“Well, that’s original,” the gnome said. “I suppose you had nothing to do with this? You happened to break in and were prowling around the professor’s house when a passing wizard flung a fireball through an open window?”
“Lieutenant,” Tolar said quietly, “both my associate and myself are professional inquisitives, fully bonded by House Tharashk. I sent her here in pursuit of an investigation. If you wish, I can establish a truthtelling zone to prove her innocence in this matter.”
“Or you’ll say you’re truthtelling,” the gnome said with a sneer, “and let her lie to her heart’s content.”
“Of course not. I’ll establish a zone of veracity, which forces all those within its bounds to speak the truth. If you stand next to her, we can easily prove the power of the spell with a few questions about your recent income and commitment to the cause of justice. But perhaps there are more pleasant ways to test the truth of that.” He produced a small pouch, which clinked as he flexed his fingers.
The gnome smiled. “When you put it that way…” He took the pouch and glanced inside. “Far be it from me to interfere with the work of House Tharashk, though the fire wardens may make their own investigation.”
“If they don’t trouble us, you’ll have as much again at the end of the week.”
The lieutenant nodded. “Good luck with your work then. Always a pleasure.” He inclined his head and turned away, rejoining the troops who were examining the burned out building.
“I hope we’re getting well paid for this job,” Zaehr grumbled.
Tolar helped her to her feet. “Well enough,” he replied. “I trust you didn’t burn down the building this time?”
“You’ll never let me forget that, will you?” Zaehr said, scowling. “No, this one wasn’t me. I think it was the same people who attacked the Pride.”
“And they escaped?” Tolar said. “The damage was quite extensive by the time I reached you, but I saw no other bodies.”
Zaehr forced herself to sit up. “They just… disintegrated. The one who exploded said, ‘We will return again.’ ”
Tolar frowned. “Tell me everything. Quickly.”
Zaehr recounted the tale as best as she could. Tolar interrupted with questions.
“When the man dissolved, what happened to his robe and weapons?”
“When you struck him, did the heat of his body damage your blade?”
At last he was satisfied.
“Azers,” he said. “Lesser denizens of Fernia, the plane of fire. The ‘sparks’ the heart mentioned, I am certain. But they could not come here on their own. Some greater power is drawing them to this world.”
“The woman said they served the ‘first flame.’ ”
Zaehr knew Tolar as well as anyone. She could read his emotions as easily as a book… easier, since she’d never cared much for reading. He tried to conceal his emotions, and a stranger might not have noticed the change, but to Zaehr his surprise and fear were as clear as the peal of the bell that rang the hours.
“What?” she said. “What does it mean?”
“This is no time for discussion,“ he said, eyes hard. “Did they leave a trail you can follow?”
Zaehr tasted the air. The lingering stench of smoke made it difficult, but the path was there—the threefold trail of molten metal muffled under cloth. Traveling away from the dragon’s door and disappearing down and alley.
“Yes,” she said, brushing the soot off her clothes and looking back at the ruined cottage. “But first, I need my knives.”
Zaehr expected the trail to lead them across the city, to a dark hole in the lower wards where such creatures might hide from common scrutiny. The truth was a disappointment. The alley was a labyrinth that wound behind spires and cottages, but they’d traveled less than a thousand feet when the trail came to end.
“Nothing,” she said, studying the surroundings. They were at a juncture of three paths with high walls all around. “It’s strong and recent, but it stops dead here.” She studied the ground. “It’s not just the scent. The physical trail stops too. Could they have teleported?”
“Close,” Tolar replied, glancing around. “I suspect they were summoned here, pulled through the planar barriers that separate this world from the endless fires of Fernia. He would have done the same thing when he attacked the Pride—prepared the skycoach, summoned the azers to fly it, somehow prepared the fire elemental within the heart to explode when the attack came. There’s no sinister headquarters to be found. These henchmen appear when needed and vanish the moment the task is done.”
“But who?”
“Someone familiar with House Lyrandar. Someone who knew when Adaila Lantain would be onboard and when she would be speaking in the lower hall. Search the area again. If few people have been through here… surely our culprit has left a clue.”
Zaehr studied the surroundings, reaching out with her senses. She’d been so focused on the burning scent of the azers that she’d completely ignored the other smells and colors of the alley. Rot and mold, the trails of a dozen rats, the usual scents of the city. But one thing stood out—an overwhelming burst in the barren landscape.
