Cyreena said. Her mouth twisted angrily. ‘A wasted gesture on her part, when there are many in Dorminia that require her aid.’
‘Be sure to raise the point after you’ve relayed to her my warning,’ said Eremul. He knew Cyreena despised Thelassa’s Magelord – the White Lady had after all succeeded in offing her master – but he didn’t want the woman jeopardizing the delivery of his message. The one-time Augmentor had lost none of her self-assurance following Salazar’s death. For that, he had to admit to a grudging admiration. Augmentors that had been severed from their bondmagic often went insane.
Though, I suppose one might ask how you can break the mind of someone who is already a thousand glittering shards of crazy.
He was suddenly reminded of the Grand Regent’s words – the accusation that he himself was a loony, and his subsequent ignoble departure from the Grand Council Chamber. He would never be permitted to return to the Obelisk. Furthermore, if he didn’t keep a low profile, a permanent visit to the tower’s dungeons seemed a distinct possibility. Timerus was known to be a petty, vengeful little man.
In that, I suspect, we are alike.
‘Are you sure the harbourmaster’s office will be open?’ Sasha asked. She looked decidedly worse for wear. Her eyes were blurred from lack of sleep and, if Eremul was any judge, moon dust comedown. He had experimented with narcotics himself during his lowest ebbs but found them all wholly underwhelming. Nothing could compare with the thrill of magic dancing through one’s veins.
‘I’ve lived here for thirteen years,’ the Halfmage replied. He swallowed the barbed comment he was about to make, a reminder about the boat he had arranged for her and her unlikely band of companions scarce two months past. There was no need to bring up the Wailing Rift again.
A few minutes later they arrived at the docks. The harbour was ghostly quiet compared with the previous morning. The Thelassan ships had all departed and were now sailing west, crossing the Broken Sea towards the Endless Ocean. The few ships that were left, the remains of Dorminia’s once-great armada, were a sorry sight to behold.
‘It stinks of fish,’ Cyreena complained.
‘I can’t smell a thing,’ Sasha replied, rubbing at her nose. Eremul looked from one sister to the other. It was easy to see the resemblance now. Cyreena was ten years older, her hair blonde rather than the dark brown of her sister’s, but the similarities were obvious. It was the eyes where they truly differed. Sasha’s held a sadness unaccountably deep for one so young, yet there was also a sparkle there that even recent events had not entirely dulled. Cyreena’s stare, on the other hand, carried nothing but deep malice. By Eremul’s reckoning, she was a sociopath.
‘Those warehouses store the fishermen’s haul,’ the Halfmage explained, gesturing to a huddle of huge wooden buildings covered in bird shit. ‘Whatever they can dredge up from the Broken Sea. The fishermen’s catch grows smaller with each passing year.’
‘There are men up there,’ Sasha whispered, pointing to the roofs of the warehouses. Figures milled around, crossbows at the ready.
‘Crimson Watchmen,’ Eremul said. ‘Famine is coming. Fresh fish will soon be a luxury only the rich can afford. There will be rioting in the streets.’
Even as they made their way towards the harbourmaster’s office, they passed beggars covered in rags and streetwalkers soliciting the handful of longshoremen that worked the docks this early hour. Cyreena’s expression suggested she would like to drown the women in the harbour.
The offices were located in a smaller building set back a little from the waterfront. ‘Let me do the talking,’ Eremul said, allowing his gaze to linger sternly on Cyreena.
He pushed open the door and wheeled himself into the reception area. This early in the morning it was thankfully deserted, with the exception of a
‘Be sure to raise the point after you’ve relayed to her my warning,’ said Eremul. He knew Cyreena despised Thelassa’s Magelord – the White Lady had after all succeeded in offing her master – but he didn’t want the woman jeopardizing the delivery of his message. The one-time Augmentor had lost none of her self-assurance following Salazar’s death. For that, he had to admit to a grudging admiration. Augmentors that had been severed from their bondmagic often went insane.
Though, I suppose one might ask how you can break the mind of someone who is already a thousand glittering shards of crazy.
He was suddenly reminded of the Grand Regent’s words – the accusation that he himself was a loony, and his subsequent ignoble departure from the Grand Council Chamber. He would never be permitted to return to the Obelisk. Furthermore, if he didn’t keep a low profile, a permanent visit to the tower’s dungeons seemed a distinct possibility. Timerus was known to be a petty, vengeful little man.
In that, I suspect, we are alike.
‘Are you sure the harbourmaster’s office will be open?’ Sasha asked. She looked decidedly worse for wear. Her eyes were blurred from lack of sleep and, if Eremul was any judge, moon dust comedown. He had experimented with narcotics himself during his lowest ebbs but found them all wholly underwhelming. Nothing could compare with the thrill of magic dancing through one’s veins.
‘I’ve lived here for thirteen years,’ the Halfmage replied. He swallowed the barbed comment he was about to make, a reminder about the boat he had arranged for her and her unlikely band of companions scarce two months past. There was no need to bring up the Wailing Rift again.
A few minutes later they arrived at the docks. The harbour was ghostly quiet compared with the previous morning. The Thelassan ships had all departed and were now sailing west, crossing the Broken Sea towards the Endless Ocean. The few ships that were left, the remains of Dorminia’s once-great armada, were a sorry sight to behold.
‘It stinks of fish,’ Cyreena complained.
‘I can’t smell a thing,’ Sasha replied, rubbing at her nose. Eremul looked from one sister to the other. It was easy to see the resemblance now. Cyreena was ten years older, her hair blonde rather than the dark brown of her sister’s, but the similarities were obvious. It was the eyes where they truly differed. Sasha’s held a sadness unaccountably deep for one so young, yet there was also a sparkle there that even recent events had not entirely dulled. Cyreena’s stare, on the other hand, carried nothing but deep malice. By Eremul’s reckoning, she was a sociopath.
‘Those warehouses store the fishermen’s haul,’ the Halfmage explained, gesturing to a huddle of huge wooden buildings covered in bird shit. ‘Whatever they can dredge up from the Broken Sea. The fishermen’s catch grows smaller with each passing year.’
‘There are men up there,’ Sasha whispered, pointing to the roofs of the warehouses. Figures milled around, crossbows at the ready.
‘Crimson Watchmen,’ Eremul said. ‘Famine is coming. Fresh fish will soon be a luxury only the rich can afford. There will be rioting in the streets.’
Even as they made their way towards the harbourmaster’s office, they passed beggars covered in rags and streetwalkers soliciting the handful of longshoremen that worked the docks this early hour. Cyreena’s expression suggested she would like to drown the women in the harbour.
The offices were located in a smaller building set back a little from the waterfront. ‘Let me do the talking,’ Eremul said, allowing his gaze to linger sternly on Cyreena.
He pushed open the door and wheeled himself into the reception area. This early in the morning it was thankfully deserted, with the exception of a
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