Chapter 5
To the west, beyond Harani, in the deep desert is a place we call the Lost Lands; others call them the Gray Lands. There is a huge magical anomaly there, perhaps a relic of the Great War and the Sundering, too far off the normal paths that people travel that the White Circle and all the other forces who scoured the land to restore the world after that missed it. Or perhaps it was beyond their power to deal with. We do not have deep access into the old archives of the White Island here at the DIC.
The biggest feature of this area is that it is a giant no-space block. If you try to fly there by native means, you will tumble out of the sky and none of our jump devices have been able to return people from the zone. Oddly enough, they will allow you to transport there, even though it’s a one way trip.
The area is surrounded by mineral rich mountains, but there is no practical way to use it as part of any trade network. The local production of minerals such as griffin’s bloodstone and black opal, although highly valued by some, is not considered economically valuable enough to mine directly by either the Trade or Exploration divisions, due to logistics, and the fear that the high value of the goods would be undercut by a larger supply. Rumors of using the zone by Transportation to eliminate undesirables so far have proven to be nothing but rumors, although the DIC is keeping that under observation. The DIC has therefore marked the area Highly Avoid unless you can set up a supply cache at the Runi Blahn or Zathron oasises, and be prepared to caravan in.
-DIC Operations Manual, Hazards Section
Violetta Greenleaf sat at a table under a deep awning, looking at the brown, forbidding landscape in front of her. The area, guaranteed at least some shade most of the day, a precious commodity in this sun-beaten land. The hosts of the inn she was staying out had figured out its value long ago, and scattered tables with their seats filled the area, but she was the only customer there for the moment. A bored Peri woman, occasionally fluttering her wings, sat behind a counter, ready to take any orders she or any newcomer might have, but Runi Blahn was not known as much of a tourist destination, and she had the view of the desert to herself. As far as she knew, she was the only person at the town’s one inn who was there for something other than business in the rare minerals the locals dealt in. Later, at lunch time, a few visitors would likely come straggling out, but midmorning was too early for anybody who had work to do to take in the sights.
She sighed, and pulled a light shawl over her shoulders a little closer. It was not hot; no, even this place did not get hot in the month of Ice, although the air wasn’t particularly cool, either, but thinking of what she wanted to do while staring at the daunting landscape put a chill in her heart. The land rolled out in front of her. Near the inn there were shrubs and desert-loving flowers, but that quickly trickled off with the area that was regularly water making a boundary. Off in the distance she could make out the lone road that headed into the deep desert, and far away, almost more as a suggestion than a reality, a line of mountains. The sunlight, even at midmorning beat down on the landscape, with almost nothing but the occasional large boulder to cast any shadow. In places where there was shadow, or a depression, she could make out small stands of some gray-green vegetation, more stick than leaf; everything else was rock and sand. Overhead, across the blue sky, a large bird circled, riding the air as it searched for something. There was not even a wisp of cloud.
She took a long sip of the tall drink in front of her, a watery drink flavored with some acid fruit. “Even looking at it makes me thirsty,” she muttered.
Chimes rang as the door to the patio opened. Footsteps echoed on the stone floor growing closer until they were right behind her, but she did not turn to look.
“There’s something about the view here, is there not?” a warm, deep male voice said. “Intimidating, yet challenging, awe inspiring, yet frightening. ‘You were not made for me,’ the desert whispers. ‘I dare you to find out my secrets,’ as if it knows that to the desert-called, the dare would be irresistible.”
“Ah, Xhindi, you found me,” Violetta said. A brief flash of interest crossed her face, and she pushed a strand of dark red hair off her forehead.
He continued to stand behind her. “It wasn’t hard. There are only very few places where visitors to our little town can go. I told you we would discuss our business this morning, and I knew where you were staying. But I wasn’t expecting you to be staring out at the desert. Does it call to you?”
“I’m not sure if it calls me or frightens me. It sounds like it calls to you loudly enough, though.” Violetta said. She templed her fingers together. “It has something...I’ve been to the Boundary Lands, mostly desert, but this...”
