Vennet didn’t wait for the gates on the lift he rode to open. He leaped over the rail as soon as it settled. Biish was waiting, leaning against the wall of a building so ancient and decrepit Vennet was surprised it could support him. They’d had to separate. There was no way Vennet could have ridden the same lift as their quarry without being recognized. Every moment of the long ride down from Overlook had grated at him. He’d passed the time imagining the ways he’d deal with Singe and Dandra. Ashi he’d decided on long ago: he wanted to take a long, close look at her dragonmarked skin, preferably while it was mounted to a wall. She couldn’t have a Siberys mark. It had to be false, a fake, some lesser mark at the very most.
“Well?” he asked the hobgoblin.
“They went that way,” Biish said.
He pointed. Vennet’s eyebrows rose. Around him, the cacophony of Malleon’s Gate blended into the whispering voices of the wind. They know where they’re going.
“I see that,” he said. “Did you carry my warning?”
The wind gave him no answer, but Biish looked at him strangely. Vennet glowered back at him. “I wasn’t talking to you!”
Biish’s ears lay back flat, but Vennet met his eyes and held them until the hobgoblin looked away. “Ban. There’s something else, Storm. I was watching the kalashtar boy. I think he’s one of the ones on your list.”
“So much the better. We’ll take him, and you can cross one off the list. Are they being followed?”
Biish nodded. “A gang of goblin pups would follow the Keeper to Dolurrh for a crown. They’ll leave members behind to show us the way.”
“Good.” Vennet had to fight back the broad grin that threatened to take over his entire face. His back itched with a fierce anticipation. “Let’s go. We don’t want to miss this.”
Biish hesitated. “Storm, it’s almost sunset. I need to get my people together if the plans for tonight are going to come together.”
“That’s what lieutenants and first officers are for, Biish.” Vennet shoved the hobgoblin onward. “Besides, this little adventure is going make someone important very happy.”
A festival mood pervaded the streets of Malleon’s Gate just as it had the streets of Overlook, although it seemed to Dandra that in the lower city Thronehold was less a celebration of the end of the Last War than an excuse for wild abandon. Not, she suspected, that most of the denizens of the district needed an excuse for abandon.
Still, there were ragged banners scattered around, and there had been a small mob waiting to take the lift to the upper city-Dandra even spotted a couple of worn skycoaches cruising overhead when she wouldn’t have expected skycoaches of any kind to come within spitting distance of Malleon’s Gate under normal circumstances. She pitied the citizens of Sharn’s upper reaches who found themselves invaded by drunken goblins intent on getting a good view of the Thronehold spectacles.
“We’re being followed,” Ashi said abruptly.
“You mean that swarm of goblin children?” A smile flickered on Singe’s lips. “I saw them.”
Ashi glared at him. “Even children can be dangerous, especially in numbers.”
“Easy.” Singe held up a hand in surrender. “Watch them if it makes you feel safe. I’d be surprised if anyone could make it through Malleon’s Gate without being followed-”
“Hush!” Moon’s warning came so suddenly that Singe stumbled. Ashi’s sword was half out of its scabbard in a heartbeat and Dandra had pushed herself up from the ground to glide on the air, ready for a fight. Moon, however, just stepped back into the shadows and pointed ahead. “There,” he said. “Dah’mir is in there.”
All of them moved swiftly to join him in the shadows. Dandra remained on the air, moving with the grace of thought. She drifted forward slightly in complete silence to get a better view of the structure Moon had pointed out. It squatted at the end of the street they had been following, a derelict oval structure that would have been impressive for its size if for nothing else. The wall that faced them was a good five stories tall and curved away into the gloom on either side. Portions of the wall near the top looked ready to collapse, and it seemed as part of the roofline had already given way. There was a rank of windows high up on the wall, but they were boarded over.
The wide doors of the building lay dead on to the end of the street, four pairs of them, lined up in a row as if to welcome crowds. Three pairs, however, were boarded up as tight as the windows. The fourth pair, though they stood closed, had recently been opened up again to judge by the splintered planks that hung from their frames. Two thin hobgoblins squatted in front of the fourth door, intent on some kind of card game. To one side of them, a small fire burned on the stones of the street. Skewered rats roasted above the fire, but Dandra stared in surprise at what else the firelight revealed.
A mural had been painted above the doors. Parts of it had been defaced, but what remained revealed the building’s nature: on painted sand, gladiators of many races struggled in eternal combat while crowds of spectators cheered them on. Protected from sunlight and weather in Malleon’s Gate, only time and a layer of dirt had dimmed strong colors and bold strokes. Something about it seemed vaguely familiar to Dandra.
“Why do I feel like I recognize that mural?” she asked softly.
“Because it’s a Bahron,” Singe said. “Bava painted that mural. She must have done it while she was in Sharn, the same time she met Natrac. Twelve moons, I’ve known art collectors who would sell their teeth to see this!”
Ashi was looking at the mural too. “Look there on the left,” she said. “There’s a laughing man standing on the side of the ring with gold in his hands. Is that Natrac?”
Dandra stared in surprise. It was Natrac. A younger Natrac, looking much the same as he had been portrayed on the warrant-notice Ashi had found. She frowned. “Do you think Natrac’s secret errand brought him down to Malleon’s Gate?”
“If it did, why didn’t he come back?” Singe asked in return.
“Maybe he came here.”
Moon turned around to face them. “I said hush! This is the place. This is where I saw Dah’mir’s herons-the roof is open inside and they can fly in and out.”
Singe glanced at Moon and Dandra saw his eyes narrow in barely suppressed suspicion. “Unless we can fly too, we’re not likely to get past those guards without making a lot of noise,” he said. “But you probably know another way in, don’t you?”
Moon nodded. He moved further into the shadows and stepped down an alley. Singe’s eyes narrowed even more. Dandra knew exactly what he was thinking: an alternate entrance to the arena was a little too convenient. She touched his shoulder. “Let me stay close to Moon,” she whispered. “If there’s trouble, I’ll stop him.”
Singe nodded and stepped aside, but Ashi caught Dandra. “Wait,” she said and put her hand against Dandra’s brow. A warmth grew under her fingers and seemed to pass into Dandra-the shielding power of the Siberys mark. If Dah’mir was inside the arena, she’d be protected from his dominating presence. Ashi released her, and Dandra nodded in silent thanks, then turned to move down the alley after Moon.
He glanced over his shoulder at her and smiled, slowing down so she could catch up to him. “You’re beautiful,” he said to her softly as they edged along. “The way you ride the air takes my breath away.”
His words almost made Dandra sink back to the ground. She remained above it, hands squeezed tight on her spear. “Moon,” she said, “not now. You’re making me uncomfortable.”
“You make me uncomfortable,” said the young kalashtar. “It hurts me to see you standing with him-” He jerked his head at Singe “-when I know you should be with me. Your face has haunted my thoughts.”
Her teeth clenched, and she thought again of what Shelsatori had shown her in the killing song: her face, Singe’s face, Geth’s face. If she’d had any doubts that Moon’s obsession was tied to the killing song, his words erased them. But maybe that obsession could give her the edge she needed to break through the madness. Maybe this was their chance to defeat the song before it was too late. “You have to put me out of your head, Moon.” she told him. “What you’re feeling for me … it isn’t real.”