Stranger of Tempest: Book One of The God Fragments (18 page)

‘
I’ve been reviewing the files of every prisoner
,’ Lorfen had said as Lynx shuffled into the man’s office, stinking and trembling at what was about to happen. ‘
Yours is an interesting case. A point of honour?
’

Lynx hadn’t replied. He’d not known what to say, but beyond that he’d had a fear of speaking to guards beaten into him. He’d stayed silent, looking at the floor.

‘
You may speak.
’

Lorfen’s voice had been gentle despite coming from the grizzled face of a veteran soldier. It had startled Lynx, unsettled and frightened him. He’d been there long enough that he’d forgotten kindness, had forgotten everything bar fear and violence.

Lorfen had commanded the guards to unshackle Lynx and leave them alone. He’d offered food and clean water, and the luxury of both had brought tears to Lynx’s eyes.

‘
A point of honour
,’ Lorfen had continued at last. ‘
Your commander ordered the massacre of a village and you refused, perhaps? Ah, no, that doesn’t fit what is noted here. You must have done something like call him a coward; had you simply refused an order you would be dead.
’

Still wary, his mouth crammed full, Lynx had briefly nodded.

‘
So he challenged you to a duel, his honour impugned, and you killed him. Your superiors were undecided as to what to do with you, but killing a superior officer was a precedent they disliked so you were flogged and dumped here.
’

A shuffle of papers, the scent of dust and old leather still strong in Lynx’s memory.

‘
What reports there are of your time here support the idea that you’re a man of honour. You killed a man trying to rape a fellow inmate, you stopped the murder of a new guard.
’ Lorfen had sighed and put the papers aside at that point, looking at Lynx long and hard enough to make the once-stout soldier tense, ready for a beating.

‘
The laws of So Han do not apply any longer, and the myriad offenders in this prison are now mine to dispense with as I see fit. I am going to release you – you’ve done nothing wrong, to my mind, and you can leave as you see fit. But first …
’ He had paused a long while before seeming to win an argument with himself. ‘
But first, let me tell you about a man called Vagrim.
’

Lynx’s reverie was interrupted by a prodding finger and the suspicious face of Sitain. ‘So are we going or what?’ the young woman demanded.

He sighed and pushed off the wall he’d been leaning against, leaving his memories lingering behind him. ‘Yeah. Come on.’

It was still early when Lynx and Sitain set out into the city. They made good time ahead of the day’s crowds as the cool of autumn sparkled under a low sun. The main road continued a further half-mile into the city, where it ended in an enormous square with huge white archways dominating each side.

Lynx beckoned Sitain forward to a monument that dominated the centre of the square, a slender obelisk rising out of a stepped platform. She followed him up to within touching distance of the obelisk itself, its pale marble flanks inscribed with the names of the city’s notable dead, lost during a war fought a generation ago.

‘Good place to get a first proper view of Grasiel,’ Lynx said, pointing out through the north and west arches.

Sitain turned and gasped. They were only about ten feet above the floor of the square, but the grandest parts of the city seemed to have unfolded in the morning light. She could scarcely decide which way to look first to drink in the sights and found herself turning left and right, mouth hanging open as she felt the vastness of the city all around her. She’d known her village was in a small and unimportant corner of the region, but to be presented with street after street, choked with people by the standards of her home, was like a punch to the gut. She had to rest a palm against the chill obelisk as a wave of dizziness broke over her, and the morning sun seemed somehow more dazzling.

‘The Law Forums,’ Lynx supplied, pointing to a blockish set of buildings sheathed in verdigris copper to the west. ‘Above them, those white domes are the Maze Markets, where the big merchant houses trade.’ He turned north to where the view was dominated by a spray of needle spires rising from several dozen palaces and lesser mansions, all built from a yellow sandstone that had turned golden in the morning sun.

‘The island of the Assayed, and past it is the temple quarter. That white wall behind the pyramids of Insar, that’s all sovereign ground of the Militant Orders, where we’ll be keeping as far from as possible. There’s no sanctuary in this city, no great presence of any Order so far as I’m aware, but I’m not pushing our luck.’

‘Where are we going?’ Sitain breathed, cowed by all she saw. The tangle of streets blurred into the distance and she had already passed ten times the number of people contained in her home village.

