Lanther started at the owl’s dry, raspy voice. He glanced at his companions and forced a grin. “Excuse me while I put this owl back in the brush. It seems to be lost.” He walked a short way into an empty patch of shadow near a tree and offered his arm to Varia.
She stepped delicately onto his forearm. “Thank you. Linsha has said she could count on you. She said you were unflappable.”
“You almost changed that. I did not realize owls could talk.”
“I am different,” Varia replied. “I have come to ask you for help. You have heard of the ambush on the Knights of Solamnia during the storm last night?”
His expression folded into sadness. “Yes. I heard they were all killed.”
“All but Linsha. She was found still alive, but Sir Remmik has arrested her. He is convinced she killed Sir Morrec. He plans to bring her before a council of his arranging and have her convicted. If she is found guilty, by their law she can be hanged. It is a very dishonorable death for a Solamnic Knight.”
While the owl talked, the Legionnaire’s face slowly solidified into a mask of stone. “Will the other Knights try to help her?”
Varia ruffled her feathers in her own frustration. “I don’t think they will. They like her well enough, but Sir Remmik has most of them believing in his authority and he will not give them time to think or act.”
He nodded. “I will look into this. We will do what we can.”
“Has anyone found Iyesta yet?”
“No. The centaurs have looked everywhere they know to look. The golds and the silvers are also gone. This is very strange.”
“I have looked as well,” Varia said. “What I found is not good. There is a fleet of strange ships in a small bay perhaps twenty miles from here. I think it is an invasion force. Could you also have the Legion look into it? The city will need to be warned.”
Lanther looked down at her, his dark blue eyes lost in shadow. “A fleet. That’s strange. Have you told anyone else?”
She clicked her beak. “No. I talk to no one but Linsha.”
“And me.”
“This once. I risk much for her.”
“I will see you are not disappointed in your choice.”
She hooted softly in thanks and flew from his arm into the tree. She sidled down a branch into the depths of the limbs and leaves and watched him return to his companions. She was gratified that he had not questioned Linsha’s innocence, hut she wasn’t certain he would do anything with her information. He was talking to the others about something, though. The three men looked deep in conversation. Soon, one man left the group at a brisk walk and hurried out of the courtyard. Lanther and the other man talked for a moment longer, then both left together, their faces determined.
Varia watched them go, her hopes pinned on one man’s friendship to a woman of another order. She had done all she could in Mirage. It was time to consider one other ally. She dreaded the journey to find him. She would have to fly over Sable’s swamp at the risk of meeting the great black or some other horrible denizen of her foul home. It was that or cross the mountains of Blode, and Varia knew there was slim chance she could make it over the mountains in time-if at all. Iyesta said Lord Bight was busy with some Solamnic plan, but she needed Crucible, and she hoped that for the sake of Iyesta and Linsha, the big bronze might come south to help. If Lanther and the Legion could just delay Linsha’s trial, there might be time for her to fly to Sanction and bring Crucible back. If the Legion and the militia could hold off any attack by the strange fleet, there might be a city for her to come back to. It all depended on timing.
Varia snatched a rat just outside the dragon’s courtyard and had a quick meal. She was tired after a day of flying, and her wings were weary, but there were many miles between Mirage and Sanction, and Linsha was counting on her.
She finished quickly and sprang aloft into the darkness. It would be safer to fly at night. She could rest at sunrise. Until then, she could put miles behind her and be that much closer to Sanction.
11
Midyear’s Day came and went almost unheeded in the Missing City. Those few who did think of it usually did so when they saw a battered remnant of the garlands and banners hung on the streets of Little Three Points where the festival would have been held, or the flooded race grounds where the horses would have raced that day, or a special bit of finery that would have been worn. Most people, though, thought only of loss and grief and stunned confusion.
The hardest part for many people was the bizarre feeling of unfamiliarity in their own community. The images of Gal Tra’kalas had been irritating, confusing, interesting, and amusing all in their turn, but the phantom city had been a part of the life in the real city for as long as the inhabitants had been there, and its disappearance left a wrenching hole. Nothing looked the same. The streets were emptier, the grounds looked a little shabbier, and there was nothing to hide the almost overwhelming destruction of the great storm. The Storm of 38 it would be called forever in Mirage. The year the Missing City became truly lost.
The following day came in warm and windy, and the city slowly dried out. Because of the efforts of the townspeople, the Legion, and Iyesta’s militia, almost all the dead had been accounted for and the injured had been tended to. The debris in the harbor was being cleared, as was the ruined waterfront. Plans were already underway to replace the docks. Sadly, the city’s small fishing fleet would be harder to replace. Only two fishing boats survived, and those were found among the wreckage and flotsam on the beach where they had been flung after their anchor chains snapped. The others were sunk, and their crews gradually washed ashore in ones and twos at the changing of the tides.
Across the four quarters, the sound of hammers and saws filled the streets. While people sorted through the damage and salvaged what could be saved or reused, others hauled the trash and debris out of the city to be burned, and many more began the laborious task of rebuilding. The dead were quickly buried in a mass grave on a hill overlooking the city. In the open market, a few vendors opened their stalls and sold food or whatever could be found to sell. Mirage slowly resumed a semblance of its normal activity.
Only one other thing truly hung like a pall over the peoples’ reviving spirits. The missing dragons. Iyesta and her companions had not yet returned to Mirage from wherever they had gone, and people were growing worried. Could it be possible, they wondered, that Iyesta had abandoned her realm and left for some unknown destination? Maybe she had gone back to the Dragon Isles. Maybe she was hunting Thunder. Maybe the disappearance of Gal Tra’kalas and the dragons were linked. The speculations ran rampant.
A few people thought of Linsha and her friendship with the big brass, and they came to the Citadel to ask if they could talk to the Rose Knight. Word of the massacre had flown around the city, and many people grieved the death of Sir Morrec, hut few knew of the charges against Linsha. They were sent away at Sir Remmik’s orders, who said only that Linsha was unavailable.
The head of the Legion in Mirage, Falaius Taneek, came to the Citadel to talk to Sir Remmik about Linsha, the assassination, and the Solamnics’ reluctance to help. His Order was stretched thin, and he wanted the help of the Solamnics. He left after a short while, his swarthy face suffused with anger.
Sir Remmik paid little attention to the Legionnaire’s ire or to the pleas from the city for help, information, or anything the Solamnics would be willing to give. To him, there was only the Circle. They had dead to bury and a trial to complete. The Citadel itself had sustained some damage from lightning and wind and would need to be repaired. After these duties had been completed, then he would consider the Legion’s request for help.
The new Solamnic commander debated with himself about holding Linsha’s trial that day, then he changed his mind. The seven dead Knights had to be buried-and fairly quickly due to the summer heat. He wanted them interred properly and with the honor befitting their stations. A proper burial with all its pomp and ceremony for a fallen commander and his escort would not allow for a trial in the same day. Nor did Sir Remmik want to besmirch
