Janik scoffed. “She really is a paladin, then. All the world’s in black and white. If only it were so easy to tell good from evil, friend from foe.”
“If only it were.”
The towers of Sharn were all around them now, and the pair rose to their feet.
“We’ll be mooring soon,” Mathas said. “We should collect our belongings.”
“Let Dania know, will you?” Janik replied, heading down the ladder to his cabin.
5
City of Towers
It’s good to be home, Janik thought as a skycoach shuttled him among the towering buildings of the city toward his apartment near Morgrave University. Even if only for a few days.
Janik had his own mental list of tasks to accomplish during their two days in Sharn, and he hadn’t shared every item on the list with Mathas and Dania. Foremost among them was digging through some historical texts and perhaps talking to a few colleagues to see if he could determine what the Church of the Silver Flame might want from Mel-Aqat. He was the acknowledged expert on that site, but his knowledge of the teachings and history of the Church of the Silver Flame was lacking, and he wanted to know what interest the Church might have in those ruins. Searching for a way to re-imprison some vaguely-defined evil spirit, he felt sure, was a cover for a more concrete goal.
Recruiting a fourth member for their group was higher on his list of priorities than he had let on to the others. He could tell that Dania would rather have a cleric on the expedition—preferably a cleric of the Silver Flame. He fully expected her to return with a cleric sent by the Church. The last thing he wanted was to be forced to bring some Silver Flame crusader along because he didn’t have a stronger candidate to offer.
As he jumped off the skycoach onto a balcony near his apartment, he made a mental list of the most important books and scrolls that mentioned Mel-Aqat, planning his research. In contrast to his exhaustion upon arriving in Fairhaven and Flamekeep, he found himself energized and excited to be back in Sharn. He paused a moment on the balcony, looking at the towers stretching as far as he could see. Above him, it was nearly impossible to distinguish the lights of high windows in Morgrave University from any stars that might have been in the sky. He breathed deeply, savoring the air and its myriad odors, glad to be back in familiar surroundings.
Turning the key in his apartment door, he suddenly remembered that Adolvo Darriens had been an outspoken follower of the Silver Flame. His commentary on the ancient elven text known as the Darriens Codex, named in his honor, might shed some light on the Church’s interest in Mel-Aqat. He pushed his door open, and the key fell from his hand and clattered on the bare stone floor.
The place was a shambles. The outer room—his study and sitting room—was littered with books that had been torn from the shelves and tossed carelessly aside. His two cushioned chairs were overturned and a glass case in which he stored his private collection of antiquities had been smashed. At a glance, Janik judged that only one or two items were missing, though several others were damaged. Through the open doors in the hallway, he could see that the kitchen and his bedroom had been similarly ransacked.
“Damn you, Krael,” he swore under his breath. He drew his sword, stepped into the outer room, and pushed the door closed behind him. He made his way on silent feet around the small apartment, making sure that no agent of Krael’s remained. When he was satisfied that the place was empty, he sheathed his sword, barred the door, retrieved his dropped key, and started putting books back on their shelves.
An hour later, Janik righted one of the overturned chairs and collapsed into it, feeling the weight of his exhaustion settling on him. With one hand on his forehead, he looked up at the bare spaces on his shelves.
“The Darriens Codex,” he said, pointing at the empty shelf. “Edgeler. The Scorpion Hymns. Gautier. Zhavaan. And the Serpentes Fragments. Well done, Kavarat. You got everything important. Well damn done.”
He sat there staring at the empty places until sleep seized him.
Sometime during the night, Janik must have shuffled from the chair to his bed. He woke up lying on top of the covers, still wearing his clothes, blinking as the dawn light poured through the uncurtained window. He got up, washed, and changed his clothes. With a last rueful glance at the empty spaces on his bookshelves, he made his way out the door.
He walked a long route he had walked hundreds of times before, from his apartment to the university and its teeming Commons, his favorite place to eat breakfast. He noticed for the first time how many dark alleys opened along his path, how many places an attacker could hide. Every time he saw a warforged, his hand reached almost involuntarily for his sword, though he recognized none of them as Krael’s assassin.
This is ridiculous, he thought. I’m jumping at shadows. Fifteen years of all kinds of adventure, digging through ruins, spying for Breland, hiking across Xen’drik, and I’ve never been like this.
He rested his left hand on the hilt of his short sword and strode more deliberately along the streets and bridges of the City of Towers, forcing himself not to peer around every corner.
Janik reached the Commons and bought a piece of fried dough sprinkled with cinnamon and sugar. Food in hand, he looked around at the students and faculty clustered at tables throughout the plaza, hoping to spot a colleague he could talk to about Mel-Aqat. Seeing no familiar faces, he made his way to his office, eating as he went.
He paused outside his office door, licking the last sugar crystals from his fingers. He fully expected to find his office ransacked, even though nothing there was as precious or important as the books that had been stolen from his home. He turned the key in the lock, dropped his right hand to his sword hilt, and pushed the door open with his left.
Nothing seemed out of place, to Janik’s surprise. Everything was as he had left it two weeks earlier. Which meant that either Krael’s agents hadn’t managed to gain access to his office since it was in a public area, or they had known that what they really needed was in his apartment. Maybe it had been a lucky guess—they tried his apartment first and found everything they were looking for. It was hard to imagine that anyone working for Krael knew that much about his books.
Except Maija. That thought stung like a Xen’drik scorpion. Dania had seen Maija and Krael together in Karrnath. Was Maija still working with Krael, telling him where to find Janik’s books? Was she Krael’s lover now?
He pushed those thoughts aside. He dropped his pack on the desk, pulled a journal and writing set out of it, and left the office again, locking the door behind him. The university library couldn’t afford a copy of the Serpentes Fragments, but it did have copies of all Janik’s published papers, including the article in which he first spelled out everything the Fragments said about Mel-Aqat. As he walked to the library, he formulated a plan. All thoughts of Krael and his warforged assassin fled from his mind.
Janik did not emerge from the library until it was time to meet Dania and Mathas for dinner. He hurried to the edge of campus to catch a skycoach that would take him to Mathas’s favorite restaurant, the Azure Gateway, in the floating district of Skyway. Once aboard the rowboatlike craft, he pulled out his notebook and looked over his writings.
The Serpentes Fragments was a loose, disjointed collection of short verses and fragmentary prose from Xen’drik. The exact provenance of the texts was the subject of much scholarly debate. Janik had made what many scholars considered convincing arguments that some of the lore contained in the Fragments dated to roughly the time of the quori invasion and the fall of the giant kingdoms of Xen’drik, some forty thousand years ago. Other fragments were much later, and the first attempt to bring any semblance of order to the fragments seemed to have been about three thousand years ago, when a tiny city or temple-state of drow undertook the task of collecting and editing the jumbled pieces of a tradition they inherited.