Valdris City

# Chapter 6: Valdris City

The wagon lurched through the final bend in the mountain road, and Kira's breath caught in her throat.

Valdris City sprawled before her like a dream carved from stone and ambition. She had seen drawings in Aldric's books, crude sketches that merchants brought back from their travels. None of them had prepared her for this.

The city filled the valley from wall to wall, a maze of slate roofs and whitewashed walls climbing the distant hillsides. Smoke rose from a thousand chimneys, painting the evening sky in shades of grey and amber. But it was the Cathedral that seized her attention and refused to let go.

The Grand Cathedral of the Eternal Flame rose from the city's heart like a mountain carved by gods. Its central spire pierced the clouds, so tall that Kira had to crane her neck to see its peak. Stained glass windows caught the dying sun, throwing fragments of colored light across the buildings below. The entire structure seemed to glow from within, as if the Flame itself had taken physical form.

"Close your mouth," Brennan muttered from beside her. "You'll catch flies."

Kira snapped her jaw shut and glared at him. "I've seen cities before."

"Not like this one." He pulled his hood lower, shadowing his face. "Remember what we talked about."

*Keep your head down. Don't stare. Blend in.*

She had heard the instructions a dozen times since they'd left the mountain pass. Brennan's hand had drifted to his sword hilt at every sound, every unexpected movement. The encounter with the Church patrol had shaken him more than he'd admit.

The wagon rolled through the outer gate, past guards who barely glanced at the load of timber and dried fish. Kira pressed herself against the cargo, willing herself to become invisible. The guards yawned, waved them through, and returned to their dice game.

*Too easy,* she thought. *They're looking for something specific. Someone specific.*

The thought sat cold in her stomach as the wagon carried them deeper into the city.

---

Valdris City had a pulse.

Kira felt it in the cobblestones beneath her feet as she slipped through the evening crowds. The streets thrummed with life—merchants hawking their wares, children chasing stray dogs, priests in crimson robes moving through the masses like blood cells through a living body.

She counted seven priests in the first block alone.

Their robes marked them as different. Not just the fabric—fine wool and silk compared to the rough linen of common folk—but the way they moved. They walked with purpose, with certainty. The crowds parted for them without conscious thought, a tide retreating before rocks of authority.

"Eyes forward," Brennan said, his hand brushing her elbow.

She hadn't realized she'd stopped.

The safe house sat at the end of a narrow alley, tucked between a tannery and a chandler's shop. The smell of curing leather and tallow mingled with the ever-present smoke, creating a perfume that Kira associated with poverty and hiding. She'd lived in alleys like this for most of her life.

Brennan knocked on the door—three quick raps, a pause, then two more. The pattern repeated from inside, and the door swung open to reveal a woman whose face had been carved by years and weather into something hard and watchful.

"Brennan." The woman's voice rasped like stones grinding together. "You're still alive."

"Disappointed, Marta?"

"Surprised." She stepped aside, gesturing them in. "Get inside before someone sees you."

The interior was cramped but clean. A single room served as kitchen, bedroom, and meeting space. Dried herbs hung from the rafters, filling the air with the sharp scent of rosemary and thyme. A fire crackled in the hearth, casting dancing shadows across the walls.

Marta closed the door and barred it before turning to study Kira. Her eyes were the grey of winter clouds, and they missed nothing.

"This is her?" she asked Brennan.

"This is Kira."

"Smaller than I expected." Marta circled Kira like a wolf examining prey. "You're the one who destroyed the archive in Thornhaven?"

Kira's throat tightened. "I didn't mean to—"

"Didn't ask if you meant to." Marta stopped in front of her, close enough that Kira could smell the woodsmoke in her clothes. "Asked if you did it."

"Yes."

A long moment passed. Then Marta's weathered face cracked into something approaching a smile. "Good. Those bastards had it coming."

She turned away, moving to the hearth where a pot of stew bubbled. "Sit. Eat. You look like you haven't had a proper meal in weeks."

Kira's legs ached with the truth of that statement. She sank onto a wooden stool, accepting a bowl of thick stew that smelled of rabbit and root vegetables. The first spoonful burned her tongue, but she didn't care. It was the best thing she'd tasted since leaving Aldric's tower.

"The city's crawling with Inquisitors," Marta said, ladling stew for Brennan. "They've been pulling people off the streets for questioning. Something about heretical artifacts."

"Runes," Brennan said.

"That word's been outlawed. Say it in public and you'll find yourself in a Church cell before sundown." Marta sat across from Kira, her bowl untouched. "The High Inquisitor arrived three days ago. She's taken personal command of the investigation."

