[Linsha 01] - City of the Lost Read online

  Iyesta had kept her lands free of tyranny, desolation, and terror, and she had worked tirelessly to help her people survive. For twenty years, she had been successful, but lately Linsha had sensed something change. A faint hint of a new danger edged the air like the smoke of a distant grassfire. There was nothing Linsha could identify, only a taint in the background that set off a small but persistent alarm in her head. She wished she could put a form to her unease, so she could convince others to pay attention.

  “Keep your eyes open,” she said to Leonidas. “I don’t think Malys will be our problem.”

  He nodded and said nothing more for the moment. Sounds of traffic, voices, and busy footsteps began to intrude into the silence. Interspersed with the phantom buildings, solid buildings began to appear, built in the identical elven fashion. The rubble and ruinous remains had been cleared away here, and the streets were smoothed and paved with new stone, making movement easier. Leonidas broke into a slow jog. More people, different races this time—solid and very much alive—bustled about real taverns and shops among the ghostly elves, paying little attention to the images of the older city around them. It was, as Leonidas pointed out, very disconcerting.

  Yet Linsha found it all fascinating. She had heard of the Missing City years ago when she lived in Solace with her parents and grandparents. The Legion of Steel, which had its base in Solace for years, had been looking for a site to set up a base of operations in the southern continent away from the attentions of the two Knightly orders. The abandoned ruins of the Missing City had been chosen not only for its location on the sea, but for the symbolism of its identity. For an order that wished to remain invisible, to work quietly and unseen among the people, the irony of building a site in the Missing City was too good to pass off. The Legionnaires who constructed the outpost deliberately crafted their solid buildings to match exactly the translucent buildings of Gal Tra’kalas, forming a site that blended like a mirage into the spectral city.

  Shortly after the original outpost was founded, the dragon Iyesta arrived and made her lair in the old city.

  Under her protection, other people found the peace and quiet of the city to be a haven. The population grew and spread into the other quarters of old Gal Tra’kalas and moved beyond the ghostly walls. A thriving port lined the harbor and the citizens did a small but brisk trade with other cities along the Silvanesti coast and into the Bay of Balifor.

  While many still called the new city the Missing City, the more pragmatic inhabitants—usually those who lived on the outside of the phantom town—thought the name was silly. Everyone knew how to find the place, only Gal Tra'kalas was sort of missing, so why not give it a new name to reflect its new image? People started calling it Mirage, and the name stayed. Now, the name Missing City referred to the sites within the ruins, while Mirage named the sections outside the gates. Newcomers often found this confusing, but the residents enjoyed their dual city and its odd history.

  “Lady,” Leonidas said politely. “Where do you wish to go?”

  They had reached the area of small shops and businesses called Little Three Points where the Northern District, the Artisans’ District, and the Port District met in a triangle of tree-lined streets. Sounds normal to the night life of a busy city drove away the silence. The scents of olive trees, sage, and blooming jasmine perfumed the night air and competed with the smells of cooking food, dung fires, animals, and, in the summer heat, public latrines.

  Linsha drew a deep breath of appreciation. She was and always would be a city girl. Although she enjoyed rambles in the country on a sunny day and would tolerate a trek through the wild lands, she loved a populous city and all its wondrous varieties of buildings, peoples, foods, streets, and landmarks—including the numerous inns and taverns. Her stomach rumbled, reminding her she had not eaten since late morning. As much as she would like to invite Leonidas to her favorite outdoor tavern for a pint of ale and a meat roll, she knew he was anxious to return to his uncle, and she should return to the citadel. Knight Commander Remmik was in charge of the watch this day, and he had no patience with her. She was already several hours late reporting for duty. If only Sir Morrec had not left on a brief journey to the Silvanesti Shield. His absence tended to turn Sir Remmik into a martinet.

  “Please take me to the Solamnic Citadel,” she said to Leonidas.

