A lot can change in four years.
We all turned at the sound of the plank being lowered off the edge of the ship, followed moments later by footsteps. A thin, officious-looking man with a prudish face presented himself, followed by several Quuros Imperial soldiers.
“Captain…” The man looked at his parchment critically. “Norrino?” He mouthed the word like a distasteful obscenity.
“Norrano,” the Captain automatically corrected.
“That is what I said,” the thin man snapped. “I am Master Mivoli with the Harbor Master’s office. I will need to see your complete cargo and passenger lists.”
“Yeah, yeah,” the curly-haired ship’s captain passed over several sheets of vellum. “Whatever blows your skirt up.”
The inspector scanned down the list of names and called them out, quickly and efficiently marking people off. He passed by Teraeth’s and Tyentso’s identities without comment, but then something on the list made him blink and turn pale. I had a pretty good idea what that might be.
Master Mivoli raised his head and scanned the crew and passengers until he stopped dead at me. He swallowed.
I smiled, but he couldn’t see it, since my face was covered by a mask.
“Witchhunter Piety?”
Honestly, I’m not even sure why he felt he had to ask. Nerves, probably. My identity was not in question. I wore the black colors of House D’Lorus, including a deep hood and, in case there was any doubt, the carved wooden skull mask of the professional witchhunter. A thin gauze cloth covered the eyeholes, making it impossible to see what color my eyes might be. The rest of the outfit fell into the established theme: the coat of talismans, so covered with octagon-shaped coins they took on the look (and role) of scale armor; the belt of daggers made from different metals and alloys.*
“Yes.” I stepped forward. He took an unconscious step back.
A witchhunter had one job, after all. Even if Mivoli was legal and licensed and paid his dues to House D’Laakar strictly on time, I was still dressed up as something that nightmares were made from. I watched a determined look come over the man’s face as he gathered himself up. Mivoli’s eyes unfocused, and I knew he was looking beyond the First Veil.
And … my aura looked right. I knew it did. I’d spent weeks enchanting all these damn talismans, so many that I didn’t have enough magical power left to see beyond the First Veil myself nor cast the least spell, not even my witch gift of invisibility. Mivoli probably saw a multi-stamped aura so strong and crisp that even Relos Var would have been just a little impressed.
Except for the part where I couldn’t cast any spells.
“I’ll need your identification,” he said, and held out surprisingly steady fingers.
I was ready for this part too, and handed him a specially stamped disk of blended metal alloys that was supposedly impossible to counterfeit.
We hadn’t bothered. The real Witchhunter Piety was also a real member of the Black Brotherhood. (He was currently enjoying a well-earned vacation on Zherias.)
Master Mivoli checked the disk against his records, saw it was genuine, and waved a hand toward the docks, indicating I was free to go. He didn’t ask me what my business in the Capital was. He didn’t ask me where I was going.
The answer was already known: whatever and wherever I wanted. Witchhunters weren’t technically above the law, but the distinction was subtle.
When I disembarked, I found a Black Brotherhood carriage was already waiting (truthfully, I was almost disappointed that it wasn’t an extravagant black color), which both Teraeth and I used. Tyentso left by herself, although if everything went to plan she would be met by her own ride a block away. We didn’t waste any time giving directions that someone might overhear: our driver already knew where to go.
As soon as we were both inside the carriage, I pulled off the mask and hood and tossed both to Teraeth’s seat. “Think anyone noticed us?”
Teraeth pulled a silk agolé from one of his bags and handed it to me. One side was gold and the other side was blue. “Probably not. Our people will let us know if they spot anything.”
I took one of the daggers from my belt and started cutting the coins off my coat, staring at each one for a moment to pull back the talismanic energy before I tossed the metal out the carriage window. Some urchin was going to have a very good day. Being a witchhunter sounded like fun, but it didn’t really make someone immune to magic, just immune to certain kinds of body-affecting magic. If I wore enough talismans, a sorcerer like Gadrith wouldn’t be able to melt the flesh off my bones or turn me into a fish, but he could still electrocute me or set the air around me on fire. The witchhunters that House D’Lorus had sent after Tyentso had never lasted long.
All things considered, I’d rather be able to do some magic of my own.
“You know, I still think it would be better if we were explaining things to the High General himself,” Teraeth said. His disguise didn’t need any modification, but he preferred working with daggers. He made a motion to me to hand them over.
“Maybe.” I stopped cutting talismans free for long enough to unbuckle several braces of daggers. “But I can’t be sure High General Milligreest wouldn’t just drop me off at the Blue Palace like a trussed-up pig. I get the feeling he still thinks of me as Therin’s troublesome brat of a son, the one who can’t be trusted to tell the truth and shouldn’t be left alone with the valuables.” I paused. “Well, second-most troublesome brat. As long as Darzin’s still around, anyway.”
Teraeth traded my daggers for his sword and scabbard. “You think the High General knows that Therin’s your real father?”
I rolled my eyes. “They all knew. Qoran, Sandus, Doc if I’d gotten to know him when he was still here. Emperor Sandus once told me he considered my father a good friend. He wasn’t talking about Surdyeh.” I buckled the new belt and draped the gold-side agolé around myself before continuing my work with dismantling the talismans. I’d leave a few, because I was not an idiot.
“I could still come with—” Teraeth started to say.
“No, stick to the plan.” I checked out the window as the carriage pulled to a stop. My stop. “Meet up with Tyentso. I’ll join you as soon as I’m finished here.”
He pulled a long silvery spike out of his belt, flipped it in his hand, and put it back. “Okay. Let’s get this started.”
72: THE NEW YEAR’S FESTIVAL
(Talon’s story)
Galen looked at himself in the mirror and groaned. “What am I supposed to be?”