“What is it now? Has Arach now decided we need to fly up to Dravago or one of the other twelve moons to deliver his cargo?”
Sabira bit her lip to keep from snorting. If she broke character now, the dwarf would weight them down and toss them overboard, cheering along with his whole crew when they sank forever beneath the dark lake waters.
“Funny. No, we need to stop at the nearest city. Orin’s been poisoned, and he needs the antidote soon or his death is going to be on your hands.”
Thecla scoffed. “Poison? Dragon Above, woman, but you’ve got an imagination! Why would I bother poisoning him when I could just have the lot of you thrown over the rail and let the carvers and the threehorns take care of you?”
“I didn’t say it was you who poisoned him. It could have been anybody on this ship. It could even have happened back in Stormreach for all I know—the poison could have been magically altered not to activate for a certain number of days to throw off suspicion. I don’t know how, or who, or why, but I do know dwarfbane when I see it, and I know he’ll be dead within a day if we don’t get him help.”
Thecla goggled, taking an involuntary step backward. “Dwarfbane?” One of the few poisons that could fell a dwarf in his tracks, the lethal substance was as rare as a Flamer with a sense of humor. “How do you—?”
“I was working as a Defender in the Holds during the Last War, Thecla. Believe me, I’ve handled enough poison to make a living as an assassin if I really wanted to. I know what the last stage of dwarfbane poisoning looks like, and this is it.”
Well, minus the spots and the flush, and add in a fever, but close enough.
“We’re near Gatherhold—”
“I said ‘city.’ Gatherhold’s nothing but a House Ghallanda inn and a bunch of tents. They’re not going to know how to handle dwarfbane.” She surreptitiously jabbed a finger into Mountainheart’s gut, eliciting a small moan from the unconscious dwarf. “No. It has to be Vulyar. And soon.”
Thecla frowned, obviously displeased by this new development but unable to see a way out of stopping.
“Very well. I’ll let Irlen know.”
It was laughably easy after that. They docked in Vulyar early the next morning and she and Elix carried Mountainheart off the ship on one of the Dust Dancer’s life rings, just to make sure Thecla didn’t get any crazy ideas about leaving while they saw to the envoy’s healing. After making sure Mountainheart got to the House Jorasco enclave, she and Elix returned to the Dancer with two dozen House Deneith soldiers and placed the entire crew under arrest, confiscating the dreamlily and the dragonshards in the name of Baron Breven.
As Thecla was led down the gangplank in manacles, he stopped to spit at Sabira’s feet. “I knew you were lying. I should have gutted you when I had the chance.”
“A lot of people make that mistake.”
“Arach will have you hunted to the farthest corners of Eberron for this.”
Sabira gave him her fakest look of sympathy. “Oh, and you really believe that, too, don’t you? I guess it is easier than admitting your employer betrayed you.”
She leaned close, as if to whisper in his ear, but she made no effort to keep his crew from overhearing her next words.
“Just some advice: The next time you decide to stick your hook in your boss’s coffers, try to leave the rest of the boys out of it, hmm? No reason they should have to suffer for your greed.”
Angry murmurs came from the prisoners as Sabira’s words were passed down the line, undeterred by the dwarf’s loud protestations of innocence.
Sabira motioned for the guards to keep them moving, then turned to Elix, who was regarding her with an odd look of disapproval and admiration.
“What? I’d been lying to him the whole trip. Why start being honest now?”
CHAPTER NINE
Back at Vulyar’s Sentinel Marshal headquarters, the first thing Sabira did was commandeer a room and ask for a bath to be drawn. Only after she’d scrubbed the last traces of yrthak blood out of her hair and changed into the clothes she’d been saving for Krona Peak did she wander back down to the captain’s office.
Elix’s office.
Even empty, the room was warm and inviting in a way Greigur’s hadn’t been, with a small fireplace and two high-backed chairs holding court before it. Between them sat a table that bore an ornate Conqueror board. Beside the hearth was a small door that likely led to a bedchamber, but after what had happened in Stormreach, she wasn’t about to try and confirm that guess. The mantle and the walls on either side of the chimney were adorned with souvenirs from the places he’d traveled. A pirate flag won from some ship in the Lhazaar Principalities, a set of matched Talenta boomerangs, an obsidian dagger she imagined came from Q’barra, even an old Cyran spyglass, though whether it was from pre- or post-Mourning Cyre, she couldn’t say.
A round window took up most of one wall, giving a view of the Deneith enclave across the wide cobbles of Conqueror’s Road. Sabira could see the familiar yellow and green pennants flapping in the stiff wind. That sight, more than any other, brought home the fact that she was back in Vulyar, in Karrnath, where she had sworn never to return. She looked away quickly before the thought could make her sick.
A large, cluttered desk with a third, purely utilitarian chair dominated the rest of the room. Behind it stood a set of shelves that held more dust than books. A quick perusal showed no volumes of poetry; that was a side of himself Elix liked to keep private, it seemed. Probably a wise choice, considering his position.
And given pride of place on the wall opposite his desk, where he could not help but see it hundreds of times a day, was Ned’s naked sword, polished to a brightness that bespoke daily attention.
Sabira stared at the weapon, thrust suddenly back to the last day she’d seen it, unable, here in this mausoleum of memory, to deny the past she’d been trying so very hard to forget.…
She and Leoned sat on a bench outside the heavily warded and isolated cottage where they were hiding Aggar. They’d moved him here after two of Toldorath’s scions were murdered in their own heavily guarded family home and another was killed inside a Deneith safehouse. Aggar was the sole heir to a large portion of Tordannonhold, and the clan was taking no chances with his safety.
They’d been sent to the Holds almost a year ago to protect the young dwarf. It wasn’t an unusual assignment for the neutral Defender’s Guild; throughout the Last War, kidnappings and assassination attempts on members of the dwarven Iron Council and their families had become commonplace. Usually the bodyguard stint only lasted a few months, until either the threat was removed or the assassination was successfully carried out, which happened with far more regularity than House Deneith cared to admit. But it was a difficult and thankless task; the dwarves wanted the aid of the Defender’s Guild but still considered the Deneith warriors outsiders and were frequently as much of a hindrance as a help. Sabira and Leoned had been more fortunate than most in that regard. They’d been in the Holds long enough that they were starting to gain acceptance, which made watching over their charge that much easier. “Easier” being relative, of course, considering that Aggar didn’t particularly want to be guarded.
The wily dwarf spent as much time dodging her and Leoned as he did avoiding his clan’s enemies—or he had, anyway, until Nightshard showed up. An assassin of unknown affiliation who seemed to be targeting the families of influential clan members within the southern holds, Nightshard had slain more than a dozen dwarves since midsummer. Sporting two dragonshard rings, the assassin had been dubbed “Nightshard” by the one Defender who’d actually gotten close enough to attack him, and the name had stuck. He had so far defeated everything they’d thrown against him, including the combined protections of Houses Deneith and Kundarak. Even this cottage, which had more security than some palaces she’d seen, might not be enough to stop him.