Oathbreakers' Guild (The Rose Shield Book 2) by Peach D. Wallace

Author:Peach, D. Wallace [Peach, D. Wallace]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Tags: Oathbreakers' Guild
Publisher: D. Wallace Peach
Published: 2017-03-30T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-Three

Whitt strolled Bes-Strea’s first tier market, keeping an eye out for Cale and Tavor. The tier city jutted from the ground at the convergence of the West Canal and the Fargrove River that coursed from the snow-capped Fangwold through Dar-Callin. The wildcat river grew fat and lazy with the flow from the canal and swept down to Nor-Bis where it emptied into the Cull Sea.

The hub of western commerce, Bes-Strea bustled. Whitt glanced over the rail, scanning the crowd below for Tavor’s bald pate. The rambling warrens’ market bordered the waterway where a long quay fringed with stubby docks coped with the churning river traffic. Farther south, the arable land boasted a patchwork of farms. Crofters wheeled mule-drawn carts to the market’s sprawl, delivering Harvest’s ripe produce and fattened livestock for shipment to the waterlogged cities of Ava-Grea and Elan-Sia.

He walked along the promenade until he spied his two companions at an outdoor table, heads bent in conversation over three cups of spike. They’d stashed their armor and Guardian greens, passing as a pair of tradecrafters enjoying the spoils of their labor. Cale had loosened up considerably, a result of too much time in Tavor’s company. She’d donned a calf-length jacket over soft leather boots, and Tavor wore a sweaty shirt, his jacket draped over a chair despite the chill in the air.

Whitt wiped his hands on the riverman’s cuffed trousers he’d acquired on the trip down the canal. He spun a chair from a vacant table and straddled it with his forearms resting on the back. For three days, they’d been infiltrating the tier city and the time had arrived to decide whether they should stay another night or move on to Lim-Mistral.

The bald guardian slid a cup his way. “The queen’s got her hands full here.”

Cale leaned in, keeping her voice down, “Rumor tells she’s drowning in a troubled sea. They’re saying she can’t keep a firm hand on the realm. The tier guards are shy when it comes to plans, but they heard the Farlanders are crying mutiny, and the Cull Tarr are cozying on Elan-Sia.”

“A bit of truth there,” Whitt said. “At least regarding the Wolds.”

Tavor tipped back a cup and shivered as the spike burned his throat. “We think High Wardess Sianna has her eye on western Ellegeance.”

Cale quirked her lips. “I paid for a taste of gossip from the tradecrafters. Ask a metalsmith if you ever want the early word on a high ward’s ambitions. They got iron coming down from Mur-Vallis for weapons. We think Sianna’s itching for Nor-Bis.”

“Nor-Bis?” Whitt frowned. “Are you certain? She’s ambitious.”

“Put a pitcher of tipple in a tier guard’s belly and his mouth unhinges.” Cale tapped her fingertips on her cup. “Heard tier guards talk about Nor-Bis as if they plan to loot the place. Dar-Callin’s next if you want my thinking.”

Tavor cracked his knuckles. “Sianna’s planning to fragment the kingdom. Most likely with Lim-Mistral ruling the east and Mur-Vallis claiming the south. They’re in it together, Whitt.

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