“I’ll get us lower.”
Once I was free of the straps keeping me from falling off, I leaned in over her shoulder and kissed her on the cheek. “For luck.”
“See you soon… I just hope you jumping off doesn’t teach Fairly the wrong message, and whenever she gets tired, she starts spearing and removing passengers.”
I climbed out of the saddle, and when I went from leather to feathers, it was a whole lot slicker than expected, and I ended up sliding and then tumbling off the side of the kwetzel.
Not only was this the farthest I’d ever tried to descend, rather than a smooth step off, I started out flipping wildly end over end. My cloak flew up and wrapped around my face so I couldn’t see the ground. Azarin was about to watch me break every bone in my body.
Except I stayed calm, pulled the cloak from my eyes, extended my hand toward the ground—which was already closer than expected—and activated the spell.
“Descend.”
The Clear embedded in the glove came to life, and the air wrapped around me, not solid, but a whole lot firmer than normal. The spell slowed me down a lot, the wild spinning stopped enough that I was able to aim for the snow pile rather than the hard frozen ground, and I got my feet under me—then I hit.
It was still way too fast, and I ended up tumbling and rolling through the snow. I hit my already bruised hip and tweaked my left wrist.
On my back, I just lay there, looking up at Fairly Deadly hovering over me. Azarin leaned over her neck, and both of them looked concerned. Yes, my landing had been so poor, I’d even made the kwetzel worried.
Azarin shouted, and was so distant, I could barely hear her over the beating wings. I think she said, “Did you break anything?”
I forced myself to get up, waved in a manner that suggested it hadn’t hurt at all, and began brushing myself off. I even had a few feathers stuck to my cloak from my tumble. Then I noticed a woman and her children standing on the sidewalk, so transfixed by the gigantic kwetzel, they hadn’t even noticed me fall out of the sky.
“Smorp Brothers has got all sorts of flying mounts,” Azarin yelled at them. “These even come in different colors!”
As Fairly Deadly flapped away, the little girl bounced excitedly and clapped her mittens together. “Mommy, may I have a pink one?”
Thirty-Nine
I’d been worried that Gerzog might have gotten suspicious if he’d seen us fly by, thinking it was someone searching for him. That, or maybe the locals would get excited about a flying beast dropping off a wizard with a familiar description. As it turned out, I’d been paranoid for no reason, because as I walked through the Cantor District, several other flying mounts or magical conveyances passed by overhead.
When one big grey bird flew past with several passengers on its back, I noticed it was heading for a sky island that was suspended over the rear of the district, atop which had been built the biggest and fanciest church I’d ever seen. That building must have been as important as it looked, because it was attracting a lot of traffic from the city’s loftier districts. Fairly Deadly wouldn’t have been noteworthy in this crowd.
And crowded it was. The extra Fireday heat brought with it a warm breeze from the market. It was dinnertime, yet a great many people were out and about on the streets to get some fresh air away from their stuffy winter homes. Though this district was dedicated to the study of the gods and saints, the residents were as normal as everywhere else. Laborers, rowdies, families, and traders all came and went between a great many establishments.There were dozens of taverns and pubs. For whatever reason, I’d expected the religious district to be holier.
I made my way toward the estate. When I paused to concentrate, I sensed the magic bullet in the distance ahead. It was faint, but getting warmer.
There seemed to be a church on every street in this neighborhood, but as I walked, reading the signs, it turned out most of those buildings were actually schools sponsored by the worshippers of various saints. I’d assumed they were churches from the symbolic statues out front. This really was like the Collegium, only less ostentatious. There were still lots of magical effects at work, like moving picture illusions on some of the walls, and talking or singing advertisements, but it wasn’t nearly as flashy as I’d seen previously.
The people were also a bit friendlier and less standoffish. I received a great many nods of greeting from total strangers. In the Collegium, those would’ve been sneers. In the Slumps, those nods of greeting would be followed by both parties checking their pockets to make sure the other hadn’t robbed them.
The residents here were mostly human, amongst many others. Some I was familiar with, like dwarves and gnomes, and a few I’d seen only in passing before. There were gnome-sized lizard men who looked like miniature Sifusos. Then there were muscular orange people who looked like lobs—but their bodies weren’t cursed with bits of rock—those must have been hobgoblins. There were a lot of those here. They must be very religious.
There were watchmen about on patrol, but not nearly as many in other districts. If I were to guess why, it was that a well-behaved people tended to police themselves. With the City Watch being the Council’s eyes, and so few of them here, someone like Gerzog would be able to avoid them easily. There were a surprising number of orcs too, so he wouldn’t stand outthat much. I guess the orcish presence made sense, as the gods had lifted up several notable saints from that race. From what I understood, orcs also had an inordinate number of fiends appointed, to balance things out. Gerzog definitely seemed to fall more on the destined-for-hell side of things.
I reached a tall white wall. The magic bullet was somewhere on the other side. I followed the wall around to the front where there was an open gate with a big sign over it, declaring this was the Habitation of Phradumius. I didn’t know who or what that was, but it was open to the public until sundown. People were coming and going through the gate, and from the robes and holy symbols, most were various kinds of clergy.
I watched the entrance for a while; the bullet remained inside. There really wasn’t a good place for me to sit unnoticed. There were no beggars here, no nearby businesses I could pretend to be frequenting, and it was too cold for anyone to just be standing around. I’d told Azarin I’d try to meet her here, but if Gerzog had men stationed in any of the nearby buildings, they’d be sure to spot me loitering.
There were two guards posted at the gate, but they weren’t watchmen. They were from some other militant group I’d not seen before, wearing long black coats with a silver dagger patch sewn on their sleeves, and big fur hats with the same symbol pinned to the front. Both wore a sword and a pistol on their belts. They seemed alert, but were cordial to the people entering.
“Those are Paladins of Kielgrad,” someone said from behind me. I turned around to see a plump, grey-haired, rosy-cheeked halfling woman, carrying a bag of groceries. Halflings were taller than gnomes, near dwarf height, but not nearly as thick and musclebound. The only thing hairy on her was her head and her bare feet. I don’t know how those weren’t getting frostbite. “I saw you staring at them. It must be their turn to man the shrines today. Don’t worry. They’re fair lads, as they serve Saint Loyalty.Not at all like the Paladins of Zumlane. Those judgy bastards. They were here yesterday, all scowling and watching everybody all suspicious, like we’re just itching to do some crime.”
“Zumlane is the Saint of…”
“Justice.”
“Got it. Are paladins like watchmen?”
