Noon sunlight glittered on the domes and spires of Korranberg, the oldest and one of the most important cities in the gnome nation of Zilargo, nestled among the foothills of the Seawall Mountains. From his perch at the edge of a cliff, Gaven could see the whole city spread out before him, and miles of fields stretching out to the sea. The city was a fascinating mix of old and new; the ancient buildings of the city’s great library pressed between the more recent construction of shops and markets. He was struck by how green the city looked from his vantage point—ivy clung to gracefully arched walls, gardens sprawled over spacious courtyards, and flowers burst in a rainbow of colors to celebrate spring’s height.
Behind him, Senya snorted. “Gnomes,” she said. “How do they defend this place? It’s right next to Darguun, and these mountains are full of kobolds.”
“I suspect the city isn’t as defenseless as it looks,” Gaven answered. He pointed at the city wall nearest their position. “Look at the holes along the top edge of the wall. I’d be willing to bet there’s some kind of mechanism that will pump boiling oil or acidic fire out of those holes in case of an attack. In fact, I’ll bet the jets shoot out far enough that the ivy is unharmed.”
Senya snorted again, adjusted her pack on her shoulders, and started along the winding path that would take them down the cliff and into the city. Gaven took a last look at the city and the sea then followed her down.
* * * * *
Gaven was glad he had taken the time to admire the city from a distance. From inside, the elegant spires and sprawling gardens were lost in the bustle—much of which occurred at waist level. He was not the tallest of men, but in Korranberg, making his way along streets crowded with gnomes, he felt like a giant—and he attracted about as much attention as a real giant would have. Senya only reached Gaven’s breastbone, but the majority of the people on the streets only reached her chest. Gaven noticed that she kept her arms in front of her chest as they moved through the city, and he couldn’t blame her. He kept his hands at waist level, making sure to maintain a space between himself and any nearby gnomes.
They were not the only “tallfolk,” as the gnomes referred to them, walking the streets of the city, but there were few enough that Gaven felt acutely self-conscious. As he had in Whitecliff, he found himself constantly wondering who might be watching him, ready to turn him in. Considering the Zil reputation for trafficking in secrets, he felt sure that word of his escape had reached even distant Korranberg. It was probably just a matter of time until someone identified him and summoned the authorities, so he decided to give them as little time as possible.
Trying not to attract any more attention than absolutely necessary, he seized Senya’s hand and pulled her through the streets toward the lightning rail station he’d spotted from his vantage point above the city. He would get them on a carriage and out of Korranberg before any wheels could be put in motion to stop him.
Unfortunately, their great height relative to the natives didn’t help them part the crowds on the streets. It was midday, and many people seemed to be taking a respite from the day’s work to eat, socialize, and shop. Gaven and Senya’s progress was painfully slow, but no one tried to arrest them or actively hinder their progress. The lightning rail station came into view as they rounded a corner, and Gaven let out a long sigh.
The sight of armored guards at the station sent a jolt of panic through him. He pulled Senya to a sheltered spot on the side of the street and stopped his headlong rush.
Senya fell into a ready stance, dropped a hand to her sword hilt, and stared around looking for enemies. “What is it?” she whispered.
“Relax. You’re drawing stares.”
She straightened and leaned close to him, transforming their appearance from nervous fugitives to amorous lovers. She brought her lips close and murmured, “What’s going on?”
Gaven felt his face flush, but passersby were averting their gaze, so he went along. He lowered his head to speak right in her ear. “It just occurred to me—what if Haldren gave up on finding us in Paluur Draal and came here instead? What if he had Cart or Darraun alert the authorities here? There could be Sentinel Marshals waiting for us in there. I don’t want to just stroll in.”
Senya reached behind his neck and started twirling her fingers in his hair, which seemed to him to be taking the ruse too far. “It’s not Haldren’s style,” she whispered. Her lips touched his ear, and her warm breath sent a tingle down his neck. “He’ll want to find us himself. I can’t see him relying on the Marshals or anyone else to do it for him. Besides, we know too much. If we’re captured, we could tell them about his plans and make his life very difficult. He doesn’t want us caught.”
“That makes sense. Let’s go, then.” He started to pull away.
She held him, keeping him close. “Not before you kiss me.”
“Senya.” He put his hands on her waist and pushed her back, a little less gently than before.
Her mouth was half pout, half smile as she followed him into the station.
* * * * *
“I’m sorry, master, but I can’t sell you a ticket without seeing your papers. If you’ve lost your papers, House Sivis has an outpost in the upper story where they will gladly help you replace them.”
