Sword of the Gods - Bruce R. Cordell [22]
“Maybe.” Demascus didn’t sound too sure.
“I wonder who you really are. Obviously someone with some power to throw around.” An exciting prospect, all by itself. Because that would make Demascus someone it would be worth his time to befriend.
Demascus said, “Gods of Shadow, Chant, no one wonders that more than me!”
A simple idea occurred to the pawnbroker. He later blamed the ale for blurting it out before thinking through its implications. Chant said, “Hey, you know who probably knows who you are? The Firestorm Cabal. They’re the ones who left you at the shrine. They probably know all about you.”
Demascus sat straigher. He said, “Can you take me to them?”
“What, to the Motherhouse? Well, sure, but—”
“Wonderful.” Demascus slapped his palm down on the table hard enough to make their tankards jump. “Let’s go.”
CHAPTER SIX
AIRSPUR
THE YEAR OF THE AGELESS ONE (1479 DR)
THEIR BOOTS THUDDED ON THE NARROW SUSPENSION BRIDGE that arced between floating citymotes. Below, the many-colored lights of Airspur dropped away into the night down the south cliff face. An evening breeze played through Demascus’s hair, and he was glad of his coat, despite the trouble it had caused him.
“The Cabal has safehouses all around Akanûl,” offered Chant. Demascus could tell the man wasn’t sold on their decision to visit the Cabal. But neither had he bowed out.
“The Motherhouse is one of these safehouses I take it,” Demascus said.
“The biggest. Actually, the Motherhouse is the Cabal’s headquarters. It’s where the big shots meet when they’re not in the field, and it’s where new recruits are groomed, unless they’re found wanting like your new friend Garth.”
Demascus snorted. He said, “Is the Firestorm Cabal known for summoning demons?”
“No. Like I said before, they’re mostly freebooters. They dally in good deeds to keep up appearances. But if they have secret dealings with things out of the Abyss, that’d be news to everybody!”
Demascus nodded, recalling the diminutive monster that had tried to eat him, already snacking on a loose foot as casually as if it had been a sandwich. He said, “The ones I found by the shrine were up to something with demons. I’m certain of it.”
Chant said, “I know people who would pay good money to have that confirmed.” He rubbed his hands, whether in pantomime of greed or to warm them in the evening chill, Demascus was unclear.
They reached the south face and ascended via a series of bridges and switchbacks. The hour had become late, and only a few people were around. City lamps burned periodically in lonely vigil. Finally Chant pointed ahead.
A great granite block protruded from the cliff face, blank of any design save for the scoring of countless chiselers. “The Motherhouse,” the pawnbroker said.
Demascus studied the foreboding structure, trying to estimate its height and breadth. Hard to tell, without any visible windows or secondary entrances besides the grand double door at street level. Orange flame burned all around the main entrance on the block’s front face.
An elegant carriage in black lacquer was parked in the drive in front of the Motherhouse. Two winged steeds stood in harness before the carriage, and a windsoul in dark livery sat on the carriage holding the reins.
Chant touched Demascus’s arm and said, “Hold a moment …”
Someone exited the structure through the double doors and entered the carriage. Because of the distance and the position of the coach, Demascus failed to get a good look at the conveyance’s passenger.
The driver snapped the reins, and the two steeds pulled the carriage around the drive. Before they hit the street, wings were unfurled, and then horses, driver, and coach took to the sky. Demascus tracked the coach upward, but quickly lost it in the dark.
He looked at Chant. “What was that about?”
“That looked a lot like the royal carriage Queen Arathane uses.”
Demascus wasn’t certain who Arathane was, but he supposed the royal title told him enough to go on. He said, “And so?”
“For her to openly visit the Firestorm Cabal, something strange must be going on.