Daine grudgingly tried-and failed. It was just as Lei had said: the twigs were as strong as stone.
“Scratch at the walls all you want, I’m going inside,” Gerrion said. “I don’t know about you, but I intend to celebrate our new partnership.”
The door was carved from a single piece of wood, and the hinges were densewood roots threaded into the labyrinthine walls. Some faint light filtered through them, but most of the illumination in the chamber came from a massive central hearth. As his eyes adjusted to the dim light, Daine saw that he was standing in the common room. Half a dozen patrons were scattered about the room spread around low wooden tables. The next thing Daine noticed were the cats. There were over a dozen felines of various shapes and sizes in the common room. Some were sprawled around the central fire, others peered out of nooks in the rough walls, and a few were demanding scraps from the more softhearted patrons. Daine was used to seeing a cat or two in an inn, or at least some creature that would keep the vermin down; halfling hostels were often protected by smalltooths, tiny carnivorous reptiles, but this was rather more than he was used to.
“Welcome to the Ship’s Cat, travelers.”
The voice was rough and deep but distinctly feminine. The speaker had the burly, muscular build that would have suited a blacksmith. Her brown hair fell in an unruly mane around her shoulders, and her large golden eyes glittered with reflected firelight. She was a shifter, and the blood of the wilds ran in her veins.
“Harysh!” Gerrion said. “I trust you have room for my four new friends?”
The innkeeper smiled, revealing pointed teeth. “Friends of yours are always welcome, Gerrion-though if you seek lodging, I’ll need sovereigns on the table before I open my doors.”
Gerrion gave a mocking pout. “I’d hoped that we’d finally put that behind us, hostess.”
“Not likely. Now what can I get for you, travelers?”
Eventually Daine found himself tucked into a corner of the room, staring at a large gray cat that apparently had designs on his smoked tribex. The meat was slightly tough, but after days of hard tack and sea rations, it was delightful.
“Here we are,” he said. “Stormreach. Xen’drik. We’ve found our little haven. We have a guide, and we’ve already encountered our first group of assassins. Now do you actually have a plan, Lakashtai, or did we just come here for the tribex?”
He immediately regretted lashing out at her, but he couldn’t seem to help it. Ever since the mental siege had begun, his nerves had been wearing thin, and it seemed harder and harder to hold back his anger.
Lakashtai didn’t rise to the barb. “I do not have answers for you, Daine, not yet, but I know where to begin. There is a sorcerer in Stormreach, and his vaults may hold the key to our problems. For now, I suggest that you enjoy your meal and get a good night’s sleep. I suspect that we’ll be traveling into the wilds before this is done-so enjoy these comforts while you have them. You’ll all need your full strength in the days that lie ahead.”
“If I may ask, my lady, what is the name of this mysterious stranger? I am well rested already, and I may be able to save you some time with your inquiries.”
Gerrion had set his cloak on the floor, and Daine noticed a new detail in the flickering light from the hearth-a triangular tattoo at the top of the man’s forehead, forming a sort of widow’s peak. The tattoo was almost invisible against his pale gray skin and looked as though it continued back beneath his hair; while it was hard to see the details in the flickering light, the design appeared to be a complex pattern of interwoven flames.
“Hassalac Chaar,” Lakashtai said.
Gerrion’s eyes widened for an instant. “In that case, I hope you won’t mind if I ask for some of my payment up front as well. There are debts I promised to pay before I passed away, and it seems that I should do this as quickly as possible. Shall we meet back here at the eighth bell?”
Lakashtai nodded, and after sorting through her belongings she produced a few platinum coins for the guide. Gerrion gave a slight bow, flashed a smile at the innkeeper, and darted out the door.
“It’s interesting,” Lei said, watching him leave. “He looks like he has elven blood, but I’ve never seen any Khoravar with that skin tone before-or elf, for that matter.”
“He’s certainly in a hurry,” Daine said. “Care to tell us more about this Hassalac, Lakashtai?”
The kalashtar woman glanced toward him, and Daine was surprised by the weariness in her eyes. The strength seemed to have flowed out of her, as if she had been holding herself together until the stranger had left.
“Not now,” she said quietly. “There will be time to talk on the morrow. Let us find our shelter and rest: we have much to do tomorrow.”
The innkeeper led them upstairs, and eventually Daine settled a small room that felt more like a rat’s nest than a hostel. It was only as he was drifting into sleep that he realized-he hadn’t seen Pierce since Gerrion’s departure.
CHAPTER 17
Long shadows filled the streets of Stormreach. Cold fire lanterns cast light into the darkness, but in the grimy avenues and alleys around the Ship’s Cat these pools of radiance were few and far between.
The gloom suited Pierce’s purposes, and he drifted from shadow to shadow as he followed Gerrion. He hadn’t decided whether he trusted Gerrion or believed his claim to be an agent of Alina, but Pierce and his companions were in hostile territory. There were enemies about, and Gerrion was one of their only resources. If he were a traitor, Pierce needed to watch his movements. If he truly were an ally, he might need protection from their enemies. Either way, Pierce would be watching.
Pierce loved the hunt. Every thought, every sense, was focused on stalking his prey. This was what he was made for, and it came as naturally to him as breathing would to a human. Instinct guided him to every shadow, every patch of cover. Without even thinking, he analyzed every living creature in his field of vision, judging their apparent abilities of perception and the threat they might present in battle. It was calming, and for a time he let go of all of his concerns and questions, submerging himself in the pursuit of Gerrion.
Gerrion’s behavior was anything but suspicious. He was in no hurry to go anywhere. For the next few hours Gerrion wandered the city. He brought a skin of wine to a group of beggars and passed half an hour with gossip and conversation. He spoke with a few sailors and simple tradesmen, discussing the weather, the shipping news, word of various expeditions into the interior. Occasionally he brought up the name Hassalac, the man Lakashtai wanted to see-but it seemed like Gerrion was gathering information on his recent activities. If he was betraying Pierce and his companions, the signs were too subtle for Pierce to perceive.
While Gerrion seemed to have many friends in Stormreach, he had his share of enemies as well. More than a few people turned away with expressions of disgust when they caught sight of Gerrion, and a man with the look of a militiaman or mercenary soldier sneered and spat at the half-elf. It was hard for Pierce to tell if this anger was directed at Gerrion himself or if it was some sort of general prejudice toward his race. Over the course of two hours, Pierce only saw one other person with gray skin similar to Gerrion’s; she was a beggar, and like Gerrion she also seemed to have some amount of elven blood in her veins; her rambling conversation suggested deep-rooted mental instability.
Eventually, Gerrion came to the harbor. He made his way onto a small sailboat, entering the cabin. The vessel was battered and worn, the hull covered with peeling black paint, and as far as Pierce could tell from the movement of shadows against the window-blind, Gerrion was its sole inhabitant.