Keith Baker - The City of Towers

“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.