  The centaur turned east and trotted into the Port District, the most populated and busiest section of the Missing City. It was here where the Legion had built most of their original buildings in the old Silvanesti style, and here where most of the city’s commerce took root. Open-air markets filled empty lots. Shops of all varieties, warehouses, and offices grew into the spaces where the ancient businesses stood. In fact the new bustle of the city so nearly matched that of Gal Tra’kalas that a person had to be careful not to mistake real people or buildings for the phantom ones and walk headlong into one.

  This very real problem eventually convinced the Legion—and later the Solamnics—to move their headquarters outside the Missing City into the newer district of Mirage. The Legionnaires appreciated a place where they could rest and relax without phantoms, while Sir Remmik wanted the Solamnics to be more visible.

  The last vestiges of twilight lingered in the western sky when Leonidas and Linsha reached the old city wall. Long ago the wall had enclosed all of Gal Tra’kalas, until the event that destroyed the fair city. In the past few years the Legion and the Knights had slowly rebuilt large sections of the wall in strategic places, but there was not enough material or labor or time to complete the massive project in the near future. All they could do was keep rebuilding and hope for peace.

  Linsha spoke a few words to the guards at the city gate, called the Legion’s Gate in honor of its builders, and the centaur carried her through into the streets of Mirage. As they passed the new piers of the city’s harbor, Linsha ran a hurried eye over the quiet waters. Several freighters lay at anchor, their sails tightly furled and their lamps lit for the night. Not far away, the small fleet of fishing vessels that called Mirage home were settling down for the night and preparing for a well-earned rest. Linsha looked past the boats and beyond the small breakwater to see if Iyesta or even Crucible was there to enjoy a bath in the warm summer evening, but the brass was nowhere to be seen and the secretive bronze had not visited the Missing City in weeks. Linsha’s hand strayed to the bronze dragon scale that hung from a fine chain around her neck—a gift from a friend she had not seen since Yule a year and a half ago.

  Oh, well. It was worth a hope, she thought. A word from one of the metallics would have freed her from the tongue-lashing she knew she was going to receive. She sighed. Her hand dropped from the dragon scale, and her attention returned to the city around her.

  Leonidas had relaxed even more. Now that he did not have to be constantly alert for ghostly buildings and people, his gait smoothed to a fluid motion that was a pleasure to ride, and the knots of muscle in his back, neck, and shoulders eased away beneath his golden-brown skin. His face lost its look of intense concentration, making him look even younger.

  “I have never been to a place like this before,” he said. “I think I like Mirage better than the City.”

  Many people did, Linsha knew. The buildings of Mirage did not copy the Silvanesti architecture of the phantom city, so more than anything else they revealed the changing character of the new city. Many newcomers moved into this district and built as they preferred, using the few natural resources from the plains and the sea. Quite a few of the new arrivals to Mirage were refugees fleeing the terrors of the dragon overlords—kender from their devastated homelands, Silvanesti elves trapped outside their beloved forest by the Shield, centaurs and men from the Plains of Dust held by Thunder and the lands drowned by Sable. They came and built with stone, mud bricks, shells, and plaster. The result, while eclectic, was pleasing. The streets were neat and orderly. The storefronts were in good repair and painted in muted colors that complimented the natural colors of the b
each, rock, plain, and sea around them. Trash and debris were cleaned regularly, drunks and derelicts and gully dwarves were removed, and everything was meticulously maintained.

  Part of this civic-minded responsibility was due to a zealous city council and a dutiful city watch, and a part of it was due to Iyesta herself. The big brass liked cleanliness, organization, and efficiency, and woe to anyone who tried to disregard her wishes in the capital of her realm.

  Trotting quickly now, the centaur bore Linsha through the streets, past the small, unobtrusive Legion command post to the edge of Mirage where a low rise of hills lifted from the beaches and overlooked the city. On the highest point Sir Remmik had built the epitome of Solamnic fortresses, a masterpiece of smoothly crafted walls, powerful towers, and perfectly placed defenses.

