The lower streets of the Spired City were often damp at night. Though the mists weren't as thick as in summer, Krayson wished for a pair of goggles. Not only to keep his vision clear, but he didn't want the goodfolk he passed to take note of his eye color.
After leaving Saveen and the shed, he had reversed his robe to show the black lining. While blood runners didn't always become a spectacle if they traveled the walkways, Krayson wanted to leave as little evidence of his passing as possible. Garret had enough advantages if it came to another confrontation. There was no need to make tracking him easier.
The Sanguine Tower was regarded as one of the best academies for arcane learning on the Continent. Spells and secrets, some centuries old, were taught to the brothers of the Order. With all that power at their command, it galled Krayson that the most important skills for completing a contract were no different than those of a common footpad.
Stealth. Guile. Perception. Caution. Next to those, Krayson's magic was secondary.
A crowd of pedestrians moved along the walkway, coming and going into the late evening. They walked by the light of lampposts, the gaslight steady within glass housings. Krayson was able to lose himself within the crowd. No one gave particular note to the people that walked alongside them. It was as if they were just as wary of drawing attention as Krayson was.
He'd been able to deduce his location quickly. The walkway that ringed his current spire looked down on a shining boulevard. Far below, the ground-level street was brightly lit and teemed with both horse-drawn and steam-powered carriages even at this hour. It ran from the eastern gates to the Palace of Towers at the center of the city. The main boulevard of Eastrun was one landmark that oriented Krayson. The other was the distinctive skybridge twenty levels above.
Hanging by a host of steel cables, the high-altitude skybridge spanned between Stormpoint and Krayson's current spire. That meant Saveen had brought him to Arcrest Tower, one of the primary spires of the district.
It also meant that Krayson would have to educate his dragon companion of the various boroughs within the City of Althandor. The thirtieth level of Arcrest Tower was smack dab in the middle of Fellowton, reputedly the roughest neighborhood in the Five Kingdoms. The furtive manner of the crowd suddenly made a lot more sense once he realized where he was.
At last, he felt a brush against his cheek. His witchsight confirmed that his sending spirit had returned. Heron acknowledged the message and had a response. Krayson whispered a brief incantation, begging the spirit to hold its message for a moment more. He then ducked out of the crowd and through a darkened entryway into the tower.
Set between a bookseller and a cobbler was a shop entrance. Still open for business, thunders be praised. A single gaslight hung from the ceiling of the interior, and low-burning candles were placed in alcoved sconces along the walls. It was difficult to say what was being peddled here, as the shelves were lined with a range of basic goods and curious trinkets. There was a wide variety of urns and vases, bolts of fabric from burlap to silk, decorative metalwork fixtures, carved figurines, sets of spikes as thin as needles and made from steel, and goblets of crystal or copper or even gold. There was clothing as well, some odd and obviously foreign, but some was local. Krayson might as well purchase an outfit or two for Saveen while he was here.
It was a hole in the wall establishment, likely known only to those who lived nearby. Krayson had a growing suspicion that it could be a front for organized criminals— meant to launder funds rather than serve as a business. Whatever the store's true nature, Krayson needed it for the privacy it offered. He bade his sending spirit to deliver Heron's response.
"Joshuan the Krayson?" Heron asked. Her voice was quiet, the volume lessened by Krayson's control of the spirit.
Krayson grimaced as he whispered a reply. "If it's all the same to you, my lady, I don't consider myself as the head of house."
"Then what should I call you?"
"It is the way of the Horde to address a man by his mother's tribal name. I've been called Krayson since I was born."
Heron gave a wry laugh. "I imagine that changed once you came back to your homeland."
Althandor was never Krayson's homeland, but he didn't press the issue. "In the tower, they call me Joshuan."
"For prudence's sake, I'll do the same. Your house name has a talent for conjuring hot tempers in the palace."
Krayson felt a twist in his lip. When he was younger, he tried to explain to the brothers and masters of the Order that Joshuan wasn't his given name but the tribal name of his father. In Teularon, only women had given names while the men carried the names of tribes. A Teulite man was not an individual but the honor of two bloodlines given form and will. The naming convention caused a small amount of confusion when it came to brothers, but Teulites could be exceedingly imaginative with nicknames.
