Darkvision (12 page)

As Warian glanced around, he saw that every family member present sported extensive prostheses, save for Zel and himself.

To his right was Aunt Sevaera, and next to her, Zeltaebar. Zeltaebar looked half asleep, but Warian doubted that Zel, despite his slouching posture and lazily shuttered eyelids, missed anything Xaemar said.

Aunt Sevaera, on the other hand, stared directly at Warian, her eyes alight with supposition. Warian waved at her. She smiled, though her plangent crystal half mask turned her expression into more of a grimace.

Eined’s seat was empty. No surprise there. But so was Grandfather Shaddon’s. When Warian was regularly attending family council meetings five years earlier, Shaddon never missed a meeting. Warian wondered what could be so important that Shaddon would allow Xaemar to have the final word over Datharathi Minerals. Shaddon was a right bastard despite being his grandfather, and would rather be damned than give Xaemar or any other family member carte blanche over the family business, even if Xaemar was a prodigy of business leadership.

Also at the table sat a pair of third cousins that Warian didn’t know well, Barden and Corlaen. They seemed fascinated by Xaemar’s droning. His uncle was elucidating something about distribution, levies, port fees—Warian tuned him out again.

Two of the empty seats had belonged to Warian’s parents. Warian tried to push the memory aside. He’d always wondered about the accident that had taken them. Something never seemed right.

When Xaemar finally wound down, his eyes alighted on Warian and widened slightly, as if seeing his nephew for the first time, even though Warian felt as if he had just sat through an eternity of Xaemar’s talk.

“Young Warian!” Xaemar exclaimed. “Reports of your return were accurate, and timely! Don’t worry, I’ve put time in the agenda for you. Please tell us why you’ve deigned to return. Zel said you had something to ask of the council.” Xaemar gave a patently false smile. His uncle couldn’t care less if Warian was ever seen again, and in fact, may have preferred it that way.

Warian decided to dispense with pleasantries. Getting quickly to the point was a Datharathi trait his family would appreciate. “I returned because the crystal arm Shaddon gave me has begun to … malfunction in a peculiar fashion.”

“That’s awful!” exclaimed Aunt Sevaera. She looked critically at his arm. “Slow and ugly as ever, but it looks functional.”

“Thanks, Aunt. Yes, I know my artificial limb’s inelegant lines don’t match the latest Datharathi fashion.” Warian nodded toward his cousin Barden’s svelte, lifelike crystal arm that matched with almost perfect fidelity the arm Barden had been born with. Warian’s own fake arm was angular and faceted in comparison.

Xaemar brightened. “That’s right—our plangent line has been enormously successful in Vaelan. We can charge outrageous rates. Shaddon says we’re ready to begin offering plangent upgrades outside Vaelan—beyond the Durpar region, even, if the price is right.”

“How great for you,” said Warian. “Now—about my prosthesis …”

Xaemar inclined his head but began to tap impatiently on the marble table. Warian knew that his time was running short.

“The thing is, I wonder if your new ‘line’ of prosthetics isn’t having some sort of… retroactive effect on my arm.”

“How so?” wondered Sevaera.

“Less than a month ago, my prosthesis—became suddenly stronger. It was as if my arm had received … a charge of supernatural strength. I nearly killed a man when I accidentally hurled him twenty feet into a wall. I want to know if this is your doing. Something you’ve done because of your plangent program? How can I get it under control? I don’t want to hurt anybody by accident.” Warian was fairly sure he knew how to trigger the strength after the incident in Eined’s apartment, but perhaps there was a way to call upon its strength in a controlled manner.

Xaemar started to ask a question, then paused, staring blankly ahead. After three or four heartbeats, just as Warian was about to ask his uncle if everything was all right, animation returned to the man’s face.

Xaemar questioned him, a new note of authority in his voice. “Twenty feet, you say? Are you making that up?”

“No, Uncle. In fact, it might have been more. And not only that. With the strength came speed. Everyone in that tavern seemed to be moving through molasses, except for me. Is this what it means to be a plangent?”

“No, nothing that extreme,” said Sevaera. “I mean, I’m stronger, and a hair faster, but…”

Warian’s aunt paused as if a new thought intruded. In a more excited tone of voice, she asked, “Faster, too? Come, tell me more, Nephew!”

Warian cocked his head. She never used to call him “nephew.” She didn’t like the implication of age in that familial term.