The agent at the ticket counter was a human woman attached to the Transportation Guild, a branch of House Orien. The scions of House Orien carried the Mark of Passage, which enabled some to transport themselves instantaneously across great distances, making them ideally suited for courier work. The Transportation Guild operated caravan lines as well as the lightning rail, competing fiercely with House Lyrandar’s overseas shipping lines.
The woman was cheerful enough, but Gaven could tell that she was already calculating how to deal with him if the situation got ugly. It wasn’t until Senya produced her papers to buy her passage that Gaven had even considered this possibility, which irked him most of all. Securing new papers would be impossible. The gnomes of House Sivis, whose Notaries’ Guild issued important documents like identification papers, would send him back to Dreadhold in a heartbeat.
“Look,” Senya said beside him, tugging the neck of his shirt open, “he’s a dragonmarked member of House Lyrandar. Don’t you think you could make an exception?”
The Orien agent stared at Gaven’s huge, elaborate mark. “An heir of Siberys,” she breathed, not really speaking to them.
“Yes, I’m an heir of Siberys. I’m just trying to get to Vathirond to see my family. Can’t you help me?”
Her eyes narrowed. “House Lyrandar has an outpost here. Why not appeal to them?”
Gaven sighed, leaned on the low counter, and spoke in a low voice. “I came here to work for my cousin in the Lyrandar outpost,” he said. “But … well, it didn’t work out.” He looked meaningfully at Senya, hoping to convey some sense of scandalous behavior. “So now I’m not in any position to ask a favor from my house here—so I’ve come to House Orien.” He could see the young woman starting to soften. “And it’s not any great favor I’m asking. I’m paying for passage, after all.”
The agent’s eyes shifted between Senya and Gaven, then she gave a resolute nod. “Very well.”
Gaven smiled warmly. “Thank you so much. I’ll remember your kindness.”
Senya put down the money, and they walked toward the lightning rail. A row of decorated wooden carriages, strung together like pearls on a string, hung suspended in the air above a line of glowing blue stones set in the ground. Lightning danced between the stones and similar stones embedded in the bottoms of the carriages, giving the lightning rail its name. Even the empty air shimmered with magic.
The carriages in the rear were meant for passengers—passengers of means, who would ride in luxurious comfort. At the front of the long line, the crew cart held the bound elemental that would propel the coach in the same manner as bound elementals propelled the galleons of House Lyrandar. The conductor stones kept the carriages suspended in the air, but the elemental moved it forward, unhindered by wheels grinding against the earth.
Senya clung to his arm as they walked, evidently enjoying the ruse they had adopted, but Gaven noticed that she kept glancing behind them. After a moment, she stretched up and planted a kiss on his cheek, then whispered in his ear, “There might be a problem.”
Gaven kept walking without looking back. “What is it?”
“The agent has summoned a pair of men, half-elves I think, which might mean your house.”
“Or House Medani, which could be worse.”
“And they’re coming after us now. Pretty quickly. Yes, they’re Medani. I see the basilisk emblem now.”
Gaven quickened his pace, seizing Senya’s hand as he hustled to the waiting coach. Senya showed their tickets to the coachman as Gaven looked back. They were close—two half-elf men, as Senya had said, with the basilisk emblem of House Medani on the lapels of their long coats. The coats billowed behind them as they walked, showing the long, slender blades both men wore at their belts. Medani’s Warning Guild provided a wide range of services, from tasters employed to detect poison to inquisitives trained to root out lies. Assuming these two were the latter, Gaven hoped to avoid any contact with them.
Making sure the Medanis were watching, Gaven boarded the lightning rail coach. He saw them start to run toward the coach, then he hurried in after Senya. “Quick. Get to the front of the coach.”
Senya obliged, pushing her way past a handful of other passengers who were waiting politely to get into their private compartments. Gaven followed her, peering into the compartments they passed. Each was like a small but elegant sitting room, with three lushly upholstered chairs, a small table, and walls paneled with matching mahogany.
At the far end, a door led into the next coach forward. Gaven checked over his shoulder again. One of the Medani agents caught his eye and held up a hand. Gaven nudged Senya forward, and they went through the door.
“Master Lyrandar!” Gaven heard the agent call.
“Off the coach,” Gaven told Senya. “Now.”
She pushed her way through more boarding passengers then paused at the bottom of the stairs, looking back at Gaven for more instructions.
