. He’d have to do.
Jace cut in. “What about him?” He pointed to the mountain of a man in the corner of the bar. He wore a crisp uniform of dark green and stood as tall as the Thread itself. He had no glass before him, a sentinel amongst the revelers. In contrast, next to him was a shirtless husk of a man with a mess of gray hair and tattoos that ran from his shoulders to the tips of his fingers. Hunched over, the man’s chin rested on the bar. His glassy eyes were open and aimless, and finding no purchase, decided to roll into the back of his head.
The girl just rolled her eyes. “Don’t bother, sweetheart. He hasn’t left port in a month.”
Jace leaned in close to the girl and gave her the half-smirk he did whenever he was trying to be charming. “Are you sure there isn’t anyone else you’re holding back on telling us about?”
The girl just looked at Jace for a moment, annoyed. Then she cocked her head to the side. Her eyes began to sparkle with opportunity as her red lips curled into a clever smile. “Well, there is one other captain…”
Jace perked up. “Really? Who?”
The girl held her chin up high. “Why, only the greatest captain the world has ever known, of course: Captain Wraithbane!”
Cade grabbed Jace’s shoulder. “Come on, Jace, let’s—”
Jace leaned forward, ignoring him. “Who is that? I’ve never heard of him.”
Cade kicked him hard under the bar.
“Ow!” Jace glared at him.
The girl put her hands on her cheeks in feigned surprise. “You don’t know!” She grabbed an empty stein on the bar and slammed it on the bar three times.
A handful of men throughout the bar let out a roar. Jace’s eyes opened wide and he stared at Cade, whose head was already buried in his hands.
The bar began to chant the shanty:
“Captain Wraithbane he’s insane,
Captain Wraithbane feels no pain.”
A man behind them stood up and took the lead, swinging his mug as he sang. Jace just bit his lip, helpless to stop it.
“He cuts through the Skex—one two three,
Leaves ’em dead, now we’re free.”
Soon the entire bar joined in.
“Captain Wraithbane fears no thane,
Captain Wraithbane strong as a train.”
“He steals from the crown, straight from the hold,
Gives to the people, all the gold.
“Captain Wraithbane may he reign,
Captain Wraithbane our domain.”
The bar cheered and hooted, pounding their wooden mugs against the tables. Cade just shook his head at Jace.
The girl, now beaming, said, “There are some who say he still sails to this day.” She turned to Cade. “Just give me wave if you change your mind about that drink.” She winked and hurried off.
Jace looked at Cade, confused. Cade sighed. “She was just playing with you, Jace. It’s just a legend from the war. Next time, let’s stick to me doing the talking.” Jace nodded, his face a deep red hue.
But the damage had already been done. A drunken man who reeked of fish and broken dreams, stumbled over to Jace. “So…you’re looking for a captain, are ya?”
Cade stood up. “No, thank you.”
The man looked at him, eyelids thin slits. “I’m not…not talking to you. Him,” he said, poking Jace’s chest with pointed finger. The man swayed like a boat on the ocean before leaning closer to Jace. “I’ll have you know I’m the finest sailor here.”
Damn, we’ve drawn way too much attention already, thought Cade.
Jace spoke, not making eye contact. “I’m quite certain that superlative is reserved for someone of a more pleasant odor.”
Hells.
The man swung at Jace, but not before Cade kicked him across the room, knocking down two tables along the way. In moments, the entire tavern was in an all-out brawl.
A brute of a man swung a chair at Cade. “I thought,” he yelled as he ducked the blow and punched the man in the stomach, “…we agreed…” He dodged a bottle that was aimed at his head. “…that I would do the talking!”
The doors to the entrance slammed open as a man yelled, “Skex! Skex have invaded the city!”
Those sober enough to comprehend what was happening dropped their fists and ran out of the bar. It was too late. The Skex had already arrived. Skex attacking a major city? Cade thought. There’s no way the king can maintain his silence now.
Cade caught a glimpse of a Skex skittering toward the door. The barmaid was already there, throwing the door closed and shoving the bar in place.
He felt a gentle tap on his shoulder. He turned to find the tall sentinel they had seen earlier. “This way,” the man said, pointing to the back door. They made it outside the bar just as the Skex breached the tavern and began to spill in. Though being outside wasn’t much better; more and more Skex had started to swarm from the Grid and into the other streets.
“Follow me.” The man ran with surprising speed, his long legs capable of great strides. It wasn’t until then that Cade realized the large man was carrying the drunk with the tattooed arms he had seen at the bar. He urged Ashlyn and Jace on until they came to the steep cliff where the Breakwater’s main strip ended.
Cade could hear a cacophony of screams and scraping claws growing louder behind him. They came to a great door inset into the cliff face, which was swung open.
Inside, they descended. When they reached the bottom of the carved stairwell, they were greeted by an enormous room, equal in size to the Stardome. Another underground construction of the Ancients, Cade marveled. Packed within were black market merchants with wares they couldn’t sell at the Grid. They scrambled to collect their goods as chaos broke loose. Fools. When the Skex come, you drop everything and run.
He saw medicine dealers fussing and tripping over bottles, smiths throwing cheap replica casters into bags, and even a large shop selling equipment for spies, which was already being looted by the opportunists taking advantage of the distraction. Cade looked at the other end of the underground market and saw a large door. Of course, he thought, that door should lead us straight to the edge of the docks where we were earlier.
They rushed through the stalls, and the noise in the enclosed space soon became deafening. They’re here.
Skex began spilling around the sides of the stalls, flanking those still in the center of the market. Including us, he thought.
The large captain skidded to a halt and pointed to the door they had been headed to. Skex were now swarming through it.<
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“Damn it. Head to the far wall!” Cade yelled. It wasn’t much of a plan, but it would buy them a few moments to think before they were flanked.
On the far side of the room, Cade and Jace searched for an opening in the metal wall. He could see strange characters embossed into the metal, but he could not decipher their meaning. The captain just shook his head. He knew there was none. Cade faced the room. They’d have to fight their way out.
Unbidden, something his father once told him echoed in his mind: There is great power in not knowing what’s impossible. He turned around again and looked at the wall.
“Cade! I can read this!” Jace exclaimed, waving him over. He pointed to one of the small symbols embossed in the metal of the wall.
“What’s it say?”
“Exit. I’m sure of it.”
Exit? “I don’t see any door.”
“Over here!” Ashlyn grabbed his wrist and before he could protest pressed his hand against an embossed square in the wall. The metal lit up when his hand made contact, just as other Ancient artifacts had been lighting up whenever he got close.
The large section of the metal wall began to creep up, inch by inch. His mouth fell open. “It’s a…”
“Waterfall?” Ashlyn said, stupefied.
Just beyond the metal doorway they had opened, the floor dropped off at least a hundred feet, and water gushed out on all sides of a colossal underground chasm, spilling water into a steaming lake below. The underground chasm easily dwarfed the market behind them. Sequences of immense pillars ran through the chasm and seemed to penetrate through the roof of wet stone. The pylons. We’re underneath the Grid, he realized.
“Over here!” a voice bellowed behind him. Cade spun and saw the captain in the stall with the spy equipment, his friend still draped over his shoulder like a rag doll. Next to him was a whisperboat.
Whisperboats weren’t illegal, but they were only ever used for smuggling operations. The sleek boat was ten feet long and painted matte black. Whisperboats were designed to be able to pack a lot in the water-tight storage just above the two long pontoons. The boats were man-powered, so there was no engine noise to contend with when stealth was required. There was only room for one to sit on the boat itself—the driver. Being used for smuggling, the design optimized for storage over passenger space.