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74. [Nortmost] Twenty Days Up, Part One
🕑 Added 2024-11-05 05:27:55 +0000 UTCCarina Goldstone, Logician of the 3rd Renown, Kingdom of Infinzel, in need of a ride
Vitt Secondson-Salvado, Hunter of the 9th Renown, Kingdom of Infinzel, in need of a few more hours of sleep
Emmad Beet and Yasmin Hel, Archmages of the 16th and 5th Renown, Magelab, accompanied by two candle champions
Cortland Finiron, Hammer Master of the 12th Renown, Kingdom of Infinzel, in a foul mood
Traveon Twiceblack, Skulker of the 2nd Renown, Soldier’s Rest, sticking his nose in
***
30 Trollove, 61 AW
Ascending the Nortmost Mountain
Day One of the Trial
The Ink appeared with the sunrise, a throbbing blob on the map one of the Quills had courteously summoned on a table in the Clear Sky Inn's common room. Word spread quickly amongst the champions. All told, nearly fifty men and women would begin the ascent that day.
The gods left enough Ink for ten of them, though the champions did not know that.
Some of the champions departed swiftly, grabbing packs that they'd kept ready for this moment, and racing toward the trail that led up the Nortmost. Others were more leisurely in their approach. These were the veterans who understood the benefits of a steady pace, and who knew how much could change in twenty days on the mountain.
Carina wished to be in the former group, but Vitt belonged firmly to the latter. Or, more likely, it wasn't a cautious approach that kept him in bed that first morning but a hangover from going drink-for-drink with the Fornon lumberjocks.
“Gods damn you, Vitt, come on,” Carina urged, standing over his bed. “It's time.”
The logician hadn't slept at all. To her, this inn had all the comforts of a snake pit. Carina doubted she could've fallen asleep, even if she'd bothered to try. Instead, she had taken a shift guarding the pass, standing a wordless watch with a flint-eyed champion from Noyega. Then, when that shift was over, she'd volunteered to take Vitt's turn. A whole night spent pacing across rocks and replaying fraught conversations in her head. A whole night avoiding the inn's other guests.
“A few more minutes,” Vitt groaned, tangled in a bedsheet. “Or an hour.”
“Get up,” Carina snapped.
She tried to rip the blankets away, even though the hunter was likely naked underneath. He caught her by the wrists and lazily tried to pull her on top of him. He stank of whiskey, sweat, and a bit of dried vomit. Carina recoiled, but not before Vitt had somehow, with his eyes half-closed, managed to partly unbutton her shirt.
“Your Ink's faded,” he said. “What's the matter? Did you see yourself dying if we don't leave right this minute?”
Her [Future Sight] was actually still faded from the day before. Carina hadn't rested enough for the Ink to restore itself. Perhaps that had been another reason for the sleepless night—to avoid the temptation of looking forward, which had become too much of a habit lately.
“I need to get out of this place,” she said sharply. “I'll go up without you if I have to.”
“Don't be so dramatic,” Vitt replied, his hand draped across his eyes. “Act like you've been here before.”
“I haven't been here before.”
“Well, look, there's no advantage to be gained on the first day.” He groaned and rolled over. “Let the early birds get eaten by the worms.”
“That’s not the expression.”
“Are you sure?”
Carina stared at his muscled back for a moment, then picked up her pack from the floor. “I'll be outside,” she said.
“Yes, yes,” Vitt replied. “I'll catch up.”
Carina left his room, keeping her hood up and her head down as she made her way out of the Clear Sky. She didn't want to bump into Sylvie—or anyone else.
Eventually, she settled on waiting for Vitt from the knuckle-shaped stone outcroppings that flanked the pathway to Nortmost. From there, Carina could observe the others champions as they began their ascent and at least tell herself that this was information gathering and thus a productive use of her time.
And so, Carina was in position to see the two candles from Magelab when they emerged from the inn. The traffic up the mountain had dwindled, which meant the candles were dawdlers like Carina and Vitt. She had seen them hanging around the inn the night before—two men, both champions, stoic and hardy as the candles of Magelab tended to be. She didn’t recognize them from her time spent in the Magelab. Besides the Inquisitor Samus Bind, Carina hadn’t spent much time around these conscripted protectors.
As Carina watched, the candles climbed the rocks on the opposite side of the pathway from her, encumbered with bundles of cut lumber. They selected a flat area—the same one Carina had stood upon last night for her watch—and began to make a pile of the boards. All told, they made three trips back-and-forth to the rocks from a wagon parked in the Clear Sky’s corral, setting up a tidy stack of lumber and some coils of rope.
Only when the candles had finished their labors did the archmages show themselves, ambling out from the Clear Sky in no great hurry. Unlike the candles, Carina recognized these two.
The first was Emmad Beet. Skinny and depleted, like all the archmages tended to be, Emmad was even older than most at nearly ninety. He wore a thickly furred robe and matching hat, but Carina recognized him by the corkscrew-shaped beard that twisted away from his chin. Of the Magelab’s champions, Emmad had achieved the highest level of renown—sixteen, last Carina had heard. Even with that surfeit of Ink, someone unacquainted with the Magelab’s champions might have thought the man too old and brittle to make a twenty day climb up the mountain. They would have been right.
