The Blood Sigil (The Sigilord Chronicles Book 2) (4 page)

"Why all the mugs?" Goodwyn asked.

Aegaz grunted—more of a snort, really, the sound of contempt. "They won't reuse a cup I've touched."

"Why?"

"You've seen the way they look at us," Aegaz said, finally putting away the knife.
 

Goodwyn nodded. "Nobody carries weapons here."

Another grunt. "Maybe you are still a boy after all, Goodwyn. The fear and loathing in their eyes has nothing to do with our weapons. It's our skin."

"The Waldrene thought we looked strange, but not like this. They didn't…"

"Think us contagious?" Aegaz snarled, returning to sharpening his blade, this time with more vigor, and no small amount of anger. "No, we were alien to them, but the Niragans, at least the ones in this area, are very superstitious. I hear them whispering when they think I can't hear. They call us black devils. Some call us demons."

"So they won't touch your mugs because they think you're a devil?" Therren asked.

"The innkeep and her staff seem to think so, but since we are high-ranking officials from Waldron, here to meet the king, they must serve us or risk losing their license."

"This is a crazy place. Beautiful, but crazy. And cold, too," Goodwyn said, shivering a little. "I'm cold from the inside out. How can it be so cold while the sun is out?"

"We're in the north, and it's winter. Be thankful it hasn't started to snow yet," Aegaz said. "They say there's a city as far north of here as we are from Waldron that would freeze solid were it not for the volcano on which it was built."

"That's crazy. Who would live in a place like that?" Therren asked.

Goodwyn thought of all that they had seen and done since leaving Kest; of the wonders of the world they would never have known about. He wished Urus could be there to see Niragan.

"Urus would love all this water, and the boat streets."

"Canals," Aegaz corrected, sighing.

"Murin's going to find Urus and get him back," Goodwyn added, trying to lighten the suddenly dark mood.

"It's been six months and we have heard nothing from the gray man," Aegaz said, standing up to lean against the low iron railing that ran the length of the canal. A year ago he was the most skilled warrior in all of Kest, but now he seemed a little older, a little slower, the gray in his hair winning the war against the black. "I've failed my nephew…again."

"But Commander, you—" Goodwyn started to comfort the warrior-turned-statesman, but Therren grabbed his shoulder and shook his head
no
.
 

The barmaid pushed her way through the doors onto the patio, rear-first, then set down a tray containing eggs and sausage and three more mugs of coffee. Her hands shook, rattling the ceramics as she did so. She bowed, avoiding eye contact with any of the demons, and hurried back inside.

"I told her that if the food failed to meet your standards, you would change into your true devil forms and cast a spell upon her," Aegaz said from his post at the railing.

Therren chuckled, but Goodwyn frowned. "That's cruel. That poor woman," he said.

"She deserves it for believing such nonsense. Devils. Fah!"

"Our escort is here," Goodwyn said. Scanning the canal toward the port, he saw a translucent, hypothetical image of a man rowing a boat through the channel. The image flickered and vanished. As it vanished, something else—something terrible—replaced it. "Wait, he's gone."

Aegaz and Therren followed Goodwyn's gaze, peering down the canal, but said nothing.

"Oh, now he's back," Goodwyn said as the boatswain's shade reappeared.

"Is he coming or isn't he?" Aegaz snapped. "I see nothing."

"He is, or was. I mean, for a moment there he decided not to come get us, but then he thought better of it and pressed on."

"Because he thinks we're devils?" Therren asked. "And I don't see him yet."

"He'll round the bend in a few seconds," said Goodwyn. "And no, I don't think it's our skin. I think something's wrong."

"Why?" Aegaz picked up his fourth mug of coffee and sniffed the rim. "And superstitious or no, someone needs to teach these people how to brew a decent cup of coffee."

"In that moment when he decided not to come get us, I saw the city burning. All of it."

"So one boatswain saves the city by deciding to pick us up so we can go beg the king for livestock and masons for Waldron?" Therren asked.
 

Goodwyn shrugged. "I don't know, I just see what I see."

"There he is." Therren pointed to the man rowing the boat Goodwyn had already seen.

