Garihelm is sometimes called the Floating City. It’s easy to see why, once you’re in its streets.
Built at the edge of a floodplain on a series of islands hugging the mouth of a great river where it empties into the bay, much of the city rises directly over the water. Great thoroughfares and bridges span those depths, and the whole of it is made up of stacked layers — streets rising over streets, homes built within the shadow of high cathedrals and trade avenues. Walking within the walls, it all seems to tower over you, even as it drops into uncertain depths beneath, into a swallowing fog.
And there is a near constant fog. Reynwell is a temperate land, with mountains on its southern border and many lakes and rivers. Garihelm, set in the kingdom’s north, enjoys a climate which keeps it in a near constant veil. Soft haze coils above the canals and lower streets so the higher parts of the city seem to rise up out of thin clouds.
It is an old place. On every street there are weathered statues. Garden districts and temple streets seem to hover locked in time, centuries old masonry doggedly weathering the damp environs.
When I’d been here last, the streets had been filled with flame and death. Towers and churches had been blasted by siege engines, and knights on sharp, deadly chimera had hunted the avenues like Death’s own riders.
I felt a stranger to it now. Instead of soldiers, merchants and traders from faraway lands filled the rows. The streets were crowded despite the bad weather. Garihelm is larger and more neatly planned than Vinhithe, its avenues wide and diligently maintained. The city had expanded since the war, new buildings erected to replace those burned or shattered by the Traitor Lords, the city rising up where the floodplains prevented it from expanding out.
Shops, manors, and stone basilica dominated the main thoroughfare where I remembered taverns and stables being, making the city look not only renewed but larger, its heights oppressing the streets below. Everywhere I could hear the sound of hammers, as the city literally grew around me with new expansions.
More than once, Emma and I had to clear the road to allow carriages or retinues of liveried knights pass, most of them heading toward the royal palace far away across the city, which I caught glimpses of here and there through gaps in the buildings, a towering edifice rising up from its own lonely island in the bay.
There were beggars on the streets, many of them refugees from some famine or outbreak of violence in a distant province of the Accorded Realms, entire families huddled in alleys beneath blankets and ragged cloaks to stare hollow eyed at the luckier souls passing them by.
I didn’t only see signs of despair and poverty, though. There were puppetmen and jugglers, troubadours and bards using shelter provided by building overhangs or one of the tall trees grown along the plazas to protect their instruments. Merchants hawked their wares, and proselytizers shouted from stacked boxes or makeshift stages. Poets and philosophers, who often resembled one another, debated for the entertainment of crowds, shouting at times to be heard over the echoing din of the city, the occasional rumbles of thunder punctuating clever rejoinders and bursts of emotion.
Chimeras glowered at the throng from the interiors of iron cages. I saw many varieties I had never seen before, often accompanied by handlers in strange garb carrying strange weapons, and I knew many of them must be from the continent.
Strange, how I felt so invisible in that human-made chaos. In the wilderness, in the rolling hills, endless forests, and labyrinthine mountain passes of the world I could feel complete in myself, singular, empowered by that vastness of space and voiceless memory. But in that city, surrounded by countless eyes and voices, I felt more alone and more forgotten than ever before. I felt I could be swallowed by those crowds, vanish into them like an ant into a sinkhole, and not a one would turn their head or alter their own course.
That, too, was a comfort in its way, the feeling that my actions and failures wouldn’t hurt the world so badly.
I swallowed that cowardly thought, and glided through the crowds.
***
“Make way! Make way!”
Emma and I moved out of the street along with near three hundred other people. Rain drummed against the roofs above, descending down to collect in the tilted bowels held by stone seraphs to fall into waiting channels along the street side. My ward and I ducked into the shelter of one of those overhangs, scattered waterfalls separating us from the avenue.
A horn sounded in the distance, and then another. I heard the rumbling gears of an enormous gate shifting, felt the stones beneath my feet subtly shudder, the sensation very similar to the thunder high up in the clouds.
The sound of iron-shod claws and tinkling bells drew our attention. Mounted figures moved down the wide street, one of the central ones near the main gates.
Knights.
They cast a striking image. They held no House banner I recognized, and I took them to be glorysworn. The lesser sons and daughters of great nobles seeking fame and fortune, which they would one day offer to the families they sought to rejoin.
These were Urnic knights, through and through. They wore long coats of chainmail reinforced by bronzed steel, brightly dyed surcoats, and decorative motifs of leaf and vine wrought from more precious metals. Their leader wore a glittering coat of scale armor beneath lighter plate, his helm crowned with twining branches wrought of brass.
