The Queen of Death

15

Esprë hadn’t objected when Kandler ordered her back onto the Phoenix. Whether she thought it was the right idea or was just too stunned to object, he couldn’t tell. Either way, she had let Monja lead her back onto the airship without comment.

“Take us to Ledenstrae,” Kandler said to the dockmaster in Elven.

The dockmaster stared cold-eyed at Kandler from under his high-crested helm—a crimson feather topping its crest of polished brass—and gave Kandler a thin-lipped sneer. “My orders are to bring you all to him at once.”

Kandler’s fangsword leaped from its scabbard and parted the air just over the dockmaster’s head. The sword returned home before any of the nearby elves could even reach for their blades. The feather from the dockmaster’s helmet flipped before his eyes as it floated to the ground.

“We’ll be enough,” Kandler said.

He’d wanted to take the elf’s head off, and he’d had to fight with himself to keep it from happening. Spilling the dockmaster’s blood wouldn’t get him what he wanted: supplies and a good northerly wind to send them on their way.

The dockmaster pursed his lips as he tried not to display being impressed. “Very well,” he said, using the common tongue. His thick accent betrayed how rarely he saw fit to use the language, and from the sour look on his face it seemed to leave a rancid taste in his mouth. “Your friends will stay here.”

Kandler knew they’d be safer on the Phoenix than in Aerie. With a little luck, the airship might be able to make a clean getaway in a pinch, especially if the first rounds from the large weapons in the turrets went wide of the craft’s restraining arches. Such weapons packed a devastating punch, but they took forever to reload, and the Phoenix had proven she could take a devastating amount of punishment and still remain skyworthy.

The justicar gestured for the dockmaster to lead the way. The proud elf with the featherless helmet marched them down off the battlements and into the fortified village.

Unlike most of the wartime cities Kandler had walked through, Aerie had clean, sharp lines. Each street, building, and square had been planned out before the first stone had been laid. Everywhere the justicar looked, the best way in and out of any given area seemed painfully clear.

“Who would build such a place?” Sallah asked. “The moment invaders managed to breach the walls, they would have an easy path to every important building in the town.”

The dockmaster scoffed at the lady knight and her companions. “These walls never have been breached, and they never shall. The warriors in this region are dogs scratching at our doors—if they manage to crawl that close.”

“Tell you what,” Burch said, his eyes constantly scanning the walls and roofs for the best angles for a shot with the crossbow that hung against his back, “How about you just shut your pointy yap until we get where we’re going?”

They continued on in silence until they reached the foot of a tall building. Its ivory-colored walls soared high into the air, the top of it invisible from the street. “The ambassador’s chambers occupy the upper three floors,” the dockmaster said.

The guards standing at the building’s entrance swept aside for the dockmaster and his guests, holding open a large brass door on which an elf skeleton in exquisite robes had been carved in bas relief. Inside, a massive foyer with a high, plastered ceiling occupied the entire floor, except for a large basket set off behind a short fence created by a semicircle of ebony ropes. The dockmaster led Kandler, Burch, and Sallah to the basket and removed one of the ropes so they could climb into it.

The elf then replaced the rope, putting it between himself and the visitors. “Please give the ambassador my regards.” He glared at Burch then. “I hope we meet again, under less pleasant circumstances.”

Then the dockmaster spat out the Elven word for “up,” and the basket began to rise into the air toward a wide hole in the alabaster ceiling. The hole became a timber-lined cylinder that encased the basket like a dart in a blowgun as it ascended.

Sallah clutched Kandler’s arm as they entered the hole, the only lighting coming from the occasional doorways they passed. Each of these stood closed, though their centers featured panes of stained glass that depicted skulls, bones, and other images of death. Kandler reached out to hold the lady knight’s arm, but that seemed to bring her back to her senses. She drew her holy sword and held it aloft, its silver flames illuminating the dark shaft.

The ceiling of the shaft soon came into view, and the basket stopped shy of it, close enough that Sallah had to lower her sword to prevent scorching the plaster above. The north wall had a door in it, and as soon as the basket came to a halt, the door opened outward.

Sallah stepped out through the door, and Kandler and Burch followed her. They emerged into a magnificent room with high, vaulted ceilings. Weapons and trophies of war decorated the walls: spears, swords, bows, each tainted with blood. Skulls lifted from creatures of all sorts, from pixies on up to a bulette, hung from lacquered panels engraved with their details in a fine, elvish script.

The room let out onto a balcony, and a white-haired elf stood there in its entrance, framed in the streaming sunlight. He wore light robes of black linen that left his arms and legs exposed down to his bare feet. The contrast of the fabric against his snowy skin made him seem paler than a changeling. As he stepped into the room, his eyes seemed to glow a sickly yellow.

Kandler recognized the elf as Ledenstrae. Esprina had described her husband as looking exactly like this, and every time she had, she’d shuddered. Kandler felt a sympathetic shiver run down his spine. He missed his wife more than ever at that moment.

The justicar looked over at Sallah. He knew he would miss her too. These might well be the last few hours he would ever spend with her. Perhaps once everything with Esprë had been resolved one way or the other, he might find a way to get to Thrane. If he could make his way to Flamekeep, he knew he would be able to locate her.

“Welcome,” the elf said, raising an open hand in greeting. He addressed the justicar directly and ignored the others. “I’ve waited a long time to meet you, Kandler. I’m glad to finally have the chance. It is intriguing how destiny plays with our lives, is it not?”

“Destiny didn’t bring me here,” Kandler said. “Your dockmaster did—on your orders. I’d rather be loading up my airship right now and leaving this place behind.”

“Tour airship?” the elf said with a wry grin.

Kandler ignored the condescending tone. “So you’re an ambassador now? I always heard you were an elf of leisure.” Ledenstrae arched his brows, noting the point that Kandler had scored against him. “My family is well-connected within the political spheres in Aerenal. It had finally become time for me to put those connections to use—for the greater good of our society.”

Kandler glared at the elf. “What do you want?” Ledenstrae feigned shock. “Is it so unusual to want to meet someone with whom I have so much in common? After all, I understand we were both married to the same … lady—if I can use that term for someone who absconded to this wretched land of yours with my daughter.”

“She hated you.”

Ledenstrae smiled without a trace of warmth. “Does it matter? Ours was an arranged marriage, a union joined on behalf of our society’s interests in building wealth and good breeds, In that, it succeeded admirably—or so I’m told. After all, I haven’t seen my daughter since shortly after she was born.”

“She hasn’t missed you.”

“I think we should let her judge that for herself. I want you to bring her to me.”

“Why would I want to do that?”

Ledenstrae shrugged. “I care little for what you may want. Esprë is mine, and I intend to reassert my claim as her father and bring her back with me to Aerenal.”

“No damned way—”

Ledenstrae cut Kandler off with a wave of his hand. “Do you think your ways matter to me? You forget where you find yourself. Here, the viceroy has shown nothing but the utmost respect for me. My word is as good as law to the elves who call this outpost their home.”

Burch started to say something, but the elf cut him off. “If you can keep your mongrel there on a leash,” he said, “I will put this into simple words that your minds can digest: Give me my daughter back, or I will kill you all and pry her hands from your corpses.”