Of course, Carina knew Emmad had no intention of actually climbing.
The champions of the Magelab all had their specialties. Emmad Beet’s was travel. The mages spent their whole lives dabbling in the old ways, often sacrificing their health to amass greater and greater power. For those few who were made champion, there was an awkward transition—the Ink made magic easier, but the gods’ stinginess with renown often meant an archmage’s abilities outpaced their Ink. Thus, the archmages thought it imperative to have one amongst them who could travel swiftly across the continents, finding the trials placed by the gods and letting the archmages quickly amass Ink to secure their skills.
Flight, teleportation, portal rituals—these were Emmad Beet’s specialties.
No doubt Emmad was here to make sure the Magelab’s second champion—Yasmin Hel—made it to the top of Nortmost ahead of all the others.
Yasmin Hel was only in her early fifties, which made her particularly young to have reached the rank of archmage, much less to have been elevated to champion. Her white-blonde hair rivaled the fresh snow for shine, and it whipped loose around her sharply chiseled features. Carina had heard about Yasmin’s reputation for viciousness—she had achieved her rank young precisely because she challenged her proctor for the role and nearly crippled the other archmage in the ensuing duel. Universally disliked and brutal in her power, Yasmin made sense as a replacement for Ahmed Roh. She would be a perfect killer for the Magelab, and no one would shed any tears if she died on the island. Her selection as a champion suggested to Carina that the Magelab expected trouble at the next Granting.
In the meantime, it fell to Emmad Beet to bring her to the Ink.
Carina openly watched the archmages and their two candles go to work. Emmad sketched a rune across the stone, shuffling about and occasionally handing off the chalk to Yasmin so he could knuckle his back. When the rune was finished, the candles began arranging their boards into a flat platform, with Yasmin lashing them together, and Emmad supervising the assemblage while chanting incantations. It looked like they were stranded on a deserted island and constructing a raft.
The candles and tomes surely knew that Carina watched them, but they didn’t seem to care. When their platform looked about halfway to completion, Carina hopped down from her perch. She cut across the path and then scrambled up the opposite side, stopping at a respectful distance from the archmage’s rune-work. All of them except for Emmad stopped their tasks to look at her.
“Greetings, Master Beet and Master Hel!” Carina called, tapping into the hidden fount of joviality she kept in reserve for sucking up to archmages. “It is an honor to see you at your craft!”
Yasmin glanced at one of the candles. “Who is this person?”
The candle shrugged in response.
“Madam Goldstone.” It was Emmad who recognized her, though he didn’t look up from where he sketched a complex design on the underside of a board. “Congratulations on your recent ascendancy.”
“Goldstone…” Yasmin muttered, then narrowed her eyes. “Ah. The liar merchant of Infinzel.”
“A bit of a truncated description, master,” Carina responded, smiling. “I was, briefly, a merchant of Liar’s Ink, of which I found many eager buyers in your tower.” She hastily bowed. “Congratulations are in order for you, as well, it seems. Both of us new champions, equals in a way, at last. Although I remain as ever a humble student in your presence.”
Yasmin’s lips peeled back, her perfectly straight teeth clenched together. She gestured toward the Nortmost. “The mountain is that way, child.”
“Yes, we’re all running late, aren’t we?” Carina raised up on her tiptoes to get a better look at their platform. “Do you intend to fly that up the mountain, masters?”
At last, Emmad Beet finished his design and turned to look at her. The laugh lines at the corners of his eyes and mouth were set deep. He gazed at Carina without the open hostility of his fellows.
“We do,” he said.
Yasmin snapped a glance at him. “Why talk to her?”
“What’s the harm?” Emmad replied with a wave of his hand. “Madam Goldstone was always a source of amusement to me during her time at the tower. She has an incomparable ability to crawl under the skin of her betters. Sevda likened her to a puppy chewing up the ugliest pieces of furniture, the ones most in need of replacement.”
Carina cocked her head at that. A bit condescending, but it was an evaluation she could work with.
“If I might pose an irritating question, why wait so long to build your conveyance?” Carina asked. “You could’ve had it ready and been on your way back to Magelab by now.”
Emmad seemed happy for the break from drawing his symbols. He stowed the chalk in his pocket and began pulling on his fingers one-by-one, making adjustments to the digits. Carina made it a point not to look too long at the archmage’s false hand. The story went that he had lost most of the arm in a teleportation accident and, since then, developed a reputation for caution.
“Our thinking is that the gods might view such haste as an affront akin to ascending the Nortmost early," Emmad said. "And, additionally, there is the possibility of sabotage from our competitor champions should we reveal our designs.”
Carina grinned. “Oh, so am I too late to do some sabotage, then?”
The candles squared their shoulders at that and Yasmin took a half-step toward her.
“Be careful how you joke,” Yasmin said.
Carina kept smiling as Emmad tutted at the others. “Relax, all of you,” he said. “Madam Goldstone means us no harm. In fact, I think she works her way toward a proposition.”
