Frostborn: The Broken Mage (12 page)

Once, she suspected, this must have been a beautiful place. The walls had been carved with intricate reliefs, showing robed dwarven women wearing differing styles and pieces of jewelry. Crumbling tapestries hung from the walls, and dusty carpets lay here and there. A small pool rested in the center of the shop, a dry fountain, the water long since evaporated. Cases of dwarven steel and crystal lined the walls, displaying jewelry wrought of gold and silver, rings and bracelets and necklaces. 

“Jager,” said Mara in a quiet voice. “Could you do something for me?”

“Of course,” said Jager, straightening up from his appraisal of a case holding golden rings.

“Don’t take anything,” said Mara. “This is a tomb. Khald Azalar was a city, but now it serves as a tomb for its dwarves. Stealing from this shop would be like robbing a grave.”

“I am the Master Thief of Cintarra, you know,” said Jager. “Robbing graves is the sort of thing I would do.”

“But you never did, did you?” said Mara.

Jager sighed. “No, I suppose not.” He sighed again, tapped the crystal pane of the case with a fingernail, and then grinned at her. “Besides, given how often we’ve had to run for our lives lately, I suppose I don’t want to carry any extra weight. Can’t spend money if I’m dead, can I?” 

“Indeed not,” murmured Mara. She took another look around the shop. “I doubt we’ll find any maps out here. Let’s look in the back rooms.”

“I don’t read dwarven,” said Jager.

“Neither do I,” said Mara, “but Caius does. Besides, I suppose a map will be obvious.”

Jager snorted. “Given dwarven sensibilities, I suspect that map will be twenty feet tall, carved from solid stone, framed in dwarven steel, and illuminated with glyphs of fire.” 

Mara laughed despite herself. “Probably. Then Brother Caius will tell us the thousands of years of history behind it.” 

“He does like to talk,” said Jager.

“So do you,” said Mara with a smile. “I’ve never held it against you.” Her smile faded. “I understood what he meant about hope, though.” 

They stepped into the next room. It looked like a jewelers’ workshop, with several stone benches holding tools, a small smelter and a forge, and various pieces of half-completed jewelry. If not for the faint layer of dust and the cold forge, the workshop could have been abandoned yesterday. Mara thought it odd that no one had looted the shop in the two centuries since Khald Azalar’s fall. Perhaps the Frostborn had not cared about gold, and perhaps the damaged titan in the Market scared away any Vhaluuskan adventurers who had made it this far into the ruins 

“What do you mean?” said Jager. 

“I know what it is like to have no hope,” said Mara. “There is no hope in Nightmane Forest among the Traveler’s slaves, among the Anathgrimm and the urdhracosi and the other creatures of dark magic. Among the human slaves, though…we at least could pray to God, and knew that even if we spent our lives enslaved to the Traveler, the Dominus Christus awaited us with hope beyond death. The Anathgrimm do not even have that, for the Traveler has made himself their god.” 

“I imagine mercy is not among his traits,” said Jager.

“You’ve met him,” said Mara, looking over the tools and the workbenches. She saw nothing that might be a document. “Mercy is not within him. He might spare someone on occasion, but only so he can torment them later.” 

“Has he come any closer?” said Jager.

“A little,” said Mara. “But not since yesterday. He might be fighting Mournacht and the Mhorites.”

“Or he’s stuck behind one of those doors,” said Jager.

“That, too,” said Mara. “Or he might have stopped for reasons of his own. He is not always rational.”

“I’d noticed,” said Jager. He stopped at the far wall of the workshop, looking at another door. “Maybe there’s something in here.” He pushed open the door a crack, pale light falling into the gloomy workshop. Jager peered through the crack for a moment, and then his eyes widened. “Mara, come look at this.”

He pushed the door all the way open. The room beyond was small, lit by a glowstone in a small steel cage affixed to the ceiling. A stone desk occupied one wall, a shelf above it, and papers and old books covered the desk. Jager stepped to the desk and began flipping through the papers. 

“I think these are letters,” said Jager. 

Mara flipped open a massive book. “That’s obviously a ledger.” She didn’t recognize the characters, but they marched across the page in orderly rows, some written in red ink and others in black. “I suppose bookkeeping is the same regardless of the kindred.”

“We all want to turn a profit in the end,” said Jager, glancing at another paper.

