Page 7 of Bull Moon Rising
“Oh, sure.” Her expression tells me I’ll probably have to go over it all again, but I’ve studied Old Prell and Vastwarren for years. I can’t expect everyone else to know as much as me. She scratches at Squeaker’s chin and glances up at me. “So when are we leaving?”
“You should stay here.”
“What? Why? I thought we were joining together.”
We are. Biting at my thumb’s cuticle, I consider the situation. I would love for Gwenna to come with me, all told. I’m terrified, but if we leave our luggage and poor Squeaker unattended here at the inn, I suspect I’ll never see either again. They’re all I’ve got left, because if my father finds out I’ve run away, I’ll be privately disowned. He won’t make it public until he’s got another heir lined up, and I’m hoping that I’ll have my guild certification by then, and hopefully an artifact or two to bring to my family to restore our glory. If not…
With a lump of emotion in my throat, I grab Squeaker and haul her into my arms. Gwenna doesn’t like to be hugged, so I lavish kisses on the cat, letting her lick my nose raw as I snuggle her. “I won’t take long,” I promise. “I need you to stay with Squeaker and guard our things. I’ll find a teacher for both of us and return to collect you. Give the woman downstairs a penny and see if she doesn’t have scraps of meat for the cat.”
I kiss the cat a dozen times, until she’s squirming against my chest and I can’t put off leaving any longer. Then I set her down and try to hug Gwenna, since I’ve decided that I’m now a hugger. She waves me off, though. I might be a hugger now, but Gwenna is firmlynot.
With my umbrella in hand, I head out of the inn and into the nasty streets of Vastwarren City. Today it’s no longer as foul smelling, at least; the weather is washing the scent away. Unfortunately for me, it’s creating quite a slog of mud, and even the raised cobbles in the center of the streets for walking upon are slick and filthy. My skirts, swishing at my heels, are still getting soaked and slapping against my stockings. I let this annoyance go on for one street, then another, and then I give up and duck into a dark alley and fasten the loops that hike my skirts up for tunneling. They now bunch up at my knees and I look a right fool, but I can walk with purpose.
With my umbrella over my head again, I stride back out into the street and squint at my surroundings. I need to find the main guild hall of the Royal Artifactual Guild, as that’s where all of the artificer meetings are held.
It’s just going to be damned difficult without my spectacles.
I’m nervous as I head through the crowded, filthy city on my own. It’s not that anyone is threatening me—it’s just that this is the first time in my life I’ve ever gone anywhere unaccompanied. I keep expecting to look over to a chaperone on my left, or a maid, or a guard. It’s strange to walk alone. I feel exposed, vulnerable, and oddly lonely.
And damp. Very, very damp. The drizzle of rain is never-ending as I walk through Vastwarren, as if the gods themselves are spitting on my dreams.
The huddled buildings lining each street are so strange compared to Honori’s tall stone walls and elegant architecture. Back home, there are not many windows in the hold, as it was originally built for defense, butover time, my relatives have sought to beautify the place. If the room has no natural light, gorgeous, artistic metal chandeliers hang from the ceiling. Rich tapestries and paintings adorn otherwise plain walls. Lush carpets ensure the stone floors are warm and inviting, and everything has a look of elegance. Here, everything is haphazard, as if it were slapped together overnight. The buildings sag against one another and I’m pretty certain a few of them are made entirely of cast-off wood. There are no tile roofs here—houses and shops are covered with battered tin or equally battered wood. The impression is not of functionality but of “good enough,” and everything looks temporary.
Or at least, it does until you get to the heart of the city.
All roads in Vastwarren lead to the guild, because the city was built up around the guild holdings. The guild’s thick stone wall is visible from a distance, making it easy to find—I just have to continue up to the top of the anthill, so to speak, and head for that wall. Unlike the rest of the city, it’s impressive in its make, and taller than the tallest inn. As I approach, I can’t help but think it reminds me of my family’s holding, with enormous, forbidding walls to protect the treasure inside.
By the time I find the entrance to the walled-off part of town that belongs to the guild, I’m soaked. Once I pass through the impressive gates, I’m lost in an entirely new maze of barracks and halls and libraries. When I find the large, ostensibly gray building that must surely,surelybe the main guild hall, my clothes are heavy and dripping with water and I’ve wandered over half of Vastwarren itself. I’m probably carrying all the mud in my boots, too.
I’m in a dreadful mood by the time I see the statue of Sparkanos the Swan, the first artificer. Triumph surges in me again, and I tilt my umbrella back, ignoring the fat drops of rain that spatter on my clothes as I regard him. Sparkanos’s statue wears a long cloak, the fabric swirling out behind him as he clutches the Sphere of Reason under one arm, a sword in the other. At the hem of his cloak, it looks as if the fabric is turning into feathers, a nod to his curse. It’s a powerful-looking statue, and one I’ve read about and seen drawings of in books, but this is the first time I’ve seen such a wonder in person. I’m utterly breathless at the sight.
To think that could be me someday, with a powerful artifact tuckedunder my arm, paving the way for others to bring our world out of darkness and back to the enlightenment of the ancients.
My mood lightens and I’m smiling as I race toward the long climb of stone steps that leads to the hall itself. It seems as if the entire city is here. There’s a crowd on the steps despite the driving rain, and when I push my way forward with a few muttered apologies, I’m not surprised to see that the doors to the hall are wide open and even more people are crowded inside.
The hall looks exactly as I pictured it. Light streams in from outside through great windows strategically placed to highlight statues of the guild’s most famous artificers. The room itself is three stories tall and longer than it is wide. High above, there are stuffed birds lining the walls, reminders that the guild chooses their namesakes. There’s a long nave, much like in an old church, with a sodden brown carpet down the center of the room. People are squeezed in, and far ahead, at the front of the hall, I can see a banner and a dais.
The crowd is obnoxious, jostling to get inside the hall. A man nearby elbows me, knocking me into my neighbor…who promptly palms my backside. I let out a squeal of outrage, but when I snap my umbrella shut to strike my attacker, I can’t tell who it is. There are several men smirking at me, dressed in fine coats and wearing hats, rain dripping off them.
An uneasy feeling starts in the pit of my gut and I wonder if I should have brought Gwenna after all. Now that I’m looking around, I don’t see any other women.
In fact, I might be the only woman here.
That is…very interesting in a very alarming sort of way.
I draw myself up, my jaw clenched, and decide the only way to handle this is to be aggressive. I swat at men with my closed umbrella. “Step aside. I need to enter,” I declare in a loud voice. “Move it! Coming through!”
There are a few grumbles, but the crowd continues to part, letting me in. I make it to the doors, and to my surprise, I’m standing behind one of the large, horned Taurians. There’s another thing I never see at my father’s hold—the strange bull-headed people from the plains.
Well, of course there are a few Taurians who are artificers. It makes sense, doesn’t it? If a human can be an artificer, why not a Taurian? I decide to treat them like everyone else and give the man in front of me a smack on his thick arm with my umbrella handle. “Let me through!”
He growls low and angry in his throat, turning to glare at me, and the swivel of his horned head is so great that I let out a very undignified squeak and retreat, losing my balance. I stagger, arms flailing—
—only to be caught around the waist and saved by strong arms and the irritated, strange expression of another Taurian, this one with golden eyes.
THREE
HAWK