As he conversed by sending, Krayson explored the store. He kept his eyes and ears open for the owner, but he only heard the sound of the crowds outside. The store seemed to be deserted.
"So, Joshuan," Heron continued, "seeing as you're still alive, I assume you eluded any trouble?"
"For the moment. I'll spare you the details, but I've ended up in Fellowton as a result."
"That's no small detour. Who attacked you?"
Krayson's mouth drew into a line. He thought on the consequences of telling Heron the truth. Of a Dragon Empress in the Spired City, of Prince Vintus' interference, and of Garret's association with both. The unfortunate truth was that he had little cause to trust Heron. He had enough enemies without inviting royal assassins to the list.
It was becoming clear that battle lines were being drawn within House Algara. Assassins were being pitted against each other, and they might not yet be aware that it was happening.
Krayson's eyes widened at a realization. One assassin knew, had perhaps fallen victim to it already.
"Impossible to say who their master was," Krayson said to answer Heron's question. A lie, but there were few prohibitions against falsehoods in the Order. Not when it might serve to fulfill his contract. "Though I have reason to believe these henchmen recently encountered Princess Jin Algara."
Unexpectedly, Heron laughed. "I doubt that."
"Why?"
Heron sounded more amused than anything as she explained. "Jin's demonstrating a little youthful rebelliousness at the moment. She spirited herself out of Althandor recently. According to Duchess Josenthorne, she's been rendezvousing with a Gaulatian scribe in Ecclesia."
Krayson's breath caught. "Altier Nashal. Where Prince Dashar was killed."
"Unrelated," Heron said firmly. "Josy was clear on that. Jin had nothing to do with the recent rebellion or Dashar. His Grace is overreacting in the extreme if you're right that he sent killers after her."
Duchess Josenthorne was the daughter of Prince Vintus. Krayson wouldn't accept it as a coincidence.
"Has anyone attempted to give a sending to Her Highness?" he asked.
"Of course I have. She hasn't responded, and the sendings are now blocked by wards she's placed. I intend to find her myself when this is cleared up and bring her home. Once it's safe for her. As I said, Joshuan, she's a young woman desperate to spread her wings out from under her father's kingly shadow. Maybe spread her legs a little in the process."
Krayson didn't appreciate the crass response, but Heron had revealed something vital. Jin's wards were thwarting the sendings.
Princess Jin was still alive.
"One moment," Krayson whispered. He came upon a young boy sitting on a stool near the back of the store. An open book was in his lap, and the boy poured over the text, engrossed in his studies. He was Althandi. His hair was an unruly mop, and his clothing was rather drab.
The boy looked up at Krayson. A look of surprise washed over the boy's face, and he promptly hopped down from his stool, marking his place in his book with a thumb. The boy took off for the back rooms at a trot, off to fetch his master.
"We may not have much longer, my lady," Krayson said. "If I may, I'd like to ask you about Princess Jin."
"Oh?"
Krayson was positive that Jin held vital information of what in Hell was going on in this kingdom. There was only the small obstacle that she was hundreds of leagues away in the south, was warded against receiving sendings, and was undoubtedly on her guard because of Garret and Elise's attempt to kill her. The princess would be convinced her death had been ordered by Cathis, her own father. Small wonder she was keeping her distance.
Thunder, but maybe that was why Vintus arranged for her death in the first place. To alienate her from her father. Even if she survived, she'd be out of the picture.
Somewhere between Gaulatia and here, Elise found a dragon, one unwilling to be with her. She abandoned her contract to kill Jin and dragged Garret into her schemes. Something is moving, something big, and the Aleesh elder bloodline is at the center of it. The Merovech even named an Aleesh girl as his heir.
Enfri.
Elise's niece. Kimpo's true empress. Could this girl possibly be the daughter of Yora as well? The sky woman Princess Jin was meant to kill? The Aleesh she didn't kill and now...
All seven thunders, Krayson thought in shock. It is all connected.
Garret and Elise followed Jin to Altier Nashal. They didn't just find the princess, but something more. Elise found one of Enfri's dragons in the process, took Kimpo as her own, and then came north to the City of Althandor after using Kimpo to collect Trell and Saveen. At last, the pieces of this thundering puzzle were starting to fall into place.
