The Inquisitives [4] The Darkwood Mask (16 page)

As a consequence of the disaster, Lord Charoth’s body allegedly sustained severe damage. Jorasco healers were immediately sent to attend him when his return was announced, but the former director refused them. “It was not mere fire that has scarred me,” was all he told the Korranberg Chronicle regarding his condition
.

Nor is Lord Charoth willing to disclose the location of the Orphanage. “It is an evil place now,” he explained. “The innovations that came from its workshops have been tainted by the unethical demands of my former superiors. I will not afflict any man or woman with the horrors of that ruin, nor subject House Cannith to further embarrassment. Despite the atrocities committed by the house, it suffered a devastating blow along with the whole of Khorvaire on the Day of Mourning. I wish the house renewed prosperity.”

Added Lord Charoth, “And I wish them farewell.”

Among the thirty-two presumed dead at the Orphanage was Erevyn Korell d’Cannith, chief artificer and minister of the facility. Korell was a student and friend of Aarren d’Cannith before the latter’s excoriation and subsequent disappearance in 970 YK
.

Agents of House Cannith could not be reached for comment
.

Soneste sat back, letting the information sink in. Charoth’s fate was dramatic indeed, yet how could so many people die and
only one man, the forgehold’s own director, conveniently survive? Others must have wondered the same, investigations undertaken. Did they yield dead ends?

This seemed all very interesting, but was this a waste of her time? Did any of this relate to her case? Aside from the ambassador’s warforged sentry, what connection could there be between her case and House Cannith?

She felt a surge of disappointment. No mention of Breland or the war. Charoth was a sinister—and certainly fascinating—figure, but this wasn’t giving her any indication that she was on the right path.

Soneste committed the article to memory in a manner of seconds then searched through the next few editions. Nearly one month later, a follow-up article appeared within the
Chronicle
, no doubt a result of Charoth’s emergence.

House Cannith Admits Forgehold Disaster

Olarune 13th, 996 YK

KORTH—Representatives from the Cannith enclave in Korth released a statement on Zor regarding the destruction of the Orphanage facility in 992. In Zarantyr, the former director of the forgehold, Lord Charoth Arkenen, came forward with news of his survival and his subsequent rebuke of House Cannith
.

The statement revealed that the Orphanage was a research facility that focused on the sentient aspects of warforged creation. While most creation forges in the late 980s produced the rank and file units that House Cannith sold to the Five Nations, the Orphanage worked to augment the warforged mind. Even warforged titans, the behemoth constructs that preceded the standard models, were continually assembled and upgraded within the Orphanage
.

According to the statement, a conflagration of elemental power burned within the subterranean facility in Therendor of 992, prompting Lord Zorlan d’Cannith, regional viceroy at the time, to dispatch a rescue team to the hidden site. A thorough search of the wreckage concluded that none
of the forge personnel could have survived the devastation
.

“Had we known of the director’s survival, the outcome of this story would be very different,” Baron Zorlan d’Cannith told the
Chronicle
following the statement. “Lord Charoth is a man of singular grace and remarkable vision. The tragedy that befell him and its effect upon his business decisions today are a loss to us all.”

When asked for comment, Lord Charoth politely complied. “The Thronehold Treaties have ordered House Cannith to destroy their creation forges, a decree I heartily commend, but had I been present during the peace talks, I would have pushed for the destruction of all existing warforged. They are obsolete in this time of peace and remain only as a reminder of the weapons of war the Five Nations have inflicted upon one another. I am ashamed for my part in their construction and will have nothing to do with them ever again. I have no desire to return to the life that I once knew.”

The former director was severely scarred by the mysterious destruction of the Orphanage facility and believed dead for four years. Refusing Jorasco healers to treat him, Lord Charoth said only that the damage he suffered could not be undone
.

Lady Irenta d’Jorasco, an administrator of Jorasco’s hospital in Korth, explained further. “When we visited his estate, Lord Charoth claimed that his body was scarred by energies from a damaged creation forge. I cannot speak to the destructive properties of such devices. That is not our province. I can, however, confirm that Positive Energy, such as that channeled by the Mark of Healing, can be deadly if not used correctly.”

House Cannith’s statement did not include the whereabouts of the Orphanage forgehold. Added Baron Zorlan, “We have explained all that we can. The locations of our forgeholds remain classified. This incident changes nothing.”

Soneste was unable to find anything else within 996 YK pertaining to Charoth or anything at all mentioning Gamnon ir’Daresh. She wanted to search through the 997 editions, but it would have to wait. She had to meet up with Jotrem or he’d be asking questions. Then she’d have to lie.

Soneste sighed. This was
her
investigation. Why did she have to answer to anyone?

Even so, the 997 editions couldn’t be as vital. Even the highly regarded
Korranberg Chronicle
dared not scrutinize any of the dragonmarked houses too much. She committed the second article to memory and called for the gnome clerk.

D
aylight shone through the window, but the man in the velvet-padded chair remained oblivious. The door to the small room closed again, but he’d made no acknowledgement of his visitor. Instead, the memories that cycled through his mind continued.

Another voice calls out to me now
.

“Master Erevyn is not to be disturbed,” my assistant responds in my defense
.

I set my tools down, resigned to address the matter. I turn to look at the speaker, but I know it is Leonus, my sister’s eldest and a good man. I’ll not berate him, of course, but he knows better than to interrupt me
.

“Sverak, it’s all right.” I climb down the maintenance ladder as my assistant backs away with a sleight bow. His movements are respectful, as always, but unnecessary. I have come to think of him as a colleague
.

