Valkwitch (The Valkwitch Saga Book 1) (20 page)

Jesca smoothly introduced herself as Joyce, a
friend and traveling companion of Olivianna’s. Alvedo neglected mention Tyrissa
standing over them.

“And who is this,” said Harlin, the
severe-looking one from Khalan North.

“Oh just some visible insurance,” Alvedo said.
“Ransom is far more expensive than hiring a guard or two.” This lot fit the
trend perfectly and the mere suggestion of the possibility could be enough for
them to consider the idea for themselves. Tyrissa wasn’t just security, she was
an advertisement.

“Ah. Of course.”

“There was another major one last week. Shian
Hurlov, daughter of one of Rift’s board members.” Nina had wide, bright eyes
and a face that would have had difficulty looking angry.

Harlin scoffed, “Lovely. I look forward to
hearing the story every single time I see her for the next year. How much did
they pay?”

“Fifteen thousand.”

“That low?”

“They probably gave her family a discount after
they got to know her.”

The first round of tea arrived right on time,
just as the pleasantries and introductions died away.

“This is a Felarin white tea from the Inner
Zarvinas islands,” Alvedo said as the waitress served the cloudy white drink
into five small porcelain cups, “Grown on plantations owned by my family for
generations.” Alvedo had thickened her accent compared to last night’s
introductions, which forced her guests to pay that much more attention to her
words.

“What brings you to Khalanheim, Olivianna?” asked
Alene. With her wire frame glasses and hair tied back in a simple style, she
looked almost a little too scholarly for the setting.

“The same thing as everyone else. Chasing golden rays,
as we say in Felarill.” Alvedo said. She received a trio of blank stares. “We
call the current economic layout of the North ‘The Sunburst Model’ in Felarill.”
That didn’t improve things.

“You know, the—” she stopped herself and reached
toward one of the pens planted amid the table’s central floral arrangement, a
hidden convenience Tyrissa hadn’t noticed until now. Alvedo spread her cloth napkin
flat and drew a circle labeled ‘Khalan’ on the fabric.

“Khalanheim is like the sun at the center of a
sunburst,” she continued. “The rays of light, being trade and capital, radiate
outward from the city to the rest of the Federation and eventually beyond to
Felarill, Jalarn, the Hithian remnants, and other less significant destinations
up north.” She filled in the sketched model as she spoke, creating a rough
half-circle to one side of Khalanheim. Olivianna paused, tapping the tip of the
pen on the northern end of her diagram.

“Jorensen,” she said after a moment, “Where did
you say you were from again?”

“Morgale,” Tyrissa replied in a strained neutral
voice. “North of Vordeum.”

“Ah, of course. Rode down on the back of a worg
no doubt.”

“Worgs haven’t been seen in centuries,” Tyrissa
said. “I rode down on a mastodon.”

Harlin brightened up and said, “Jorensen! I
thought you had a familiar look to you. Give my regards to your brother, will
you?”

“Certainly.”

A scowl flashed across Alvedo’s at this exchange,
as if personally slighted. “Anyway,” she said, turning back to the table,
“Despite its position geographically, huge amounts of coin flow through
Khalanheim. The Rift forms a stark division between the western nations and the
Rhonian Empire and this city is the primary point of contact between the two.
Thus anyone wishing to profit must follow the rays…” a handful of arrows
appeared along the lines of the sunburst, “to the source.”

“The Rhonians gave Khalanheim one of their
styles,” Alene her tone bordering on lecturing. “The Reservoir of Coin. We’re
the only city outside of the empire to have that honor.”

Their talk wandered to other topics and Tyrissa’s
attention faded with it. A second round of tea arrived just as their cups were
all drained, this time accompanied by long, thin biscuits that seemed to be
filled with chocolate.

“This is a Vitu shadow tea,” Olivianna said. “One
of many new delights from the Evelands that House Alvedo hopes to spread
eastward.”

“So what you want is to put yet another fracture
into your Sunburst model,” Alene said.

“That is our hope. As Khalanheim is the gateway
to the Rhonian Empire, so too shall Felarill be the link between the North and
the Evelands.”

“The precarious balance between two empires,”
Alene said, tapping a biscuit against the rim of her cup. “Shadows in the west,
and the eternal legions to the east.”

