corded.
One of the men was swarthy, with a neat beard and oiled hair tied into a ponytail. The other, slightly taller, man was clean-shaven and had lank hair. Both carried themselves like warriors and Gabriella wondered if they were members of Pontaine's nobility.
'Excellent,' Chaga said, pretending to study the book they had laid on the lectern between them. 'So, this is Sister DeZantez. She's not how I imagined her. Somehow I expected a mannish, raven-haired banshee.'
'If she recognises either of us, you may see her as a banshee yet, boss.'
'Don't worry,' Chaga reassured his subordinate. 'The last thing we want on our hands is a fight here in the Faith's largest embassy to Pontaine.'
Crowe seemed professional enough as mercenaries went and Marta sensed she could trust him to do Gabriella no harm. She looked over at the two scholars in the anteroom. Something about them set her teeth on edge, but she couldn't say why.
'Was there anything specific you were looking for?' She asked Gabriella.
'I wondered if there are any records here detailing the actions of Mandrian's Hands in the last war.'
Marta shook her head. 'All the military records were taken back to the Order's central archive at Scholten.'
'But weren't there copies?'
'Those were taken away a year or more back. On the orders of one of the Eminences. Kesar or Rhodon.' She frowned. 'Kesar, definitely.'
Gabriella was visibly disappointed, but took it well. 'Okay. No matter. The second thing I'm looking for may be related to a story you used to tell me. Have you heard of the Glass Mountain?'
'The Glass Mountain? Now that's a tale I've not heard in many years.'
'But you do remember it?'
Marta chuckled. 'Gabriella, you know that if there's a tale, I've heard of it.' Different stories give different locations for it, and each story and setting has a different origin. The Tale of Wyngarde claims that the Dwarven people once had a great capital which glowed in the sunlight because it was made of cut-crystal glass, for example. That story is the most common one.'
'Was Wyngarde a creation of fiction or did he actually exist?'
'Wyngarde certainly was a real person. He was a Preceptor in the Swords a couple of centuries ago. There will be records of his duties and campaigns kept at the Great Cathedral in Scholten, of course, but all I have here are the public tales as written down, because his Preceptory was in Gargas.'
'Are there any maps of his travels?' Gabriella asked.
Marta blinked. 'You know, there just might be. I haven't thought about it since you grew up…' She trailed off as she rooted through several large scrolls, before brandishing one with an exclamation. 'This is the one.' She unrolled it on a table, weighting the corners down with candlesticks. The map showed the Western regions of Pontaine, down to the World's Ridge and the edges of the great Sardenne forest.
It was there, just as Gabriella had hoped. A jagged fang drawn on vellum, and labelled 'Glass Mountain'. It was tucked away at the south-western end of the World's Ridge, just inland.
'Can we make a copy of this?' Gabriella asked.
'Of course. While I get one of the scribes to work on it, why don't you join us for dinner?'
The thought of the warmth and welcome of her parent's home was so overwhelming to Gabriella, after all that she had been through, that she began to cry.
'Gabriella, my sweet, what's the matter?'
'It's Erak… Erak's dead.'
And with that Gabriella wept in her mother's arms.
Later that evening, Travis Crowe asked Marta for a word in private.
'Well?' She said, after leading him to her study. 'What do you want to talk to me about?'
'I- How do I start?' He wasn't used to visiting women's mothers, if truth be told. He wasn't even sure why he was bothering, except that having fought together with Gabriella gave them a bond. That, and the voice that still whispered 'protect' in his head. He knew it wasn't referring to her, but he also knew there was a connection between Gabriella and what the voice referred to.
Marta folded her arms and looked at him expectantly.
'At the beginning. Stories usually start there.'
'Something happened recently, when Erak Brand was killed.'
'If you need to ask about why someone is upset when a special person in her life is murdered, then you're far beyond any help I could give you.'
Crowe grimaced. 'The bloke who did it, Dai Batsen, was a Shadowmage.'
Marta spat. 'I heard. Another one of those debased heretics who think they can bargain with the spawn of the pits to get their way. Why should it be a surprise that he was a murderer?'
'That's not the surprise. He tried to use magic on Gabriella. But it didn't work.'
'Of course not.'
'Look, maybe you're not hearing me right. A Shadowmage was tossing fireballs at your daughter — '
'And she obviously survived. She's well trained, you know.'
Crowe stopped and blinked. This wasn't the reaction he had been expecting. 'Now, I may not be a bloody archivist, or a bloody expert on shadow magic or elemental magic or whatever-the-hell kind of magic, but I've never heard of that happening before. So I wondered if you'd heard of such a thing yourself.'
Marta shook her head. 'The Lord Of All was with her. Protecting her. Simple. Was there anything else you wanted to know?' He was tempted to ask if she had ever seen her daughter take a fireball in the face before, but it would have been facetious at best to do so. There were some other more rational questioned he wished he could ask, but it was clear to Crowe that Marta was hiding something from him and it was clear from her expression that their meeting was over.
Gabriella awoke to the sound of footsteps. She looked up from the books that she had been studying before she had fallen asleep. 'Mother? Crowe?'
She was surprised to see the two scholarly, well muscled, visitors snatching documents off shelves. The one with the braided hair looked up, startled. 'Chaga! Stop her!'
The man with the oiled hair hurled a lamp at Gabriella and she ducked. It smashed into a shelf full of scrolls behind her, and they immediately burst into flame. Head down, Gabriella ran at Chaga, the crown of her head punching into his chest, hurling him back against the wall.
He sagged with a grunt, but then tried for an uppercut, forcing Gabriella to jump back. Someone started ringing a bell and people began to appear in bedclothes and blue monastic robes. Marta ran in, saw the fire, and called for buckets of water.
Meanwhile, Chaga hurled a handful of books at Gabriella's head, making her shield herself with both hands. He slid forward immediately, kicking at her ribs. She blocked and grabbed his leg, throwing him across a low table.
He rolled to his feet, drawing a long dagger, and lunged at her. Gabriella flicked out a hand to grab his wrist and turned and pulled, smashing her fist into his elbow as he stumbled past. His blade fell from a numbed hand. She stepped in, cracking him on the side of the head with the point of her elbow, then jerking the elbow back into his nose. He finally went down when the back of her fist crashed across his jaw.
By the time she looked back for the man with the braided hair, he had gone. She would have to find him later. For now, she had more urgent matters to attend to. 'What's missing?' She asked her mother as she frantically sorted through scrolls.
'Everything relating to the maps you viewed earlier it seems. Various other random materials as well, burned in the fire, but all subsidiary references to maps with the Glass Mountain are just gone. Stolen.'
'Which means somebody either believes the story and wanted a map, or wants to deny it to us. Luckily they're too late.' Gabriella tapped the side of her head. 'You've already got a scribe with a copy and I've got it in
