Chapter Two
TWO
ASPETH
26 Days Before the Conquest Moon
The next morning, I read over the well-worn pamphlet yet again, just to make certain that I haven’t missed anything. The Royal Artifactual Guild meets once a year, on the eve of Swansday, to say a prayer to the gods, to honor the king for his benevolence, and to update any rules of the guild itself. It’s a time when artificers are officially promoted, artifacts are haggled over by holders, and those who wish to join the guild can pledge to a teacher, who will do their best to prepare their fledglings over the next year in order to take the certification test.
That’s where I come in. I clutch the pamphlet to my chest and take a deep breath.
I’m ready. More than that, I need this. Artifacts would solve all of my family’s problems. Two or three Greater Artifacts would settle us once more and give us safety. Several Lesser Artifacts would staunch the bleeding, and could hopefully be traded for a Greater, depending on how useful they are. Truly, I’m well-equipped for this job. I learned Old Prellian for amusement. I can read and speak three other languages in addition to the Prellian glyphs. I’m well educated and good with math.
They should be salivating over my skill set.
With another deep breath, I dress, casting off the last vestiges of Aspeth Honori, only child of Holder Corin Honori of the Far Reaches. Today I truly become Sparrow, applicant and fledgling to the Royal Artifactual Guild and general nobody. I pull on my underclothes, petticoats, and corset, cinching it up the front. Brown stockings go over my sensible boots. Over my head, I toss my least extravagant dress. It’s made of a thick, sturdy brocade in a dull pattern, the skirts swishing at my ankles. Ties have been added to the skirts so they can be hiked up at the front for ease of walking or hiking—or tunneling, since Sparrow will be expected to venture into the dark and mysterious tunnels of the Everbelow. The bodice attached to this one is decorated with brown ribbon at the edges, all to convey a subtlety to my clothing. I lace myself up, the bodice bound at the front so I can dress myself instead of having a lady’s maid do so.
Gwenna watches all of this from the bed, petting Squeaker’s round head as she does. “You want help with that?”
“Sparrow dresses herself,” I say, determined.
She rolls her eyes at me. “You’re taking this too seriously. They’re going to take one look at you and know you for a lady.”
“They won’t. I’m dressed like one of the common folk.” I finish lacing my bodice and gaze down at myself, pleased. The sleeves are heavy and undecorated, with a button at the wrist, and I do them up, admiring the very drab pouf of fabric. Not even a bit of embroidery to liven things up. “Look at me. I’m wearing so much brown I can’t possibly help but look common.”
“No ‘common’ woman owns a gown in brocade, no matter the color.” She swings her feet on the bed. “You want to swap clothing?”
I consider it, but Gwenna—Wren, I must remember, Wren!—is far shorter than I am. Her skirts would be practically indecent and she’s got more in the bust than I do. “I shall be fine.”
“Are you wearing your spectacles today? You haven’t put them on.”
“Absolutely not. Spectacles are a rich woman’s accoutrement. I can’t have them thinking that I don’t need to join.”
“Can’t have that,” Gwenna drawls. “Bad enough that you’ve got titties.”
“Hush.” I gaze down at said titties and they look rather prominent, thanks to the bodice I wear that’s designed for exactly such an effect. That won’t do. I unlace the top and do a bit of strategic tucking so I seem flatter, and then re-lace with a bit of give. “There. Better. And it’s raining, so I shall take my umbrella.”
She eyes me and then looks down at her own plain clothing, then shrugs. “So what do I need to know about the guild?”
“What do you mean?”
Gwenna purses her lips. “Like, am I supposed to know what they do other than tomb robbing? Who was the first tomb robber? How’d they manage a whole guild about tomb robbing?”
I sputter at her words. “?‘Tomb robbing’?! It’s not tomb robbing! It’s artifact retrieval.”
“From tombs.” She puts up a hand when I protest again. “I’m not judging, I’m just asking what I need to know so I can blend in and make it look like it’s my lifelong dream to join the guild.”
I want to protest more, because it’s not about tomb robbing. True, some artifacts are found buried with people, but the reason behind the artifact retrievals is a noble one. Each one will be used to carefully further the power of the holders, enabling them to protect people and the lands. “What do you want to know?”
“How did it get started? The whole guild thing? It’s because of the Mancer Wars, right?”
Nervous, I wonder how much I can sum up for her that she’ll remember. There are three hundred years of storied and glorious Royal Artifactual Guild history, but I suppose she just needs the basics. “The Mancer Wars had shown everyone that personal magic—be it as a pyromancer, geomancer, or even necromancer—was unstable and corrupted the person using it. Because of the Mancer Wars, the king outlawed personal magic and established the holds amongst his lords. You know that part, yes?”