‘Riverside, down that way,’ he said, pointing to the western arch. ‘Takes us to the printers’ district, between the Forums and the markets.’

‘You want a printer?’

‘Bookseller.’ Lynx hefted the bag he was carrying. ‘Time to sell the one I’ve got and find something new.’

‘You can read?’

‘Surprised?’

‘I, ah. Well, yes. I doubt most mercenaries can.’

‘None of us were born soldiers. My da was a shopkeeper, taught me his trade and then some. Wanted me to be a merchant until the war came and changed everything.’

Sitain hesitated, unsure of whether she should enquire further, but Lynx caught the look on her face and nodded, though his face darkened slightly as though the shadow of memory had crossed it.

‘Aye, the stripes on my back. Weren’t fool enough to go home again. If I did, my da mightn’t have turned me away, but that’d be a mistake. I’d not last long back there and I’d bring him nothing but harm.’

Lynx turned slightly away as he tailed off and Sitain realised that was as much as he was willing to say.

‘Looks like neither of us can go home again,’ she said in a small voice.

‘Looks like it, aye.’ He straightened and slung his bag over his shoulder. ‘There’s a whole world away from home, though. Some of it’s worth seeing, too.’

Lynx left his boots at a cobbler they passed, put on a battered pair of Greensea moccasins and led the way to the printers’ district. There they investigated the booksellers until they found one who served the poorer end of the market. None of the works on its shelves were new, some were in a very poor state indeed, but that only meant that Lynx found it simple to sell his and pass a while browsing for its replacement.

It didn’t take Sitain long to get fidgety as she had little interest in the books herself, so Lynx took the opportunity to make use of the owner’s local knowledge. He was a small man with thinning hair scraped over his head and round brass-framed spectacles perched on his nose that gave him a disapproving air.

‘You know the city well?’

The man peered at him suspiciously then at the book Sitain held, in case the conversation was some sort of ruse. ‘I do, sir,’ he conceded. ‘I’ve lived here my entire life.’

Lynx nodded in a manner he hoped was amiable. ‘I heard a friend of mine settled here, man I knew from years back. Opened an inn – called the Diamond Chequerboard or something strange like that. Ever heard of it?’

‘I do not frequent inns,’ the bookseller replied gravely. ‘The name is not familiar to me, but the city is a large one.’

Lynx shrugged. It was perfectly likely there was no such place; he’d just mingled the names of two taverns he’d seen elsewhere. Both had been owned by Vagrim, the three diamond symbols subtly worked into their signs as a welcome to those who knew to look for it.

‘Perhaps my boy knows of it,’ the bookseller said, adding ‘eleven silver arcs,’ as Lynx pulled out a blockish history of the eastern bank wars.

‘Eleven?’ Lynx mused, having no intention of buying it at any price. ‘Hmm. Is your boy around?’

‘Suler!’ the man called over his shoulder to the back room. A grunt came in reply, but then a similarly rounded face poked around the door jamb.

‘Yes, Father?’

‘This gentleman wondered if I knew of an inn called the Diamond Chequerboard.’

‘Chequerboard?’ replied the youth. He entered and blinked at Lynx, giving the sword on his hip a long and careful look. ‘Not round here.’

‘Maybe in a less distinguished area of the city?’ Lynx hazarded.

‘There’s a wine shop called the Chequerboard up near the lesser river. Old men go there to play Stones.’

‘The lesser river? Around the Island of the Assayed?’

‘Aye, the common side. Never been myself, but a girl I know, Ifrain, her father plays there most afternoons. They take it real serious – small bets only, but you’ll see the Assayed there even, so Ifrain tells. Only the best players bother trying their hand, those old Stones give no mercy.’

Stones was a game of tactics played on a black and white chequerboard with pebbles that represented the icers, burners, earthers and sparkers that made up the bulk of mage-gun ammunition. It was popular across the continent and one of the few ways a pauper could sit as equals with a duke, mastery of the game bringing respect from all quarters.

Lynx thanked them, leaving the book to one side, and briskly headed out with Sitain in his wake. She kept quiet for a dozen paces then tugged at his sleeve as his pace didn’t falter.

‘What’s wrong?’ she asked.

‘Nothing. I just walk faster with somewhere to go.’

‘Where’s that?’

