Chapter VIII

The Second Morning

In which deals are struck

The sun rose bright and red on the second morning. Alia stayed close to the Watch, suspecting the last-minute holdouts from Fellrath’s brotherhood would seek her protection. She sent out Serafina and Sheridan to look into the Lords of Chaos, in an effort to find out the extent of their involvement with Junius.

She busied herself, questioning Rav and Clawfoot and pouring over the journal Quintus gave her. Rav enlightened her about the cylinder, explaining that Junius had three such, distributed to select people in his network. The abiding principle was that three of the sides in the hexagon would be relevant, and three would be junk, to stymie anyone attempting to crack the code.

Tongue loosened by fear, Rav gave her the codes as he remembered them. He confirmed one of the cylinders belonged to the captain of the Obsidian Stinger. Junius gave the captain a third cylinder, to pass to a mysterious man whose name never came to Rav’s ears, and whose face Rav never set eyes on.

But neither Rav nor Clawfoot knew the name of the queen, a point they insisted upon. Utari Joshi, an alethomantis of the Watch, confirmed the men spoke the truth.

Later, Alia consulted Utari about the blood codex.

“People who are not scryers, and not scrupulous, will resort to such things,” Utari said, curling her lips in distaste. She turned the codex over in her hands, stopping in her tracks to examine it further.

The Watch’s garden was awash with gold. With the coming of autumn the chrysanthemums bloomed in force, and the groundskeepers endeavored to prominently display them to their best advantage. A fact Alia and Utari both noted as they strolled through the garden.

“The sorcerer told me a blood codex is used to seek and destroy bloodlines,” Alia said.

“Aye,” Utari confirmed. “Though, I suppose in the hands of someone like you these books would have another purpose. You wish to hunt servants of Erebossa? This is your best bet. The sorcerer did not steer you wrong, Ironwing.”

“But why can’t the Erebossan itself be scried? Its ‘blood’ is material, which should place the infernal agent within my reach, shouldn’t it?”

“The Erebossan must have crossed over into our world, in order to give its blood to others,” Utari mused. “But Ironwing, an Erebossan is not native to this world, which I think may be the key. I suspect if a scryer were in Erebossa she could scry an abyssal or an arsh’atûm, but not anything native to our world. Or perhaps not—perhaps scryers can only see those beings that come from the same world we do. Keep in mind, I am only average in my scrying abilities.”

Alia paused. The women came to a covered causeway built of stone and wood. At regular intervals pavilions intersected the bridge, and each pavilion displayed a theme: first Sorcha, then Aletheia, and finally Amyntas. Or, Light, Truth, and Protection of the Innocent, in that order. For each deity’s pavilion the support columns bore reliefs of Her or His image, and the center of each pavilion housed a statue in the deity’s likeness.

The causeway led to the city proper; the Watch’s headquarters were situated on an island in the Pink Pearl Lagoon. In the old days, Alia was told, pearl divers would gather there. The waters of Ebon Cove reliably yielded pink pearls, hence the name. Centuries ago, civic-minded businessmen commissioned the construction of the causeway, connecting the island to the rest of the city.

“Can you scry Salamandra? Are they hidden, or visible to you?”

Utari halted in obvious surprise, staring sightlessly at the shoppers on the bridge. Clever and fortunate merchants usually did a brisk business in the pavilions; being so close to the Watch meant no fear of cutpurses to discourage customers.

Earlier in the morning Alia had strolled through the pavilions, getting a sense of the people. The gunsmiths and Ellura merchants who sold wands called three times for Watchmen to escort them to the banks to make deposits, all before noon. They tipped their hats to her, and thanked her for bringing them good fortune.

One gunsmith even presented her with a case of cartridges, and renewed his offer to convert her gun to the newer “all weather” upgrade.

“What if it’s raining when you see a flayer, eh?”

“I will think on it,” Alia had told him, and mentally made a note to visit his forge later. A few of the gunsmith’s customers she chatted with were in high spirits as they inspected their purchases, and one winked at her.

Just in case, right?

Utari turned back to Alia. “I can,” she said at last. “Salamandra can be tricky to scry, but it can be done. Why?”