"Eat up quick. After yesterday I'm not risking being late again," Aegaz said.

With just a few quick shovelfuls of food, they crammed their mouths with eggs and sausage, washing it down with hot coffee. They were still chewing and slurping as the boat arrived. A long, slender craft designed to hold up to five people in a line, it eased up to the stone pier.

"Delegates from Ehmshahr, my name is Pori and I will be conducting you to the castle today," said the boatswain, ushering them in. He wore the typical drab, earth-tone colors preferred by the Niragans and most of the cities in this area of the kingdom. A bright red sash around his waist identified him as one with official duties within the castle.

"Chew this," Aegaz said, handing both Goodwyn and Therren each a handful of the same bitter black root he had given them the day before. "Maybe if you chew enough, you won't get sick on the way back this time."

Goodwyn winced, remembering the half-hour canal journey that had him bent over the side of the boat, heaving his lunch up into the water.

"I am sorry that your business was unsuccessful yesterday," Pori said, his eyes on the canal ahead as he used an oar to push them away from the stone sidewall.
 

Aegaz dropped into the furthest forward seat of the boat. "We stood around waiting all day long," he said. "and then the king's advisors sent us back to the inn without even an audience. Meanwhile, Waldron's people lack food, and its walls and homes lack stone and the masons to rebuild them."

"Persistence will win out, Master Commander Aegaz," said Pori. The man had been an incessant chatterbox the day before, giving them an annotated tour of every nook and cranny of the canal. This morning he seemed unusually abrupt, Goodwyn thought.

"Is something the matter, Master Pori?" Aegaz asked before Goodwyn got a chance.

"Why do you ask?" The boatman's eyes darted to the left and down, his grip on the oar tightened, even the muscles in his legs tensed.

"Because yesterday it was all we could do to get a word in edgewise and today you're as quiet as that barmaid back there," Aegaz answered. "And you've done at least ten things that show your mind is fixed on something other than ferrying us to court."

"Yes, well, um," he stammered. "It is nothing to concern yourselves with. Local problems, really, not of import to visitors to court from one of the king's most valued cities."

"You'd be surprised what interests a group of visitors from Ehmshahr." Aegaz shifted in his seat. He may not have gotten sick the day before, but no Kestian liked being in a boat.

"A body was discovered this morning, in the leather quarter by the tannery gate," said Pori. "The third this week, actually."

"Is that where you were planning to go instead of picking us up?" Goodwyn asked. "To the leather quarter?"

"What? How did you know that? I, I don't understa—"

"The boy is more perceptive than he lets on," Aegaz said, cutting him off.

"Yes, that's where I wanted to go. I am a member of the white guard, volunteers who help with the city watch. They've called us all to help search for the killer."

Aegaz looked at Goodwyn and raised his eyebrow. The question was unmistakable and Goodwyn already knew the answer.

"Take us to the leather quarter," Goodwyn said.

"But sirs, this is highly irregular. You are visitors to court, dignitaries. I cannot just take you to a crime scene in the middle of a manhunt. I could lose my job."

"You can and you will take us there, Master Pori," Aegaz said in that tone of his that made it obvious he would brook no objections. "We specialize in the irregular and we do not have time to explain why we know that you
must
take us to see this body."
 

Pori swallowed hard and dug the long oar into the ground below the canal, turning the craft around. "But your audience with the king…"

"He's probably not going to get to us today, what with the bickering over incursions from the northern barbarians and the Jorelithian delegates taking up his time begging for his army to intervene."

"I didn't know you were paying attention to the politics yesterday," Goodwyn said. "It was all I could do to stay awake."

"I'm always paying attention."

They continued up the canal toward the port then veered off onto another canal-street heading east toward the leather quarter.

"That smell is awful," Goodwyn said.

"That's the tanneries. They smell up the whole area, Thankfully the wind from the harbor usually blows east, keeping the smell away from most of the city. Unfortunately the water does carry the smell downstream a bit."

"In Kest, the tanneries are all outside the city walls, downwind of the mountain gusts," Aegaz said. "We almost never have to deal with the stench."

