How the hell they got the horses up here without them freaking out completely I don’t know, but they all seem in far too good condition to have been ported up here from the stables in the gatehouse. I remember how Kesla’s last mount, that spectacular big black destrier Ulrich, reacted to getting teleported after we escaped that avalanche, he was a mess for over an hour after. Either they’ve been given sufficient time to recover or they found some unknown way up for them that I can’t begin to fathom. There’s no way they could’ve transported them all using that weird floating platform, especially Shay’s massive stallion Elder.
He looks perfectly hale and hearty as she rubs his neck, chuckling as he nuzzles her face with clear affection. Certainly the attendant she took over from, big and beefy as he clearly is, seems unusually gentle for someone his size, which might explain how cool the massive horse was with him since we arrived. But even so, I can’t imagine anyone getting Elder up here on that thing without getting kicked off into a very long and very final drop in the process. I think even Shay might have trouble with that.
My own filly’s as happy to see me, I found, and I’ve decided that, since we’re clearly gonna be going ahead with these mounts in the future, she needs a proper name. So I wrack my brain as I feed her an apple from one of the saddlebags they were kind enough to return with our horses’ livery, trying to come up with something suitable. Ain’t easy for me, I never been good at this stuff.
“What about Silky?” Gael offers as she brushes the mane of her own mare, who she named Tandy the day she was finally strong enough to mount up again after we left Heldereth. “She’s very pretty, and it’s a pretty name.”
Considering it for a moment, I look at my horse. She chooses that moment to flick her nose up and essentially lands a big wet kiss on my mouth and nose, which has Gael laughing heartily. I feel my face flush, thankful it doesn’t show through my fur, but I can’t help smiling too as I give my filly’s nose a gentle nudge aside again. “What d’you reckon, lass? Silky? You like that?”
All she does is blink at me, but she then she steps forward to nudge my chest gently with her nose, and I take that as confirmation. “All right then, Silky it is.” I give her a scratch behind both ears and she snuffles a little in response with another affectionate little nudge. I offer up the last morsel of apple and she snorts it up enthusiastically.
“Art, Gael, you ready?”
Looking up, I find Kesla watching us from her saddle, and realise everyone else is mounted now. Gael gives me a quick look, then turns and nods her agreement before hefting her new staff and climbing up onto Tandy’s back with comfortable ease.
“Sure thing, boss.” I tip a quick salute her way before giving Silky a little pat on the neck, then swing up into the saddle myself, reflexively flicking my cloak out from under my backside before settling. After a little quick guidance I’m able to join Gael in clustering our horses with their others’ on the big seal in the centre of the atrium.
Thermyse, Wenrich and that incredibly tall elf, Aldercrown, take a few more steps out of range before turning back to regard us all. The magnificent dragonhalf speaks quietly with her fellow senior wizard for a moment before they both nod in seeming agreement, then she looks back up at us again. “Remember, if you have any trouble out there, we’ll be able to help, but even so, be careful. Hopefully this has nothing to do with what you recently faced in the Northern Reaches, but I don’t like the timing at all, so it’s better to be safe than sorry. Good luck to you all. Bring Darion home.”
“We will.” Gael promises, but I can’t help picking up a little nervousness when they say it.
Nodding, Thermyse looks to her fellow dragonhalf. “Master Saxiros?”
He frowns for a moment, but I don’t think it’s reluctance or annoyance at having us along, not this time. It’s still taking a lot to get used to his presence though, even just for the beginning of our journey. I remember when we first met him, back in Hocknar – he was an unbridled arsehole, arrogant, superior, condescending and thoroughly dismissive, it made me want to stomp him into the floor. He’s been incredibly contrite since we’ve been reunited, but I can sense some reserve underneath it all, still a trace of that superior high-ranking bureaucrat lurking under the surface. “Of course. Please keep your horses under control.”
Taking up his own reins in one hand, he’s still able to weave an impressively complex looking sigil between his deft taloned fingers, finally muttering under his breath as the silver lines beneath our mounts’ hooves flare brightly. Once again the transition’s way smoother than I expected, but I’m left blinking in disorientation all the same as we suddenly find ourselves someplace new.
