Prologue - Part I

  - Ten years ago, Fifth Age -

  Madrisi Mendoso was wrist-deep in a Mimetic switchclock, and Luran was in the clutches of winter. The workshop had gotten cold with the dimming fire, and the blackened coals grew ashier with each passing minute. A battlescarred animant lay partly disassembled in the corner, and three chairs lay covered in parts arrayed with various inner workings scattered over their cushions. Two crystalline lamps glowed with furious orange light, scattering the worksurface with dueling shadows. Madrisi’s blond hair was tied back in a tight bun, and his freckled skin was smeared with grease. The enchanter’s hands were covered in tiny scratches from sharp, sheet metal edges that had only recently been filed smooth.

  Madrisi could just make out the sound of voices for a couple of seconds, then laughter. The door to the workshop swung open without a knock or warning, and Gilviren Mendoso stepped through, arm over arm with a middle aged man Madrisi didn’t recognize.

  “I told you he’d be here. A hard working young man just as ambitious as I was at his age!” Gil said.

  The man in the patchy suit had a mustache and a thin strip of beard from his bottom lip to his middle jaw, which drew out into a point in the middle. His hair was a salt and pepper slick. The sides were shaved, but the top was tied into a braid sat over his shoulder with a black ribbon tying it off.

  “Dad - who’s this?” Madrisi asked.

  “Telvenni of Alberek. We met in Concord when we went to school. Then, as fate would have it, when I was conscripted for the army of Luran, his regiment was merged with mine when we got pushed back to the coast, and we were thick as thieves for the rest of the war.”

  “Your father and I traveled all over Luran, and well into the southlands chasing the riftmarked. It was an honor serving with him, and I… well, I was excited at the prospect of working with him again.” Telvenni said before reaching a hand out to shake Madrisi’s own. Telvenni’s hand was firm, but not painful, and quick to let go.

  “You can tell a lot about a man by how he shakes a hand, you know.” Gil said, pointing with his own mechanical digits, as if to emphasize the point. “You know, Teli was there when I lost my hand. I had to learn to write runes again. It was a shame.”

  Telvenni considered for a moment “It was a shame for the women of Indaal. I heard stories about the critical work that hand used to do.”

  Madrisi rolled his eyes and pondered what he had done to hear his father’s locker room talk, but Gil only laughed.

  After Gil was done laughing at his own antics, Telvenni looked at the mechanical device on the table and pointed to it.

  “So, if you don’t mind me asking, what are you working on there?”

  Gil stuck his metal finger in the air. “That, my friend, is a Switchclock. It’s used by mechanicals and automata to interrupt an action they are performing to change their pose and perform a different action. It can log and switch back to a few prior positions so that it can resume its work after an interruption.”

  “It’s specifically a Mimetic Switchclock. Automata that can see can view your movements and ‘train’ their own movements to act more fluid. They were originally made for the Animants back in the third age, but they’re bloody expensive to build en masse.”

  “So does it keep time also? Why is it called a clock?”

  Gil butted in again. “It’s a ‘clock’, because it maintains the pace of the automata as well. You can increase the clock on an automata to make it move faster, or you can decrease it to make it move slower.”

  “It’s not quite that simple. It lets the automata move slower or faster if they’re… well, smart enough to make their own decisions. They don’t always want to move too fast or they’ll tip in the middle of a task or damage themselves with exertion. Let’s just say, in the same way you can move slower or faster, so can the mechanicals.”

  Gil smiled at his son. “Clever lad.”

  “Tell that to your brother. He wants this thing fixed by morning for the watchers, and he’s hell bent on hiring someone else to do it if I can’t finish it before then.”

  “You leave your uncle to me, Medrisi. He’s full of hot air when he’s drunk.”Gil set his other hand over Medrisi’s tools, and the silver of his signet ring clinked against the arrangement on the table.

  Telvenni shook his head. “I wouldn’t presume to know the relationship between you three, but… perhaps your uncle just needs a massage or something? How does a man like that calm down usually?”

  “He usually calms down by counting his money. He’s the only one between my sisters and I who have a cent to spare.” Gil replied.

  “Fucker.” Telvenni huffed, and they all chuckled.

  When the workshop had fallen into silence, Telvenni stepped over to the fire and grabbed a couple of logs to put them in.