“Don’t be so dour, Alene. The Evelanders have
been nothing but fair honest in Felarill so far.”

“Aren’t there are two kinds of Evelanders?” Nina
asked. “The Vitu and the… Zega… Ze…” she struggled for the right term.

“Zegun,” Alene said, pointing at Nina with a
biscuit held like a wand.

“What’s the difference?”

“They’re enemies, for one. The Zegun live in the
southern areas of the Evelands continent and the Vitu are in the north.”

“That’s right,” Alvedo said. “Both are
establishing footholds in Felarill, though obviously in different cities.”

“I’ll hold out on final judgment, but if their
tea is any indication bring on the invasion,” Harlin said, raising her cup.

The Khalans were certainly fond of the drink. The
Countess’s Court had filled to capacity since Alvedo’s three guests arrived,
the floor now a bustle of servers darting between tables and the kitchens. Their
conversation veered wildly between gossip and light business, peppered with
thinly veiled bragging over their respective connections.

“Is House Alvedo seated?” Nina asked. Tyrissa’s
ears perked up at that.

“Oh no,” Olivianna said with a patronizing smile.
“Not since before I was born. The King’s Table has become dominated by the old,
conservative houses that stare only inward.”

“My mistake” Nina said. “You made it seem
otherwise in your letters.”

“An easy mistake to make. Felarin politics are
difficult for a foreigner to follow.”

“Or care about in the first place,” Harlin said
in a perfectly audible mutter.

“If only we all had that luxury, Harlin.”

“No more complicated than our own guild system,”
Nina said.

“I agree. I’ll admit I’m nearly overwhelmed by
your varied unwritten rules and undeclared rivalries.”

“Speaking of, The Autumn Galas are next week,”
Nina said. “You’ve come to the city just in time.”

“Oh yes, I’m quite excited for those. I will, of
course, be attending Khalan Southwest’s party,” Olivianna said.

A rapid exchange of knowing looks fired across
the table, a volley of unspoken arrows briefly blocking out the sunny,
inconsequential mood. Nina smiled all the while. Apparently she had just won
the day.

Alvedo’s choice of party took the wind out of the
conversation and their chatter wound down over the third and final round of tea.
It was another Felarin strain, overly fragrant and tagged with an appropriate
‘Black Rose’ moniker. They concluded with Alvedo expressing the tragedy that
she hadn’t yet been able to sample Khalanheim’s shopping.

“The Crossing Market is tomorrow,” Harlin said,
“You’ll never know what you might find there.” The previous iteration of the
Crossing Market had taken Tyrissa by surprise, transforming the square
overnight just when she had gotten familiar with it, then vanishing just as
quickly. What Harlin left unsaid was that most merchants working the Crossing
Market paid dues to Khalan North, if the dominance of black and blue crests
above the shops and stalls were any indication.

“I’d be happy to show you around, Olivianna,”
Jesca offered. ‘Joyce’ remained largely silent throughout the afternoon,
keeping watch in her own way over the rim of a teacup, though she still laughed
or dropped in a word or two on cue when needed.

“I planned on seeing more of the city tomorrow.
This Crossing Market will be a fine starting point.” Alvedo said as if it was
entirely her idea.

Jesca turned to Tyrissa with a sly grin on her
face. “Jorensen,” she said, “Please let your superiors at the Cadre know of
tomorrow new plans.”

“Of course,
Joyce
.”

Though she passed through Crossing Square
multiple times a day Tyrissa had a hard time recognizing it now. The shops that
occupied the ground floors of the buildings ringing the square had thrown open
their doors and set up exterior racks of goods while other vendors had erected
mobile carts and stalls in numbered rows that filled the flagstones of the
square. The fountain statue of Trade Prince Julian, normally a dominating
centerpiece of the square, was nearly lost in the flood of visitors and oversaw
the mercantile frenzy with magnanimous approval.

The evening was cool for once, the clinging heat
of the southern summer finally giving way to autumn’s occasional chill. Tyrissa
shrugged in her guild coat, still as awkwardly fitting as ever. At least it was
versatile, with many pockets inside and out and a pair of metal rings at the
shoulders whose exact purpose eluded her. The Cadre’s red and white crest
adorned the back and ringed the cuffs.

