“So the dragon didn’t destroy the ship?”
“Quite the opposite,” Tolar said. “I suspect the ship was destroyed because of the dragon. Elementals have little sense of time, but the ‘powerful wind’ was new on the ship, unlike the water and the ‘old fire.’ So I suspect it was a guest. Someone who had recently arrived.”
“That’s still not much to work with,” Zaehr said. She’d been studying the scroll Haladan had given them, the list of those on Pride at the time of the fall. “There were over a dozen guests onboard.”
“Which is why I went to the trouble to obtain this.” Tolar produced a second roll of parchment from one deep pocket. Zaehr could see the Lyrandar seal, but there was no trace of the rain-smell of Stormwind Keep. “When I spoke with Lady Solia, I asked her for a list of passengers. Compare the two, if you will. I suspect you’ll find Lord Lyrandar’s list comes up short.”
Zaehr unrolled both scrolls and set them down on the pavement, quickly checking names. “You think Dantian lied? Why?”
“Dantian’s motives—if they are indeed his—are not yet clear. But if this ship was destroyed because of the dragon, identifying her is the first step in finding the answer.”
“Adaila Lantain,” Zaehr said. “Both lists are identical except for that one name. A Visitor from Morgrave University.”
“Good. If she lived in Sharn, we should be able to find more at her abode.”
“And now I suppose you expect me to track her down.”
Tolar spread his hands. “If it’s too much bother, Zaehr, we can always hire an inquisitive.”
Zaehr slipped through the crowded streets of the University district. Dusk was falling, and the streets were full of laughing students and somber scholars discussing the lessons of the day, drowning academic concerns in wine and song. Zaehr barely noticed the antics of the revelers. She was on the hunt, and every sense was focused on her prey.
The search had begun in Morgrave University, where a handful of coins had established the path and a picture of her prey. Adaila was a respected historian and attended all gatherings of the sages, but she rarely taught and did not maintain an office at the university. Aside from lectures concerning history and expeditions others intended to make into Xen’drik, Adaila was almost a hermit. But a favored student recalled seeing her at the Kavallah Concert Hall the previous night, and it was there that Zaehr caught the faintest trace of her in the air—rain and sweet mist, the same odor Zaehr had wiped off the scale. It was marred and masked by the smells of brocade and human flesh, but Zaehr was confident nonetheless.
Is this the smell of the dragon’s sweat? Zaehr wondered as she pressed down the streets.
For Zaehr, there was no greater thrill than the urban hunt, tracing a path through the past. Her only regret was that her prey was already dead, denying any chance of a battle at the end of the trail.
The path led back to a book bindery, where Adaila had left three manuscripts for binding—copies of a treatise about the various myths of the legendary conflict between dragons and demons at the dawn of creation. The lady had left her address with the proprietor, and he was willing to exchange the address for three pieces of silver.
Silver coins, silver blood, Zaehr thought. The man clearly had no concept of his client’s true nature. Why should he? Who would have thought a mythical creature would try to have a book published by the university?
She was writing a book of myths. Was she writing what she knew to be true or spreading lies to cover the trail? All Zaehr knew of dragons came from legend. If those stories were shaped by the dragons themselves, what could be trusted?
It was a thorny path to walk, but at the end of the day Zaehr was a hunter, not a philosopher. She had found the home of her prey. If there were answers to be found, Tolar would surely dredge them from the dragon’s lair. Spotting a stonebeak thrush, Zaehr rubbed the medallion she wore around her neck, whistling an undulating tune. The amulet was a gift from Tolar, and it allowed Zaehr to compel the assistance of small creatures. A moment later the thrush fluttered down and landed on her wrist. Zaehr bound a scrap of parchment to the bird’s leg. She whispered to it, impressing the image of the home she shared with Tolar in its mind. A moment later the thrush took to the air, carrying the message down the towers toward her partner.
Even without the bookbinder’s help, it would have been a simple matter for Zaehr to find the dragon’s lair. By now she had latched onto the human scent that accompanied that faint smell of spring, the odor that had to belong to Adaila’s human disguise. As Zaehr followed the scent into the nearby residential district, it began to join up with other trails—faint and ghostly images of Adaila’s movements over the past day. All of them came to an end at the door of a small, unpretentious apartment. The door was locked, and Zaehr could smell no other scents leading up to it. Adaila was apparently just as reclusive as reports claimed. There was no garden, and the shades were drawn across the windows. Zaehr ran one sharp fingernail across the lock. Part of her yearned to open the door. The hunt wasn’t finished, and there were still mysteries to solve. But her impatience had caused enough problems in the past, and Tolar’s instructions were clear: She should wait for him to arrive. Running a hand across the studs on her armor to activate the concealing charm, she slipped into the shadows of a nearby alley and dropped into a comfortable crouch, keeping her eyes on the dragon’s door.
It was instinct that had caused her to hide, and instinct served her well. Only minutes passed before three people approached Adaila’s home. They were squat, muscular folk shrouded in dark hooded cloaks. They wore black scarves under the hoods, concealing their features. One carried a short spear that seemed to be made from a single piece of brass. The others kept their hands hidden beneath their cloaks, but the bulges spoke of weapons hidden below. At first Zaehr took them for dwarves, but then the wind carried their scent to her hiding place, causing her to wrinkle her nose in surprise.
Fire.
The scent was hot and acrid, the sharp smells of ash and molten metal. These were no dwarves.
The leader reached out and touched the lock. Night had fallen, and there was a flash of light that dispelled the gathering gloom—a spell, or was it simply the creature’s skin? Whatever the answer, the lock gave way and the door opened. The three strangers disappeared inside.
Zaehr only waited a moment before following. The ashen stench was familiar—she’d smelled it in the dining hall of Pride of the Storm, though at the time it didn’t occur to her that it could be tied to a living creature. Tolar be damned, she thought. If these things are involved in this, they can tell me what’s going on.
Reaching the doorway, Zaehr saw that the lock had been burned away. A small round hole surrounded by charred wood was all that was left. She drew her two favorite blades—heavy knives of orc design, each sharpened on the inner edge of the curved blade. Folding the knives back against her forearms, she slipped silently through the doorway.
The first thing she smelled was smoke, and her ears quickly confirmed it—a fire was growing in the depths of the house. Whatever the creatures were, they had wasted no time. Zaehr moved cautiously down the hall, and in the next room she saw it.
One of the creatures had thrown aside its black cloak. Though it had the muscular build of a dwarf, it was like no dwarf she had ever seen. Its skin was the brilliant orange of a hot coal, and flames licked around its chin in a bizarre parody of a beard. Its eyes were points of blazing light, but they looked right past her. Between her skill and the enchantment woven into her armor, she was still shielded by the shadows. The carpet beneath the creature’s feet was burning, and when he turned and laid a hand on a richly upholstered couch, it burst into flames.