Marsheila Rockwell - Skein of Shadows

If he’d known.

Greddark snorted derisively.

“Despite my friend Andri’s best efforts-no, I am most decidedly not one of the Purified, and my temporary appropriation of one of their sacred texts was done without the Church’s knowledge, or approval.”

“Not quite without their knowledge,” Skraad growled, rubbing the spot on his arm where he’d taken the Flamer bolt. But the orc seemed satisfied with Greddark’s answer and settled back into his seat on the long bench with a minimum of grousing.

“Fine,” Sabira said, not willing to let the inquisitive off so easily. “So you did steal a book. The question remains. Why?”

He hesitated, and she imagined he was going through the same list of options that she had earlier. She wondered what his choice would be.

Surprisingly, he went with honesty.

“It’s a dictionary of ancient Draconic,” he said, withdrawing the tome from inside his shirt and passing it to her.

Sabira took the slim volume from him and carefully examined it. The writing on the leather cover, though unfamiliar to her, was crisp and utilitarian, with none of the gilt, scrolling embellishments she would have expected from such a valuable tome. Inside, the pages were thick and yellow with age, and smelled vaguely of old, stale incense. She closed it and offered it to Skraad and the warforged in turn. Only Jester accepted, taking the proffered book and leafing through it, turning the pages almost reverently.

“Still doesn’t answer the question.”

“It’s that fragment of prophecy ir’Dayne was looking at-the one carved on the chunk of obsidian. Something’s bugging me about the translation. When I heard there was a Flamer library in Stormreach, I figured Olladra was giving me an opportunity to figure it out.”

“You read Draconic?” Skraad asked, though whether it was surprise or disdain that colored the orc’s words, Sabira couldn’t be certain.

Greddark nodded. “Pretty well. And speak a little. You hang out with a paladin of the Silver Flame for a couple of months, you’ll learn it too. Whether you want to or not.”

“So, let me get this straight. You remember words from a rock that you glanced at for all of five and a half heartbeats-written, I might add, in a language with which you’re not entirely conversant-well enough to later look them up in a reference book to ascertain their precise meaning? Because you think a Wayfinder with years of experience doing exactly that got it wrong?” She must have raised her voice, because Xujil glanced back from the front of the wagon, his dark face impenetrable.

Greddark shrugged.

“More or less.”

“More or less,” she repeated, making an effort to keep her tone even. “So what is it about the translation that you don’t like?”

Greddark cleared his throat and recited the lines.

“When the Anvil next is silent

The Book is closed, the Warder dreams.”

He looked at her expectantly.

“Yes, that’s what it said. It’s referring to when those three moons are dark. So?”

“ So, it uses three different words-‘silent,’ ‘closed,’ and ‘dreams.’ But there’s a specific word in Draconic for that phase of the moons. Why not just use that word, if that’s what was really meant?”

Sabira shrugged.

“Poetic license?” She looked over at Jester, who nodded.

“It does add to the verse’s lyricism.”

“Maybe. Or maybe it was a mistranslation, and those words don’t mean what we’ve been told they mean. That’s why I needed the dictionary-to find out for sure.”

Sabira scoffed.

“Wonderful. I’m sure once I explain that to Archbishop Dryden, he’ll completely understand the need for removing it from the library. Oh, and for skewering one of his guards in the process.”

“Well, if you really think he needs to know. About the book, I mean. I’m sure he’ll hear about the guard-though I should point out here that that wasn’t technically my fault.” He glanced over at Skraad, who was beginning to frown again. It wasn’t a particularly reassuring sight.

“What do you mean, he doesn’t know about the book? Isn’t that why the Flamers were chasing you?” Sabira had to work hard to keep her voice from going up a half-octave again out of sheer frustration.

Greddark actually had the audacity to look affronted.

“Please. Not only am I a master inquisitive, an artificer, and a security specialist, I am also a member of the House that bears the Mark of Warding. I could have removed half that library’s inventory without anyone being the wiser.” He moved his hand to his chin, then checked himself. Sabira imagined he’d been going to pull at the beard that was no longer there-or at least not of any length to facilitate worrying. “That’s not what triggered the pursuit.”

Sabira raised her eyebrows and waited expectantly for him to continue, but the dwarf was still in a huff over her questioning his thieving skills and refused to do so. She bit back a longsuffering sigh and prodded him.

“So what did?”

The inquisitive-artificer-security specialist-book thief actually looked sheepish.

“I’m pretty sure I killed one of his pets.”

Archbishop Dryden had two huge iron defenders who followed him around like the dogs they were modeled after. She was pretty sure he’d even named them-Tira and Jaela, after the paladin who’d merged with the Silver Flame and the girl who served as that Flame’s current Keeper.

“You killed one of the Archbishop’s dogs?” Sabira asked slowly, making sure she’d heard the dwarf aright.

“They’re not dogs. They’re constructs-and not even particularly useful ones. I can’t understand why the artificers here in Stormreach insist on churning the things out like everbright lanterns. They should try something a little more challenging, like those furry little flying messengers. At least those can talk. I use one myself-a customized and improved version, of course.”

Of course. Sabira watched as Skraad’s frown turned to a scowl. His right hand was flexing ominously. She wondered if he would attack Greddark.

She wondered if she’d bother to try to stop him.

“I don’t understand what the fuss is, frankly. It’s not as if they’re warforged-they don’t have souls. Easy enough to rebuild the thing from its original schematics. Maybe use some adamantine in the teeth this time-they break much too easily.”

“I’ll be sure to mention that to the Archbishop,” Sabira said acidly. “Maybe over tea.”

“Look, the Hostforsaken thing jumped on me for no reason. It was self-defense, plain and simple. Barristers would fall all over themselves to take this case, it’s so cut-and-dried. Easy money.”

“Did the iron defender attack you before or after you took the book out of the library?”

Sabira and Greddark both looked at Jester in surprise.

“After. But I disabled the alarm spells at the library entrance,” the dwarf replied, somewhat defensively.

The red-armored warforged held the book up, with the inside of the back cover facing them. A small sigil was sketched on the flyleaf, glowing a faint red.

“Yes, but did you disable the one in the book?”

“Onatar’s impotence!” Greddark swore as the warforged closed the book and handed it back to him.

“Well,” Skraad quipped, no longer scowling. If anything, he looked amused. “I’d guess the Archbishop knows about the book now.”

They rode in silence for some time after Greddark deactivated the rune. The wind was beginning to pick up, and Sabira was considering cutting a strip off the bottom of her cloak to use as a mask against the blowing sand when Greddark leaned forward suddenly, peering out the back of the wagon with a frown on his face.