“Yes, there is something different about it. Many people react that way, with both fear and attraction. Yes, that is how it works. Choose wrongly, and you die, but still it calls. It does to all my people, we jinn. We are children of the air and fire. Some say it was the birthplace, where the first jinn stepped out of the fire and smoke to walk upon its sands. And like all of us, from time to time, I am called to return to our roots.” He stepped forward to stand beside her. “I don’t know if the people on the White Island would agree with our stories.”
She looked up at the darkened man, with piercing black eyes and curly black hair and a long mustache. He wore flowing white robes and a broad waist sash, with a jeweled knife scabbard tucked into it. Not for him the blue eyes of the Aos Daoine, but no person would consider him a member of the less powerful races. His aura radiated power, as someone from a jinn bloodline ought to.
“They can’t know everything,” she said, nodding. “So is that the reason you run the caravans to the mines?” she asked.
He chuckled a little. “Maybe. And the pay. And a chance to see the Anzu bird flying overhead, or fight with any Lilus who choose to pester us on our way.” He crossed his arms. “It’s been the life I was born for, I think.”
“Maybe so,” Violetta replied.
“Still, I am not sure what brings you here. It is rare that someone from Blackstone and Flysch would take the time to visit our humble little town. They are usually content to let one of the little companies handle all the business on this side of Harani, like Borson, and even they don’t send any more dragonkin than necessary. And to send someone of the Daoine here instead of a dragon – I don’t think I’ve ever heard of that. And then to ask for the assistance of a caravan leader...”
“True enough. Sit down, please,” Violetta said.
“If you wish,” said the jinn. He pulled out a chair and settled down next to her.
“Like I told you last night, I am not here on official business. I’m here because I am looking for the answer to a puzzle.” She took a sip from her drink. “Someone I know went into the desert.”
“Did he now, even knowing how hard it is to travel here?” Xhindi asked.
“Yes, yes. He had chosen Xendo’s Delving as a place to do some research. He wanted a place that would be safe, let us say, for explosions.” A breeze blew up, dry and if not yet hot, promising to take all the moisture it could. It lifted the corner of her shawl, making it flutter slightly and caused the bars on wind chimes hung on the edge of the patio awning to jingle.
The jinni raised an eyebrow. “Explosions, eh? I suspect if they exploded in the right way and at the right place, the miners there wouldn’t have minded at all.”
She took another sip of her drink. “I know he made it to the site, because he sent word. Then word got out that the excavators had found an unusual...artifact, perhaps from the Sundering, and a team of Fireburners with a group of Magic Corp investigators descended on the site. But they weren’t the only ones.”
Xhindi nodded, frowning. “I remember hearing about that expedition. It was a bit of a mess.”
“If you want to say an attack by a tribe of Huwawa under a Gallu general is a bit of a mess,” Violetta said, giving him a questioning looking. “I would have chosen perhaps a stronger word.”
He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. “I didn’t mean to make light of it. That situation has...painful memories for me. I was at Aufzee’s Freehold when they attacked, too far away to help, but I lost a blood brother and friends in that fight. There were good people escorting the Daoine. Otherwise there would have been no survivors to bear the tale.” He took another deep breath, and smoothed his face. “What happened to your friend?”
“We don’t know.” Violetta played with her drinking glass, spinning it around. “They never found his body. He might have escaped, or even...been taken away.”
Xhindi set his mouth firm and gave a small nod. “I will hope on escape. What the Gallu and such do with prisoners – well, I won’t ruin today talking about it. They are as bad if not worse than the Shadowlanders. So you are hoping to find some clue, even after all the work done by the White Circle?”
“And the DIC, too. My friend was Dragonkin, not Daoine.”
Xhindi raised his eyebrows at that. “That’s unusual.”
She shrugged. “I work for Blackstone and Flysch. I see more Dragonkin on a daily basis than any other race.”
He rested his palms flat on the table. It wobbled slightly under the pressure. “I wasn’t criticizing you, Violetta Greenleaf. I was merely surprised. My experiences have taught me that Dragonkin and Daoine aren’t exactly comfortable with each other.”
