Irulan waited until the cart emptied before slinging her bow over her shoulder and gathering up her own bag, not wanting to deal with any other disembarking Arulduskans. She knew she had a fight ahead of her, and she couldn’t afford to use up her limited reserves of patience now.
She’d only been to Flamekeep once before, and then she’d been approaching from the north, through farmland ravaged by the War. After passing the Face of Tira, a huge likeness of the paladin carved into a rocky crag eighty miles to the west, Irulan had been expecting Flamekeep to be even more magnificent and awe-inspiring. But when she’d entered the city through the smaller northern gate, accompanied by farmers, refugees, and road-weary pilgrims, she’d been disappointed to see nothing but the back side of the high gray wall that surrounded the Grand Cathedral.
It hadn’t helped that she’d made the long trek over from the Reaches on foot with Javi in tow, the youngling whining with every step. The thought of her brother brought a burning lump to her throat, and she swallowed it with difficulty, along with the accompanying anger. She couldn’t afford that right now, either.
Her scabbard slapped against her thigh as she stepped out onto the boarding platform. A stiff wind blew in from the Sound, laced with the faint scent of salt and the harsh cries of sea birds. She hurried over to the main concourse, her many looping braids whipping around her face like tiny scourges. Shoving her way past the crowd of people that clustered in front of the vendor stalls, she entered the main building through a set of wide double doors.
Inside the concourse, passengers milled about, some buying tickets to Sigilstar and points south, others reading notices posted on the various message kiosks. Still others rested comfortably on the myriad benches while they waited for the rail to depart. The great House Orien unicorn stretched out across the floor in a bright mosaic that contrasted brilliantly with the dusky rose marble. As she admired the artistry of it, a House Orien courier, her dragonmark glowing blue against the golden skin of her cheek, appeared at the base of the unicorn’s horn and hurried off to a side door.
A schedule and map of lightning rail routes adorned one wall, while a map of Flamekeep filled another. Irulan walked over to examine the second, and far larger, map. She easily identified the Cathedral of the Silver Flame, towering as it did over the entire city, as well as its much smaller offshoot, Thalingard. A few other buildings were identified on the map, such as the Great Library and the city’s sole Temple to the Sovereign Host, tucked away in the eastern harbor district. The city’s largest thoroughfare, the High Road, encircled the cliffs that housed the Cathedral like a silver necklace. A necklace-or a noose. Pushing that thought away, along with its attendant images of Javi, Irulan headed through the front doors of the concourse, back out into the wind.
Though the temperatures were rising with the advent of spring, the icy waters of the Sound were always the last to feel the sun’s warming touch, and the wind seemed even colder on this side of the station. Irulan pulled her collar up in a futile attempt to protect the back of her neck from its chill caress. She surveyed her options from the relative protection of the concourse building. Past the bridge and over the soaring walls of Flamekeep, she could just make out the great silver fire that burned above the Cathedral, though from this distance, it looked more like a candle flame than the huge conflagration she knew it to be. Nearer to the concourse, she saw single- and double-seated carriages lined up to ferry disembarking passengers into the city, along with a few skycabs. Having coin for neither, she hoisted her bag onto her shoulder for the long walk across the bridge.
She had just reached the bottom stair when she felt her bag shift. It could have been the wind, but she knew it wasn’t.
Turning, she snagged a handful of reddish hair just as the would-be pickpocket darted around her, making for a nearby alleyway. She hauled the diminutive thief back, his feet scrabbling ineffectually against the dirt, and called for the House Orien guards she knew would be stationed somewhere close.
As one approached, she grabbed the youngster’s wrist with her other hand and twisted sharply, forcing him to drop the small knife he’d used to slice open her bag. Just a child, his face and clothing smudged with dirt. Not even in his tenth year by the look of him, and already resorting to robbing weary travelers for the price of his next meal. She felt a tiny twinge of sympathy: a few unkind twists of fate and her feet-or Javi’s-could easily have trodden the same path. When she saw what the boy had taken, though, any feeling of empathy evaporated like sweat on a reachrunner.
Flame!
Her identification papers.
“What seems to be the problem?” the guard asked, his bored tone belying the hand that rested lightly on the hilt of his sword.
“A thief, and a poor one at that,” Irulan answered, shoving the boy roughly at the guard. She quickly rifled through her bag to see if the brat had stolen anything else. With a sigh of relief, she saw that everything else was undisturbed, save by her own frantic rummaging. The packet was still there.
“Sorry ’bout that. Vedic here has a little problem with the concept of property rights. He thinks other people’s property rightfully belongs to him.” The guard grinned at his own joke, but Irulan did not laugh.
“If he makes a habit of robbing House Orien passengers, why is he still running around free?”
The guard’s smile faded, and he tightened his grip on Vedic. The boy let out a yelp as the collar of his shirt constricted, squeezing a neck that did not, on second glance, look to be in any great need of a next meal.
“Well, now … that’s the problem.” He nodded to another guard who had come down the stairs behind her. It was then that she realized the guard who held Vedic was wore the livery of Thrane, while the other wore House colors.
“See, Vedic may have robbed you, but it was on House Orien property.” He pointed with his free hand at the boy’s feet, which were now firmly planted on Thrane soil, while her own boots still rested on the bottom step of the concourse, which belonged to House Orien. “And he’s in Thrane now, where, to our knowledge, he’s committed no crime.”
She turned to the House Orien guard. “You know he’s guilty. Arrest him!”
The guard shrugged. “Sorry. I don’t have jurisdiction off the concourse. If you’d care to file a claim, we can send it over to the Thrane guard and they’ll process it. If they determine it’s valid-”
“If?”
“-then they may release him back to our custody. Probably take a month, two months, for the whole process.”
“Probably not worth your time,” the Thrane interjected, and Irulan wondered what sort of deal Vedic had with the guards, and how much of a percentage they made off the sale of his stolen goods.
“Evidently not,” Irulan said, making no attempt to conceal her disgust. “I suppose I should thank the Flame that he didn’t cut me with that knife of his-I’d have bled to death before you two could work out whether I should be tended by a House Orien healer, or one from Thrane-let alone which one of you would have to punish him!”
Not expecting a reply, Irulan turned her attention to her bag, pulling the drawstrings tight and tying them in a ranger’s knot. Then she upended the bag to see if it would hold. When nothing fell out, she turned toward Flamekeep once more.
“Excuse me.”
Irulan looked up at the House Orien guard, whose face was no longer friendly.
“Yes?”
“Your papers, please.”
“Surely you can’t be serious. I was just robbed, and you’re asking me for my papers?”
The guard held his hand out.
Barely suppressing a growl, Irulan handed the leather folder over.