  “No you don’t have to-” Madrisi began, but his father cut him off.

  “Don’t worry my boy. Telvenni has been hired to do just that. He is to assist you, maintain your finances and affairs, and help you keep a tight schedule. Telvenni has just come out of butler school, you see, and I had just the job for him.”

  “But I don’t need a butler.” Madrisi said. “I keep my own schedule well enough.”

  Gil glanced up at the clock, and watched as it ticked for a couple of seconds. As the logs bumped around in the fireplace, Madrisi sighed. “I have work in the machine shop in a few hours.”

  Gil looked back down at him. “That’s right. I will take over the shop from here. Telvenni, please ensure my son gets the closest thing possible to a good night’s sleep.”

  “As you say, my lord.” Telvenni said before patting Madrisi on the shoulder. “You should really take those gloves off and wash up first.”

  Madrisi nodded. “Aye.”

  As he turned to take one last look at his father, he watched as Gilviren Mendoso picked up the tongs and carefully placed something into the fire before sitting down to rest his leg.

  - Dusk of the The Third Age -

  Captain Akorthyss sat with his back to the bricks. He was rapidly running out of men, was seemingly already out of options, and was definitely out of ideas. His breath came in sputtering gasps as he gripped the arrow in his chest. From the look of it, it had barely made it through his breastplate, and had only just torn skin, so he gave it a tug, and popped out with a click. The two in his arm and leg weren’t so easily dislodged, and nor would be the one in his shoulder.

  He felt less like a soldier and more like a pincushion the more he shifted his weight, and he was sure that the groaning, dying men around him weren’t feeling much better. He wondered how many would die in this street before they got the chance to move back to the next barricade. When Nedross came with an earthenware vase, he nearly laughed. There was something so surreal about a man urging his wheelchair toward him fifty feet from an ongoing battle.

  “Watch Captain?” the retired guard asked, offering him the jug.

  Akorthyss took it, and tipped it into his mouth. The vase wasn’t made for drinking, and he was in no mood to make it work better for the task. The contents sloshed as they spilled into his mouth and soaked his cheeks. He tried to ignore the stinging sensation as the cool water flowed onto his face, down his shoulder, and into his wound.

  “Are you going to be alright?” Nedross asked.

  The Watch Captain shivered and handed it back to him, staring off in the distance - up the street and out near the arcanum. Surely, help would be coming at any moment.

  “Watch captain? Perhaps we should retreat?” the guard muttered.

  “No… we can’t lose. Where is Perrithi?” he croaked.

  “He said he’d be out any moment now. He just has to finish his ritual, and he should have something for you.”

  “I need something now. Can I lean against you?”

  Nedross laughed. “Wasn’t that long ago I’d be the one doing the leaning.” His grin slipped away though as Akorthyss struggled to his feet, gasping at the twinges of pain.

  A scream tore out as a man from the barricade was run through with a spear. It stopped short when he was yanked over the barricade, and a couple of other guardsmen shuffled to fill his spot. A few heavy battle automata, a dozen Basilisk Steel Legion automata, and perhaps twenty men at arms manned that barricade while eight teenagers and children assembled the next barricade behind them under the supervision of a one legged veteran, stumbling along on a crutch. Akorthyss glanced up to the snapping flag hanging above them on the side of the building - the flag of the city.

  The crimson banner of Klane Levett sparkled with silver thread as the winged hound flapped on its surface. Gauges, loose threads, and spots of blood littered its surface, but it still hung there.

  “Sir? Are we going?” Nedross asked

  Akorthyss’ ears were still ringing, and he tore his helmet off before stumbling behind the wheelchair and grabbing one of its handles.

  “Of course… let’s… get to the arcanum.. No time to waste.”

  Bedlam. As six students prepared ingredients, and five mechanical assistants cut, welded, and forged parts. The entire scene was no less chaotic than a kitchen during rush hour as burners boiled a rainbow of chemicals, timer bells rang, and hard soled work boots clomped back and forth over polished floors. Marble countertops were draped with stained towels, coats, and the occasional spatter of blood. Heaps of dead and dying men groaned in the cots and on the floor nearby with only a thin ramshackle privacy wall between them and the mages at work.

  Akorthyss pushed the chair along, stumbling behind Nedross, leaving a trail - red, dripping, and streaking in his wake.

