Chapter Six

  A Grateful Woman

  Kormak rose, never letting go of Alaeron's throat. He walked into the room, kicking the door shut behind him and slamming the alchemist against a cupboard. Alaeron clutched uselessly at the man's hands, sure death was upon him.

  Then the Kellid grunted, his eyes sagged half-shut, and he released his grip. Skiver was there, behind the man, holding a chunk of brick in one hand. He slammed it down on the man's head again while Alaeron scurried away. The Technic League had provided Kormak with formidable protections, but apparently they hadn't been prepared for an attack from behind with a blunt object. Skiver tossed the brick aside. "This a friend of yours?" he said.

  "No," Alaeron croaked. "I've never seen him before. Perhaps a rival alchemist hoping to steal my—"

  Skiver grunted. "Then you won't mind if I do this." He drew his knife and plunged it straight into Kormak's back.

  At least, that was clearly the idea. In actual fact, the blade snapped off cleanly near the hilt, the broken shard of metal bouncing on the floorboards. "What in the nine layers of Hell?" Skiver said. "That was my third-best blade! It didn't even tear this big bastard's coat!" He kicked Kormak in the ribs, and the Kellid groaned and started trying to lever himself up.

  "None of that," Skiver said, and stomped down on the back of Kormak's head. The big man growled and kept trying to get up. Skiver looked at Alaeron, and for once, he wasn't smiling. "He's got a thick head for an alchemist. Let's go."

  Alaeron just nodded and snatched up his pack. Skiver darted out the door, and Alaeron pursued him as the man ducked into alleys Alaeron had never even noticed, quickly taking him deep into a world that ran between and behind the city's buildings, past heaps of refuse tossed from rear windows, starving dogs gnawing at their own matted fur, and puddles of black, stinking water. Some of the passages were so narrow Alaeron had to take off his pack and hold it in his hand as he squeezed through sideways. Annoying, but there was no way the larger Kormak could follow them without knocking down the buildings first.

  Of course, depending on what weapons the Technic League had given him, that might be in his power.

  They were almost back to Vadim's house when it occurred to Alaeron that, with Skiver so focused on the path ahead, he might slip away unnoticed. But Kormak was out there, and doubtless even more unhappy with Alaeron than before. Suddenly the idea of returning to Vadim's fortified mansion didn't seem so unappealing.

  They approached the house from a different direction than the one they'd departed from, coming to a door that was guarded by a pair of men. They recognized Skiver and gave him a lazy nod, then looked Alaeron up and down scornfully before opening the door.

  Once they were safely inside, Alaeron slipped the heavy pack off his back and let it rest on the floor. Skiver exhaled heavily as if he'd been holding his breath all along. He leaned against the wall of the entryway and crossed his arms. "That fella. If he's an alchemist, I'm an Eagle Knight. Care to tell me who he really was?"

  Alaeron thought about that. "No," he said.

  Skiver sighed. "Do you owe someone money? I know what that's like. I figure alchemy has to be an expensive business, with all the ..." He waved his hands vaguely. "Bottles and fluids and such. Did you take out a loan you couldn't pay back?"

  "Something like that." Alaeron kept his eyes downcast.

  Skiver sighed. "Vadim wants you on this trip. He thinks you're worth the trouble, who knows why. I'd much rather make the journey with just the lady and myself, but I don't make the decisions around here. We'll be out of the city tomorrow, and when we get back—if we get back—you can settle your debts then."

  Alaeron swallowed. "Are you going to tell Vadim what happened?" If the old adventurer heard about the attack and got curious, he could make inquiries, and find out Alaeron didn't owe any of the shady dealers in the city money. He might realize someone from the Technic League had come looking for Alaeron, and decide to sell the alchemist for a sure profit instead of funding this speculative expedition. It was a long chain of "ifs" and "maybes," but just plausible enough to make a knot of fear twist up in Alaeron's belly.

  Skiver shrugged. "If I told Vadim every time I hit a man over the head with a brick, we'd never have time to talk about anything else. As far as I'm concerned, it's your business, and since we're leaving the city, it shouldn't affect Vadim." Skiver grinned his terrifying grin again. "But just remember, scholar, that you owe me now. And I don't let debts go uncollected." He shouted, and a servant girl hurried in from a side door. "Show the alchemist to his room." He plucked Alaeron's pack from the floor with one hand as if it weighed nothing, and gave a wink. "I'll hold onto this until it's time for our journey."

