The City of Towers: The Dreaming Dark - Book I (28 page)

“She was only repeating what she’d heard,” Daine said.

“I know. It just makes me angry. How could anyone think that we—that they—could do such a horrible thing?”

“Someone did it.”

“Really?” She stopped and turned to face him. “Then why haven’t they done it again? There’s nothing to prove that any human agency was involved. Perhaps some sort of epic conjunction of the planes opened a gateway to Kythri.”

“Covering an entire nation?”

“Well, we don’t know, do we? You used to follow the Silver Flame, right? How do you know it wasn’t the work of one of those fiends bound by the Flame?”

“Maybe because they’re
bound
by the Flame?”

She glared at him. “You know what I’m saying. There’s nothing proving that humans had anything to do with it—let alone House Cannith, and certainly not my parents.”

“Well …” Daine began walking again.

Lei followed on his heels. “Well, what?”

“Do you remember our last battle at Keldan Ridge?”

“How could I forget?”

“We never did find out who those ’forged were fighting for.”

“So?”

“Come on, Lei. An army of strange warforged? You know as well as I do that they don’t build themselves, and they weren’t wearing any insignia. What were they doing in Cyre? And then there’s the stormship. Someone had devoted a tremendous amount of resources to protecting that area. What was going on there?”

Lei looked away. “You’re thinking of Whitehearth, aren’t you?”

“C an you blame me?”

Lei sighed and shook her head. They had reached the lift. Surprisingly, it was empty. “I know. You’ve got no reason to trust my—er, House Cannith. But I refuse to believe that my parents had anything to do with this.”

“What
did
they do during the war?”

“They spent most of their lives working on the warforged. They worked with Aaren d’Cannith on the first true warforged thirty-one years ago. It’s a long story, but we weren’t that close at the end. It’s my fault, I suppose.”

“Hmm. What was it the sphinx said? ‘You must forget your house and focus on your family?’”

Lei nodded, thoughtfully. They stopped at the next district, and a patrol of the Watch came aboard. “You’re right. But how could I—”

“Well, well!” The harsh voice came from behind them, ringing out as the lift began to descend.

Daine turned. There were four halberdiers blocking the gate of the lift. Standing before them was a dwarf—Sergeant Lorrak, whom Daine had thrown off a lift.

This lift.

“Looking to get to the ground, boy?” the dwarf said. “I know a faster way.”

J
ode made his way through the streets of Daggerwatch. Where yesterday the streets had been calm and quiet, today the garrison district was thronged with people. Beggars, soldiers, and many others lined the wide streets, waiting for something. Jode made his way through the crowd, but given his small stature, it was quite a challenge. He squeezed through a jungle of shifting legs and feet, dodging boots and kicks. After a few minutes, he felt the need to escape from the chaos, if only of a moment. Passing by a large storm drain, he considered a moment then crawled into the hole.

The tunnel was three feet across, and the walls were crusted with dirt and mold. Insects scurried into the shadows, and the stench of rot filled the air. The passage dropped down nearly six feet before ending in a metal grate. It was the perfect sanctuary for a curious halfling, and that’s exactly what Jode found there.

The self-appointed guardian of the grate was a ragged halfling, who would have seemed more at home in High Walls or Malleon’s Gate than a respectable garrison district. His profession was clear. A few scraps of cloth and leather lay at his feet—the remains of purses and pouches sliced apart with a deft hand and sharp blade. Most of his dark hair was gathered in a thick braid that fell down his back. A smaller plait of hair fell along his left cheek. His eyes were bright, and so was the
blade of the curved dagger he held in his hands.

“Jhola’tanda!” Jode called. The stranger’s plait was the mark of a Talentan scout, and Jode hailed him in the Halfling tongue. This salutation could be interpreted many different ways, depending on the relationship between the speakers and the time of day. Under these circumstances, it could be generally translated as, “Greetings, one who is not my brother in blood but yet might become one in friendship.”

The stranger studied him then blew on his blade—a symbolic preparation for battle. “This is my ground, orasca.” His voice was high and raspy. In this place, the word orasca meant “one who seeks to steal my livelihood” or “lizard-meat seller”—or in the case of a dispute between lizard-vendors, both.

Jode held up his empty hands. “I have no interest in crowns and copper,” he said. “I simply sought shelter from the gorlan’tor.” The term meant “stampede” or more literally “thundering herd of pea-brained creatures that a just deity should never have made so huge.”

The stranger smiled slightly at that but kept his blade at the ready.

“I am Jode, and I ask forgiveness for the intrusion,” he dropped to one knee and laid both his hands on the steel grate. “I ask for your protection as I pass across your land.” By tradition, this was a polite way of saying, “I’m harmless, but follow me if you want to make sure.”

The other halfling considered for a long moment, then finally tucked his blade into his belt and held out his hand. “I am Moresco, and I give you welcome for the length of your stay.” He helped Jode to his feet. “So you weren’t expecting the carnival then?”

“Carnival?”

“The Carnival of Shadows has come to town. It will soon pass by on its way to the Talain Coliseum. The crowds have gathered to watch the opening parade, and it is good hunting for my swift blade.”

The Carnival of Shadows! The elves of House Phiarlan were known across the length of Khorvaire as the finest actors and entertainers in the land, and the Carnival of Shadows was a
jewel in their crown. A blend of magic, skills honed over the course of centuries, beasts, and exotic entertainers drawn from across Eberron … the wonders of the carnival were a thing of legend.