New, perhaps, but not all that different, really. There’s a certain similarity in our surroundings which instantly says Silver Order to me, or at least something associated with them. The walls and floor, which is also inlaid with a selection of silver teleportation circles, are appointed with that same gleaming, smoothly polished white stone, although the domed ceiling arcing high above us is a notable difference. The whole thing’s been painted with a striking stylised frieze that takes a moment for my mind to translate, until I recognise several moments from the saga of the Founding War of Rederra. Even if I didn’t already know where we were headed, seeing this would’ve told me enough. We’re in Untermer, which means I’m home.
Silky shakes her head, a little flustered by the transit, but not so much as I would’ve expected after all, and Tandy seems to be thoroughly chill about the whole thing, as does Yeslee’s big draft-horse. Trampler seems somewhat displeased, shaking his head as he snorts and pads about while we start to spread out now we’ve arrived, but Tulen, Saxiros and Gael’s friend Jathran’s horses are clearly as used to this kind of travel as their riders. The new mount they gave Krakka’s a little more skittish, but he calms soon enough as the tengu pats his neck and mutters something under his breath I suspect is a calming blessing from his goddess.
Elder goes a little crazy for a few moments, and I’m not at all surprised. He lets out a low, angry bellow and wheels about as Shay fights to correct him, pulling hard on her reins as she tries to soothe him, and for a few fraught moments I think he might actually try to buck her off, maybe even bolt. But she starts to calm him by increments, and after another minute he stops pacing about and the whites of his eyes go away again, his snorting breath returning to something approaching normal. Shay strokes his neck and continues to coo gently until he’s under control again, finally risks jumping down, still keeping the reins tight in her hand.
“You all right now, you big daft idiot?” she mutters low to him as she strokes his nose with one hand while finally letting go of the reins so she can fish around in her coat pocket for a moment. She produces a handful of oats and holds it out for him and he scarfs the lot in a two greedy bites, but this seems to be the last thing he needs to chill out. Shay rests her forehead on his and sighs. “That’s better.”
“Okay … we good?” Kesla enquires after a few more moments. Trampler seems to be as collected as he was before we left.
“I think so, yes.” Shay gives Elder’s neck one last pat and retrieves the reins before mounting again. “Sorry about that.”
Kesla shrugs. “To be honest, I saw it coming. He’s a handful so I’m glad he at least trusts you.”
“Very well.” Saxiros is frowning a little, but far from the frustration I would’ve expected over this near miss, he’s actually pretty cool about the whole thing. He wheels his own horse around towards the passage cutting out to the right, then looks to Kesla. “Shall we?”
“Y’know where we’re going?”
“I’ve been here before, yes. This way.” He gently spurs his mount into a fast walk and we all muster our own horses into rough order to follow him out.
The first thing I notice as we move through is the clear rise in temperature compared to where we were before. Granted, we’re inside a well-ventilated but still suitably cool stone building, but there’s a certain pervading warmth here compared to Bavat that’s familiar enough to me. It grows subtly as we follow the passage, encountering the odd individual or group on our way, none paying us much mind as we pass … at least until they encounter Driver 8, who’s still casually plodding along at our rear. He’s got his makeshift cloak drawn around him with his hood up and his greatsword and greataxe strapped across his back, but there’s little he can do to hide his distinctive glowing red eyes.
When we finally emerge from the passage we find ourselves in a high, spacious lobby picked out in darker stone, rougher-hewn granite now marking a more austere décor than before. There are tall, thick pillars supporting the domed roof far above us, where bright afternoon sunlight pours through the impressively substantial glass panes of the skylight windows. The walls are curved, broken by three tall, broad arches, their impressive polished dark red wood doors propped wide open at this time. I know where we are now, of course. This is Untermer’s Transit House, home of the Shipping Authority.
Folk are coming and going freely through the entire space, but for the first time I’m seeing a presence which was noticeably absent in Bavat – armed and armoured troopers representing the Occupation forces of the Tektehran Empire’s installed Provisional Government. Some are simply moving singularly or in small groups with the rest of the people here, going about their own business, but scattered pairs and trios are clearly here on guard duty. Kesla must make the connection the same time I do, I hear a sharp intake of breath from her the same time she reins Trampler in a little, and I let Silky trot up alongside her.
“Hey, boss, chill. We expected this, remember?”
She turns to me after a beat, and the look on her face is sharper than I’d like, but she covers well enough as she lets out a long sigh. “Yeah, I know. It’s just been a while, y’know? We don’t see too many of ‘em in Hocknar, it’s easy to forget.”