“Stop them!” one of the agents shouted.
Gaven took off at a run. He moved toward the crew cart at the front of the lightning rail. Senya’s boots clomped on the marble tile behind him, and shouts arose farther behind them. Seeing Gaven’s size and bulk, the passengers and House Orien workers in his path stepped out of his way, rather than obeying the Medani agents’ orders to stop him. One man looked like he might try to stop Senya, but Gaven heard Senya’s sword slide from its sheath, and her footfalls didn’t falter behind him.
They reached the cart immediately behind the crew cart, and Gaven threw himself beneath it, hoping Senya would follow. He scurried forward on his hands and knees, crawling between two columns of sparking lightning that danced between the conductor stones, then Senya crashed into him. Lightning erupted around him, connecting the two conductor stones and arcing up around the cart. The force of Senya’s body sent him hurtling forward along the underside of the cart, propelling him between two more pairs of orbs, sending up three more bolts of lightning before he managed to roll free to the other side of the cart.
The lightning had knocked the wind out of him, and he lay on the hard floor for a moment trying to catch his breath. Senya ran and fell to her knees beside him.
“Ten Seas! Are you hurt?”
He still couldn’t speak, but he sat up in answer. She scrambled to her feet and grabbed his arm to help him stand.
“Now what?” Senya’s voice was frantic, and there was a commotion coming from the other side of the cart.
Gaven pointed weakly at the cart they’d come under. Senya seized his hand and dragged him to the door of the cart.
His nerves started to reawaken, and they screamed in protest.
They had climbed aboard the steerage cart, where dozens of people—gnomes, goblins, orcs, humans, and a very subdued-looking minotaur whose horns had been sawed off—squeezed onto narrow benches. These were people who couldn’t or didn’t want to pay standard fares, which would have entitled them to comfortable seats, sleeper bunks, and meals in the galley cart. Here they could get where they needed to at a fraction of the cost, but they had to endure close quarters—increasingly close as the lightning rail made its way through Zilargo and into Breland, picking up more passengers on the way—and sleep in their seats.
Gaven led Senya to the empty seats near the minotaur, and he felt the cart lurch forward as the lightning rail started its journey. He collapsed on a bench, while Senya crouched beside him.
“Well, they didn’t keep us in the station,” she whispered. “So did we leave them behind? Or did they come back aboard to search for us on the carts?”
“I guess we’ll find out,” Gaven said. Pain started to cloud his vision. He closed his eyes, feeling consciousness swirling and slipping away.
* * * * *
“Gaven?” Senya’s voice was close and urgent. Gaven fought to open his eyes. The pain had diminished, though one shard of it seemed to have traveled to between his eyes and taken up residence there. His dreams had been echoes of what his body had endured—lightning coursing through his body—though in the dream there had been a taste of exhilaration in the midst of the pain.
Senya had disguised herself as best she could—her leather coat was stowed somewhere, replaced by a more or less formless linen shift. She had pulled her hair back into a short ponytail that made her look almost like a young human girl—except for the shape of her ears and eyes. Her sword was nowhere to be seen, though Gaven couldn’t imagine that it was far from her reach.
“How are you feeling?” she said.
“Well enough. Head’s pounding a little.” He winced as he spoke. “A lot.”
She held a waterskin to his mouth and poured some water in. It was warm but clean, and it helped the pounding in his head.
“I’ve walked every cart,” she said. “I didn’t see the men who were chasing us. Vond says that a couple of Orien men came in here while I was gone, but he made sure they never laid eyes on you.”
“Vond?”
Senya pointed behind him, and Gaven turned slowly around. The minotaur was planted on the bench behind him, staring fixedly at the door that led to the next cart back.
“This is Vond,” Senya said. “Vond, this is Gaven.”
“Know that,” the minotaur growled, not shifting his eyes from the doorway.
“Nice to meet you,” Gaven said, feeling awkward. Vond didn’t respond in any way, so Gaven turned back to Senya, arching an eyebrow at her.
“Vond has been very helpful, keeping an eye on you while you slept,” Senya said. “Not to mention scaring the Oriens away.”
“I can imagine,” Gaven muttered.
“Anyway, I think we’re safe.”
“Safe? Maybe until we get to Zolanberg. Then they’ll send a team of inquisitives or Sentinel Marshals or gnome soldiers or something to search every cart until they find us. Seems to me we’re trapped. But at least we’re safe here in this cozy little cage.”
“How far to Zolanberg?” Senya asked.