They waited for a second and then Scorio moved his face into the man’s line of sight. “And?”
“Hmm? Oh. Apologies. Lost my train of thought there.” He grinned again, expression blithe, almost foolish. “It’s my being out here on the Plains. Just about addles my pate. But… what were you asking?”
“You were going to tell us something about the Crucible?”
“Oh, aye! The Gold gets drawn up and, ah, harvested, like, and then shipped deeper into Hell. It’s precious stuff, Gold mana. In the Iron Weald they’ve got themselves mostly Iron mana, you see. Even beyond that, there’s almost no Gold, so this is… what’s the word. Valuable. It’s why the Consortium was created. To manage the distribution of the mana.”
Leonis let out a low whistle. “No wonder the White Queen’s here and not in Bastion. So she oversees this whole operation?”
“That’s right, that’s right. Keeps folks from squabbling. You know how Great Souls get.”
“No,” grinned Scorio. “How do they get?”
“Like hounds around a bitch in heat, they do.” The burly man chuckled. “Oh, they do like themselves that Gold mana. And there’s a decent amount harvested here. It gets loaded on The Coffer, and she, well, she flies it out over the Rim and down into the Iron Weald, where… well.” He scratched the back of his head. “I reckon they do something with it out there. Put it to good use.”
Scorio turned to regard The Coffer. “No wonder it’s well protected.”
“Aye. All manner of Great Souls makes sure nobody nor nothing comes interfering. Captain Thorne’s the captain. By all accounts, he’s a right character. Bold and merry. Ah, what I wouldn’t give to be a Great Soul and be able to go sailing.” The man sighed. “But what can you do?”
“Get that rope to whoever’s waiting for it,” said Leonis with good humor. “Thank you for the information, friend. It’s much appreciated.”
The man glanced at the coil of rope over his shoulder and startled. “Oh! They were waiting on this. I’d best be gone!” And he rushed off down the esplanade.
“The Celestial Coffer,” mused Leonis, turning to lean on his elbows and study the massive ship. “What do you think? There a chance we’ll one day leave the Rascor Plains behind while standing on its deck?”
“Not unless we join this Consortium,” said Scorio. “And thank goodness Lianshi wasn’t here. She’d have driven that poor man mad with questions about the Iron Tyrant and the Fury Spires, whatever those are.”
“Now I understand why we were banned from the lower levels,” said Scorio. “Probably a basic security measure to guard this Crucible.”
“Can you imagine? An endless supply of Gold mana?” Leonis shook his head and marveled.
“Come on, let’s take a closer look.”
They made their way down the esplanade. Past piles of crates and cargo being unloaded from one ship and around cargo being inventoried by officials for the second ship while its crew waited impatiently to be loaded. The Coffer’s area, however, was clean and without debris or activity; the expanse of obsidian flagstones before the great pier was empty and still.
But as they drew closer Scorio saw guards standing in a perimeter about the base of the pier that extended through a solitary barbican to a great gate set flush in the ship’s side. Not regular guards, either, but clearly Great Souls: their gaze was sharp and alert, their manner wary, and they carried themselves with confidence. A dozen men and women wearing a white sash diagonally across their chest stood in a loose semicircle before the entrance, ensuring that nobody came within thirty yards of the pier.
“Well,” said Leonis. “Guess this is as close as we get.”
“Look there,” said Scorio. A straight line led from the pier to a huge archway set in the fortress’s side. You could have driven four carriages abreast through that entranceway, which for all its size was guarded by only two Great Souls, each clad in black robes with a crimson sash across their chest.
“They take their security seriously around here,” murmured Leonis. “What’s that little building next to it?”
“Let’s see if anybody yells at us for getting too close,” said Scorio, and led Leonis around the guard’s perimeter to an ornate outcropping of architecture that was a stone’s throw from the main gate and which reminded him of the entrance in Bastion to the stairway to the Plains.
A golden dome gleamed atop the small building, which was fronted by a narrow iron door and had no windows. An older man stood confidently before it, thumbs tucked into his belt, clad in the same black uniform as the pair by the gate. His sash was crimson edged in white, and he watched Scorio and Leonis approach with a slight smile.
“Afternoon, gentlemen,” he said as they drew close. Scorio was painfully aware of everyone watching them. The two Great Souls by the main gate and the dozen Coffer guards by the entrance to the pier. Nobody else was walking through here. He felt as if they’d stumbled into a courtroom, their presence inappropriate.
“Afternoon,” said Leonis jovially. “Excuse us, we’re but newly arrived and out exploring. It’s all right if we’re here?”
“As long as you don’t try to get past me,” said the older man. He was old for a Great Soul, perhaps in his early forties, his hair salt and peppered, his broad mustache impressive, his face florid. “I’d have to kill you then.”
“Ha,” said Scorio, trying to laugh. “Well, good thing we’re not. May we ask what you’re guarding?”
“Oh, this?” The man turned to regard the small building with feigned surprise. “Just the entrance to the Crucible. You know.” He turned back and stared at Scorio with a suddenly piercing stare. “Just the source of the Fiery Shoals’ wealth and social standing.”
“Ah,” said Scorio. For all the man’s jocular tone, there was something perilous about him, as if at any moment he could snap and tear off one of their arms. “I see.”
“The name’s Bron, Dread Blaze and Constable of the Fiery Shoals. It’s been my honor to guard the Golden Cupola for a decade now.” He smiled, showing all his yellowed teeth. “Nobody’s ever gotten past me. I mean to keep it that way.”
Scorio and Leonis exchanged a glance.
“Then you’re clearly the right Great Soul for the job,” said Leonis. “Thank you, ah, for your service.”
Bron winked at them in response.
Scorio indicated with a nod that they should get going, and together they retreated from the immediate area back to where the second ship was docked.
“By the gods, that was surprisingly intense,” said Leonis. “I didn’t think that Bron was all there, if you know what I mean.”
“Can’t blame him.” Scorio looked back to see Bron still watching them. “Can you imagine spending a decade guarding the access point to all that Gold and never getting a chance to enjoy some?”
Leonis considered. “True. When you put it that way.”
“Hey, there’s Lianshi.” Scorio began heading down the esplanade toward their friend who smiled and waved upon spotting them.
“There you are! I was told to fetch you. The White Queen is ready to hear your case.”
Chapter 19
The council chamber was, unsurprisingly, large, august, and stark. Four massive alcoves led out to a ubiquitous balcony to one side, while faded banners hung along the opposite wall displaying obscure heraldry. The room itself was dominated by a circular table hewn from a single rough piece of obsidian, while the chairs were high-backed and formal affairs that were distinctly uncomfortable.
No doubt to ensure council meetings didn’t drag on.
Scorio entered with his companions and found a score of others already present. Preeminent was the White Queen; she stood to one side with Desiree, Moira, and a craggy-featured Great Soul whom Scorio vaguely recalled from the battle against Imogen.