Jeff LaSala - The Darkwood Mask

“Assist her,” the heir called out.

A young girl in the house livery appeared before Soneste and caught her from falling even as the Orien heir helped to right her again. The attendant’s face was a blur, but it sharpened to perfect clarity within seconds. The world stilled, the dizzying sensation a mere memory.

“Are you well, Miss Otänsin?” the heir asked, releasing her wrist.

“I am, thank you,” Soneste said, flushed. A cool gust of wind swept in from the door across the hall, reminding her that she was quite clearly somewhere else . When the dragonmarked heir excused himself, she looked around.

The central hall of Orien’s enclave in Korth was more expansive than that of the Sharn enclave. Fewer people milled around, but many of them turned to stare at the new arrival. Anyone purchasing Orien teleportation magic was either very wealthy or sponsored by someone who was. The crowds were primarily human, though a small number of business-minded dwarves tarried here on errands of their own.

At a nearby desk, Soneste signed a transport ledger stating that she had suffered no adverse effects from the trip-absolving House Orien from all liability-then moved further into the great hall. Dim sunlight filtered down from a tremendous stained glass window that crowned the vaulted ceiling, casting the hall in a soft emerald light. Fading daylight shone through the main doors, which were propped open. The frigid air of Karrnath was already seeping into her.

She immediately noticed a distinguished, older gentleman who stood near the open door watching her closely. His gray and black uniform, along with the well-polished saber at his belt, suggested Karrnath military, but she could see no metals or emblems of rank. A civilian, then, sent to receive her.

Soneste wanted to stop and examine the veined marble of the floor and the columns rising high overhead, but she didn’t want to seem a wide-eyed sightseer. She was here to represent Breland-and Brelish justice. As much as she wanted this assignment to be over, or at least explore on her own, she would adhere to duty above all. She approached the envoy. The sooner in, the sooner out.

“Excuse me-”

She reached out her hand, then stopped abruptly as a figure she had not noticed emerged from a shadowed alcove to intercept her. The tall newcomer wore a grotesque suit of armor, a union of hard leather plates and human bones. Dark, impassive eyes scrutinized her from within the skull-faced visor. A faint, resinous odor rose from his body.

A chill ran through her as the war-time tales of Karrnath came to mind-legions of undead soldiers marching across the fields as black-robed necromancers animated their fallen to rise again. Karrnath, as evidenced by the knight before her, was as gruesome as she’d always imagined. Whose bones made up this fiend’s armor? A comrade’s? An enemy soldier’s?

“Apologies,” the envoy said. “Miss Otänsin, I presume?” He stepped around the knight and extended his hand.

“Yes,” Soneste answered him quietly, returning the knight’s glare before turning her full attention to the speaker.

“Hyran ir’Tennet,” the man said, introducing himself.

“Civic Minister?” Soneste asked, surprised. The head of the Korth’s Justice Ministry had waited to receive her personally? This was the man who’d sent word of the murder to the King’s Citadel and thereby to Thuranne. Her superior hadn’t lied. This case was important. Soneste was grateful the handshake was brief. The minister’s hands felt like ice.

“Thank you, Laedro,” Hyran said to the knight. “This is the inquisitive I have been expecting.”

Laedro nodded, stepping back. His warning eyes lingered on her a moment longer before turning his attention to the room at large. His presence drew stares from the scattered crowd, but Soneste was surprised to see as much admiration as distaste from among them.

Hyran continued. “Welcome to Korth, Miss Otänsin. I apologize for the hastiness of the summons and appreciate your timely arrival. You have received our dispatch, then?”

“Yes, Minister. There are a few things I will need, and I’d like to be allowed to speak with the witnesses.”

Hyran nodded, gesturing to the door. “Of course. If you will accompany me, I can escort you to the Seventh Watch Inn, where you will be staying for the duration of your visit. Or, if you prefer, I can take you directly to the Ebonspire, where you will be given immediate access to the crime scene-should you choose to have a look before contending with the Ministry’s bureaucrats.”

Soneste chuckled nervously. Hyran seemed a true Karrn-cold, more than a little aloof-but she liked his candor. “If I could visit the scene first, I would appreciate it.”

“Then we will bring you there at once. Tomorrow morning you will be provided with whatever and whoever you require. The crown has instructed me-and the White Lions, our city’s fine garrison-to cooperate with your efforts.”

“Thank you, Minister. Are the bodies of the victims still at the scene?”

“They are, save for the ambassador’s. Out of necessity his remains have been moved to the Necropolis of the Valiant, our city’s morgue. You will be given access at any time.”

Together they exited the enclave, the knight Laedro shadowing them like a bodyguard. They came to a wide platform where steps led to the street below. Soneste saw a lightning rail station neighboring the enclave-how most foreigners arrived. Then she turned her head to face the rest of the city, which rose up before her in the coming twilight.

Korth sat on a series of natural bluffs around the dark waters of King’s Bay, a wide alcove in the Karrn River. Soneste imagined the city as a great cemetery on a sloping hill, cluttered with giant-sized stone slabs and mausoleums. Monuments, spires, and statues rose amid the great structures. In sheer height, the buildings of Korth could not compare to the mile-high towers of Sharn, but the dark structures and their dramatic facades brought a sense of history and solemnity to the vast gray city. The gust of icy wind that lashed at her hair and coat did little to discourage this fancy. Breland was far away indeed.

One of Khorvaire’s oldest cities, Korth’s foundations were laid when humans were still newcomers to the continent. Karrn the Conqueror founded the kingdom of Karrnath three thousand years ago. The city conveyed that sense of age to Soneste now, and for a moment she stood in solemn silence. At last she caught Hyran’s eye, who offered a tight smile in turn. Perhaps he was accustomed to newcomers gawking at the ancient city.

At the base of the steps, a coach awaited. They climbed aboard, Laedro mounting a steed of his own. Soneste nearly balked when she saw the horse-clean white bones bereft of flesh beneath heavy barding. Empty black sockets stared out from its armored, equine skull. Composing herself, she settled herself into the coach’s velveteen interior as it started into motion. The knight trotted alongside them.

The ride across the city was pleasant but somber. Soneste gazed up at the buildings as they passed. Affixed to even the humblest of doorsteps were curling, wrought iron railings, while cold fire lanterns hung from stylized hooks. The Karrns went about their business just like the citizens of any Brelish city, but she observed more military personnel among the crowds. More weapons were buckled, harnessed, or carried openly. Uniform white tabards and shining breastplates denoted the White Lions of whom Hyran had spoken. They wore open-faced, white-plumed helms and carried axes and longbows, looking more like field soldiers than city watchmen.

As they passed a lightly wooded park, Soneste craned her head only sleightly-sensitive to Hyran’s presence-to glimpse a multi-tiered keep floating overhead. She’d only seen paintings of it before: the Tower of the Twelve. Funded by the dragonmarked houses collectively, the Twelve was an institution for arcane advancement and the study of the mystic dragonmarks themselves. She’d never expected to see the famous tower with her own eyes.