Keith Baker - The City of Towers

A rather melancholy manticore was painted on the sign above the door, and not with any particular skill. In one corner was the horn of the hostel along with a small Star of Cyre. “Well, it looks like Cyrans are welcome,” said Daine, “but we still have one problem-the complete absence of coin.”

“Trust me.” Jode threw open the door and strode inside as if he owned the place. Daine followed, while Pierce set Lei’s feet on the ground and gently shook her awake.

The interior of the Manticore Inn was as uninspiring as the façade. The sullen people sitting around the common room studied the travelers suspiciously. Here and there Daine did see the tell-tale look of Cyre in some of the faces-a narrow chin, hazel eyes ringed with brown-but if Jode was banking on an outpouring of love, he was sorely mistaken.

To Daine’s surprise, Jode called out loudly in the tongue of the Talenta Plains, and a moment later the innkeeper appeared. She was a stout halfling with streaks of gray in her brown hair, and she returned Jode’s query in the same tongue. An animated discussion followed, as Jode indicated each traveler in turn and went through a bizarre series of pantomimed actions. Even the other patrons took an interest, leaning forward to watch the antics of this seemingly mad halfling. The innkeeper seemed dubious, but eventually she nodded, and Jode embraced her. Pushing him away, she went back to the kitchen.

“I’ve got us a few days of credit,” Jode whispered. “Now whatever she says, just nod.”

A moment later, the innkeeper returned with a set of keys and led them upstairs. The keys seemed almost unnecessary, as most of the doors were on the verge of falling off of their hinges. She opened the door and the end of the hall.

“I know it’s not what you’re used to, General,” she said. “But hopefully it will suffice until your letters of credit are cleared by the bank.”

Daine glanced over at Jode. General? “We’ve been in the field for many days, lady. Your generosity is appreciated.” He knelt to kiss her hand, and she looked away and blushed.

“Oh, not at all, General. To think, one of the Queen’s trusted advisors in my humble inn. And after you risked so much to save those Talentan orphans. Truly, a few days is the least I can do.” She smiled again. “Breakfast is served at the eighth bell. I look forward to hearing more tales of your valor in battle.”

“Of course, of course,” Jode said. “But at the moment, the general needs his rest.”

Once upon a time, the room might have had a cold fire lamp. It might have included a bed. But furniture had been stripped away, leaving only a pair of mildewed pallets set against the floor. There was a single oil lamp, and spiders scattered into the shadows when Jode managed to get it lit. Daine had seen prison cells with more ambiance. He sighed. “All right, Jode. General?”

Jode shrugged. “Dassi likes war stories. I trust you can spin a few. She seemed especially interested in your efforts to help halfling children escape Cyre in the last days of the war, despite great personal risk and constant attack by the undead warriors of Karrnath.”

Daine shook his head, smiling. “And what did this buy us?”

“Well, she likes stories, but she still drives a hard bargain. She’s extending credit for five days, at which point she expects to be paid in full and then some. Luckily for us, her prices are quite reasonable.”

“Hardly surprising, considering the luxurious accommodations.”

“This from a man who woke up in a muddy ditch?”

“Fair enough. Any thoughts on how we’re going to pay her?”

“A few. I’ll get the lay of the land in the morning, Captain. For now, I think that rest is called for.”

Daine nodded. “Yes, you’re right. You and Lei take the … beds. Compared to my nice ditch, the floor will be fine.”

Pierce helped Lei to the pallet, then got their blankets out of her pack. Within moments, Lei and Jode were fast asleep. Pierce drew his long flail and turned to face the door, preparing for the night’s watch. Daine turned down the lamp. He lay in the darkness for what seemed like an eternity. Occasionally there was a shout or a cry from the street or movement outside the door. At such times, Daine found his hand was resting on the hilt of his sword before he’d even thought about it.

But eventually, he found his way to sleep.

The first thing Rasial noticed was the smell. His nostrils were filled with it-a cloying blend of cinnamon, sulfur, and burned flesh.

The second sensation was sound-bubbling, dripping, a vast assortment of liquid noise.

Sight returned before touch. He was lying on a curved table, staring up at an arched ceiling hewn into solid stone. The table was slightly tilted, his feet higher than his head, and his head throbbed with the rush of blood. After a moment he realized that he was spread-eagled on the surface, his numbed limbs attached to the table with steel manacles. He could only move his head a little, but he could see that he was surrounded by large glass tanks, each filled with a different shade of luminous fluid; the only light in the chamber came from this rippling liquid. Vague shapes were moving in some of these tanks, casting shadows across the ceiling. Writhing tentacles, pulsating amoebae …

Was that a hand?

His own limbs were completely numb. Tentatively, he tried channeling the shadows through his dragonmark.

Nothing. No flow of power, no pain. Was it just a side effect of the venom or spell that held him paralyzed? Or was there something else at work?

“I thank you, Rasial Tarkanan. You have proved doubly useful to our cause.”

Rasial stiffened at the sound of the oily voice. With an immense effort, he lifted his head to look for the source of the sound.

The hooded man stood at the foot of the table, but he wasn’t hooded any longer. His visage was even more horrific than the momentary glimpse had implied. Hands, neck, face … all a horror. In place of skin the man had pulsing, bloody muscle. The cords and sinews seemed unnaturally thick, and they moved of their own accord, twitching in ways that normal muscular contraction couldn’t account for. He was larger than Rasial had realized-layers of wet muscle bulging beneath simple brown robes. His eyes were sunk deep within his sockets, and they glittered with madness. His mouth was a bloody ruin, and bony talons tipped his spidery fingers.

“What are you?” Rasial whispered. Simply moving his jaw was almost impossible, and forcing the words through his throat took every ounce of willpower he possessed.

“What I am is irrelevant. The question is what I will become. Thanks to you, I am one step closer to the answer.” His mouth … there was something wrong with his mouth, but Rasial couldn’t quite make sense of it.

“What … become …?”

“Don’t struggle, Rasial. You have served us well. My master comes, and he shall grant you the rest you deserve.”

Rest? Was this monster going to kill him? After everything he’d done, all he’d been through, was this how he was going to die?

You will not die. Embrace eternity in me .

It took a moment for Rasial to realize that the thought was not his own.

The ninth bell was ringing when Daine opened his eyes. He was alone. His hand dropped to his sword-and found nothing. The door to the room began to open. He rolled to the side and rose up behind the door. A large armored figure crept into the room, moving with eerie silence. Daine clenched his fists together and prepared to deliver a mighty blow to the back of the intruder’s skull … and then checked himself.

It was Pierce.