She nods. “And it was all three hundred years ago? Is that when Prell fell?”
I shake my head. “Old Prell was destroyed over a thousand years ago, long before the Mancer Wars. But after the Mancer Wars, without magic, people didn’t know how to protect their holds. Wars broke out constantly and the lords of the holds were unhappy because they felt they didn’t have enough power to hold on to their lands. A man called Sparkanos was interested in ancient history, and he traveled to the ruins of Old Prell. Three hundred years ago it was simply a cattle pasture. He dug into the earth and pulled up an orb with a word of power on it, and brought it to the king. The nobles all wanted orbs of their own, and the ruins were overrun with thieves and vandals. Sparkanos and the king knew the flow of artifacts had to be controlled so it could be kept amongst the nobility. They walled off the caverns that led to the Everbelow and declared it owned by the Royal Artifactual Guild, and if anyone wished to hunt for artifacts to sell, they would have to join the guild. Understand?”
“I thought you were going to give me the shortened version.” She winks at me. “That’s a lot to remember.”
It’s because that is the shorter version. I’m skipping three hundred years of politics, guild maneuvering, discoveries, and holder power grabs. “All you need to know is that Old Prell went boom nearly a thousand years before the guild was created. All right?”
“Old Prell, really old.” She lifts one finger and then another as she counts. “Guild came much later. Wait, when was Vastwarren built?”
“The city itself grew around the walled-off section of the Everbelow controlled by the guild. So the guild was here first, and Vastwarren came second.”
“Oh, sure.” Her expression tells me I’ll probably have to go over it all again, but I’ve studied Old Prell and Vastwarren for years. I can’t expect everyone else to know as much as me. She scratches at Squeaker’s chin and glances up at me. “So when are we leaving?”
“You should stay here.”
“What? Why? I thought we were joining together.”
We are. Biting at my thumb’s cuticle, I consider the situation. I would love for Gwenna to come with me, all told. I’m terrified, but if we leave our luggage and poor Squeaker unattended here at the inn, I suspect I’ll never see either again. They’re all I’ve got left, because if my father finds out I’ve run away, I’ll be privately disowned. He won’t make it public until he’s got another heir lined up, and I’m hoping that I’ll have my guild certification by then, and hopefully an artifact or two to bring to my family to restore our glory. If not…
With a lump of emotion in my throat, I grab Squeaker and haul her into my arms. Gwenna doesn’t like to be hugged, so I lavish kisses on the cat, letting her lick my nose raw as I snuggle her. “I won’t take long,” I promise. “I need you to stay with Squeaker and guard our things. I’ll find a teacher for both of us and return to collect you. Give the woman downstairs a penny and see if she doesn’t have scraps of meat for the cat.”
I kiss the cat a dozen times, until she’s squirming against my chest and I can’t put off leaving any longer. Then I set her down and try to hug Gwenna, since I’ve decided that I’m now a hugger. She waves me off, though. I might be a hugger now, but Gwenna is firmly not .
With my umbrella in hand, I head out of the inn and into the nasty streets of Vastwarren City. Today it’s no longer as foul smelling, at least; the weather is washing the scent away. Unfortunately for me, it’s creating quite a slog of mud, and even the raised cobbles in the center of the streets for walking upon are slick and filthy. My skirts, swishing at my heels, are still getting soaked and slapping against my stockings. I let this annoyance go on for one street, then another, and then I give up and duck into a dark alley and fasten the loops that hike my skirts up for tunneling. They now bunch up at my knees and I look a right fool, but I can walk with purpose.
With my umbrella over my head again, I stride back out into the street and squint at my surroundings. I need to find the main guild hall of the Royal Artifactual Guild, as that’s where all of the artificer meetings are held.
It’s just going to be damned difficult without my spectacles.
I’m nervous as I head through the crowded, filthy city on my own. It’s not that anyone is threatening me—it’s just that this is the first time in my life I’ve ever gone anywhere unaccompanied. I keep expecting to look over to a chaperone on my left, or a maid, or a guard. It’s strange to walk alone. I feel exposed, vulnerable, and oddly lonely.
And damp. Very, very damp. The drizzle of rain is never-ending as I walk through Vastwarren, as if the gods themselves are spitting on my dreams.