“Yeah, well I don’t like ‘em any more’n you do, but it’s gonna be a fact of life while we’re here. Might be wise to get your game face on, huh?”
Saxiros and Jathran have continued ahead of us, so we prod our horses on to catch up with the others, falling in on either side of Shay as she follows Driver 8 into the open now. That last rise in warmth hits as we exit through the widest central doorway, and our surroundings brighten immediately as the cloudless blue sky stretches unbroken above us. An Untermer sky … gods, I missed that.
The Square of Commerce is bustling madly in the advancing afternoon, people from almost every walk of life and corner of our own land and those around it going about their lives. For every person who lives here there must be another half dozen visitors from further afield, Untermer being one of the greatest travel and trade hubs in Rundao so all life passes through here eventually. I almost rein up again right outside the doors seeing this, it gladdens my heart more than I expected it to.
Instead I accompany the others, taking care with Silky as I guide her down the broad and shallow circling steps. We all finally rein in at the bottom, hooves clopping noisier than ever on the worn cobblestones underfoot, and Saxiros takes a moment to get his bearings before pointing towards the rising lines of buildings climbing the hill, radiating out from the harbour and low city. I already know where we’re heading, I know these streets well as the pads of my paws, and I could find my way round with my eyes closed. In my sleep if I needed to.
As we start moving around the Transit House, guiding our horses through the loose press of the milling crowds towards the turn into the Midway Mile, Shay cranes about for a moment with a frown. “What’s that smell?”
“Civilisation.” Kesla answers “This place stinks as much as any other big city. Bavat’s cleaner than most I visited, but this one’s plenty ripe.”
“No, not that. There’s something else.” Shay takes a little whiff of the air. “It’s … sharp. Salty. I’ve never smelt it before.”
I have to smile. “That’s brine. It’s the sea, you can smell it in the air all over this city. We’re close to the harbour right now, so it’s strong, but even on the summit of the hill you’ll still be able to pick it up.”
“It’s … it’s interesting. I can’t tell if I like it or not.”
“Well I love it. When I first went inland and headed north it was the strangest thing to me when I couldn’t smell it anymore. It was like there was something wrong with the world. Took me the longest time to get used to that.”
We ride on for a few more moments before Shay sighs wistfully. “I’ve never seen the sea, but my father told me about it. He said it’s one of the most beautiful things in the whole world.”
“You got a treat ahead o’ you, then.” I grin at her sidelong. “I’ll show you later.”
Shay smiles back. “I’m looking forward to it.”
The Midway Mile is the main thoroughfare climbing into the richer districts of the upper classes in Untermer, but more importantly the main route to take to reach the true seats of power in the city. Saxiros spurs his horse into a brisk trot as he begins the gradual climb, and we’re quick to follow his example, making short time in closing the distance as we follow the wide, arrow-straight cobbled road up the gentle slope of the hill. We pass glass-fronted shops and restaurants and a fair few hotels as we go, the establishments growing more grandiose as we climb higher. Before long we start seeing fancy carriages roll by too, and most of the people on the pavements or crossing the street are dressed in expensive finery we’d be hard pressed to find below the Square.
I’ve never been this far up the hill before, and I’ve long since begun to feel distinctly out of place. Sure, back in my Thieves Guild days there were times I did sneaky burglaries in this area, but this far up the Mile the estates are rich enough to have the kind of security even my kind wouldn’t be stupid enough to tun the risk of meeting. The true nobility of Untermer live in the Golden Quarter, some of them rich and influential enough to employ small standing armies to police their grounds. Professional thieves don’t fuck with that shit.
Looking at Shay and Kesla now I can tell they’re thinking much the same, that they don’t belong here either. Most of the businesses have been left behind now – the buildings we’re passing now are administrative, branches of the Civic Authority itself, although these days they’re mostly puppets of the Provisional Government. State-run banks, offices of civil service and, up ahead where we’re obviously going, the sprawling estate of Rederra House, heart of the Authority.
The buildings on either side open out as the Midway Mile ends, the cobbles now cutting round in an immense circle over three miles round in either direction, surrounding the grounds of Rederra House. The whole estate’s surrounded by a tall, imposing solid stone wall, topped with tightly-packed metre tall iron spikes, but the buildings within still tower into the sky, great dark stone spires vaguely glinting in the afternoon light. There are hundreds, maybe thousands of windows running up and down those towering structures, each glazed with intimidatingly large panes of glass. They immediately draw the eye as we approach – those windows alone must’ve cost a fortune. Between them and the wall seem rise the canopies of dozens of trees..