  One of the students swore and tapped a mechanical on the shoulder. The machine was chopping alchemical ingredients into a fine mince with a long kitchen knife, but it stopped mid stroke to regard him as he pointed to the watch captain.

  “He needs help. Get him to the cots.” the mage shouted over the din.

  “No need. I’m here to speak with Zar Perrithi.” Akorthyss said.

  “The Master Wizard is busy. No visitors.”

  The mechanical shifted his glance to Akorthyss, soulless black eyeholes regarding him as metal ball joints scraped to extend wooden limbs. The coil on the bottom of the mechanical’s chin began to wobble and vibrate as a metallic voice scratched out a few words. “Watch Master Akorthyss - recognized. How can I assist?”

  The young mage’s eyebrows raised as he glanced back at Akorthyss.

  “Zar Perrithi… I need to see him. Now.” he barked, wincing.

  The mechanical carefully placed the knife down on the cutting board next to the ingredients and shuffled to the watch captain’s side.

  “Allow me to assist you.” it said, offering an elbow. Akorhtyss took it, and it turned its gaze toward another room. “Right this way.”

  The great Wizard Perrithi was not quite as he was when he and Akorthyss were just children. When the watch captain had broken his left arm, he had a cast put on and waited a few weeks. When Perrithi’s knees started to wear out, he had both of his legs replaced. Whereas the watch captain had started to turn gray and slow, Perrithi had become more machine than man. It was difficult to tell now though under the wizard’s metal skin and silk cloak. He was in a room near the back, stirring a pot with one hand while he made signs in the air with the other. The incantation he was whispering sounded more like the mumblings of a vagrant than the work of a mage.

  Three more mages and five more mechanicals were shuffling about, but you’d think Perrithi were in a room by himself by the focused pinch to his knitted brows.

  “Zar Perrithi - how is that next batch coming?” the watch captain shouted.

  A withering glare speared Akorthyss - the deadly precision of a fisher’s killing throw with one pale blue eye, and one silver sphere with a faintly glowing gemstone set into its center. Then he turned his attention back to the pot.

  “I told you it would be ready when it was ready. I told you to wait outside.”

  Akorthyss glanced down at the arrows riddling his body, and he had to stifle a chuckle at the absurdity of it. Like a doctor who didn’t want to see his patient.

  “I don’t know how much longer I can wait.”

  “Then you may be out of luck. Twenty minutes is the earliest I can do, and that’s assuming these… suboptimal ingredients don’t kill you outright. Besides, if you're standing in my lab, you’ll just slow me down.”

  “I know how to stay out of the way.” Akorthis said, but his head was spinning, darkness encroaching on the edges of his vision.

  “Do you? And I suppose you knew how to get here without assistance too.”

  “I did. I just needed… a little help… standing I mean..”

  Perrithi spared him another glance. “You should sit down.” There’s a bench outside you can use.”

  “I can… stand” Akorthyss said, but he was feeling less sure of it by the moment.

  “You really should-” the wizard began, but the watch captain grimaced.

  “Should what? Wait patiently to die? There’s other people out there who need it too. I’m just here to check on you.”

  Perrithi stopped and looked up at him. “You have checked on me. Please leave.”

  Akorthyss stared for a moment, bleary.

  “Watch captain?” the wizard snapped, but he just kept staring.

  “You really should sit down before-”

  Akorthyss closed his eyes, and as he began to list over, the world succumbed to the darkness.

  Prologue - Part II

  - Today, The Fifth Age -

  Madrisi stared out of the window at the rising sun, the faint outline of one of the moons still barely visible in the morning sky. The auric pink and gold lit his room brighter than any lamp as he finished buttoning his shirt.

  He boiled with anger as he paced to his nightstand, then back to his wardrobe. Finally, making up his mind, he glanced down at the sack of gold in his hand and tucked it away in his bag before Telvenni arrived. He didn’t need his uncle’s help for anything. He would do what his father could never do - finish it, all on his own.

  “Master Mendoso.” the butler said from the doorway. “You called for me?”

  “I am leaving, and I need your help getting my affairs in order.” Madrisi said.

  Telvenni frowned. “Is this about the argument last night?”

  “It’s about more than that. My uncle…. Gave me the push I needed. That’s all.”

