Casket of Souls

party good night at Merchant Circle. The carriage continued on into the Noble Quarter while Seregil and Alec made their way toward the Orëska House.
    There were throngs of people out strolling and taking the night air. Summer had come early to Rhíminee. Now, in mid-Gorathin, it was so humid and hot by day that even in the Upper City the air pressed down like a great, unrelenting hand. The market squares were all but deserted at midday except for a few stray dogs and beggars stretched panting in the shade of the stalls. Though not only because of the heat; with the war still dragging on, many goods were scarce or had disappeared altogether. There had been riots over food more than once this year, and the poor were reduced to stealing when they could no longer afford even a loaf of stale bread.
    Many nobles had already fled to summer villas by the sea or in the mountains. Those unlucky enough to have neither a country home nor an invitation to one languished abed or at the finer public baths by day, and in the Street of Lights by night; the elegant brothels, theaters, and gaming houses there were seldom short of custom once the night cooled off.
    In the poorer quarters of the Upper and Lower city there were no such luxuries. Bodies were found in the streets among the squalid tenements every morning, tossed out for the Scavenger Guild to deal with.
    The Orëska House was a palace of sorts, and home to most of the wizards in Skala. It had been built in the heart of the Noble Quarter, symbolizing the unity between the wizards and the Crown. Its four tall white towers glimmered in the moonlight above the high walls that surrounded it. Inside, a huge park surrounded the House, with grassy lawns, groves, and gardens filled with plants useful to the wizards. It was always spring or summer there. Seregil drew in a deep breath of the cool, fragrant air as they followed the tree-lined waytoward the grand entrance. The Orëska House had been his home once.
    The glass domes that capped the soaring white palace and its towers sparkled in the starlight. Cherry and lime trees were in bloom today, scenting the air and casting drifting petals on the breeze that caught in their hair and their horses’ manes. To his right, a young woman hovered cross-legged above a rosebush, her face serene as her fingers wove on the air glowing patterns of light that emitted sweet soft music. Farther on he caught sight of a wizard and his young protégé working on some outdoor spell by the glow of a lantern. The sight struck a sore spot, a very old one, bringing with it memories of fires, hysterical horses, insects pouring in under the doors—Seregil’s inexplicable magical impediment had saved his life more than once, and set his feet on the nightrunner path—but even with these failures, his days as Nysander’s apprentice had been some of the best of his life. He’d thought they’d remain the best, until he met Alec.
    Servants in red tabards bowed deeply to them and took their horses. Climbing the wide marble stairs, they entered the echoing atrium and strode across the huge dragon mosaic floor. Climbing five flights of stairs, they walked down the corridor to Thero’s tower and knocked. One didn’t just lift the latch at a wizard’s rooms, even if he was a friend.
    There was a pause, then a loud popping sound and a muttered curse. A moment later the door flew open and Thero glared out at them, his thin, aesthetic face framed by tendrils of curling black hair that had come loose from the leather thong tying the rest of it back. He smelled of smoke and looked characteristically annoyed. “
What?
Oh, it’s you. Did you find it?”
    “Of course.” Alec took out a packet of papers and waved it at him as they followed him inside to his immaculate workshop, which at the moment was filled with a haze of coiling smoke.
    “I hope it wasn’t anything too serious,” said Seregil, taking a chair by one of the long worktables. Apart from the smoke, everything else—thousands of books and scrolls on their shelves, various pieces of magical and astronomicalequipment—were all in their places. Nothing like the comfortable chaos of Nysander’s day.
    “At least I still have all ten fingers.” Thero sat down by a shattered crucible and opened the packet. “Just as I thought. Did you have any trouble?”
    “No, the house was laid out as you said.”
    “Of course. And how was the play?”
    Alec hitched himself up on the table next to Seregil.