“No rebels here, Dragon.” The lead rider leaned back in his seat, folding his arms. “We’re all happy to follow our King’s decrees.”
Arianna snorted softly in amusement. But as much as she enjoyed seeing Cvareh put in his place, it wouldn’t solve their predicament of getting to the guild. “He speaks true. Bring us to the Vicar. If there is no new resistance brewing, harvest him for wasting your time.”
“Ari!” Cvareh hissed.
“What?” She arched her eyebrows at him. “You’re certain there is a resistance, and you’re certain that what you carry will help it. Right?” He said nothing, silently fuming. “If you are, there’s no real risk to you.”
The Alchemists looked at each other, silently debating it. The leader gave a nod to one on the wings and the girl touched a hand to her ear, covering her mouth with her hand, muttering under her breath. They were used to being around people with Dragon hearing, because she spoke so softly that not even Arianna could make out the words.
After several long minutes, she straightened, giving a nod of affirmation to her leader.
“Very well, then.” He shrugged. “Onto the trike at the end with the three of you.”
They obliged, and the vehicles were speeding through the forest at speeds befitting a Raven. Still, Arianna sat calmly. She knew these drivers had ridden through here countless times to fend off the endwig attracted to the scent of blood and carrion that always lingered around the Alchemists’ Guild hall as a result of their studies.
Her eyes drifted over to a far point, invisible through the dense forest. She wondered if the place that had been their laboratory was still black and gray, a dark spot on the living forest of magic gone wrong. Or if the Alchemists had rebuilt, and were working there anew.
She wondered, but she prayed she would never find out.
35. Florence
The wind whipped through her hair, knotting it even further than the airship crash had. It licked moisture from her eyes as she blinked into the reckless speed that would’ve made Will and Helen proud. Perhaps they should’ve come along after all.
One of the trikes to their right pulled ahead. Magic flashed around the man’s fingers, sparking flares on the ground in reply. Traps, Florence realized. Their curving and illogical route was suddenly making more sense. The ground leading up to the guild hall was riddled with traps, discouraging man and monster from wandering too close.
They crossed through a tree line into a scorched and salted section of earth. Nothing grew and dust drifted across the ground. High above, on a lower wall, men and women watched them from behind the barrels of guns.
Florence found it ironic. The guild that made the guns allowed anyone to walk through one of its six main arches that connected its sprawling campus with the city of Dortam. But the guild that merely bought the guns put the weapons to more use.
A hulking portcullis with bars four times her height rose slowly. They rode under, and through a set of metal doors that were nearly a peca thick. Dust swirled up from under the tires of the trikes as they rolled to a stop in a small inner yard. What Florence had thought was merely an outer wall proved to be a solid structure connecting to the inner tower. The inner tower rose upward beyond the edge of what Florence had perceived as a wall and then tapered off again, with the final thin column stretching high above the tallest trees in the Skeleton Forest. It reminded her of a many-tiered cake; the thought instantly made her mouth water for something sweet.
They were led through a second set of metal doors, gold lining their edges. The core of the guild was hollow. Florence couldn’t suppress a gasp as they entered the central atrium that stretched all the way to the rooftop.
Golden lifts lined the circumference, whizzing silently on the magic of their riders. It was well illuminated with the ghostly pale glow of electric lighting. With an endless supply of magic to run generators, Florence suspected that outfitting the guild for electric hadn’t been hard. But it had been recent, judging by the wires that were tacked up along the walls like copper ribbons.
“We’ll need you to leave your weapons here,” the man who had been leading them instructed.
Arianna and Cvareh exchanged a look.
“Suit yourselves.” Surprisingly, Ari didn’t put up a fight.
Florence watched as she and Cvareh passed over their pistols. Ari was out of canisters, so the weapon was useless to her. Cvareh maybe had one left, but his claws were ten times as deadly as his shot. She was surprised when Ari passed over her blades. But no one made any motion for the winch box on her hip or the spools of cabling.
Arianna’s motion gear was unorthodox even for a Raven. Rivets had a hard time deciphering it at a glance without a background of who she was and what she did. None of the Alchemists seemed to even consider the fact that she walked with a noose that could move on its own.