“Come now,” she heard the red-haired man shout from somewhere within the swirl of light. “I can’t hold this thing open all day. Step through already!”
Quester glanced in her direction, shrugged, and jumped into the light, disappearing just as the others did. His laughter as he vanished seemed to echo all around her. Swallowing her fear, she followed him, wincing when the light hit her skin. For a moment she feared that she would be seared alive. . until she landed on her two feet on a street bereft of snow, completely unharmed. Quester grabbed her arm, and she stood up to see they were surrounded by the men from atop the wall. The red-haired leader stood with two others in the forefront, their hands glowing, their fingers making strange gestures. A thud sounded, and Pox Jon and Decker emerged from the portal behind her. Both looked as bewildered as she felt.
Finally, the lead spellcaster dropped his hands to his sides and took a deep breath. The swirling blue portal behind them blinked out of existence with a barely audible pop. A young man with a beard nowhere near as impressive as the others’ came forward with boots and heavy cloaks for each of them, and when Rachida slipped hers overhead, she swore she heard all in attendance moan. Turock, whose heavy robe was the same garish orange color as his hat, stepped toward them. He opened his mouth to speak, but Rachida cut him off.
“That was a fine spectacle you put on.”
“The portal?” The man laughed. “Nothing, really. Simply rearranging some elements and cutting a hole through space and time. Easy as baking a baneberry pie. So! You had things to discuss?”
“Not here.” She patted his shoulder and breezed past him. Those gathered behind parted for her, looking baffled and whispering among themselves. When she had passed them, she stopped and took in her surroundings. She could see the barricade was an earthen wall seemingly raised from the ground itself, just as Talon had said, circling the entirety of the village. The ice and snow that covered the outside of the wall were absent on the inside, revealing the drab brown of rocks and packed dirt. The village itself was large and bustling. Men, women, and children filled the streets, bundled up against the cold and acting as if there was nothing strange going on. She took them all in, noticed that none seemed to be starving. In fact, quite a few of them looked downright robust.
Perhaps even stranger, however, were the buildings lining the cobbled road. They were grand structures possessing a sort of unnatural architecture she had never seen before. Outhouses, shops, domiciles, gathering places; it didn’t matter what they were, they were all constructed of interlocking granite blocks and topped with a thick layer of snow that only added to their impressiveness. Even in Veldaren and Port Lancaster, the most advanced cities in all of Neldar, there were no structures as striking as these. And lining the road were numerous poles, each topped with an odd reflective square that seemed to glow on its own.
“Is there a place where we can speak that isn’t so cold?” Rachida asked as Turock hurried to join her side.
“Of course there is,” he said. “Just because we made you strip doesn’t mean we’re bad hosts here in Drake. Follow me.”
The odd man walked ahead of her, his hat flopping on his head, his robe fluttering. Rachida and her men followed, Turock’s men taking up the rear. They formed a sizeable caravan marching down the road, and finally the people of Drake seemed to notice them.
Turock led them to a two-story building fronted with something that Rachida had rarely seen-four giant panes of frosted glass, at least eight feet long and five feet high. She marveled at the windows as Turock led her through the wide double doors and into the building. Glass was rare, a luxury for the wealthy in the kingdom her god had created, difficult to make and even harder to maintain. To have glass in Paradise, which by all accounts was a simple land where advancement wasn’t necessary, went against her expectations. Then again, all of Drake exceeded her expectations.
The inside of the building was crammed with people. At least two hundred men and women filled the vast area, sitting at tables, drinking cups of wine, stuffing their faces with food. The scents of spices and roasted meats assaulted Rachida’s nostrils, made her mouth begin to water. Turock noticed and chuckled.
“Impressive?” he asked.
Rachida glanced behind her as her men and Turock’s filed into the building. The look on Pox Jon’s face told her he was just as astounded. Even Quester looked overcome.
“It is,” she said, whistling. “Where did you come across such a bounty?”
“Follow me, my beautiful Rachida, and I’ll show you.” He looked to his right and gestured to an ornate door cut into the wall. As he led her toward it, he called out over his shoulder, “Bartholomew, please get our other guests situated. Food for all, and have Margot prepare a bath if they want.”
“Okay,” said young Bartholomew. “Remember, Abby is expecting you.”
“My wife can wait,” Turock grunted as he grasped the door handle. “Have her come to me if she’s impatient.”
The door opened into a large study, the whole outer wall of which was one huge window. The space was filled with gemstones, each type stacked in its own pile. There had to be millions of them. Rachida whistled at the sight, and Turock leaned against the wall and folded his arms over his chest.
“What is going on here?” she asked him finally. “Where did these come from?”
“Your husband, Peytr, supplied us with half of it. He’s frequented the islands off the coast of Conch for two decades now. My wife loves the ocean, and we visited Conch often, backward little village that it is. He often talked of your splendor, though it was in a bored sort of way, so I figured he was exaggerating.”
Two decades? He’d been hiding his true wealth from her for twenty years! Add that to Peytr’s attempt to have her killed, and it was yet another nail in his casket. “He does that. Exaggerate.”
Turock grinned. “Not in this case.”
She sighed. “So Peytr gave you half. The rest?”
“The rest we mined ourselves from the very mountains surrounding us.”
“And the food? How large your stores must be!”
“Ha! We have no stores. All we have,” he gestured to the piles of gemstones, “are these, in more abundance than you could ever know.”
She looked at him, confused.
“Here, I’ll show you,” Turock said. He bent over and picked up a stone from one of the piles. He held the tiny, glittering green pebble between his thumb and forefinger. “So, Rachida, what is your favorite food?”
She gawked at him and squinted.
“Humor me.”
After thinking for a moment, she said, “Roast quail.”
Turock flipped the gem into his palm, made circles over it with his other hand, and whispered a few incomprehensible words. The miniscule gem glowed brightly, and then its form shifted. Before she could blink, a single steaming leg of quail rested on the spellcaster’s palm. He reached out, offering it to her. She hesitated.
“Go ahead, eat it,” he said. “It won’t kill you.”
She took the small leg from him and bit down. Juices filled her mouth, dripped over her chin. Even though the taste was somewhat dull, she almost moaned.
“I don’t understand,” she said after she’d swallowed.