I sat down next to Dalia again, my hand resting upon hers. This time every one of her breaths felt like a hammer counting down the minutes. Forty eight hours had never felt so short.
I woke once more to the tang of wood smoke and fried onions. Dawn light slanted through warped shutters, striping the guildhall is gold and ash. For one hovering instant I forgot the night's offers Zephyr's cool bargain, the alley shadow's whisper then Dalia's rasped breath brought it flooding back.
Humperdink already hovered beside her cot next to me, checking the pulse line with two deft claws. Satisfied, he padded toward a long trestle table where Helena sat in a high back chair armor off, stump braced on a padded stool. The kobold unfolded a brass caliper, clacked it over the ironwood brace, and murmured measurements while Helena scribbled notes in a ledger as thick as a spellbook.
"Weight distribution still favoring the crutch," he observed.
"Better a lopsided general than a slow one," Helena replied, but her jaw tightened when he rotated the hinge.
Outside the hall, in the back courtyard the clamor of Qapla's morning drill almost shook dust from the rafters. The courtyard doors stood open to a square of pale sky where ten recruits moved in a circle, wicker shields high. Qapla stalked among them, spear tapping shoulder blades.
"Shield angled to deflect blows, not flat. Again."
The ring repeated the maneuver. Sweat already filmed their foreheads, the orc's cadence as relentless as a smith's hammer. Garrick watched from the doorway, his jaw knotting and unknotting.
I caught a waft of yeast and salt. In the half-rebuilt kitchen, Velyan stood hip deep in pots beside a goblin in a chefs hat as tall as him, who dictated the breakfast ledger while flipping oatcakes on a sizzling slab.
"Three parts barley flout, two parts ground cricket good protein," the goblin chirped with the voice of an old cigar.
"Carson, less insect flour," Velyan said, jabbing a spoon like a dagger. "Humans gag at that. Orcs and kobolds pretend not to. Trust me."
Carson squinted, relented, and Velyan flashed the satisfied grin of someone winning a duel with spices instead of swords.
Annalise drifted sleepily between stations, yawning as she collected plates, humming a tune that mercifully stayed under her breath. She paused to ruffle a little orc's hair, winked at me, and whispered,
I got up as the oatcakes hit the table. Qapla called his last cadence, and the trainees began to limp their way within the tavern. Qapla dropped into a seat across from me, looking at Velyane and Annalise,
"Move after breakfast?"
They nodded their consent, as did I. The faster we got this Maxim, the better it was.
Helena sipped blackroot tea and fixed Velyan with her lone amber eye. "You're staying."
Velyan's brow rose.
"I need a keen planner. I've ideas for supply routes, watch rotations, and a charter code. You strike me as bright enough not to confuse penwork with weakness."
Velyan's mouth opened, closed, then she squared her shoulders. "Yes. Happy to lend a quill, so long as you remember I still swing a sword."
Helena's grin showed white tusks. "Don't worry, you will catch up to them soon. I do loath inefficiency."
Qapla rose, donned his armor, and secured his greatsword. "Nox, Annalise, ready?"
Annalise stuffed the last half oatcake into her mouth, grabbed her violin, and saluted with buttery fingers. I checked Dalia once more; her pulse fluttering faintly under my fingers.
A whisper in my ear, "Forty hours," before it disappeared into the wind.
My fingers froze as I focused on the air around me, but the warning came unaccompanied. I made my way to the street door where Qapla is waiting with a shortsword.
"Take it. It's better to safe than sorry."
I secured it on my waist, and we set off northwest, leaving the guild house's lane for the ramble of district around us. It reminded me of the Jaded Court in Hell. The streets were busy with activity, scavenger kids darted between pigs and pushcarts, shouting the cost of half day old fry bread. Someone grilled a tentacle on a brazier.
A key difference was that people seemed happy here. They weren't any devils carrying around souls they earned, or death on the streets. The air smelled fresh and clear compared to the thick sulfur of home. The sun peered for the first time through the clouds that adorned a beautiful blue sky. It was different, but a welcome different.
Annalise hummed a melody at a cadence that my feet seemed to fall into line with. Qapla led us two, creating a human shield.
"Keep pouches tight," he murmured without turning. "Cutpurses here can steal a prayer before it leaves your mouth."
