She didn’t know how he could be so sure; the words sounded indistinguishable from one another to her ear. Still, it wasn’t likely that any parent in the Holds would name their child “black blade,” seeing as it was a common dwarven euphemism for traitor, so she’d take his word for it.
“Now, if we’re to follow your ship to Sharn, perhaps you’d best make sure you’re actually on it?” Mountainheart prompted, waving at Elix to precede him.
“Right. Well, until Sharn, then.” Her eyes met Elix’s over the dwarf’s head. “Stay safe.”
He held her gaze for a long, charged moment before replying, and though his words gave nothing away, his look burned with a promise she didn’t dare dwell on.
“Until Sharn,” he said, then mercifully turned away and started up the plank. Sabira followed suit, turning and heading for the stairs, firmly banishing the image of his hazel eyes from her thoughts; whatever might be happening between them, it would have to wait. She had a job to do, and she couldn’t afford to be distracted by her feelings. She’d let that happen once before, and the loss had been incalculable. It was a mistake she was not about to make again.
Sabira found Arach’s airship just as easily as he’d said she would; it was the only one at the House Kundarak docking tower with two elemental rings, one a vibrant red and the other a garish purple. Whatever the dwarf’s true business was, he certainly wasn’t afraid to be seen doing it.
Since she was actually on the manifest for the Dust Dancer, she had no difficulty getting to the ship, though the security here was just as tight as it had been at Falconer’s Spire.
“You Sabira?” asked a heavily tattooed dwarf with a clipboard who stood at the foot of the gangplank. A golden hoop pierced his lower lip and several matching circles glittered in both ears, as well as in the braids of his black beard.
At her nod, he jabbed a thumb over his shoulder.
“Talk to the first mate, Thecla. He’s the bald one with the hook for a hand. He’ll get you squared away, tell you where to stow your gear and the like.”
Sabira made her way up the plank to the deck of the Dust Dancer. The airship, a modified Stormglory Typhoon, was three times as big as Mountainheart’s smaller Sparrow. It looked more like a floating parlor than a vessel that could choose to outfly a dragon or simply shoot it out of the sky, with no less than four massive ballistae—two atop the forecastle, just forward of the binding struts, and the other two astern of the rearmost elemental ring, attached to the main deck. Small potted trees and cushioned divans dotted the deck, complete with colorful awnings to shield their occupants from sun or rain. Even the soarwood life rings hanging on the walls of both the fore- and sterncastles shone in the afternoon sun, as though they’d been etched in gilt. Sabira got the impression that this ship didn’t make a lot of cargo runs, which made this mission all the more peculiar.
She spotted the first mate up near the helm, deep in conversation with the Lyrandar pilot. From the other dwarf’s description, she had expected Thecla to be some self-styled pirate out of an unimaginative bard’s tale, but when she reached the top of the sterncastle, she saw that the first mate was dressed in finery that probably cost more than she was getting for this job. With a tailored coat fashioned of glamerweave, silvercloth breeches, and high, glossy boots she could see her reflection in, Thecla would not have been out of place in a palace ballroom. An ornate sheath studded with huge cabochons and housing a sword that looked to be of even better make than her urgrosh completed the picture.
“Ah, you must be Sabira! The former,” his piercing blue eyes alighted briefly on the leather cord that disappeared beneath her shirt, “or, should I say, ‘newly reinstated’ Sentinel Marshal. It’s a pleasure to have you aboard!”
He stuck out his hook to her, then laughed at her momentary discomfiture as she tried to decide if she was actually supposed to shake it or not.
“I never get tired of that!” he chortled heartily, then withdrew the hook and offered his other, fleshy hand, which Sabira shook with somewhat less amusement. “Now, we’ve run into a bit of a delay—nothing you need to concern yourself with, of course—but we won’t be leaving until the fifth bell, so why don’t you spend the time getting acquainted with the ship? Hotch, here, will show you to your quarters and introduce you to the others.”
Hotch was a spindly legged kobold who seemed to have materialized beside her while Thecla had been entertaining himself at her expense, but Sabira quickly realized that the reason she hadn’t noticed the reptilian sailor was because, unlike most of his Stormreach brethren, he actually didn’t stink.
“This way. Come, come.” Sabira wrinkled her nose in distaste as she followed the kobold belowdecks, dodging his lashing tail. Hotch might not smell, but his yapping speech was every bit as annoying and much harder to ignore. “You sleep here. Own cabin, yes? Only girl.”
Hotch’s dog-like snout split into a big, toothy grin at that, though Sabira wasn’t sure if it was supposed to be a comforting smile or some sort of lecherous leer. She found both prospects equally disturbing.
“Galley there, engine room there, observation dome down there, cargo hold here.”
The cargo hold was a large space that stretched from the main deck to the Dust Dancer’s keel and could easily have fit a small house or two. It was empty, save for three crates firmly secured to the floor by thick netting.
Sabira wondered again what Arach was up to. Even if those crates were full of the largest, most flawless shards ever to fall from the Ring of Siberys, they still weren’t worth what this ship cost to man and to fly. Using the Dust Dancer to transport them was pure overkill.
Most likely the dragonshards were a cover for something either more valuable or less legal, or possibly both. She just hoped Arach wasn’t running dreamlily or absentia. She’d heard rumblings that Sharn’s Boromar clan was trying to expand into the Stormreach market, and they might well choose to partner with the Aurum rather than compete with them for business.
Maybe she should have backed out of her deal with Arach after all. Surely breaking a contract would do less harm to the House’s reputation than having one of their Marshals arrested for drug trafficking.
Well, as long as she didn’t actually look in the crates, she could always claim ignorance. It wouldn’t save her, of course, but it should spare the House—and Elix—too much embarrassment.
A sudden thrum moved through the soarwood hull and Hotch squeaked, “Time to go now! Topsides! Topsides!”
Sabira followed the muttering kobold as he scurried up the nearest ladder. She hadn’t heard the fifth bell, but she might not be able to over the constant soft hum of the bound elementals circling the ship. Or perhaps whatever delay Thecla had been referring to had been averted. She rather hoped the latter would prove to be the case; she could just imagine Mountainheart’s indignation at being forced to wait an extra hour for her to show up in Sharn. Whatever would he tell dear Gunnett-not-gunnegdh?
“Go now! Wizard here!”
Wizard?
She reached out to grab Hotch’s tail before he could scramble up the last few rungs to the main deck.
“We were waiting for a wizard? Why?”
“Big green birds cause problems for ship. So wizard cause problems for birds.”
Ah. He must be talking about yrthaks, though only a kobold would refer to the hideous flying reptiles as “birds.” The sightless creatures had been known to harry airships coming into and out of the Stormreach harbor; since the yrthaks were sensitive to both sound and vibration, all the activity associated with the Droaam contingent’s arrival had probably stirred them up in their aeries. Any ship was potential prey to the destructive sonic blasts the animals unleashed through their distinctive spiral horns. She had heard stories of a clutch of yrthaks that destroyed a Silver Flame monastery in the mountains of Thrane soon after it had been built. During the inaugural blessing ceremony, the priests had raised their voices in song, and the melody had attracted the yrthaks from miles away. Agitated by the sound echoing off the tall peaks, the yrthaks had used powerful lances of pure, cacophonous noise to bring the building down on top of the singers, silencing their music forever. The monastery had never been rebuilt.