Keith Baker - The City of Towers

“I’m sure that your grandfather would be proud to see it back in your hands,” said Alina, smiling slightly.

Daine took the sword without a word. Lei and Pierce looked at him, but it was clear from his expression that this was not the time to ask questions.

“It will take a few days to locate an appropriate property,” Alina said. “I’ll arrange for rooms at the Silver Tree for the interim. It’s just down Prospers Street.”

“We still have our room at the Manticore,” Daine said.

“Daine,” Alina said reprovingly. “Won’t you allow your companions a chance to see the best that Sharn has to offer before you settle down in the depths? Enjoy a few days of luxury, at least. Consider it a gift.”

“I told you before, Alina …” Daine paused and turned away. He looked at Lei. “Fine. We’ll be leaving, then.”

“I’ll be in touch when I’ve located your new home. And I was very pleased with the way you handled yourselves. All of you. I’m sure I’ll have more work for you soon. Until then …” She gestured, and the mirrored door drifted open. “You know the way out.”

“‘I’m sure I’ll have more work for you soon.’” Daine fumed as they made their way through the relentless cheer of the streets of Den’iyas. “Whether you like it or not.”

Lei caught him by the arm and pulled him to a halt. “High Walls?”

He looked away. “You said you were willing to stay in the city for a time. I thought we’d be able to get the most for our gold in High Walls.”

“I told you before, Daine. Cyre was your home, not mine. I only lived there.”

“You were born in Cyre, Lei. You fought at our side. Your parents died there.”

For a moment, there was a flash of real anger and he thought he might have pushed her too far. “And you!” she said. “How do you explain this?” She slapped the pommel of his sword. “Is there something we should know, Daine with no name?”

“Do we need to have this conversation in the street?”

“I want answers. Now.”

“Fine,” Daine said. “I was born into House Deneith. My father is General Doran d’Deneith of the Blademark. This is my grandfather’s blade, and yes, I removed the sigil when I joined the Cyran Guard.”

“Do you have-?”

“The Mark of Sentinel? No. I failed the Test of Siberys, much to the disgust of my father.” Lei looked away, embarrassed.

“But that was only one of many disappointments and far from the worst. You see, I cared . I wanted to believe in what I was fighting for, to believe that I was actually serving a noble cause. But when your family business is built on selling your sword for gold, caring is a crime. You fight for anyone with the gold, and you do whatever you’re ordered to do.”

His tone had become more intense with each sentence. Lei still wouldn’t meet his gaze.

“For a time, I played the part of the good son. I served a wealthy client of the house, and I did whatever was asked of me. I saw things-and did things-that will haunt my dreams until the day I die. Finally I couldn’t stand it anymore. I renounced my birthright and turned to something I did believe in-the nation of Cyre, the nation that had sheltered me since I was a child, whose values I admire to this day. Perhaps I wasn’t born a citizen of Cyre. But in my few years of service, I learned more about morality and friendship than I ever did as a child of Deneith.”

“Daine …”

He took a deep breath. “And the irony? Look what it got me. I threw away my inheritance for a land now dead. It seems my father was right after all. Live for the moment. Take your satisfaction from the work, not the master.”

“Daine, enough!” He just looked at her. “Fine. I didn’t know. Obviously I have a lot to learn-and obviously, you’ve been keeping a lot of secrets from us.”

Now it was Daine who looked away.

“But what does this have to do with now? With a life in High Walls?”

“Greykell was right. Cyre is gone, and we need to move on. And I admit it, you deserve better than you’ve received these last few years.”

“I know that.”

“But High Walls still feels as close to home as we’ll find here. I know it’s not what you’re used to, Lei, but a hundred dragons won’t buy a mansion in the clouds.”

Lei sighed but acknowledged the point.

“I don’t know what happens next. I was fighting for a cause, and that cause is gone. I’m a soldier. I’m not some sort of refugee caregiver. I’m not going to start wandering around like Greykell, helping people find work.”

“But …?”

“I don’t know,” Daine said. “Teral was a strong figure in the community; I’m sure there’s going to be chaos with him gone.”

“Greykell can handle it.”

“Possibly. But what about Teral’s other followers? I’m not going to become a caretaker, and I’m not asking you to help. But I am a soldier, and if I can help to protect these people, I will.”

“I was created to protect the people of Cyre,” Pierce rumbled. “I will join you.”

“This wouldn’t be a constant commitment, Lei,” Daine said. “But we’d be there if Greykell and her militia needed help. In the meantime, we look for other work. Look for something to believe in. For a cause worth fighting for.”

Lei pondered for a moment. “Why do I hear Jode when you’re speaking?”

Daine thought about Jode, about the halfling who let a young goblin steal their gold. “Because you know he’d say the same thing.”

“Fine,” Lei said. “But I’m sick of sleeping on moldy, hard pallets. We’ve got a hundred dragons to spend: I expect a good bed.”

“As you wish.”

“And I never want to see a bowl of gruel again.”

“No complaints here.”

“Well then, let’s get back to the Manticore. If we give her some gold, do you suppose Dassi can get some real meat for dinner? After gruel, lizard is next on my list of forbidden foods.”

Lei linked arms with Pierce and Daine, and they walked to the lift that would take them home.

Later that night, Daine excused himself and returned to the dusty room. Rummaging through his pack, he found the leather-wrapped bundle he’d hidden that morning and carefully unwrapped it. Inside there was a small bottle made from thick crystal and sealed with lead. The fluid inside was a luminous blue, and the mark pressed into the seal was as familiar to him as a friend’s face-the Mark of Healing, the mark of Jode.

For a few minutes he sat alone in the dark, holding the bottle and staring into the glow. Finally, he wrapped the bottle up and placed it back in his pack.

“Good night, old friend,” he whispered.

The room was full of shadows. Sunlight streamed through the solitary octagonal window, but this light had no power over the darkness. The shadows pooled in the corners of the room, and inky tendrils drifted across the room, obscuring the intricate sigils carved into the floor.

A woman stood by the window, and the shadows clung to her feet like petulant hounds. Though the room was quite warm, the woman kept her long cloak wrapped closely around her body, and her face was hidden by a deep hood. Silently, she stood by the window and stared at the world below, at the district of High Walls almost three thousand feet beneath her. The wind was a constant presence, whistling and howling through the open window. But no matter how powerful these gusts became, they had no effect on the misty shadows that clung to the corners of the chamber or the deep hood that hid the lady’s face.

“Report,” she said. Her voice was a velvet purr-smooth and quiet, yet resonating throughout the chamber.