The huddled buildings lining each street are so strange compared to Honori’s tall stone walls and elegant architecture. Back home, there are not many windows in the hold, as it was originally built for defense, but over time, my relatives have sought to beautify the place. If the room has no natural light, gorgeous, artistic metal chandeliers hang from the ceiling. Rich tapestries and paintings adorn otherwise plain walls. Lush carpets ensure the stone floors are warm and inviting, and everything has a look of elegance. Here, everything is haphazard, as if it were slapped together overnight. The buildings sag against one another and I’m pretty certain a few of them are made entirely of cast-off wood. There are no tile roofs here—houses and shops are covered with battered tin or equally battered wood. The impression is not of functionality but of “good enough,” and everything looks temporary.
Or at least, it does until you get to the heart of the city.
All roads in Vastwarren lead to the guild, because the city was built up around the guild holdings. The guild’s thick stone wall is visible from a distance, making it easy to find—I just have to continue up to the top of the anthill, so to speak, and head for that wall. Unlike the rest of the city, it’s impressive in its make, and taller than the tallest inn. As I approach, I can’t help but think it reminds me of my family’s holding, with enormous, forbidding walls to protect the treasure inside.
By the time I find the entrance to the walled-off part of town that belongs to the guild, I’m soaked. Once I pass through the impressive gates, I’m lost in an entirely new maze of barracks and halls and libraries. When I find the large, ostensibly gray building that must surely, surely be the main guild hall, my clothes are heavy and dripping with water and I’ve wandered over half of Vastwarren itself. I’m probably carrying all the mud in my boots, too.
I’m in a dreadful mood by the time I see the statue of Sparkanos the Swan, the first artificer. Triumph surges in me again, and I tilt my umbrella back, ignoring the fat drops of rain that spatter on my clothes as I regard him. Sparkanos’s statue wears a long cloak, the fabric swirling out behind him as he clutches the Sphere of Reason under one arm, a sword in the other. At the hem of his cloak, it looks as if the fabric is turning into feathers, a nod to his curse. It’s a powerful-looking statue, and one I’ve read about and seen drawings of in books, but this is the first time I’ve seen such a wonder in person. I’m utterly breathless at the sight.
To think that could be me someday, with a powerful artifact tucked under my arm, paving the way for others to bring our world out of darkness and back to the enlightenment of the ancients.
My mood lightens and I’m smiling as I race toward the long climb of stone steps that leads to the hall itself. It seems as if the entire city is here. There’s a crowd on the steps despite the driving rain, and when I push my way forward with a few muttered apologies, I’m not surprised to see that the doors to the hall are wide open and even more people are crowded inside.
The hall looks exactly as I pictured it. Light streams in from outside through great windows strategically placed to highlight statues of the guild’s most famous artificers. The room itself is three stories tall and longer than it is wide. High above, there are stuffed birds lining the walls, reminders that the guild chooses their namesakes. There’s a long nave, much like in an old church, with a sodden brown carpet down the center of the room. People are squeezed in, and far ahead, at the front of the hall, I can see a banner and a dais.
The crowd is obnoxious, jostling to get inside the hall. A man nearby elbows me, knocking me into my neighbor…who promptly palms my backside. I let out a squeal of outrage, but when I snap my umbrella shut to strike my attacker, I can’t tell who it is. There are several men smirking at me, dressed in fine coats and wearing hats, rain dripping off them.
An uneasy feeling starts in the pit of my gut and I wonder if I should have brought Gwenna after all. Now that I’m looking around, I don’t see any other women.
In fact, I might be the only woman here.
That is…very interesting in a very alarming sort of way.
I draw myself up, my jaw clenched, and decide the only way to handle this is to be aggressive. I swat at men with my closed umbrella. “Step aside. I need to enter,” I declare in a loud voice. “Move it! Coming through!”
There are a few grumbles, but the crowd continues to part, letting me in. I make it to the doors, and to my surprise, I’m standing behind one of the large, horned Taurians. There’s another thing I never see at my father’s hold—the strange bull-headed people from the plains.
Well, of course there are a few Taurians who are artificers. It makes sense, doesn’t it? If a human can be an artificer, why not a Taurian? I decide to treat them like everyone else and give the man in front of me a smack on his thick arm with my umbrella handle. “Let me through!”
He growls low and angry in his throat, turning to glare at me, and the swivel of his horned head is so great that I let out a very undignified squeak and retreat, losing my balance. I stagger, arms flailing—
—only to be caught around the waist and saved by strong arms and the irritated, strange expression of another Taurian, this one with golden eyes.