“Jager, wait,” said Mara, taking the paper. “I think…I think that is a map.” She tapped it with a finger. “Look, that would be the River Moradel, that would be the Vhaluuskan mountains…”

“I think it shows caravan routes,” said Jager. “It probably fell from this shelf here…ah.”

He unrolled a large scroll and spread it across the desk. It showed an intricate, stylized diagram, with dozens of different sections labeled in dwarven glyphs. Mara gazed at it, trying to make sense of the diagram.

“This is it,” said Jager. “I think this is a map of the city.”

“How can you be sure?” said Mara. “Maybe it’s a map of the sewer tunnels.”

“Well, that would still be better than nothing,” said Jager. “Unless I miss my guess, this is the Gate of the West, and that would be the Dormari Quarter…damned if I know what the rest of this is, though.”

“Caius will know,” said Mara. “Let’s show this to him.” 

Jager nodded, rolled up the scroll, and tucked it under his arm. Mara started to wince, fearing that the map would crumble, but the dwarves made paper with the same durability as their steel. Perhaps that was a good sign. Perhaps it would allow them to find Calliande’s staff and escape Khald Azalar before Mournacht or Mara’s father found them. 

Perhaps that would allow Mara to stop thinking about those she could not help, those trapped in her father’s power.

###

Calliande walked through a shop containing a bewildering number of plates and goblets, Antenora and Gavin at her side. 

“A pity no one carved a map onto the plates,” said Gavin, picking up one of the plates and returning it to the stone shelf.

“Upon Old Earth,” said Antenora, “some merchants sell plates adorned with special designs to commemorate events of historical note.”

“How peculiar,” said Gavin. “Why buy a plate if you will not eat off of it? It seems wasteful. I…”

Calliande never heard the rest of Gavin’s opinion, because Jager started shouting from the Market. She turned in alarm and hurried from the shop, Antenora and Gavin running after her, Gavin drawing Truthseeker. There was no sign of enemies in the Market, but Jager and Mara jogged across the tiers as the others emerged from the ruined shops.

“You found something?” said Ridmark. 

“Aye, we did,” said Mara, waving them over to a chunk of broken wall that lay flat. Jager produced a scroll as long as his arm and unrolled it, revealing an intricate maze of a diagram marked in dwarven glyphs. 

“What’s that?” said Calliande. 

“Oh, well done,” said Caius, peering at the diagram. “Well done, indeed. This is exactly what we need.” 

“A map of the city?” said Ridmark.

“Not quite,” said Caius, tracing one of the lines with a finger. “It’s a map listing what time merchant traffic is allowed upon the streets.”

“I see,” said Calliande. “Wait. What?” 

“Coldinium and Cintarra have such maps as well,” said Jager. “A cart loaded with, say, ore is much louder and much harder on the pavement than a cart loaded with wool or cloth. Or a herd of pigs on its way to market leaves droppings everywhere. So the city curia issues decrees regulating when different kinds of traffic can travel on the street, and how much the merchants will pay for the privilege.”

“How do you possibly know that?” said Morigna. 

“Bribery,” said Jager.

“Ah.”

“The khaldari are no different,” said Caius. “Though I expect we are somewhat more law-abiding than Jager’s friends. This is map shows when different kinds of merchant traffic are allowed to use the main streets and ramps, but consequently displays the major quarters of the city.” He tapped part of the map. “That would be the Hall of the West. There is the Dormari Quarter, the Farmers’ Quarter…and there is the Goldsmiths’ Market.” 

“Where we are,” said Gavin.

“Precisely,” said Caius. 

“I don’t suppose the map happens to show where Dragonfall lies, does it?” said Calliande.

“I suspect very little merchant traffic went to Dragonfall,” said Caius. “But…let’s see.” He traced a line to the heart of the map. “There is the Citadel of Kings, where the Kings of Khald Azalar would have kept their court. And beyond that…the Vault of the Kings.”

“What is that?” said Ridmark with a frown. “The royal tombs?”

“No,” said Caius. “The King’s treasury.” 

Jager snorted. “Why would the King put his treasury on a merchants’ map? Seems an invitation to thievery.” 

“Because the Vault of the Kings would also take in taxes,” said Caius. “Some of it would be in gold, yes, but others would be in kind, ingots of dwarven steel or hides or wine and so forth. Those taxes would be subject to the traffic laws, and therefore would come to the Vault of the Kings at different times.”

