Inker and Crown

Chapter 13

13

Adrial

Pain. Sharp, terrible pain in his shoulder.

The pain in his head was worse.

The screaming voices ignited the pain in a wave of piercing agony that made thinking impossible.

Instinct told Adrial he should find out what everyone was screaming about, but there were far too many people speaking at once. If they could all just be silent for a moment, maybe he could work out what they were shouting about and be able to help them.

Adrial pushed himself to sit up. The world blurred around him.

Red tainted his vision. His hands shook as he fumbled in his pocket for something to wipe his eyes. His robes had been stained. Black, red, and brown marred the white.

Praying for Saint Alwyn’s forgiveness, Adrial wiped his eyes on his sleeve. Clearing his vision didn’t make the scene any more manageable.

Smoke billowed from the buildings behind the platform where the Princess and Allora had been standing.

“Allora!” Adrial coughed. Pain wracked his lungs. “Allora!” A golden carriage disappeared from view.

If they had taken the Princess, surely they would have taken Allora as well.

But what if they hadn’t?

Patches of blood smeared the singed wooden platform. Black covered the people who lay unmoving on the ground.

Adrial swallowed the sour in his throat. “Allora!”

He stumbled toward the platform.

A woman in torn merchant’s clothing ran past, knocking into Adrial’s shoulder. His bad leg buckled, but he fought to stay standing.

Four men lay on the ground. Their clothes hadn’t been burnt black by the flames. They were wearing Soldiers Guild uniforms.

“Help.” Adrial ran forward as fast as his legs could manage. “They need help!” But the chaos of the street drowned out his shouts.

Half-collapsing to ground, Adrial knelt by the nearest soldier. His eyes were stuck open. Frozen in terror. Adrial pressed his fingers to the man’s neck, searching for some sign of life.

The man hadn’t shaved that morning. Rough stubble greeted Adrial’s fingers. But the soldier was still. Blood pooled around him, leaking from a wound Adrial couldn’t see.

“I’m so sorry.” Adrial crawled away, moving on to the next soldier.

This one was young, barely old enough to wear the black.

Something sharp sliced into Adrial’s palm. He lifted his hand. Blood dripped down his fingers, some of it definitely his.

The sharp thing stuck out of his hand. The jagged cut on his palm bled freely. But he had crawled through the soldier’s blood. The soldier’s blood would mix with his.

Adrial gasped as he pulled the sharp shard from his skin.

Shouts and the pounding of hooves carried from down the street.

“The Healers Guild are on their way,” an extraordinarily tall soldier barked to the others. “Move everyone who can walk out of the street.”

Adrial knew the man’s name. He had met him before. At a party?

No, it wasn’t at a party. Allora would have introduced the soldier if Adrial had met him at a party, and she was good at making sure he remembered people’s names.

“Can you walk?” a short soldier with blood smeared on his cheek shouted at him like he had been saying the same words to Adrial for a very long time.

“Yes,” Adrial said, shocked by the calm of his tone. “But that man is dead.”

“Well, you’re not, and we need to get you away from here.” The short soldier looped his arm around Adrial and hoisted him to his feet. “The healers will be here soon.”

“Where are you taking all of us?” Adrial asked.

Soldiers herded the spectators of the ceremony who hadn’t already fled, shifting them farther down the street to where the buildings hadn’t been damaged.

“Someone has attacked the Map Makers Guild and the Princess,” the soldier said. “We have to move everyone away until we can find out what happened.”

“I can’t stay here to wait for healers.” Adrial pulled away from the soldier. “I need to get to the scribes’ shop. They need to know I’m safe.”

“Everyone is going to wait for the healers―”

“I need to be sure the shop is safe!” Adrial had not expected the shout that tore from his throat.

“I have orders to keep everyone here.” The soldier reached forward to seize Adrial’s arm.

“I have―”

“Head Scribe, are you all right?” The tall soldier’s voice cut across Adrial’s.

Rictor. That’s his name.

“I’m fine.” Adrial nodded, the small motion sending his head spinning again. “But I need to get back to the scribes’ shop. If someone tried to attack the start of the journey…”

Mara. Mara and Tham’s journey began at the northern gate.

“The other journey”―Adrial gripped Rictor’s sleeve―“were they attacked as well?”

“Not that I’ve heard of.” Rictor took Adrial’s elbow and led him toward the line of soldiers’ horses. “When we were sent out, there was no word of any other trouble in the city.”

“I have to get to the scribes’ shop.”

The library was protected. Soldiers and scribes’ guards constantly patrolled the thick walls of the white stone fortress. But the shop was simply a shop.

“Every soldier in Ilara is being sent out to protect the Guilds.” The soldiers parted at Rictor’s approach, whether from intimidation of his rank or his size, Adrial didn’t know. “We need to get you to the Sorcerers Tower. They’ll take care of healing you themselves.”

