The Cursewright's Vow

Chapter 25: The Grand Curia, Part 6

 Vast, circular, and built of ancient stone, the Grand Curia immediately called to mind not a courtroom but an arena. This was no coincidence. Once, the Grand Curia had been exactly that: a gladiatorial arena where trials by combat were conducted before the lustily cheering Gallowsport crowds. When the Munaz Emperors reformed their code under the guidance of the Academies Arcane, the bar of seer-magistrates had outlawed such trials, deeming them incapable of producing just results. Legend had it that if one knew where to look, bloodstains could still be seen under certain pews in the gallery and even under the High Bench, both of which were much later additions to the stone foundations. As a boy, Ammas had searched for them doggedly, but never found any. 

The whole of the Curia was lit with gray moonlight: the vast open ceiling had been sealed over with a dome of glass and iron. Unconsciously Ammas looked up. The rolls of canvas he remembered from his youth, intended to be drawn across the underside of the glass dome if the sun should be too bright, were still there.

The High Bench was an enormous semicircle of mahogany, engraved with symbols of the Grand Curia and the seal of the House of Deyn. Along its rear stood dozens of oaken wing chairs similar to the one in Senrich Mourthia's private courtroom. Trials and hearings in this place could see anywhere from a lone scowling judge to the full court of twenty-five, once all seer-magistrates and now a mixture of priests of the Graces and of Tol Daether. The centermost and largest chair was the seat of the Overseer, and behind it, burrowed into the stones at the end of a shallow passage, stood a narrow door that led to the Overseer's chambers. 

Ammas paused at the door, testing it, finding it locked. He half-expected the key not to work, but the lock yielded to it as easily as any other had. The room beyond was pitch black -- this deep in the Grand Curia, there were no windows save the one above their heads.

Ammas turned to face the others. "Carala tells me she cannot sense much wolfish presence here. That seems strange to me, but I trust her. If we find nothing in the archives, we'll head back to Mourthia House." His eyes met Silenio's. "And then to Bluestead House. I am not leaving Gallowsport until I have found these Swiftfoot wolves, and if that means intruding on the Prefect's grief, so be it."

Silenio smirked. "You have more steel than I thought, Mourthia."

Ammas, who could have gone the rest of his life without praise from Silenio Deyn, said nothing in response. "The archives," he said to the group at large, "are much more disorienting than the rest of the Curia. They are designed to confound intruders. I think it is inadvisable for any of you to accompany me there. Let me scout them out and see what I can find. If needed I can call for you." He nodded to Casimir, who touched the hilt of his skymetal dagger and nodded in return. "Barthim, come here a moment."

Barthim bent close to Ammas. "I am not liking this, you going down there by yourself. This is very much being a trap, I fear."

"It might be," Ammas nodded. "But there's our Imperial friend to consider. I don't want to split us up anymore than I have to. He might be committed to helping his sister, but he might not be, and there's no telling what we'll find down there. Don't worry. Unless they've completely rebuilt the archives, I should be able to navigate them." His voice dropped even lower. "Keep Casimir safe. Get him out of here if it becomes necessary. Carry him if you have to."

"Just Cass?" Barthim looked surprised, though not entirely displeased. "Not Carala?"

Ammas's eyes lit on Carala for a moment. She had drawn her own dagger, and was smiling hesitantly. A flicker in her eyes told him she no more liked the idea of Ammas descending into the archives alone than did Barthim. "Just Casimir," he murmured. "Carala can take care of herself, and -- she may be dangerous."