  “Master, you really must consider your options. There’s simply no way you could go all the way to the south just to impress your uncle.” Telvenni said, wringing his hands. The old butler was hiding his feelings on his face, but his voice was another story.

  Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  “It’s not about my uncle, Teli. It’s about the family business. When I dig up those plans, I might be able to invent newer, better animants. Who’s to say? I can change the face of manufacturing if I succeed.” he replied.

  Madrisi Mendoso was already dressed in the finest green silk and linen as he draped a shawl around his shoulders, but the last article really brought the ensemble together.

  “Well, at least take your armor with you - You can’t possibly navigate such a dangerous place without it.” Telvenni said, patting a smudge of dust off the shawl.

  “Of course, but, surely, you will have yours as well.”

  Telvenni took a step back and turned very pale, but Madrisi only smiled.

  “Madrisi-”

  “Yes?”

  “I have responsibilities around the house… if-”

  “You were once part of the army, Teli. Besides, most of your responsibilities are related to me. I’ll have a couple of other retainers as well, don’t worry.”

  Telvenni frowned as he adjusted his spectacles. “This is the first I’m hearing of this. I wasn’t aware you had other retainers besides my wife. Besides, I don’t know if you’ve realized this or not, young master, but I am getting old. A bit too old to be galavanting about in plate armor. Did you arrange it yourself, or do you just assume your uncle will let you borrow his staff?”

  “I.. don’t intend to take any of my uncle’s staff.”

  “You didn’t even ask?”

  “Well, now I’m asking you. Telli, conscript three retainers for my trip. We’re going south tonight.”

  “Could we at least wait for tomorrow morning? Traveling at night is difficult business.”

  Madrisi considered before flashing a diabolical grin. “You’re right. Traveling at night would be unnecessarily risky.”

  The butler breathed a sigh, but before he could even finish it, Madrisi was talking again. “We should leave this afternoon and spend the night in Disova. Get the provisions ready, and prepare a list. All of your other duties I can reassign to Bethanny. You may also wish to send Lidiya to her mother’s home until we return. She serves me, so uncle probably won’t be willing to pay her.”

  Telvenni wrung his hands together again. “Is there nothing I can do to dissuade you from this? Do you have any idea how dangerous The Dead City is?”

  “I’ve heard the stories, and I’ve already made up my mind. For most of the year, there’s not a peep. It’s only the occasional scuttling beast, and the rangers seem more than capable at handling that. Only the bold get remembered, Telvenni.” Madrisi said before barging out into the hall and calling for Bethany, one glove on and the other in his hand.

  Telvenni shook his head as he stared down at his master’s unmade bed. Then, he pinched the bridge of his nose, and let out a heavy sigh. He stared over at the old painting down the hall - at a portrait of Hectorine and Gilviren Mendoso - a proud couple peering over their son’s door, Gil’s mastiff sitting patiently while young Madrisi was cradled in his mother’s arms.

  He met his old friend’s gaze, rendered in pigment and oil, the very face of majesty with his perfectly smooth mustache. A stern countenance that perfectly captured the self assurance Gil had always been filled with. The aging butler realized he was fussing with his signet ring, and let his hand drop.

  “I remember, you old fucker. A promise is a promise. Even though you’d be turning over in your fucking grave if you knew what that damn boy was planning.” Telvenni whispered to the portrait, then he glanced down at his ceremonial sword. He wondered if it was tempered for battle, then shook his head.

  “That boy is going to step off in something far more serious one of these days.” Lidiya said, startling Telvenni from his musings.

  “He’s going to get both of us killed from the sound of it.”

  “Just you, more likely. You’d protect him.” she said, stepping out of the shadows and fully into the room. Telvenni’s wife was as beautiful as ever with her curly brown hair, sparkling golden eyes, and gray, gossamer lines splitting tiny dragon scales around her neck and cheeks, a testament to her arcane, Indtgaeyran heritage.

  Telvenni grabbed the other side of the sheets and blanket while Lidiya tugged at the opposite corner.

  “You’re probably right. I just don’t know how to tell him no.” Telvenni said.

  “No one alive can tell him no anymore.” Lidiya replied.

  “Perhaps we’ll need to get a thaumaturge.” he added.

  She snickered at that, and Telvenni softened.

  “Didn’t you always want to go back down south?” Lidiya asked.