Alia’s mind raced as she considered the implications. Salamandra were foreign, but they were not hidden from scryers. If Utari was right then it suggested Salamandra were now considered ‘citizens’ of Thuraia. If she was wrong, then something else altogether prevented her from seeing fiends.

Alia waved away the question, feigning nonchalance. At a time when people were frightened of otherworldly visitors it seemed imprudent to reveal the origins of the Salamandra any time soon.

“Simply fleshing out your hypothesis. Salamandra are not human; perhaps one human can only scry another human, and a Salamandran must scry a Salamandran. But as you said you can scry Salamandra, then you’re probably right about shared nativity of a world being the deciding factor.”

“What will you do about the flayers? You said you were planning to leave soon.”

Ah. What happened next depended on the whereabouts of the Obsidian Stinger. Supposedly, per Clawfoot, the ship would arrive in port tomorrow. However, Alia couldn’t responsibly leave town. Not until she convinced the public the flayers no longer stalked the streets.

Waves of prominent citizens stormed the Watch, obliging Captain Palamara to field several meetings, all about the flayers. The Sun and Stars Society insisted he do something about Alia and the flayers. After all, Alia surely cooked up the flayers as a cheap ploy to continue her ‘persecution’ of their members.

Alia gladly sat in on that meeting. Lord Brennus Fellrath attended, as well as his wife and two men, who all made up the top leaders of the Sun and Stars Society.

When Fellrath finished ranting, Alia directly addressed him. “Junius Fellrath and his associates were killed because of their crimes against the dryads of the Ebon Grove. Their iniquity is why the flayers are here at all. Now, if you are all innocent of anything to do with that unholy business, there is no need for you to worry. The flayers will be quite content to ignore you, as I would be.”

“You accuse my son! Always you have done so,” Lord Fellrath cried. “You and your ridiculous vendetta—”

Light flashed from Alia’s throat as her amulet flared. Fellrath broke off and stepped back. The icy cold of her voice made him visibly shiver as she answered, “Say that once more and I will command your alethomantis and all the truth-seers of the city to appear in the amphitheatre. I will invite the whole city to hear the truth-seers all declare me the truth teller and denounce you as a liar. You know that is the only outcome possible, so don’t waste my time pretending otherwise. Test me, and I will make it so.”

Lyrcanians, Alia had learned, liked to use truth-seers to settle matters of honor. An accusation which stained the name of the accused gave the accused had the right to have alethomantis judge the matter before the entire city. If the accusation had been knowingly false and malicious, the alethomantis would know.

And the accuser, in turn, would lose their tongue for their lies.

Lady Felicia Fellrath recoiled, reflexively clamping her hand over her own mouth. Reddish highlights shimmered in the room, cast by her sparkling ruby signet ring as the light caught it.

One of the men grabbed Lord Fellrath’s arm, as though to restrain him. Fellrath glanced at Palamara, as if he expected the captain to rebuke Alia, but Palamara’s deadpan expression checked him.

Lord Fellrath started to speak, but Alia continued, “Should you wish to be eaten alive I shall not intervene. For what reason should I save you, if you refuse to tell me how I can undo what your son has done? At every turn you obstructed me in stopping your son; now comes the day when you will pay for his wickedness. When you go to the Court of Judgment in Erebossa you can tell the Destroyer of your complaints. Do you understand me, Brennus Fellrath?”

“Yessss. Watch-Huntress. I understand you exactly.” Lord Fellrath sounded as though the words were dragged out of him.

Though Alia tried to look at each of his companions in the eye, they all of them averted their gazes from her.

Fear.

The emotion displayed so nakedly upon their faces brought to Alia’s remembrance what Palamara told her earlier: she brought flayers to heel—unscathed—and must be reckoned with accordingly.

Or so I must let them think, anyway.

But the Fellraths were not used to anyone balking them. Ever since Karis was immolated by her own violation of the vow she made to the Huntress—a violation Alia exposed with her test—Brennus had it in for her.

All along he, his family, and the Sun and Stars Society tried to paint Alia as a country yokel, an uncivilized wild child who lashed out at a world she didn’t understand.

