When Aggar didn’t reply, Rockfist spoke up.
“Not that I’m questioning the need, but I am curious. What is it you’re looking for there?”
“Goldglove’s journal entry mentioned a Tombs report,” she answered. “His was the first murder, and the one that makes the least sense. If you want to frame someone for murder, you don’t leave the body where there’s a good chance it won’t be found anytime soon, if ever. It’s almost as if setting up Aggar was an afterthought. If that’s the case, then figuring out why Goldglove was murdered might give me a clue to the identity of his killer. Since he was killed in the vicinity of the hot springs, it’s reasonable to assume his death may have had something to do with them, and if that’s the case, that report he referenced from the Tombs might hold valuable information.”
Taking material out of the record hall was forbidden, and visitors were required to log whatever documents they examined, so if anything was damaged, the Caretaker would know where to place the blame. So she should be able to find the report easily enough—once she actually got in to the Tombs.
“That’s a long, thin chain you’ve forged there, Saba,” Aggar said, frowning. “One I wouldn’t hang a pendant from, let alone my life.”
“It’s all we have to go on, Agg,” she replied. The old nickname caught him off-guard, as she’d hoped it would. Maybe it would convince him of her earnestness—she really did think this was her best chance for clearing his name. Probably her only chance.
“But the Tombs, Saba? If you’re caught there …” he trailed off for a moment, then finished in a barely audible whisper, his face a mask of anguish he didn’t bother to try to conceal. “I don’t want you to die here, too.”
“I won’t be caught,” she assured him quickly, pretending not to have heard his last words. Wishing she really hadn’t. She’d somehow managed to keep Ned from the forefront of her thoughts thus far, but Aggar’s words threatened to bring memories of her old partner bubbling back up to the surface like gas escaping from a drowned corpse.
“I’ll get her in during the dark hours, after midnight,” Rockfist chimed in, the idea of being part of the clandestine mission bringing color to cheeks washed pale by too many hours spent studying law books. The sordid lives of the clients he’d inherited from Blackiron notwithstanding, this was probably the most exciting thing he’d done since before he’d decided to become a barrister. Which, upon reflection, might actually be a pleasant way to live—only reading about the dirt on paper and not having to wallow in it every day. Not that Sabira knew anything about that, or likely ever would.
“There won’t be anybody around at that time of night besides the Caretaker,” the barrister continued. “A quick in and out, with no one the wiser.”
“Are you set on this?”
Sabira looked Aggar straight in the eyes, gray to green.
“I am.”
Aggar sighed.
“Well, in that case, I want you to take this.” He pulled off one of the Gold Concordian rings he’d retrieved from Rockfist. The plain gold band was a pinky ring for him, but on Sabira it fit snugly around her middle finger.
“What’s it do?” Sabira asked curiously. “Let someone know where to return me if I get lost?”
Aggar chuckled at that. “Not quite. It’s one of my old friend Greddark’s little inventions. I think I mentioned him to you before.”
“He’s the one who got kicked out of the Tower of the Twelve? And who taught you how to cheat—badly, I might add—at Jarot’s Bluff?”
“The same,” Aggar confirmed. “He made this before they expelled him from the Twelve. It’s the only one of its kind in existence—I think ‘Ring of Calling’ was the name he ultimately decided on for it. A bit boring, but serviceable enough, I suppose.”
“Never mind what he called it. What does it do?”
“Twist it three times clockwise while saying my name, and it will summon me from anywhere in the Holds.”
“So you can die with me? That’s helpful,” Sabira said. “Will it also summon a priest to say the death rites over us? Because that would be really useful.”
“So I can keep you from dying, hopefully,” Aggar replied, giving her a mildly reproving look. “Besides,” he added, suddenly impish, “Greddark’s isn’t the only ‘useful’ ring I’ve got, so I wouldn’t say your impending death is a foregone conclusion.”
“And the Aurum hands that kind of equipment out to all its members?” Sabira asked, a bit surprised. She’d already realized that most of what she thought she knew about the organization was little better than tavern gossip, but if Concordian rings doubled as magical artifacts as a matter of course, then the Aurum was far more powerful than even rumor had given it credit for. Not a particularly reassuring thought.
Aggar laughed.
“No, of course not. They’re supposed to be just ordinary metal bands. But what would be the fun in that?”
What, indeed.
Aggar’s mirth faded as the Narathun guard returned with a pair of Aureon priests in tow. As the two robed dwarves went to Dorro’s body, the Narathun stopped next to Aggar.
“Time to go, Tordannon.”
“Yes, I believe it is,” Aggar said with a meaningful look at Sabira and Rockfist. “Olladra’s luck, Marshal.”
As Sabira watched the Narathun lead him away, she replied, “And to you, as well, old friend. I have a feeling we’re both going to need it.”
Sabira met Rockfist several hours later in the darkened halls outside of the entrance to the Tombs. The barrister, playing his role of infiltrator to the hilt, had changed into dark gray clothing with a black woolen robe. Sabira didn’t have the heart to tell him that his choice of wardrobe was actually far more likely to draw attention than to avert it. Fortunately, it was well past the twelfth bell, and there were few people out and about in the underbelly of Krona Peak, especially here, where an unauthorized presence could have such dire consequences.
Like most dwarven metropolises, Krona Peak was a city in two parts—the City Above and the City Below. Few people who were not either dwarves or residents of the Peak ever set foot in the underground byways of the city, known affectionately to the locals as the Warrens. The streets in the Warrens did not parallel the rigidly ordered avenues above, and getting lost in the labyrinthine passages was a virtual certainty without a guide. Luckily, the entrance to the Tombs was directly below the great iron doors of Ferrous House, and a winding stairway leading to the Warrens was situated just across the courtyard from the Iron Council’s headquarters.
She’d been far less worried about getting lost on the way than she had been about making it here on time. After Aggar had been escorted away, Kiruk had caught up with her and insisted on taking her to dinner at one of Krona Peak’s finest restaurants, ironically located a mere stone’s throw from the sprawling Golden Vault, the Aurum’s oldest and most ostentatious chapterhouse. The eatery had been, not surprisingly, filled with Concordians of every level—Copper, Silver, and Gold. Sabira was even half-convinced she’d seen a member of the Platinum Concord whisked from the front door to a private room in the back. The woman—a gnome with a penchant for purple—moved too quickly for Sabira to get more than a glimpse of the rings on her fingers, but judging from the envious and awed looks the woman got from the Silver Concordians in the room, Sabira had her suspicions.
It took them some time to get served, and when they did, the food was lukewarm, a bit too rare, and oversalted. Obviously, some of the murder victims had had friends on the wait staff. Sabira had to wonder at Kiruk’s choice—the dwarf was too smart not to realize they’d be dining in enemy territory. But she quickly realized that was the point—the discovery of another suspect for the crimes his son was accused of committing had renewed the old dwarf’s spirit, giving him hope for the first time that Aggar might actually live through this ordeal. So the Tordannon chief was flaunting her in front of his son’s enemies, letting them know that Aggar had powerful friends on his side as well and that he wasn’t going to go down without a fight.