The city of Starath seemed to scrape the clouds with its blacked brick spires. They rose all over the city, cornering big factories and warehouses and towering castles with ramparts or slanted roofs. It wasn’t until Vaenuth and the crew of the Roost sailed down the channel between Starath and Blackrock Isle that she realized those were not towers that brushed the clouds. Nor were those even the same clouds that roofed the sea—those spires spewed forth coal smoke into the heavens, smouldering a new, lower layer of clouds. Starath was a machine that made metal.
For the first time in a long time, Vaenuth wanted to bind her torso up with her binding. The air, even in the channel, was oily and thick. She had garbed herself to keep herself clean that morning, when they arrived. She stared at the massive stone piers built into the marina as they drifted closer. It was strange to consider someone choosing this as their desired destination for retirement. When she had taken over the caravan from Master Jolikar, he had retired on the slopes of Malvala Valley northeast of Rema, a veritable paradise.
“Are you ready for this?” Tagg asked, quietly. They stood side-by-side as the ship approached the quay.
Vaenuth inhaled sooty air and smiled. “Of course,” she said. Ra’las had chosen this place to live out his remaining days. He had chosen which hell he’d end in. She rested her hand on her hilt and waited. “I think I’ll have another ring added.”
“To your arm?” he asked. Her sixteen black tattoos were a record of her faults, her failings during the free time in her life. The captains and guards she had slept with to leave that life behind. None of it was remorse from people like Iloli or Novon—she did not regret her time with them.
Killing Ra’las would not be a regret either. “I think it will be a good way to seal all of this in the past,” she said. Her arm was full. The tattoo would end up on her shoulder.
The sailors on Roost quickly tethered the ship to an indicated quay, where the captain paid a landing fee. Vaenuth and her friends checked their weaponry and packed up their belongings. The guards that Lerran had sent were ready before she was. They marched down the plank and into the harbour of the bustling city.
Originally named Star’s Wrath after the fall of the Orrish, Starath clung to the mountainous, metal isle like a leech. A thousand mines around copper cove shipped to Starath—Roost had encountered a dozen ore barges as they sailed up the channel to the port—and thousands of coins worth was exported in the form of ingots, jewellery, arms, and utensils. Dark, poisoned water wound through some of the streets—it reminded her of a stone version of Maykren. In place of boardwalks, arching walkways and stone streets covered a toxic maze of water and metal waste.
Vaenuth led the way. They passed lines of slaves in the markets, dressed in tattered black robes. Smoke fogged some streets, hiding the rich and the poor alike behind grey nether. Vaenuth glanced back at Tagg as one point, and was surprised to see him sweating. He wiped his head and his hand left a small black streak that dripped down one cheek mixed with sweat. Every blacksmith they passed had a stone trough filtering molten metal imperfections down into the gullies below them.
They passed a line of prostitutes—only one of whom was even mildly attractive—as they entered the Housing District, a misleading name for it only accommodated taverns, inns and brothels. The Residential District was for local inhabitants. One of the harlots, a topless white woman, asked Tagg if he wanted to plow her. He ignored her and kept walking, but the tone seemed to drop even lower, like the coal skies above them.
By the time they reached an inn that was affordable but not inhabited by drug-addled lowlifes or criminal gangs, all of their group were ready to fight something. Even Lerran’s guards clenched their jaws and gripped their sword hilts. Vaenuth didn’t allow them anyone a chance to lose self-control. She gave her orders with as little bitterness as she could. “Pressip, find food. If you have to steal it, do so. Take as many of Lerran’s men as you need.”
One of them raised an objection, but a glare from Tagg silenced him. “Krebin, Arloe, talk to the locals. I want to know what sort of resistance we’ll get from the city watch, if that is even a thing here.”
“What about you and I, Vae?” Tagg asked. “Are you looking for fun tonight?” One of Lerran’s guards raised an eyebrow, perhaps thinking that Tagg was trying to make a move on her.
“No,” Vaenuth said. “I had enough fun in Lo Mallago. We go to battle the way we are. But not today. Today, you and I will scout out our target. Where in the city is Ra’las, how many men does he have? What of his family?”
Tagg nodded. “Let’s go.”
It took them a while to find out where Ra’las’s estate was. Lerran’s records had not been precise. The property was north of the Work District, on the slopes of an enormous hill covered in shrivelled, small plants. Struggling vines managed to cover the old walls of the estate, but didn’t reach as high as the corner watch towers, where guards in leather or fur armour stood on duty. Five men stood at the entrance to the estate grounds, though there was no visible gate or portcullis. Smoke from cooking fires rose overhead, and Vaenuth could smell a faint whiff of cinnamon amidst the stench of copper fumes.
“There’s a lot of guards,” Tagg pointed out. Despite that, the estate itself wasn’t as lavish as Vaenuth had expected. The walls were old; likely, Ra’las had purchased the property instead of having it constructed. He was spending his fortune on military, that was clear. There were at least twenty guards on duty that day, as far as Vaenuth and Tagg could count. From a higher street they could see the warriors in the courtyard. If there were more, they were indoors, not patrolling the grounds.
Vaenuth sighed. “This is going to be difficult,” she said, quietly.
“Look,” Tagg said, before they descended. He pointed to a small pool of bright blue water, hidden beneath a few shrivelled hawthorn trees. A man swam in the small wading pool, nude. He grabbed something from the side, likely a drink, and raised it to his mouth. “Looks too young to be Ra’las. Perhaps Trist.”
They were living a life of luxury, despite the age of the estate. And Vaenuth would take it away. “Maybe there’s another way in,” she said. “That water is likely from a cistern, not carted in. And the estate may have secret ways, especially if it’s this old.”
Tagg nodded. “We could try some other stealthy means too. Disguise?” he asked.
Vaenuth shrugged. “We’ll see what the others discover. Tomorrow, let’s check if there’s any other ways in. The day after, we attack.” Soon, she told herself. She was going to turn that estate into a butcher’s shop, or die trying. Nothing was worse than what this man, Ra’las, had done to her and to her family.