  “Maybe to Indaal or Yilliah. Anywhere near the Rift is definitely not what I had in mind.” Memories of just what sort of horrors crept out of the Rift invaded his mind, and the old wound came open again for an instant. Flapping, extraneous limbs and dozens of horrible, mismatched eyes. The waving of tentacles, and the unnatural chants of that twisted mage… The blood.. The blood on his hands. He had to hold his breath and breathe out slowly to regain his composure before it got the better of him.

  “Besides, The Dead City is still in Luran. He hasn’t even left the continent if that’s as far as we’re going.

  Lidiya nodded, but Telvenni thought she might just be trying to cheer up her husband, and not at all make the whole idea seem less mad than it had moments ago. Upon coming to this conclusion, he just nodded. “I’m sure there will be nothing there. The surface has been picked clean for generations already.”

  Lidiya smiled before glancing at him. “I’m sure.”

  “But what will I do about the retainers?”

  “He wants retainers too?”

  “Of course he does. He doesn’t know how to live without them. I can’t very well draw from Master Mendoso’s retinue.”

  Lidiya considered. “Aren’t there a bunch of students down at the guild who need an archeology project? Could you hire a couple of them?”

  Telvenni’s eyes lit up as he considered it. “Why would I need a bunch of plucky students when I’ve already got the smartest person I know right here?” he said before kissing her on the cheek.

  “Because I’m absolutely - under no circumstances - going to Klane Levett. I’ll see you when you get back.” she said, smiling.

  “I suppose I’ll just have to meet some cute watcher down there.” he said, glancing at her, and she smacked him on the shoulder, but without any real venom.

  “You absolute dog.” she whispered, but he just smiled back at her.

  The wind was howling as the door slammed, and Colonel Deverio sauntered in, soaking wet from the pouring rain. He shook out his beard and unruly mop of hair before throwing off his cloak onto the coat rack where it plaped into a flat, heavy rag. His armor was soaked almost through, and he was starting to loosen the belts when Cartizi threw the door open and shook the water off like a wolf. The wyrmblood warrior’s snout blew a mist of droplets as he yanked the hood down off his head, yellow and brown scales beading with water that just didn’t stick. His bruised eye twitched around the sliver of brown iris that showed beneath.

  “Well young blood, was that little soiree everything you’d hoped it would be?” the Colonel scratched out, voice still hoarse from all the yelling. A peel of rolling thunder pounded over the sky as buckets of rain hammered on the roof of the old tower’s first floor.

  “Right up until the runt clubbed me.” Cartizi said, tearing off his cloak and shaking even more water off his back. “Didn’t even draw my sword though, so it was a waste of fuckin time, ‘f you askin me.”

  A thin, sharp voice rose from the dark, “Be glad you didn’t have to draw your blade. By the sound of it, you would not have had time to use it.”

  “Can it Seigmoor. You stayed here anyway. You didn’t see.” Cartizi said.

  “That is because I do not like being wet.” Seigmoor replied, before his frosty eyes appeared in the dark. The vitrian swordsman rose from a meditative kneel to his full height, and the massive black cat warrior stood a head and shoulders over both of them, braided ropes of hair twisted in dark brown twine about his shoulders.

  “Imperials like their tools.” Deverio said. “Consider yourself lucky he had a wrench instead of a broken bottle on hand.”

  “A fucking wrench though? Drunk bastard.” Cartizi said.

  “Am I correct in assuming you were drunk as well?” Seigmoor asked.

  “Can it, I said.”

  The ghost of a smile crept over Seigmoor’s mouth before he regained his composure.

  “How did the search really go, Colonel?” the big cat asked, picking up his teacup.

  Deverio smiled. “We got a lead.”

  “Just a lead? Nothing else?”

  “Just a lead is better than what we’ve had in six months. There’s definitely a rift-marked in the city council, and I’ve reason to suspect that he has a nose for rare artifice.”

  “That doesn’t really narrow it down.” Seigmoor said.

  Cartizi straightened his back. “It actually narrows it down quite a lot. Most of the city council get others to pick out their accessories for them, but there’s only three that actually have a background in it.”

  The colonel shot him a glance.

  “What? It’s true.” Cartizi added on.

  “You’re giving away the game. I wanted him to guess.”

