He had made camp on the Eldeen side of the river and walked into Riverweep with the farmers bringing their goods to market. By luncheon, he had secured a seat on a coach bound for Varna. A wagon the size of a small house pulled by a team of magebred draft horses. And the next morning, as the coach pulled out of whatever farming village it had stopped in for the night, he had spotted the shifter.
The descendants of werewolves and other lycanthropes, shifters looked like hirsute, somewhat savage humans-most of the time. In the heat of battle, they showed their heritage. Some grew sharp claws, and the jaws of others grew into muzzles full of deadly teeth. They were more common in the Eldeen Reaches than anywhere else in Khorvaire. There, they lived in bands, almost packs, in the wilder lands, coming into more settled areas to trade furs and meat for grains and cheeses. A shifter traveling alone, though, was exactly the kind of person Kauth was looking for-a man with no ties, with plenty of experience surviving in the wild, and tough enough to survive the journey into the Demon Wastes.
So he kept an eye on the shifter for the rest of the journey. The man was tall and strongly built, and armored in a shirt of gleaming silver chainmail made from light, flexible mithral. Two long-bladed knives hung at his belt, and he carried a quiver of red-feathered arrows on his back. A long bow, unstrung, leaned against the window beside him. His mane of brown hair was streaked with blond and woven into two thin braids that hung in front of his slightly pointed ears. He had amber eyes that never seemed to lift their gaze above the floor. Whenever Kauth tried to catch his eye, the shifter simply ignored him.
He hadn’t moved since Kauth had last studied him. He sat across the aisle running down the center of the coach, as alone on a bench as Kauth was. Leaning forward, the shifter rested his head on the seat in front of him, staring down at the floor, his hands clenched as if in prayer.
Kauth felt the coach slow, and he looked back out the window just in time to see the river and the forest beyond it disappear as they passed through the walls of Varna into the city. The quiet fields and ranches gave way to the noisy bustle of city life-people on the move, buying, selling, and crafting.
He suddenly felt very tired, and he leaned his head against the glass. Here was a city full of life and energy, people going about their lives trying their hardest to find fulfillment and happiness in the circumstances they were given. And if his mission succeeded, the city would soon be a ruin-either besieged by Aundairian forces or razed by the hordes of the Carrion Tribes.
Nothing is permanent, he reminded himself. Change is part of the cycles of time. Creation, destruction-one flows into the other and neither is cause for joy or grief. Detachment is the key to peace and understanding.
He glanced back to the shifter’s seat. It was empty. He leaped to his feet and scanned the coach, but the shifter had vanished. He threw himself into the shifter’s vacated seat, heedless of the stares he drew, and peered out the window. A quick glimpse confirmed his fear. The shifter had leaped off the moving coach and was doing his best to lose himself in the crowd.
Kauth cursed under his breath and ran to the front of the coach. The busy street passed by more quickly than he liked. Shifters had a natural agility that would have made the jump relatively easy for his quarry, but it made him nervous. For a moment he questioned whether this particular shifter was worth the risk of a broken bone.
I’ll get a lot more than a broken bone if I try the Demon Wastes alone, he told himself.
Drawing a deep breath, he jumped. He landed hard but kept his feet. Scanning the street, he spotted the area where he’d seen the shifter, and wove his way back through the traffic.
He was glad he’d chosen a tall body for this persona-it gave him a slightly better view over the crowd. And he was looking for another tall man, so he focused on other heads that jutted up from the masses. A mane of brown hair streaked with blond caught his eye, and he altered his course to intercept the shifter at a side street.
He lost sight of his quarry on the way, but kept on course until he reached the other street. He stopped at the corner and scanned all around, to no avail.
“Damn,” he muttered.
A hand gripped his shoulder and a voice growled in his ear. “Why are you following me?”
Kauth spun around and found himself face to face with the shifter. The man’s amber eyes bored into his, and his teeth were bared in a very animalistic display of aggression.
“I need your help,” Kauth said, spreading his hands, palms out.
People aren’t so different from animals, he thought. Displays of aggression and peace, rituals of dominance and submission. Do animals manipulate each other, though? Do they pretend to be submissive to lull the dominant ones into a false sense of control?
The shifter’s eyebrows rose. “My help? What in the ten seas do you need me for?”
You’re so accustomed to being useless, Kauth thought. You’ll do whatever I ask you to.
“I need strong allies for dangerous work,” he said. “You struck me as a man who could handle the work.”
“I assume you’re not talking about menial labor.” The shifter’s hand rested on the hilt of a long knife at his belt.
“Can we talk somewhere more private?”
The shifter looked him up and down. His eyes lingered for a moment on the flanged mace at Kauth’s belt and the crossbow slung over his shoulder, then he gave a slight nod.
“I’m Sevren Thorn,” he said, extending a hand.
Kauth clasped it and smiled.
Who are you? he thought.
“Kauth Dannar.”
Sevren Thorn was a desperate man, quickly won over. Kauth said he was a scout for the Wardens of the Wood, the druidic sect that maintained order throughout the Reaches. Rumors of war were building, not just in the east near Aundair, but also on the Reaches’ western border. He had been charged with infiltrating the Demon Wastes to determine the truth of these rumors.
Sevren drained his third pint of the dark, bitter ale common in the Reaches as Kauth sipped his first with distaste. “So is it just the two of us?” the shifter asked. “Or are you looking for more strong allies?”
How many people am I willing to lead to their deaths? Kauth thought.
“More would improve our chances,” he said. “But too many will draw attention. Do you know anyone who might be interested?”
“I have a couple of ideas. People I’ve worked with before. People who have some trouble fitting in to city life, like me.”
“Can you contact them?”
“It might take some work, but I’m sure I can track them down. That’s what I’m good at.”
“I’d be glad to meet them,” Kauth said.
The next evening, he draped himself in a heavy cloak and altered his face and form as much as he could while wearing Kauth’s metal-studded leather armor, and then he made his way to the same tavern. From outside, the tavern’s location offered a splendid view of Lake Galifar and the light of the Ring of Siberys gleaming on its waters. Inside, though, the few small windows in the fieldstone walls were paned with smoke-blackened glass. One roaring fire threw its flickering light over the crowded room, casting large and looming shadows.
He spotted Sevren Thorn and his two companions as soon as he entered, but he didn’t look directly at them. He sat at the bar and ordered a pint of the vile ale before turning to survey the room. The shifter was at ease with these friends, laughing loudly at some joke, his head thrown back. The changeling smiled despite himself-he had quickly come to like the shifter, whose ready laugh was one of his most endearing traits.