Stormcaster (Shattered Realms #3)(42)

As their journey neared its end, they encountered small bands of uplanders, men and women, hair done up in braids, and armed to the teeth. This, apparently, was how the north welcomed newcomers. After a long conversation with their guide, and a hostile look-over, they were allowed to move on.

At long last, one afternoon they rounded a shoulder of a massive peak to see the Vale spread out before them. The clouds they’d seen earlier had cleared somewhat as the day warmed, though steam rose from several large fissures in the near distance. Here, the air was noticeably warmer, and moist, with a faint scent of sulfur. The valley was amazingly green, for late winter. A river cut through the Vale, tumbling out of the mountains in a series of waterfalls. At the north end of the Vale, snuggled against the mountains, was the city of Fellsmarch. Their destination.

They descended into the Vale, striking north across the relatively flat terrain. As they drew closer to Fellsmarch, Evan could see that the builders had made good use of the materials all around them. It was a city built of stone—but a very different stone from what Evan was used to. At home, buildings were built of buff-colored sandstone and stucco. Here, there was more variety—sandstone, yes, but also granites and limestone. The town itself was a warren of steep, twisting cobbled streets, with scarcely a level place big enough to pitch a tent unless it was in the middle of the Way. The skyline boasted a number of pretty spires—temples, probably.

Evan had half-expected to see mages everywhere, but there were few abroad on the streets of the capital. On the positive side of the ledger, he saw no sign that the bloodsworn had infiltrated this far inland. As other travelers peeled off to individual destinations, Evan spurred ahead so that he could converse with their guide, a man of few words and fewer smiles.

“Where are all the mages?” Evan said as they turned onto a cobbled street that ran next to the river.

“They tend to stay on Gray Lady,” the trader said, motioning toward a peak to the north with its head in the clouds. “They only descend into the Vale for business and politics.”

Ahead, the graceful stone towers of a palace rose from high banks next to the river. Evan took a deep breath, releasing it slowly. The wolf queen within represented what might be his last hope for alliance and sanctuary.

Their guide directed them to an inn he knew, just outside the castle close, then took his leave.

Now that they were in the capital, Evan considered the best way to connect with the Fellsian authorities. He’d told everyone along the road that they were emissaries from Carthis, representing shipbuilders, merchants, and smugglers who hoped to do business with the queendom. But he worried whether that device would be enough to earn him a face-to-face with a queen grappling with the demands of an endless war. He needed to speak with her directly. It wouldn’t do to be handed off to a quartermaster or castle steward.

That evening, he was sitting in the common room of the inn with Teza and Brody, debating his next move, when a young woman entered, bringing with her a blast of snow and cold and the unmistakable blue-white glow of magery. She drew his attention for other reasons, too. She looked more like a pirate than anyone he’d seen in the wetlands. Her hair was dyed black streaked with blue, and her exposed skin was layered in tattoos and piercings. Her skin might have been fair underneath, but it was burnt by sun and wind.

She also looked beaten down, exhausted, and sad, like the only survivor of a catastrophe.

She looked around the taproom, her gaze lighting briefly on Evan and his two companions. Dropping her hat and gloves on the table next to theirs, she elbowed her way through the crowd at the bar.

“You’re still here, Captain?” the barkeep said, turning toward the kegs lining the wall without waiting for an order. “I thought you’d left yesterday.”

“The queen asked me to stay a little longer,” the woman said. “She’s still—she needed—” She stopped, cleared her throat. “She still had some questions she wanted answered before I go.”

Evan came instantly alert. This chance encounter might be a stroke of luck. This captain, whoever she was, could be his connection to the queen.

The barkeep plunked two brimming cups down in front of her. “Too bad,” he said. “I know you’re anxious to get back to your ship.”

Even better, she was a mariner, maybe even a privateer working for the queen.

“At least maybe the weather’ll be better when I head to the coast,” she said, pulling out her purse.

The barkeep shook his head. “On the house,” he said. “We all appreciate what you’re doing, ma’am.”

Evan watched her carry the cups to her table and settle heavily into her seat. He raised his cup. “Fair winds, following seas, and a safe harbor at journey’s end,” he said in Common. It was the traditional sailor’s blessing.

She turned and studied him, her eyes narrowed. Then took in Teza and Brody as well. “And the same to you.” She turned back to her ale.

“We are merchants from Carthis,” Evan said. “We are on our way to meet with your queen to discuss the possibility of trade between our countries.”

“Merchants, are you?” The captain raised an eyebrow.

“Sort of,” Evan said, turning his cup between his hands.

“You look like a wizard to me,” she said, using the northern term.

“Sort of,” Evan said again.