“That sounds compulsively over-organized,” said Jager.

“My kindred are fond of order,” said Caius. 

“What does this have to do with Dragonfall and Calliande’s staff?” said Ridmark. 

“The Vault of the Kings, if it it’s anything like the treasury in Khald Tormen,” said Caius, “will be the most secure area in Khald Azalar. There will be rooms within it that only the King of Khald Azalar himself could access. If Khald Azalar was built around Dragonfall, and if the King kept Dragonfall’s location a secret…then almost certainly the entrance to Dragonfall itself is within the Vault of the Kings.” 

“That makes sense,” said Calliande. Certainly it sounded right. If it was wrong, though, would she remember it?

“The logic rings true,” said Arandar.

“The staff of the Keeper would be incredibly valuable,” said Ridmark, his blue eyes meeting Calliande’s gaze. She was always struck by how clear and cold his eyes looked. “If you were planning for centuries ahead, then you would have placed the staff within the most secure location you could find.”

“All right,” said Calliande. “We should go to the Vault of the Kings.”

“Which suggests a pertinent question,” said Kharlacht. “How will we get there?”

“According to this map,” said Caius, “the most direct route from the Goldsmiths’ Market would be to proceed to the Way of the Nine Kingdoms, the central street of Khald Azalar. We would cut through the Masons’ Quarter, and then pass through the Shield Quarter and the Nobles’ Quarter before entering the Citadel of Kings itself.”

“We should avoid that route,” said Ridmark.

“Why?” said Gavin.

“Because if it’s the most direct route,” said Ridmark, “I would wager it’s the largest route as well. Both Mournacht and the Traveler brought armies with them, and they’ll need all the space they can find to move their men. That will take time, and they might wind up battling each other.” He looked back at Caius. “Is there another route we can take? A back way, somewhere an army would have a hard time moving?”

“I believe so, if this map is accurate,” said Caius. “If we cut through the main foundries of the Forge Quarter, and then through the old mines and across a reservoir…yes, I believe we can reach the Citadel of Kings that way. And if Mournacht and the Traveler brought their entire forces with them, we can likely arrive at the Citadel of Kings before they can.” 

“So be it,” said Ridmark. “Unless anyone has any better ideas, we’ll take that route.”

No one had any better ideas.

“We should take that gallery,” said Caius, pointing at an archway opening off the side of the Goldsmith’s Market. “That will take us to the Forge Quarter proper, and then to the foundry levels. An entrance to the mines should be nearby.” He looked at the map for a moment longer. “We shall have to exercise caution. Almost certainly the mines open into the Deeps themselves. Anything could have wandered up.”

“Like deep orcs and dvargir?” said Ridmark.

“Precisely,” said Caius. “Or anything else. Whatever manner of creature the Devourer is, for example.” 

“If we’re fortunate,” said Ridmark, “perhaps we’ll never find out.”

He led the way from the Market, Calliande and the others following him.

She felt her staff drawing closer with every step, and the sensation filled her with both hope and raw terror.

###

The gallery grew less ornate and more utilitarian as they left the Goldsmiths’ Market, the walls rougher and less adorned, the floor scratched from the passage of many metal wheels over the centuries. There were no glowstones here, and Antenora’s fiery staff cast dancing shadows over the walls. The floor began to slope downward, and here and there Ridmark saw scratches on the wall, no doubt left when a cart of coal or ore had lost control and crashed. Utter silence reigned in the corridor, and Ridmark saw no sign that anyone had passed this way for a very long time.

Though the hard stone floor preserved little evidence of footsteps. 

Ridmark turned another corner and froze.

Seven deep orcs stood there, weapons in hand, the first three gripping javelins to throw.

Ridmark started to dodge, but the deep orcs remained motionless. His companions shouted and raised weapons or readied spells, but Ridmark’s brain caught up to his surprise. The deep orcs were not moving. They were not breathing. In fact, they looked frozen in the midst of movement, as if they had decided to attack and then simply stopped for some reason. 

As if they had been turned to stone. 

“This might be a problem,” said Ridmark, lowering his staff. 

“They look just like the statues we saw in the Vale of Stone Death,” said Mara, taking a cautious step forward. She lifted her short sword of dark elven steel and gave the nearest deep orc a cautious tap. The short sword let out a gentle chiming noise.