Leesil traded some of their apples and extra jerky for a bit of spice tea and a few other supplies, while Wynn chatted amongst the Mondyalitko. Chap was more than occupied with children circling about him. Two young girls tried desperately to get him to fetch a stick, for which he showed no interest at all. But both dog and sage appeared equally disappointed when Leesil announced it was time to move on.
Leesil offered their thanks to Giovanni. "We're grateful you happened by."
Magiere pulled two silver pennies from their purse. "Please take this for your trouble."
Giovanni held up a hand in refusal. 'To help a traveler is good luck. This time, threefold."
"I insist," she said.
Leesil tensed. Magiere hated being indebted to anyone, and he worried that she might be insulting them. Giovanni searched her pale face for a moment and then took the coins.
"Our thanks," he said.
"Can we reach Keonsk by nightfall?" Leesil asked.
'Tonight? No, too far. Perhaps tomorrow."
Concealing his disappointment, Leesil nodded. After cheerful farewells, he clucked Port and Imp into a brisk trot. Wynn sat in the wagon's back, scribbling on parchment as she watched the Mondyalitko's rolling house fade in the distance behind them. She was quiet for a while and then closed her journal to gaze wistfully down the road.
Leesil counted them lucky that the bucket they'd been blindly handed held water instead of whiskey. But with trouble averted, there was little to keep his thoughts from wandering once again back to the nightmare forest and his mother's dust.
Welstiel had ridden hard through the previous night and then slept in their well-hidden tent all day. He awoke precisely at dusk and stepped from the tent with his pack in hand. He needed to scry for Magiere, check her direction and distance, and realized there was neither time nor opportunity to do so outside of Chane's presence.
Watching Chane conjure the wolf's spirit had altered Welstiel's evaluation of the tall undead. Chane's resourceful nature was matched with notable skill, making the creation of a large familiar appear effortless. Welstiel knew better.
Allowing Chane to see how he tracked Magiere would give away none of Welstiel's true secrets. And few others of his acquaintance had studied the arcane arts to the degree that Chane clearly had. He took out the brass disk, turned it over on the ground, and cut the stub of his little finger. Chane paused from packing to eye the brass dish as a drop of Welstiel's fluids struck the center of its dome.
"What are you doing?"
"Scrying," Welstiel answered, and he chanted softly until the droplet shivered and moved west. "We're still ahead of her. We will reach Keonsk first."
Chane crouched down, examining the disk more closely. "How does it work?"
"You primarily use ritual, but I work my conjury through artificing, creating useful tools. I created one amulet Magiere wears and this brass disk. A drop of my fluids forms a connection. It is dragged in the direction of the amulet."
Chane clearly wished to inquire further but did not. "We should go."
They rode hard through half the night, tiring their horses, until Welstiel spotted lights ahead. He felt relief that at least he had arrived ahead of Magiere.
Although Welstiel was not fond of Droevinka, his father had served the most ancient house of Sclaven in the eastern province for many years before they had schemed their way into the good graces of the Antes. He knew well the history of Keonsk. It was the largest city in Droevinka, less than a third the size of Bela and less developed, and surrounded by a thick wall of rough mortared stone. Its position on the Vudrask River allowed for ease of trade and commerce. Barges from Stravina and Belaski brought goods inland from those countries' main ports.
The stone wall was less than a hundred years old. The castle keep had been constructed centuries before, and the city had slowly spread outward around it. In long-gone days, any prince who managed to take the throne would rule for life, or until the next house waged a successful insurrection. Although civil wars were less frequent then, they were brutal and extensive, and all houses fought to take power. If a weak prince lead a victorious house, the nation had been known to suffer for decades-should he live that long.
Then a gathering was called between the five strongest houses. It was agreed that a ruling grand prince, rather than a king, should be selected by the consent of all. He would serve nine years or until his death, whichever came first. A successful solution overall, though small-scale upheavals still occurred from time to time, especially if an overzealous house tried to keep its prince on the throne rather than surrender power.
The unlanded house of Varanj was a notable exception, and most other houses barely recognized its noble status. Descended of mercenary horsemen in service to the first invaders of the region, they served as the royal guard and city contingent for whoever held the throne. They were denied the opportunity to place their "prince" on the throne or establish a province of their own. They served as peacemakers and policed the nation, occasionally quelling disputes between houses that boiled into open bloodshed.
As Welstiel and Chane approached, they had three choices. The road curved gently, one side going around the city, and the other leading to the riverside docks. A short path led straight forward to the huge arch and rounded wooden gates of Keonsk's west entrance. Guards in light armor manned the entrance, all wearing the bright red surcoats of the Varanj, marked with the black silhouette of a rearing stallion.
Chane pulled his horse up, and Welstiel turned his own mount in puzzlement.
"What's wrong?"
"Do we need to offer a tale about our business here?"
Chane asked. "Or will they just let us in so late at night?"
"I haven't been here in many years," Welstiel answered. "Prince Rodek of the Antes currently holds the throne, and we need to see his prime counselor, Baron Cezar Buscan. My father served the Antes in our final days. I think we can present ourselves as messengers bearing a report. Our appearance is enough to mark us as better than commoners, but do not speak-your accent is too pronounced."
Chane nodded, and Welstiel headed for the open gates.
A young guard with a shaved head and no helmet raised his hand to stop them, a casual gesture of polite protocol and no more. It was past midnight, but this was a large city, so it stood to reason that some people arrived late and others left early. Enormous torches lit up both sides of the entrance, their heads shielded by large cups of iron mesh.
"Your business, sir?" the guard asked.
Welstiel offered his story of bearing reports for the baron, and the young guard shook his head.
"You're welcome in, sir, but Baron Buscan sees no one he doesn't ask for himself. And there are already gangs of nobles from various houses trying to get his attention."
"And Prince Rodek?" Welstiel asked. "Surely he sees servants of his own house?"
"Not here," and the guard lowered his voice. "He's gone back to Enemusk and the Antes keep. It's rumored there's some family issue at stake. Baron Buscan is the only authority at the castle, and he's not seeing nobody."
Welstiel was perplexed. Rodek was not at court, and Bus-can was not seeing representatives even of his own house. It made no sense, but the Varanj guard welcomed him into the city just the same.
They entered the open cobblestone market area. It was quiet and still, with canvas tarps covering scores of booths and carts that would come alive at dawn with hawkers selling goods to the city's population.
"Do we find an inn?" Chane asked.
"No, we must see Buscan tonight. This cannot wait."
"He'll be in bed."
"Then we wake him. He will see me, in spite of our young guard's account."
They passed beyond the market and entered a district of inns and taverns where the night was not so quiet. Bargemen, prostitutes, and gamblers kept late hours. Welstiel caught Chane staring at a slender woman in a doorway. She smiled and held up a hand, rubbing fingers and thumb together to indicate that coin was needed for good company. Welstiel was thankful his companion had fed on the boy only last night.