Violetta nodded. “Anyway, in his last message before the disaster, he told me he had left a package for me at Xendo’s Delving, buried under a special ward, and how to find it. This is why I contacted you. Can you take me there?”
“You think it’s still there? The mine was really damaged by the attack, and there are only a few wildcat miners out there any more, an old Spriggan and one or two Knockers, and they’ve gone through everything they could looking to make a few coins.”
“We won’t know until I get there. If the ward held, it’s probably still there.” She took another sip of her drink. “The question not will I be successful, though. The question is will you do it, get me there and back?”
He gazed out at the desert, contemplating his strange customer and the ruins they would find. Finally he nodded. “For the right fee.”
“I would expect no less. That’s another thing I’ve learned at Blackstone and Flysch. Shall we go inside, and write up the contract?”
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Thin early spring sunlight filtered into the room. The school grounds in Comrie were incredibly quiet. It was students’ day off, but this room was a hive of activity. It was an office of sorts, but one being deconstructed, with a big desk against one wall, some partially filled bookcases against another, a fireplace in the corner. One long table filled with papers in neat stacks, exercise books, odd objects like rocks and spoons and jars of pens and pencils. A carving of a bird. A wooden doll like artists use. In between the objects were gaps and rings of dust where objects had been moved. There were several wooden crates stacked on the floor. Gaps on the wall showed where hangings had been removed. There was a scattering of packing dust and paper on the floor.
“It’s so quiet when the children are gone,” said a tall, stately woman with flowing green hair. She was sitting in the only chair without a box on it.
“It’ll be noisy soon enough, Melusine,” said the other woman. “I’m lucky I can do this while they’re gone.” Short and sturdy, her hair tied up in a neat bun and covered with a scarf that accentuated her Bauchan-like ears, she was wrapping a small curio in a bit of cloth before she packed it carefully into a box on one of the chairs. One could have confused her for a cleaning woman if you didn’t know her, with her apron and work sleeves. She looked up at her companion with the bright blue eyes of the high Daoine, eyes a color that never appeared in true Bauchan stock. “The day after tomorrow will come and then there’ll be all the noise you could want.”
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“But it won’t be the same,” Melusine replied, sighing. She stretched her fingers on the edge of the desk, long and graceful, with the slight webbing between each that the Lake Folk have, being proper water beings, then rubbed one nail in need of manicuring. “There will be someone missing.” She breathed on the errant fingernail, and a bit of bright light surrounded it. When it dissipated, it was as perfect as the others. “So you’re sure, Gan? This is what you really want to do?”
Gan Thistleberry, still officially headmistress of the elementary levels of Gwaher’s School of Grammarie, Magick and Practical Rhetoric, although not for long, looked over her bookcase one more time. She reached for a volume. “Ah, I knew you were there!” She pulled down a volume labeled Old Hyrum’s Introductions Into Practical Magics for the Young and put it into a wooden crate.
She dusted off her hands on the hem of her apron, brushed a strand of hair out of her face. “I think that’s about it. Most of the rest of the books belong to the school, Melusine, and the Lifegiver knows I don’t want to drag them all over creation. I hope you find them more useful than I did.”
“Oh, Gan. What am I ever going to do? What do I know about being headmistress?” Melusine said, anxious and sad and wistful all at the same time.
“It’s mostly what you’ve been doing all along anyway, with a little more paperwork,” Gan said. She patted the book she just put away.
“That’s easy for you to say,”Melusine said, resting her head in her left hand. “You always made it look so easy. What do I know about schedules and overseeing this mad group? Putting up with the administrators when they come poking around? Dealing with parents who are sure their child is far more talented than their grade reports?” She drew idle circles with her right hand on the desk. Beads of light followed in their wake.
“Best not teach the little ones that trick,” Gan said, smiling, and patted Melusine’s anxious hand. “The cleaning folk will have too much decontamination to do each night.”
“It is a bad habit of mine,” the Lake Folk woman said. She tucked her hand under the desk.
This made Gan laugh, a pleasant, not hurtful sound. “You’ll do fine, Melusine. And I’m sure the board of directors will be happy having someone who looks like such a worthy High Daoine be leading their elementary classes instead of someone who looks like a fishwife.”