Even as Jode absorbed this information, the crowd cheered. Apparently the parade had just come into view. He sighed. “Normally, I would be overjoyed to see such a spectacle, but I imagine it will make my travels even more difficult.” He glanced thoughtfully down at the metal grate. “I don’t suppose that you know any secret paths that pass beneath the street and the many feet above?”

Moresco gave him an appraising glance. “Where do you wish to travel?”

“The Daggerwatch Garrison.”

Moresco raised an eyebrow, but Jode simply smiled and shrugged. Outside the tunnel, some sort of exotic beast gave an eerie, fluting cry.

“I may know a path that would be safe to travel, but you must act quickly if you wish to make use of it. Tell me what you have to offer in exchange for my secret knowledge.”

“Would that I had my treasures on my person,” Jode said. “But all of my possessions were wrongfully taken from me by a zealous watchman. I was contacted by an honest sergeant—a rarer beast than any you may seen in the carnival, I imagine—who has promised to return them to me. Escort me to the garrison, and I can offer you a ruby the size of your nose or a targath charm that will protect you from disease and infection.”

Moresco considered the offer with narrowed eyes, than nodded. “Very well, I will show you the path. But we travel above the streets, not below.” The sound of drums and elven pipes drifted down from outside. Moresco cocked his head then grabbed one of the rungs on the wall of the drain shaft. “Follow me. Quick and close.”

They emerged into a sea of sound and motion. Jode had heard stories of the Carnival of Shadows, but he was not prepared for what lay beyond the drain. Sharn was infused with the magic of Syrania, energy that enhanced all powers of flight, and the parade presented wonders that could be shown in no other city.
Through the forest of people, he saw acrobats dancing between floating platforms—miniature citadels of crystal and stone, each carved to resemble one of the royal palaces of Khorvaire. As the performers tumbled through the air, glowing figures darted after them. Ghosts? Illusions? From the ground, it was impossible to tell. Hidden musicians wove webs of melody that were so dazzling and hypnotic that Jode almost missed seeing the manticore that soared overhead. Then he saw the men suspended forty feet above the street on massive stilts decorated to resemble the towers of Sharn. Perched atop their stilts, the walkers wore costumes patterned after the racing beasts of Eight Winds. Jode could see a griffon, a hippogriff, and a pegasus, and he assumed that others would follow.

“Quickly now!” Moresco said. The halfling had his knife in his hand, and he tucked it between his teeth.

They darted between boots and squeezed past shins, slowly making their way to the street itself. As they reached the very edge of the crowd a massive stilt came down right in front of them, and Moresco leaped onto it. Jode held his breath and jumped, digging his fingers and toes into the cloth and papiermâché surrounding the massive pole. A moment later they were rising up through the air.

Moresco used his knife to carve tiny handholds into the stilt, then passed the knife down to Jode. “Hold on!” he called.

It was a dizzying way to travel, but a surprisingly swift one. Initially, Jode feared they would be noticed and caught, but apparently the halflings were light enough so as not to throw the stiltwalker off-balance—that or some magic in the stilts prevented disruption. As for the crowds, most were too busy watching the show in the sky to look at the halflings down near the earth. Those few who noticed simply pointed and laughed.

Minutes passed. Jode’s arms felt as if they were on fire, and his stomach rose in his throat with every sweeping stride. Faces blurred and swarmed around him, and the dizzying music of the pipes flowed through his mind, drowning out the murmur and roar of the crowds. At long last the stone hippogriffs flanking the garrison gate came into view.

As they swept by the gates, the two halflings leaped off of the stilts. The guards were keeping the area before the gates clear of crowds, and the two tumbled across the cobblestones and came to a stop at the foot of a puzzled officer of the Watch. Jode stood and brushed himself off. His knee ached, and he foresaw many bruises in his future.

“Tanda!” cried Moresco. “Let us fetch your many treasures, then find a suitable hole to celebrate our adventure.”

But as he had expected, Jode saw an avaricious gleam in the eyes of the cutpurse. He had no doubt as to what sort of welcome would await him in the suitable hole—or what Moresco would have done if he’d known that Jode was carrying a purse full of gold. He reached into the folds of his clothing and slipped a few golden galifars out of the hidden purse.

“I’m afraid my treasures are lost forever, and this is the end of our journeys together, orasca.” He tossed the coins at Moresco. Surprised as he was, the rogue deftly caught the glittering gold. “I suggest you be on your way, before I tell these good guardsmen about the work you’ve been doing of late.”

Moresco glared at him, but he had more gold than when the journey began. After a moment he spit on the back of a finger and flung the spittle at Jode, then disappeared into the crowd.

Jode watched him go, and then turned back to the guard at the gate.

“I need to speak with Captain Grazen,” he said.

D
aine considered the odds. The lift itself was a broad disk surrounded by a low metal rail. Two of the halberdiers were blocking the gateway, while the other two were moving to either side. He cursed himself for not considering this possibility. The dwarf had been patrolling in the area of the Den’iyas lift the other day, and it was probably his regular beat.

Daine caught Lei’s eye and cast a glance over his shoulder. They backed up to the railing. At least they couldn’t be surrounded that way.

“Lorrak, right?” said Daine. “You’re looking … alive.”

The dwarf grinned, which wasn’t a pleasant sight. “That’s one thing we have in common.” He was carrying a cudgel of heavy bronzewood, and he tapped it against the palm of his left hand. “But I think it looks better on me.”