Marsheila Rockwell - Legacy of the Wolves

Andri appreciated the opportunity to pray in their makeshift chapel and found himself kneeling beside one of the warforged in front of an abstract rendition of the Flame formed by fusing together whatever silver the monks could find-jewelry, goblets, combs, even weapons and pieces of armor. The curving tip of the stylistic Flame was an upended hunting horn. Andri admired the ingenuity of these devout warforged, working with what little they had to honor their faith. Would that some of the Cardinals shared their mindset-Thrane would no doubt be a much improved place.

He bowed his head and willed his mind to stillness. Images of Zoden’s staring eyes, Ostra’s grief, and Irulan limp beneath the hands of the wight flashed through his thoughts, followed by darker visions of his parents and their gruesome deaths. He did not flinch from the memories, but allowed them to run their course, reciting the Prayer of Cleansing over and over again until the images had been bled dry of guilt and regret and were simply colorless, emotionless scenes from someone else’s life. Only then did he begin Tira’s Prayer of a Paladin and the Nine Miracles of the Silver Flame.

When the time came for mentioning his own intentions, he revisited those scenes that plagued and tormented him, beginning with his mother’s death. He prayed that she had found peace within the Silver Flame and that she had been able to forgive him before she died. He prayed for Zoden, that his soul was likewise at peace, wherever it was. He prayed that Ostra and Leata would be comforted in their grief, and that the shifter leader would use this hard-learned lesson in honesty for the betterment of his persecuted people. He prayed for Irulan, that she would find justice for her brother and a place for herself. He even prayed for Greddark, for he suspected the dwarf blamed himself for Zoden’s death. Lastly, he prayed for himself, that he would have the wisdom to discern Quillion’s guilt or innocence when they found the werewolf and that he would not be led astray by his own prejudices. That he would be able to solve this mystery and bring the killer to justice before anyone else died. That he would somehow be worthy of the enormous faith the Keeper had placed in him.

He did not pray for his father.

When he made the sign of the Flame and opened his eyes, he was surprised to find the warforged still kneeling next to him, his own head bowed. Andri rose quietly, so as not to disturb the monk’s prayers, but as he was leaving the chapel, the warforged spoke.

“You will make her proud.”

Andri turned quickly, but the monk hadn’t moved. Had he been praying aloud? Andri didn’t think so, but sometimes when he was alone, he would murmur his prayers, just to make the solitude a bit less lonely.

After a moment of watching the motionless warforged, he began to doubt that he’d actually heard anything at all. Shaking his head, he exited the chapel and made his way back to the barracks, where he quickly found his bed and fell into it.

But as he drifted off to sleep, he couldn’t help wondering if the words he’d heard had been real and, if they were, to which of the women in his prayers they had been referring.

After a brief stop a day and a half later to replenish their supplies in the small riverside city of Olath, they continued on, reaching Shadukar on the morning of the fifth day since they’d left the metal monks of Angwar Keep.

The gray walls of Shadukar were visible for several miles, situated atop an escarpment that formed the base of what locals called “The Arrow,” a low-lying spit of land jutting north into Scions Sound. The bulk of the city itself had been built into the side of the bluff, looking north toward Flamekeep and Thronehold. But over the years the population had outgrown the stony confines of the scarp, and buildings had sprouted at the top of the cliffs. Eventually, Upper Shadukar had become a city in its own right, and walls had been erected to protect the affluent neighborhoods located there. From this distance, the only things that marked the shattered Jewel of the Sound as a ruin were the lack of movement atop those walls and the eerie quiet that hung over them.

“It doesn’t look that bad,” Greddark remarked. “Why didn’t they try to rebuild it?”

“Just wait,” Andri replied. He’d never been to the ruined city himself, but one did not become a paladin in Thrane without hearing how clerics had had to drive out the unquiet spirits of the dead, and at what cost. The people of Thrane believed Shadukar was cursed, and with cause.

As they approached, they could see the first hints of disrepair. The massive gates were black with soot and hung ajar, swinging slowly on rusty hinges. The creaking complaint of the distressed metal made the hair on the back of Andri’s neck stand up.

Andri and Greddark dismounted and moved toward the entrance. Setting their shoulders against the blackened wood, they pushed the heavy gate open enough for their mounts to pass through unimpeded. Then they climbed back on their horses and entered the city.

The extent of the devastation wreaked by the Karrns became readily apparent as soon as they were within the city walls. The burnt skeletons of wooden buildings rose into the air out of mounds of old ash and debris, while their stone counterparts were crumbling and overgrown with sickly-looking moss and vines. Chunks of wood, fallen stones, and broken glass littered the streets, and here and there some bit of rotting fabric that had miraculously escaped the fires waved languorously in the cool salt-scented breeze.

In the distance, a bird cawed, shattering the silence and making them all jump.

Andri turned to the others.

“Welcome to Shadukar.”

Wir, Eyre 4, 998 YK

After a quick consultation of the camp shifters’ maps, they found the nearest likely lairing spot and planned out the shortest route, one that would take them through the Lodging District, Artificer’s Avenue, and the Greensward-though Greddark doubted very much that the large park was green any longer.

They formed a loose line, with Irulan leading on foot, arrow nocked as she scoured the ground and sniffed the air for any traces of their quarry-or anything else that might be wandering the ruins. Greddark followed on horseback, with Irulan’s horse tied to his saddle. Andri, also mounted, brought up the rear, his sword out and ready, but thankfully extinguished. They’d all agreed that having a paladin with a flaming silver sword in the lead would make it rather difficult to sneak up on a lycanthrope.

They followed the winding road through the Lodging District, an area populated largely by inns and taverns-or what was left of them. Stone chimneys reached up out of the burned wreckage of common rooms, and here and there the remains of soot-blackened staircases ended in nothing but the tomb-gray sky. A few of the inns still had a wall or two standing. One still boasted a gaping hole where its door had once been, with a sign scorched beyond readability hanging dejectedly above it from one rusting chain.

The wind occasionally stirred ashes into the air, forming tiny gray whirlwinds that skipped across the road before dying again on the other side, as if nothing could live long in this forsaken city. The smells of salt and smoke haunted the breeze and made Greddark think, inexplicably, of Karrnathi sausages.

They were nearing the end of the row of hostels and alehouses when Greddark caught movement out of the corner of his eye. Fleeting, and gone before he could be sure it was anything more than an errant gust of wind, but still enough to make the small hairs on the back of his neck stand up and take notice.

A wide curve brought them through a blasted gate and into a business district-jewelers, clockmakers, and artificers of all stripes, judging by the tiny gears and springs that littered their path. Artificer’s Avenue. These buildings had been made primarily of stone and so were petrified corpses instead of the rotting skeletons of the Lodging District. Here, most of the second floors were still intact and they rose up to block the sky, casting the road into shadow. Black windows stared down at them as they passed, like empty eye sockets.