Blood Runner: Book Three of the Empress Saga

CHAPTER TWELVE

The lower streets of the Spired City were often damp at night. Though the mists weren't as thick as in summer, Krayson wished for a pair of goggles. Not only to keep his vision clear, but he didn't want the goodfolk he passed to take note of his eye color.

After leaving Saveen and the shed, he had reversed his robe to show the black lining. While blood runners didn't always become a spectacle if they traveled the walkways, Krayson wanted to leave as little evidence of his passing as possible. Garret had enough advantages if it came to another confrontation. There was no need to make tracking him easier.

The Sanguine Tower was regarded as one of the best academies for arcane learning on the Continent. Spells and secrets, some centuries old, were taught to the brothers of the Order. With all that power at their command, it galled Krayson that the most important skills for completing a contract were no different than those of a common footpad.

Stealth. Guile. Perception. Caution. Next to those, Krayson's magic was secondary.

A crowd of pedestrians moved along the walkway, coming and going into the late evening. They walked by the light of lampposts, the gaslight steady within glass housings. Krayson was able to lose himself within the crowd. No one gave particular note to the people that walked alongside them. It was as if they were just as wary of drawing attention as Krayson was.

He'd been able to deduce his location quickly. The walkway that ringed his current spire looked down on a shining boulevard. Far below, the ground-level street was brightly lit and teemed with both horse-drawn and steam-powered carriages even at this hour. It ran from the eastern gates to the Palace of Towers at the center of the city. The main boulevard of Eastrun was one landmark that oriented Krayson. The other was the distinctive skybridge twenty levels above.

Hanging by a host of steel cables, the high-altitude skybridge spanned between Stormpoint and Krayson's current spire. That meant Saveen had brought him to Arcrest Tower, one of the primary spires of the district.

It also meant that Krayson would have to educate his dragon companion of the various boroughs within the City of Althandor. The thirtieth level of Arcrest Tower was smack dab in the middle of Fellowton, reputedly the roughest neighborhood in the Five Kingdoms. The furtive manner of the crowd suddenly made a lot more sense once he realized where he was.

At last, he felt a brush against his cheek. His witchsight confirmed that his sending spirit had returned. Heron acknowledged the message and had a response. Krayson whispered a brief incantation, begging the spirit to hold its message for a moment more. He then ducked out of the crowd and through a darkened entryway into the tower.

Set between a bookseller and a cobbler was a shop entrance. Still open for business, thunders be praised. A single gaslight hung from the ceiling of the interior, and low-burning candles were placed in alcoved sconces along the walls. It was difficult to say what was being peddled here, as the shelves were lined with a range of basic goods and curious trinkets. There was a wide variety of urns and vases, bolts of fabric from burlap to silk, decorative metalwork fixtures, carved figurines, sets of spikes as thin as needles and made from steel, and goblets of crystal or copper or even gold. There was clothing as well, some odd and obviously foreign, but some was local. Krayson might as well purchase an outfit or two for Saveen while he was here.

It was a hole in the wall establishment, likely known only to those who lived nearby. Krayson had a growing suspicion that it could be a front for organized criminals— meant to launder funds rather than serve as a business. Whatever the store's true nature, Krayson needed it for the privacy it offered. He bade his sending spirit to deliver Heron's response.