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“This it?” Kesla ponders, slowing Trampler to a walk again as the others ahead do the same.
“Looks like it.” I finally tear my eyes away from the towers to inspect the gates we’re riding towards. They’re solid and imposing as the perimeter wall, made of the same heavy iron as the spikes and, I’d imagine, incredibly thick, probably weighing a few tons each. I wonder if Driver 8 himself might find them a challenge to get through.
“I’ve never seen so much glass all in one place.” Shay breathes, gaping up in wonder. “And how the hell do they get them so big?”
“Magic?” I offer up, not particularly serious in my supposition.
“Ask Gael when we get in, they’ll know.” Kesla replies “This is their world now, not ours.”
“Yeah, I dunno about that, boss. Don’t reckon even Gael belongs in a place like this.” I frown as we draw close to that gate. “Not sure I wanna know who does belong here.”
Shay cocks a brow my way. “Didn’t you grow up here?”
“Not round here I didn’t. ‘Least I weren’t raised up on the hill. To be honest I dunno where I was born, any more’n I know who I was born to.” I shrug at her sudden frown, a little flicker of regret behind it now over the question. “I grew up down there, on the other side of the river. Where the poor live.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be, I was fine. Got the same kinda upbringing you did, I reckon. I was cared for, cared about. Had a lot of friends. Even if they weren’t family, they felt like it to me.”
Shay looks at me for a moment, finally nods, smiling again. “Good. That’s good. I’m glad.”
Saxiros has drawn his horse to a halt and dismounted up ahead, and the others are starting to spread out as he steps towards the gate. We rein in our own horses and Kesla jumps down immediately, starting to weave through the group to join him now. I think about going to join her, and Shay clearly feels the same, but in the end we stay where we are, watchful now.
There’s no-one guarding the gate, but as they approach it a smaller door suddenly springs open in the left side panel, seeming to swing out as if from a perfectly smooth surface, and it’s not just a townsguard like I would’ve expected. It’s a Terror trooper.
There’s a reason Tektehran soldiers are sometimes not thought to be real living beings, but perhaps something closer to golems. They’re all almost always tall and imposing, broad in shoulder and clad head to foot in armour, a heavy brigantine cuirass with skirts and laminar pauldrons, and heavy, solid-looking plated boots and gauntlets. Every inch of metal seems to have been treated during its forging so it’s as bloody red as their thick, quilted gambeson and heavy wool cloak. The most striking thing, however, is their headgear, instantly recognisable throughout the lands as the mark of a Terror shock trooper. A broad-brimmed kettle helm, sporting a very simplistic squared facemask with a smoked glass visor and quilted cowl which thoroughly dehumanizes each and every one of them.
This one’s just as intimidating as the rest, having to stoop to get through the hatch, and they’re carrying one of the most massive shields I’ve ever seen strapped to their left arm, it’s only about a foot shorter than they are and very thick. The three pointed iron star of Tektehr is painted on it across fields of red, blue, tan and black, while in their other hand they carry one of the scariest fucking halberds I ever seen, the blade heavy and clearly very sharp. He also has two shortswords hanging on either hip.
The door slams closed behind them and they stop after the first step, letting the halberd drop through their hand to hit the ground with a heavy click that’s clearly meant as punctuation. They square their shoulders and plant their feet apart just enough to be comfortable, and that visor slowly turns as they take us all in, finally settling on Saxiros and Kesla as they stop a few feet away. When they speak their voice is muffled by the mask, but clear and deep and decidedly masculine all the same, and his accent’s even thicker than Yeslee’s: “State your business. Quickly.”
“My name is Master Taphun Saxiros, of the Silver Order. I have business with the Provisional Government’s top representatives. My colleagues here, the Creeping Bam, led by Mistress Kesla Shoon, also have business of some urgency with senior officials of the Authority. It would be greatly appreciated if we were not kept waiting.”
Throughout this entire address Saxiros lays on that same superior arrogance I remember from our first meeting good and thick, but this time I can’t help feeling it’s more of an act, as much for our benefit as his own. I find myself holding my breath for a moment to see if it’s as successful as he clearly intended.
