Valkwitch (The Valkwitch Saga Book 1) (33 page)

The streets of Under Bridge were brighter than
other areas of the lower city and the air was fresher. Tyrissa saw why as she exited
the tunnel from the surface into the district’s central square. The east side
of the square was fenced off and open to the Rift. Beyond the wire netting and
guarded gates lay the substructure of the western end of the Sunrise Span. A forest
of pylons, anchors, cables, and pipes converged there before arching out under
the great bridge to shrink into the distance across the Rift. Late afternoon
light bounced off the far wall of the Rift and brightened the smallest of the
Khalanheim’s official under districts.

Compared to Forge and its mirror underground,
Under Bridge was sparse and sleepy, with only light foot traffic going to and
fro their jobs or homes and few wagons crowded the streets with their attendant
horses or oxen. The houses on the other three sides of the square were squat,
modest things, but well kept. A swarm of children tore around the square,
playing at a game that involved a small rubbery ball kicked against anything
that would rebound it. If it weren’t for the marvel of engineering and magick
to the east, Tyrissa could mistake the scene for an utterly average village
anywhere in the world.

She turned down a side street and made her way to
Kexal and Garth’s little house with curling green paint and high, narrow
windows. Kexal called it their ‘hide-out’ though Tyrissa was sure that they
made no real attempt to hide themselves in the city. The brothers were back in
Khalanheim after a spate of fundraising bounty hunting, and this was the first
day in many where Tyrissa wasn’t too exhausted to check in with them. As she
stepped up to the solid, recently replaced and unpainted oaken door, she heard
Kexal through the walls bellowing out his side of an argument. Then a polite
silence for his brother’s response, followed by another string of profanity
laced shouting. Tyrissa gave a firm knock that went ignored before opening the
door unbidden.

Inside, the two Jalarni sat at opposite side of
the old workman table, each in white linen shirtsleeves, each with a tankard in
front of them. A small, tapped cask built of dark wood with ‘Jonston Brews’
stenciled in yellow paint on the side sat at one end of the table. A vented
metal box with an open top lay in front of Garth, an array of tools and
components spread around it. His pen and pad of paper was close at hand, the
top sheet thick with hastily scrawled words.

Kexal raised his tankard to Tyrissa’s entry and
said, “Evening Ty,” with a smile.

She took an empty seat near the center of the
table and said in her best feigned Jalarni drawl, “You boys doing alright in
here?”

“We were having a vigorous discussion over
Garth’s little invention,” Kexal said, setting down his drink and rising from
his chair. “I’m glad you came ‘round, we can use you as a test subject. Get the
dust Garth.”

Garth made a face that said ‘Fine, but I don’t
like it,’ then rose as well, walking to an open storage trunk in the corner of
the room. Kexal went to a shelf and came back with a sheet newspaper, spreading
it out on the table in front of Tyrissa. It was an edition of
The Times of
Khalanheim
from a week ago, and brought to mind those long hours spent scanning
through newsprint in the dim cellar of the university library.

“What do you need me to do?”

Kexal didn’t respond, watching as Garth drew a
draw-stringed pouch of faded red fabric and a small spoon from the chest. He
set it on the table with all the care of an elchemist moving uncontained gloworb
fluid, undid the drawstring and removed a second cloth pouch. He opened the
second pouch and slowly dipped the spoon in, withdrawing a helping of fine
black dust. It looked like the powdered Rhonian spices hawked in the high end
shopping arcades. Holding an open palm under the spoon, Garth transferred the
dust to the newspaper atop an article on the winter resurgence of river pirates
along the Rildermeek.

“I want you to touch that,” Kexal said, voice
intent. Both of them leaned in close.

“What’s supposed to happen?”

“Nothing bad. Do it.”

Ominous but what the hell.
Tyrissa pointed
a forefinger at the pile of dust and paused above it for the sake of drama. The
two brothers waited with baited breath. She jammed her fingertip into the dust,
sending a tiny smoke-like cloud into the air. It felt like gritty flour.
Nothing happened.

Garth raised his fists over his head in silent
victory, a smug smile across his face.

“Alright alright! Fine! You were right,” Kexal
said. “Don’t have to rub it in.”