The Merovech's bloodsong was meant for Enfri Page, and she was in the south with Jin.
"This may seem a strange thing to ask," Krayson said, "but what is Princess Jin's courting preference?"
Heron didn't respond right away, likely taken by surprise at the wild change in topic. "I can't imagine a reason you'd need to know such things."
"A hypothesis. One that could give context to the situation. Unless I'm wrong, Her Highness has some inclination towards courting women."
"It's really none of your business, Joshuan," Heron said coldly. "This isn't the south where they announce their sexuality alongside age and occupation. But, it's true. She's solely interested in women. Jin isn't the sort to feign it for social standing either."
That could be her reason, Krayson thought. This story of Jin bedding a scribe was Duchess Josenthorne's fabrication to conceal the truth. Tenuous and perhaps a stretch of the imagination, but it was possible that Her Highness protected Enfri Page because the two were romantically involved. How that could have happened while one was assigned to kill the other was beyond Krayson's comprehension, but he accepted that he had neither the capacity or inclination to understand romance. Even less to explore it for himself.
"I assure you, my lady," Krayson said, "it's important to the completion of my contract. I believe I am now one step closer to delivering the Merovech's bloodsong."
"I don't get how your mind works," Heron grumbled, "but if it brings us to the end of this lunacy, I'm in support of it. What does Jin have to do with it?"
"Cathis didn't order her death. Vintus did. The Lady Tarlen was His Highness' creature."
"Joshuan..." Heron murmured in warning.
"Look into Tarlen's death. She was killed by blood magic, and it wasn't a blood runner. If you tug at that string, who knows what you'll find."
"I can't accept Vintus' involvement," Heron said. "He has no motive."
"None that we can see. I've heard his voice giving sending to the people pursuing me. He told them who I was and where I could be found. Vintus assassinated the Merovech and now seeks to prevent his bloodsong from reaching its heir, killing me in the process."
"Ambrose's preserver was targeted," Heron said thoughtfully. "Joshuan, you need to tell me who he named. I must learn why Vintus would go to these lengths to stop them from getting the bloodsong."
Because she's an Aleesh royal, Krayson thought. Thunder, but it's looking more and more like the Merovech is the traitor and not the king's brother. Might this all be Vintus protecting Cathis from his own retainers? But why target Jin?
Krayson's earlier confidence was fading. He wasn't as close to understanding what was going on as he had hoped. If only there was a way to learn why the Merovech chose Enfri Page as his heir. As it stood, Krayson delivering a bloodsong to one of Cathis' most hated enemies didn't appear to be the way to endear himself to the Highest King.
Caught between the lightning strike and the crash of thunder, Krayson wondered how he'd get out of this mess with his bones intact. Perhaps it would be best if he came clean, told Cathis of the situation. But Krayson would then be betraying his contract, and the Order didn't tolerate that. Whatever he chose, someone would want him dead.
What else is new? he thought darkly. "I can't tell you, my lady. I am sorry. Before I do anything more, I must confer with my masters."
"I wish you would reconsider," Heron said.
"I reconsider each moment. My answer remains the same, though I may change my mind after I reach the Sanguine Tower. I will trust the masters to guide my actions."
Krayson approached the back of the store, where the boy had vanished. A candlelight flickered from underneath a door to the back rooms. The boy must have fetched the owner.
"Forgive me, my lady," Krayson said, "but I can no longer guarantee privacy. May I call on you again after I reach the Tower?"
Heron grunted her assent. "I don't want to believe what you say, Joshuan, but I'd be a fool to ignore you. I'll make quiet inquiries about Lady Tarlen, but you must listen to me if what I find exonerates Vintus."
"I won't ignore evidence presented to me," Krayson replied, intending his words to serve as a gentle reminder. "Until next we speak, my lady."
Released from Krayson's spell, the wind spirit returned to the Ethereum. Just in time, as the door to the back of the store opened.
The boy came in first. He glanced Krayson's way as he held the door open. The next figure to come through the door was tall. Almost unnaturally tall. The shop owner was close to seven feet, and the entire length of his body was enshrouded in a long, white cloak that covered him from head to toe. The hood was up, and though he held a candlestick in his left hand, none of the light revealed the face hidden by shadow.