"What if the city is attacked?" Pori steered the boat down another street. "What of your tanneries then?"

"No one survives an attack on Kest," answered Goodwyn. It wasn't a boast, it was a fact. Kest had never fallen to a siege, and very little of any army to make the attempt ever survived. That was, until six months ago, when the blood mages had pulled a comet from the heavens and plunged it into the desert, blasting Kest and everything around it from the face of the earth.

"This Kest, is it near Waldron?" asked Pori. "I've never heard of it."

The memory of Kest stabbed at Goodwyn's heart, but he tightened his grip on the boat, gritted his teeth, and suppressed the urge to weep.

"It is on the other side of the world," Aegaz said, his voice barely above a whisper.

A long silence passed in which the only sound was the ambient noise of the city and the splashing of Pori's oars in the water.

"Almost there, sirs," said Pori, breaking the silence, the boat drifting along the foul-smelling waters.

As they floated into the leather quarter, the tension was palpable. City guards stood watch on virtually every corner. Others stood on rafts in the middle of canals, blocking the way. Shouts of panicked citizens and angry soldiers echoed off the stone walls and clay roofs of the neighborhood. In this area of the city, every other house seemed to have been modified to support racks on which hung myriad animal hides in various stages of tanning.

Pori maneuvered the boat to a corner, where a pair of soldiers tied it off against the railing.

"White guard volunteers, sir," Pori said. "We're here to assist in the search."

"I've seen your face around here before," the soldier said, then turned from Pori to squint at Goodwyn and his companions. "But not the likes of them. Nobody without authorization gets through, marshal's orders."

Aegaz bounded over the railing with one hand, almost knocking the soldier down, Goodwyn and Therren following right after.

"I said nobody goes in!"

"Soldier, I am Aegaz Noellor, Commander of the First Fist of Kest and acting Knight Marshal of the city of Waldron under authority of acting Duke Corliss. You will escort us to the scene of this crime or I will bury you neck-deep in a pile of political manure so thick you will never be able to claw your way out, understand?"

"Y-yessir," the soldier replied. "This way, sir."

The soldier led them through a warren of sidewalks that ran alongside the canals, over a half dozen bridges, and finally ducked through a short opening in the side of a building, stepping over the shattered remains of a wooden door. They were stopped at every corner by more soldiers, each attempting to deny them access.

"I know someone died and there's a murderer on the loose, but don't you think this is all a bit much?" Goodwyn whispered to Therren.

"Yeah, this is crazy," Therren replied.
 

"Maybe they're just not used to murders around here."

"Boys." Aegaz hushed them as they turned a corner, switching from a fenced canal street to a traditional cobbled road.

"Step no further, demon," called a voice from down the road.
 

Two men stood guarding the entrance to a home. They wore tall, wide-brimmed black hats and black capes cinched on their chests with golden chains. Reflected light glinted off the blue and gold plate-mail tunics they wore to accompany black pants and leather boots. Broad plates made up their armor, which reminded Goodwyn of an insect's carapace.

"
Demon
? How dare you—" Aegaz started but the man on the left raised his hand to interrupt.

"'Beware the demons of dark skin, for they writhe under the desert sands like snakes and will strike when you are least aware,'" the man quoted aloud. "Thus says the fourth book of Meb."

"It is the truth and the word, and the word is good," chanted his companion, bowing slightly with hands pressed together before him.

"I've got a word for this—" Therren said, drawing his sword.

"Therren, wait." Goodwyn extended an arm, holding him back.
 

"Just who in hell do you think you are to speak to us like that?" Aegaz called to the black-caped men.

"I am Urjican Friar Lloyd, and this is Urjican Friar Zeol," replied the closer of the two men, a thick beard covering most of his face.

"Step aside, then, friar—"
 

"Brother," corrected Friar Lloyd.

"Step aside,
Lloyd
," Goodwyn said, making a point of dropping the man's title. "We have business here."

"We will not let your kind foul this home. A man has been killed here. His soul must be allowed to ascend and be welcomed by our Lord. The stench of your evil here will interfere with this sacred journey."

Therren gasped in disbelief. "Stench of evil? Because of our skin?"