Someone Else Was Guarding

Dawn reached the roofs as they left Kolat Towers behind.

Lysaerra walked beside Rishi with her hand resting on his forearm. At the first crossing she stopped and looked up. Between the buildings, the sky had begun to turn blue.

He waited with her. Mud cooled inside his wraps, and the dressing at his thigh pulled whenever he straightened that leg. He shifted his weight without moving the arm beneath her hand. His other sleeve had stiffened against the burn.

Maeril stood a few paces ahead, watching the empty crossing. Manshoon’s staff rested against her shoulder, wrapped in cloth. Grim came up behind them and squinted at the tower roofs.

“Ugly place,” he said.

“You worked there,” Maeril said.

“It was ugly then.”

A shutter opened above the street. Lysaerra’s fingers tightened, then withdrew from Rishi’s arm. She held both bandaged wrists against her chest.

“We can wait here,” Rishi said.

She looked toward the window. A man in a nightshirt leaned out, examined the sky, and disappeared again.

“Where are we going?” Lysaerra asked.

“The Spires of the Morning. There is someone expecting us.”

“A priest?”

“One who has agreed to be useful,” Maeril said.

Lysaerra looked at Maeril, then offered Rishi her hand again. They crossed together.

The streets grew busier as they went. Rishi guided her around a baker’s delivery without hurrying her. When a cart rattled too close, Maeril moved into its path until the driver drew his horse aside. Afterward she leaned on the wrapped staff for several steps. Her left foot dragged once before she lifted it clear.

By the time the Spires rose above the houses, Rishi could feel Lysaerra’s weight increasing on his arm. He led her to a low stone step beside a shuttered perfumer’s shop. “We are nearly there. Sit for a moment.”

She lowered herself carefully.

Grim stopped beside the shop and folded his arms. “I am not going inside.”

Maeril turned toward him. “Do you object to incense?”

“Priests. Questions. People smiling while they decide whether I can be salvaged.”

“I have encountered that service.”

He held out his hand. “I would like my book.”

Maeril regarded him.

“The signed book,” Grim said. “Personal property. Emotionally significant. Deeply embarrassing in the hands of the wrong bastard.”

“I think I will keep it.”

His hand lowered. “You promised to keep it dry.”

“I did. Returning it is a separate negotiation.”

Grim looked down at her pack, then back at her face. “Bring it back someday.”

She nodded. “Keep yourself available.”

He glanced at Rishi. Rishi inclined his head, and the orc answered with an awkward movement of his own before turning down the side street.

After several paces, he called back. “Tell Volo I survived if he asks.”

“That would encourage him,” Maeril answered.

His rough laugh carried back between the houses. Lysaerra lifted her head to follow the sound, then put her feet beneath her.

Rishi offered his arm.

Dawn-Canon Mereth Asterfall opened the side door of the Spires. Her gaze passed over Lysaerra’s wrists and Rishi’s muddy dressings, then settled on Maeril’s face. “The room is ready. Come this way.”

Lysaerra stopped at the threshold. Rishi felt her weight draw back.

Mereth stepped away from the door. “There is somewhere to sit, and something to eat. You need not attend a service.”

Lysaerra studied the passage beyond her. Then she crossed.

Mereth led them past the entrance to the Great Hall and into a quieter corridor. Warm bread lay beneath the smell of lamp oil and incense. A young novice stood outside a study with blankets in her arms.

“Marienth will remain nearby,” Mereth said. “Ask her for water, food, a healer, or a messenger. She will see that you are not disturbed.”

Three cushioned pallets lay between the study’s low shelves. Clean linen stood beside a basin, and a kettle steamed near the covered brazier. Morning light reached the edge of a narrow window.

Maeril lowered her pack beside the nearest pallet. “I did not expect sleeping with the Morninglord to look so luxurious.”

“You may direct any complaints to me after you have slept.”

Rishi helped Lysaerra sit. Her fingers had gone stiff around his sleeve; he waited while she released them.

“May I check that the bandages have not tightened?” Rishi asked.

She nodded and held out her wrists. He eased one turn of linen where it had gathered against the swelling. The wounds had not bled through. He checked her fingertips, then set a cup where she could reach it without bending. “You can rest now. No one needs an answer from you.”

Lysaerra looked at the water. “What if I remember?”

Maeril stopped unfastening her boot.

Rishi stayed beside the pallet. “Then it belongs to you first.”

Lysaerra rubbed one thumb over the rim of the cup. She drank, set it down, and lay back with her boots still on. Mereth brought a blanket. Before she spread it, she waited for Lysaerra’s small nod.

Rishi rose slowly. Mereth drew him and Maeril toward the door, keeping her voice low. “Has there been word from Elisa?”

“We came straight here,” Rishi said. “Have any of them returned?”

“Not yet. I will have word brought to you as soon as they do.”

Maeril rested the wrapped staff against the wall. “The Order needs to go to Kolat Towers. Gondafrey is guarding the sanctum’s entrance, with six prisoners and Manshoon’s records. Duhlark is still loose, under her watch. Three more guards are bound in the main tower’s storeroom.”

She took the separately wrapped ring from her pouch and gave it to Mereth. “For the circle at the top of the outer tower. Whoever goes must speak to Gondafrey before approaching the spellbook downstairs. Its guardian is still there.”

“I will send to Senior Magist Protector Dathar through someone I trust.” Her eyes moved to Rishi. “And Manshoon?”

“He is dead.”

Mereth looked back at Lysaerra. The woman’s eyes were closed, but her hand still gripped the blanket. “The rest can wait until you have slept.”

She set bread and a small dish of butter on the table before leaving. Rishi ate standing beside it, discovering how badly his hands shook when he tried to tear the crust. Maeril took the loaf, broke off a piece, and put it in his hand.

“Sit down before you make caring for you an architectural problem,” Maeril said.

He sat. She ate beside him with her injured leg stretched out, the staff within reach.

Afterward Rishi cleaned the burn on his upper arm. Maeril held the fresh dressing in place while he bound it, then worked her boot loose and lay down. Lysaerra’s breathing had begun to settle.

Rishi went to the window. Kitchen smoke lifted into the light. Elisa should have been here to complain about the bread, or to take half of it to someone in the next room. He listened for footsteps in the corridor.

“They know where we are, Rish,” Maeril said.

He turned. She had one arm over her face.

“I know.”

“Then come away from the window.”

He lay on the third pallet. Beyond the door, Marienth moved her chair closer to the wall. Rishi listened to the scrape, then to the quiet that followed it, until he no longer had to keep his eyes open.