A twinge of apprehension coiled in Krayson's stomach. The owner's height and mysterious air was intimidating.
He bobbed his hooded head in Krayson's direction as he came through the doorway. The owner walked with a slight limp, his back hunched. As he approached, it became apparent just how thundering large he was. His shoulders were broad though his spine was crooked, and his arms were thick with muscle.
"Welcome," the owner rasped. His voice was dry and felt like sandpaper scratching across rough wood. He came forward, his gait oddly stilted. Every movement seemed as if it was viewed through cloudy glass, indistinct and jerky. "Long has it been since our last customer. Your need, dear friend?"
The owner's accent put Krayson on edge. It was unfamiliar to him, and he thought he had a passing knowledge of most dialects on the Continent. Vowels were elongated, like a caricature of foppish nobility, and the sibilant S's were near to making Krayson's skin crawl.
"I'm looking for clothing, Goodman," Krayson replied, avoiding the shadowed gaze coming from inside that hood. "A young woman's outfit. Blouse, vest, and long skirt. Three changes, and two pairs of mist goggles if you have them."
The boy looked up to his master, face devoid of expression yet a sense of expectation managed to radiate out from him.
The owner's throat rumbled with a thoughtful hum. "Perhaps our customer has measurements for this young woman? Perhaps there are special considerations?"
Krayson shook his head. "She is near my height. Slender. Slim waist and slight at the shoulders."
The owner nodded towards the boy who then scampered off to collect the requested items.
"If it pleases our customer," the owner said, "his paramour may come to be fitted properly. I would wager my very name on Rindyn's needlework."
Krayson fought down an inexplicable urge to deny that Saveen was his lover. Arguing the point would only serve to lengthen this encounter, and Krayson was growing uncomfortable. "If it is necessary, I will bring her."
The owner raised his candlestick and knobby fingers pinched out the flame. The dark flesh of his hands were craggy and wrinkled though the palms were fair, a weathered hand to match the decrepit voice. The joints of his long fingers were knobby with arthritis.
With a start, Krayson noted that the shop owner's hands were each missing a finger.
"Fey," Krayson said without thinking.
"If our customer does not abhor the spirit-blooded, then yes. If he does, then no."
Krayson cracked a nervous smile. "The Highest King allows fey the right to citizenship should they wish it. It is not my place to refute His Grace."
The owner gestured for Krayson to follow him down a line of shelves. "The Highest Kings of Althandor have the capacity for great wisdom. It is our belief that this matter demonstrates their potential for progress."
Krayson walked in the shop owner's wake. He couldn't decide on what race of fey his host belonged to. An ogre, possibly, though his diction was more sophisticated than he'd come to expect from their kind. Orc or elf perhaps. "Would it be rude to ask if you are seely or unseely?"
"It would not, dear friend, though I doubt its purpose," the owner rasped. "Mortals often misunderstand the difference."
He coughed into a fist. The phlegmy hacking went on for a long moment as he brought Krayson to a square table midway to the storefront. The owner sat on one end and gestured for Krayson to sit opposite him.
Krayson found that the height difference between them was even greater while sitting. Most of the owner's size was in his torso. Krayson blinked and used his witchsight to get a look at his host's face. Disconcertingly, the shadows remained impenetrable.
"Seely and unseely," the owner said, "the bright folk and the dark. This is a construct enacted by the spirit callers, an attempt to quantify what should have been understood before the act of creation."
Krayson narrowed his eyes. "The unseely fey were made for battle. Goblins, orcs, and ogres were called to fight."
"Such is commonly believed," the owner replied with a sage nod. "But, what of the seely fey? Created for a different reason? Would the spirit callers pay the price demanded of them for something so frivolous? For beauty and softer purpose."
"After Shan Alee fell, the Five Kingdoms didn't need soldiers. They needed farmers and craftsman. Scholars aware of the secret history hold that seely fey were called after the fall, unseely before."
"Yet we assure our customer that it is quite the opposite." The owner leaned forward. "Would our customer wish to know why that may be?"
"Interesting," Krayson allowed, "but I didn't come for lessons on fey."
"Our customer did not. He came for an outfit for his young woman."
As if summoned, young Rindyn returned with an armload of clothing. He placed the items on the table for Krayson's inspection.
