James

It took James the better part of the day to get away from the old man. He insisted on cooking a meal (chicken pie, which was not in fact waiting for them) and pointing out interesting facts about the migration patterns of insects. Having eaten nothing but rations for two weeks and a handful of pastries, who was James to argue with such kindness?

But at last, after the third cup of surprisingly tasty jasmine tea, the old man accepted the excuses, and James left with a bag of the leaves stuffed into his satchel and a loaf of dark bread. He stepped out of the Hsi Ten full of resolve and excitement.

The freezing winds were a nasty surprise. In the space of a few minutes, the weather turned from blue skies and sunshine to overcast and stormy. The clouds rose out of the valley below him and caught him before he could take cover. James waited out the rest of the night in a hollowed-out cave halfway up the cliff that held the entrance to Shimbhala.

When the sky paled and the storm abated, he stepped to the edge and let his gaze sweep across the land unfurling before him. Where emerald forests dissolved into golden savannahs in the distance, he spotted a group of lights. Settlements. Normal settlements in an extraordinarily vibrant landscape filled with colors.

It stole his breath. Everything about the place was straight out of a storybook. How was this the land of the tyrants? The murderers? The usurpers? By this first impression alone, the Empire was not what he expected. Not cruel or cold (though the wind did its damndest) but vast and alive. Landscapes filled with myth and wilderness. To his right, the mountains rose and fell in a range he knew would take him to A’triyes.

Perilous was only the beginning of what that journey would be like. Suspended between rock and sky, James allowed himself another moment of silent contemplation. The realm he’d come to destroy almost appeared as if it were worth protecting.

The song he learned as a kid sprang unbidden to his mind.

Come away to the blazing place

My honey whispered sweet

Come to the Tree with me

And let your soul entwined be

Come away to that ancient place

Where akatian songs still sound

Come join the ring o’ revels bright

Which turn twilight’s glow to light

“The Usurper’s Lament” had many, many more verses, each darker, cruder, and ruder than the next. From describing their goddess’s divine manipulation, it devolved into painting the akati as incompetent usurpers who, like the fae, would steal your soul if you let them. Now and then, troubadours added their own verse to it, and when you heard those first chords cut through a noisy taproom, you knew you were in for a brilliant night.

He squinted at the lights in the distance. It was difficult to see whether there were other towns around this side of the lands because of the clouds gently rolling along, sometimes below him, sometimes above.

After a couple of hours of stolen sleep, wrapped in his new robe, he got up and set off. The terrain gave him two left feet, which frustrated him. Wasn’t he better than this? Every once in a while, he inspected the path behind him. A badly covered track was more conspicuous than if he’d left the track alone. Each step had to be covered. Each sign eradicated. He had to be a ghost. A shadow.

Rather than gracious, elegant, or even smooth, James made his way with the tumbling and sliding of an inexperienced hiker stuck in a part of the mountains no one in their right mind would ever end up. Though as the days wore on, he was proud to notice that he was getting much better. That, and predicting the shifts in the weather. The dry static of incoming lightning. The searing heat preceding nasty storms. It wasn’t Sangora, that much was certain, but it was nature all the same. Same world. Same realm.

While difficult, the path was beautiful all the same. Fourth evening, he paused at an outcrop to catch his breath. The sun was setting. Sunset of a kind he had never seen before. It was as if the sky and hills around him caught on fire.

“Damn,” he whispered. Sleep came only when the last whisps of blue became black and filled with stars.

It took him until nightfall on his fifth day to reach the collections of buildings high up in the mountains when the month of Cye began, the last of winter. At least, that’s what that meant on Sangora. Not here on the south side of Avaleen. Here, summer entered its late stages. Leaves were already changing colors, berries ripe for picking. There was no shortage of food on his trek through the mountains. Even the brooks tasted different. Cleaner. Colder.

The small town of A’triyes clung to the mountainside, ancient, proud, and steeped in an air of wonder. With the mountains as a backdrop, it shifted between serenity and danger, at once dark and ominous and bright and colorful. Built on terraces carved into the cliffs, its stone paths spiral and ascend through mist-shrouded crags, flanked by evergreen pines and trees blossoming in all the colors of the rainbow.

A mage-town. That was the only explanation for how some of those trees survived this harsh landscape. A’triyes is the marriage of arcane elegance and stark mountain practicality, shaped by the need to survive and the pursuit of life and truth.