That being said, the Terror’s mask makes it infinitely hard to tell. He doesn’t move, doesn’t even seem like he’s heard us, he just stands there, slowly scanning us all while his gauntleted fingers clink subtly as he tightens his grip on the halberd’s tall shaft.
After a few more beats I start to think maybe they’re not gonna let us in after all, and I can tell Saxiros is starting to get a little frustrated too as the amount of his face that I can see is starting to darken. Just as I’m sure he’s about to repeat himself or worse, perhaps even try ordering the trooper around, which I’m sure won’t end well, there comes a great commotion from the other side of the gate. For a moment I think a small fight might’ve broken out back there, then I realise it’s just a whole lot of bolts shooting and locks turning, and finally a raising bar. Then both gates start to swing inwards with startling ease considering they’re clearly so heavy, and the trooper turns on his heels in a very practiced smooth motion before swiftly marching back inside through the widening gap.
“Reckon that means we’re welcome, then.” Kesla says after a moment’s pause, and Saxiros simply sighs with clear frustration before turning back to his horse. Even so, Kesla’s remounted before him, and as he gets his reins in order she’s already leading the way in. Falling into rather shabby order, we try not to clump up behind her as we follow.
Inside the walls looks completely different, lush green lawns and artistically arranged gardens clearly lovingly tended by a talented grounds team growing amongst the buildings and smoothly raked white gravel drives. What appeared to be several buildings from the exterior turns out to be one single structure, the various spires rising out of a single curving terrace which seems to form a vast crescent moon shape, albeit with blunted tips. There are more of those impossibly large single-pane windows lining large stretches of it, but also curving staircases leading up onto the roof, and several large double doors besides, with two large entrances in the end of either prong. Interestingly, while the spires are uniformly dark, almost black stone, much of the main structure seems to have been constructed from a richer red, more like huge blocks of fired clay. The contrast is, I imagine, intentionally striking.
The trooper stops us all before we’ve even moved from the cobbled entry onto the gravel drive, and when I hear the gates shunting closed behind us I look back to find at least ten more locking up or spreading out around us. All armed to the teeth.
“The main entrance in the middle, across the way.” the first one informs us. “Keep off the grass.”
“Of course.” Saxiros answers with a little more clipped impatience in his tone than I’d really like, but I don’t think he cares right now. Thankfully the trooper doesn’t pick up on it, simply stepping aside again so we can start making our way around the inside of the curve of the veranda.
For a little while we all just ride quietly, most of us taking in the rich and colourful, well-tended flowerbeds, bushes and water-features generously dotting the open grassy space as they pass us by. Saxiros, however, seems to be stewing the whole way, finally growling under his breath for a moment before muttering: “Bloody Terrors. I must admit, my last visit to this fine city was a good deal more pleasant and straightforward than this is turning out to be. No bloody manners at all, I swear.”
“I couldn’t agree with you more, Master Saxiros.” Kesla commiserates with a solemn nod that I’m sure she’s simply putting on. He turns to look at her for a long moment, and I wonder if he’s going to go off on her like I would honestly expect, but then he actually starts to smile.
“Indeed.” he answers after a moment, nodding in agreement.
“So this is how nature works in Untermer, then?” Shay asks after a few more moments of riding in a far more pleasant mood. “It looks like it’s all been cut and sculpted into fancy little patterns. That’s not right at all.”
“You’re damn right there.” Yeslee grunts, genuinely surprising Shay, whose brows shoot straight up as she looks back over her shoulder.
“Rich people can do whatever they want, Shay.” Kesla sighs “It’ll be worse in the manors. Reckon a few of ‘em got their own little miniature forests, stocked with game and stuff just for ‘em to shoot with crossbows when they get bored so they can pretend they’re hunting.”
Yeslee hisses with clear disgust. “Fucking … no. I hate that.”
“Me too.” Shay nods along with a face like she’s smelled something she really doesn’t like.
We’ve nearly come all the way round to the main entrance in the centre of the veranda, the wide curving stone staircase leading up to it hoving into view, and the sweeping bushes part on our left to reveal what I take to be a statue at first. Then I realise what it really is and I’m sure I’m not alone, a genuine hush descending on our whole group as we take it in. It can’t be what I think it is, but as it comes fully into view it couldn’t be anything else.