“Now will you tell me what that is,” Tyrissa
asked while brushing the dust off the new sunset red lacquer on her fingernail.
Garth bent over and picked up either end of the newspaper, folding it over and
carefully funneling the dust back into the pouch. Kexal snatched up his tankard
and refilled it from the cask, then settled back into his chair, leaning back
and resting his booted feet on the table.

“It’s the powdered form of
qulzir
crystal,
an elchemical material. They only grow in and around earth domains. Stories are
mixed on their specific effects, one being that they’re known to dampen air
magicks. That much we’re sure of. Garth and I’s debate was over whether it
would react with other Pactbound. Wouldn’t do having the box shut down our guys
as well. We meant to test it with Hali or Wolef, but it fell by the wayside due
to the observatory job and subsequent matters. You were the first to show up.”

Garth replaced the pouch in the storage chest and
returned with an empty tankard in one hand, and a different wrapped bundle in
the other. He set the tankard in front of Tyrissa and motioned at the cask with
an open palm for her to help herself. She demurred for now. He spread the cloth
bundle on the table. Within were three glass lenses, pale blue like a hazy sky and
run through with cloud-like swirls of white. Tyrissa recognized them as the
shards she saw Vralin removing and replacing in his bracer.

“Picked those up with you that night at the
mills,” Kexal said. “We’ve been poking at them, trying to puzzle out a use.
Thought maybe you could shed some further light.”

She thought back to her lessons with Settan and
his talk of a creeping decaying sickness the Shapers would purge out in the
Rift. These must be Vralin’s equivalent means, his way of filtering the power
that coursed in his veins. Vralin
had
looked somewhat wan that night.
Tyrissa had dismissed it as a trick of night’s shadows and the rush of the
chase. He visibly improved as soon as he replaced these lenses.

Tyrissa picked one up. The shard was feather-light
and so smooth she thought it might slip from her fingertips at any moment. Her
skin tingled like in the Rift and started to draw in the energies contained
within the shard.
These could be a portable dose of air magick, to carry as
a backup when needed.
She didn’t have long to marvel at the possibilities.
Instead of a calm weight of earth, her stomach roiled as if she’d eaten a
rotten meal, corpse blossoms instead of stone roses. Tyrissa let the disc fall
back to the table with a glassy ring. The sense of decay faded quickly, but
left her feeling ill.

“You alright?”

“I’m fine. These won’t be of any use to me.
They’re pure waste. Poison.” If they could cut off Vralin’s supply, would he
fall ill or waste away?

“Wolef said as much, but we figured you might
want to take a look since you’re…”

“Different,” Tyrissa finished.
Doubly so.
Pactbound and yet unlike others of my kind.
She didn’t need any more
reminders. Kexal said nothing, instead rising for a refill of his tankard. She
wanted to change the subject, having already spent too much time worrying over
what she was.

“Did Wolef tell you about the docks?” Tyrissa had
a strangely fond memory of that night, either due to the company or the
activity. Mostly the company. She hoped and half expected to wake each morning
to find another note for another midnight rendezvous.

“He did. There are three certain things in this
world: the sun risin’, the sun settin’, and the casual corruption of dockworkers.
Doesn’t matter if it’s zeppelins instead of boats, they’ll still do you a favor
for a minimal price. We
chatted
with a couple fellas working nights and
had them keep an eye on those shipments from that Thieves house. Turns out
those crates have a special nighttime departure on the same zepp every week.”

“So they have something to hide,” she said. Tyrissa
knew little of zeppelins, she did know that no captain would fly in the dark.
The Rift was treacherous enough during the day. Flying at night was asking for
a bad wind and a long fall.

“That and more. The same zepp leaves after
midnight, but gets back to her mooring before sunrise with new cargo to unload.
Our boys on the docks say she’s gone less than two hours and there ain’t a
place to fly that close to Khalanheim.”

“Then where are they going?” Zeppelins were used
for longer haul trips along the Rift. Anything closer was cheaper and safer to
send by wagon.

“Down. A zeppelin is the only way to move
supplies and materials that deep in good, discrete time. Wolef’s been runnin’
himself ragged in those tunnels, but now we’ll have a better fix on Vralin’s
location. Next time the zepp makes a delivery, Wolef will be along for the
ride.”