  Cartizi shrugged, and looked back up at Seigmoor.

  “I guess now all there is is to hope the council members don’t try to fight us when we show up to investigate.” the wyrmblood said.

  Seigmoor’s eyebrows shifted. “You presume much about what the council will and won’t do, but I think we’ve talked enough. You should go upstairs before Lomren gets the stick. He’s working at his bench at the moment.” he said, gesturing toward the faint light coming from beneath the stairs.

  Cartizi barked a laugh. “I’d love to see him lift the stick to me. I’d fold him in a heartbeat.” he said, a bit louder than he should have, but Lomren didn’t reply.

  “I said, I’d love to see him-”

  “I heard you.” Lomren shouted. “I do not have the patience for you today though, so I suggest you find something else to do.”

  “Are you joking? You’re the most interesting man in the tower.”

  Lomren once again maintained his silence.

  Seigmoor glanced at the Colonel, then Cartizi before the blusterous wyrmblood started to speak again.

  “Well, are you just going to sit down here while we go up?”

  “Assuming you do go up, yes. If you keep making noise though, I’m going to have to shut you up.”

  “Boys.” Deverio shouted. “Cartizi, just go upstairs. I’ll meet you up there.”

  As soon as the young warrior was up the stairs, Deverio crossed the room over to Lomren, and pulled up a chair. Under the stairs, two small stubby candles flickered on the rough, dark stone blocks that Gjeron’s Watch was built from. In addition to that meager light though, the middle aged mage was sitting at his desk, shaping threads of arcane energy like knitting a fabric with his fingertips - strands of violet light danced while sparkles of amber and blue twirled and drifted like dust and ash.

  “I thought you couldn't talk while casting a spell.”

  “Not a complicated spell.” Lomren whispered.

  In the lambent light, his pearlescent skin seemed even more off putting than it normally did, and the nubbly, woody horns that sprouted from his brows and scalp looked almost black in the shadows.

  “You look like a ghost back here, Lomren. Why don’t you come up with the boys? Do more of this later.” Deverio asked him.

  “Not yet. I’m trying to see how much I can cast without speaking.”

  “Lots of people cast without speaking. They just have to use both hands, right?”

  “Lots of people cast by performing sign language - signing two sentences at the same time. That is most emphatically not what I am doing here.”

  “What are you doing?” Deverio asked, but as soon as he did, the light guttered and flickered out.

  Lomren sighed. “Wasting my time, I guess.” he whispered before looking up to meet Deverio’s gaze. “I was trying to cast without saying anything - with my hands or otherwise. Although, if it were easy, everyone would do it.”

  “Can it even be done?”

  “The alifaen do it.”

  “They’re not exactly human - erm - not completely, anyway.” the colonel said, twisting his lip into a frown.

  “Neither am I.” Lomren said, gesturing vaguely at his face “Niether is Cartizi, Seigmoor, or Vandasa. Neither is Lihada, if you really think about it.”

  “Well you’re… more human at least. You’re definitely not an Alifaen.”

  “But the power… it all comes from the same place. What’s the difference?” Lomren said, slapping his hands on the desk before leaning back in his creaking chair.

  “Come on, ol boy. It’s late, and all the fun’s upstairs.” Deverio said.

  Lomren nodded. “Yes, I suppose there’s always tomorrow to make myself miserable.”

  When everyone had made their way up to the common room of Gjeron’s watch, there was a roaring fire, a stew pot that had just come off of it, and a smattering of the usual odd characters about.

  Lihada, the towering bronze giant from the Free Lands was previously stirring the pot, but now she was serving the stew. Cartizi was chatting with Eruun, the muddy wyrmblood boasting while trying to keep the bruised side of his face hidden in his hood, the dark haired ranger sharpening his blade between sips of mead. Jonas was slipping his goggles off of his bald scalp and over his eyes while he tinkered and soldered on some new mechanical contraption. On the other side of the table from him was Vandasa. She was a much paler vitrian than Seigmoor, and she was quizzing him on the nature of the device. Then there was Constan, smoking sweet herb, ticking away on his dulcimer, tiny hammers working the strings to stoke glorious music. Siegmoor was right there with him, watching him play, sipping hot tea.