There’s a bloody golem stood on a plinth directly across from the entrance, mounted like a centrepiece sculpture intended to complete the garden. We keep riding for a few more moments until we’re directly in line with it, and when we finally rein in I’m already off Silky’s back before she’s quite stopped. I’m not alone, Kesla and Gael are already making their way towards it. More importantly, Big Man’s moving too.
“Bloody hell … it can’t be, can it?” I mutter to myself, but Kesla shoots me a look before shrugging, looking a little shaken too.
“Hey you, that’s close enough!”
We freeze where we are, and I realise I’m about to step off the gravel onto the ridiculously short grass of the lawn. That first trooper’s words come back to me and I wonder how close I just came to incurring some dread penalty I never conceived of before. It’s a notion I just can’t fathom, grass you ain’t allowed to walk on.
Another half dozen faceless Terror troopers are converging on us from previously unseen vantage points around the building, all as heavily armed as those back at the gate. There’s a seventh man with them who’s dressed somewhat like them, but on closer inspection his armour’s richer, carrying stylistic details that set it apart as something better than what’s clearly a mass-produced standard-issue uniform. He’s as tall and definitely as broad as the rest, but he carries himself differently, more of a swagger. Most notable of all, though, is the simple fact that he’s not wearing a helmet, or hauling around a halberd and shield. Instead he wears a bastard sword slung low on his hip in much the same style as Kesla, resting his hand gently on the hilt as he approaches.
He’s very striking, too. The word handsome wouldn’t quite do him justice, he’s got cheekbones I could cut myself on, lips which are almost obscenely full and eyes so blue it’s like staring into the sky overhead. He’s clean shaven, but keeps his hair long to his shoulders, rich chestnut brown locks so charmingly unruly he must spend an hour every morning making it look just right.
“Stand down, sergeant.” He growls at the lead trooper, and they bow their head for a moment before backing down. Then he casts a brilliant smile our way, teeth impressively white and straight. “My apologies, you are of course our honoured guests.”
Saxiros dismounts again and steps forward, frowning a little again as he looks the young man over, more cautious now. “Well met, sir. I am, of course, delighted to see that at least one of our recent visitors from the North has some actual manners.” He extends his hand.
The man cocks a thoughtful brow as he returns the dragonhalf’s appraisal, then accepts his hand and shakes it firmly. “My honour, of course. I’m afraid most of the men under my command are essentially hammers, they don’t have enough finesse to appreciate a nuanced situation. To hammers, everything tends to look nails, and they act accordingly.”
“Extremely well said, my friend.” Saxiros smiles too, now. “You’re most astute. Master Taphun Saxiros, of the Silver Order, at your service.”
“Captain Vessof Ceinog, of the Untermer Occupational Garrison, at yours.” He finally lets go of Saxiros’ hand, turning to look the rest of us over. His gaze lingers a little on me, Krakka too, but far more on Yeslee, who frowns deeper than she did when she first saw the gardens, but also refuses to look away. Then he gets to Driver 8.
Ceinog grins. Just for a moment there’s a hunger in his gaze as he examines our friend, even under his cloak and hood, that worries me. Then he turns to Kesla. “Forgive me, I never expected to see a live golem walk right into the heart of the Authority. No wonder my men were so up in arms.”
Kesla frowns at that. “So this one ain’t –”
“Unfortunately this recent addition to the landscaping is, as far as anyone can surmise, quite inert. I’m afraid most of the golems that turn up tend to be in this sorry condition, which is why a walking and, I would imagine, talking one is always such a rare surprise.”
Driver 8 simply observes the other golem for several moments. “Where was this one found?”
“Honestly, I don’t know.” Ceinog sighs, shaking his head. “You would have to ask the staff here, my men and I are merely in charge of security within and around the perimeter.”
Somehow I don’t believe this guy, the way he looks at Big Man is just too … fervent. Like he’s excited by this new discovery, and looking for an angle he can exploit. When I look to Kesla she’s watching him close too, likely thinking the same thing.
“So I take it you are Kesla Shoon.” Ceinog turns to our leader, his gaze still appraising, but in a different way now. Sizing her up, one warrior to another. Then again, she’ll be doing the exact same thing.
“I am.” Kesla doesn’t offer a hand any more than one’s offered to her. On the surface they’re being perfectly pleasant, but underneath some feelings are definitely boiling up. I wonder if he recognises her name? “This is Master Gael Foxtail, also of the Silver Order. We got business with the Authority.”