Somewhere rose the famed Academy with its vast stairs, arched bridges suspended above gorges that were sometimes filled with snow, and towers piercing the sky like needles. Even during daylight it was said that the main dome reflected the stars at night. He’d have to see that for himself at some point.

Where he entered the town, there was a blend of scholar enclaves, square, practical homes, and a plaza that wasn’t bustling at this hour. From his vantage point, he could see the winding streets warmed by floating mage lights and lined with bookshops, spell-forges, and vendors.

Some say that time moved differently in A’triyes. James didn’t know whether or not that was true. But it was a strange town. Or perhaps it was just that he was a stranger.

Gates were nowhere in sight, nor any defensive walls. Did the law even patrol the streets? If they did, they hid as well as he. One of the darker buildings, a couple of blocks away from the edge, had an intake with a grill. Prying it open was a piece of cake with the right set of skills.

Based on the layer of rust and black grit covering the walls, the shaft behind them hadn’t seen proper use in decades. Yet it was unlikely that no one would notice a beige robe stuffed inside, so James took some dirt and rubbed it into the visible fabric to darken it.

It would buy him some time, and that was all he needed. With the grill fitted back in place, James stepped back to admire his work. It was shoddy, amateurish, and far from the best solution, but it worked. In the light, it wouldn’t draw attention from a passerby, but maintenance workers?

Hopefully, he would be far away by then.

The sudden sound of a voice had him jump two feet up and three feet back, pressing his back into the shadows, holding his breath, heart thudding loudly in his ears.

He swore. “Damn it, what now?”

Careful not to move too much, he searched for the voice that kept chatting in an akatian language he didn’t understand. Bright warm light spilled out from the windows of the buildings across the square, and laughter trickled out from an inn’s cantina.

Another night in another tavern. It was comforting to know that no matter where you went in the world, some things stayed the same.

Peering around for the owner of the voice, James spotted the sleek clockwork hover as it loosened itself from the shadows and landed next to a rather wobbly young student who couldn’t walk in a straight line if his life depended on it. He fell into the cockpit, snoring loudly before the roof had folded back.

Arman would have killed to get his hands on that shuttle. Another couple hushed each other and scurried into a nearby building, giggling and holding hands. A clock struck once, and silence fell over the town as surely as if someone had put a lid on it.

James gradually let his breath out. No mission ever went without a hiccup. He knew that. Just like he knew that being an illevian stuck in the Akati Empire was a massive screw-up and a great danger to the cause if they caught him. At least, he could pass for human. He’d still stand out amongst all the elves and those of elven mix, but it wouldn’t be too strange.

Vents hissed above him, sprouting steam smelling faintly of spices. He was behind a spice shop then. Or a bakery. His stomach rumbled. Great. The last of his rations had been spent that noon, and he was feeling the dizzy nausea that always accompanied hunger.

First things first. A cylindrical night blue postbox stood on a street corner about a block away, and the letter had been prepared. James did not carry an arcane affinity like many others, which meant sending messages to Alex would be nigh on impossible. Especially from inside the Akati Empire, where his very blood was outlawed.

Pulling out the letter sealed with wax, he scrutinized it. Innocuous at first glance, it was simply a report on trade nonsense and a list of acquisitions scrawled in messy ink. But the marks in the corner would catch the right eyes.

In thieves’ cant, the small scratchmarks and blotches told the recipient of the cipher and what kind it was. It was addressed to the Silver Scythe in Kal-Morath, the capital of Drozag in Khorun. Hopefully, Thorne still worked there. A respected merchant and admiral in the Red Division, the man was one of James’s few hopes of getting word out that he could think of.

Maybe Thorne still remembered the Rhudari affair. He’d hinted as much the last time they’d crossed paths. An offer to settle old debts. If the letter made its way to him, he could find a courier heading west to Sangora. It wasn’t ideal, but it was a thread of hope.

Mountain wind howled through the rooftops, ripping at his cloak when he closed his bag and felt the weight of the Orb against his hip, and the feeling that he was missing something very important came back to him.

Alexandre was unpredictable, but they’d been brothers for as long as he could remember, and nothing ever went clean. He’d been a fool to believe otherwise. However briefly. This was his fault, not Alex’s.