“That’s all there is to tell. I was faster and stronger.”

“Any side effects?”

Warian shrugged.

“Well, well, well,” muttered Xaemar. “Can it be your prototype arm has discovered something of the elan that resonates in our own plangent suite of prostheses? Shaddon said that…”

Again, the pause. The hairs on Warian’s nape prickled when he realized everyone in the room paused as if to ponder the same thing—everyone but him and Zel. He shot Zel a puzzled look. Uncle Zeltaebar looked a little worried.

Breaking out of his thoughts, Xaemar continued speaking as if there had been no pause. “All experimental crystal implants were to be destroyed and replaced with crystal from the newest veins, as Shaddon instructed. He said crystal mined from the older veins was compromised and prone to malfunction. It could be your arm is teetering on the edge of complete malfunction.”

Xaemar delivered this dismal news in a manner that seemed … greedy. In fact, everyone but Zel looked at him with a simultaneous gleam of hunger suddenly illuminating their features.

Warian shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “So you think the arm is simply giving out, and it’s—what? Sputtering on the last dregs of its magical charge?”

“It could be, could be,” purred Xaemar, in a very un-Xaemarlike fashion. “There’s only one thing to do— you’ll have to let your Grandfather Shaddon take a look. It simply wouldn’t do for a Datharathi to lose the use of his prosthesis, even if that Datharathi had fled from his responsibility to the family. It would reflect poorly on the plangent enterprise.”

Warian sighed. “Plus, I’d sure hate to lose the use of my arm.”

“Be that as it may, I’m sure Shaddon would love to examine his original crystal prosthesis after all this time. I have no doubt about it.”

“Makes sense. I’d like to see my famous grandfather again,” said Warian. If anyone could diagnose the strange new abilities of his artificial limb, it was Shaddon, the man who’d attached it. “Where is he?”

Aunt Sevaera broke in. “Oh, he’s out at the site. Right in the middle of some delicate work just now, and he can’t even make time for our family meetings. You’ll have to travel to the site to see him directly.”

“Oh, come on!” protested Warian. He hated “the site”— the peculiar mine where one of the family’s many mining tunnels had opened into a bizarre region, the region where Datharathi crystal was mined. Now that he was back in Vaelan, he didn’t relish the idea of leaving so soon.

Especially with his sister missing. The more he thought about it, the more concerned he became for Eined’s welfare. She was a tough one, certainly, and could probably handle a lot more than Warian himself. Still…

“Come, come, don’t be like that,” said Xaemar. As he spoke, a discomforting tic caused his left eye to flutter spastically.

Warian had never seen Xaemar suffer from such a thing. Warian pretended not to notice—was it a sign of age, or a side effect of the plangent procedure?

Xaemar continued. “Your Grandfather Shaddon isn’t far from Vaelan. You can take a sky skiff. It’ll be a trip of no time at all.”

“All right. Maybe in a few days, after I’ve had time to see what I’ve missed in Vaelan in the last five years. And I want to help locate Eined!”

His family stared at him, quiet and considering. Then Aunt Sevaera said, “If you want our help on this, Nephew, you’ll abide by the schedules we set.”

Warian frowned, then asked, purely for informational purposes, “When’s the next skyship leaving?”

“Tonight!” Xaemar rubbed his hands together. Disquietingly, so did Sevaera, Barden, and Corlaen. What the …?

“However, before we make preparations for Warian’s trip, we can’t forget Zel is due to give a report.” Xaemar turned slightly in his chair to fix Zeltaebar with a glare from his single, violet-tinged crystal eye.

Xaemar asked, “Where is Eined?”

Ususi and Iahn drove the wizard’s coach, pulled by two summoned steeds, through the west gate of the city of Vaelan.

The west gate opened on high ground, and the view of the city, as it fell away to the north and east toward the stunning shores of the Golden Water, was broad and expansive. It was easy to see why Vaelan surpassed Assur as the crown jewel of Durpar’s trading empire. A central region of proud, tall towers constructed with gold leaf and glass exulted in the midday light. Whitewashed walls separated city districts, and the buildings were of pale stone, or perhaps took plaster and paint particularly well. Terraces, broad flights of stairs, rooftop coffee shops, and bazaars of every description seemed the order of the day in Vaelan.