“Gan, don’t talk like that. You’ve been wonderful at this job. ”
“Oh, don’t try to hide it. They’ve never been comfortable with a mere Thistleberry leading the department. After all, Master Gwaher’s School is one of the first rank schools in An Lar. It doesn’t matter to the Redwing Clan what my qualifications are. I could have more qualifications than Queen White Wave. I just never looked the part. And they let me know it, over and over.”
“But you’re the best one of us!” Melusine said, a bit outraged at Gan putting herself down this way. “You’ve had more papers published, and have done more presentations than anybody else on staff, even Mr. High and Mighty Grendal himself.”
“Just look at the two of honestly, Melusine! You’re sitting there, all golden and willowy, dressed in a fine silken robe that dances with every move you make, like water rippling on your home lake. Look at me!” Gan took the edges of her apron and gave a little curtsy. “A plain gray winter wool dress. Solid, comfortable winter boots. Work sleeves to keep the dirt and ink off. When I wear silk, I look like, well, it’s not shimmering and graceful. Wrong shape, wrong height, wrong everything. I can’t present the right image. Their words, not mine.”
“But you are a Practical Magics specialist! Nobody outside of the White Isle knows more about Domestic Magics. You should look...well, practical. Master Gwaher picked you for just that reason!”
“But Master Gwaher isn’t here any more.” Gan said, with a deep sigh. She lifted the box she had been filling and put it on floor, plopped down into the chair. “And the school board of directors put Grendal in his place. And what he said at the staff meeting! Do you think we could work together, after what he said about the Practical courses? He’s going to kill it, and push the teaching of touchstone amplifiers rather than teach the children how to harness their own magic the way it ought to be done. The direction he wants to take the lower grades, what’s to come of our research budget? What does he think we’re supposed to start the young ones on, Theoretical Metaphysical manipulations?”
Melusine gave a sad smile. “I know you’re right, Gan. But don’t you think you could even try?”
“Too late. He called me in already and demanded I resign. I’m to be totally out of here by the end of tomorrow. Didn’t even give me an option.”
“I’m not really surprised, after that big dust up with the board members. I told you that wouldn’t work.” Melusine sighed. “They’re mostly his clan. Maybe if I went and begged them...”
Gan shook her head. “Don’t even try. Don’t even ask Master Dor or anybody else you have pull with to try. What I learned talking to them - I thought they might care about the reputation of the school. But,” she said, sighing, “I found out what they really want. They have notions of making this a Redwing Clan centerpoint. Quality won’t matter so much, long as it’s a famous place, or had been one, so their kin can send their children here, and bit by bit, it’ll only be Redwings. Although what they’ll learn after a few years of Grendal running it into the ground...How did Master Gwaher keep those monsters at arm’s length for so long?”
Melusine picked up a curio on the desk. It was a small figure that one of the students made years ago that Gan had taken a fancy to. She handed it to her friend, who quickly wrapped it. “I think they were afraid of him.”
“I’m so glad that he wasn’t here to see what Grendal has planned. For all his studies alone, he really did care about what happened to the students here.”
“They waited long enough to make a move. That tells you how much he cowed them.”
“Three years this spring,” Gan said. “And we still don’t know what happened to him.”
“And unless he manages to walk back into the school one day, we may never know.” Melusine sighed. “Sometimes, magical researches can be so dangerous.”
“Especially in Theoretical mass movement.” Gan pulled another book off the shelf, looked at it for a moment, and reshelved it.
“Was that what he was working on?”
Gan shrugged. “I’m guessing, but that was one of the areas he was very interested it.”
“So what are you going to do?” Melusine said.
The small fey woman dusted off her hands and plopped into a chair. “I’ve been writing letters. If all goes well, I’m leaving Comrie. I’ll put my house up for sale and start fresh. Maybe write a book. It’s time I took a break.”
“Oh Gan,” Melusine said. “Where are you thinking about?
“I have a hankering to go back home for a while,” Gan said. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been down that way.”
“To Brightwater down near the Boundary Lands? That’s where your parents were, right, during the last outbreak?”
