“You’ll never let me forget that, will you?” Zaehr said, scowling. “No, this one wasn’t me. I think it was the same people who attacked the Pride.”
“And they escaped?” Tolar said. “The damage was quite extensive by the time I reached you, but I saw no other bodies.”
Zaehr forced herself to sit up. “They just… disintegrated. The one who exploded said, ‘We will return again.’ ”
Tolar frowned. “Tell me everything. Quickly.”
Zaehr recounted the tale as best as she could. Tolar interrupted with questions.
“When the man dissolved, what happened to his robe and weapons?”
“When you struck him, did the heat of his body damage your blade?”
At last he was satisfied.
“Azers,” he said. “Lesser denizens of Fernia, the plane of fire. The ‘sparks’ the heart mentioned, I am certain. But they could not come here on their own. Some greater power is drawing them to this world.”
“The woman said they served the ‘first flame.’ ”
Zaehr knew Tolar as well as anyone. She could read his emotions as easily as a book… easier, since she’d never cared much for reading. He tried to conceal his emotions, and a stranger might not have noticed the change, but to Zaehr his surprise and fear were as clear as the peal of the bell that rang the hours.
“What?” she said. “What does it mean?”
“This is no time for discussion,“ he said, eyes hard. “Did they leave a trail you can follow?”
Zaehr tasted the air. The lingering stench of smoke made it difficult, but the path was there—the threefold trail of molten metal muffled under cloth. Traveling away from the dragon’s door and disappearing down and alley.
“Yes,” she said, brushing the soot off her clothes and looking back at the ruined cottage. “But first, I need my knives.”
Zaehr expected the trail to lead them across the city, to a dark hole in the lower wards where such creatures might hide from common scrutiny. The truth was a disappointment. The alley was a labyrinth that wound behind spires and cottages, but they’d traveled less than a thousand feet when the trail came to end.
“Nothing,” she said, studying the surroundings. They were at a juncture of three paths with high walls all around. “It’s strong and recent, but it stops dead here.” She studied the ground. “It’s not just the scent. The physical trail stops too. Could they have teleported?”
“Close,” Tolar replied, glancing around. “I suspect they were summoned here, pulled through the planar barriers that separate this world from the endless fires of Fernia. He would have done the same thing when he attacked the Pride—prepared the skycoach, summoned the azers to fly it, somehow prepared the fire elemental within the heart to explode when the attack came. There’s no sinister headquarters to be found. These henchmen appear when needed and vanish the moment the task is done.”
“But who?”
“Someone familiar with House Lyrandar. Someone who knew when Adaila Lantain would be onboard and when she would be speaking in the lower hall. Search the area again. If few people have been through here… surely our culprit has left a clue.”
Zaehr studied the surroundings, reaching out with her senses. She’d been so focused on the burning scent of the azers that she’d completely ignored the other smells and colors of the alley. Rot and mold, the trails of a dozen rats, the usual scents of the city. But one thing stood out—an overwhelming burst in the barren landscape.
Bending down, she lifted a square of muddy silk off the ground with one long fingernail. It still reeked of perfume and the familiar scent of rain.
“House Lyrandar it is,” she said.
Tolar nodded. “Yes. It would be. Go back to our office. I’ll meet you there in an hour.”
“No, you won’t.” The fear was still there, clouding his countenance. Tolar had often kept secrets from her, but she’d rarely seen him afraid. “What is this?”
“This is no time for discussion,“ he said, heading toward the main streets. “You will do as I say. You’re lucky to be alive, and you will go back to the office and rest. I’ll join you soon.
They emerged on a major thoroughfare. Two skycoaches were hovering over the mooring platform. Tolar helped Zaehr into one and placed two silver coins in the hand of the coachman.
“Take her to Dragon Towers,” he said.
The coach rose off the platform and began to dip down toward the middle wards. But Zaehr had already produced another silver sovereign, which she flashed before the coachman’s eyes. “I’ve got a better idea,” she said, watching as Tolar climbed aboard the other coach and sailed off to the north. “Follow that coach.”
It came as no surprise when Tolar returned to Stormwind Keep. Night had fallen, and the streets were almost empty. Zaehr clung to the shadows as she kept pace with the old man. She didn’t know how she’d get past the kraken doors, but in the end it wasn’t an issue. The wooden tentacles slid aside the moment Tolar approached with no challenge from the guardian. Once the old man was inside, the tendrils began to descend. Zaehr sprinted forward, and her burst of speed carried her under the massive wooden arms before the portal closed.
Slipping through the gates, she nearly ran into Tolar. The hall was dark, and the old man had paused in the antechamber. He was kneeling over something—a body, stretched out along the floor. The sentry who had been guarding the door when they arrived before.
“Zaehr,” he said quietly. “I believe I made my wishes clear.”
The gates closed with a solid thud. Zaehr and Tolar might have been allowed in, but it appeared that leaving would be a greater challenge.
Zaehr shrugged. “I’m wild and unpredictable. It’s endearing.”
Tolar sighed, and she could feel his regret.
“What is it?” she said. “And what happened to him?” She nodded at the guard on the ground. She couldn’t see any sign of blood, burns, or bruises, but even in the dim light she could see that he was dead.
“Magic,” Tolar said. “We’re dealing with something ancient and powerful, and I fear it may have anticipated our arrival. But it has already expended a great deal of power today—if we are lucky, more than it can afford.” He stood up. “Quiet and careful, now. Do nothing without my permission.”
“Why is it so dark?” Zaehr whispered. “And where are the rest of the guards?”
“Asleep, mostly,” The voice was jovial, amused. It was Kestal Haladan. “Don’t worry, I’ll see to it that you’re blamed for their unnatural slumber… and the deaths of those who don’t survive the evening.”
The odor of perfume was strong in the air, but Haladan had left his handkerchief behind. Zaehr could smell the odor that had been so faint in their earlier encounter—ash and burning iron. “It’s him,” she whispered.
Tolar nodded. If he was surprised, he gave no sign of it. “You can surrender now, Haladan. It will be much simpler if you explain this to Dantian yourself.”
“I will be explaining everything to Dantian,” Haladan said, “but we can finish our business right here.” He gestured, his fingers flickering in an arcane pattern.
Zaehr tried to charge forward, to grapple with him, but even as she started to move she felt a wave of mystical energy flow over her. She froze. Every muscle was rigid. She couldn’t even turn her head to look at Tolar.
“I do wish they’d sent a half-orc,” Haladan said. “The common people just don’t think of House Tharashk when they see a human. And if your house is to take the blame for the shipping attacks and this ill-conceived attempt to assassinate Lord Dantian… well, a killer with orc blood would have looked much better on the front page of the Korranberg Chronicle. Still…” He walked over to Zaehr and stroked her chin with one bejeweled finger. “You’re something of a monster yourself. Some sort of sewer beast, aren’t you? We’re lucky the house defenses stopped you long enough for the guards to put you down.”