Chapter 13

Aradia and Oryndor were practitioners of elven high magic, a mighty discipline but inferior to the power of an archsorcerer. To Rionne’s and Naomi’s chagrin, they knew little of value—except for a few facts that confirmed what Rionne herself had experienced: past a certain distance threshold, teleportation magic had become so unreliable that it was effectively useless. Sending spells, the type that Rionne had used to try and contact Hilde and Tealoth, were equally affected; Oryndor had theorized that she had been able to reach the great Ancient because his power and presence as a huge sentient tree exerted an effect of its own on the Tapestry.

They departed the elven quarter with some frustration. “Well, it makes sense that your spell landed you in Tokyo.”

“It does. But this new information only asserts something we already knew.” Rionne took it in stride. “I still have acquaintances to visit here, so we should get going. The Arcane Association is on the other side of the town, past the marketplace.”

“Might as well visit the marketplace first.”

“I thought of that, but it is the most heavily guarded place in the city, barring the fort housing the gate to the Coop. If we must avoid attention from the watch, we should find a propitious occasion to visit it.”

“Why not just use invisibility? You can cast it, right?”

“The watch here have monocles like mine. Not as exquisite as my own, but enough to see past our cover the moment they detect a hint of it.”

Naomi breathed in deep. “Gotta deal with it the old-fashioned way then.” She was already alert, and Rionne’s explanation only sharpened her caution.

That wariness probably was why she felt it first. “We’re being followed.”

Rionne resisted the impulse to look behind them. “How do you know?”

“I know. That’s all.” Then she added, “I also have magic, but it doesn’t work like yours.”

“Then lead us,” the elf wizard said quietly. “We will trust your instincts.”

The city followed a grid pattern for the most part, with several large boulevards crossing it at regular intervals. Naomi turned left on one, then right again at random on another, always wary of tan cloaks in view and keeping distance from alleyways.

She repeated the sequence a few times—but the feeling remained. “Whoever is tailing us is persistent.”

Rionne now did look around. They stood on a street that passed right next to a small square where a few food stalls had been set. Patrons were lining up to order their noon meals. “Are you hungry?”

Only now Naomi seemed to catch the smells of broiling meat. Her mouth watered. “You know what, I am.”

“Good. Then pick a stall and order something.” Rionne handed her a purse. “A meal should cost two or three coppers, a tankard of ale one. Ten coppers make a silver piece. I will look for a place to sit.”

“Got it.”

Naomi settled for a stall that sold skewered fried locusts. After a patient exchange with the old dwarven lady who ran the stall, she was allowed to try a bit—and it was strikingly similar to tempura in texture and taste. She ordered two, one each for Rionne and her. That cost her four coppers in total, plus another for some ale. She looked around for the elf, and saw her sitting on one of several benches placed next to a fountain. Other patrons occupied the rest, also enjoying their meals and ignoring Rionne except for the occasional curious glance.

“Some food patterns seem to hold across realities,” Naomi told Rionne, handing her one of the skewers, then she added in a whisper, “I see you again chose with a good eye.” It was true: the placement of the square, the fountain and the stalls made it impossible to spy the bench they sat on from any street or alley in view, except for two. Out of unspoken accord, they picked one each.

But their surprise came not from a street or alleyway, but from the sky. Something landed next to Naomi. Curiously she bent over to look and—“Hey, look at this.”

It was a dirty piece of paper wrapped around a stone.

Covertly Rionne unwrapped it. A message had been crudely scribbled on it. She looked around one way, then the other. “By the southern boulevard exit,” she whispered to Naomi. “The blacksmith’s shop, third floor.”

Naomi thought for a moment. “The dragonkin boy?” She tried to recall the name. “Something like ‘crystal?’ Kryzaal, was it?”

“Kryzaal, yes. And probably.” Rionne was looking for ways in. “I could just fly us in there, but my intuition tells me to avoid vulgar displays now.”

While Rionne examined the buildings around, Naomi nibbled on the tempura-locust, and for a moment regretted the tense situation, for the dish was both tasty and lean. “I’ll have to come back here and enjoy this in peace.”

“This meal you can find elsewhere. Locusts are endemic to the Cauldron area.” The elf frowned. “It is not a good place,” she said quietly. “It is not possible to maneuver in tight spaces such as stairwells and corridors.”

Naomi pondered it momentarily, then glanced at the paper again. “You sure this is the boy and not some elaborate ambush plan?”

“No, I am not sure, but I am fairly confident.”

After another moment weighing it, Naomi decided it was time to seize the initiative. “I’ll take point.”

Rionne hesitated briefly before nodding her understanding. “I will cover our rear.”

They finished their meal with deliberate parsimony, then stood up and walked towards the three-story house where the blacksmith’s shop was. There was a doorway on the side that led into a short hallway with some stairs on a side and a door on the other. Naomi drew her pistol and took the stairs with slow and almost inaudible steps, Rionne holding her bladed staff with both hands as a naginata.

As they climbed the stairs, they caught the muffled sounds of voices speaking roughly. Immediately Naomi put an index finger to her lips—and Rionne nodded. Then they continued up the stairs.