  Alaeron was very glad he'd hidden the relics in his coat instead. "Just be careful with that. There are volatile compounds, and my books—"

  "I wasn't planning to mix up all your little bottles of perfume," Skiver said, "and I ain't much of a reader. I just don't want you making a batch of knockout gas and trying to run away."

  Alaeron had ample components in his coat pockets to make any number of powerful concoctions, but he didn't bother correcting Skiver. The average person thought alchemy and potion-making required a laboratory full of retorts and beakers and glass tubing, and while those were all helpful and even necessary for some processes, once you made your initial preparations, you could produce remarkable effects with no more equipment than you could carry on your person. "I wouldn't mind a change of clothes," Alaeron said.

  Skiver snorted. "Save the fresh clothes for after you fall in the ocean or some quicksand or get goblin blood all over you, not after a night spent in one of Ralen Vadim's feather beds." He clucked his tongue. "Soft, scholar, soft." He strolled off into the house with all of Alaeron's least-prized possessions in his hand.

  The servant beckoned Alaeron forward and led him down a hall and then up a staircase, without even a trace of obsequiousness. Even the maids in Almas knew themselves to be the equal of any other person—at least in some intangible essential sense, if not in terms of power, wealth, or influence.

  The man with the tattered ear stood waiting by the door at the top of the stairs. He looked at Alaeron, turned his head and pursed his lips as if to spit, then clearly thought better of sullying the landing in Vadim's house, because he swallowed it instead. "If you try to escape, Vadim says I can beat you with a shovel until the shovel breaks."

  "I'll keep that in mind," Alaeron said.

  "Your room's the first one on the right. The windows are barred, and we've got people watching 'em anyway. Sleep well, you tricksy shit." Tattered-ear opened the door with a show of over-the-top graciousness, sketching out a little bow, and stepped aside just far enough to let Alaeron through. As the alchemist passed through the doorway, Tattered-ear stuck out his foot to trip him. Alaeron saw it coming, and could have avoided falling, but why antagonize the man further? He let himself stumble, falling to his hands and knees and groaning while Tattered-ear and the servant tittered. (The servant laughing at him too—that hurt a bit.)

  The door slammed shut behind him, locking with a sound of great finality, and Alaeron got to his feet...and saw Jaya standing at the end of the short corridor, watching him with a look that was equal parts pity and amusement. "They're letting the prisoners congregate?" he said, brushing himself off. "How kind of them."

  She shook her head. "Not all of us. My brother is in a cage in the basement, like an animal!" She took a step toward him. "I'm sorry, again, for getting you into this."

  He shrugged. "I got myself into this. You were merely the vector. Think nothing of it." Alaeron was beginning to resign himself to the reality of the coming journey. In a way, it was to his advantage—Ralen would pay for his passage and Skiver would act as an armed guard, and that would help him escape Kormak and the Technic League. Once they reached the southern continent, he could slip away. Rumors said the ruler of Osirion often allowed outsiders to access the ruins in the desert for study. Surely a man of Alaeron's experience could find work enough there to keep a roof over his head and continue his researches.

  Jaya came even closer. The hallway wasn't long: an afterthought sort of passage, with two doors on the left, presumably leading to two guest rooms, hers and his, and an ugly old antique dresser at the end of the hall, probably because taking it all the way up to the attic was too much trouble. Jaya had a certain way of filling the available space more than an ordinary person should, the pleasant scent of her seeming to permeate the air. Alaeron had been the subject of seductions before—the Technic League believed in using any method necessary to ensure loyalty—but when Jaya looked at him with her big, dark eyes, and placed her hand against his cheek, it didn't feel like seduction. It didn't feel like anything she was doing at all; it felt like something she was.

  "No," she said. "It's my fault. And despite that, you're going on this trip with me, to save me ...and to save my family. I cannot tell you how grateful I am. You have made a friend in me, Alaeron."

  He started to say, "I was hardly given a choice," but a beautiful woman murmuring sweet words of gratitude was a pleasure rare enough that he didn't want to spoil it. "Ah, anything I can do to help, of course, I'd be delighted ..."