They sought to discredit her, a seemingly easy task thanks to her ignorance of human customs. Nor did she operate under the aegis of high status Lyrcanians; none in her circle ranked high enough to protect her from social sanction.

But Alia was unmoved.

Why should she care if she were one of the ‘select’ or the ‘esteemed’ in the city? Why should she seek the high opinions of anyone she had no reason to regard? Who were these so-called ‘right’ people whose approval she should pursue? What made their good opinion worthy of obtaining?

As an utter outsider with no interest in becoming an insider, Alia frustrated the Fellraths and others like them. Now it dawned on her that to the Fellraths and suchlike she was akin to a flayer: she struck without warning, fearless of retribution. She had nothing to lose.

And now, the flayers were in town.

Alia smiled.

Rikka truly had done her a favor. The flayers had upset the balance, offering a visceral threat that brooked neither challenge nor retaliation. An advantage Alia readily admitted she lacked.

Lady Fellrath lowered her head, and peered at Alia through her lashes. “You would let those things kill us, wouldn’t you? You truly believe we deserve to die so horribly, don’t you?”

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“Didn’t I tell you?” one of the men rasped. “Didn’t I say she’s a zealot? The crazy—umm—this woman thinks she’s acting on the orders of the Huntress. We can’t argue her out of that.”

Ignoring the insult, Alia turned to Palamara. “In fifteen hours it will be midnight. Listening to these people lie and obfuscate and deny is not high on my list of priorities.”

Palamara nodded, and roused himself from the desk he had been leaning against. Standing tall and straight he addressed the Sun and Stars Society.

“Watch-Huntress Ironwing is correct. You are wasting our time. If you have reason to ask for our protection, ask it. If not, then be on your way. The flayers present us with quite the to-do list. First on the list is making sure the morgue has space enough for the bodies the flayers send them. Assuming the flayers leave anything of their targets, I mean.” He eyed them, his expression saying it all.

Lady Fellrath faltered, and as if by instinct she and Lord Fellrath clasped hands together. Their knuckles whitened, so tightly did they grip one another’s palms, Alia noted. At that moment she remembered the pair had earlier claimed Junius’s remains from the morgue.

Now came the moment of truth.

The Sun and Stars Society were trapped. For years they proclaimed their innocence so loudly that they could not come to her now for refuge against the flayers. To do so would be to admit their guilt; admit Alia had been telling the truth all along about Junius and his operations against the dryads. They would have to admit they had associated themselves with such a man and given him cover. How humiliating for them.

But to not come to Alia would mean a long and painful death.

And Aunt Nalini? What horrors had they allowed to happen to her and her fellow abducted sisters? The question hardened Alia’s heart, squelching any mercy she might have been tempted to offer. Pitiless, she started for the door. She barely took two steps when Lady Fellrath cried out.

“Wait! Please! We must speak to you. We—we must speak, Watch-Huntress.”

Alia glanced over her shoulder at the group. “I don’t need to speak to you unless you have something to tell me. Do you have something to tell me, Lady Fellrath?”

Lady Fellrath’s jaw worked. Naked calculation shone upon her face, and Alia was confident of her interpretation: Two other children remained to Lady Fellrath and her husband. With unmatched maternal ruthlessness she had protected Junius, and her family’s reputation.

But Junius was dead and beyond her efforts to save him … and she still had two other offspring she needed to protect just as ruthlessly.

Sacrifices must be made.

“Perhaps … my son may have been misguided,” Lady Fellrath began.

Lord Fellrath lunged for her, but she released his hand and stepped forward, unheeding. The other two men grabbed Fellrath’s arms, restraining him.

Coolly Lady Fellrath continued, “But I swear to you, on my very soul and the souls of my younger children, neither I nor my husband—nor the children—ever wronged the daughters of the Huntress. Nor have these others with me. You already have access to Junius’s home and his offices. If there is anything more you need, we will give it to you. Gladly.”

The withering stare she turned on her husband visibly quelled him. Mustering every scrap of dignity left to him, Fellrath shook off his lackeys and straightened his coat, with perhaps more force than necessary.

