Xandera raised her hand. “Isn’t a city much, much bigger?”
Adane laughed. “Yes. True. But it feels strange to call LastRock a village. And you are…?”
“Me?” Xandera smiled widely. “I’m royalty.”
Belladonna, an olive-skinned woman whose dark curls hid tints of red, chuckled tiredly. “No, he means you rank, maybe even your class.”
“Oh!” Xandera’s eyes widened. “I’m not a Great Soul! I’m Xandera, a blazeborn.”
Both guards froze.
Scorio stepped forward. “It’s alright. She’s with me.”
Adane tore his eyes away to focus on Scorio. “And… you are?”
“Pyre Lord Scorio.” It still felt strange to say it. “Class of 873.”
His introduction had an immediate effect on both Tomb Sparks. “Pyre Lord Scorio?” Adane’s astonishment was almost comical. “Oh, damn! I mean, welcome to LastRock, sir, it’s an honor to be the one to greet you. Pyre Lord Moira has asked to be notified the moment you arrive in case you don’t intend to drop in on her, but she’d -”
His companion, Belladonna, put a hand on his shoulder and Adane took a deep breath.
“Welcome, Pyre Lord.” Belladonna’s tone was far calmer. “Everybody has heard of your deeds. We’re indebted to you for helping finally defeat the True Fiend.”
“That’s what I was going to say,” muttered Adane.
“You’re welcome.” Scorio didn’t want to linger. “Anything I need to know before I head in?”
“No, sir. Pyre Lady Moira has asked that we offer to escort you to her. Blood Barons Charoth and Aezryna left for the Emerald Reach a week ago, so she is the current authority in the city. Would you like an escort now?”
Scorio glanced at Lianshi, who shrugged. “Sure.”
“Very well. Adane, hold the fort?”
“I’ll… yeah. Of course. It’s an honor, Pyre Lord.”
“Thank you,” said Scorio again, catching himself before he insisted the man just call him by his name. Xandera beamed, thrilled at the reception, and Belladonna led them through the shattered walls, leaving the rest of the travelers behind.
“Do you need some help with your bags?” asked the Tomb Spark, glancing back at Scorio.
Who glanced at his heavy pack and the small wagon he was pulling behind him. “No, I’m fine. Thanks.”
The walls were huge. Easily three or four yards thick, but something had ruptured them and sent boulders flying. They picked their way through the ruins, and stepped out at last into LastRock proper.
Everything was either the dull gray of stone or dusty beige. It was as if all color had been leached away. The flat-roofed buildings were blocky and as brutally built as the walls, with the windows narrow and the doorways slender. A main avenue ran from the gatehouse to the center of the city, where a huge pile of rocks intimated at something that might have once been the city center. Most of the houses were tumbled down, their absurdly thick walls shattered, but here and there he saw a few that had escaped the ruination.
Firelight flickered in those windows, and the smell of cooking meat drifted along in the arid air. Awnings and tents were as much in evidence as occupied buildings, and it gave the fortress the air of a refugee camp.
Belladonna led them down the main avenue, greeting people and smiling as they called out to her, but never stopping to engage in conversation or answer curious looks. Scorio thought he saw some familiar faces, but didn’t want to make eye contact so mostly kept his gaze straight ahead and unfocused.
It was a strange place, and not just because it was battered to the point of near complete destruction. Scorio realized that he’d come to associate cities with people, but there were no shops here, no children running and laughing, no elders seated on stoops, no sign of a marketplace or anything else that felt normal.
Everyone here was a Tomb Spark or higher, with most probably being Flame Vaults. Which meant that everyone was roughly the same age, in their very early twenties, and everyone a warrior.
The atmosphere in LastRock thus was one of wary professionalism. Nobody shouted, nobody laughed. People either stood in knots, conversing in low tones, or strode purposefully about some personal business. Here and there work crews were busy repairing the city, with Great Souls using disparate powers to manage the ruins.
And everywhere he looked he saw signs of Jova. Her directness, her manner, her style. Lianshi had explained to Xandera during their voyage that Jova had twice ruled the fortress, and the last time had done so for over a decade, reshaping it with her powers to make it what it now was. And he could believe it. There was no subtlety, no refinement, no architectural follies or concessions to beauty. Everything was, or had once been, purposefully built, with the streets laid out in a grid. The few buildings that had been wholly spared destruction were eminently defensible, and the cumulative effect was to feel as if he’d stepped into Jova’s private domain.
Not that she seemed to want it any longer.
The central building was too badly demolished to be of use, so Moira had claimed a relatively smaller edifice right next to it. High walled, flat-roofed, it alone sported decoration in the form of blue tiles that edged the windows and entrances. Scorio had expected busy traffic to be streaming in and out the main doorway as Moira controlled her new empire, but everything was quiet.
Belladonna led them through the main archway and into the shadowed interior. The ceilings were high, the walls bare, the large square clay tiles underfoot cracked. But all was clean and swept, and what sparse furniture was in evidence was freshly built from wood and canvas.
A large block of smooth stone ran down the center of the main hall and served as the central table. Smooth and polished, it was clearly a recent addition, its surface already covered with tidy piles of papers, neat stacks of books, and with four writing stations set forth at which different Great Souls were at work.
Moira sat at the hall’s far end, sipping from a glass mug that held sepia-colored water. Ravenna sat across from her, perched on the edge of her seat, a scroll unrolled upon her lap.
Everyone ceased their work and conversation as Belladonna led the trio into the room.
“Hello, everyone. Pyre Lord Scorio is here, along with Xandera of the blazeborns. And Lianshi, obviously.”
Lianshi winked at Belladonna, who clearly knew her from before.
“Scorio!” Moira set her cup aside and rose to her feet. “You came.”
“Hello, Moira.” He nodded his thanks to Belladonna, who had taken a step back to leave. “Much appreciated.”
Ravenna also stood, her eyes wide, and the trio of Great Souls who’d been at work at the table glanced back and forth, then rose as one and filed out of the chamber. Scorio reckoned Moira had messaged them privately.
“This place is so interesting,” said Xandera, entering the hall proper and looking around with avid curiosity. “Big and broken and empty. Why are you all here? It doesn’t even seem that safe.”
“Moira, Ravenna, meet Xandera.” Scorio couldn’t help but grin. “One of them, at any rate.”
Xandera shot him an annoyed look, but turned as Moira approached her.
“Be welcome in LastRock, Xandera. I recognize that we Great Souls have a challenging history with the blazeborns, but I hope we can begin a new era of cooperation and mutual assistance.”
Xandera drew herself up, and much of her girlishness seemed to fall away. “It is so. Your kind were content to allow my own to labor as slaves while it suited you. But I appreciate your not trying to hide from that truth. I am friends with Scorio. It seems he is friends with you. Therefor I shall accept your words in the spirit I believe they were intended.”
Moira bowed her head. “Thank you.” She straightened and smiled at Scorio. “And there you stand.”
Scorio didn’t know how to respond to that, so he simply unshouldered his huge pack and set it down. “Nice building you’ve got here.”