"You've been a hired blade, Crowe, right?" He nodded. "You've been working on the same task as I have, but now it's finished." He repeated the nod. "So, it strikes me that you're now a blade for hire."
"Now, you're not going to suggest you want to hire me? Haven't I mentioned my dislike of the Faith?"
"You've mentioned feeling similarly about both the Faith and the Brotherhood. You did a job for them, you can do a job for us."
"Since when did the Swords need the likes of me?"
"You're a smuggler and I may need to be smuggled into Freedom. I'll pay you a stipend out of the late Kurt Stoll's funds."
"Where you're going, it'll cost the lot."
"What's the price of a soul?" she murmured under her breath.
CHAPTER 14
The journey to Andon had been quite relaxing this time. Various of Pontaine's military factions were patrolling in case of more goblin incursions, but most of the travellers they passed were merchant caravans with mercenary escorts
She and Crowe made their way into the city and up to the walled Faith complex that was dominated by the cathedral. They were greeted at the door by Marta DeZantez.
Marta took a half step back, looking Gabriella up and down. "My daughter, I didn't expect you back so soon."
"I'm afraid that this isn't just a social visit mother. I'm here to make use of the archive."
"Well, you're more than welcome." Marta let go of her daughter, and looked at Crowe. "Who…?"
"This is Travis Crowe," Gabriella said. "He's working with me."
"The hired help," Crowe supplied helpfully. He stuck out a hand. "Pleased to meet you, missus." Marta shook his hand with a bemused look, then led the way through a dim archway into a high-ceilinged room filled with the musk of paper.
Two men were examining a thick leather-bound volume in an ante-room when Gabriella and Crowe passed through. Both wore the simple, comfortable robes of scholars, but the muscles on their forearms were thickly corded.
One of the men was swarthy, with a neat beard and oiled hair tied into a ponytail. The other, slightly taller, man was clean-shaven and had lank hair. Both carried themselves like warriors and Gabriella wondered if they were members of Pontaine's nobility.
"Excellent," Chaga said, pretending to study the book they had laid on the lectern between them. "So, this is Sister DeZantez. She's not how I imagined her. Somehow I expected a mannish, raven-haired banshee."
"If she recognises either of us, you may see her as a banshee yet, boss."
"Don't worry," Chaga reassured his subordinate. "The last thing we want on our hands is a fight here in the Faith's largest embassy to Pontaine."
Crowe seemed professional enough as mercenaries went and Marta sensed she could trust him to do Gabriella no harm. She looked over at the two scholars in the anteroom. Something about them set her teeth on edge, but she couldn't say why.
"Was there anything specific you were looking for?" She asked Gabriella.
"I wondered if there are any records here detailing the actions of Mandrian's Hands in the last war."
Marta shook her head. "All the military records were taken back to the Order's central archive at Scholten."
"But weren't there copies?"
"Those were taken away a year or more back. On the orders of one of the Eminences. Kesar or Rhodon." She frowned. "Kesar, definitely."
Gabriella was visibly disappointed, but took it well. "Okay. No matter. The second thing I'm looking for may be related to a story you used to tell me. Have you heard of the Glass Mountain?"
"The Glass Mountain? Now that's a tale I've not heard in many years."
"But you do remember it?"
Marta chuckled. "Gabriella, you know that if there's a tale, I've heard of it." Different stories give different locations for it, and each story and setting has a different origin. The Tale of Wyngarde claims that the Dwarven people once had a great capital which glowed in the sunlight because it was made of cut-crystal glass, for example. That story is the most common one."
"Was Wyngarde a creation of fiction or did he actually exist?"
"Wyngarde certainly was a real person. He was a Preceptor in the Swords a couple of centuries ago. There will be records of his duties and campaigns kept at the Great Cathedral in Scholten, of course, but all I have here are the public tales as written down, because his Preceptory was in Gargas."
"Are there any maps of his travels?" Gabriella asked.
Marta blinked. "You know, there just might be. I haven't thought about it since you grew up…" She trailed off as she rooted through several large scrolls, before brandishing one with an exclamation. "This is the one." She unrolled it on a table, weighting the corners down with candlesticks. The map showed the Western regions of Pontaine, down to the World's Ridge and the edges of the great Sardenne forest.
It was there, just as Gabriella had hoped. A jagged fang drawn on vellum, and labelled 'Glass Mountain'. It was tucked away at the south-western end of the World's Ridge, just inland.
"Can we make a copy of this?" Gabriella asked.
"Of course. While I get one of the scribes to work on it, why don't you join us for dinner?"
The thought of the warmth and welcome of her parent's home was so overwhelming to Gabriella, after all that she had been through, that she began to cry.
"Gabriella, my sweet, what's the matter?"
"It's Erak… Erak's dead."
And with that Gabriella wept in her mother's arms.
Later that evening, Travis Crowe asked Marta for a word in private.
"Well?" She said, after leading him to her study. "What do you want to talk to me about?"
"I- How do I start?" He wasn't used to visiting women's mothers, if truth be told. He wasn't even sure why he was bothering, except that having fought together with Gabriella gave them a bond. That, and the voice that still whispered "protect" in his head. He knew it wasn't referring to her, but he also knew there was a connection between Gabriella and what the voice referred to.
Marta folded her arms and looked at him expectantly.
"At the beginning. Stories usually start there."
"Something happened recently, when Erak Brand was killed."
"If you need to ask about why someone is upset when a special person in her life is murdered, then you're far beyond any help I could give you."
Crowe grimaced. "The bloke who did it, Dai Batsen, was a Shadowmage."
Marta spat. "I heard. Another one of those debased heretics who think they can bargain with the spawn of the pits to get their way. Why should it be a surprise that he was a murderer?"
"That's not the surprise. He tried to use magic on Gabriella. But it didn't work."
"Of course not."
"Look, maybe you're not hearing me right. A Shadowmage was tossing fireballs at your daughter — "
"And she obviously survived. She's well trained, you know."
Crowe stopped and blinked. This wasn't the reaction he had been expecting. "Now, I may not be a bloody archivist, or a bloody expert on shadow magic or elemental magic or whatever-the-hell kind of magic, but I've never heard of that happening before. So I wondered if you'd heard of such a thing yourself."
Marta shook her head. "The Lord Of All was with her. Protecting her. Simple. Was there anything else you wanted to know?" He was tempted to ask if she had ever seen her daughter take a fireball in the face before, but it would have been facetious at best to do so. There were some other more rational questioned he wished he could ask, but it was clear to Crowe that Marta was hiding something from him and it was clear from her expression that their meeting was over.