“Ahem. I concur with Felicia,” he said contritely. “Please accept our offer of full cooperation. Let that be known to the whole city,” he said. “Whatever you need, whatever you want, ask and it’s yours.”

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As the day went on, information flowed fast and furiously. Alia ordered Clawfoot to make contact with the captain of the Obsidian Stinger.

“You will say to him there’s trouble, which will confirm whatever he thinks he’s heard about,” Alia said. “But you will tell him to wait for you, to receive one last dryad you captured. Make sure he’s not spooked away.”

As it turned out, her aunt Nalini hadn’t been trapped in the lighthouse the night Alia had found Gavin. The Brotherhood already whisked her away, two weeks before.

Clawfoot did as she asked. She forced him to use a palm-sized call globe, partly to compel him to reveal the call signs, and partly to ensure only he would be visible.

By nightfall, Sheridan and Serafina returned.

“The shadow priests have burrowed in whatever secret lairs are available to them,” Serafina reported. “All my contacts say the same thing: the shadow priests have fled the city. I wonder why they think they can evade the flayers that way?”

Alia’s instincts warned her the absence of the Lords of Chaos didn’t herald a pleasant outcome. Undefeated and unrepentant; nothing barred their return. What would they come up with to avenge their fallen?

Rav and Clawfoot gave her the names of new targets to seek, which she passed along.

“Do we just wait for the screaming to start?” Sheridan asked.

The Watch increased patrols, particularly in territory Junius and his people ruled over. Some of the brotherhood staunchly refused to turn themselves in, preferring to flee or hold their ground. These in particular piqued Alia’s curiosity.

Greed clearly motivated Rav and Clawfoot. Their partnership with Junius had brought them wealth and power as sorcerers.

But the ones who refused to turn themselves in? Undoubtedly these were the steadfast devout, the ones motivated to do the queen’s bidding. Whatever their agenda, flayers would not deter them in their pursuit of it.

She called the Watch’s sorcerers together.

“A sorcerer informed me a malicious entity is interfering with attempts to contact the guardian spirits. Did any of you experience this?”

The sorcerer who stepped forward had a familiar face, but Alia didn’t know his name.

“Are you saying this is connected to your case?” he demanded.

The question earned him a sidelong glare from Alia. Quickly she tamped on her irritation, remembering how Watch officers often jealously guarded their particular domains and cases. This man led the division responsible for investigating crop charms and other agricultural crimes. In theory, he must give way to her if she made a claim on his investigations. However, Alia wasn’t interested in proving this.

“Perhaps,” she said, as casually as possible. “I only know that a treacherous Erebossan may be involved in this problem. Be vigilant, and watch for attack: I promise you one is coming. If any of you have any insights to share, I would welcome them.”

She told them about the Lords of Chaos, and details about the shadow priest’s attempt to perform a soul-cutting.

“I may have to leave soon, but the Lords of Chaos may strike at any of you. As guardians of Lyrcania we are all under one shield. More than ever we must guard each other’s backs.”

This loosened tongues.

The sorcerers confirmed a strange presence kept pace with them. Each had thought they were alone in this problem, and were relieved to finally have a thread to follow. Captain Palamara immediately called for volunteers to form a unit to investigate this mysterious presence.

“We’re all one in this. An attack on one of us is an attack on all of us,” Palamara insisted.

A cheer went up. Alia sighed her relief, though she was not at all calmed. His words would be tested soon.

She was sure of it.

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The clock struck midnight. The night was eerily silent. Only the watchmen were abroad, patrolling the streets for any sign of flayer activity.

Alia remained at the fortress, ready to move if any reports came in. However, after so long a day she needed a break, and thus she headed to the ready room.

A flayer met her there.

Her heart did three somersaults when she saw the creature standing in the middle of the room. Like a crocodile in a swimming pool. Shock strangled the scream in her throat, forcing her to stare helplessly instead.

“We return,” the flayer said. It pointed a talon at her. An invitation to speak?

Alia exhaled, expelling the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding until then.

“I have mine,” she said.

Though they tried, none of the lorekeepers on staff or in the local archives discovered a method to ward off flayers. Proactively preventing an attack was not an option. Stark reality forced Alia to accept the Watchmen would serve only to clean up the flayers' victims. Standing orders to shoot flayers on sight offered little solace to her fellow Watchmen.