  She stepped back, and the sudden absence of her warmth and proximity was like a shadow falling over him, or a cloud passing over the sun. "There's a tray of food in your room," she said. "Cold, by now, but it wasn't very good when it was hot, so I doubt it's suffered much. Would you like some company while you eat?"

  Alaeron glanced at the door. "They don't mind if the prisoners, ah, fraternize?"

  She shrugged. "I don't think they care what we do, so long as we do it locked in here. We're going to be traveling together—we may as well get to know each other a bit, don't you think?"

  "Of course." He opened the door to his room and let her enter first. The guest room was comfortable enough, if a bit devoid of personality—a sturdy wooden bedframe, an only slightly threadbare armchair, an empty chest of drawers. A tray of cold meat and whole fruit rested on the bedside table next to a pitcher of water and a cup. Alaeron removed his clattering coat and hung it on a hook in the corner, then perched on the edge of the bed and selected the least-mushy-looking apple.

  Jaya lounged in the chair, her obvious exhaustion barely making a dent in her beauty. "I never should have tried to trick Ralen Vadim. I let my brother talk me into it—his ambition has always gone beyond the boundaries of good sense, but I have such a hard time saying no to him. And we were desperate." She sighed. "And now we're even more desperate. To stake my life, and my brother's, on a trip into the ruins of Kho? It seems like madness, but when the only other choice is death, madness can seem quite attractive. And this man Vadim is sending with us, Skiver—you were with him this afternoon, weren't you? What's he like?"

  Alaeron thought for a moment. "Cunning, if not exactly intelligent. Not averse to violence. I get the sense he likes gambling, and that gambling may have gotten him into some trouble. A bit rude, but handy with a blade, I think, and that can be a good quality in a traveling companion, especially in the wild places."

  "Loyal to Vadim, I suppose. He'd hardly send the man otherwise."

  "Loyal to himself, over all, I suspect," Alaeron said carefully. "But he certainly respects Vadim, and I doubt he'd take our side over his."

  She nodded briskly. "Then we'll have to play it straight. You have experience searching through ruins for relics, Alaeron. How do you rate our chances?"

  He swallowed a chunk of apple. "The sky cities of the Shory are not my area of expertise. I've read a bit of speculation about how their cities flew—we call it Aeromantic Infandibulum, but just because it has a name doesn't mean it's understood. Some combination of aeromancy and the electro-thaumaturgy of the ancients, we assume, but who can say for sure? There's no denying it was powerful magic, though ...and powerful magic leaves traces."

  He shifted on the bed, leaning against the hard headboard. "The Silver Mount fell from the sky, too—from beyond the sky, from the depths of the stars—and when it crashed, it broke apart, though not entirely. Terrible forces were released on impact, nevertheless. Magic is a method of containing forces so powerful they can obliterate the world. When the containment fails, the results can be unpredictable. I wouldn't dare to guess what we might find in whatever remains of Kho. Mad elemental beings? Toxic magic twisting the local wildlife into monsters? Devastation that extends beyond the merely physical and into the nature of time and space itself? Any of those. But also items of great power and antiquity, certainly, if the site hasn't been picked over by adventurers already."

  "Few who go to Kho return, or so my mother said," Jaya told him. "And those who do return seldom carry anything with them, except terrible, contradictory stories. Most die in a few years, either from drink, or carelessness, or suicide, or strange diseases, or the bad luck that clings to them like a stink." She sighed. "Obviously, I was desperate to suggest going there, even assuming my mother exaggerated. Still, I think whatever treasures the city held are still there in the ruins."

  "Mmm. Then the question will be getting them out again. I can't say for sure until I've been there, until I've seen it for myself, but ...I rate our chances of getting out of Kho successfully rather better than those of most adventurers. As you say, I have experience in these matters."

  A smile just touched her lips. "No false modesty in you, is there?"

  "To my knowledge, I went deeper underground in the Silver Mount than anyone else ever has," he said simply. "And I came out sane, with all my limbs, without any terrible addictions, and bearing artifacts of power. I do not claim to be a man of many talents. But what few talents I have are considerable, and well developed."

