The City of Towers: The Dreaming Dark - Book I (15 page)

Each of the districts of Sharn was the size of a village or small town, and like any village or town, each had its own distinctive personality. Between the squalor of High Walls and Malleon’s Gate, the cold militant atmosphere of Daggerwatch, the pretentious luxury of Dalan’s Refuge, and the relentless
good cheer of Den’iyas, Daine had seen more diversity than he had in years, but nothing prepared him for Hareth’s Folly. Set halfway down the great tower of Dura, the Folly was a bizarre assortment of spires and small towers. Every building was completely different. Architectural styles, building materials, color schemes … nothing matched. A traditional Brelish tower of stone and mortar stood next to a gnarled spire of Aerenal densewood, which appeared to have been carved from the trunk of a single massive tree. A squat keep of red brick dominated a square covered with glittering silver sand. The sky was just as chaotic. The upper levels of the towers were connected by a tangle of bridges, a labyrinth of wood, stone, and rope. Flying creatures were darting in and around the towers. A winged stallion was playing a game of tag with a massive black-feathered owl, and a pair of Gold Wing guards passed overhead on hippogriff mounts.

“What madness is this?” Daine murmured.

“You may have answered your own question,” Lei replied. “The architect was a man named Hareth ir’Talan, and ‘mad’ would be a polite way of describing him.” She paused by the densewood tower, studying the irregular, crooked walls. “According to the stories, he wanted to have buildings reflecting all of the different nations in Galifar, so a visitor from any country would have a place that felt like home.”

“Sounds reasonable enough, but … I know the elves of Aerenal use wood in most of their structures, but I never heard of them actually living in trees.”

“They don’t.” Lei looked up at the higher branches of the tower. “When Hareth had constructed buildings for all of the different cultures in the Kingdom of Galifar … well, there was still room in the district. So he began looking to other cultures—Riedra, Adar, even the ruins in the Demon Wastes and Xen’drik. Eventually even this well ran dry, so he turned to the outer planes for inspiration. I believe this is his vision of what homes would look like in Lamannia, the Twilight Forest.”

The outer planes were one of the greater mysteries of the world. The sages said there were thirteen planes—shadows of
reality bound to different aspects of existence. Sages and wise women told fanciful stories about the nature of each plane—the endless battlefields of Shavarath, the brilliant crystalline landscape of Irian, the floating citadels of Syrania. As far as Daine was concerned, these descriptions were pure fantasy. He’d heard the legends of mighty wizards traveling to the outer realms, but until he met someone who had actually done it, Daine would treat the stories like any other fable. Still, there was no denying that there were forces that had an influence on the world. Daine could still remember when Eberron aligned with Shavarath in the midst of the Last War—the storms of whirling blades that erupted in the midst of battles, shredding the warriors of both sides in a terrifying whirlwind of blood. His grandfather had spoken of the last conjunction with Dolurrh, the Realm of the Dead, and how the soldiers that fell in battle simply refused to die. While these conjunctions were rare and temporary, there were places in the world where the touch of the outer planes was always felt. Sharn was one of these. The bond to the plane of Syrania enhanced the powers of flight, and this supported the spells that prevented the vast towers from falling. Lamannia was said to be the heart of the natural world. Studying the strange tree-tower, Daine could see how it might fit into such a place.

“The buildings, the bridges …” Lei continued. “Some say he was mad, but there are a few artificers in House Cannith who believe differently. My father believed that Hareth’s Folly was designed according to a precise formula, that when the planes and moons come into a specific alignment, its true purpose will be revealed.”

She fell silent, a hint of sorrow crossing her features. She rarely mentioned her parents. They had lived in the Cyran capital of Metrol, and Daine knew that they had both died in the war some ten years ago. Lei had never spoken of the circumstances of their deaths, and Daine had not wished to pry. He let her reflect in silence and examined the streets around them. The inhabitants of Hareth’s Folly were almost as diverse as the buildings themselves. Daine could see travelers from every corner of Khorvaire who’d come to the Folly to participate in the games and spectacles of Sharn.

“Daine …” When Lei spoke again, her voice was soft and thoughtful. “Who gave you that sword?”

“A man named Grazen. An old friend, I told you.”

“A member of House Deneith?”

“Yes.”

“But … the soldiers of House Deneith give their allegiance to no nation. The house is founded on the principle of mercenary service. How could an heir of Deneith serve as an officer of the Sharn Watch?”

“He
was
in House Deneith. He left the house.”

Lei’s eyes widened. “You mean … he was excoriated? Like me?”

“I don’t think so. I think he chose to leave of his own free will.”

“I’ve heard of it happening, but … it’s just hard for me to imagine.”

“Really? Are the other members of your family such wonderful people? I could imagine getting tired of spending my life in the company of someone like Lord Jura.”

Lei shook her head. “You can’t understand, Daine. The house … it’s more than just a family. It’s the foundation of life. Being part of the house raises you above any nation, above any race. As a girl, I dreamed of the day that my mark would appear and allow me to be a part of the work of my house.” She stopped walking, her eyes glistening and thoughts far away. “Kings come and go. It is the dragonmarked houses that have shaped Khorvaire. Look at what Cannith has done in the last century alone. We gave birth to a new
race.”
She broke off and took a deep breath.

Daine put his hand on her shoulder. “You don’t have to be a part of a house to make a difference,” he said. “There’s the Twelve, the Arcane Congress—”

Lei pushed his hand aside, blinking back tears. “You don’t understand! It’s …” She reached up and rubbed the small of her back, just below her neck. Though it was usually covered, Daine knew that this was where her dragonmark was located. “It’s what I was born for. It’s who I am. How could anyone throw that away?”

Daine knew she didn’t really want an answer, but he couldn’t help it. “What about Jode?” he said. “How does he fit in with this?”