He wore a long cloak colored in autumn hues, that Glorysworn rider, and had a ruby ring upon his right hand. He bore a winged spear, held tall and proud in the rain, the subtle impression of Phantasm shining off it like pale sunlight off a mirror.
I heard a name shouted through the throng. “Make way! Make way for the Spear of Ekarleon! Make way for Ser Jocelyn, the Ironleaf Knight!”
As the retinue passed, I caught a good look at Ser Jocelyn. Beneath the raised visor of his helm he was surprisingly young. His eyes were locked forward, his hand light on the reins of his mount. He rode a chimera bred and born of Urnic stock, not some western alchemy, its form very close to the traditional horse. It had a long, elegant head, leathery green hide, and pale green-white fur running from its skull to the tip of its sinuous tail, which whipped arcs of rainwater with every rhythmic swipe. Powerful legs tipped in hooves strong enough to crack plate struck the street, the sound echoing over the rooftops.
The rest of the Ironleaf Knight’s retinue rode reptilian beasts as well, though the others all seemed to come from a different stock, and had little of the destrier in them. Salamanders, with burnt-colored scales and wide, strong jaws, webbed ridges protruding from their decorative tack.
At my side, Emma watched the procession with very intense eyes. She so resembled a hawk, in those moments, her amber irises nearly vanishing as her pupils expanded — many noble families have something of the chimera in them as well, ancient alchemy worked into their blood in times of old. She had very sharp vision, and took in every detail on that rain-logged street.
Emma Orley looked at a future she longed for. I looked at a past I’d tried to forsake.
“Let’s go,” I said. “Daylight’s wasting.”
Turning, I ducked into an alley. Emma followed me, and the sound of the procession quickly muted as we put stone behind us.
“What’s the plan?” Emma asked me, checking the sword under her coat. She’d been doing that a lot. She paused to run a hand through her dark hair, cut boyishly short during our winter in the Fane, flicking water from it. “Are you going to meet this mercenary you’ve mentioned?”
“No,” I said. Before she could get annoyed with my vagueness I added, “I don’t know where Karog is. Catrin is supposed to get a message to him.”
I had no idea how she planned that, if she weren’t willing to enter the city. Perhaps she intended to swim through the shadows from a route beside the haunted undercity, or call in a favor with one of her colleagues or customers. Having a spy as an ally is very useful, but it can also be aggravating to feel uncertain when or how their help will appear.
Investigating the potential lead on Orson Falconer’s allies wasn’t my priority, anyway. I would wait for the dhampir to get word to me, before I rushed off looking for Karog. I needed a better idea of the situation in the city.
And I needed to talk to Lias.
“We’re looking for a nobleman by the name of Yuri of Ilka,” I said, reciting the alias Lias had given me. We passed into a smaller side street. The sound of hammers and the sight of smoking chimneys told me this was a craftsman’s district. I could make out guild marks over many doors — city ones, not the mysterious Edaean organizations I’d been told of.
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“And you know where to look?” Emma asked me. Her eyes wandered to a group of young men idling outside one of the shops, chatting beneath the shelter of a roof overhang. Apprentices, I guessed, or young journeymen on a break.
“Not exactly,” I admitted. I searched the street, and nodded to the far end where a taller building rose over the craftsman’s district. “But I imagine someone around will.”
I approached the inn. I took it to be an upper class establishment — it looked less weathered than the rest of the city, even welcoming, with four floors below an attic level, all of it done in a tiered design. It stood at the corner of a higher street, running along a narrow trench cut directly into the ground. I could hear water below, and assumed we were above one of the canals.
Inside the inn, a wave of warmth and conversation struck me. A pleasantly earthy aroma hung in the air, no doubt emanating from the censers hung from the ceiling. The space was well lit, with many nooks and alcoves containing fine oak tables where patrons sat and talked.
Nothing boisterous or festive here. This was a place of business, where guild masters and rich merchants broke deals and discussed the latest trends. All the customers I saw wore fine clothes, though the fashions tended toward the modest — this wasn’t a place for nobles, though I took a few in the main room to be from House stock, or at least the servants of here to talk shop.
An older man with a prominent mustache and receding red hair sidled up to us, folding a cloth over his arm he’d been using to clean one of the tables. “Help you?” He asked, his tone remotely polite. I imagined he felt nervous, seeing two obviously armed and armored strangers walk into his establishment.