  "I think I can say the same about myself." Did she lick her lips, just then, a flicker of pink tongue? Did she take a deeper breath than usual and thrust out her chest provocatively? Alaeron couldn't be sure. "I am quite good with a bow, for example," she said, voice entirely deadpan.

  Before Alaeron could respond, she yawned widely, covering her mouth with her hand. "Forgive me. The day has been more exhausting than I realized. I should get some sleep—there's no telling when Vadim will roust us out of bed in the morning." She rose with fluid grace—if that was how she moved when she was exhausted, she must be exquisite when fresh—and paused in the doorway. "You are in the process of saving my life," she said. "I owe you a debt I can never repay—but I'll spend the rest of that life doing my best to make it up to you." She gave a little wave, and departed, closing the door after her.

  Alaeron put the remains of his apple aside and stretched out on the rather comfortable bed, staring up at the ceiling for a while. "Damn it," he said at last, but softly, because who knew how thin the walls were? "It looks like I'm going to Kho after all."

  It took him a long time to sleep, but when he did, he dreamed of Jaya, and they were exactly the sort of dreams one might expect.

  Chapter Seven

  Setting Sail

  The windows were still dark when someone jabbed Alaeron in the side, making him bolt up in bed, gasping. Skiver stood holding a lantern that illuminated his grin. That was all the reminder Alaeron needed that he was a prisoner, and not a guest—if he'd been a guest, the maniac sent to rouse him would have knocked politely at the door first.

  "Up, up!" Skiver shouted with good cheer.

  Alaeron groaned. "You're one of that loathsome species that loves mornings, aren't you?"

  "Any moment I'm drawing breath is a good one, scholar. Rise and get your boots on. We sail with the tide." He paused. "Actually, I've no idea if we're really sailing with the tide, but it sounds like a good reason to get up while it's still dark outside, doesn't it?" He went out in the hallway, and by the time Alaeron had gulped a glass of water, splashed more water on his face, and put on his coat and boots, Jaya was in the hall waiting too.

  "Let's go, children." Skiver whistled as he descended the stairs, then led them deeper into the house, and eventually out to the stables. There wasn't even a hint of dawn in the sky, and it was cold. Jaya's bow case and a pair of traveler's packs waited alongside Alaeron's far bulkier baggage. "You get your weapons back now, you two," Skiver said. "Don't go trying to use them on me, though, eh? Mr. Vadim has agents almost all the way along the route, and I'll be sending messages back with them as we proceed. If he doesn't hear from me right regular, he'll send nastier men than me out to find you. Letting you escape would be an insult to his pride, and if there's one thing he can't abide, it's looking the fool. Fair warning." He grinned and put one arm around Jaya's shoulders, and the other around Alaeron's. "But never mind, I'm sure I've nothing to worry about. We'll soon be the best of friends. Off on an adventure! I always wanted to go on one of those. I only ever get invited to heists and massacres."

  He led them to a closed carriage, where a bored-looking driver sat waiting. Skiver and the driver piled the luggage on top and secured it—Alaeron winced as they manhandled his pack, even though everything breakable inside was fairly well wrapped, and he hadn't put any chemicals that combined explosively close to one another. "Inside, my darlings," Skiver said, and they climbed in.

  The carriage was marvelously padded and comfortable inside, though it was as dark as the backside of the moon. Skiver sat next to Alaeron, and Jaya across from him, and they rode in silence as the carriage rattled down the largely deserted streets. Gradually light filled the carriage's windows, and Alaeron took a final look at the city he loved.

  They reached the docks at the mouth of the Andoshen River, and Skiver hopped out promptly, with Alaeron and Jaya following with considerably less enthusiasm. The wharves stank of tar and salt, and the docks were bustling with activity even at this early hour, with sailors doing inscrutable things involving coils of ropes and heaps of crates and stacks of barrels. Alaeron knew little about boats—or were the big ones ships?—and cared even less. Boats, like horses, carts, and carriages, were all just a means of covering the regrettable distance between places that actually interested him. He glanced back for one last look at the city ...and saw a pall of smoke rising above the buildings to the north. Jaya was a little distance away, staring at the ships, so he looked over to Skiver, who was adjusting the straps on his pack. "Fire there," he remarked, pointing.