Gan shook her head. “Not there. I hope I never ever have to go back to that forsaken place. I’m going to head to the south, perhaps. I grew up not far from Waterford by Glint. I have fond memories of that place. My old home town got wiped out by a forest fire when I was small. I haven’t been back since. Maybe they’ve rebuilt. Maybe I’ll find a new home in my old home. If not, there are other towns near at hand. It’s a nice part of the kingdom.”
Melusine reached over the table and clasped the other woman’s hand. “I’m going to miss you, Gan. Nobody was better at wiping runny noses than you were. Or fixing skinned knees. Or listening to all my troubles.”
“I have one bit of advice, Melusine.”
“What’s that?”
“Get a good apron. It makes all the difference if you want to keep your beautiful dresses clean.”
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As the day moved into twilight, lamplighters made their rounds across the main streets, and lights glowed in the windows of the shops and bars. People began to fill the streets, some peddlers set up booths. This inversion of day and night was just more one of the unbalancing aspects of life here. He headed to the stairwell, passing the sentry, who saluted him sharply.
As Gweir Blackthorn headed towards his offices, a gong announced the evening watch. The halls of the tower began to echo with footsteps as people moved to their night station, and the day staff, much fewer in number, headed to their evening rest. Marhault Hazelwood, Gweir’s first officer was standing, looking out of window that caught a good view of the road leading up to the keep. A narrow stone paved road cut through the barrens. Legend said it was made by dragonfire, impervious to most things, but some things evidently had gotten to it. The pavement in place was patched with cobblestone and gravels. A few figures coming out of the growing shadows, began walking to the gate.
“I hate this bloody place,” Hazelwood said. “Why’d they put a gate like this in the damn border? We should have left the Shadowlanders totally locked up.”
“Just because they’re Shadowlanders doesn’t mean they’re all the Dark Queen or Duke of the Dogheads,” Gweir said. “Some have legitimate business. You like your Black Silk armor, don’t you? That’s all allowed trade.”
“Just as soon as wear mail if it meant I didn’t have to stay here,” Goban Eagledown, his second officer said, joining them. “Legitimate business. It’s just cover for the smugglers, if you ask me. Snakesteel. Dreamdust.” He crossed his arms. “And now there’s the thread of unlicensed jump stones. Everybody selling any of that trash needs to be outted and banished. And the Bullrushes ought to be the first sent into the dark.”
“Maybe so, Gabon, but I suspect your real issue right now is you just don’t like night duty,” Gweir said. “And you’re still tired from the raid yesterday. Well, we all are. But this is our first duty.” They had this discussion regularly.
“You’re damn right I don’t. It’s not natural, to do business at night.
“It is if the sun kills you, or evaporates you, or turns you into stone,” Gweir replied, “It’s rather hard to do business any other time. Our job is to screen for smugglers, and make sure the Dragon Web portal stays safe.”
“Dragonkin don’t need us. They can get away into no space no matter how many of us get killed. Besides, the sunlight doesn’t evaporate the Dogheads, even if they don’t like it,” Marlhaut said. “Or all sorts of other folks there. So why night only? Better to ambush us, I say.”
“Doghead are warriors, not traders,” Gweir said. “When they come out, blow the horn. I’ve seen what they can do to a company of Daoine who get caught off guard. Not pretty.”
“Tell me about it. My mother’s people were from Brightwater. They learned the hard way what the Dogheads can do,” Gabon said.
With this cheery talk, the three men made their way to the executive offices.
They were just getting to their desks when the next gong sounded, announcing the opening of the Great Gate for business. Suddenly, Gweir began to tingle. Long experience told him not to ignore it. It might be a minor, untrustworthy gift, but it had saved his skin more than once.
“Who’s on duty at the gate tonight?” Gweir asked. The first traders would be almost to the gate. He could hear the mechanism groaning as the portcullis was being lifted. Shortly after that the drawbridge would be lowered. Soon there would be a queue of people stopping for inspection.
“Alandis, I believe, and Tobin,” Gabon said. “They’re at the front gatehouse. Cleanan and Glif will be manning the rear.”