“Indeed you do.” Ceinog seems happy enough to shake Gael’s hand, it seems, and they seem to recognise the significance of this as Kesla and I do. “If you’ll accompany me, the representatives both your parties are here to meet will be waiting inside. You can leave your horses here, my men will look after them.”
Kesla cocks a brow as she looks at the rest of us, and I jump from my saddle without any need for further word, the others following my example quick enough. I give Silky a reassuring stroke before joining Kesla, looking back to find Shay taking a moment to soothe Elder too before following. She gives me a pointed look as she joins me, and I just shrug in response, hoping she’s following a similar train of thought to mine.
The guards suddenly muster as we start climbing the stairs, and I almost go for my sword it’s so quick. It takes me a beat to realise they’re moving to intercept Driver 8, who’s coming along right after us, and he stops as they spread out around him, that same trooper from before barking: “Halt, golem! You may come no further!”
“Now wait a minute, captain.” Saxiros rounds on Ceinog, visibly bristling now in the strongest show of his former self I’ve seen so far, his indignation clear. It’s interesting that it’s very much for our benefit this time. “These people are here in service to the Order, and therefore they are above reproach. You may not bar any of them entry.”
“But captain –" The lead trooper turns enough to look up at his commanding officer.
“Calm yourself, sergeant.” Ceinog holds up a warding hard, but his eyes never leave Saxiros. “My apologies again, Master Saxiros, but I’m afraid our protocols are there for very good reasons. Your people will, of course, be asked to disarm themselves upon entry for the duration of their time here, and I’m afraid that includes their … companion, here. You understand how great a risk we’d be taking allowing a war golem to waltz right into the heart of power in this city.” His eyes flicker to Kesla for a moment, and I see she’s bristling too, but holding it tight.
He's ready for a fight, I notice now. Maybe he’s even hoping for one, I get a little bit of that feeling from him. He’s transferred his offhand from the hilt of his sword to the top of the scabbard, gripping it tight now, ready to draw with his empty right which I can see starting to flex. Just waiting for Kesla to make the move he’s hoping for.
“It is all right, Kesla.” Driver 8 rumbles, and when we all look at him I see he hasn’t moved an inch since this started. Now he takes a step back and plants his feet, arms hanging as harmless as he can make them seem at his sides, I reckon. “My presence is unnecessary at this time, I should be fine remaining here. I will watch over the horses, and their guards.”
I can’t help it, I have to give a little cocked grin to those last words. He said them as flat and matter-of-fact as he always does, yet somehow I think there might’ve been … a tone underneath somehow. Like he’s making a particularly snide observation of our current hosts. Sometimes I think we forget just how damned smart Big Man actually is.
Krakka steps back down off the bottom step now, hefting his hammer to rest on his shoulder in his usual casual manner. “I’ll stay with him, boss. I wouldn’t feel comfortable handing Bloodmoon over anyway.” He eyes the sergeant with very open suspicion as he says it.
Kesla frowns down at him, then turns back to Ceinog again, finally letting a frustrated sigh go and rolling her shoulders a little, ostensibly to relieve some of her tension I’m sure, but maybe she’s making a point all the same. “All right, captain. Reckon we’ll have to make do with those terms.”
Cocking a brow, Ceinog gives her his own half-smile as he swings into his next step back up the stairs again. “Excellent. If you would be so kind, then?” He carries on without a further look back to see if any of us are following.
While the rest start to climb, I realise Yeslee’s stopped where she is, looking back at Driver 8, and I reckon she’s considering staying behind with him too. I’ll admit I’m surprised to see it. When we first found Big Man I remember her being very wary about keeping him around, not trusting him as far as she could ever dream of throwing him, and while she’s become less standoffish around him in our time since, I’ve never really seen her warm to him. This is the first genuine consideration I’ve ever seen her put towards him.
“C’mon, Yes. This shouldn’t take long, we’ll see ‘im again soon enough.”
Yeslee blinks, almost seeming startled to hear me now. She gives me a long, complicated look, then looks back at Driver 8 and Krakka one last time as the Troopers move away from them both, but not too far. She frowns deep and finally turns back to her climb again, and I swear she looks ready to spit. “Fucking Terrors.” she mutters under her breath, and I can tell that’s just for me.