A rag and bone seller angled toward us, eyeing the milk pearl necklace that adorned Annaliese's neck. But after one glance at the Qapla's shoulders, his eyes averted as he went back to hawking his wares.
We pushed north west along the street as it climbed by inches until the stink of gutters gave way to the mineral tang of river air.
A large bridge came into view, a single arch of rune stamped granite spanning Wolvsbane's silver artery. Waterwheels churched beneath, driving chain lifts that sent crates clanking toward distance smokestacks. Two sentries adorned in chain mail blocked the way across.
"You got proof of residence or reason for travel into the Upper District?" In response to their words, Qapla produced a piece of paper
"Got permission. Here's the approver."
The soldiers looked at the paper, their eyes widened staring up at us and back down at the party. "You are good to pass. Journey safe. A word for the wise, it might be you best interest," the guard threw a pointed look in my direction, "to be less conspicuous in these parts. The nobles do hate being out done."
The soldiers parted to let us through with halfhearted salutes. Halfway across, I glanced back. The previous district was low with patchwork rooftops that looked like shed scales, guarded by a looming wall made of iron and stone. Ahead, the upper district rose like a separate kingdom: the walls of quarried marble, bronze roofs polished to challenge the sunrise, griffin statues glaring from every corner with topaz eyes.
"The city spends more on feathers than refugees," Qapla muttered. The bridge spilled us onto a short causeway and the street immediately forked. To the left a medical camp stretch the length of a drill field, rows of white tents emblazoned with an ornate symbol. It was a sword through a cloud with a snake curled around it.
The smell of boiled bandages and dried blood drifted across the lane. Healers in red and saffron robes knelt beside stretcher while people with red skin, and hair like fire stoked braziers of herbal steam. Sobs echoed out from around the camp from various family and wounded alike.
"Looks like the wall's story reached here first," Annalise whispered. Her song died entirely as she watched a healer trace golden light over a soldier's chest. "I should've stayed to help."
"What's the symbol mean?" I jutted my chin towards the symbol decorated everywhere on the tents. Annalise side eyed me, stuttering for a moment before her unnecessary kindness took over.
"That's the symbol for the Concordant Church." Annalise had a soft smile on her face, the same smile she gave the orphans at the guildhouse, "You know. The state sponsored church? Priests of Balu, Nege, and Valaris?"
She looked at my impasse face for any sign of understanding. Finding nothing she said, "It's not everywhere I guess. Just… most havens… and towns."
I'm going to push her into the river.
Qapla led us down the other road after staring at the medical camp for a brief moment. Walking down a beautifully cobbled street it honestly reminded my of the Shining Courts with how much marble and polishes gems there were on the houses around us.
We final stopped in front of a large nice jailhouse. It had three circular floors of iron banded stone, arrow slit windows like shut eyes. Rune locks glowed a dull, watchful amber above the oak doors.
Guards lounged on a marble bench outside two orcs gone soft eyed with fatigue, tusks showing more yawn than menace. Their halberds leaned against the wall, unattended.
Qapla and Annalise stepped forward with the confidence given to those who don't know true authority. The two orc sentries blinked hard as though forcing themselves awake.
"Morning brothers. We were told that Archivist Maxim was imprisoned here." Qapla said, "We are here to collect him."
One of the guards yawned. "Captain's orders say no one goes past the desk until the monster in the library is found and dealt with."
"Monster?" Qapla echoed.
"Yea. The damn Archivist bit off more than he could chew. Again. He was breeding or experimenting, the difference hardly matters, and the damned things got loose. Then, he had the gall to come to us for help." The guard irritably tapped his halberd on the ground. "So naturally, we detained him and posted a guard to watch the library for the beasts. Let the monster starve, better that than losing any more men. We are stretched thin as is."
"Perhaps you can help us subjugate the beast?" Annalise asked in a far too bright tone, "Unless," she motioned towards the bench. "You are far too busy, which you certainly appeared to be before we showed up."
As they began to banter back and forth, a prickling crept up my spine. The world seemed to bend around me, I turned around to face the source of the sensation.
Shadows pooled beneath the archway, lengthening against the sun. A whisper, softer than memory, brushed my ear:
Nox…