  Colonel Deverio let out a deep sigh seeing all of his people there… except Verner. Poor verner’s hat was still sitting on top of the mantle. Even six weeks later, no one has had the heart to take it down. Etara’s sword hung from the wall not far above it. Hadren’s fiddle not far above that, dusty from the years gone since. Perhaps the mantle was exactly where the hat should be. Perhaps he’d leave something on the mantle for the others to pay their respects some day, or maybe he’d just get a shallow grave inside the dead city, like so many others who had come before them. Afterall, nearly all of them that had died at that post did so in the bowels of Klane Levett.

  “Colonel, good timing!” Lihada shouted over the music, and Lomren jumped at the sudden sound of the burly woman’s deep, but ecstatic voice. “I made dumplings from one of my grandmother’s old recipes, and I think they're done.” she said, spooning out a few hand rolled, chicken egg sized balls of dough, speckled with flakes of herb and spice, and simmering in a brackish red broth.

  She plucked one out of the ladle’s bowl to test its density with her fingers, looking almost puzzled. Then she popped it into her mouth. She chewed thoughtfully, and seemed to ponder for a moment.

  “Well?” Jonas asked, lifting the goggles back over his head. “Are you going to keep us in suspense?”

  “It’s almost perfect.. But it’s missing something, and I don’t know what. Either way, it’s definitely done.”

  Bowls were filled, and seats were taken. Constan tapped his pipe out and stopped playing long enough to join the others at the table while Seigmoor refilled his cup and Cartizi grabbed the old hand-carved rocking chair from the corner.

  The long square table was once the property of a lord from the southlands nearly two centuries ago. Now its intricate lattice patterns, enamel paint, and crystal lacquer were stained with several decades of knives, forks, bowls, weapons, bar fights, and repair work, but that’s just what it had gone through before it turned up with three legs at Gjeron’s watch. The chairs were all mismatched, and not a single place mat was to be found in front of any of them. The pewter tankards and mugs looked to be the only thing in a matching set, but even that pattern was broken by Seigmoor’s tea cup.

  Deverio sat down next to Jonas, who had only just wiped away a film of oil under the spot he had been working, and took his utensils out while everyone else started to eat with just a fork, or with their bare hands. Jonas was using a spoon for the broth, a fork for the dumplings, and a knife to cut them.

  “You never told me what the deal was with that fancy spread.” Deverio said to him while the others chatted about a million other things.

  “It’s just a matter of preference. Like wearing clothes when I get out of bed.”

  “Everyone puts on clothes when they get out of bed.”

  “Not everyone has to. I don’t always have to, anyway. It’s just.. The way I do things. We’re all creatures of habit - reeds each, bending to our own tides…. Well, usually anyway.” he said, and he smiled before carving the first dumpling.

  Colonel Deverio just nodded. Jonas always had a way of being philosophical over the tiniest things, so he shrugged, and started to dig in.

  The first one had a bit of a bite of its own. By the second dumpling though, Deverio was starting to break out in a cold sweat. The temperature was good and warm, but his tongue was on fire. He took a sizable sip of mead to cool it down, but he wasn’t sure if it made it worse.

  He glanced up at Vandasa, who was still sitting across from Jonas, and thus, him.

  Vandasa was not eating slowly, by any means, but she still managed to do it with grace. The Huntress of the Sapril Trail couldn’t afford to be ungraceful in her usual haunts, so she was right at home doing it in her usual resting place.

  “Everything to your liking, colonel?” she whispered, like a perfectly timed stab.

  “Oh, yes, of- of course.” he muttered, taking another sip to cool the still agonizing ache in his mouth, and again wasn’t sure if it had helped. “-perfectly fine.”

  Vandasa’s eyes creased with a self satisfied squint. “If it’s too hot for you, you can add a pinch of sugar. Most of the spice is in the sauce, not the dumpling.” she said, reaching to the middle of the table and nudging the sugar dish from Siegmoor’s tea set toward him.

  Deverio gingerly took a pinch of loose sugar with the little spoon, and dropped it in the soup before stirring it thoroughly.

  Cartizi started chuckling. “Too hot, Lihada” he said, before tearing a piece of bread and dipping it in the sauce. “Too hot for the poor Colonel.”

  “Too hot for me too, I think.” Eruun murmured before leaning over the table and grabbing a spoon full of sugar for himself.