  Only two years old, the walled stone edifice loomed over the open hilltop, guarding both the harbor and the city like a silent, vigilant giant. Outside the high stone walls, the ground all around had been cleared for training fields, a parade ground, and pens and corrals. Within, the fortress was a self-contained citadel for a garrison of seventy-five with its own well, kitchens, smithies, stables, barracks, storerooms, brewery, jail, and a central keep with a hall large enough to seat the entire circle for a feast.

  Leonidas stared up at the smooth walls of the gate tower to the glow of torches high on the ramparts above. “This is very impressive,” he remarked as he came up the sloping road to the heavily guarded gate.

  “Yes,” Linsha said. “Sir Remmik is very proud of it. I believe he paid for much of it himself.”

  From somewhere in the scrub trees at the base of the hill came a long, haunting cry of an owl. Linsha heard it and nodded with satisfaction. Good. Varia was back.

  . Leonidas paid scant attention. He continued to study the imposing building, then tilted his head and his lips curved in a slight frown. “Has he ever fought dragons?”

  Linsha chuckled. The centaur saw with a keen eye. He recognized the difficulty she saw in the citadel. While the Legion of Steel kept an unobtrusive profile in the area, the newly arrived Knights of Solamnia had come barging into Mirage like a saber rattling, over-zealous lordling trying to win accolades for himself. Considering the volatile and offensive nature of the enemies around them, Linsha would have preferred a little less pomp and a great deal more circumspection.

  Unfortunately, circumspection was little known to the Knight Commander. Although Sir Remmik was second in command of the Solamnic Circle in Mirage, Sir Morrec admittedly had little taste for the daily grind of organizing and supplying a garrison and building a fortress. More often than not he gave full authority to Remmik, who was not only a talented engineer, but a brilliant organizer and supplier. Because of him, the Solamnic garrison had the finest fortress on the Plains of Dust, bulging storehouses, well-crafted armor and weapons, and an attitude that said to the people of Mirage, “Now that we’re here, everything will be fine.”

  Linsha wasn’t so sure.

  A few steps before the main gate, Leonidas came to a stop and offered Linsha his hand. She lifted her leg carefully around his waist, took his hand, and slid to the ground. Before she let go of his fingers, she pulled him closer. “You are right that something is stirring,” she said softly. “Be careful, and if you need help or you need to get word to someone, let me know.”

  The centaur’s deep brown eyes stared into hers for a long moment, and Linsha saw that her guess had been right. Young and gawky he might be, but intelligence and understanding flowed in him.

  “Thank you, Lady.” He bowed to her and turned away into the night. The sound of his hoofbeats faded down the hill.

  Linsha listened for a short while, then squared her shoulders, saluted the officer of the guard, and strode in to make her report to Sir Remmik.

  Jamis uth Remmik

  3

  Sir Remmik was making his rounds with his scribe and two torchbearers when Linsha found him. For some time he deliberately ignored her as he examined the storeroom locks, issued flour, meat, and rations of ale for the morning meal to the cook, checked the barracks and stables, and took a final head-count for the night. Linsha followed him wordlessly, hoping the grinding of her teeth was not obvious over the sounds of their tramping feet.

  It was not until he inspected the guardposts that he nodded to Linsha. He frowned at her torn shirt and disheveled appearance. His own uniform was beautifully tailored and immaculate. He moved on, expecting her to follow as he stopped to speak to each sentry and visit each guardpost on the walls, in the towers, and at the gate.

  “These Knights were promptly at their stations,” he said to her at last, his expression cold. “They were not gallivanting about the city ignoring their duty.”

  Gallivanting? Linsha fought to keep her expression unreadable. The insulting pompous scarecrow. She did not deserve his condescending reprimand; she was no untrained recruit. She was a Knight of the Rose, third in rank in the Circle, and a highly experienced operative.

