The City of Towers: The Dreaming Dark - Book I (9 page)

Ahead he saw the sign of a smithy; the hammer-and-anvil seal of House Cannith was emblazoned below the name of the smith. “My lady, should we begin our inquiries with this armorer?”

Lei glanced up at the sign and shook her head. “No. Black anvil.”

Lei was speaking less frequently than usual. It seemed reasonable to assume that talking would help repair her damaged spirit. “I do not understand the significance of the color. Is it not your—uh, the seal of House Cannith?”

Lei sighed. “The powers of the house extend far beyond the actual heirs of the mark, Pierce.” While her voice remained dull, she began to fall into her usual lecturing cadence. “Each house has found ways to apply the powers of its mark to provide services to the people of Khorvaire. But the houses have extended their influence farther into these fields. The black anvil indicates that the smith has been trained and licensed by a Cannith guild and that his work will meet the standards set by the house. But he is not an heir of the blood and could be of no use to us.”

“I understand, my lady.”

“Cannith Tower is the central enclave of the house.” She pointed at the silver spire rising up ahead. “That’s where we’ll get our answers … if they’ll speak to me.”

“You have doubts?”

“If … if what that Domo said is true,” she said, “then yes, I have doubts.” She reached out, resting her hand on his mithral shoulder. “I just don’t know what to expect. I thought the war was finally over.”

“Perhaps the war is never won,” Pierce said. “We must simply find satisfaction in survival.”

Lei tightened her grip on his shoulder, and they continued on their way.

Cannith Tower was a masterpiece, a testimony to the architectural talents of the House of Making. Silver threads had been embedded into the surface of the stone walls, creating the impression of a glittering web of light rising into the sky.

“I remember when I first saw the tower,” Lei said. “I came here to study firebinding.” She pointed to a window high on the tower. “My cousin Dasei and I stayed in that room while we were learning. She couldn’t bind to save her life, but she always managed to charm her way through the challenges.” She shook her head.

While Pierce listened, his attention was on the defenses of the tower. For all that they appeared to be leaded glass, he had no doubt that the windows were mystically hardened to resist physical damage. There was one central gate, and five guards spread before it. All five were identical warforged—massive warriors built from gray adamantine alloy. They stood as still as statues, but Pierce had no doubt that they had already spotted him and were evaluating the threat he might pose. Each of the ’forged carried a long hammer and a shield bearing the Cannith seal. Pierce couldn’t spot the slightest scratch on the polished skin of any of the soldiers. This could reflect a lack of combat experience, or it could be a fringe benefit of working for the House of Making. While combat seemed unwise, Pierce loosened the chain of his flail. Should Lady Lei be threatened, he needed to be ready.

“Are you certain this is a wise course of action, my lady?”

“Don’t worry, Pierce. There is no question of violence here.” Nonetheless, he could hear fear in her voice. “Follow my lead.”

Lei took a deep breath and walked up to the gate. One of the warforged moved to block her path.

Lei made a sharp gesture with her hand. “Stand aside, guardsman. I have dealings with the baron of this house and have no time for underlings.”

Pierce was watching the guard’s face, and he saw a slight motion as the warforged looked down to examine Lei’s fingers.
While Lei had the imperious manner of a noble, she no longer had her ring, and the guardsman held his ground.

“What is your name and the nature of your business?”

“I am Lei d’Cannith,” she snapped, “an heir of the mark, and my business is not for you to know.”

The speaker glanced at one of the other warforged soldiers. Pierce tightened his grip of the haft of his flail.

“Please inform the warden, Twelve,” the sentinel said. One of the other warforged nodded and entered the building.

“You dare to keep me waiting on the doorstep?” Lei said.

The guard met her gaze. His face was a steel mask of indifference, but Pierce could sense a touch of uncertainty beneath. He wasn’t prepared for this situation. “If you will wait one moment, I am certain that the warden will be able to assist you.”

Pierce could see Lei’s anger building, but she maintained her composure. She had expected a cold welcome.

Minutes passed, then a new figure appeared at the gate. A large man in his late forties, he had red hair that almost matched Lei’s, but there were a few streaks of gray in his flaring mustache. He wore studded leather armor died a deep blue, and a harness bearing five rods of polished darkwood—each holding a potentially deadly enchantment, Pierce was sure. It had been two years since Pierce had seen this man, but he remembered him clearly enough—Dravot d’Cannith, whom they’d last seen as the warden of the Whitehearth armory.

Lei glowed at the sight of a familiar face.
“Dravot!”
she cried. “You’re alive!”

She moved to embrace the warden, but a warforged guardsman stepped into her path. Her face tightened in anger, and for a moment Pierce thought she might actually attack the warforged; he had heard of her exploits at the battle of Keldan Ridge. But then Lei saw Dravot’s face. She stopped, the energy draining out of her.

“You have no place here,” Dravot said. His voice was as cold as his expression. “You have been declared excoriate, and have no rights to the name of this house. You are to have no dealings with this house or its heirs, and you are not to present yourself at enclaves of the house. Failure to comply with the dictates of
the house will be … dealt with.” His hand dropped to one of his wands.

“But Dravot …” Lei grasped for words. Clearly she hadn’t expected such treatment from a familiar face. “Tell me why! What have I ever done?”

Dravot’s face was as impassive as any of the warforged. “You have no rights to any answer, and you will receive nothing from any member of this house. You will leave this place now, and you will not trouble the rightful heirs of this house ever again. Do you understand?”