“Are you certain that lizard is here?” one of the voices asked morosely.

“How am I s’posed to know? That sod’s one squirrely little nuisance,” another answered, rough as sandpaper.

“He would better be here,” the first voice complained. “We have been chasing this mongrel for days now.”

“Quiet,” a third voice spoke quietly next. “If this ‘mongrel’ escapes because he heard ye, I’ll have yer guts fer garters.”

Naomi turned towards Rionne and gestured silently at her. Three, upstairs.

Rionne nodded, then encouraged her forward. Understood. I’m ready.

Silently, Naomi set the safety on her pistol and holstered it. Then she clenched her right fist with slow deliberation, and opened it again—and a green wisp of flame flickered briefly over her palm. She turned around for a moment and pointed her left index finger at Rionne first, then at the ground. Stay here.

A nod. Understood.

Some mechanical noise came from upstairs, the clacking of metal inside metal. Naomi climbed the stairs with extreme caution, facing backwards, a faint green glow seeping through her clenched right fist—

—and unfortunately someone was watching: “Oi! Who in the hells are you—“

A blazing jet of white-hot green flame turned the orc’s head into thin black dust. The human by the door with the lockpicks shouted an alarm, and the elf next to him started bringing up a crossbow—but he was too slow as Naomi lunged at him, her entire weight behind her three outstretched fingers as she stabbed for the elf’s larynx. The impact paralyzed her foe, who collapsed on the ground coughing explosively and tried to reach blindly for a knife before a savage kick in the head knocked the stars out of him.

The last one drew a dagger and stabbed for Naomi’s stomach. With some quick footwork and a deceptively smooth twist of her waist, she evaded the stab—and retaliated with a vicious knuckle strike on the back of the hand holding the blade. The man recoiled in pain with a scream, dropping the weapon. “Ye meddlin’ wench!” he roared, then reached for his lockpicks and threw them at her before charging, arms outstretched and reaching for her neck. Naomi stepped back, arms crossed before her, then struck violently outwards with both fists—precise blows that numbed his wrists. Another vicious kick dug into his groin, then twin palm strikes on his ears stunned her foe senseless. The man crumpled on the floor—

—and before he could even drunkenly grope for balance and stand up, he found himself staring at a blade less than an inch away from his eyes.

He raised his hands over his head. “Ye win. Won’t get killed over that mongrel.”

“That is clever on your part,” Rionne commended dryly. “On whose behalf did you come here? Inshubar? It is a pity he was not here with you.”

An insolent chuckle. “That basher’s just another goon workin’ fer the guvner. And the guvner will be mighty pissed at ye when he learns o’ this.”

“Whoever your boss is, I am sure I have earned the enmity of much worse foes than he. Now who is he?”

“Wouldn’t tell if I knew.” He spat. “Not the first time someone gets the better o’ me. But ruinin’ my cred’ll get me killed.”

Naomi’s right hand flared blindingly with a gout of white-green fire. “You can also get killed here and now.”

“I told ye, I don’t know. Ye can get me to scream all kinds o’ useless lies. Can’t stop ye from doin’ that.”

Rionne weighed his words. “Tell us who you are working for instead.”

“There’s a bounty on that mongrel.” An ugly grin. “Not yer kind of business, too dirty fer yer pretty hands. When we got this mark we had to hand it over to some purple basher from Wyrmspire, and that is all I know. The sod’s one Guldryyv.” He spat again. “Damn lizards an’ their tongue-twister names.”

Naomi and Rionne exchanged looks. The former shrugged. The elf spoke a single word, and after a pulse of blinding light the thug was knocked out cold.

Then Rionne surveyed the scene. “So this is the extent of your competence. I must recalibrate my assumptions about you.”

“Compared to the Maze, this is small fry stuff. People can imagine monstrosities that would tear your heart out and dangle it on your face before you die. And you can’t just wish them away or pretend they aren’t real.”

After a moment’s consideration, the elf said, “You will have to tell me that tale later.”

“Later,” Naomi agreed. She walked to the door and knocked softly. “Kryzaal? Octavia sent us. It’s safe here now.”

Nobody answered her.

Then, after some twenty-odd seconds, the noise of sliding bolts came from the other side, and the locks on the door worked.

Then the door itself opened, and a figure peeked carefully from the other side. The dragonkin Naomi had seen so far were tall and bulky and heavily muscled, their faces solid and boasting stout muzzles, powerful cheekbones, and either horns or crests. This youth had some of these features—the muzzle, the cheekbones, and four backwards sloping horns—but the similarities ended there. His frame was slender and much shorter, his face gaunt, his eyes vigilant and suspicious underneath thick brows. His wings were huge, reminding Naomi of Ayase Rumiko’s own, strong and powerful. His scales were opaque and dirty gray in color.

“Lady Rionne,” he said with a quivering voice. “You came for me.”

The elf returned the look. “You knew I would. It was you tailing us.”

“I’m—I’m sorry,” he hastened to apologize. “But there are eyes on you all over the city. After what happened at Octavia’s home… I had to make sure nobody saw us meeting.”

