Free The Guild by Jean Johnson Page B

what seemed to be a natural phenomenon, but which she had been told on her first visit was a deliberately exaggerated effect. Priests did not like coming here because of that effect, which was the one thing making the Vortex a safe zone for mages.
    The militia officer did something in the darkest corner of the stall . . . and part of the stone wall swung away. Beckoning her to follow, he entered the shadowed passage beyond. Hoping she wasn’t making a mistake, clinging to her knowledge that the priestshated coming to the dam and that Mekha was dead, Rexei followed him inside.
    The head-sized rectangular stones quickly gave way to the smooth concrete surface that made up most of the dam. A good thing, too, for the passage turned into a spiral staircase that descended down, down, down. She expected the air to turn damp as well as cold, but it didn’t; it stayed dry and became warmer. The light coming from below grew brighter, too.
    After the third turning, she could see the source, another of those odd, ceiling-embedded crystals like in the forbidden basement of the temple. It wasn’t quite as bright as daylight, but it was brighter than three oil lamps put together. It illuminated a table set at the bottom of the stairs and a man who was hastily pulling his feet off the table, replacing them with his book. Behind him lay a longish passage lined with two doors nearby, two farther down, and one at the end; the door behind him and to his right lay open and seemed to look into another curving stairwell leading down.
    “Rogen!” the sentry exclaimed, gaining his feet. “Wait . . . who’s that?” he demanded, frowning at Rexei. “I don’t recognize that one.
He’s
not authorized to be here.”
    “Stow it, Barclei,” Rogen Tallnose ordered, or tried.
    “Stow it yourself, Tallnose,” the other man retorted, lifting his chin. “Your brother may be one of us, but
you’re
not, and I don’t take orders from you.
Leftenant
.”
    Rexei struggled to keep her shock off her face. This man had zero fear of a leftenant of the militia? Or at least so little that he felt he could be rude to the man’s face? That was unheard-of, in her experience. Next to the priesthood, the militia was the second-biggest source of authority and power in the kingdom. Even the Consulates, which represented all the guilds, treaded lightly around their local Precinct officers. This man didn’t, and thatastounded her. The only thing she allowed herself to do was blink; the rest of her face, she kept carefully straight and blank.
    “Stow it anyway, and get my brother up here,” Tallnose ordered. “There are things going on that
you
are not authorized to know about, but I am. So get him up here. Now.”
    Barclei eyed Rogen a long moment, then shifted to a small box set in the wall above the edge of the table. Pressing a toggle, he spoke, “Barclei to central, Leftenant Tallnose wishes to see his brother at the control house gate. He has a . . . guest . . . with him.”
    Releasing the toggle, he straightened. The mesh grille crackled and a tinny voice spoke. “
Central to control house gate, who is the guest?”
    At a lift of the guard’s brows, Tallnose gestured at her. “Journeyman Rexei Longshanks. He’s already authorized for the outer levels.”
    Barclei passed that along, though he eyed Rexei as he did so. A few moments passed, then a reply came back. “
He’s on his way
.”
    The longer they waited, the warmer Rexei felt. Even the leftenant started feeling it, for he unbuckled the belt of his riding coat, unfastened the buttons, and pushed the edges aside. Eventually, he removed his helmet, once again revealing flattened, reddish brown curls with the faint start of a receding hairline. His hair reminded Rexei of her father, though her father’s hair had been as dark brown as her own. She turned away to hide her reaction, masking the movement by unbuttoning her own coat now that she, too, was finally feeling blessedly