“Dravot—?”

“You will receive no answer from any member of the house.
Do you understand?”
Dravot drew one of his wands, glittering darkwood bearing a single band of gold.

Pierce studied the wand, determining whether he could shatter it with his flail before Dravot could unleash its powers. But as he let the chain slide free, Lei nodded.

“Let’s go, Pierce,” she said. Turning, she looked back at Dravot. “I’m glad that you’re alive.”

He said nothing, and the wand stayed level in his hand.

Slowly, Lei and Pierce walked away from the tower. Lei seemed dazed. Pierce put his hand on her back, holding her up and keeping her moving. They’d walked about fifty yards when there was a loud whisper.

“Jura still lives in Darkhart Woods.” It was Dravot’s voice.

Looking back, Pierce saw Dravot still standing at the gate of the enclave. Apparently he had used some magic to send the whispered words along the length of the street. Pierce looked down at Lei. The words had roused her from her shock, and now she was deep in thought.

“My lady?”

She raised a hand. “Let’s go back to the Manticore. I need to consider this.”

I
don’t know why I let you talk me into this,” Daine said as he and Jode walked back to the central lift. Nearby a merchant was haggling with a customer over the price of an iridescent doublet, while a tiny gnome girl with a bright red cap was playing with a shimmering ball of light woven from strands of illusion. The girl’s pointed cap was nearly as tall as she was. “We’re soldiers, not inquisitives. And I never planned to see Alina again, let alone work for her.”

“You know, we’ve never talked about what you did for her.”

“That’s right.”

“Daine, I know it’s not what you had in mind, but the war is all but over. And Cyre is gone. Nothing’s going to change that. We need a new start, and if you’ve got a better way to get four hundred dragons, I’d like to hear it.”

They walked a ways in silence.

“Extraordinary collection of birds, wasn’t it? Such beautiful coloring.”

“True,” said Daine. “I wonder who they were before.” Jode chuckled and let the matter drop.

Once they were on the lift along with a few other residents, Daine unwrapped the leather packet. There was a sheaf of parchment inside, covered with sketches and Alina’s neat handwriting. Daine and Jode split up the pages and began to sort through them. One page described the Khyber dragonshards.
It was mostly arcane gibberish, and Daine resolved to have Lei look it over. There was a map of Sharn, with brief notes on a few highlighted districts. The last few pages in Daine’s stack concerned Rasial. One included sketches of his face from a few different angles, while the other was a brief biography.

“Rasial Tann …” Daine mused, studying the parchment. “Here’s something Alina didn’t mention—he used to be part of the Sharn Watch, a unit called the Gold Wings.”

“Yes, that fits,” said Jode, tapping the top sheet on his pile, a description of various sporting events. “Look over there. Those hippogriff riders? They’re Gold Wings. The unit’s trained for scouting and responding to aerial crimes, but apparently many of the riders also participate in the games.”

“And as a former guardsman, Rasial would know how to avoid the patrols searching for smugglers … assuming he doesn’t still have friends on the inside.”

“So a guardsman down on his luck turns to crime. A tragedy of our times.”

“Apparently he claimed the trophy in the Race of Eight Winds two years ago. Mean anything to you?”

“Yes, it’s all here. Annual event in … Dura Tower. Biggest race in Sharn. Brings spectators from across Khorvaire.”

“You’ll never see anything like it!” The new voice managed to be high-pitched and gravelly at the same time. Turning around, Daine discovered a small goblin girl just behind his legs. “All manner of beasts chasing and fighting, darting between the parapets.” Her red eyes gleamed. “Last year, the griffon turned on the eagle right after the bell was rung. You can still see the blood on Kelsa Spire.”

Jode spoke before Daine could chase the goblin off. “What’s your favorite beast?”

“The Gargoyle, of course,” the girl said, as if speaking to an even smaller child. “Malleon’s Gate used to be that Bat, but now it’s the Gargoyle. He hasn’t won yet, but he’s fast and quick and clever, and I’m sure this year is when things will change.”

“Who’s won the last few years?”

“The stupid pegasus. The hippogriff was
going
to win, then it died.”

“One of the others killed it?”

“No, that would have been more fun.” The little green girl gestured with her hand, showing a path of flight followed by a sudden drop. “It just died. Left a big stain on Rattlestone Square. My friend Galt has two feathers.”

The lift paused to take on two new passengers, both wearing the green and black uniforms of the Sharn Watch. The stocky dwarf glared at Daine suspiciously. His companion was a tall human woman whose face was a maze of scars. Daine absently ran a finger along the scar that ran down his left cheek, remembering past battles with Brelish soldiers. The lift began to move again, slowly falling the remaining thousand feet toward the ground.

“The Pegasus is really, really fast,” the goblin girl said. “But Carralag is clever, and I know he’ll get the best of it this year.”

“Did you ever—?” Jode began.

The dwarf guard grabbed the goblin by her hair and pulled her back, causing her to yelp with pain. “You again!” he spat. “What did I tell you about riding the lifts, girl?”

The girl tried to turn, but the grip on her hair was too strong. “Dunno! Just wanted to see the sky!”

“You know what I said,” the dwarf said. He put one callused hand around her throat and lifted her up into the air. Behind him, his companion smirked. “I said I’d throw you off the lift myself if I ever say you again. You should have stayed where you belong, girl.”