The halfling puffed on his pipe for a moment before answering, his eyes having taken on a far-away expression. Sabira wondered if he was thinking of his own ill-fated expedition in the jungles of Xen’drik-maybe in Tharkgun Dhak itself. Ir’Dayne shook himself, his thin, wispy hair floating about his head in response. Sabira noticed the halfling wore a stud in his right ear, a dark bluish black gem that could have been a sapphire, but was more likely a Khyber dragonshard. Her distaste for the Wayfinder grew. While she understood their value, after her experiences with the murdering Nightshard in the Mror Holds, she tended to distrust anyone who would actually choose to wear the dark stones on their person.
“Not just any Deneith woman, as I’m sure you know. But, yes, a great treasure, one that could change the balance of power both under the surface and above it.”
He rummaged around for a moment on the bed, then found a stone tablet with more strange writing on it.
“Soon after Brannan made contact with the Umbragen-drow who fled into the depths of Khyber to escape slavery, though we still know very little about them-he discovered more of the Prophecy, which he and I both believe is related to this same treasure.” The halfling’s voice had taken on a lecturing tone, and she and Greddark exchanged longsuffering looks.
“Bound by eight locks
Her Heart breaks free
And bathes both worlds
In tyranny
“ ‘Heart’ is often another word for treasure, and the likelihood of there being more than one treasure with eight locks is very slim, so I think you’ll agree that our conclusion is the correct one.” As the Wayfinder continued, his voice grew stronger and a bit of color returned to his cheeks. He really was in his element playing the role of professor of antiquities. Sabira almost felt guilty for being utterly uninterested. Almost.
“The reference to ‘Her’ also correlates to the first bit of Prophecy,” he said, briefly holding up another chunk of stone with more of the same writing on it, though it was black and glossy where the first was a dull gray. “Though we’ve yet to fully understand who or what ‘She’ is, though ‘Spinner of Shadows’ would seem to indicate a weaver of some sort. A female spider deity peculiar to the Umbragen, perhaps-or at least to a splinter group thereof? My guess-”
“I thought the drow in Xen’drik worshiped scorpions, not spiders?” Greddark interrupted with a frown.
Ir’Dayne shrugged. “Well, scorpions and spiders are in the same class of animals, so it’s not as much of a stretch as it might appear. Add into that the fact that worship of an exclusively male deity like Vulkoor would naturally tend to alienate the female portion of the population, and it isn’t too surprising that worship of a similar, but more feminine aspect of the divine arachnid would gain a foothold among some of the drow. Those that worship the genderless Umbra are actually the most interesting of the three, since-”
The halfling caught himself, realizing he’d gone off on a tangent. He took another pull on his pipe before righting his course.
“In any case, though we don’t know the exact form this artifact takes, it seems clear it can only be unlocked-and probably wielded-by a female member of House Deneith, so we informed Baron Breven of our findings, and offered to help him recover it-for a small fee, of course.”
Of course.
“And I believe you know the rest.”
Sabira highly doubted that, but she figured she knew enough, at least.
“Although there is one more thing…,” he added, digging again at the mound of papers, coming up with an old tattered bit of cloth pressed between two thin sheets of glass. “Ah, yes. Here it is.
“This was recovered in Waterworks beneath the Stormreach harbor. I believe it’s variant of the same Prophecy.”
He brought the glass-encased strip of fabric up to his face and squinted to read it. Sabira could see it was part of an ancient tapestry, though the writing was different from that of the other bits of Prophecy she’d seen.
“Then again,” ir’Dayne said, as if reading her mind, “since it’s written in a little known dialect of the ancient giants, I can understand why some of the others think differently. But I thought you should know about it, since it may change the nature of your mission.
“Her fate known e’re she graced the womb
Her birth signals her people’s doom
Her blood that both of stone and shield
The world will be her killing field.”
CHAPTER SIX
Wir, Barrakas 4, 998 YK
Stormreach, Xen’drik.
It doesn’t necessarily mean what you think it means, you know.”
Sabira didn’t look over at the inquisitive, instead keeping her gaze on the city of Stormreach spread out below them. As the Seeker skimmed through the air toward Falconer’s Spire, Sabira couldn’t help but marvel, as always, at the architectural medley that was Stormreach. Remnants of giantish ruins, scavenged hulls from sunken ships, floating towers reminiscent of Sharn, Thrane curves and Karrnathi angles all coexisted in a surprisingly cohesive tapestry of colors, textures, and shapes. It was, in its own very peculiar way, beautiful.
Though she’d only been gone a couple of months, it still seemed as if the city had reinvented itself entirely in that time, with walls and buildings springing up where she didn’t remember there being any before. But that was the way of Stormreach, as it was of the inhabitants who lived here-constantly changing, ever growing, always surprising. It was what attracted so many explorers and adventurers to this vast continent, and what kept them coming back. No matter what it had been like when they left, they could be guaranteed it would be different when they returned.
In many ways, the city was the exact opposite of places like Krona Peak and Frostmantle in the Mror Holds, which prided themselves on constancy, and even some of the older human cities like those in Karrnath, too steeped in tradition to change easily, let alone willingly. Natives of Sharn, on the other hand, might find the city’s growth a bit too staid for their tastes, which probably explained why it had taken so long for groups like the criminal Boromar clan to find their way to Xen’drik’s shores. But that was changing now, too, and the city that had once been little more than an outpost for outcasts was becoming a metropolis in its own right. Where would the castoffs go when that happened? Farther south, into the jungles and desert? Even farther, to the edges of civilization, like Everice and Frostfell?
It wasn’t just idle musing on her part-the farther those who’d broken the law ranged, the farther Marshals like her would have to go to find them, wherever they were in Eberron.
Or under it.
The Lyrandar piloting the Seeker swung her expertly over the harbor, giving his passengers a magnificent view of both the lighthouse and the giant Emperor Cul’Sir with his double handful of light spearing up into the heavens. They passed over the Marketplace with its iconic red tent and then docked smoothly at Falconer’s Spire under the watchful eye of Zerchi the Spire-Keeper.
As they waited for the gangplank to be lowered, Sabira turned to Greddark, finally deigning to respond to his comment.
“And what do I think it means?”
The dwarf cocked a blond brow at her tone.
“Oh, I don’t know… that you’re destined to destroy everything and everyone?”
“Well, see, that’s the funny thing. First the Prophecy was referring to Tilde, and then Tilde failed to regain the artifact-or only partially succeeded, at any rate-and now suddenly it refers to me. And if I don’t make it back, then they’ll find someone else… Granite d’Deneith from Lakeside, maybe. That’s how prophecies and oracles and auguries work-they predict what someone in power decides they’re going to predict, and even if they don’t, they’re made to. It’s all a bunch of superstitious nonsense-something I’d think a self-proclaimed inquisitive and artificer would know.”