Remembering the sign outside, I let a smile cross my lips and nodded. “This is the Hammer’s Rest? My apprentice and I are contractors from Lindenroad.” The coastal kingdom tended toward lighter armaments like the kind we wore, and I knew how to adopt the accent — it was the closest to the Dalelander lilt in all the northlands. “We were hired by a nobleman who goes by Yuri of Ilka. His correspondence told us to meet him here, but I’m afraid we might be a few days early.”
The innkeeper nodded, giving me no indication of recognition or skepticism. “I see. Well, the name isn’t familiar to me, but we have many highborn conduct their business here. Would you like a room?” He glanced at Emma. “Or two, perhaps?”
“One will do,” I said. We were used to sleeping under the same roof at Maxim’s cottage, and I imagined the rooms here would be expensive. “How much?”
The innkeep narrowed his eyes, and I silently cursed at my careless mistake. I doubted the patrons he normally got bothered asking about prices. He told me, and I had to hide a wince.
I paid him, then we were led to a table near the back of the establishment, on a raised section without much visibility from the rest of the patrons. Doesn’t want his richer customers seeing a pair of road-dusted vagabonds, I guessed, quietly grateful we hadn’t been shown the door. Neither of us wore good cloth, and I’d expected this.
“So what now?” Emma asked.
I held up a finger, and she fell quiet as a young barmaid, who I took to be the innkeeper’s daughter by her bright red hair, brought us wine. I caught the scent of it, and knew immediately it had been imported from beyond the subcontinent. It smelled of unfamiliar shores.
Strange sometimes, what insights my elven magic gave me.
“You two here for the tourney?” The young woman asked, smiling brightly. She glanced at me, and I saw her smile falter, replaced by a hastily hidden unease. I tended to have that effect on people, though I couldn’t be certain whether it was my size and dour features, or something to do with my preternatural nature.
She turned to Emma instead, who’d adopted her usual casual arrogance, with one raised eyebrow and an elbow propped insolently on the expensive elmwood of our table. My ward’s eyes flashed with interest and she leaned closer to the girl.
“Tourney?” Emma asked.
The girl nodded. “Yes! It’s still weeks off — got delayed with the late snows — but there’s to be a tournament of arms in the city. Lords and freeswords across the Accord are gathering to participate. The Emperor himself is hosting the event.”
“We saw a retinue of glorysworn enter the gates earlier,” Emma said.
The innkeeper’s daughter took a step forward, suddenly more animated. “That was Ser Jocelyn, the Ironleaf! You saw him?”
“I was barely fifty feet away,” Emma confirmed, grinning. “He’s here for this competition, I take it?”
“It’s supposed to take place after the council,” the girl said. “The Azure Round is holding its first moot in five years. It’s going to be a truly great affair. There will be balls, galas, great lords in discussion.” Her voice had a dreamy quality to it. “It’s all going to be very grand.”
“Indeed.” Emma’s eyes sparkled, and I suppressed a sigh. Leaning closer to the girl and lowering her voice so she wouldn’t be heard beneath the low din of the taproom, Emma continued in a more serious tone. “And what of the talk of violence in the city? Do you think that will have any bearing on this gathering?”
Some of the color drained from the red-haired girl’s already pale face. “You’ve heard about the murders?”
Emma nodded, her face suddenly grave. “Somewhat, but we just arrived.” She gestured to me.
“There was another one just a few weeks ago,” the girl said, leaning close enough her red hair brushed over the table. She’d completely forgotten about me, her eyes fixed on my apprentice’s. “It’s been happening for more than a year now, and they’re always dreadful. The victims have all been found…” she drew in a deep breath, and her voice became strained. “Hollowed out.”
Emma’s lips parted slightly. “How ghastly.”
“It’s not just that,” the innkeep’s daughter continued, determined now that her tale had found its momentum. “It’s the strangest thing, but do you know what a scarlbeetle is?” She continued without giving Emma time to reply. “It’s a type of insect found in the islands north of Cymrinor. They make carmine out of it, for dye and paint and such. Well…”
The girl placed her palms on the table, throwing both of us a conspiratorial look. “I’ve heard it said that each of the victims of this butcher have been found with scarlbeetles crawling around inside them.”
Emma met my eyes, the subtle edge of humor now fully fled from her.
“The Carmine Killer,” I said. “That’s why they call the murderer that, I’m guessing.”
The girl nodded. “Some folk say it’s magicker work. I mean, who puts bugs inside people’s bodies? It’s just horrible.”
Remembering something else I asked the girl, “who was the last victim?”
“A dignitary from Mirrebel,” she said. “A baroness, or so I’ve heard.”
Three weeks ago, according to Catrin, was when the city gates had shut. Had it been because of the murder of a noblewoman, someone involved in this gathering of the Accord’s leaders?