The question seemed to shock Lei out of her reverie. Jode made no efforts to conceal his dragonmark, yet he had never spoken of his connection to House Jorasco, the halfling house of Healing.

“I … I don’t know. I tried to bring it up once before, but he changed the subject and I didn’t want to press. He might have been expelled. But it’s always possible that he’s a foundling.”

“What do you mean?”

The change in subject allowed Lei to fall back on her role as sage and lecturer, and they began walking again. “You know that the dragonmarks are bound to bloodlines, yes? Since the marks are tied to the family line of the house, they remain within the house. It’s one reason people who bear a particular dragonmark often share similar physical traits. But when you have an … excoriate … he still carries the power of the mark and can pass it on to offspring. Thus it’s possible for a child to be born outside the house and yet to possess the mark of the house. I think that’s what you see with Jode—a man with the gift of Jorasco, but with no actual tie to the house.”

“I’d think the house wouldn’t approve of that—someone interfering with their monopoly on the mark. What’s to stop a group of outsiders from starting a new house?”

“Well, that’s more or less what has happened with the elves, though the split came from inside the house,” Lei said. “But you’re right, it’s something that has always been discouraged. You have to understand, it’s exceedingly rare for someone to be punished in this way. Uncle Jura is the only excoriate I’ve ever met. As Jode said before, they use to kill excoriates. Even after that practice was ended, excoriates were often castrated or … maimed. Since the rise of Galifar, these practices have been discouraged. Over the last few centuries, most of the houses passed rules allowing foundlings to apply for admittance into the house. Unless the parent was some sort of incarnate fiend, there’s nothing to be gained by punishing the child.”

“And yet we have Jode.”

“Look, I don’t know! Ask him.”

Daine shook his head. “Better left alone.”

They walked a little further. “You changed the subject,” Lei said. “I still don’t understand why your friend Grazen would leave the house. But given that he did … why would he keep that sword? And why give it to you?”

“Well …” Daine ran his fingers along the hilt of the sword. “You’re right. The soldiers of Deneith cannot give their allegiance to any king or queen. Their loyalty belongs to the house first and paymaster second, whoever that may be. Apparently Grazen found something—or someone—who became more important to him than the house. I imagine he had to leave to be with her. So it’s not like, well, what’s happened to you. He may have wanted to keep the memory of his achievements within the house, so he kept the sword. As for why he gave it to me, I couldn’t tell you. He knew I didn’t have a sword.” And wanted to rub my face in it, he thought. “This is a fine blade, and obviously I’ll never be able to wield it without thinking of him.” It was close enough to the truth, and Lei seemed to accept it.

Lei stopped again and looked at him critically. “You have a bit of the Deneith look, you know,” she said. “The color of your hair, those dark blue eyes, even the shape of the eye … I don’t know why I’ve never noticed it before.”

Daine shrugged. “Perhaps there’s a foundling in my family tree? I supposed it would explain why Grazen and I were such good friends.”

Lei nodded. “I suppose it might, at that. Anyhow, we’re here.”

“What?”

Lei gestured at the building next to them. Daine had been so absorbed in the conversation that he hadn’t been paying attention to their surroundings. He glanced over at their destination and blinked. The King of Fire was unlike any tavern he’d ever seen. A squat tower of black stone inlaid with sigils of gleaming brass, it seemed like it should be the fortress of an evil wizard plucked out of fey tales. But the square sign above
the door had the unmistakable look of an inn post, bearing the image of a deck of playing cards with the King of Fire showing on the top. As he watched, a trio of drunken gnomes came staggering out of the building. All three of them needed to lean against the door to push it open.”

What is it?” Daine asked.

Lei had produced Alina’s packet of parchments. “It’s supposed to be the primary center for gambling in the tower—especially for betting on aerial sports, such as the Race of Eight Winds. Jode’s thought was that we might be able to get information about Rasial from some of the patrons. As for the design, I imagine it was inspired by the stories of the fiery plane of Fernia. Are you ready to go in?”

Daine glanced around, looking for Pierce. Given his size and unusual appearance, the warforged soldier had a gift for concealment, and it took Daine a moment to pick him out against the shadows. He gave Pierce a “hold and watch” sign with his right hand, and Pierce nodded almost imperceptibly.

“All right,” Daine said. “Let’s see what we can find.”

T
he tables were on fire. The walls and floor of the King of Fire were the same black stone as the exterior. Mystical symbols were carved into the walls and inlaid with brass; set against the dark stone they almost seemed to be floating in midair. There were no torches, no chandeliers. The light came from the chairs and tables themselves. Half a dozen round tables, carved from darkwood and inscribed with the same symbols as the walls, were spread around the common room. Cold fire had been woven into the wood of the tables, and these insubstantial flames cast long shadows across the walls. People were laughing and talking, and the rattle of dice and flutter of shuffling cards filled the air.

“Welcome! What are you looking for?” The voice seemed to come from thin air, but as his eyes adjusted to the strange lighting, Daine realized that there was a slender halfling woman standing next to him. She had short dark hair and wore a black dress embroidered with the same symbols that could be seen on the walls.

“Can I get a flagon of korluaat?” he asked. He had developed a taste for the pitchy brew while serving with a troop of Darguul mercenaries.

Lei made a face, but the halfling nodded. “Oh, absolutely.” Noticing Lei’s expression, she said, “A lot of people think the Gargoyle has a strong chance this year, and we’re expecting to
have a lot of goblins up from Malleon’s Gate to get a closer view. Now, what can I get for you, dear?”

“Blackroot tal,” Lei said.

“Very well. Take any open stool, and I’ll be right back. I’m Kela. Just call if you need anything.” As if in response, a burly half-orc bellowed her name from across the room and she scurried away.