Pathfinder Tales: Lord of Runes (16 page)

I could not see Radovan at first, but then I spied his silhouette dashing from goblin to goblin. With a slash of the big knife, he felled one. Turning, he thrust an elbow spur into the eye of another and ran on. Behind him lay a long arc of murdered goblins.

Illyria slipped. Grabbing her arm, I fell as well. The carriage roof had become slick with some foul substance. The cackling laughter of the warchanters told me the cause. I pointed at them. “There.”

Illyria nodded. With her wand, she knocked two of the wretches to the ground. An instant later, I hurled a thunderbolt. The impact tossed the goblin casters into the air. They fell back limp and black, their flesh sizzling.

We climbed down from the carriage. Illyria’s ghouls had cut furrows through the goblin lines, leaving only a few nearby. I dispatched two with the Shadowless Sword. Illyria shriveled another with a black ray.

“Arni, look out!” Radovan shouted.

An enormous shape bounded across the field toward the wolfhound. Unlike the hairless goblin dogs, the black hound bristled with fur. Despite the surrounding firelight, I could distinguish no eyes or teeth in its inky silhouette. It fell upon Arnisant with a savage roar. The dogs tumbled across burning patches in the grass, snarling, biting, and crying out.

Radovan would never reach him in time. I shot another volley of arcane missiles. They sank unerring into the black hound. Illyria did the same, yet still the foe tore at Arnisant, who struggled to rise. I ran toward them, but Amaranthine was faster. The tiny drake swooped into the frenzy, her agile tail flicking again and again.

“Don’t!” cried Illyria. I shared her concern that the fragile drake would not survive.

A sharp whistle pierced the clamor. The black hound scrambled away. Arnisant began to chase but returned to where the drake hopped on the ground, standing protectively beside her. The dark hound ran toward its master, who stood in stark contrast against the flames.

The shadow appeared as an attenuated figure, almost but not quite human, its arms and legs too long, too thin. As the hound came near, the figure collapsed like a paper cutout of a man, vanishing. The hound leaped over the dwindling flames and vanished into the dark.

For an instant, almost as an afterimage, I saw another figure standing beyond the fire. Like the first, it was tall, but where the first appeared thin this one was hulking. It hunched over a pair of canes, as if it could not stand under its own bulk. As with the hound and its master, I could make out no details of the figure, but I felt its gaze upon me like a cold shadow on a warm day.

I raised a hand to cast a spell. It raised a hand as well, at first I thought to fling some spell back at me. Instead, it waved, one cane dangling from its thumb. The big shadow stepped back and vanished into the night.

Janneke fired her bow and Radovan threw his blades after a few retreating goblins, but the rest were dead or fled. The horses had all survived unharmed, although one was red to the fetlocks with the gore of the goblins who lay dead nearby. Goblins may hate us “longshanks,” but they hate dogs more, and horses more than dogs. Before me lay the reason.

Only Arnisant had suffered serious injury, which Illyria’s salve soon mended. While she tended to him, I drew the attention of her remaining ghouls and incinerated them with dragon’s breath.

“We must move on,” I said to the surprise of no one. Janneke and I calmed the horses before hitching them to the carriage. Illyria dispelled the burning remains of her cottage, while Radovan and Janneke stalked the field to finish the wounded goblins. By the time we were done, Arnisant whined at the carriage step until I called him inside to sit at my feet. Illyria took her place across from me. Her eyes searched my face, but I could not meet her gaze after seeing her summon the ghouls.

From the moment she admitted she was a necromancer, I knew Illyria must be capable of raising undead minions. Somehow I had hoped never to see it, and if I had to see it, I hoped she would create something simple, like skeletal automatons. Yet the sight—and especially the smell—of these ravenous cannibals, these foul devourers of flesh living or rotten … It was too abominable to imagine as the act of an otherwise admirable and beauteous lady.

The carriage lurched into motion. I cast a glance across the compartment to see Illyria looking back at me, a question in her eyes. I could not hold her gaze nor mask my disgust. She turned away.

Arnisant whined and nosed my leg for the sausage hidden in my coat pocket. I patted his head in sympathy and gave him a piece. “I know, my boy. Fighting goblins is hungry work.”