Just inside the west gate, Ususi paid to have her coach stored indefinitely. She put down a considerable deposit, just in case they found access to the Celestial Nadir within the city. Eventually, she would come back to claim her custom travel coach.

Ususi was accustomed to crowds, but the throngs in Vaelan were something else again. Even Two Stars, a city that prided itself on trade between cultures, had not prepared her for the multitudes surging through Vaelan’s streets. The avenue they strolled along was filled on both sides with outdoor restaurants and cafes, all crowded with people. Most of the patrons seemed as interested in consuming the exotic delights before them as watching the continuous parade of passersby.

Courtesans, in scores, more than Ususi had ever seen at once, walked the city streets, clad in diamonds, body paint, and garments spun of the finest silks. Beggars in rags clutched at the robes of passersby, asking for handouts. Unshod children scampered underfoot, absorbed in their youthful games. Sitar players and bards singing strangely nasal ballads were featured along the many rooftop cafes. Half-dressed barbarians with oversized weaponry strapped to their belts pushed arrogantly through the throng. A group of elves in high court dress clustered around a street vendor selling roasted vegetables on sticks. A brave woman wearing red body paint goaded an unshackled ogre to juggle various pieces of crockery. Several halflings perched on an elevated byway, watching the traffic, pointing out oddities, and laughing among themselves.

Ususi even spotted a few eastern-looking men in warrior’s dress she recognized as common in Two Stars—merchants and their bodyguards from much farther north and east of Vaelan.

And all of this she saw on a single street!

The people were fascinating, but Ususi’s eye was also drawn to the myriad stalls and stands of every stripe, some of which surely straddled the border that separated legal wares from black market merchandise. One hawker claimed his golden eels were the most succulent to be had in west Vaelan, while another described the fragrances available on his cart as exotic samples from “distant Tu’narath, brought only at great risk and expense to delight the senses of the common Vaelanite.”

Closing her eyes couldn’t shut out the clamor or the smells—the air churned with dueling odors. Fresh bread, eggs, spicy tea, oil, wood smoke from an oven filled with roasting sausages, devil weed, wet wool, exotic perfumes, sweat, and the faint odor of the docks—the countless smells concentrated in Vaelan were overwhelming.

A crush of people pressed upon them at an intersection. A black-haired courtesan pressed against Iahn and ran her fingers down his bare arm. “Such sinewy strength—such exotic pale skin,” she purred. “Where ever are you from? I’d love to hear your story. In private.”

Ususi shooed the woman away, shaking her head. Iahn looked after the woman as she moved away and was lost again in the crowd. Somewhat foggily, he said, “I’ve never smelled that particular fragrance before—I wonder from what flower it was distilled.”

Ususi had a few notions, but before she could formulate a response, a woman caught her eyes. The woman stood upon a slender white bridge above their path. The skin on her face and bare arms was partially replaced with a thin veneer of Celestial Nadir crystal!

“Iahn, look!” She pointed up at the woman, but Iahn already had her in his sights. With a fluid motion, he caught Ususi’s pointing hand and guided it down to her side. He clasped her other hand in his grip and drew her close as if sharing a friendly embrace.

He whispered, “Best not to draw the attention of any who wear the crystal. Something dark looked out from behind the eyes of those who hunted you. The woman on the bridge … and there to the left, that man in the rich robes—see his eyes? If their flesh is infected with the Celestial Nadir crystal, could not the darkness behind the world see out through their eyes, too?”

Ususi gave a slow nod. “Perhaps.”

She studied the woman, on the bridge as they drew closer. The woman was speaking to an exotic fabric merchant. Nothing could be more natural. Except for her encrustations of crystal.

“No question about it,” Ususi whispered. “Someone in Vaelan has found an entry into the Celestial Nadir!”

“You were right,” said Iahn, not grudgingly. “We must locate that access. We cannot afford to approach one of these compromised citizens directly. But…”

Iahn paused near a confection vendor and motioned Ususi over. The smell of sugary cakes made her mouth water.

“Hungry?” Iahn grunted. He motioned for the vendor’s attention. Ususi shrugged. If Iahn wanted to sample the local cuisine, she would be right behind him. Those little cakes smelled good.

Iahn caught the notice of a thin, middle-aged man with curly brown hair streaked with gray. The man’s smock was streaked with flour, and he was flanked on all sides by racks of his delicious-looking bakery.