Chapter 13: Tempest

Ayla Rúth Harya

I become more anxious as we approach the human city. I have avoided them all my life, and now I am entering one disguised as a human. It almost makes me want to vomit—or so I’d like to say, but the truth is, there is no room for disgust or hatred, only fear. Fear of being discovered and made a prisoner again.

When did I become a coward?

I find myself pressing closer to Jace without meaning to, then force myself to slide away again. If Jace notices, he gives no sign. His presence has become reassuring, but I do not want to let him think I am a fawning little girl. I trust him—it is difficult not to after everything he has done—but it is still embarrassing.

Wagons of different sizes and construction pull up alongside us as we approach the city, their drivers offering friendly greetings and “How do you do’s.” The leading wagon in one of the caravans pulls up next to us.

“Howdy!” A balding man with round cheeks and a bushy orange mustache calls out from my side. “Are y’all traveling from the Westlands?” I have no way to answer, as this is not one of the questions Jace and I rehearsed. I almost level my rifle at him before Jace places a gentle hand on my arm to stop me.

“Well met, traveler. Aye, we come from Valenheim.” Jace sounds friendly, and his eyes flicker to mine. I cannot tell if he is trying to reassure me or if he looks amused at my reaction. I don’t understand him. How can he be so friendly to strangers?

“Any news?” the man asks. “Are the politicians still spouting that nonsense about Manifest Destiny?”

“Aye.” Jace’s tone turns grim. “But war’s still fresh in people’s minds. It’ll be many years yet before everyone gets behind the cause.”

“Let’s hope they never do,” the man says.

Suddenly a wiry girl with short, bright orange hair climbs over the mustached man, stepping on him and causing him to groan loudly in complaint. The girl leans so far over the side of their cart I think she means to leap onto our wagon. “Hey, are you all adventurers? Are you any good? Why do you have so many Striders?”

The mustached man grabs her by the belt and pulls her back into their cart. “Do your business in the city, Renn. Quit harassing random people.”

The girl slaps her father’s hand away. “Stop it, pops! It’s not like I did anything wrong. I just asked a question.”

“You’re too forward, girl. Have you learned nothing?”

Jace chuckles, but urges our Striders forward, leaving the man and his daughter arguing behind us.

The city gates are imposing and carved with runes. Tall stone towers flanking the gates are each crowned with battlements and watchful guards. I can feel a buzz of faint magic coming off the walls as we approach.

By the time we are next in line to be inspected at the checkpoint before we can cross the gates into the city, night has fallen.

A pair of guards in armor, carrying crossbows instead of guns, inspect the underside of our wagon using a long metal rod with a mirror on one end. A third guard—who appears to be their captain—steps up to Jace and asks what we are transporting.

“We have weapons, materials, and relics.”

The guard takes a closer look at our wagon, narrowing his eyes suspiciously, then at Jace. “Is that right? Where are your papers?”

Jace produces a folded sheet of paper stained with blood. The blood does nothing for the guard’s suspicion. He whistles sharply, which is apparently a signal for his men to be on guard, because they all stop what they’re doing and train their weapons on Jace and me.

I draw a sharp breath and resist the urge to reach for my rifle.

The guard holding the bloody papers unfolds them and reads. He then looks up at Jace. “I knew I recognized the wagon. It belongs to the Turner adventuring party. Why do you have it?”

Jace keeps his hands within clear view of the guard so as to not provoke them. “We were traveling together when we met and fought a band of Reavers on the road. We got away. The rest didn’t. With his last breath, Marcus asked we finish the delivery for him. So here I am.”

The guard scoffs, his hand twitching towards his weapon. “That’s a bit melodramatic for a pair of opportunist brigands, don’t you think?” His stare is hard and unyielding, but Jace meets it humorlessly. I get my first taste of what Jace means when he says that silence is a weapon. The guard sighs, acknowledging he’s lost the game and Jace won’t take the bait. “Am I meant to believe you’re delivering these goods out of the goodness of your heart?”

“No.” Jace says. “I intend to get paid.”

“Of course you do.” The guard pinches the bridge of his nose then asks our names.

“Jace and Ayla Leál.”

I try hiding my severe blush under the neck of my cloak. Jace has already warned me that this is part of our backstory. My features and hair are too different from his for me to pass as his sister; as his wife, I will “cause less trouble, and be easier to explain.”

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Whatever the reasons. It’s mortifying.

After recording our names, the captain orders one of his men. “You, lead this wagon to the governor’s caravanserai. I’m assigning you to ensure they arrive without issue.” The captain then takes the guard aside and whispers additional orders which we do not hear.

Our assigned escort mounts one of the bicorn tied on the other side of the wall, then escorts us deeper into the city and I get my first good look at how humans in a big city live. It is different from their smaller settlements, such as the Sisters, which I visited on occasion when I was younger.

The structures here are taller, the streets brighter. They are illuminated by bright lanterns that don’t seem to be burning, yet still produce light. The city is also noisier than I’m used to. I can hear street vendors calling out wares, trying to get any of the wagons and travelers passing by. They follow along, offering fresh cooked honeyed meat, calling out that they have the best deals and most comfortable inns. A group of children run alongside wagons handing out papers they claim are discounts to their restaurant or bar.