Feeling Illyria’s critical gaze upon me, I refused to meet her eyes. After the spell I had seen her cast, I would suffer none of her judgment on my diet. I bit off a hunk of sausage and chewed. It no longer tasted delicious, but it gave me some comfort.

8

Kaer Maga

Radovan

The boss told me some of the city’s nicknames, since nobody remembers what “Kaer Maga” means. “The City on the Cliff” is what you call self-explanatory. So is “The Hex,” on account of its six sides. Those are boring names since they mean just one thing.

“The Asylum Stone” is better because it has two meanings. You can say the big rock was where people go for sanctuary, but it’s also a kind of madhouse. Me, I’m partial to “City of Strangers,” on account of Kaer Maga gets plenty of visitors and each one is stranger than the last.

We started at the bottom of a cliff separating green Varisia from brown Varisia. That is, the grassy lowlands from the rocky plateau, home to the Shoanti, giants, orcs—all kinds of bad company. A thousand feet above, a little strip of wall with a few towers peeking over was all we could see of the city. The Yondabakari River poured past huge stone heads near the top of the cliff. Most of the water turned into mist along the way, raining all around us, but the main stream hit the nearby river with a roar.

Through the carriage window, the boss showed me a hand sign and tossed me a fat purse. Keeping well shy of the horses, I ran to the head of a long line of travelers. Most of them included porters carrying heavy packs or animals pulling wagons full of trade goods. They gave me nasty looks and shouted a few choice words for budging. I shot them the tines and let them see my teeth. They piped down.

At the head of the line I found the Duskwardens, tough characters who guide visitors through tunnels up to the city. They took my bribe as an insult, but they took it. I ran back to let Janneke know she could drive past the cheap folk.

The Duskwardens loaned us charms and led us through a cavern to a road winding in and out of caverns all the way up to the city. The wardens called it the Halflight Path and warned us to be quiet or else tunnel worms and other nasty critters would come eat us. Some of the tunnels were kind of worm-shaped, if they made worms as big as dragons. Maybe the Duskwardens were jerking our chains, but I didn’t want to see one that big.

After a couple hours in the dark, we came out up top. All around us was a shantytown built in a gap in the city wall. The place reminded me of Korvosa’s Shingles. A dozen kids ran up to the Red Carriage, offering to be our city guides. Janneke shooed them away. “Warren rats,” she said. “We don’t need them.”

A few of the rats didn’t give up until Janneke lifted her crossbow and yelled, “Rat skewers!” They scattered, but only to swarm the next group coming out of the Halflight Path.

We passed scaffolds forming like scabs over the ruins, spilling past the original line of the wall. Here and there a wall had been rebuilt, but most of the scaffolds looked as old as the ruins. Maybe somebody was trying to heal the wound to the city, but it was slow going.

We drove into a market district. “Downmarket,” said Janneke, her voice muffled through the helm.

“What?”

“This area,” she shouted. “It’s called Downmarket.”

I cupped my ear and leaned in. Janneke twisted around and socked me on the arm, a little harder than you like. She said she kept her helm on to stay ready for action. I said nobody could hear her through the faceplate. Really, I just liked watching the sun on her red-gold braids. I wasn’t going to win that battle today, so I watched the people we passed in the street.

There were all different colors and kinds. I showed off the languages I’d learned by greeting people in Tian, Varisian, and Elven, except on the last one I spit by accident, and then I ran out of languages. The boss could have gone on all day. I can’t remember a time when he couldn’t greet some foreigner in his native tongue.

It wasn’t just humans in the market. A goblin juggled hedgehogs as people threw coins at his feet. A troll dressed up like people cut itself to read auguries in its own guts, while everybody walked past all nonchalant-like. I spotted gnomes, elves, and even orcs. Not half-breeds but big-as-Shoanti green-skin howlers. One stood beside what looked to be his son on an auction block. A couple of bidders decided to split the lot. The orc’s eyes welled up as he realized he and his boy were going to different masters. I had an idea how he must have felt.

I had a better idea how his kid felt.

As we rode through eastern Downmarket, high towers rose to the south, and I realized I’d seen them from below.

“Highside Stacks,” said Janneke. She pointed north across a small lake to another fancy neighborhood. “Widdershins.”

