Chapter Twenty-Nine
He supposed that if one was going to fail, it was best to do it early.
Guyik moved off over the roofs, not interested in drawing any attention to himself. He started back toward the more common area, away from the palace and the noble houses. Down by the docks would do fine.
He took his time, no need to rush with bad news. At last he settled on a nice roof-top, with three brick chimneys giving off heat and smoke. From the smell, a bakery. He checked the area throughly before taking shelter there. The warmth felt good as he wrapped his cloak around himself and pulled up the hood.
The scent of bread made his stomach growl. Best not to work on an empty stomach; he drew a dried apple and some cheese from the depths of his pack.
The roof offered a view of the ocean, a long, huge swell of water. No matter how many times he gazed on it, it still astonished him. His homeland was vast, true enough, but dry, sand and scrub and little else. The ocean…breathed, in the way Guyik had never seen. He had waded in it, tasted its salt, but hadn’t yet dared to venture out on a boat. He’d heard tales of the sickness that could result, and to his way of thinking, boats were best admired from a distance, with their wide sails and webs of rope.
It was fascinating, but Guyik had always had a stronger link to the land, more than any other element.
With the last bite swallowed and a long drink from his flask, he could put off his task no longer. He brought out his wooden scrying bowl and a small pouch of precious earth from the Wastes. He poured just enough to cover the bottom of the bowl.
He placed the bowl in his lap, and the pouch carefully to one side. Cross-legged, he hunched over the bowl, took a pinch of the earth, and rubbed it between his palms. He took a few deep breaths, inhaling the scent of home.
Then he cradled the bowl in both hands and invoked the earth, asking for its aid.
This far from the Wastes, he was never sure of their answer. But the earth sparkled in the depths of the bowl and he fell within, seeking, reaching…
A breath, then another, and then a voice spoke in his mind. “Guyik,” said the Liam.
In Guyik’s mind, he could see the Liam seated with others of the Order.
“Report.”
Sighing, Guyik bowed his head. “Master, I failed.”
“Tell us,” the Liam commanded.
He did, going over the details of what he had learned. There were gasps at the use of the portal and the Liam shook his head in despair.
“So they are lost to us,” he said, and Guyik shared his grief.
“Not so,” another Elder said firmly, calling attention to herself. “Who can say what will happen between the lightning flash and the boom of thunder?”
“There is truth to that, but we have no presence in the Black Hills,” the Liam pointed out. “There’s been no one of the Blood there in many, many years.” He lifted one hand to rub his face.
“Elder, I have failed the Order.” Guyik’s heart wrenched as he spoke. He’d failed those of the Blood he’d sworn to serve.
“Nay, the failure is mine. I failed to anticipate the Blood’s actions. I sent you to Swift’s Port because I thought one side or the other would flee there.” The Liam’s shoulders sagged. “Who could foresee such hate? Or the use of a portal by foul magics?” The Liam shook his head. “Guyik, take no more blame than the rest of us for not being able to peer into the future.”
“What would you have me do?” Guyik asked. “Should I travel to the Black Hills? Or return to the Wastes?”
“No. You would be months on the road to no purpose. Xyrath is of the Blood, be it Wyvern. And while that House rejected us long ago, they are still our charge. Stay. Watch and wait. Learn what you can.”
Guyik bowed his head in obedience. “Master.”
“The skies be with you, Guyik,” the Liam said. “Keep yourself safe.”
“I will,” he whispered, opening his eyes to the bowl of earth in his hands.
He poured the earth back into the pouch with care, saying a ritual prayer before placing them both back in his pack. He sat for a moment, watching the sky.
The sun was rising over the city and a cold wind was rising. The bustle on the streets was starting to get louder. He’d need to make some decisions soon enough.
In truth, he was not disappointed to be required to stay. He loved the Wastes, they were his home. Yet he also loved the city life, if truth be told.
Easy enough for the Liam to give orders, but it was left to Guyik to figure out the details. The Liam was wise, true enough, but he was a dweller of the Wastes. It had been a very long time since he’d been in a city the size of Edenrich—if he ever had. “Watch and wait” was not as easy as the Liam might think.
Guyik carried a few disguises in his pack, and enough coin to get him by for a while. But if he was here for a longer term, he needed a plan.
He might be able to work his way into the palace…but no. He dismissed the thought almost immediately. Too close to the seats of power and too easy to fall afoul of them. There were taverns that catered to the Palace guard, but he had to believe that there would be suspicion there as well, and men looking over their shoulders. Nay, perhaps in a few months, but not now, when every loyalty was considered and questioned.
He could start at the wellspring, he supposed. Madam Winter’s pleasure house. He’d only that brief glimpse, but there’d been some connection between her and all the parties. Perhaps he’d glean a bit more from an evening spent in comfort.
At the very least, he’d obtain a good meal and a warm bed for the night.
Scruffy songster would not do for this, though, although his story of travel from Swift’s Port might be enough explanation. Perhaps he had taken shelter in a noble manor during the war and thought to try his hand in Edenrich now that the strife was over. That should work well enough for today, when he’d coin to spend. Tomorrow would care for itself.
Good enough. He lifted his head, pulled back his hood. It looked to be noon, by the sun. Time enough to move far enough away from his goal so as not to arose suspicions when he arrived. He chuckled to himself as he stood. Wouldn’t do to drop out of the sky like a thief.
Even if he was one.