“You’re right.” He sighed. “Lei … Lei, we’ll sort this out. Just … give it time. Pierce, could you …” He gestured at Lei, and the warforged soldier carefully picked her up.
“Take heart, my lady,” he rumbled, as they began the long journey down. “This battle has just begun.”
INTERLUDE
Rasial hated the deep tunnels of Khyber’s Gate. The smell of sewage and smoke filled the air, and the cold torches were few and far between, leaving long pools of shadow in the subterranean passages. But business was business. He stood beneath the flickering torch, cleaning his fingernails with his dagger and trying to look calm.
“Rasial?” The voice from the shadows was soft and oily. A moment later, three people emerged from the darkness. As promised, they were unarmed. The man in the lead wore a tattered brown cloak and his face was hidden by a deep cowl. A man and a woman stood behind him, dressed in roughspun cloth patched with burlap. They were covered with dirt and scabs, and their faces were almost devoid of expression. How did I ever come to this? Rasial thought.
“Yeah.”
“Rasial … Tarkanan?”
“That’s me.”
“I thank you for meeting us so promptly. I trust you have the merchandise that we discussed?” The voice of the hooded man seemed to shift slightly every time he spoke … it was barely noticeable, but the pitch and inflection changed from moment to moment.
“Yeah, I got it.” Rasial tossed the small pouch in the air and caught it with his left hand, revealing the glistening black dragonmark and the sores upon his palm.
The hooded man seemed hissed. “Yesss, good.”
“The question is if you can uphold your end of our bargain,” said Rasial. “Gold is a start, but until you prove that you can deliver on your promises, this-” he tossed the bag and caught it in his right hand-“stays with me. And if you’re thinking of trying anything stupid-” he extended his left hand, and for a moment the shadows seemed to be drawn toward his palm-“I’d stop now.”
The hooded man laughed, a horrible, gurgling sound. For a moment his face was revealed by the torchlight, and Rasial gasped. It was a horrible ruin, with exposed muscle that seemed to pulse and twitch with his laughter.
“Oh, have no fear, Rasial,” the stranger said. “All your problems will be over soon enough.”
His two companions leaped forward without a sound, moving with unnatural speed and in perfect unison. It was clear Rasial couldn’t outrun them, so he hurled the pouch at the wall of the tunnel, hoping to smash its contents and steal their victory, but to his shock a fleshy tentacle lashed out from the spokesman’s arm and snatched the purse from the air. The next thing he knew, the man with the vacant stare was right in front of him, slashing at him with claws that had grown from his hands.
What were these people?
Rasial spun to the side, but even as he did he felt a burning pain along his ribs. The stranger’s claws tore into his side.
But now it was Rasial’s turn. He slammed his left hand into the man’s face, letting his power flow through his palm and into his attacker. As always, the pain was excruciating, but as bad as it was for him, it was far worse for his victim. The stranger cried out-the first sound he’d made-and fell to his knees, clutching at his face. Rasial smiled. But he had forgotten about the woman. The next thing he knew there was a sharp pain in the pack of his neck, and he found himself falling.
Darkness stole his senses before he hit the ground.
CHAPTER 4
They must have walked half a mile before they found the lift. Now they were slowly dropping toward the bottom of Sharn on a large disk of floating metal. Daine tried to ignore the fact that the only thing standing between him and a drop of two thousand feet was a thin, invisible field of arcane energy. Pierce was carrying Lei cradled in his arms. She had finally fallen asleep. Daine stood at the center of the disk, talking quietly to Jode.
“How do we even know this is real? What if that whetstone of a warforged was playing some sort of a joke?”
Jode shook his tiny head. “It’s just not something you joke about, captain. Especially a warforged, doubly so a servant in the house of the lord she’s to be married to. That ’forged belongs to the household, and if the lord wanted to melt him down, he could.”
“What about Hadran, then? Could he have put the ’forged up to it? Or condemned Lei to get out of the marriage? They haven’t seen each other for years, right?”
“No, it still doesn’t make sense. Lei’s family died with Cyre. If Hadran wants out, who’s going to challenge him? Besides, there are established grounds for excoriation. You know that as well as I do. It’s not something you do on a whim, lord or no lord.”
Daine sighed. “Meanwhile, we’re high and dry. So much for Lord Hadran’s fabled generosity. And if Sharn is anything like Metrol, I imagine the guards won’t like us setting up camp on the street corner.”
Jode smiled. “Leave it to me, Captain. Have I ever let you down?”
“I’m going to pretend you didn’t just ask me that.”
Once a residential district, High Walls had been converted to serve as a prison-a fortified ghetto for those deemed a security risk to Breland and Sharn. Now that the war was coming to a close, the gates were open and the portcullises were raised, but the guards remained, and black-cloaked archers walked the walls that gave the region its name. Beyond the gates, the district was a dismal sight. Walls were cracked, windows broken, cobblestones had even been lifted from the streets. The few people who were still about were filthy folk in torn and soiled clothes, watching from alleys or peering out of shattered windows.
“Well, it looks like there aren’t any guards to keep us from sleeping in the street, but I wouldn’t recommend it,” Jode said. “Seems to me like our friend Morgalan would be right at home here.”
“What exactly are we looking for here?” asked Daine.
“I’ll know it when I see it.” A few moments later Jode held up a hand, motioning them to stop. “This’ll do.”
A rather melancholy manticore was painted on the sign above the door, and not with any particular skill. In one corner was the horn of the hostel along with a small Star of Cyre. “Well, it looks like Cyrans are welcome,” said Daine, “but we still have one problem-the complete absence of coin.”
“Trust me.” Jode threw open the door and strode inside as if he owned the place. Daine followed, while Pierce set Lei’s feet on the ground and gently shook her awake.
The interior of the Manticore Inn was as uninspiring as the façade. The sullen people sitting around the common room studied the travelers suspiciously. Here and there Daine did see the tell-tale look of Cyre in some of the faces-a narrow chin, hazel eyes ringed with brown-but if Jode was banking on an outpouring of love, he was sorely mistaken.
To Daine’s surprise, Jode called out loudly in the tongue of the Talenta Plains, and a moment later the innkeeper appeared. She was a stout halfling with streaks of gray in her brown hair, and she returned Jode’s query in the same tongue. An animated discussion followed, as Jode indicated each traveler in turn and went through a bizarre series of pantomimed actions. Even the other patrons took an interest, leaning forward to watch the antics of this seemingly mad halfling. The innkeeper seemed dubious, but eventually she nodded, and Jode embraced her. Pushing him away, she went back to the kitchen.
“I’ve got us a few days of credit,” Jode whispered. “Now whatever she says, just nod.”
A moment later, the innkeeper returned with a set of keys and led them upstairs. The keys seemed almost unnecessary, as most of the doors were on the verge of falling off of their hinges. She opened the door and the end of the hall.
“I know it’s not what you’re used to, General,” she said. “But hopefully it will suffice until your letters of credit are cleared by the bank.”