The Cursewright's Vow

Chapter 10: The Veil of Ravens, Part 1

 The rider unknowingly led Denisius Gallis and Vos down the Doge's Avenue, from the amiable chaos of the Four Winds to the grimmest structure in all of Munazyr. It loomed above them now, dark and severe, its dull black stone pierced by narrow loopholes through which spilled a pale light that gave off little illumination, eyes that were there to see rather than be seen: Titansgrave. 

Once it had stood as Munazyr's Academy Arcane, and one of the most storied of those institutions, but His Eternal Majesty the Sultan had shuttered it over two centuries ago, during a lengthy period of occupation of the Straits of Twilight. Unlike what would transpire under Somilius Deyn III, the arcane scholars who made the place home were not executed or tortured to death. Rather they vanished, stolen over the Wicked Cliffs to Q'Sivaris, and even now their fates remained unknown.

Denisius and Vos were barely aware of this, knowing only that Titansgrave was an ancient structure that currently served as home to the Munazyr city guard, known more formally as the Argent Brand. The rider paid them no heed, though he was surely aware of them: according to Vos the Argent Brand was the best city constabulary outside of Talinara and Q'Sivaris themselves. "The Munazyri see their city as a nation unto itself," he had told his master as they cantered through the Peddlers' Gate. "So of course their guardsman are a point of pride, and capable of defending the city from invasion should it ever come to that again." Certainly their horses were impressive, Denisius thought: the rider in front of them (with whom they could barely keep up) was mounted atop a sleek dark gray courser, and his steed made the sturdy horses they had purchased at a Gallowsport stable look like a couple of limping nags barely fit to haul a peddler's applecart.

The rider came to a halt outside a walled courtyard, a similarly dressed sentry frowning at him as she drew her own blade. "Werewolf attack?" she replied to his bellowed cry as he gathered his breath. "What is this, Poul? There hasn't been a -- "

"Get Captain Thalia," the rider panted, and something in his manner cut through the sentry's skepticism. "Get her now. There might be half a dozen men headed there. I haven't been able to raise enough by far."

The sentry nodded sharply and took off at a run across the courtyard, up the broad stair that led to Titansgrave's enormous inner gates. Denisius and Vos watched the rider, who had yet to acknowledge them. Vos was still as a statue, but Denisius's horse sensed his growing anxiety, and it paced restlessly in an erratic circle.

From somewhere behind them in the city there rose a spiralling howl. Vos's blade leapt into his hand with the speed of instinct.

"Sheathe that weapon at once," Poul snapped.

Denisius half-expected an argument but Vos merely nodded and complied, though he didn't look away from the general area of the city from where the howl had risen. The guardsman's voice became less threatening.

"Apologies, sir. I know it's unsettling. But let the Brand handle this."

Vos said nothing. Denisius followed his lead. Now both horses were increasingly restless, though Poul's horse might have been cropping grass in the city common, for all the anxiety it displayed. From the Titansgrave courtyard there came a small group, marching at a brisk pace from the gates to the archway where the three of them were gathered.

Two guardsmen, including the sentry, flanked a tall woman in a long gray coat. Auburn hair was gathered into a tight knot at the back of her head. Eyes greener than Vos's sparked brightly in the light of the lantern carried by the male guardsman to her left. Even without her knee-length boots she would have been tall, and intimidating despite her lithe build. At one hip, visible below her coat and against her officer's uniform, hung an elaborate quirt, similar to those carried by officers of equivalent rank in the empire's cohorts. On her other hip hung something Denisius had never seen before and Vos but rarely: a pepperbox pistol. Guns were not wholly unknown within the Anointed Realms, and of course no veteran of a battle against the Sultan was unaware of His Eternal Majesty's beloved cannon, but they were both uncommon and difficult to manufacture now that the brotherhood of forgewrights no longer existed. On her left breast gleamed in pure silver the badge of the Argent Brand: a long blade of the Anointed Realms crossed with a Q'Sivari falchion, against a shield engraved with an image of the Straits of Twilight. Around her upper arms were cinched discreet golden braids of rank.

"Poul," said the Captain-Commander, "you had better have damn good reason to be raising the guard. A few howls? If I find out this is a dogfighting ring on the Old Godsway, I'll have you on latrine duty until Yearsend Night."

Denisius and Vos exchanged an uneasy look. "Howls?" Denisius mouthed to his manservant. The clamor of the Four Winds must have drowned out any beyond the first.

"It's no dogfighting ring, Captain," Poul said. "There's at least one victim, someone by the old Temple of the Graces. The attack was ongoing when one of the whores from the brothel next door flagged me down."

Captain Thalia's eyes narrowed. "Mourthia," she growled. "If that man has let a werewolf loose on the city, I'll drown him in the Straits."

"Oh, gods," Denisius said thickly. His head was spinning, and he feared he might soon vomit.

Captain Thalia rounded on him at once, sweeping her gaze over both him and Vos. "And who are these men, Poul?"

"Just a couple of travelers who followed as I raised the cry."

Vos bowed his head respectfully. Denisius had often noticed that Vos was more deferential to constabularies or military men than he was to the nobility. "I ask you excuse us if we've overstepped our bounds, Captain-Commander. My companion and I have come from Gallowsport, seeking these monsters. We both have experience with them."

"Both of you?" Thalia's eyes roamed over Denisius's round face doubtfully. Denisius flushed.

"In fact, Captain-Commander, my friend here came face-to-face with one of these creatures in the city of Talinara, and lived to tell the tale."

"Did he," muttered the Captain-Commander. Denisius nodded with a sickly smile. Thalia looked back to the rider Poul. "How many men have you raised?"

"Perhaps eight. There aren't many patrols by the Old Godsway."

"I'll ignore the implied criticism, Poul." She looked back to Vos. "You two. Are you drunk?"

Vos snorted laughter. "Not as drunk as I've been, Captain."

Captain Thalia studied them both, especially around the eyes. "The two of you are already horsed. Fine. You're deputized. Amala, fetch my horse and yours. Cray here can relieve you."

Within moments, the Captain-Commander and the sentry were mounted, and the three guards set off toward the old Temple of the Graces at a full gallop, Vos and Denisius struggling to keep pace on their secondhand horses.

*