Barandas bowed his head. ‘I will, my lord.’
Salazar nodded. ‘I will detain you no longer.’ He paused for a moment. ‘Your dedication is appreciated, Supreme Augmentor.’
Barandas almost gasped. One learned to expect many things from a Magelord, but gratitude was not among them. For the second time in his life, he had been handed a precious gift by the master of Dorminia.
City of Towers
The Lady’s Luck docked in Thelassa four days after setting out from the Swell. The weather had held and the ship made good time. Although Cole was confined to a small cabin under the silent watch of one of the crew, he had found the journey almost pleasant when compared with the torturous conditions aboard the Redemption.
The door of his cabin creaked open a fraction and the guard peered into the room. ‘We have arrived. Follow me,’ she said. Cole got up from the tiny bed and followed her out of the cabin and up onto the deck. The sight that greeted him caused him to stop abruptly.
Cole had never travelled much beyond Dorminia’s walls, but he had often spoken with merchants and others who had visited the City of Towers. Their tales had seemed wild and impossible at the time.
They didn’t seem so far-fetched now.
Where Dorminia slumped in a chaotic mass of buildings shoved together so haphazardly that they seemed likely to collapse in a shower of grey stone, Thelassa was a soaring testament to the vision of the most skilled architects of the Age of Strife. Delicate towers reached for the clouds, framing wide avenues of white marble that gleamed in the morning sun. Lining the flawless streets were trees and shrubbery cultivated into wondrous shapes: griffins and unicorns and other beasts that were said to have roamed the world before the Godswar. Now the forests north and west of the Trine held nothing but scattered game, and even they were beginning to disappear.
‘It’s like a dream,’ he whispered, awestruck. He despised Salazar more than ever then, for his grey city and the grim, tyrannical rule that bled the life from his subjects. Here, in this place, was proof that humanity was not beyond redemption.
‘Get your hands off me, you pox-ridden whore,’ snarled an angry voice, and he turned to see Three-Finger being prodded along the ramp connecting the ship to the docking platform where he waited.
‘You’re alive!’ Cole exclaimed. He couldn’t keep the grin off his face. The other man looked up and grunted in acknowledgment. Others survivors from the Redemption began to emerge onto the deck, but before he could identify individual faces a firm hand took hold of his arm and pulled him around.
He gasped. The grip was ridiculously strong and unnaturally cold. The hand withdrew almost immediately, but it left a burning pain where it had touched his flesh. He looked up into the face of the pale woman who had addressed him when he had first regained consciousness aboard The Lady’s Luck. Cole had come to understand she was the ship’s captain.
‘You will accompany me to the White Lady,’ she said. ‘Please do not try to escape. You would not get far and the consequences would be unpleasant.’
Cole rubbed at his arm. The woman’s touch had left him feeling slightly nauseous. ‘I’m on your side,’ he said reproachfully. ‘I despise Salazar. Nothing would please me more than to see him brought down.’
The captain stared back at him with a blank expression. ‘That is for my mistress to judge. Keep close to me. The palace is not far.’
Cole did as he was ordered, trailing the captain as they passed down a broad promenade lined with oak and elm; at an intersection they branched off to the right, cutting through the shadow of a pair of large humanoid statues with the heads of bulls.
The sense of wonder that had filled him on seeing the city for the first time had turned to awe. He inhaled deeply, marvelling at the myriad floral scents that filled his nostrils instead of the stench of human effluence that permeated the Grey City.
How have they managed it? A city the size of Dorminia, yet it smells like a garden.
They passed men and women who glanced at them curiously. Rather than the scowls that were a permanent feature of most Dorminians, the faces of these Thelassans wore content expressions. One man smiled, bowing slightly to the captain of The Lady’s Luck. Cole noticed other women like her, pale as ghosts and with eyes that seemed to lack any hint of colour. All of them wore the long white robes of their order.
He glanced up often as they walked, admiring the towers that rose majestically into the sky. They were tall, thin structures, rendering the Obelisk an ugly and stunted thing in comparison. He concluded that they must belong to the nobility and ruling classes. However, unlike Dorminia, where the Noble Quarter was strictly sequestered from the rest of the city, here small residences and towers stood side by side. Even the humblest buildings were attractively designed, constructed from the white marble that comprised the vast majority of Thelassa’s buildings.
They passed close to a modest estate with angelic effigies smiling beatifically down upon them. For a moment Cole thought he heard the sounds of crying from within. The captain quickened her step and they were soon out of range.
Eventually they approached the centre of the city. The passing crowds thinned and in their place stood Sumnian warriors wearing leather vests and carrying swords, spears and other weapons of war. Cole couldn’t help but stare at the soldiers, who were blacker of skin than even the darkest Gharzian merchants that sometimes visited Dorminia.
There were hundreds of them. They patrolled the streets with furrowed brows, clearly impatient to see to some action — a direct contrast to the placid Thelassans, who kept their distance. The woman who had guarded his cabin back on The Lady’s Luck noticed his confusion.
‘You are surprised to see so many foreigners here. These Sumnians are my mistress’s hired swords. They are unmatched in the arts of war. Dorminia has no hope of withstanding them.’
Cole was inclined to agree. Dorminia’s Augmentors were an elite force, ruthless and deadly, but they were few in number. The Crimson Watch was little more than a collection of thugs and degenerates. Against an army of Sumnians, they would crumble like sand.
‘The palace is close at hand,’ said the captain just ahead of him. ‘You will show humility in the presence of our glorious mistress. Bow down and avert your gaze until you are asked to do otherwise. And do not speak unless you are commanded.’
Cole nodded in response. Yet again fate had intervened to put him on the path to his ultimate destiny. He was certain the White Lady would be impressed by this brave young rebel marching into the palace and pledging his blade to her cause.
He reached down for Magebane, a split second before he remembered, yet again, that it was in the hands of Brodar Kayne.
With a sigh, he ran a hand through his hair and prepared for an audience with the fabled White Lady of Thelassa.
‘You’ve prostrated yourself for quite long enough.’
He straightened, managing not to wince at the sudden lancing pain in his bruised ribs. His eyes were immediately drawn to the figure upon the ivory throne on the raised dais in the centre of the chamber. Sunlight filtered through a window set high in the arched ceiling directly overhead, bathing her in a radiant glow. His breath caught in his chest.
The White Lady wore an exquisite gown of the palest silk, so translucent he fancied he could see her curves beneath the fabric. Her platinum-blond hair was light enough to appear almost silver and framed a face so perfect the finest sculptors would have wept gazing upon it. Her skin was as flawless as the marble beneath his feet. He stood there, mouth agape, transfixed by her unearthly beauty.