“I’m fine.” Adrial tried to step away, but Rictor’s grip on his arm was too firm. “I’ve been much worse, believe me.”

“Take him straight to the Sorcerers Tower,” Rictor ordered two men who still sat atop their horses.

“No, I refuse―”

Rictor didn’t seem to care what Adrial refused to do as he hoisted him onto a horse.

“Do not stop until you’ve reached the tower.” With that order, Rictor turned and strode away.

“Can you ride on your own, Head Scribe?” One of the two soldiers that flanked him asked.

“Yes,” Adrial said.

A common man scrambled through the debris near the front of one of the houses just behind the platform, pulling broken bits of wood away. A filthy hand showed through the wreckage.

“You should take someone else,” Adrial said as the soldiers moved forward, urging Adrial’s horse along with them. “I’m not badly hurt. Someone else should go.”

“It’s not about being hurt, Head Scribe,” the soldier said. “It’s about keeping you safe.”

Adrial wanted to protest, but they were right. It was his duty to protect the Guilds, and that included allowing himself to be protected. Tears stung his eyes.

A few streets north of the gate, the air cleared, and the sun glinted off the windows of the houses. If it weren’t for the soldiers riding beside him, it could have been a completely normal morning.

The sun caught on something silver at the soldiers’ sides.

Swords. They’re riding with weapons drawn. How did the morning come to this?

He should be in his shop in a few minutes’ time. Tea and rolls would be delivered.

He’d asked for an extra cup to be brought in for Ena. A note had arrived the night before.

Don’t forget you promised to help, scribe. Be ready for our little adventure tomorrow.

She didn’t say what time she’d be arriving. What if she’d already come and gone? What if Ena had been caught waiting outside the scribes’ shop by whomever had hurt her before?

Surely, she’ll be safe in the Guilded section of Ilara.

But the journey had been attacked.

Poor Taddy would be terrified.

“The scribes’ shop is protected?” Adrial asked as they reached the wide thoroughfare of Farers Way and the soldiers pushed the horses to move more quickly. “Do they even know what happened?”

“The entire city is protected. And the scribes’ shop will know the head scribe is safe,” the soldier said as they passed the cathedral and aimed their horses toward the shining dark tower of the Sorcerers Guild.

“If the entire city is protected, how did this happen?” Adrial asked.

His gaze caught on a group of four soldiers patrolling the streets, weapons drawn and ready to attack.

The soldier riding next to him didn’t answer.

The base of the sorcerers’ home came into view. The dark stone of the tower shimmered in the sun. It was built of obsidian, Adrial knew it had been. He’d studied it in books―the sorcerers finding the stone far across the sea and sending dozens of ships to ferry it to Ilara.

But there were no masonry marks on the tower. No joints to show where one slab ended and another began. Saint Gyntra herself had formed the tower. Using magic beyond the reach of her peers, she had melted the edges and sewn the rock seamlessly together.

In the morning sun, the stone shone with a purple hue, setting it apart from anything else in Ilara. The impossibility of the tower sitting between the wealthiest of the merchants’ houses and the shops selling the finest jewels in Ilbrea was unbelievably breathtaking.

But the tower was very real and decidedly planted in the middle of the street.

“We have Head Scribe Adrial Ayres,” the soldier shouted at the stone walls, though there was no sign of anyone being present to hear. “He was injured at the southern gate and needs sorcerer aid.”

With a c***k that shook Adrial’s lungs, a door appeared in the side of the tower. His horse backed skittishly away as the door swung, not open as logic suggested it should, but down, leaving an entry large enough for Adrial to pass through while on horseback.

“Head Scribe, are you all right?” A woman dressed in purple robes appeared at the entry.

“I’m fine,” Adrial tried to answer, but the soldier spoke over him.

“We have orders from Rictor Nance to bring him to your care.” The soldier ushered Adrial forward. “He needs to be healed. We’ll wait out here until he’s fit to be brought back to his post.”

“Thank you,” Adrial said as the woman reached up and lifted the horse’s reins from his hands.

He tried not to bristle. They were helping him, giving him assistance none of the others injured in the blast would receive. But he was more than capable of guiding his own horse through the newly formed doorway into the interior of the Sorcerers Tower.

“We’ll see to him immediately.” The sorcerer nodded to the soldiers as the door sealed itself with a sharp c***k.

Adrial shut his eyes and took a shuddering breath, shoving down the horrible feeling of being buried alive in a stone vault.

“Do you need help down?” the sorcerer asked.

Adrial opened his eyes.

A dazzling glow surrounded the sorcerer as she reached up to him.

Light poured down from the ceiling, as though the sorcerers had managed to trap the essence of the sun itself and forced it to do their bidding. The floor was not made of the dark stone Adrial had expected. Lush, green grass, more vibrant than even the lawns of the Map Master’s Palace, coated the ground.