James’s gaze drifted down the streets as he made his way to drop the letter into the box. Maybe Thorne would get it. Maybe not. But it was sent.

A light blinked in a glass facade looming high above the other buildings. It was probably important. It seemed important. All metal, glass, and solid rock. Sleek. Intentional. It had to contain something useful, something worth the risk, like blueprints, maps, or weaponry. Anything. Or at least a start.

“This place is dead,” a female voice moaned in the common tongue. “Wanna go to the Skipping Horse?”

Startled, he looked up from the postbox and saw two big, dark eyes looking straight at him, eyebrow quirked in a question. Young, gorgeous, and not as steady on her feet as she had first appeared, her eyes glazed and unfocused. She blinked slowly, offering a small smile.

“Why not?” He grinned his most charming smile and offered his arm. “With a pretty lady like you, I’ll go anywhere.”

She gave a delighted little laugh, which turned into a hiccup she tried to cover with her hand. A flush deepened on her cheeks, half with drink, half with embarrassment. Her boots wobbled on the cobblestones, and the grip on his arm tightened.

Oldest trick in the book, but James didn’t mind. Perhaps something could come of this. Food, maybe even a bed, and some company. He adjusted his step, guiding her over the stones slick with mist as much as she was guiding him, pulling him, through the streets of A’triyes.

“Come on, come on! They are closing!” She tugged at him and almost leaped into an alley with a worn staircase leading upward.

This part of town was a mess of old stone, metal, and dark alleys but the young woman seemed to know where she was going. Leaning so heavily against him that he’d doubt she’d recall any of this in the morning. The thoughts he’d played with evaporated.

“Hey! Wait for us!” she shouted, waving frantically and jumping up and down.

James looked up just in time to see a pair of guards halfway through raising a drawbridge for the night. A rushing brook bubbled and flowed under them, so fast wading would be too dangerous.

One of them groaned loudly, hand still on the crank. The other narrowed his eyes and barked.

“Last crossing. Move it!”

Despite his stare being colder than the mountain air, he stepped aside to give them just enough room to pass.

“You are a gem, Gerry.” The young woman squeezed his arm briefly, a mischievous smile playing on her lips. “Talia will be so pleased I made it tonight.”

The guard’s cheeks flushed. Throwing a look at James, he tried his best not to smile back. “Give her my love. Now go, move it, this one needs the bathroom.”

“Oi!”

The bridge settled into its upright position behind them. Even several paces away, James was dizzy from the sudden brush with Akatian security. She was still chatting, oblivious, her arm hooked through his like they were old friends. James responded in kind, voice warm and smooth, manner effortless. A perfect gentleman wearing a perfect mask. He knew how to play his part.

After a pleasant walk, the trees cleared, and they turned a corner to reveal a large, rectangular building standing on a precipice overlooking the golden savannahs far below.

Lanterns glowed at its eaves, laughter seeping through the walls from more revellers than should have fitted inside.

The doorman was one of the grumpiest men he’d ever met, but even his face softened in the light of the woman’s radiating smile.

“He is with me,” she chirped at his inquisitive look, and just like that, all was well.

Inside, the Skipping Horse defied all expectations. From the outside it had looked like any other cramped academic village inn nestled against the crags, with timbered walls and smoke-stained shitters, but damn it was absolutely massive. The doors led almost straight onto a balcony on what must be the second or third public floor, the building’s core dropping away into a wide, open atrium. Three levels of balconies wrapped around a central stage like a theatre, tables and chairs crowding the railings, angled to give every patron a clear view of the performance.

Lodgings, if the inn provided such, must be tucked away further into the mountain, because this place offered little in the way of secrecy and hidden corners.

Music filled the air as a musician took center stage, plucking at a strange-looking harp with keys like a piano, singing about two star-struck lovers, which had the crowd enraptured. Some sang along with great enthusiasm, cheered on by their mates, others swayed, mugs raised, grinning wide.

“This is the Skipping Horse?”

She beamed. “Isn’t it neat?” She squeezed his arm and looked up at him expectantly.

“It’s… not what I expected.” James laughed, swept away by the sheer cheer and joy in the atmosphere.

“They don’t have skipping horses on the Islands?”

Momentarily lost on what she meant, he realized what he wore. “No, not like this.”