The skirt and vest were well-made and sturdy. The blouse was white megarach silk, sheer, cropped short, and had a plunging neckline. It was indecent even by Althandi standards. Perhaps it would have been better to say he needed clothes for a sister rather than for a paramour.
"Something less revealing, please," Krayson said as he handed the blouse back to Rindyn.
The boy looked to his master and received a nod in return.
"The Gaulatian attire, Rindyn," the owner said. "Third shelf. Our customer does not wish his young woman on display." He turned to Krayson after Rindyn scampered off again and bobbed his head in apology. "Our regular clientele has specific tastes. Please forgive us if we gave offense."
Krayson raised a hand to dismiss the apology. "I'm not insulted, Goodman Merchant."
"We are relieved, dear friend, and you may call us Algol."
"Goodman Algol, then."
Algol laughed, which then degenerated into a fit of phlegmy coughs. Once he settled, he leaned forward over the table. "Algol, dear friend. We are not man, nor would our customer think us good should he learn our nature."
Krayson listened to the beat of his heart. His heart rate hadn't increased, and he didn't believe himself to be in any danger. "Are you trying to frighten me?" he asked in a flat tone.
"It is foolish to startle a blood runner, is it not?" Algol said with some amusement. "We only present knowledge to dispel misconception. Our customer would do well to see this as our most basic desire."
"A noble undertaking," Krayson said. "Perhaps a good one."
"This depends on what is no longer misconceived. Often is it that falsehoods bring far greater comfort than truths." He reached beneath the table and drew out a hinged, wooden box. "A demonstration of what we speak while our customer awaits young Rindyn?"
Krayson hesitated.
"The women of Gaulatia are often taller than she whom our customer describes. Rindyn must take his time in altering the items for our customer's needs."
Maybe I should have just taken the first blouse, Krayson thought. His otherworldly host unsettled him. He'd have already left if it wasn't for fear of leaving Saveen on her own for too long. Krayson gestured for Algol to continue.
With gnarled, four-fingered hands, Algol opened the hinged box. The box was an antique, aged and worn from many years. Algol produced a number of ivory carvings, painted either black or white, with bits of felt on their bases so as not to scratch the table. The game pieces were placed in rows, the white pieces for Krayson and the black for Algol. Krayson hadn't noticed until now that the table was engraved with a grid-like pattern, forty-nine squares that alternated in black and white.
Seven by seven, an odd choice. Most similar games were played on a five by five grid.
"Is our customer familiar with the game of arja?"
"I've played," Krayson said. "I'm not familiar with this variant."
"A misconception," Algol rasped, "for what he knows is the variant of the original we now play."
Krayson narrowed his eyes as he examined his pieces. A row of pawns was in the front, weak pieces though potentially the strongest should they reach the opposing side of the board. The back row had the sorcerer at the center, the wizard and alchemist on his left, the witch and scrivener on his right. It was the two pieces at the far ends that he didn't recognize. The left side piece was carved into the likeness of a horse's head, the right into a dragon's.
"The knight and the emperor," Algol explained, pointing to the horse and dragon in turn. He then took the emperor piece and placed it at the center of Krayson's back row, moving the sorcerer to the far right. "The player may think of himself as the center piece, the most vulnerable and most vital. He may move in any direction he would wish, but only by one square. Should he fall, the game is lost."
In standard arja, the center was the sorcerer, strongest of the game pieces. In this version, the sorcerer was placed off to the side and was no longer the objective. Krayson imagined that this changed the dynamic of the game from a race to entrap and defeat the sorcerer to a contest of opposing defenses.
"Your pieces are different from mine," Krayson observed. While the white pieces were regal men and women wearing resplendent robes and crowns, the black were monsters and fiends.
"Purely cosmetic," Algol explained, "a whim of the craftsman who carved them. Might your arcanists defeat my demons? A game of foresight and deception, though there is one more piece at your disposal."
Krayson raised an eyebrow as Algol took a deck of lacquered playing cards from the box. He fanned half of them out and held them forward.
"An aspect of chance added to the strategy," Algol explained. "Choose one, and do not allow me to know what Fate has granted you."