Fountains surrounded by white stone dotted the grass, their water sparkling like diamonds as it soared through the air. The edges of the massive room were lined with beds of deep violet flowers, backed by wall-climbing vines.

Sorcerers dressed in purple robes lay on the grass, reading books or chatting to their fellows. On the far side of the largest fountain in the center of the space, an older man instructed a young boy who held fire in his palms.

The sorcerer who’d taken his reins smiled kindly up at Adrial. “Haven’t been in here before?”

“Never.” Adrial slid down from the horse, biting back his moan as pain shot through his hip. “It’s different than I expected from my reading.”

The sorcerer offered Adrial her arm. “We don’t let low ranks in this way. Very few are lucky enough to be greeted in the gardens.”

“There’s another way in?” Adrial asked, glad his voice sounded sure.

“There are a hundred ways.” She shook her head, sending her soft brown hair flying around her shoulders. “I often forget how little outsiders know.”

Adrial mouthed for a moment, searching for a response. But the farthest section of the circular wall came into view, and all thoughts of insult or lack of information drifted from his mind.

A staircase glided up the wall, the steps constantly rising as though pulled up by some unseen giant. With barely a whisper, the steps changed their path, twisting down instead.

Lady Gwell, the leader of the Sorcerers Guild appeared at the top of the steps, her bright red hair shocking against the deep green of the leaves behind her.

“Wonderful.” The sorcerer who had greeted Adrial smiled a bit too brightly. “I was afraid I would have to search for her.”

“What chaos has descended upon Ilara?” Lady Gwell said as soon as she stepped onto the grass. “First, I hear the journey to the eastern mountains was attacked. Then I hear Princess Illia and Allora Karron were rushed to the palace for safety, and now I have the bleeding head scribe in my garden.”

The grit of her voice cut over the gentle hushing of the fountains. The glistening of the water changed, as though in response to the disruption of the calm. The diamond-like clarity disappeared, overtaken by an orange glow.

“Lady Gwell.” The brown-haired sorcerer bowed. “The soldiers delivered the head scribe here to be healed by us.”

“Of course they did.” Lady Gwell studied Adrial. “We cannot risk an already weakened heir to a man who’s well past his prime, especially not to the hands of the red-clad butchers. Willa”―the sorcerer on Adrial’s arm gave a little bow―“see him up to the mending room. I’m sure they’ll be able to patch up the head scribe.”

“Thank you, Lady Gwell.” Adrial nodded.

“It is always a pleasure to be of help to one of Lord Karron’s pack.” Lady Gwell smiled. The expression seemed so foreign on the woman’s face, it was almost frightening.

Willa gave another little bow and began leading Adrial to the moving staircase.

“Wait.” Adrial kept his feet firmly planted even as Lady Gwell turned away. “You said Allora Karron had been taken to the palace.”

“She has,” Lady Gwell said.

“Was she hurt?” Adrial asked, refusing to budge even as Willa pulled on his arm. “They were closer to that blast than I was.”

“The message from the King said nothing of either of them being injured,” Lady Gwell said. “I’ve been summoned to the King’s side. If I see Allora Karron, I will inform her of your concern.”

“Thank you.” Adrial nodded, finally letting Willa drag him away.

The grass cushioned his steps with unnatural softness. As they passed each of the fountains, their pattern changed, as though showing off for their guest. The water flew up in crisscross patterns one moment, then soared fifteen feet into the air the next.

It should be beautiful.

But Adrial couldn’t shake the gnawing fear from his lungs.

Lady Gwell summoned to the King’s side. A terrible thing happened, and people had died. But protecting Ilara was the duty of the soldiers, not the sorcerers.

“I’m sure Lady Karron is fine,” Willa said as they reached the staircase. “We heard about the Princess and Lady Karron before we received word you were on your way.”

“How did you know?”

Willa stepped onto the shifting stairs as though there was nothing strange about a whole staircase moving like cogs in a clock.

Taking a breath, Adrial followed. He had expected the movement to be sharp and jarring, throwing him off his precarious balance. But the stair felt completely stationary. If the ground hadn’t been getting ever farther away, he wouldn’t have known he was moving at all.

“We have ears all over the city,” Willa said as the garden slipped out of view.

“But you never see sorcerers on the streets,” Adrial said as they emerged onto the next level.

A stone corridor, brightly lit with golden torches, greeted them. Deep red doors, polished to shining, lined each side of the hall as it curved out of sight.

“Do you spend much time on the streets, Head Scribe?” Willa asked.

“More than most sorcerers do,” Adrial said.

“We have found the natural possession of something others can never hope to achieve breeds hostility.” Willa tapped on the closest door. “It’s better for all in Ilbrea if those who have been born with magic in their blood keep to themselves. We are, after all, an utterly unique resource. There is no magic without the Sorcerers Guild, and what would be left of Ilbrea without the protection of magic?”