Kira's spoon paused halfway to her mouth. "Maren?"

"You know her?"

"We've met." The memory of those cold eyes, that serene smile, sent a shiver down Kira's spine. "She's... dedicated."

"That's one word for it." Marta's voice dropped. "She's had twelve people executed since she arrived. Heretics, she calls them. Most of them were just scholars who asked too many questions."

The stew suddenly tasted like ash in Kira's mouth. She forced herself to eat anyway. She needed her strength.

"The library," she said. "The Imperial Library. Can you get me in?"

Marta's eyebrows rose. "The library? Girl, that's in the Cathedral complex. It's the most heavily guarded building in the city."

"I know."

"Why in the Flame's name would you want to go there?"

Kira set down her spoon. She had practiced this lie on the road, refined it until it felt natural. "Aldric had notes about a book in the Imperial collection. A history of pre-Sundering metallurgy. If I can find it, I might be able to figure out where the Forge is hidden."

It was true, as far as it went. She just hadn't mentioned that the book was a treatise on rune-forging techniques, or that she needed it to understand the symbols Aldric had carved into her skin before he died.

Marta studied her for a long moment. "You know how to read?"

"Some."

"Some won't be enough. The library's archives are in Old Valdrian. Even the priests struggle with it."

"I'll manage."

Marta exchanged a look with Brennan, some silent communication that Kira couldn't decipher. Finally, Marta sighed.

"I can get you inside. I have a contact—a scribe who works in the scriptorium. But if you're caught, I don't know you. I never met you. Understood?"

"Understood."

"And girl?" Marta's voice hardened. "If they catch you, don't expect rescue. The Church doesn't take prisoners in cases like this. You'll be dead before Brennan can blink."

Kira nodded, her mouth suddenly dry.

*Twelve executions in three days.*

She wondered if Maren had watched them all.

---

The Imperial Library occupied the eastern wing of the Cathedral complex, a sprawling structure of white marble and stained glass that seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it. Kira approached it at dusk, dressed in the grey robes of a novice scribe that Marta had procured.

The robe itched. The hood smelled of incense and old paper. And every step she took felt like walking across a drum, announcing her presence to every guard within a mile.

*Just a scribe,* she told herself. *Just a junior scribe, running errands for her superior.*

She had memorized the cover story. She was Novice Elara, assigned to the scriptorium's cataloging department. She had been sent to retrieve a manuscript on agricultural practices from the restricted section. Her superior, Brother Matthias, had given her written authorization.

The forged document weighed heavy in her pocket.

The library's main entrance was guarded by two men in the silver armor of the Cathedral Guard. Their eyes tracked her approach, hands resting on sword hilts.

"Halt. State your business."

Kira bowed her head, keeping her voice low and deferential. "Novice Elara, sent by Brother Matthias to retrieve a manuscript from the restricted section." She produced the forged letter, her hands steady despite the hammering of her heart.

The guard took the letter, scanning it with practiced efficiency. "Bit late for library work, isn't it?"

"Brother Matthias said it was urgent. Something about the harvest records for the northern provinces."

The guard grunted, handing back the letter. "Go on. But if you're not out by compline, I'll come looking for you."

"Thank you, brother." Kira stepped past them, through the massive oak doors, and into the Imperial Library.

She stopped breathing.

The main hall stretched before her like a forest of knowledge. Shelves rose three stories high, connected by spiral staircases and narrow walkways. Thousands of books lined the walls, their spines a rainbow of leather and gilt. The ceiling was a dome of painted glass, depicting scenes of the Sundering—the sky splitting open, mountains crumbling, the old world dying in fire and shadow.

And in the center of it all, suspended from the dome by chains of silver, hung a massive crystal that cast pale blue light across the entire space.

*Aldric would have wept,* she thought. *He would have wept to see this.*

She forced herself to move, to walk past the reading desks where a few scholars hunched over ancient texts. None of them looked up. They were lost in their own worlds, their own searches for knowledge.

The restricted section was at the back of the main hall, behind a door of iron and oak. Another guard stood watch, but this one barely glanced at her credentials before unlocking the door.

"Don't touch anything you're not authorized to handle," he said. "And don't wander."

"Yes, brother."

The door swung open, and Kira stepped into darkness.

The restricted section was smaller than the main hall, but it held a different kind of weight. The air was thicker here, heavy with the dust of centuries. Shelves lined the walls, filled with books bound in materials she didn't recognize—some that looked like leather but felt like stone, others that seemed to shift in the corner of her vision.

