Free Oath Bound (Book 3) by M.A. Ray Page B

but two
centuries ago the owners had abandoned it. The city’s destitute had moved in to
fill the hole nobody else seemed to want. In the dark of night, it emitted a
smoky, sullen red glow from hundreds of cheap-peat fires. It always nagged at
him, even to glance at, and let off a smell that offended his nose despite how
high he flew. Disease crawled through the shacks in the Pit, and crime strutted
peacock-proud in its depths. The Knights pumped a stream of money into the
community there: missions, healthcare, suppers, and it never seemed to make a
lick of difference.
    He’d say they have it
worse than he did, Vandis thought, but I can’t imagine having Dingus’s
life any more than I can imagine living there.
    He’s wise enough,
for a young one, She said with satisfaction.
    Yeah, he is. The
city itself spilled out of a shimmering bowl: a huge volcanic crater with the
seaward side collapsed. It flooded three fjords and part of a fourth. A
multitude of blazing lighthouses warned any approaching ship of submerged rocks
or fjord walls, and the traffic in and out of the harbors looked, from this
altitude, like swarming fairies—or so Vandis imagined. She let an appreciative
breath into his mind, and he smiled. The Ennis River cascaded over the landward
side of the crater and drained into Crater Bay under the long shadow of the
City Redwood, which had been planted—so it was said—on the very day of the
founding. Even now, late at night, the complicated lift system that drew goods
and passengers up the sides of the hollow mountain was in operation, and the
wharves hummed with activity. Dreamport, the greatest city of Rothganar, never
slept.
    What was it like? he asked, soaring out to the black, gleaming sea over the hulk of the sewage
treatment plant spangled with squatters’ lights. He banked into a wide turn to
slow his flight and let himself drop to the level of the cliff tops.
    You always ask Me
that, She said, warming him with the affection in Her voice.
    So? Tell me again.
Please.
    Like a star on the
land. Bright and clean, it was, with the light of magic shining from clear
glass globes along every street, and the cobbles so well laid you couldn’t
slide more than a hair into the cracks between. And there was music… oh,
everywhere. People had time, you see, for art.
    As he flew back in
overland, he passed Last Resort, the black-granite seat of Friedhelm. The
castle sat on the promontory jutting out farthest from the crater, guarding the
city from the sea, and a watchman on the highest tower waved a greeting to Vandis.
He returned it. Friendly glow illuminated the arrow-slit windows along the top
edge of what he knew to be the Great Hall and flowed across the balcony off the
Duke’s apartments. He could land just there if he wanted to see His Grace, but
he decided not to—not tonight. An audience with Marcus sounded utterly
exhausting.
    Besides, his Lady spoke
on. If you looked about, at any hour, you might have seen a homunculus
with a long, tufted tail picking up trash or scrubbing a statue. They used to
roam continually, keeping things neat.
    Vandis dipped lower and
lower into the crater, into Old Town. Many of the oldest temples were here,
along with fancy houses, mostly taken over by merchants and traders when the
nobles had moved to higher ground. The roofs were all slate or wooden shingles;
no thatch in Old Town. Since it was so readily accessed from the wharves, there
was plenty of market space, too, with shops and bars marking out squares
waiting eagerly for stalls, wagons, and basket-carriers. This quarter
wasn’t only a market in those days, My own. Galleries and outdoor stages jammed
in with the shops. There was always a place for a talented musician or
storyteller in the taverns, and My Knights were first among them. With only a
wave of the hand, such pictures! Illusions of sight and scent and sound to
enhance a tale—they knew how to trick the mind of the listener, right down to
changing their own