“Did you witness the arson? What happened there?”

Naomi raised a hand. “Lady Rionne—if you’ll allow me…” She was taller than Kryzaal, so she crouched to get to his eye level. “Octavia was very concerned for you, Kryzaal. The other kids are okay, the elves have them.”

The youth’s face twisted with grief. “But they—they lost their home! Because of me! I can never go back to them now.”

“They didn’t lose their home,” Naomi said soothingly. “Octavia has gotten people to help rebuilding the orphanage. Nobody died.”

“But someone will, sooner or later. And it will be my fault if that happens.” The youth sank against a wall. “They—they’ll keep coming back again and again for me. Until I give up.”

“Who are ‘they?’” Rionne asked piercingly. “Guldryyv?”

“He’s just a—a representative. Of the lord. Who wants me.” He closed his eyes. “Of the lord who executed my father and exiled my mother.”

“Kryzaal, look at me.” Very carefully, Naomi raised her hands and laid them on Kryzaal’s shoulders. “I teach and protect children for a living. See these thugs? It was I who took care of them. I’ll do the same to anyone who tries.”

The young dragonkin opened his eyes. “Lady, you can’t fight a dragon lord hand to hand. They will tear you to pieces in a heartbeat.”

“If they catch me.” Naomi smirked ferociously. “I got things that can hurt a dragon myself. And if I can’t, then Lady Rionne here will make them regret trying anything against you.”

Rionne nodded firmly. “You can rest assured I will.”

Kryzaal stared at the elven wizard with fascination. “Actually—that’s why I wanted you to come here.” Unexpectedly he knelt. “Lady Rionne,” he begged, “please—let me be your apprentice. Please.”

Then voices came from downstairs—along with the tingling and clanging sounds of metal and armor. “They must be here!” a voice hollered. “Find them!”

“Shit.” Naomi unslung her shotgun, removed the safety, and chambered a shell. “Rionne, gonna need some extra ammo. And more magazines.”

The request briefly startled the elf. “Do you intend to fight them all out?”

“If they don’t let us out. Or you got another plan? You can’t carry me, can you?”

“Replicating your ammunition is not instantaneous,” Rionne protested. “I can restore your supplies, but it takes time.”

“Shit,” Naomi repeated. “Well, gotta keep at least one shell and bullet of each type, I suppose. Now come!” She started walking down the stairs, and reached the second floor—

—just at the moment a tan-cloaked man climbed from the floor below, sword in hand. “Where’s Galdrick?” Anger flashed on the bearded face. “You offed him and his men?”

Naomi aimed her shotgun at him. “I’ll only say this once. Back off.”

The watchman laughed huskily. “Hear this, bloods! The wench thinks she can fight off the entire watch!” Then his smile vanished. “Surrender the mongrel,” he demanded, “and we might decide not to let you rot in the brig for too long.” He stepped forward, sword pointed at her—

—but then the shotgun boomed, and the impact hurled the watchman against the opposite wall with a muted groan.

“Boss?!” A female voice called from the floor below, then it yelled angrily: “They croaked the boss!”

“Don’t let them escape!” Another male voice called.

“Check this fucker’s dead,” Naomi told Rionne darkly, “then stay close. Get some of that fancy magic of yours ready.” She made a beeline for the stairs, but someone were already racing up the steps. A woman—with a crossbow ready, but Naomi had the high ground advantage, and used it. The shotgun boomed a second time.

“The silver witch got Ysela!” The male voice roared. “We need spell slingers here!”

“If we do not leave soon, we will be trapped,” Rionne warned.

“What do you suggest?” Naomi asked.

The young dragonkin spoke haltingly, “Maybe—a haze? Or a fog?”

Both Naomi and Rionne blinked. “That is actually a very smart choice,” the elf approved. “Well thought—apprentice.” She planted her legs firmly apart, then held her staff with her right hand as she held her left one over her eyes and pronounced some mystical words.

Then a fog so thick they could not see two steps ahead filled the building. At once voices called out from outside: “Watch out! The witch’s goin’ to run for it!”

“Block the exits!”

“Hold on,” Naomi said, and reached for one of the cylindrical grenades hanging from her vest. “My turn. Cover your eyes and ears.” She walked to the stairs, pulled the pin, tossed the grenade downstairs and outside—then dropped to the ground, cupped her ears and squeezed her eyes shut. The powerful blast made the walls quiver slightly, shattered glass tinkling somewhere close. Disoriented screams filled the air as the watchmen flailed on the ground, dazed or stunned or outright unconscious.

“This is it!” Naomi whispered, and grabbed Rionne by the arm. “Let’s go! Now now now!”

“One moment!” Another sequence of gesturing and arcane syllables, and sounds around them were dampened. “Ready!”

Under the triple cover of silence, fog and stun, the trio easily slipped through into a nearby alleyway. Naomi was on point, shotgun drawn and ready, with Kryzaal behind and Rionne closing their march. “Where to now?”

“To the main compound of the Ruby Roads Company in the marketplace,” the elf replied, then she added angrily, “I am going to make myself heard.”