Yet, oddly enough, the citizens of Ebon Cove were not panicking. After a while Alia learned the reason: she explicitly named the Brotherhood as the flayers’ prey during her demonstration in the amphitheater. Apparently, everyone else interpreted her statement to mean it’s not going to happen to me.

Furthermore, the Watch made a great show of patrolling the streets. They were seen to be doing something, which again made the average person feel safer.

“And the others?”

“Is there anything I can do to stop you?”

The flayer’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Their deaths buy the lives of my people. Do not interfere!”

“Rikka won’t kill your people. She said as much to you,” Alia reminded it. Though in the back of her mind she still wondered how Rikka had regained the power to shape-change animals. A question she would hold in abeyance, until she could profitably chase it down. What mattered was that the dryads were not siphoning the life from the flayers’ world. “You fulfilled your part, you do not need to continue killing. I will tell her I am satisfied with the outcome, and she will petition the Huntress to release the curse from your lands.”

Two days ago she had publicly declared she would not tolerate flayers going around slaughtering people. A declaration in keeping with the oath she once took to protect people from such creatures. A declaration she meant with all her heart.

Granted—the sorcerers were not innocent. They had brought their trouble on themselves, but that wound on Sheridan’s neck reminded Alia that the nets of retribution against the wicked sometimes ensnared the innocent as well.

The importance of order in a society had become apparent to her over the years. The Watch was supposed to protect everyone; they were not supposed to discriminate or decide for themselves who deserved protecting and who didn’t.

As a huntress she was authorized to slay the enemies of the Huntress. But as an officer of the Watch she had no such writ, and Alia was equally as obligated to fulfill the oath she took when she joined the Watch.

She owed it to the people of Ebon Cove; she owed them the reality they should trust in the Watch to safeguard their lives and their laws.

Breaking the people’s trust would sow evil upon the ground, and the reaping would be bitter. And deadly. Alia had learned as much in her time amongst humans. Though she openly offered refuge to the flayers’ prey, she was still obligated to try to rescue those who hadn’t thrown themselves on her mercy.

The flayer stepped forward. “Do I have your word?”

It took everything Alia had to stand her ground. “I swear it. Will you return the sorcerers you’ve taken?”

It was not enough for her to do the right thing. Like the Watch, she had to be seen to do the right thing. She needed evidence, evidence she could use publicly to convince people the threat was over—and that it had been real in the first place. The Sun and Stars Society had taught her well: she must thwart any chance of someone credibly claiming she’d brought the flayers and created the crisis.

The missing sorcerers would perfectly serve her ends…

The flayer sized her up.

Alia faced it down.

Wittingly or not, the flayers earlier demonstrated they weren’t the type of apex predators who lost their temper when an opponent looked them in the eye.

Further, if Serafina was right about how the creatures viewed others, then Alia needed to establish she was a person by the standards flayers used. By conceding she possessed power over its fate, the flayer tacitly admitted Alia was a mortal threat. A person, therefore.

“Is that your price?” the flayer demanded.

She answered swiftly. “It is.”

The flayer made a low noise, similar to a king cobra’s hiss—but far more sinister.

“Then it will be so,” the flayer snapped. It took another step toward Alia and added, “Do not cross my path again. My people have been grievously used, and I will not forget.”

Oh really?

Alia stepped forward. “How fleeting your memory is: you ignored the call of a keeper. The natural consequence of disobeying the Huntress is on you. I have not interfered with you, nor used you to do my bidding. Remember that.”

She considered adding, the Keeper will certainly remember, but she never borrowed authority when making threats, and she most especially would not borrow Rikka’s. However, she was treading dangerous tides and she knew it.

A dryad or a khrestai would play by the Laws of the Huntress. Laws which clearly declared that those who did not willfully wrong them were not lawful game, and Alia hadn’t wronged them. Legally, if the flayers made Alia their prey, then they in turn became prey to Rikka, who would punish them accordingly.

Did the flayers have such beliefs? And would it matter, after the fact?

The flayer stared her down once more. In the blink of an eye, it vanished.