Once a city of giants, Stormreach still bore the marks of its original settlers, even tens of thousands of years and countless occupying cultures later. The statue of the giant Emperor Cul’sir that watched over the harbor was only the most obvious of these, but ghosts of the past haunted every quarter of the sprawling city. Massive broken pillars and crumbling stone faces the size of boulders littered courtyards, and the city had grown up around the remnants of colossal walls that now served to divide its many districts. The ancient detritus was a constant reminder to the populace that, no matter how many generations had passed, they were still interlopers here and always would be.
But the people of Stormreach were nothing if not pragmatic. The giants who built the city were long gone, and their artifacts had been appropriated to form homes for the newcomers, with little thought or care for their original purpose.
And what a sight those homes were! While some could have been lifted whole from any of the nations of Khorvaire—a Thranish manor with Flamic curves here or a floating tower reminiscent of Sharn there—most were a mishmash of cultures, styles, and materials. The resourceful citizens had incorporated whatever was handy, including the hulls of shipwrecked vessels salvaged from the harbor and the trunks of the huge palm-like trees that grew all over the city like oversized weeds.
The overall effect was surprisingly cohesive and strangely beautiful, and Sabira feared that when she returned to Khorvaire, the architecture of even that continent’s greatest cities would seem bland in comparison.
If she returned.
Sabira shook the thought away as they passed through the Marketplace gates and entered the courtyard in front of the Market Barracks. A handful of new recruits for the Stormreach Guard were already there, training in the predawn light. They were a sorry sight—drunkards, ne’er-do-wells, and outright criminals who’d been turned away by House Deneith because their skills were lacking. Not to mention hygiene, rudimentary intelligence, and any concept of the word “honor.”
As they clattered down yet another set of carved stone stairs, Prynn moved into the lead, heading for the sprawling red tent that covered the Marketplace’s iconic bazaar.
“No, let’s go this way,” Sabira said, indicating a narrow alleyway behind a huge broken pipe. The sound of cascading water was loud in her ears; the pipe had once been part of Stormreach’s massive sewer system but was now the centerpiece of a waterfall and pool that were popular with bards and young lovers. “It’ll be faster.”
“Why the hurry? The captain won’t even be there to sign off on our fee until after the morning exercises.”
Sabira looked at him askance.
“I’m meeting someone,” she said shortly. She didn’t have any actual appointments scheduled, but with Mari’s big mouth leading the way, Sabira was sure she’d have a least one visitor this morning. Tyn wasn’t the only one she owed money to.
Prynn gave her a knowing grin but kept blessedly silent as he gestured for her to lead the way.
They took a right at the Statler brothers’ saloon and headed up the north branch of Silversmith Road to the Deneith enclave. As they approached the massive gates, Sabira wondered again at the purple symbol that adorned the gates, and indeed, all of the quarter claimed by House Deneith.
In all her time in Stormreach, she’d never gotten a satisfactory answer about what the symbol was supposed to represent. The most common response was that the mountainous-looking design was a stylized version of Sentinels Tower itself, with the jagged shoulders depicting the long stairways that wound up either side of the massive edifice. According to proponents of this theory, the purple color merely signified the stone from which the tower was carved. As a native of Karrnath, the birthplace of House Deneith, Sabira had always found this explanation lacking. Yellow and green were the traditional colors of her house, and the fact that they had not been used at all in the emblem that had come to symbolize Deneith to the rest of Stormreach lent credence to another theory whispered in the halls of Sentinels Tower. Namely, that the device was the embodiment of Captain Greigur’s monumental ego and the royal color a hint as to his far-reaching aspirations.
Once through the gates, they hurried past the crossed hammer and anvil spinning lazily in front of Hammersmith’s Inn, around the central fountain of Knight’s Watch—a Deneith chimera, almost as ubiquitous here as Greigur’s damson mountain—and right into the middle of Soroth’s latest batch of recruits.
“… in just a few days, we will face the enemy,” the grizzled soldier barked from his place at the top a set of nearby stairs. “We will face the enemy—and we will destroy them! Because no enemy, no matter how strong, can stand against House Deneith!”
Shoving her way through the crowd of eager youngsters, Sabira couldn’t help but feel her heart quicken in response to Soroth’s rousing speech.
“We fight for many reasons. We fight to protect this city. We fight because we are paid to. But there is one reason that stands above the rest.…”
As she and Prynn exited the Watch and propelled their prisoner up the long climb to Sentinels Tower, the climax of Soroth’s address to his troops echoed in her ears.
“… we fight for the glory of House Deneith!”
Sabira reflexively mouthed the words that she knew so well from countless similar speeches she’d heard throughout her career, but even as she did, she wondered if she really still believed them.
The public entrance to Sentinels Tower was a wide but defensible corridor that curved around to the right before opening up into a cavernous room that spanned two stories. In the middle of the room, a grand staircase wound its way up to the second floor, with a wide landing from which Greigur would often address those assembled below. Chandeliers hung from the high ceiling and stone balconies overlooked much of the room, which often hosted balls and elaborate military functions.
This morning, however, the room was empty, save for a few soldiers hurrying about their business. The Marshals eschewed the stairs, heading for a doorway on the left. After a few twists and turns through halls boasting statuary and many fine paintings, they entered the euphemistically named custody suite.
Once inside, they shoved Caldamus into a chair. Sabira paced the thick Brelish rug while Prynn—nominally the lead Marshal on this assignment, since Caldamus was wanted in his jurisdiction—spoke with a clerk half obscured by a tall, highly polished desk. Like all the public areas of Sentinels Tower, the displayed riches served as a not-so-subtle reminder to clients and criminals alike that House Deneith services did not come cheap and that they were worth every copper crown.
The walls were lined with magewrought wanted notices, complete with rotating portraits that showed the criminals in question from all angles. The posters were artistically arranged on the walls and sported ornate gilt frames, the smallest of which was worth enough to feed a family of halflings for a month.
Even more impressive than the lifelike notices were two large maps that dominated opposite walls, one showing all of Xen’drik and the other detailing Stormreach itself. Though not magewrought as far as Sabira could see, the maps had been inked with incredible skill; she was sure she could make out individual dunes in the Menechtarun Desert if she stood close enough, or count the number of pennants that flew from Lordsmarch Palace.
But as with anything Deneith, even the most opulent fixture served a practical purpose. Though she’d yet to see them in action herself, Sabira knew that the intricate carved dragon heads that overlooked this room and many others in the tower, along with most of its hallways, were more than mere decorations or shows of wealth. Hidden within the toothsome mouths were apertures that would rain down acid, alchemist’s fire, and other unpleasant substances in the event of an attack.