Tyrissa couldn’t shake her guilt over getting
distracted from why she was here. Liran assured her he was listening for any
hints on the whereabouts of the Pact Witch. There was no news, no slain or
freed Pactbound turning up in the morgues or alleyways. The witch had gone
dormant before they arrived in the city. As she scanned the crowds milling
through the bazaar, Tyrissa could understand how someone could disappear here.
The volume of people never stopped being staggering.

Even though she was alone, Alvedo delivered home,
Tyrissa still looked for passing phantom threats, eyes gliding over the stalls
that crowded the square. Thinking about Felarin girl’s constant little slights
summoned a minor flash of anger. Wandering the Crossing Market allowed her to
remove the stoic mask that hid her pent up frustration, letting it fade away
while browsing the wares of the bazaar. Many of the merchants on this side
hawked racks of women’s clothing, riots of dyed cloth. Interspersed were
smaller vendors of jewelry and those ubiquitous handbags that Khalan women were
fond of. Tyrissa wandered, browsing for anything to catch her eye. The clothes
were fine, but promoted fashion over function. Not her style.

Not my style?
Did she even have one?
Tyrissa pushed away such frivolous questions. The city’s ways were starting to
infect her.

“Endo’s fabulous wares,” came a shout from a
nearby stall. “The bounty of the earth here to beautify and amaze!”

The man had every look of a prospector who masqueraded
as a merchant once a week, with a poorly tamed black beard and the pale
complexion of a life spent in tunnels. With a wild, desperate look in his eyes,
he would make a fine thug in a darkened alleyway. His ‘fabulous’ wares
consisted of cheap gemstones at best, painted rocks at worst, arranged atop a
stall that looked ready to collapse on itself. Tyrissa supposed he fancied
himself a jeweler.

Endo must have seen Tyrissa’s gaze lingering on
his collection of fancy rocks, and waved her closer.

“You! Young woman, let me show you something
amazing.”

“As long as it’s more impressive than that stone
you dipped in blue lacquer.”

“Jalarni Sky Rock, very rare, only three sivs,”
he said with the crazed look of someone who believed their own lies. “But this,
this is better,” he raised a set of deep gray squares fixed to a length of
leather. They looked like blocks of pencil lead.

“Observe the natural magicks of the earth,” Endo
whispered, drawing a handful of drab iron coins from a coat pocket and placing
them in a line through the clear space on tabletop. With a lazy flourish he
waved the leather strap six inches above the coins, and drew it over the line.
One by one the coins jumped up to the gray blocks with hollow clinks, clinging
as if suddenly glued in place.

“Eh? Eh? Are you not impressed with Endo’s
Spectacular Magnetic Wonders?”

“I am,” Tyrissa admitted. “Hold it up, I have an
idea.” Endo scrapped the coins from the magnets, letting them ring on the
table, and presented the strip. Tyrissa lowered her staff across the table,
holding one of the embedded steel rings over the magnets. The strip jumped from
Endo’s hands, and held fast to the metal band.

“Where are these from?”

“From the earthen domains that ring the distant
Ten Brothers! Wrested from the nests of Stone Golems, they were!”

Tyrissa had her doubts about that, but didn’t let
it deter her. She could make use of these and a number of ideas had already
come to mind.

“How much for all of them?” she asked.

Endo’s eyes darted back and forth, either in
suspicion of disbelief at his fortune, a perceived scam coming to fruition.

“Three Gilders?” His fingers twitched around one
of the magnets, starting to pry them off.

“Two and a half and you throw in the leather
strap.” Tyrissa still didn’t have an effortless grasp of a gilder’s value. It
was probably for the best.

“Yes, yes!” He held the strap out in one hand,
the other empty and quivering for payment. Endo smiled a gap-toothed smile as
she dropped the three coins into his waiting palm, one silver, two a faint
gold.

Tyrissa turned the length of magnetic bricks over
in one hand. They were softer to the touch than other metals, almost malleable
by hand. She felt nothing magickal radiating off of them, her Pact was quiet.
They were perhaps a weaker sort of elchemical material. She held the strap near
the central band of her staff, the magnets clicking against the iron. The
magnets were shorter than the band, but not by much. It took a firm tug to
separate the two. Pleased, Tyrissa stuffed her new acquisition into an inner
coat pocket.