David Dalglish - Blood Of Gods

“Rachida Gemcroft, daughter of House Mori.” Rachida bowed in her saddle. The pole she held wavered in her grip. “I am joined by sellswords from the east, an army of six hundred. It seems that you and I have things to speak about.”

Those peering over the wall disappeared for a moment. They heard bickering through the thick wall of ice, coupled with long pauses of silence.

A few minutes later, the redhead in the funny hat reappeared at the top of the wall. “Seems our magic can’t find anyone lurking about,” he said. “So to answer your question: Yes, I’m Turock. Now disrobe down to your smallclothes, and I mean all of you, not just Rachida. Pile your armor and weapons in front of the wall. Come on now, mush, mush.”

Pox Jon grumbled and made a fist. “Are you hoping to freeze us to death, or have you forgotten about the damn snow everywhere?”

Turock laughed. “Do you think I asked just because I want to see you in your skivvies? You’re coming into our home, and we’re going to make sure you do it without any hidden blades, scrolls, trinkets, or ancient rings capable of blowing us all to the fucking sky. So if you want inside. . smallclothes. Now.”

“Pleasant fellow,” Rachida muttered, tossing aside the pole. She hopped off her horse, her cloak billowing, and began unlacing. She glared at her cohorts, who still appeared both offended and ready to challenge the strange man’s authority. “Do as he says.”

Grumbling, the three of them obeyed.

Swords and armor piled in front of the white wall, the four of them stood in nothing but the parchment-thin smallclothes they had worn since departing the Isles of Gold. The wind chose that moment to pick up, making Rachida shiver, but she refused to cross her arms over her chest for warmth. All eyes were on her, and as she’d learned in Conch, men of the west were the same as those from Neldar when it came to a beautiful woman standing before them. If she had to use her feminine assets, there were worse sacrifices she could make. Sure enough, someone up above whistled, and another man cleared his throat uncomfortably.

“Well, I suppose a bargain is a bargain,” Turock said. “Back away from the wall a few more feet, would you? I’d hate for one of you to lose a hand or something.”

They did, taking ten paces backward, bare feet crunching in the snow. The men peering over the wall disappeared, and Rachida heard chanting from the other side. A speck of light appeared before her, just in front of the wall. It was small at first but then grew until it became a swirling blue disc at least seven feet tall. Rachida gasped at the sight, her eyes bulging, a reaction echoed by the others. Five burly men then stepped out of the light, attempting to keep their eyes averted from her near nakedness and failing miserably. They tied the horses to a nearby tree, gathered up Rachida and her cohorts’ armor and weapons, and then disappeared back into the blue void. Rachida simply stood there, confused.

“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.”