Krayson reached forward and drew a card from Algol's hand. He turned it over and saw a stylized painting of a hideous creature. It was a fanged man without his skin. A skindancer. A quick glance revealed that it represented Algol's equivalent of a witch.
Algol selected a card and looked at it. He then placed it off to the side, face-down. Krayson did the same with his own card. The remaining cards returned to the box.
"One of our pieces belongs to our customer. One of his belongs to us, known only to he who truly owns it."
"A traitor in my midst," Krayson mused. "A clever mechanic to the game."
"At any time, your card may be revealed to allow you to move the one it names. It may be any piece upon the board." Algol gestured for Krayson to make his first move. "The white takes initiative."
"All the pieces move as in Althandi arja?" Krayson asked.
Algol nodded. "The knight may move in straight lines as the scrivener does, though your pieces and mine do not act as barriers to him."
The arjapiece that didn't represent an arcanist was deceptively powerful, in that case. Krayson chose a conservative first move. The scrivener's pawn moved forward a single space. Algol's knight, carved as a selkie, moved towards the center of the board. An aggressive opening.
"Perhaps we have moved a traitor posing as a selkie. Are we preparing to attack, or are we distancing a traitor from our vampire?"
Krayson held his chin in his fingers and furrowed his brow. Was Algol's emperor meant to be a vampire? The black's center piece looked like a distinguished nobleman, a contrast to the monstrosities surrounding him.
"Your back row is mostly proteurim," Krayson said. "They're shifters. Selkie, kits, a werebeast."
"Harpy, vampire, doppler, and skindancer. All seven of the races of shifter, granted arcane fiends to use as pawns."
Krayson frowned. Vampires were supposed to be shifters? Either Algol was mistaken or the magocracy didn't know as much about vampires as it thought it did. He moved his witch out through the gap his previous move had opened.
The game proceeded. Algol continued to move aggressively, though he held back from taking pieces other than pawns. Krayson arranged his arcanists and pawns into defensive formations, guarding the best paths Algol's shifters could take to assault the emperor.
"Our customer is a skilled arja player," Algol said. "Cautious. He places his warriors where they thwart any outward assault, yet not where they can strike at their emperor."
"I've not forgotten that one of them doesn't belong to me," Krayson said. "Twice now, I've given the wizard an opportunity to upset my strategy."
"An opportunity we did not take. Does he now trust his wizard?"
"Perhaps, but I still won't put him diagonal of me."
"Our customer sees himself as the emperor. A prudent frame of mind."
"You said yourself that I should," Krayson said. He moved his scrivener forward, where it had Algol's vampire in check. It was time for Krayson's strategy to turn towards attack. If the scrivener was the traitor, Algol had no choice but to reveal his card to stop Krayson from winning.
Instead, the doppler interposed into the scrivener's path. Krayson took it. Algol sacrificed the piece to allow the vampire to escape.
Krayson's attack had faltered, but Algol's pieces were now out of position. Krayson held the advantage and pressed onward. The witch took the harpy. The knight charged through a line of fiends to take the kits. Krayson's alchemist slaughtered fiends throughout the center of the board.
At last, the critical moment came. Algol moved his skindancer into the only place it could protect the retreating vampire. Right where Krayson needed it to be.
"I reveal your traitor," Krayson said. He flipped his card to show the skindancer painted upon it. He reached forward and moved the skinless horror to checkmate the vampire. "The game is mine."
Algol clapped his knobby hands in appreciation. "Expertly played, dear friend. His mind is devious to entrap us so."
Krayson felt a smile tug at the corner of his mouth. A sense of accomplishment bloomed through his chest. It felt good to win.
"A misconception," Algol said. "The game is not yet over."
Algol flipped his own card. A golden-haired man with brown skin stared out from the lacquer. Algol reached forward and took the skindancer with Krayson's emperor.
"My center piece can be the traitor?" Krayson exclaimed.
Algol nodded. "Any piece on the board, we did say."
Krayson frowned. It was his move, but the emperor was within reach of three of Algol's pieces. None of his remaining pieces could block all of them, and the emperor was no longer under Krayson's control. He'd been checkmated. Masterfully. Looking back, every move Algol made had been orchestrated to allow for this deception. Krayson sat back in his chair with a sigh. "I concede the game."