He sighed and slowed a touch. ‘Might be they gave me the name of someone we can trust.’

‘Trust with what?’

‘With a certain person’s secret,’ he said with a level look at her. ‘You’ll not come in with me, I ain’t stupid, but if they are who I think they are, they might be a good source for information.’

‘Like what? You want to palm me off on some stranger?’

‘Nope. I want to ask a stranger if they know of a network or refuge for certain folk, well away from prying Knights. It’s a long shot, but a mercenary company ain’t the safest place for you ’less you plan on learning how to fight. Might be we can find you an alternative and if not’ – he shrugged – ‘we were told to make ourselves scarce. Unless you want to look through shelves of books all day, we’ve got time to spare.’

The crowds had picked up a little by the time they found the large, elegant building that housed the Chequerboard. Like the rest of the street and the palaces across the diverted stretch of river serving as a barrier around them, it was built of yellow sandstone with large diamond-pattern windows that declared the wealth of the establishment.

Lynx was impressed. The chequerboard sign hanging outside it did contain diamonds of black, grey and white at the corners. Most likely a Vagrim owned the place, or at least once had. Given that most of his nebulous, unsociable brotherhood were poor wanderers like Lynx himself, it was unusual to come across one with actual wealth. The Vagrim inns he’d encountered before were clean and honest places, but that’s as much as you could say.

‘Best you hold back.’ He nodded towards a stall in an alley where a tall polished samovar promised pale tea and honeycakes to the servants of the area. ‘Perch yourself there, have a second breakfast.’

Clearly unwilling to argue in the street with him, Sitain scowled and did as he suggested, leaving Lynx free to cautiously open the wine shop’s double door and step inside. There were only a handful of patrons; two white-haired men bent over a Stones board and a trio of elegantly dressed women, three generations of a family Lynx guessed, breakfasting and smoking slender cigarettes at a corner table.

A sleepy-eyed Asann lounged at the bar, half-engrossed in a ledger but sharp enough to take in everything about Lynx in one look. He eased himself upright and nodded to Lynx, gesturing to the seat beside him.

‘Drink, sir?’

Lynx took the seat and looked the owner up and down. One eye was milky-white, the skin around it marked by a sparker burn, but the rest of him was as neat and tailored as his rich customers. He was a native of the city, Lynx guessed – blue-eyed with blond hair running mostly to grey. The only suggestion of the Vagrim about him was a single stud earring in his left ear, a black diamond shape.

‘Got something to wake the day?’ Lynx replied, never having been a fan of beer in the morning, unlike many mercenaries.

‘Of course.’ The man waved a hand at the wine bottles stacked behind the bar. ‘Even in the evenings, some of my patrons want a clear mind as they play. There’s tea brewed.’ He paused fractionally and his eyes turned towards the silver ring on Lynx’s finger. ‘On the house.’

Lynx smiled and placed a copper piece on the bartop anyway. ‘Appreciated, but a man should pay his way when he can.’

The patron grunted in acknowledgement. The brotherhood had no rules beyond honour, but there were small traditions most followed to keep interactions simple and respectful. Wearing his ring in here meant Lynx would be offered a drink for free, but to reassure his host it wasn’t just jewellery meant he would pay all the same. If he didn’t have any money, he’d work for the kindness instead – after which, charity towards a brother might still be forthcoming, given that was the main purpose of the Vagrim.

‘My name’s Sujennet,’ the owner said as he rounded the bar to fetch Lynx a clay cup. ‘Just arrived in Grasiel?’

‘I have.’

‘Looking for work?’

Lynx shook his head. ‘That I’ve got, but I’ve a problem too.’

‘Broken some law?’ Sujennet said, a touch more quietly. Lynx saw he pointedly didn’t comment on Lynx not giving his name, but his eyes grew wary.

‘None of this city’s,’ Lynx said dismissively. ‘I’ve found myself responsible for another, one who’s done no wrong but others wouldn’t care about that.’

Sujennet nodded and handed Lynx a steaming cup of tea. The bulky mercenary accepted it gratefully and sipped tentatively at the pale liquid.

‘Life’s done me a few favours,’ the older man said, spreading his hands to indicate the wide, sunlit barroom they were sat in. ‘Might be I’m in a position to help someone in need.’