Tyrissa nodded. From the glimpses she had seen on
her trips with Settan, there were thousands of tunnels and caves running
through the earth below Khalanheim. A man could completely disappear down
there.

“After that we wait for good news,” Kexal said,
draining his tankard and slamming it down on the table with a wooden
thock.
“And start lookin’ into routes down that’ll accommodate people who can’t meld
into the shadows. Once Wolef finds Vralin’s hidey-hole, we’ll flush him out.
Take him by surprise and ideally,” he gave a sidelong glance at Garth’s
incomplete device, “With a new trick up our sleeves, though the old fashioned
way is still our go-to. The observatory was the first time I got all up close
and personal with him. He’s slick as hell but I can take him. Just need a
little help and a new trick.”

“I thought I was your new trick?” she asked with
a grin.

“Two new tricks, then.”

“How long have you been chasing him?”

“The better part of a year now. We jumped on the
bounty as soon as it went out last spring. It was too big of a prize to not
give it a try. There was a feedin’ frenzy at first, all sorts of hunters tryin’
to strike it rich. He’s a slippery one though and for the most part there was
nothing but close calls and near misses. We did manage to track down and raid
his hideout in the city. That’s where we found that floatcore for Master
Guldres. But Vralin got away from us. A short time later he stood his ground against
another ambush from a different group. Killed six hunters.” Kexal shook his
head in dismay. “Idiots. Enthusiasm dropped after that.”

“And then he headed north?”

“Eventually. He fell in with a group of Hithian
mercs, led by that woman you call kin. They buzzed around the region, between
here and Velhem, for a while. Wolef kept tabs on their movements as best he
could. When they went north into Vordeum, we followed.”

“And you lost the trail in Morgale.”
Where
they all died, save one.

“Right. Came back here on the caravan and figured
it a lost cause until the Thieves started getting all uppity and started
probing Master Guldres’s holdings these last couple months. You know the rest and
here we are.”

Tyrissa felt a thirst from all this talk. She
leaned over to the cask and poured a half serving of an aromatic nut-brown ale.

Kexal nodded with approval. “Solid Jalarni style
ale, brewed here by a countryman of ours. Not quite the same as the real deal
but close enough given the distance.”

Tyrissa raise the tankard to her lips and gave it
a taste. It was as strong as it was bitter and it took half her willpower to
avoid spitting it out. It burned on the way down.

“Feels like a horse just kicked me in the mouth,”
she said, setting the tankard aside.

“Exactly. Tastes like home,” Kexal said, he and
Garth raising their tankards in salute.

Jalarn was nearly as far away as Morgale. Hali’s
home lay crumbled at the south end of the Rift. Wolef was from an entire
different continent.
Are we a rogue’s gallery of foreigners, all far from
home?

“How long have you been away?”

“Six years now. Been tearin’ up the North ever
since.”

Tyrissa wanted nothing more than to ask why they
left, but somehow the weight with which Kexal said ‘six years’ told her all she
needed to know for now. Another story for another time. She took another drink
of the ale. The second swallow was easier. Slightly. “A life of adventure?” she
asked.

“At times. Mostly taking bounties or guard jobs
for traders. Occasionally hired to take on the harder stuff.” He waved his hand
in a wide arc. “This house is nothing special, but it’s a damn sight better
than what we’re used to, right Garth?” Garth nodded without looking up from his
work. “Pure luxury. But it’s been worth it, by the by. We’ve seen things people
only hear in Bard’s tales. Pactbound, monsters, elementals, domains. Crazy
shit.”

“So you’re hunted Pactbound before?”

“Yeah. The most recent was a Fireweaver hidin’
out on the Outer Zarvinas in Felarill, harassin’ the trade routes. He was an
Evelander fellow. That’s when we joined up with Wolef, actually. The bulk of Pact
bounties are Firepacts. They’re both the worst and easiest of the bunch.”

“How so?” Her thoughts went to Ash.

“Well, like fire, they’re unstable, wild. They
burn out faster than other kinds of Pactbound and lose their minds in the
process. But you know what to expect from them. This one, we got him in the
middle of a storm like you’ve never seen. Really helps when the weather is on
your side. The trip back was worse than the bounty.”