"Perhaps our customer appreciates the irony of this particular match?"
"I spent the game worried over which of my arcanists would turn on me. I even planned for it being a pawn."
"Yet in the end, it was not he who was betrayed, but he who betrayed his pieces. Our customer belonged to us from the start."
Krayson raised an eyebrow, trying once again to use witchsight to see Algol's face. The shadows remained. "Is it possible to win if I can't trust myself? The game was decided as soon as you drew that card."
"His situation was not insurmountable. Had our customer planned for this eventuality, trusted the warriors at his side, he might have taken our vampire before the emperor turned."
Krayson thumbed his chin, considering. "I like this game."
Algol returned the pieces and cards to their box. "We suspected our customer would enjoy this demonstration. His victory was the lie. Who owned him was the truth."
"Consider your point demonstrated and agreed with."
Krayson looked off to the side to see Rindyn returning with an armload of blouses. The boy approached the table when Algol waved him forward. Krayson inspected the garments. They were more conservative than the first. Sheer silk, light and airy, but they covered all they needed to. The vests would see to preserving the remainder of Saveen's modesty.
"Did you know beforehand which piece you would draw for the traitor?" Krayson asked. "Your demonstration wouldn't have been as effective if you controlled my wizard."
"We were confident that our mastery of arja could provide the intended result," Algol said as he stood. Even hunched over as he was, his height was impressive. "We are no hydromancer to know the future. We assure our customer that no unnatural abilities affected the outcome."
"Unnatural?" Krayson asked. "Magic is the quintessence of what is natural."
"So it is known in this age," Algol said. "In another, perhaps it was the invader in what was already natural."
Krayson nodded to the box. "This 'original' arja, it's an Aleesh game. The emperor card was a depiction of Inwe."
Algol bowed. "Carved by the hands of Natiru Uvardran First Summit, Dragon Empress and grandmother of Shoen. This is not the oldest of such sets. The game itself predates the Empire of Scales."
Krayson gathered his purchases into a bundle. Predates Shan Alee? That was more than two thousand years ago.
Something about that felt wrong to Krayson, but he couldn't settle on what that might have been. He patted his belt for his meager coin purse and drew out his last three silver marks. He hadn't had much even before being arrested and thrown into Cathis' dungeons.
Rindyn took the marks and returned him three coppers and a silver penny. Algol didn't charge much for his wares, but the prices were nonnegotiable and exact.
"If our customer wishes," Algol offered, "the arja set might be his for thirty gold marks. I place no value on its antiquity, only on the craftsmanship and materials. Ivory such as this can no longer be found east of the Li Lung Mountains."
"Even if I had the gold, I couldn't accept," Krayson said. "That set would sell for thousands to the right collector, one who knows the secret history and has an interest in ancient games."
"A combination that is more rare than the set itself, we are afraid. We would take our thirty marks and purchase something more useful to us. A glass hammer, or a paper suit of armor. Perhaps a month of the best wine at a ruffer's saloon."
Krayson smirked. "I know a place where this spire meets the skybridge. You'd know it by the ogre out front."
Algol chuckled before succumbing to one more fit of coughing. "Our customer has a discerning eye for interesting venues. We believe his suggested saloon has a role yet to play in a larger game."
What an odd thing to say. Krayson thanked Algol for the clothes and the game taking his leave. He listened to Algol praising Rindyn for his work as the two returned to the back. Krayson left the store and felt a curious sensation once he was out on the spire's walkway again. It felt like he had returned to reality out of a dream.
Setting the strange feeling aside, he made his way back towards the shed he'd left Saveen. He would have her try on the clothes before they set out. If they didn't fit right, he'd be willing to pay a few pennies to have Rindyn adjust them.
Krayson almost tripped when something occurred to him. It was the nebulous thought that had bothered him before.
If the game predates Shan Alee, how would a fey know of it?
Looking over his shoulder, Krayson searched for the entrance to Algol's store. He saw a bookseller and a cobbler, but there was no longer a door between them. Krayson felt an involuntary shiver run down his spine.
Algol hadn't said outright that he was fey. It was Krayson who had made that assumption. Perhaps the shop owner wasn't compelled to dispel all misconceptions. Whether he was fey or something else, Algol would be remembered.
Both he and his game.