Her eyes darkened, her grip on him tightening as she looked up at him through her eyelashes. She opened her mouth to reply, but a shout interrupted her.

“Elina!” The shout cut through the music and the bustle.

James spotted a red-haired young man waving from a table with four others who were whistling and beckoning. He looked around, but they were the only new arrivals. With a start, he realized he hadn’t yet asked the young woman’s name.

“Elina, I presume?” His smile was a little ashamed, but it didn’t matter, she hadn’t heard him.

“Oh, my Ignis! You came!” Elina screamed and started towards them. After a couple of steps, she turned and smacked her head. “Oh! How rude of me! Would you like to meet my friends?”

James looked over her shoulder at the five drunken students.  “Would you mind terribly if I took a rain check? I’m just dying to get a pint and brush the dust off.”

“Don’t be silly, of course I don’t mind.” She reached into her purse to produce a silver coin. “Here, it is the least I can do.”

James wrapped her fingers around the coin, pushing it gently away. “You are most kind, but truly unnecessary. Your company was more than enough.”

“My parents are the owners of a mining colony. I can afford it.” She shrugged lightly. “You have been so lovely. I’d hate to see you die of thirst. Who knows, maybe you can get another date while the night is still young.”

She said it so unabashedly that he blushed a furious red. “Thank you,” he stuttered.

The look on his face when he accepted the coin must have been hilarious, because she laughed and planted a wet kiss straight on his lips. His mind went completely blank.

Still with a hand on his chest, she lowered her voice, cheeks red. “Oh! Silly me. I completely forgot. What is your name?”

Several answers ran through his head. But lying about your name was difficult, especially if you wanted to be convincing. “James. Pleased to have made your acquaintance.”

She beamed. “Name’s Elina. See you around, James!”

With that, she patted him and skipped away to join her friends. As soon as she sat down, they started whispering, heads close together, throwing furtive glances his way and laughing. Not particularly enjoying being that kind of object of attention, he made his way down the stairs towards the first floor.

The Skipping Horse entertained a mixed crowd, he noted. While the supernatural skill of the musician lent quality to the establishment, he soon suspected that it was all a front. Roughriders and pirates were mingling with people wearing far too little clothing, and young people wearing student insignia. It was like being back in a sangoran saloon, if a bit cleaner. A lot cleaner.

He pulled out a stool by the bar and sat down, slouching on his elbows against the bright wooden bar top, letting his eyes idly roam the room.

“You look like you are new in town.”

He glanced over at the bartender with the gruff voice. The man was almost a head taller than James and broader across the shoulders. Long black hair tied back in a style that was all the rage on Inner Varu framed his face.

“That I am,” James admitted.

The man leaned against the bar too, eyeing his patrons as the musician launched into another raunchy song to the great appreciation of the crowd.

It was incredible to watch how that man, who looked like a simple nobody, could hold such a rowdy crowd with such immaculate skill. He played them just as much as he played his instrument, and never a note out of place.

“What brings you all the way out here?” The bartender eyed the dust on his boots, the saffron of his tunic a little darker than it had been.

James shrugged, not hiding the weariness of the last couple of days. “Curiosity, mostly. Heard the Academy had archives worth the climb and the walk. The very long, long walk.”

The bartender snorted with surprise. “You trekked from Kael-Vora just to flip through some dusty old books?”

James gave him a crooked smile in return. “Trade routes don’t map themselves. Besides, walking clears the head. It’s the first time no one has bothered me in years.”

“Then you might be a man in need of a stiff one,” the man observed, reaching for a tap.

“You read my mind.”

A flicker of amusement passed across his face. “What can I get ya?”

“Ale, dark if you have.”

“Sure thing.” Turning to a polished brass tap etched with swirling runes, the bartender pressed a small lever. The machine hummed and filled a glass with dark liquid crowned by a perfect creamy white froth.

James caught himself staring a moment too long. The bartender noticed. “You don’t have this on the Islands?”

He really should do more research about the Barthen Islands. “Magitech belongs to the big cities, not us. That is a marvel.”

“If it didn’t break so damn much.”

“To the old ways.” He slid the silver across the counter, accepting the ale with a nod.

The bartender gave the coin a brief glance, tucking it away without another word as a rowdy group came up to order. James took a sip. Rich, bitter, smooth. Absolutely perfect.