“Am I so transparent, Master Beet?” Carina folded her hands in front of her. “It does seem like you’re building a very spacious floating raft…”
“No,” Yasmin said. “Absolutely not.”
“Do not be so hasty, Hel,” Emmad said. “Perhaps there is an interesting offer at the end of this.”
In terms of influence and tradeable goods, Carina hadn’t been so empty-pocketed since her teenage years ratting around Soldier’s Rest. Her mind worked quickly.
“I met the Inquisitor on his way south,” she said quickly.
“Ah,” Emmad said. “And how is Samus?”
“At a dead end, it seemed to me,” Carina replied. “However, I’ve considered his investigation in the weeks since. I could help myself. Master Roh was amongst my beloved mentors—”
Yasmin snorted.
“I believe I have unearthed new information,” Carina continued undeterred. “About the rogue mage who may have slain your colleague.”
Carina was confident that she could come up with something to feed the archmages once they were up the mountain. She would’ve told them anything if it meant getting up Nortmost quicker, ahead of the future that she’d been probing like a sore tooth.
But Emmad Beet smiled at her sadly, and Carina instantly knew she’d misplayed her cards.
“A grim and desperate lie, Madam Goldstone, even for you,” he said. “I hope you are well.”
With that, the old archmage waved his hand and the winds picked up. Carina stumbled backward, shielding her face from the snow and ice kicked up by the harsh flurries. She staggered to the edge of the rocks where the air suddenly stilled. Catching her breath, Carina stared up at a swirling wall of wind—the archmage had used [Summon Tornado]. She could just make out the four representatives of Magelab, returning to their work in the eye of the storm.
Carina spat out a bit of grit. “Well,” she sighed, “it was worth a try.”
***
1 Meltzend, 61 AW
Ascending the Nortmost Mountain
Day Two of the Trial
At least the scrawny bartender-turned-champion Traveon Twiceblack had the good sense to keep his mouth shut when Cortland stormed out of the Clear Sky’s backroom and headed immediately out the door and up the mountain. He trailed Cortland at a safe distance. A wise reading of the situation. One smart remark might have loosed Cortland’s hammer.
Cortland knew these would not be easy weeks on the mountain. He knew he should pace himself and tread carefully. Even the start of the path up—the most worn terrain on the mountain—was icy and uneven. A twisted ankle on the way up could be disastrous. In the moonlight, Cortland stumbled multiple times, but bulled his way forward with one hand clutching his hammer's handle. He snarled and kicked at the rocks, knowing he must look like a child in a tantrum. At least he resisted the urge smash through every obstacle in his path.
So, he had his answer. Ben Tuarez had been killed as revenge by a bereaved Penchennese teenager. A niece of the Exile Queen Deidre but, ultimately, not someone angling for power or to undermine Infinzel. A nobody. A killing meant to mend a bitter girl’s broken heart.
Sylvie Aracia had almost made Cortland feel like Ben deserved to die. But if that was the case—didn’t they all?
These existential thoughts just made Cortland angrier. He would not think them.
There remained the matter of the assassin. Laughing Monkey. She was here, according to the girl. She had ordered Sylvie to confess to Cortland as payment for the assassin’s services. Why? To toy with him further? Of all the bloody coins tossed in all the enchanted wells, why had the Brokerage chosen Ben’s name?
And there was the matter of Sylvie’s friend. The visitor to Penchenne who had told Sylvie about the Brokerage and practically slid the coin into her hand.
Carina. All things came back to Carina.
A ruinous pace up the mountain, then. Cortland would have the rest of his answers.
Behind him, Traveon struck a flint and lit a lantern. The skulker had narrowed the gap between him and Cortland, dancing nimbly over stones that Cortland kicked aside. Wiping the back of his hand across his face, Cortland slowed his pace and glanced back at his unwelcome follower.
“I told you to go up with the others,” Cortland said. “Why did you stay?”
“I thought someone should watch your back,” Traveon replied.
“You think I need that? From you?” Cortland glowered at him. “I detest these fucking games, pretty boy.”
Traveon considered for a moment, then shrugged. “I’m meant to keep an eye on you.”
“For Carina?”
The younger man’s coal-lined eyes widened in surprise. “What? No. For Guydemion. The old man would better know your character and quality.”
“My…” Cortland suppressed the urge to grab Traveon by the neck. “He sets you to this task?”
Traveon tucked a loose strand of hair behind his ear. “I’m actually quite the astute jud—”
High above them, a bloom of fire erupted in the night air. Cortland and Traveon both tilted their heads back to see better. Fire rippled across the sky, held at bay by a dull blue glow that Cortland recognized as an arcane shield. As Cortland watched, a second, smaller explosion burst into being, this one behind the shield. Although the flames soon began to dissipate, Cortland saw the blue shield begin a twisting and erratic descent, a trail of black smoke just barely perceptible against the night.
Hostilities up the mountain had begun.
“What the hell was that?” Traveon asked.
“Someone was flying,” Cortland replied. “And now, they aren’t.”
