Dranth cleared his throat again, louder this time.
“Visitor, Guildmistress.”
Esten turned finally and stared at him, her gaze as devouring as the desert sands that were said to have swallowed the legendary city of Kurimah Milani more than a thousand years before. Dranth gestured into the darkness, motioning the young woman to come forward.
Like a pale ghost she appeared, swathed from head to toe in her light blue ghodin, her face white in the fireshadows. She was trembling, and the tremors redounded through the fabric of her ceremonial garb, making her appear as a ship’s sail on a windy sea. Darks curls peeked out at her forehead, the only part of her hair showing, framing her face.
Esten seized her own long locks and, in a lightning-quick motion, bound them into a knot at the nape of her neck, then stood slowly as the taller woman approached.
“Well, well, this is indeed an honor,” she said, venom dripping from every syllable. “A Shanouin priestess has deigned to come and visit me. How interesting. What is your name, Holiness?”
The tall woman squared her shoulders and folded her arms beneath her flowing garment. “Tabithe, Guildmistress.” Her voice was soft, respectful.
“What do you want?”
The priestess coughed, then nodded an apology for the disturbance. “I have come to beg for the life of my mother-in-law,” she said.
“Ah. And whom would that be?” Esten folded her arms, mirroring the priestess’s stance.
The Shanouin woman coughed again, this time from deeper within, a rattling sound that hinted of red-lung, a common illness among the well-digging tribe.
“Mother Julia,” she said finally.
Esten began to walk in a slow circle to the woman’s left, nodding exaggeratedly. The priestess remained rigid, her eyes toward the firelight, while the guildmistress completed her stroll. Finally Esten stopped directly in front of her. She leaned forward, her face wreathed in a sinister smile.
“Too late,” she said.
The woman blanched but otherwise her expression did not change.
“Truly, Guildmistress? Are you jesting?”
“Truly, Holiness. I never jest.”
The woman was silent for a moment, then inhaled deeply.
“Then may I barter for the body?”
Esten snorted. “I doubt you would want it in the state that it is in, Tabithe; my hair is still damp from washing the blood out of it. I suggest you return to your husband—which of the wretched charlatan’s litter would he be?”
“Thait, Guildmistress.”
“Ah. Well, I suggest you return to Thait and tell him that his impostor of a mother is resting in peace—pieces, actually—and that I did him a favor excising such a blight from your family.”
The pale young woman struggled to remain focused. “I have information I believe to be valuable, Guildmistress,” she said, her voice betraying her slightly.
“Really? That’s interesting. Your mother-in-law did not. Hence her current state.”
The priestess nodded. “I did not have a chance to tell her, or anyone else, this information,” she said haltingly. “I have only come upon it this afternoon; I had gone to Mother Julia’s house to tell her, but—
“What is this information?” The guildmistress’s tone became suddenly intense.
Tabithe blinked several times, her face otherwise a mask. She inhaled, her lips set in a thin line, then spoke. “For my mother-in-law’s body, Guildmistress?”
Before she could exhale, there was a dagger at her throat, a blade that had sprung forth from the leather sheath at Esten’s wrist. The edge pressed across her gullet to the point of stopping her breath, just before breaking the skin. Esten’s prowess with a blade was renowned, and it was said that, no matter the size or speed of the opponent, once Esten decided to employ said blade, it would sever the jugular before the next beat of the victim’s heart.
“For the continued soundness of your own, Holiness. Speak.”
The woman winced. “I delivered water to the work tent of the Bolg today.”
The blade disappeared, and the priestess exhaled, drawing another ragged breath before the bright black eyes were next to her own.
“What did you see?”
“Very little—the flap was only open for an instant.”
The voice dripped ice. “And why do you think this would purchase the pieces of your mother-in-law?”
“I—I saw the Firbolg king,” the Shanouin stammered. “He was swathed in black garments, his eyes of different colors, the skin of his face mottled with veins. It was an unholy sight.”
The black eyes narrowed. “And you think this would interest me? I know the Bolg king is there, and that he is hideous. Both are common knowledge. You are trying my patience.”
“Behind him the Bolg were operating an enormous drill; there were a half-score or so of them turning the handle of a machine. It had great metal circles lined with teeth that interwove like weaver’s threads.”
“Gears.” Esten took a step back. “I am listening.”
“I could see the bit,” Tabithe said. “At first I did not realize what it was; I had never seen one of such length and breadth before. It was curved, like a twisted tallow candle, driven into the ground by the machine, not a tamper as we use.”
“Is that all?” Esten began to stalk the dark shadows, disappearing in and out of the light.
“It was made of steel, I believe, Guildmistress,” the priestess said, summoning her courage. “Steel that glinted both black—and blue.”
All the noise went out of the room as Esten stopped pacing. She turned slowly to the priestess.
“Say that again,” she said quietly.
Tabithe hugged herself tighter beneath the pale blue ghodin. “The bit of the drill the Bolg are using is forged of blue-black steel, similar to the thin circle you described,” she stammered. She stood in silence as Esten stared at the floor; what she was cogitating on, Tabithe had no idea, but she could see that the epiphany she was undergoing was enormous.
Finally the guildmistress looked up again; whatever deliberation had been going on in her mind a moment before was no longer reflected in her eyes.
“Thank you, Holiness,” she said politely. “Your information is indeed valuable, and you shall be rewarded handsomely for it.” She turned to the guild scion. “Dranth, reassemble Mother Julia and have her body wrapped in fine Sorboldian linen. Put the body in a wagon for Her Holiness, and deliver to the house of Thait.” Her eyes returned to the priestess as she finished her directive. “Collect from him the lowest delivery fee.”
“Yes, Guildmistress.” The guild scion disappeared into the dark reaches of the guildhall, returning a moment later. “It is ordered.”
“Good. Thank you for the information, Tabithe. I’m sure your husband will be grateful for your efforts, given what stock your family places in the burying of kinsmen and the like.”
“Yes, Guildmistress,” the priestess said.
“Nonsense, if you ask me,” Esten added. “I know that the clan you married into is a superstitious lot, but even your own people have the same silly practices. I never cease to be amazed that a tribe such as the Shanouin, who dig in the earth, laying back the blankets of uncounted bones, can still have a belief in the Afterlife. Tomfoolery, all of it. But enjoy your little rituals, if they make it easier for you to face the inevitability of mortality.”
The priestess bowed respectfully and followed the hands that beckoned to her from the darkness into the alleyway beyond.
When the door closed behind Tabithe, Esten turned back to the fire.
“Dranth, did you make certain that a wide wagon was hired for the delivery?”
“Yes, Guildmistress.” He had anticipated the request.
“Good. Please instruct the driver to collect a double fee when he delivers the bodies. And extra for the linen—perhaps as a kind gesture you can wrap Tabithe in blue.”