On our side of the lake, a huge Shoanti totem marked a gathering spot. More city guides called out to visitors, and other folk loitered, maybe waiting to meet somebody. A scar-faced Chelish woman stared at me. I stared back. She wore a long scarlet cloak and leaned against a tall silver-gray shield.

It occurred to me that the woman wasn’t staring at me but at Janneke. “Somebody you know?”

Janneke shook her head. Again I wished I could see her face under that helm.

A shadow crossed over us. A boy hanging onto a giant kite soared overhead, heading toward the lake. The corner of his kite clipped the edge of an amphitheater dome, and he crashed into the water. His friends ran after him, shouting as they pushed through the crowd. He popped up a few seconds later. “I’m all right! I’m all right!” He didn’t notice the water rippling behind him. I wanted to see what happened next, but the totem got between us.

There was plenty of other weird stuff to see. We passed a woman with her mouth sewn shut. A pink-haired gnome chattered nonstop at her side. A tattooed sorcerer rode by on a steel horse, a mechanical drake on his shoulder. Amaranthine chirped, and the little metal dragon puffed smoke from its nostrils.

Past the lake we entered another neighborhood.

“Hospice,” said Janneke. Before I could crack wise about not hearing, she showed me a fist. I rubbed my arm and kept my trap shut.

The boss called out directions to an inn. Janneke nodded like she knew the place. Six or seven streets later, we saw it.

The place was built up around a ring of seven squat towers. There was an ancient rune carved onto the face of each tower. I knew they were Thassilonian, but I couldn’t read what they meant.

“The Seven Sins,” said Janneke.

“Sounds like a brothel. I’m surprised the boss picked it.”

“You’d think so, but it’s just a fancy inn. A wizard built the towers long ago. His heirs sold them off. They changed hands a few times before somebody got the idea of building wings of rooms between the towers and turning the whole place into an inn. Only the rich can afford to stay in the towers.”

Arnisant stayed with the boss and Lady Illyria as the porters lugged the bags up to a tower. As Janneke and I pulled away on the carriage, Amaranthine flew off to perch on the boss’s shoulder. The boss looked surprised, then pleased with himself. He made a bit of cheese appear in his fingers and fed it to the drake. Lady Illyria looked all jealous.

I nudged Janneke. She’d seen the look but didn’t find it so amusing. I said, “You know a good stable?”

“If you don’t mind paying tall stacks.”

“We got them.”

We’d driven the horses hard since the goblin attack. They needed more than a rest. They needed the royal treatment, and I knew the boss wouldn’t mind paying top coin.

On the way to the stables, we passed the fattest wizard I ever saw. She couldn’t even walk. She just floated along like some kid’s escaped balloon. Instead of a nice round shape, her flesh sagged out of rips in a robe that looked more like a torn fishing net. The worst part was the leeches clinging to her flabby arms and legs.

“Bloatmage,” said Janneke. Her voice was spooky inside that helm. I didn’t blame the warren rats from running from her. “They use blood to fuel their magic.”

“You think the boss’s pal was becoming one of them?”

Since he had Lady Illyria to talk magic with, the boss hadn’t been keeping me informed. Usually, he told me all about stuff even if he knew I wouldn’t understand it. Sometimes I surprised him and understood it anyway. Anyway, I’d gotten used to being the one to hear it. I didn’t like feeling left out.

Janneke shrugged. “I don’t listen much to the magic talk.”

“How come?”

“A little knowledge is more dangerous than none.”

I didn’t think that was true. You get a little knowledge, it’s not so hard to get a little more. Still, I understood her point, and I didn’t mind if we stayed out of the wizards’ way for a while. “Say, once we finish with the horses, we’re not really on duty anymore.”

“I’m on duty until I collect my bounty.”

“That could be a while. The horses aren’t the only ones who deserve a little rest and relaxation.”

“What you’re talking about isn’t rest.”

“A little exercise, then. We’ve been sitting up here all day.”

“I told you, I’m on duty.”

“All right, all right.” She was still mad about my cutting out on her back in Korvosa. I could tell because I’m sensitive that way.

The livery was a huge building with eight stables with separate entrances. I understood why when I saw a stable boy lead an axe-beaked riding bird out of one. In Kaer Maga, even the ponies were strange.

The hostlers named their price for looking after the team and carriage. I paid up front and promised a big tip to pamper the horses and polish the carriage.