Deeper in the city, we pass a large plaza where fire eaters and dancers perform for crowds of applauding and cheering onlookers.

They are…cheerful, happy, normal. It reminds me of the kinds of daily performances we put on in our enclaves. The music and dances might be different, but they aren’t so different.

Then I remember they are all humans, the race who regularly enslaves and kills my kind, and I keep my head down the rest of the way into the more expensive district, where the city quiets and on the streets there are people dressed in finer garments.

The guard on the bicorn leads us to the grand wrought-iron gates of the caravanserai. The intricate design of twisting vines and elegant scrollwork is both beautiful and imposing. As the scent of raw iron fills my nostrils, a mix of awe and apprehension washes over me, the smell adding to my unease. Guards, dressed in sharp uniforms, stand at attention, their eyes sharp and alert.

One steps forward, his movements crisp and precise. He holds out a hand and says: “This is Mayor Prospero’s private property. Please state your business.”

Our escort sounds miffed when he answers. “You don’t have to be so formal with me, cousin. Ugh. You’re exasperating. Alright, have it your way. These travelers bring goods meant for the governor. Please arrange his board and inform the master of the house that the Turner company’s goods have arrived.”

The guard nods, then gestures for us to follow. The gates swing open with a soft metal creak, revealing the beautifully landscaped courtyard within. A central fountain bubbles serenely, surrounded by lush gardens that contrast sharply with the dusty streets outside. It’s all so different from the environs outside that it’s jarring.

The cobblestone street encircling the great fountain splits three ways. The right leads to an imposing black and brass tower with odd discs moving in slow circles, and glowing sigils all along its walls. It vibrates with an unfamiliar electric magic that makes me uncomfortable.

I notice Jace also looks at it with wariness. I ask him, and he tells me it is a mage’s tower. I have heard that human mages like to build towers. I remember someone a long time ago said humans build towers when they are compensating for something. At the time I’d thought it was a juvenile joke. Now I’m not so sure. It is such an ugly thing.

The center path on the other side of the fountain leads to a palatial structure, and the left—where we are ultimately led, is a two storied building with its own stables behind it.

Several attendants appear seemingly from nowhere to help us store the wagon in a secure bay—with a padlock for which we are provided a key. Then the animals are stabled. We are told they will each be fed, watered, and rubbed down.

Finally, we enter the lavish building where we are to be “checked in,” and our weapons are confiscated at the door, then carried off to a “safe room”. I feel naked without my rifle, or the folded steel sword I took from the darkling. But since Jace doesn’t complain, I don’t either.

I follow Jace through a red carpeted lobby that smells faintly of cherry. Behind a desk, another attendant takes down our names in a book, just as they did at the gate. Are humans so forgetful that they are always writing things in books? I almost ask this question aloud, but stop before I give myself away. I shudder. I should be more in control of myself. I will ask Jace later when we are alone.

“These must remain on the premises.” The guard who served as our escort from the gate tells this to the attendant, gesturing to Jace and me. “Until the governor or someone from his staff comes to fetch them and their cargo.”

I tense, expecting Jace to complain. Do they suspect us? Why else would they demand that we remain confined?

Instead of making a fuss, Jace agrees as if it is the most natural thing in the world. The escort then finally leaves us. Then, yet another human in fancy livery leads us up the stairs and to our room. After opening the door, he hands Jace the key. Then we are finally alone.

The room. It is…roomy, with plush, ornate carpets and a high ceiling. The walls are paneled with a lustrous mahogany. There is a couch, a sitting area, and a writing desk. Then I notice the overlarge four poster bed draped with rich fabrics… There is only one bed. This is unacceptable.

“If you think I am sleeping with you, I will cut you.” I say.

Jace laughs in that carefree way of his. He looks at the soft bed longingly, then he throws himself on the couch and lets out a languid sigh. “You can have the bed. I’ll sleep here. Oh, and through that door over there, I imagine you’ll find a bath. You can go first. In the morning, maybe tomorrow we can buy some new clothes we can wear in the city. Ours are a little worse for wear.”

Hmph. Did he think that things would go otherwise? Of course the bed is mine. I sniff myself surreptitiously. I reek.

“Indeed. I will take a bath.” Then I head into the room to do so.

Just like the main room, this bathroom is enormous. Such a waste of space for gaudy nonsense that no one needs.

Except for the bath itself. Everyone needs a good soak now and then. It takes me a few tries to figure out how the levers work to produce hot water, but when I do, it doesn’t take long to fill. The bath is delicious. I even go ahead and add one of the lavender scented balls from a basket labeled “bath bombs”. The water explodes with suds and the relaxing scent.

I lose track of time and fall asleep for a time. Eventually, I leave the bath, dry myself, and don one of the fluffy robes hanging on a wall.

Leaving the bath, I decide I must sate my curiosity. “Jace, do all humans live with all this space and adornment? This is more than I would have imagined was fit for royalty.”

Jace sits on the couch reading a letter and massaging his left arm, which has healed quite well by now, proving that his confidence about how quickly his body healed was no boast.

From the look on his face, the contents of the letter are nothing good.

“What is it, Jace?”

He looks up, then tosses the paper on the table. “Oh, it’s nothing. Someone slipped that under our door. They’re accusing us of murdering Marcus, and vow to take revenge. Damn, and I was looking forward to a good night’s sleep.”