Marsheila Rockwell - Skein of Shadows

Ir’Dayne shoved some papers aside and patted the bed beside him. It was then that Sabira noticed there were no chairs in the room.

“Sit, Marshal. It’s rude to make an old halfling crane his neck looking up at you.”

Though Sabira didn’t relish being that close to either the halfling or his pipe, she once again complied. Breven had told her to humor the head of the Wayfinder Foundation, and though she wasn’t normally the humoring type, she had a feeling honey would work better with this particular fly than bile.

She sat carefully on the edge of the bed, trying not to crush the maps and letters acting as a second blanket for ir’Dayne. She saw a map of the western half of the Menechtarun Desert, bounded on the north by the mountain chain known as the Skyraker Claws. A town was marked in red at the southern base of the mountains, the name “Trent’s Well” written beside it in small, precise letters. There were also manifests for an airship called the Seeker, a bill of goods from Riak’s, a Silver Flame prayer book and several old, yellowed parchments covered with strange writing that Sabira thought might be Draconic.

“Now, I’m sure Hendra told you I’ve been easily fatigued of late-aptly named, that one-so I’m going to try to keep this as brief and to-the-point as possible.” Sabira bit her cheek at that; considering that two halflings could take an hour just to say, “Hello, hot enough for you?” on a warm spring day, succinctness wasn’t something she’d come to expect from the small but fierce race.

“I’m assuming Breven gave you the pertinent facts?”

Sabira nodded, listing off what the Baron had told her.

“Brannan ir’Kethras discovered the caverns of Tarath Marad near an abandoned settlement on the edge of the Menechtarun-Trent’s Well, I’m guessing?” she asked, gesturing to the map. At ir’Dayne’s nod, she continued. “He was led there by a bit of Prophecy he’d unearthed on an expedition to the ancient giantish city of Tharkgun Dhak. The same Prophecy that indicated that a Deneith woman was needed to unlock a powerful treasure… though what exactly that ‘treasure’ might be is still a little unclear to me.”

The halfling puffed on his pipe for a moment before answering, his eyes having taken on a far-away expression. Sabira wondered if he was thinking of his own ill-fated expedition in the jungles of Xen’drik-maybe in Tharkgun Dhak itself. Ir’Dayne shook himself, his thin, wispy hair floating about his head in response. Sabira noticed the halfling wore a stud in his right ear, a dark bluish black gem that could have been a sapphire, but was more likely a Khyber dragonshard. Her distaste for the Wayfinder grew. While she understood their value, after her experiences with the murdering Nightshard in the Mror Holds, she tended to distrust anyone who would actually choose to wear the dark stones on their person.

“Not just any Deneith woman, as I’m sure you know. But, yes, a great treasure, one that could change the balance of power both under the surface and above it.”

He rummaged around for a moment on the bed, then found a stone tablet with more strange writing on it.

“Soon after Brannan made contact with the Umbragen-drow who fled into the depths of Khyber to escape slavery, though we still know very little about them-he discovered more of the Prophecy, which he and I both believe is related to this same treasure.” The halfling’s voice had taken on a lecturing tone, and she and Greddark exchanged longsuffering looks.

“Bound by eight locks

Her Heart breaks free

And bathes both worlds

In tyranny

“ ‘Heart’ is often another word for treasure, and the likelihood of there being more than one treasure with eight locks is very slim, so I think you’ll agree that our conclusion is the correct one.” As the Wayfinder continued, his voice grew stronger and a bit of color returned to his cheeks. He really was in his element playing the role of professor of antiquities. Sabira almost felt guilty for being utterly uninterested. Almost.

“The reference to ‘Her’ also correlates to the first bit of Prophecy,” he said, briefly holding up another chunk of stone with more of the same writing on it, though it was black and glossy where the first was a dull gray. “Though we’ve yet to fully understand who or what ‘She’ is, though ‘Spinner of Shadows’ would seem to indicate a weaver of some sort. A female spider deity peculiar to the Umbragen, perhaps-or at least to a splinter group thereof? My guess-”

“I thought the drow in Xen’drik worshiped scorpions, not spiders?” Greddark interrupted with a frown.

Ir’Dayne shrugged. “Well, scorpions and spiders are in the same class of animals, so it’s not as much of a stretch as it might appear. Add into that the fact that worship of an exclusively male deity like Vulkoor would naturally tend to alienate the female portion of the population, and it isn’t too surprising that worship of a similar, but more feminine aspect of the divine arachnid would gain a foothold among some of the drow. Those that worship the genderless Umbra are actually the most interesting of the three, since-”

The halfling caught himself, realizing he’d gone off on a tangent. He took another pull on his pipe before righting his course.

“In any case, though we don’t know the exact form this artifact takes, it seems clear it can only be unlocked-and probably wielded-by a female member of House Deneith, so we informed Baron Breven of our findings, and offered to help him recover it-for a small fee, of course.”

Of course.

“And I believe you know the rest.”

Sabira highly doubted that, but she figured she knew enough, at least.

“Although there is one more thing…,” he added, digging again at the mound of papers, coming up with an old tattered bit of cloth pressed between two thin sheets of glass. “Ah, yes. Here it is.

“This was recovered in Waterworks beneath the Stormreach harbor. I believe it’s variant of the same Prophecy.”

He brought the glass-encased strip of fabric up to his face and squinted to read it. Sabira could see it was part of an ancient tapestry, though the writing was different from that of the other bits of Prophecy she’d seen.

“Then again,” ir’Dayne said, as if reading her mind, “since it’s written in a little known dialect of the ancient giants, I can understand why some of the others think differently. But I thought you should know about it, since it may change the nature of your mission.

“Her fate known e’re she graced the womb

Her birth signals her people’s doom

Her blood that both of stone and shield

The world will be her killing field.”

Wir, Barrakas 4, 998 YK

Stormreach, Xen’drik.

It doesn’t necessarily mean what you think it means, you know.”

Sabira didn’t look over at the inquisitive, instead keeping her gaze on the city of Stormreach spread out below them. As the Seeker skimmed through the air toward Falconer’s Spire, Sabira couldn’t help but marvel, as always, at the architectural medley that was Stormreach. Remnants of giantish ruins, scavenged hulls from sunken ships, floating towers reminiscent of Sharn, Thrane curves and Karrnathi angles all coexisted in a surprisingly cohesive tapestry of colors, textures, and shapes. It was, in its own very peculiar way, beautiful.

Though she’d only been gone a couple of months, it still seemed as if the city had reinvented itself entirely in that time, with walls and buildings springing up where she didn’t remember there being any before. But that was the way of Stormreach, as it was of the inhabitants who lived here-constantly changing, ever growing, always surprising. It was what attracted so many explorers and adventurers to this vast continent, and what kept them coming back. No matter what it had been like when they left, they could be guaranteed it would be different when they returned.