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10.1 - The High Lord Speaks

  A full week had passed since the fish-eyed tumari died, but parts of Midnight Square were still smoking. From his glassy balcony at the top of the Obsidian Citadel, Lord Dewer could clearly see the blackened rubble strewn across the Bard’s Quarter. Midnight Square was an ashy pit, the broken husk of the Bard’s Rest a pile of spent firewood crawling with the many workers attempting to repair it.

  Few were granted access to this level of the citadel. Dewer began most of his days there, buffeted by the wind tearing through twin windowless archways. The mirroring balcony pointed towards the Salt Bell and the glistening roil of the Thet beyond. On a clear day, Dewer fancied he could see all the way to the Island Nations.

  He turned as footsteps echoed from the stairs. Karane rose into view from the hollow of the stairwell, the morning sun illuminating the wine-red leather of his vest.

  “Good morning, Karane.”

  Karane stopped before his lord and nodded stiffly in reply. He was a quiet man, but he was always thinking. It was one of the reasons why Dewer had elevated him from his position as a lowly Salt Sword to join Critos as the second member of his personal guard—the men his Swords called Red Breasts behind their backs. His dark eyes were always moving, scanning faces, surveying the area, noticing tiny details even Dewer himself would often overlook. Karane was not a man easily caught off-guard.

  “How goes the repair work?”

  “Slowly. The masons have sent for more stone from Trappastina.”

  Karane was a good inch taller than Lord Dewer, a fact that obviously troubled him. Every time they spoke he inclined his head, letting his broad shoulders sag and his long hair—only partly tied back from his face—fall across his eyes.

  “And the Salt Swords? How do they fare?”

  The wind rose for a moment, whipping about the scant walls of the open space with a mournful wail and lifting Karane’s hair to obscure his eyes completely. Dewer always felt an intense urge to smooth that wild hair back from the man’s face. His hand twitched at his side.

  “Thankfully, casualties were few.” Karane’s voice rose as he struggled to make himself heard over the moaning of the wind. “The injured Swords have been administered to by the druids and are healing rapidly, which is just as well because Overseer Jewell has been on high alert.”

  A small smile spread across Dewer’s face. “Jewell must be spitting feathers. He’s never had to deal with so large a threat within the city walls.”

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  “He has posted more Salt Swords along the wall and is manning the gates at night. I believe he fears another attack.”

  “I would be severely concerned if that happened,” Dewer replied, his voice dropping to a low threat. Karane straightened slightly before him. “Tell me, have we discovered the idiot druid who let a second creature get past them?”

  Karane shook his head. “No. But we will. Critos is interrogating druids as we speak.”

  “That is good. If anyone can shake the truth from a person, it’s Critos. The Guild Heads have been sending messages since last night if you can believe it. The damn ingrates are demanding answers, wanting to know if their streets will burn next. I would like to settle this matter as quickly and as quietly as possible.”

  Dewer paused, watching Karane’s face. The man was finding it hard to maintain eye contact with him. Harder than usual, anyway. He was holding something back.

  “What are you failing to disclose, Karane?”

  This time he did lift a hand to the guard’s face, pulling a drift of flying hair back from his forehead and glaring into his eyes. The taller man recoiled at his touch. Dewer pulled the handful of hair harder, twining the silky strands around his fingers tight enough to hurt. Karane refused to give him the satisfaction of acknowledging any pain—a feat as impressive as it was frustrating.

  “You still have no idea what killed the beast, do you?” Dewer strengthened his grip on the hair in his hand, yanking it until the pale scalp beneath pulled taut and flared red. “This is my city, Karane. Nothing should be happening within its walls that I don’t know about. I saw the tumari explode. I watched its guts fly across Midnight Square like so much fetid confetti. Why can nobody tell me what happened? The druids should have re-captured it easily.” He released the handful of hair and Karane stumbled backwards.

  “We have found something,” the Red Breast said. His hand hovered at his burning scalp, then dropped back to his side. “A broken piece of jewellery amongst the creature’s remains.”

  Dewer watched him reach for a pouch hanging at his belt with mounting impatience, snatching the tarnished object from Karane’s hand.

  “You wait until now to show this to me?”

  The guard’s face remained passive but his wide eyes betrayed his apprehension.

  Dewer held the object up to the light. At first glance, it was unimpressive—a small, grey pendant set with an ugly glass eye. The eye was dull, blackened by flame. Dewer was unable to make out the original colour but one detail did catch his attention: a delicately engraved pattern of interlocking hoops encircling the grey pewter disk. He knew at once what manner of people had made those marks. The pendant was a spelled object crafted by the Asrai. Dewer’s hand closed over the disk, gripping it so tightly the brittle face of the glassy eye cracked.

  “Do you know of any unusual newcomers to the city?” he asked Karane, trying hard to speak in an even tone. He wanted to scream into the wind. To hurl the spent pendant into the Thet and Karane along with it. Asrai had dared to breach the walls of his city. “Newcomers with hair and skin as pale and cold as ice?”

  “No Lord Dewer, but I will begin searching for such a people immediately.”

  Dewer held up his free hand, making Karane pause while he considered the situation. “Keep this to yourself for now. It would not do to let them know we’re looking for them before we are poised to strike.”

  He smiled up at Karane. A plan was forming, a path laid clearly before him. Control was his once more. “I think it is time I consult with our visiting dignitary again.”

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