  “Sir Remmik, there was a stranger in the market. I followed him. I suspect—”

  She stopped. What exactly did she suspect? But the Knight gave her no time to consider. His hand chopped off any further explanation. The two younger Knights holding the torches clamped their jaws tight and looked anywhere hut at Linsha.

  “The Knights of this garrison know their duty and how to follow it,” Remmik stated in short, sharp words. “You would do well to forget your slovenly habits from your previous clandestine assignment and remember what you are.” He stood straight, his back pikestaff straight.

  Once again, Linsha thought irritably, here it comes.

  “Let honest pride be felt in possessing that truest virtue of a Knight—obedience,” he intoned as if chanting a devotional incantation.

  And there lay the crux of the matter. Obedience. Knight Commander Jamis uth Remmik believed in nothing but himself and the Solamnic Measure. He was a high ranking Knight of the Crown, and for him there was only the law, the Oath and the Measure, the obedience of Knighthood. To him, Linsha was an anathema, an undisciplined rogue, a troublemaker, and Sir Remmik couldn’t abide troublemakers.

  Much of his animosity stemmed, Linsha knew, from an incident that happened four years ago when she had been brought before the Solamnic Council on charges of treason and disobeying orders after she helped the city of Sanction and saved its governor, Hogan Bight, from assassination. The three commanders of the Clandestine Circle in Sanction had ordered her to disregard the clear threat against Lord Bight and let him face death. She had refused. After the crisis, she had turned herself over to the Council in Sancrist to clear her name, hut politics being what they were, she languished in prison for weeks while arguments passed back and forth between the authorities. It wasn’t until Lord Bight sent an officer of his guards to Sancrist to inform the Council that he was in the debt of the Solamnics for Linsha’s courageous actions and that two of the three Solamnic officers had regrettably died in a raid on their secret headquarters. The Knights of Neraka were suspected.

  It hadn’t taken long for the surviving officer to drop the charges against her, and the issue never came to trial. Linsha was quietly cleared and reassigned to a garrison where she could put her considerable talents to use—and where she was far from the center of Solamnic activity without being truly exiled. She was far from home and family, far from the seat of her honored order, and far from those few she could call friends.

  Yet Linsha did not allow those facts to dismay her. She chose to remember instead that she and Lord Bight were still alive, that she had cleared her name with the Grand Master, and she had kept her honor intact. Sir Remmik could go blow up a drainpipe.

  “Yes, Sir Remmik,” she said in a bland voice. “Obedience. I will work on it.”

  His dark eyes narrowed into black slits in the flickering torchlight. The man was older than Linsha by ten years and intelligent enough to recognize that tone of voice. He knew she would not make a sincere effort to become the
Knight he thought she should be. But beyond berating her in front of other Knights, there was little he could do. She was of equal rank in the Order of the Rose. Only his seniority and his expertise with planning and supply put him ahead of her in command of the garrison. He would need a severe breach of conduct on her part to inflict any form of punishment on her—and she knew it.

  Linsha watched as these thoughts paraded over his face in a quick procession of grimaces. Although he was only slightly over her height, he still managed to look down his long nose at her.

  Why was it, she wondered, that there were some people in the world who shared an instant and mutual animosity with each other? No rational explanation. No obvious reason. They just grated on each other’s self-control from first sight. This man was an excellent example. No matter what she tried, she could not banish the dislike that reared up every time she and Sir Remmik came face to face.

  “Clean yourself up, Knight,” he snapped. “You are duty officer tonight. Tomorrow, Iyesta asks for you to come to her lair at sunrise. Dismissed.”

  Linsha quelled the burst of pleasure that threatened to show on her face. A visit to the brass’s lair was always enjoyable. Of course, it meant no sleep in the morning.

  She jerked her head in the barest nod and turned on her heel without bothering to salute. Let him go salute himself. He probably practices saluting in a mirror so he can be perfect.