  Constan looked over at Cartizi and balked. “Might be too spicy for you too, you big lizard. You wouldn’t be dipping that bread if you could handle the sauce.” Then, he picked up the bowl and started slurping loudly.

  Not to be outdone, Cartizi picked up his own bowl and started slurping it too. Then Lihada picked up hers, and everyone was laughing too hard to do anything else.

  Cartizi set his down first, nose running, and eyes watering, but all the sauce was gone. Constan had a coughing fit, but it was nearly empty, and he wasn’t half as burned up. When Lihada put her bowl down though, there was nothing left - not even the dumplings.

  The laughter continued until there was a loud knocking downstairs followed by a peel of thunder. Colonel Deverio was the first to stand up.

  “At his hour?” he said, taking a couple of steps toward the stairs. Seigmoor was right by his side a moment later, his hand wrapped around the sheath of his sword, the belt dangling. Everyone else already had the bronze watcher hunting knives in their hands besides Jonas. The tinkerer had slipped on that mechanism he had been working on. With the pulling of a pin, the wrist mounted contraption unfolded into a small crossbow, spring loaded and already cocked. Then he slipped the bolt out of his bandolier and into its jaws. Deverio eyed Siegmoor, and the big cat eased out the blade.

  The knock came again, louder and more forceful this time.

  “Master watchers? We’re getting soaked out here!” an angular, posh voice shouted. “My lord and I have traveled far to get here, and we were told you would let us in!” he continued.

  Vandasa had crossed the room - quiet as a mouse - and was peering out of the window at the door.

  “What do you see?” the colonel asked.

  “Two men - no weapons. Well dressed, but covered in mud. There’s a wagon nearby with a couple of… servants inside. Barrels… provisions maybe? Two horses, thoroughbred, not draft horses. They’re… perhaps nobility?” she said.

  Colonel Deverio turned to the watchers first, “I’ll talk with them, keep your eyes open. Jonah, Seigmoor, you’re with me, the rest of you, watch the windows, and get hid.”

  “This is just excellent, really.” Madrisi said, shouting through the pounding of merciless rain while he tried in vain to knock the water off his coat under the awning. “Soaked to the bone and begging for help.”

  “They’re probably getting ready for bed right now. That’s what I would be doing.” Telvenni shouted back, a sharp glance back at his master.

  “They probably moved on to another spot. For a group known for their suspicion, I wouldn’t be surprised.” Madrisi offered.

  “Not likely. They’re also tactically minded. Gjeron’s watch is a… strategically valuable position. Telvenni pointed out into the dark.

  “You can’t see it now, but during the daytime, this watchtower was built to have a commanding view of Klane Levett. It was built specifically to keep an eye on the place.” Telvenni said, trying not to overshare with his master and lose his attention.

  “You mean they actually built this pile of rocks after the city fell?”

  Telvenni gave him a severe look. “Pile of ROCKS? Did you not see the narrow pass? This is the most defensible position in twenty miles. Five men could hold this tower for six months. It may as well be a fortress.”

  “So the chances of us getting in it are somewhere between ‘if they’re feeling nice’, and ‘absolutely fuck all’?”

  “You’re the one who didn’t want to send a letter. Who’s to say, maybe they’re out there in the dark right now… in the middle of this- unfortunate weather.”

  Madrisi rolled his eyes. “Trying knocking again.”

  Before Telvenni could raise a hand to the door though, it swung open, a handsome middle aged man with a short, shaggy beard and brown mop of drying hair stood. The man’s face looked about as soft as cliff rock, and was every bit as steady.

  “It’s awful late - you really should have come during the day.”

  “I couldn’t.” Madrisi was quick to say. “You see, I have to get into Klane Levett.”

  “Won’t be tonight.” the colonel replied.

  “Of course, but it has to be as early as possible.” Madrisi replied.

  “A pretty tall order for ‘as soon as possible’. You’re only asking for entry to the most dangerous place on Yenzuz.” Jonas said.

  “But you will do it, yes?” Telvenni bleated.

  Colonel Deverio considered for a moment. “Put the horses in the stable, just down the hill there. I’ll have someone open the door. The rest of you, you can stay downstairs if you like. There’s enough lodging down there for a small army if you’ve got the stomach.”

  “The stomach for what?” Madrisi asked.

  “The wet, mostly, but also the ghosts.” Deverio said.