She found the metallurgy section in the far corner, exactly where Marta's contact had said it would be. The books here were older, their bindings cracked and faded. She ran her fingers along their spines, reading the titles in the dim light.

*Properties of Forged Steel.* *Alloys of the Ancient World.* *The Smith's Complete Guide.*

None of them were what she needed.

She moved deeper into the shelves, her heart sinking with every title she dismissed. The restricted section was vast, and she had only a few hours before the guards would come looking.

*Think. Aldric said the book was a treatise on pre-Sundering techniques. It would have been written before the Church purged the libraries. It might be hidden, or miscataloged.*

She closed her eyes, trying to remember the old man's words. He had described the book in detail, its binding, its illustrations, the way the pages smelled of copper and old blood.

*A book that smells of copper and blood.*

Her eyes snapped open.

She turned, scanning the shelves with new purpose. Not the metallurgy section—that was too obvious. The Church would have purged anything directly related to rune-forging. But they might have missed something if it was miscataloged, hidden in plain sight.

*Where would they put a book they didn't understand?*

The occult section.

She found it at the very back of the restricted section, behind a curtain of cobwebs and dust. The books here were bound in materials that made her skin crawl—one seemed to be covered in what looked like human skin, another had clasps shaped like grasping hands.

And there, on the bottom shelf, half-hidden behind a crumbling tome on demonology, was a book bound in copper-colored leather.

Kira pulled it out, her hands trembling.

The binding was warm to the touch, as if it had been sitting in sunlight. The title was written in Old Valdrian, the letters flowing across the cover like water. She couldn't read it all, but she recognized one word.

*Runeforging.*

This was it.

She tucked the book under her arm and turned to leave—

And froze.

A figure stood at the end of the aisle, silhouetted against the dim light. Young, by the slightness of the frame. Dressed in the white robes of a Church initiate.

And staring directly at her.

"Novice Elara?"

The voice was soft, uncertain. A girl's voice, barely older than Kira herself.

Kira's mind raced. She could run, try to lose the initiate in the maze of shelves. But the guards were at the door, and she had nowhere to go.

"I'm sorry," she said, keeping her voice low. "I didn't mean to wander. I was looking for—"

"That's not an agricultural manuscript."

The initiate stepped closer, and Kira saw her face for the first time. She was young—maybe sixteen—with dark hair pulled back in a severe bun and eyes that held an unsettling intelligence. Her robes marked her as a scholar, not a warrior. But there was something in her gaze that spoke of authority.

"No," Kira admitted. "It's not."

"You're not a scribe, are you?"

Kira's hand moved to her belt, where a small knife was hidden. "I don't want to hurt you."

The initiate laughed—a surprising sound, light and genuine. "I don't think you could. I've studied defensive techniques since I was twelve."

"Then why aren't you calling the guards?"

"Because I'm curious." The initiate stepped closer, her eyes fixed on the book under Kira's arm. "That's a forbidden text. I recognize the binding. It's one of the lost works on rune magic."

Kira's blood ran cold. "You know about runes?"

"I've read about them. In other forbidden texts." The initiate's smile was almost sad. "I'm not like the others. I don't believe the Church is right about everything."

"Then what do you believe?"

The initiate was close now, close enough that Kira could see the freckles scattered across her nose. "I believe that knowledge shouldn't be destroyed. I believe that the Sundering happened for reasons we don't understand, and that blaming rune magic is too simple an answer."

She held out her hand. "My name is Sera. And I think you need help."

Kira stared at the offered hand, her mind spinning with possibilities and dangers. This could be a trap. The initiate could be leading her into a Church cell, where Maren would be waiting with her cold eyes and colder smile.

But something in Sera's face—something honest and desperate—made Kira take the hand.

"I'm Kira."

Sera's smile widened. "I know. I've been looking for you."

---

The scriptorium was empty at this hour, the scribes having retired to their cells for evening prayers. Sera led Kira through the maze of desks and lecterns, past half-finished manuscripts and pots of dried ink.

"How did you know I was coming?" Kira asked.

"I didn't. Not exactly." Sera pulled a stool from beneath a desk, gesturing for Kira to sit. "But I've been watching the library for weeks. Ever since I heard about the destruction of the Thornhaven archive."

"That was an accident."

"I believe you." Sera sat across from her, folding her hands in her lap. "The Church says it was an act of heresy, a deliberate destruction of sacred texts. But I've read the reports. They don't make sense. Too many inconsistencies."

"You read Church reports?"

