The noise halted as instantly as it had begun, leaving behind silence, the smell of ozone, and a glow of glittering, white reflections that patted at the bottom of the stairs. The vengeance taker must be casting preparatory spells, readying his advance, she thought. Takers were moderate-ability sorcerers, after all-magic was part of the deadly training they received. Yet it was no spell she recognized.
"Fugitive… Manaallin!" It was the voice of her pursuer. Yet his tone had shifted slightly. Ususi maintained her silence, waiting for the attack. Her hands were poised to release a torrent of destructive curses. "Ususi Manaallin-if you can hear me, I pray you pause. I haven't come so far to lose you now." The voice sounded strained, and its authoritative blare was dulled-by what? Ususi couldn't tell. He was crafty enough not to poke his head through the arch and look up the stairs-he must have sensed Ususi's spells ready to strip his flesh and worse. So instead, he seemed to be trying to draw her into the arms of his attack. Ususi yelled down the corridor. "It's a standoff, Vengeance Taker! I will not walk into your trap, and if you follow me up these stairs, it'll be the last act you ever take!" A chuckle answered her threat. The voice said, "Will you pretend you did not leave this painful blaze to catch me?" Another chuckle, somehow self-deprecating. Ususi didn't have the first clue what the taker was talking about. "Explain," she said. "Your ploy succeeded-you were clever in identifying every dormant trap in this molding ruin with your red dye-but even cleverer in failing to mark the very last one."
Ususi recalled running low on dye when she entered the hallway of the two emperors. The wizard cocked her head, wondering. Could it be?
Ususi carefully descended twelve or so steps to reach the arch that connected into the room of the annulus. The inscribed hallway was a blaze of white, syrupy light. Floating in its midst, like a fish in a bowl, was the vengeance taker. His arms struggled to reach a purchase they were not long enough to find, and his legs kicked ineffectually, failing to propel him in any direction at all. The vengeance taker was caught. Ususi nearly turned and dashed back up the stairs. Now was the time to make good her escape, before the man figured out how to free himself. If he could do so. Or, she could strike him while he was helpless. But how often would the opportunity to question a vengeance taker present itself? It couldn't hurt to discover how angry Deep Imaskar was with her for weakening the Great Seal enough so she could take her leave. Or why they'd waited so many years to send someone after her. Better to ask the vengeance taker. Ususi pasted a conciliatory smile on her face and approached the ensconced agent of those who wished her harm. "There are questions I'd like to ask you, Vengeance Taker."
CHAPTER SEVEN
Warian Datharathi disembarked from the sleek watercraft in the city of Vaelan. The dissolute son returns, he mused. He turned and watched the small crew as they opened the hold of the courier ship.
First out was his horse, Majeed. Despite being on the outs with his family, being a Datharathi had its benefits anywhere Trade Authority offices or embassies operated. As one of the eleven most influential families in Durpar, Datharathi Minerals was partly responsible for paying Trade Authority upkeep. On the other hand, members of the Datharathi family enjoyed free passage on Trade Authority couriers.
Previously known as Vaelantar, and like its sister cities of Ompre and Assur, the city was overrun by monsters flooding out of the Curna Mountains. But Durpar finally expelled the invaders in 1096 DR. In the three hundred years since those tumultuous times, the name Vaelantar was shortened to Vaelan. More importantly, Vaelan grew into the crown jewel of Durpar's trading empire, and enjoyed status as one of the most preeminent destinations on the Golden Water, or indeed, in all the Shining Lands. The Dolphin Pier was one of nine piers exclusively reserved for merchant traffic. Of course, many smaller and larger piers filled the coast in either direction: the private piers reserved for the personal yachts of the very wealthy, as well as piers set aside for the highly profitable ship-building businesses. Datharathi Minerals had, like many of the most influential merchant families, maintained interest in the ship-building trade. Beyond those were the ramshackle piers used by the fishers. Warian walked down the Dolphin Pier holding Majeed's reins. Beyond a press of warehouses, innumerable offices, and nearly as many wharfside taverns, the towers of Vaelan pointed proudly at the sky. The towers housed the most influential "chakas," as trading families were sometimes called. Any family with aspirations to challenge the predominance of the eleven greatest chakas that made up the Trade Authority first built a tower-or purchased the tower of another family whose fortunes were declining.
Over a hundred pale towers pushed into the sky, some new since Warian had left the city behind. Chaka towers were generally confined to the Gold District, and enjoyed the protection of delicate-looking yet strong whitewashed stone walls. Beyond the ordered towers and their well-patrolled boundaries, the larger bulk of Vaelan hummed and buzzed, nearly as loud and well-lit at midnight as at midday. Aside from the towers, distinguishing discrete buildings amid the mass was a fool's game in Vaelan. Great connected complexes of white-plastered walls, balconies, stairs, galleries, promenades, and open courts stretched in all directions. Wide streets separated one press of mazelike architecture from the next, but high bridges, held up as much by minor enchantments as engineering, arched over the streets to connect rooftop bazaars. And the crowd! Everywhere Warian looked, people talked (in diverse dialects and languages), bartered (from countless windows, booths, wagons, and permanent storefronts), sought hard-to-find goods (such as philters guaranteed to bring the buyer true love, or cockroaches whose shells turned blue in the presence of magic), gossiped (about the future of Durpar if Veldorn's aggression wasn't checked), and enjoyed themselves (drinking from great glass vessels filled with weak but tasty beer-consumed nearly as fast as it was brewed). Warian was one of thousands of people thronging the streets, pushing his way forward as quickly and economically as possible. The trick of moving with the ebb and flow of the crowd came back to him with hardly any effort. He was elbowed in the side once, but ignoring such slights was part of getting where you wanted to go in a reasonable amount of time. He quickly found a public stable on the outskirts of the wharf district and paid a small sum to put Majeed up for several days. He hoped he wouldn't be around that long, but better to pay ahead than risk the stablemaster selling his horse.
Freed of worry about Majeed's well-being, Warian waved over a rickshaw pulled by a surprisingly short man with hair as red as fire. "Where to?" asked the redhead, as Warian settled into the seat. "West Gardens," Warian told the rickshaw driver. "It's a tenement district near Kazrim's Plunge." The Plunge was a statue commemorating a Kazrim, whose heroics three hundred years prior were considered instrumental in freeing Vaelantar from the monsters. The driver nodded at Warian and pulled the transport out into the throng. Warian was a little surprised that the driver did not give his crystalline arm a second glance. He was accustomed, at the very least, to eyebrows raised in surprise, if not outright amazement, and often enough, hostility.
Whoever had ridden the rickshaw before had left behind the redolent perfume of cherry tobacco. Smoking tobacco from a water-cooled pipe was a vice Warian tried to cultivate when he still lived in Vaelan-his family had a long-standing taboo against smoking for some traditional reason, and he'd wanted to prove his independence-but he'd never managed to enjoy the sensation. Probably just as well. Moving through Vaelan's busy streets was enjoyable when someone else's worry and effort forged the path. Sitting back in his seat allowed Warian a chance to absorb the ambience and study the various city dwellers and visitors who strode to and fro, each intent on his own unknowable business. Many were from outside Durpar, having traveled from countries like the Shaar, Dambrath, or Halruaa. Others hailed from even farther shores, such as the nearly mythical Sembia or Cormyr.