The Novices (Last Reaches Book 1) by David Goldfarb

Author:David Goldfarb [Goldfarb, David]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: David Goldfarb
Published: 2017-05-11T18:30:00+00:00

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Meri Stultikast sat smoking a pipe in her handsome office and waited for the sun to begin to set. She had been in her chair with her feet up on the quarried marble desk for upwards of two hours when the first tinges of red began to creep across the room. The light spilled through the two broad windows which looked out on the nameless but lovely lakeshore the Fortunate Guild’s headquarters were built upon.

She rose and looked around her settings. Her office was richly appointed with dyed purple curtains, several pieces of black, lucent furniture which didn’t seem to be made of wood or iron, but volcanic glass. A variety of knickknacks and oddities lined up on a heavy shelf on the wall to her left which belonged in museums or graveyards, depending on one’s perspective. On this shelf were claims of honor for the Guild, repossessions of those who had either not met the terms of their contract or exchanges the clients had been all too keen to make. She rose, as she often did, to inspect them. It gave her pleasure, better than a man or woman, better than the smoke from the dragon-flower, better even than the taking of life, to revisit these objects in this way.

She walked down the row, touching each object as though it were her own child, stroking it, whispering whatever dark sweet nothings came to her mind. She could recall with perfect clarity the condition and circumstance that had brought each one into her possession.

Meri puffed on her pipe, wedging it into the corner of her delicate mouth, trailing her slim fingers over each item with great care. Meri had acquired the smoking habit, a filthy one even by her own estimation, back before men had settled this part of the world in any number. She blew another fat smoke ring and regarded the items again. There was the Comb of Ysimir the Blessed. A simple wooden comb with twelve tines. How he had complained to her that his flock refused to honor his stature, she remembered. “I’m a saint,” he had said, “And yet they treat me like a common priest.” They were all the same in her experience, those who came to the Guild for deals and covenants, rarely happy with the outcome, always expecting more than was promised, and never really ready for the inevitable cost.

She walked to another item, cradled in a wooden stand. This was a recurved archer’s bow, made of horn, wound with the ligaments of an elk. A weapon for killing, as lethal as any toxin. Meri took it in her hands, caressed its dangerous curves. Her tongue flickered in and out of her mouth as she remembered the history which brought it into the Guild’s possession. Herne was the man’s name. A hunter of some repute, she recalled, but troubled by his inability to obtain a weapon worthy of taking mighty prey. Meri had been glad to oblige: after all, ambition was the greatest ally of the Fortunate Guild.

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