"I'm an initiate. I have access to things most people don't." Sera's eyes flickered to the book Kira still clutched. "That text—what does it contain?"

Kira hesitated. She had no reason to trust this girl. But she had no other options, either.

"Instructions," she said slowly. "For finding something. An ancient forge, hidden since the Sundering."

Sera's breath caught. "The sleeping forge. I've read about it. The old texts call it the Heartfire, the place where the first runes were forged."

"You know about it?"

"I know it's supposed to be a myth. A story the Church tells to frighten children." Sera leaned forward, her voice dropping to a whisper. "But I've also found references to it in texts that predate the Church. Real texts, not propaganda."

She reached into her robe, pulling out a small leather journal. "I've been collecting information for years. Everything I could find about rune magic, the Sundering, the Forge. I didn't know what to do with it. I just knew I couldn't let it be destroyed."

Kira took the journal, flipping through its pages. The handwriting was small and precise, filled with diagrams and translations of ancient texts. It was the work of years, a labor of love and obsession.

"Why?" she asked. "Why risk everything for this?"

Sera was quiet for a moment. "Because I read a book when I was twelve. A book about the world before the Sundering. It described a time when magic was common, when people could shape the world with their will. And I thought—if we had that power once, why can't we have it again?"

Her voice hardened. "The Church says it's dangerous. That rune magic caused the Sundering. But I've read the accounts from that time. The Sundering wasn't caused by runes. It was caused by people who used runes without understanding them. Who pushed too far, too fast, without respect for what they were doing."

She met Kira's eyes. "The Forge isn't a weapon. It's a tool. A way to learn the old ways properly, without repeating the mistakes of the past."

Kira stared at her, seeing the fire in those young eyes. It was the same fire she'd seen in Aldric's face, when he spoke of the old world.

"I need to find it," Kira said. "The Forge. Before the Church does."

"Then I'll help you."

"Why?"

Sera smiled, and there was something fierce in it. "Because someone has to. And I'm tired of watching knowledge burn."

---

They worked through the night, Sera translating the copper-bound text while Kira copied the most important passages into a smaller, more concealable journal. The book was dense, written in a mixture of Old Valdrian and a language Sera didn't recognize—one she called "the Smith's Tongue," a dialect that predated the Sundering.

But even partial translations revealed more than Kira had hoped.

The Forge, it turned out, wasn't hidden in the Cathedral at all. It was hidden *beneath* it.

"There's a network of tunnels," Sera said, tracing a diagram in the dust on her desk. "Old tunnels, built before the Cathedral existed. The Church built on top of them, but they sealed the entrances centuries ago."

"Can we get in?"

"Maybe." Sera bit her lip. "There's a passage in the catacombs. The oldest part of the burial chambers. If we can get past the guards, we might be able to reach the tunnel system."

"Guards?"

"The catacombs are considered sacred ground. They're guarded day and night by the Cathedral Guard." Sera's face paled. "And there are rumors of something else down there. Something the Church doesn't talk about."

"What kind of something?"

"I don't know. The texts are vague." Sera closed the book, her hands shaking slightly. "But they say the old tunnels are haunted. That the spirits of the runesmiths still guard their secrets."

Kira thought of Aldric, of the way his ghost seemed to linger in the corners of her vision. She thought of the runes carved into her skin, pulsing with a warmth that had nothing to do with her body heat.

"I'm not afraid of ghosts," she said.

"Maybe you should be."

The candle guttered, casting long shadows across the scriptorium. Somewhere in the Cathedral, a bell began to toll, marking the hour before dawn.

"I have to go," Sera said, standing. "The morning prayers start soon. If I'm missing, they'll notice."

"When can we go to the catacombs?"

"Tomorrow night. I'll get us passes for a memorial service. It's the only time the lower levels are open to initiates." She paused at the door. "Be careful, Kira. The High Inquisitor is watching. She knows something is happening."

"She knows about me."

"Then she knows you'll come to the Cathedral. It's the only place the Forge could be hidden." Sera's eyes were dark with warning. "She'll be waiting."

Kira clutched the journal to her chest. "Let her wait."

Sera slipped out, the door closing behind her with a soft click. Kira stood alone in the scriptorium, surrounded by the ghosts of a thousand forgotten texts.

*The Forge is beneath the Cathedral.*

*Maren is waiting.*

*And somewhere in the darkness, the runes are calling.*

She tucked the journal into her robe and slipped out into the grey light of dawn, her heart pounding with purpose and fear.

Tomorrow night, she would descend into the catacombs.

And she would find out what secrets the Church had buried.