It seemed likely. I could just imagine the nobility shouting “assassin!”
Once the girl had gone, Emma stared after her with pursed lips.
“Don’t even think about it,” I said, sipping from a decanter of iced water. I ignored the foreign wine.
“And what, pray tell, do you believe I’m thinking about?” Emma asked, readopting her bored demeanor.
“Don’t play coy with me, Emma Orley. We are not going anywhere near that tourney. If I have my way, we’ll be long gone from the city before this gathering of the Azure Round even starts.”
Emma scowled and rested her chin on one fist. “I know. It’s just…”
“Just what?” I asked, lifting an eyebrow.
The highborn girl sighed, casting me a rare look of guilt. “It’s exciting, is all. I’ve never been to a city this large. I grew up in the countryside. Most Houseborn have seen more than a few tourneys by my age, and I only ever saw the occasional joust among Brenner’s knights.”
Her eyes slid from me to the rain-spattered window near our table. Overhead, distant thunder rumbled.
I considered her a while before speaking. I spoke in a soft voice, making certain no judgement came through in my words. “There will be plenty of fighters there. Knights, mercenaries, nameless warriors trying to find their fame.”
I clasped my fingers over the table and leaned back. “You could find your knighthood among them, Emma, noble name or no. You don’t have to fix yourself to my troubles.”
For a long while, Emma didn’t speak. I had no clue what thoughts drifted through her mind, or what inner demons she grappled with. We listened to the rain, the echoes of conversation around us.
I felt a shadow of fear form in me. If she chose to leave, I would let her. Yet, part of me didn’t want her to go, leaving me to wander alone again. I knew it would happen, someday — she had her own path to walk, and it wasn’t mine.
I just hadn’t considered our roads might split so soon.
“There will be other tourneys,” Emma finally said. “Other chances. I’ve only been your squire a season.” She met my eyes, and her lower jaw stubbornly stuck out. “I’m not going anywhere, Alken. You’re stuck with me, whether you like it or not.”
I kept the relief off my face and nodded gravely. “There will be other chances.”
Even still, I saw the longing in her. I felt a shade of it as well. When had I last stood on the field, the eyes of a cheering crowd on me, fighting for glory and the sheer thrill of it instead of for duty and hate?
I did miss it. But that wasn’t my life anymore.
“So what’s next?” Emma said, repeating her inquiry from before the local girl had told us her story.
I glanced toward the door. I’d used the name Lias had given me. I knew him, and I knew I wouldn’t have to wait long.
“Now we wait,” I said.
“For…” Emma tilted her head questioningly.
“Just trust me,” I said, sipping water again. The innkeeper brought food, and its rich smell made my stomach audibly growl. I guessed the rich fair was where much of my coin had probably gone. “You’ll see.”
Emma frowned, but we’d been on the road a long time and she tucked into her meal with gusto, leaving her questions for a less hungry moment. She’d lost much of her highborn manners since I’d taken her under my wing, and wasted little effort on propriety. I ate slower, my nerves taking much of my appetite away.
As I’d predicated, we didn’t have to wait long. The innkeeper returned, a pensive frown on his face. “Milord?” Drawing my attention, he gestured down into the taproom. “I have a man here who says he works for Lord Yuri. He wishes to speak with you.”
Nodding, I gestured with my chin to Emma and we left our half-eaten meals on the table to follow the innkeeper.
A man I didn’t recognize stood by the inn’s front door. He was below average height, so he even had to tilt his head upward to regard Emma. He had a pointy black beard, a powdery black wig long enough to fall between his shoulder blades, and skin so pale I suspected he’d powdered it as well. He wore a finely tailored jacket with long tails, both tipped in small bells which whispered as he turned to us.
“I am Gregori,” the small man said. He had a musical voice, lilting and deep, and regarded us with intelligent black eyes. “I am to collect you on behalf of my master, the Lord Yuri.”
He bowed to us. I caught Emma’s eyes and nodded, and we followed the servant from the Hammer’s Rest. Outside, a carriage made of rich red mahogany waited for us, pulled by two cockatrice — big, reptilian chimera resembling featherless birds with small leathery wings.
The man in the black wig helped us into the carriage, which proved to be spacious and comfortable. He didn’t follow us inside, instead taking the bench and snapping the reins. Soon, we were moving through the rain-lashed streets.
“Off to meet the wizard?” Emma asked, no hint of irony in her tone.
“You wanted a knightly quest,” I told her, leaning back on the cushioned seats. Lightning cracked the sky, a sign of the storm above growing angrier. “I have a feeling we’re about to get one.”