He read on and found that Seila had asked him to come visit her before the banquet and to stay the night afterward. His heart skipped a beat at that thought, until he read a bit further and discovered that a guest room on the far side of the manor from her chambers was reserved for his use. Still, it was heartening to see that she cared enough to make special arrangements for him-a very good sign indeed, really.
Jack glanced at the topmost handbill waiting by his breakfast; it was the morning of the eighth. He would want to be at Norwood Manor the afternoon of the tenth, but that meant he still had the better part of two days before the party. “Edelmon!” he called.
The old valet answered at once. “Yes, Master Jack?”
“What engagements do I have in the next couple of days?”
“I have arranged for Master Limner Nander Willon to call at three bells this afternoon to consult with you on the Wildhame arms and emblems. This evening there is a performance of The Bride of Secomber at the Stane Opera House; you have been invited to join Lord and Lady Flermeer in their box. Tomorrow Master Silverstitch hopes to perform a fitting, and the Ravenaar Historical Society has invited you to speak at their monthly meeting.”
Jack raised an eyebrow. “The Historical Society?” he asked dubiously.
“Its membership includes representatives of many of the city’s most respected families, Master Jack. They are very anxious to speak with you, because it is rumored that you knew the notorious Warlord Myrkyssa Jelan personally.”
Jack wondered what the bespectacled bookworms of the Historical Society would make of the fact that the Warlord was at large in their city at this very moment. He’d decided to keep the tale from the authorities for now; he wasn’t completely confident that it would be possible to convince a magistrate or watch-captain that a legendary threat of long ago was walking the streets of the city today, or that it would profit him to bring it to their attention. After all, he had once been pursued by the Knights of the Hawk simply because he was acquainted with Myrkyssa Jelan. “Very well, I will attend,” he said.
“Oh, and a Master Tarandor of the Wizards’ Guild has requested an appointment the morning of the tenth.”
“Hmm, I’m not sure when I might ride out to Norwood Manor. Or, for that matter, when I’ll return. Put him off for now, I’ll meet with him after Seila’s revel.”
“Very good, my lord,” Edelmon replied. He bowed and withdrew.
Jack finished his breakfast, and contemplated his day for a moment. It seemed that he had a few hours available; this might be a good opportunity to lay the groundwork for retrieving the Sarkonagael from the depths of Sarbreen. Although no one else seemed likely to divine its location as Jack had done, it wouldn’t be wise to assume the book would remain hidden forever. After all, he couldn’t be certain that some other competent adventurer wouldn’t stumble across the Sarkonagael by following some other line of investigation or through sheer good luck.
“Not so urgent that I cannot attend Seila’s revel first, but too important to leave to chance for long,” Jack told himself. He was less than enthusiastic about venturing into the infamous dungeon of Sarbreen again, let alone venturing into any subterranean place where dark elves might be lurking. But as it so happened, he knew someone who was very familiar with Sarbreen. He hopped up from his chair, threw on a cape and hat, and set out into the city.
The morning was foggy, but the mists had a burnished glow above the rooftops that suggested they might soon burn off. Jack walked over to Moorland Ride and followed that street north until he reached Vesper Way near the city wall, and then he turned left. At the mouth of the alleyway between Moorland and Manycoins a stealthy motion caught his eye; Jack took two quick steps toward the center of the street and set his hand on his rapier’s hilt. Peering through the chilly shadows he glimpsed a cloaked and hooded figure retreating down the alley. The figure turned to glance back at him just before ducking into a cellar stair. Jack thought he saw a face of inky black framed by fine white hair and perhaps a hint of ruby-red eyes, but he couldn’t be certain.
“Surely that was not a drow abroad in daylight,” he murmured aloud. Then again, the morning was foggy; it was not a bright day by any means. He stood still for a long moment as passers-by strode past and carts trundled over the cobblestones, but no one else seemed to have noticed the cloaked figure. Were the dark elves spying on his movements? Had he caught sight of a drow engaged in some other private business that had nothing to do with him? Or were his eyes simply playing tricks on him?
Jack finally removed his hand from his swordhilt with a small shrug and went on his way. He knew that there were drow under the city, after all, and this fellow hadn’t paid any unusual attention to him. There was no sense in borrowing trouble, so to speak. Crossing Manycoins Way, he found the Smoke Wyrm and rapped on the taproom door.
This time, old Tharzon himself answered. “Jack! Come to trade more tales already? Or do you prefer to start the day’s drinking early? It’s not good to get in the habit of drinking in the morning, you know.”
“Sound advice, friend Tharzon, and counsel I intend to heed,” Jack replied. “No, I have need of your unmatched knowledge of Sarbreen and its dark and dangerous ways. You knew more about the place than anyone in the city a hundred years ago; I can only imagine your wisdom has grown since.”
The gray-bearded dwarf gave a low laugh. “It didn’t take you long to find yourself some new scheme, did it? Well, come inside. I will see what I can do.” He led the way to the taproom-empty again, as it was still an hour shy of opening for the day-where Kurzen was busy breaking out new kegs and setting them up behind the bar. The younger dwarf gave Jack a friendly nod and went on with his work as Tharzon and Jack found seats by the hearth.
“Where’s that fetching noble lass of yours this morning?” Tharzon asked.
“At Norwood Manor, so far as I know. Her father decided that he’d be happy to put me up here in town, so I’ve been staying in a fine house over in Tentowers.” Jack gave Tharzon a grin. “I think he suspected my motives toward Seila.”
“Aye, well, he would be wise to,” the dwarf agreed. “So what do you want to know about Sarbreen, Jack?”
“Have you ever heard of a great hall with pillars carved in the shape of ancient dwarf warriors? The floor is made of honey-gold marble, and there is an altar of some sort in the shape of a great anvil. Behind the altar is an old mosaic of a hammer surrounded by fire.”
“Ah, the Temple of the Soulforger. That’s the place you’re speaking of, Jack.”
“The Temple of the Soulforger?”
“Moradin’s shrine, Jack, Moradin’s shrine. Sarbreen held a magnificent cathedral consecrated to the maker of all dwarves. There’s no mistaking the anvil altar.”
“Where is it?” Jack asked. “Do you know how to get there?”
Tharzon’s brow lowered as he eyed Jack for a moment. “What business do you have in the Temple of the Soulforger, Jack? You don’t intend anything … disrespectful, do you?”
“No, no, nothing like that. I consulted with a seer of the Diviners’ Guild yesterday, and that’s the place I saw in my vision. Someone collected a number of old tomes and scrolls and left them in the temple; I’m looking for one in particular. The temple itself I have no designs upon.” Well, not unless there’s some great treasure lying about just waiting to be pocketed, he added to himself.