“Do me a favor. Go send Ermid and Finnen to back them up,” Gweir said. “It might be nothing, but I have that uneasy feeling tonight.”
“Never have known your uneasy feeling to go wrong,” Gabon said, standing up. “Two enough?”
“Probably,” Gweir replied.
Nodding, Gabon left to see about it. He left the door open. Across the courtyard, a group of people had gathered in front of the Dragonweb office, merchants and go-betweens ready to carry merchandise brought by the Shadowland traders to its destination in the Sunlit lands. They chatted among themselves while waiting. One or two gave the military group dark looks.
“Jumpy tonight, or do you know something?” Marlhaut asked.
“I don’t have any real information, if that’s what you’re asking. So I guess it’s jumpy. Still, I trust those feelings. It’s saved our butts more than once. I’ve been uneasy ever since we caught the smugglers last month, and after the raid yesterday...there’s been more than enough time to organize something. I’ve been expecting a revenge attack every night, but the feeling is extra-strong tonight.”
Dylan, his attache, entered the office carrying a swath of papers and a tray of tea. “Just in from the Dragon Web master, sir,” he said, handing the package over to Gweir. The post captain laid it on his desk and gratefully accepted the cup of tea.
He was just beginning to open the package when the alarm gong sounded. Three strikes. An attack at the front of the gate passage.
“I knew it!” Gweir said, dropping the packet and grabbing his helm. “Let’s go.”
The halls were echoing with footsteps and shouts as people reported to emergency positions and took action, Gweir included. Clerks took shelter in appointed places. Rooms were locked. Armored men headed to the posts.. Magic shields were activated. This happened often enough, there was no real sense of panic, but nobody treated it like a drill, either. As he moved, he could hear the back portcullis drop into place with a mighty groan. By the time he got down to the gate, it was all over. A doghead dressed like a Shadowland trader lay on the ground with three arrows in him. His long knife was on the floor, near his hand. Alandis, the right side gate guard, was bleeding, but standing. The front portcullis was down by now, but a few nervous but determined traders still stood in queue, hoping to get in. Those with more experience or fear had scattered to the public houses along the road, or further into the darkness.
“A doghead, eh? Gweir said, nudging the corpse with a boot. “That’s it, no more trade tonight,” he ordered. “Guard, go on midlevel alert.”
Voices shouted “Clear the drawbridge! Clear the drawbridge!”
Someone in the crowd started to argue, but his fellows tugged him away.
Soon the drawbridge squealed and began to lift. A large banner was lowered announcing the closure of the gate to business.
Gweir looked at the wounded guard. “So what happened, Alandis?
“Stupid Doghead was acting like a porter for a merchant. Got in the room, pulled his knife out, I moved, but not quite fast enough.”
“Did he say anything?”
“Death to the Daoine,” Alandis shrugged. “Same old routine. Everybody who came with him scattered once the arrows flew.”
“Merchant, too?”
Alandis nodded.
“How many got in before this group?”
“Seven,” said the lefthand guard.
“Round’em up. We’re going to want to question them.”
One of the guard nodded, and slipped into the guardhouse for the arrivals list
Gweir tapped Alandis on his unwounded shoulder. “Glad you moved as fast as you did. Get to the healer’s. Who knows what the hell was on his blade.”
The soldier nodded.
“Ermid, Tobin. Check the body then get rid of it. It’s stinking the place up bad enough. Have Lea come down to decontaminate it. We don’t need any nasty magics left here.”
While he was barking orders, a green Dragonkin carefully stepped into the room. Gweir turned to face him.
“No more business tonight, Ochre. You can tell Master Shulan. If he has any newcomers tonight down at the Dragon Web office, I’d appreciate if he sent them back to my people. And tell him I shut the gate down, maybe all night.”
The dragon seemed perturbed. “Why?”
“It wasn’t just a smuggling attempt. Look at the body. This time it was a Doghead commando. Where there’s one, there are usually more.”
“Oh dear. Master Shulan won’t be very happy. Receipts were down even before this.“ The dragon sighed. “I’ll have to write a report.”
“You won’t be the only one. Let’s hope we only have to write one before sunrise.”