My nephew approaches me, wiping soiled hands upon a rag. He looks tired, having worked at the birthing pods since morning
.

“What is it?”

He glances nervously at Sverak. “Uncle …”

“Speak, Leonus. Please.” I am mildly irritated. My work is too delicate for trivialities. What can’t wait?

“Uncle, Lord Charoth is returning tomorrow. We just received word from Korth.”

I feel apprehension, a small measure of fear inside me. I knew the day would come, of course. The director has been away for many months now. It has seemed the Orphanage had been neglected in favor of the Cyran forgeholds. It had only been a matter of time. He was director, not I. I suppose I expected to be more prepared. That’s all
.

“Thank you, Leonus. Get back to work. We all have much to do.”

My nephew walks away. Sverak stands before me now. I feel the sleight touch of his hand on my arm. He has always been affectionate. Unusually so
.

“Master, why do you worry?”

The Bodyguard
Mol, the 9th of Sypheros, 998 YK

A
s expected, Jotrem had little to offer from his side of the investigation. He’d been unable to speak with the clothier Vorik ir’Alanso directly, but he’d returned with a gray shirt and black vest for Soneste—the gloomy tones that passed for Karrnathi fashion.

There was suspicion in his eyes when he’d approached her. Of course, the subtle power she’d implanted in his mind had long since worn off. She accepted the clothing with a tense smile.

“We stay together now,” Jotrem said without further comment as they walked to the Ebonspire.

“Agreed,” she replied, plotting her next method of shaking him.

She recounted her interview with Charoth, omitting only her personal observations about the mysterious lord. She also described in brief what she’d found in the
Korranberg Chronicle
, not telling him that she could recite it perfectly.

“I see no obvious connection between Lord Charoth and the ambassador,” Jotrem said, “and no motive on Lord Charoth’s part. What has he to gain?”

Soneste had no answer for that—yet.

In the city morgue, Soneste examined the decapitated body of Gamnon ir’Daresh. His wounds were the same as those that had killed his family and servants—twin punctures of a long and strongly-thrust blade. The fact that he’d been thrown from the balcony so high up seemed to her as simple mockery, something to get people talking, but the theft of his head? There had to be more to that.

When she’d finished her exam, the undertaker touched an ice cold hand to hers. “This tragedy needn’t go unavenged, Miss Otänsin,” he said, his voice compassionate despite their grisly surroundings. “With your permission, we
can
speak with his retainers and ask them to describe precisely what happened to them.”

Necropolis of the Valiant. The Korth morgue. This undertaker worked for the Ministry of the Dead. He, or one of his associates, could employ magic to force one the Brelish corpses to answer specific questions placed to it. Soneste considered it.

Thuranne didn’t
have
to know if she consented to this. If the information the spell yielded was accurate, she could learn a lot about the massacre.

Even Jotrem looked expectantly at her.

It wouldn’t be the ambassador’s family she was talking to, only their mortal shells. What was the harm? She thought of the two dead White Lions, and how little their testimony had provided. Then she thought of how far she might fall if Lady ir’Daresh’s family heard about the spell.

“Thank you,” she said quietly, “but not at this time.”

Together Soneste and Jotrem went to the Ebonspire and searched the ambassador’s apartments. Workers from the Necropolis waited in the lobby, while a uniformed wizard from the Ministry of the Dead lingered nearby, awaiting Soneste’s approval for removal of the bodies. The wizard had renewed the magic that had seized the ambassador’s chambers with supernatural cold, but he had explained that he would allow it to fade when they were finished.

Jotrem had not been permitted to inspect the crime scene
himself until now, by dictate of the Civic Minister and his correspondence with the King’s Citadel of Breland. The Karrn was a veteran of the Last War, had likely seen bloodshed Soneste couldn’t imagine, but the sight of the slaughter in the ambassador’s chambers subdued him.

As the older inquisitive took the opportunity to examine the scene, Soneste stood at the balcony again, this time looking out at the city in the grey cast of daylight. She looked across the gap between the Ebonspire and the adjacent tenement building—the killer’s point of access. Tallis had not flown by magic, according to Sergeant Bratta’s testimony. But he
had
jumped somehow.

Anyone with sufficient gold could buy potions enough to possess the abilities this killer had: great strength and speed, the ability to leap amazing distances and land safely. Soneste thought of the victims’ wounds. Magic could seldom account for such skill and precision with a blade. Was Tallis that efficient?

Soneste walked back inside. Jotrem emerged from the bedroom where the ambassador’s family had died, his face paler than usual.

“Please finish here,” Soneste said to him quietly. “I’m going to visit the adjacent tower. I know you’ve been there, but I need to see it for myself.”

Jotrem did not put up a fight. She told the Ministry wizard that when the older inquisitive was finished, the bodies could be moved. It was time to give them peace.

Soneste stared up at ir’Daresh’s suite from the adjacent roof.

In her hands she held a curious weapon. She’d found it in a shadowed corner of one of the tower’s stairwells. It resembled a warhammer, if sleightly smaller, with a head of heavy steel. At the other end of the haft, facing in the opposite direction of the hammer’s blunted side, was a long and curving piece of metal more akin to a military pick. The silvery head gleamed as if newly shined.

The hooked hammer, it was called, a weapon of gnomish design.
Usually they were crafted for the foot soldiers of Zilargo, but this one was sized for a human. A special commission—Tallis’s?

There wasn’t a trace of blood on the sharp, curving tip of the pick’s head—only a dried, thin substance which might have been alchemical in nature. Such a weapon could probably have damaged the warforged on the balcony.