Marsheila Rockwell - Legacy of the Wolves

“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.

He took several moments perusing the papers, partly because the wind kept threatening to tear them out of his hand, but he eventually determined that everything was in order. He reluctantly handed them back to her.

“Thanks for traveling with House Orien. Maybe next time you might want to use House Lyrandar.” With that, the guard executed a smart turn and marched back up the stairs.

Biting back a scathing reply, Irulan turned and stepped down into the dirt. The Thrane guard was still waiting, though Vedic had vanished.

She knew what was coming.

“Papers, please.”

Snarling, she handed them over, and had the satisfaction of seeing the man’s eyes widen as he glanced at the papers, then at her left hand. She wiggled her fingers so the silver tip of her middle claw twinkled.

The guard hastily returned the folder, his manner becoming much more solicitous.

“I beg your pardon. I didn’t realize who you were.”

Would it have made a difference? Irulan wanted to ask, but she held her peace.

“We don’t often see descendants of Bennin Silverclaw here in Flamekeep. It’s quite an honor. Quite an honor.”

Irulan managed a tight smile. “Thank you,” she replied with as much grace as she could muster, but all she really wanted to do was slap the obsequious look off the man’s face. On second thought, she might as well take advantage of his helpfulness while it lasted.

“Perhaps you can help me. I’m here to speak to the Diet of Cardinals about a matter of some import concerning the shifters of Aruldusk.…”

“You mean the murders?” The man nodded sagely, and Irulan stifled a curse. She should have known news of the killings would have preceded her, despite Bishop Maellas’s best attempts to keep details of the murders quiet-which of course meant that what the guard knew was likely a concoction of vague rumors and bardic embellishments. Fortunately, those rumors did not yet include Javi’s involvement, or the guard would likely have had a much different reaction to her name.

“You’ll probably want to see Cardinal Riathan about that-no way you’re getting in to see the full Council, let alone the Diet, ’less you want to wait a month or more for an appointment-and that’s assuming they’ll even grant you one. ’Course, you may have to wait that long to see Riathan, too, though bein’ a Silverclaw, I’m guessing they’ll get you in right quick.”

Irulan had her doubts about that, but she kept them to herself. She asked about an inn close to the Cathedral, since she was apparently going to be here a while.

“You’ll want the Sellsword. Left on High Road. Big building, three stories, with a blank shield hanging out front. It’s a reputable place, despite the name. Owner’s a retired mercenary.”

“Thank you,” Irulan said, dismissing the guard with a nod as she made to step around him-she wanted nothing more than a hot meal and a hotter bath, and the sooner she got out of this wind, the better. When the guard seemed disinclined to move, she suppressed a sigh and stuck out her hand, which the guard shook eagerly before stepping aside.

“Enjoy your stay in Flamekeep.”

Irulan grunted. Somehow, that didn’t seem likely.

The proprietor of the Sellsword pointed her to a list of charges posted on the wall when she inquired about a room.

“Second floor single, no view, five sovereigns per night, or three galifars a week. Second floor single, bridge view.…” As the heavily-muscled woman ran through the list, Irulan noticed that she was missing two fingers on her left hand and one on her right, and stood somewhat off-balance, possibly due to a poorly-fitted artificial leg. Even so, one look at the multitude of war trophies decorating the inn’s foyer, and Irulan was convinced that the old mercenary could take her down without so much as breaking a sweat.

Captured standards from enemy regiments covered the walls. Though she’d never served in the War herself, Irulan recognized some of the more famous banners. The Black Wolves of Karrnath, the Cyre Home Guard, even a tattered gray flag emblazoned with the axe-cleft storm cloud of the Cloudreavers. Interspersed between the standards were weapons and armor from across Khorvaire, and beyond-a Valenar double scimitar, a Talenta sharrash, a darkleaf breastplate, and other, more exotic things Irulan had never seen before, like a three-pronged boomerang. Most of the weapons-and even some of the armor-bore dark stains that Irulan could only assume came from their former owners.

“… and baths are a sovereign a tub.”

Irulan tore her attention away from the walls and glanced at the sheet. Judging by the prices, the guard had sent her to one of the most expensive inns in Flamekeep, and a week’s stay in even the cheapest room was going to use up all her coin. But the next closest place to stay was halfway around the Cathedral Cliffs, and she had no guarantee their prices would be any better. Sighing, she booked a single in the back of the inn for three nights, and prayed to the Flame that she’d need no more than that.

“I’m going to be visiting the Cathedral tomorrow, and I was wondering-”

“You’re a pilgrim, then? Why didn’t you say so? The Purified always get a discount at the Sellsword.”

The Purified . Irulan had always hated that name for followers of the Flame. Very few of them were all that pure, and the phrase was too often used to imply homogeny, as if being different somehow made you less pure or faithful in your devotion-a dangerous line of thinking, especially if you happened to live in a shifter camp on the outskirts of a city whose populace didn’t particularly want you there.

The proprietor-or proprie tress , Norah Hetrion, as the sheet named her-was looking at her expectantly.

“Um, yes … a pilgrim. That’s right.” It wasn’t a complete lie. She would no doubt be spending a lot of time in the Cathedral praying, just not quite in the way Norah envisioned. Most pilgrims probably didn’t offer up fervent prayers that the Flame would keep them from clawing out the eyes of the next pompous Church official to cross their path, which is exactly what she expected to be doing tomorrow. Still, if it saved her money, she’d wear that humble mantle, at least for now.

“Excellent! That will bring your total to twelve sovereigns. Half in advance.”

Irulan handed the coins over, pleased to discover she would now have money for both a meal and a private bath. Perhaps she would enjoy her stay in Flamekeep, after all.

Two days later, after a second morning spent sitting idly outside Cardinal Riathan’s office waiting to be “squeezed in” between appointments, Irulan decided that, no, she was not actually enjoying herself very much at all. But it was either that, or, as the rail guard had predicted, wait another three weeks to get on the Cardinal’s calendar. And who knew how many other shifters might have joined Javi in shackles by then? If Javi was even still in shackles, and not hanging from a set of hastily-constructed gallows.…

No . That wasn’t going to happen. She’d get help from Flamekeep, or she wouldn’t, but either way, she wasn’t going to let her brother die for a crime he didn’t commit.

With some effort, she turned her attention back to her surroundings. Set high up in one of the many towers flanking the Cathedral’s narthex, Cardinal Riathan’s office suite was richly decorated with fine furniture, exotic plants, religious statuary, and sumptuous paintings, including a rather large portrait hung over the fireplace that dominated the small reception area. Irulan examined the Cardinal’s smiling face for what must have been the hundredth time. Wisps of white hair escaped from beneath his silver cap, while blue eyes sparkled with a merriment that she doubted was the product of artistic license. Worry lines furrowed the prelate’s wide brow, but the laugh lines around his eyes and mouth were much deeper, and it seemed clear Riathan was a jovial man, an assessment that the laughter occasionally ringing out from behind the wide door leading to his office only confirmed.