Bending down, she lifted a square of muddy silk off the ground with one long fingernail. It still reeked of perfume and the familiar scent of rain.
“House Lyrandar it is,” she said.
Tolar nodded. “Yes. It would be. Go back to our office. I’ll meet you there in an hour.”
“No, you won’t.” The fear was still there, clouding his countenance. Tolar had often kept secrets from her, but she’d rarely seen him afraid. “What is this?”
“This is no time for discussion,“ he said, heading toward the main streets. “You will do as I say. You’re lucky to be alive, and you will go back to the office and rest. I’ll join you soon.
They emerged on a major thoroughfare. Two skycoaches were hovering over the mooring platform. Tolar helped Zaehr into one and placed two silver coins in the hand of the coachman.
“Take her to Dragon Towers,” he said.
The coach rose off the platform and began to dip down toward the middle wards. But Zaehr had already produced another silver sovereign, which she flashed before the coachman’s eyes. “I’ve got a better idea,” she said, watching as Tolar climbed aboard the other coach and sailed off to the north. “Follow that coach.”
It came as no surprise when Tolar returned to Stormwind Keep. Night had fallen, and the streets were almost empty. Zaehr clung to the shadows as she kept pace with the old man. She didn’t know how she’d get past the kraken doors, but in the end it wasn’t an issue. The wooden tentacles slid aside the moment Tolar approached with no challenge from the guardian. Once the old man was inside, the tendrils began to descend. Zaehr sprinted forward, and her burst of speed carried her under the massive wooden arms before the portal closed.
Slipping through the gates, she nearly ran into Tolar. The hall was dark, and the old man had paused in the antechamber. He was kneeling over something—a body, stretched out along the floor. The sentry who had been guarding the door when they arrived before.
“Zaehr,” he said quietly. “I believe I made my wishes clear.”
The gates closed with a solid thud. Zaehr and Tolar might have been allowed in, but it appeared that leaving would be a greater challenge.
Zaehr shrugged. “I’m wild and unpredictable. It’s endearing.”
Tolar sighed, and she could feel his regret.
“What is it?” she said. “And what happened to him?” She nodded at the guard on the ground. She couldn’t see any sign of blood, burns, or bruises, but even in the dim light she could see that he was dead.
“Magic,” Tolar said. “We’re dealing with something ancient and powerful, and I fear it may have anticipated our arrival. But it has already expended a great deal of power today—if we are lucky, more than it can afford.” He stood up. “Quiet and careful, now. Do nothing without my permission.”
“Why is it so dark?”
Zaehr whispered. “And where are the rest of the guards?”
“Asleep, mostly,” The voice was jovial, amused. It was Kestal Haladan. “Don’t worry, I’ll see to it that you’re blamed for their unnatural slumber… and the deaths of those who don’t survive the evening.”
The odor of perfume was strong in the air, but Haladan had left his handkerchief behind. Zaehr could smell the odor that had been so faint in their earlier encounter—ash and burning iron. “It’s him,” she whispered.
Tolar nodded. If he was surprised, he gave no sign of it. “You can surrender now, Haladan. It will be much simpler if you explain this to Dantian yourself.”
“I will be explaining everything to Dantian,” Haladan said, “but we can finish our business right here.” He gestured, his fingers flickering in an arcane pattern.
Zaehr tried to charge forward, to grapple with him, but even as she started to move she felt a wave of mystical energy flow over her. She froze. Every muscle was rigid. She couldn’t even turn her head to look at Tolar.
“I do wish they’d sent a half-orc,” Haladan said. “The common people just don’t think of House Tharashk when they see a human. And if your house is to take the blame for the shipping attacks and this ill-conceived attempt to assassinate Lord Dantian… well, a killer with orc blood would have looked much better on the front page of the Korranberg Chronicle. Still…” He walked over to Zaehr and stroked her chin with one bejeweled finger. “You’re something of a monster yourself. Some sort of sewer beast, aren’t you? We’re lucky the house defenses stopped you long enough for the guards to put you down.”
A short sword lay on a nearby shelf. Haladan picked it up and drew it from its sheath. The steel gleamed in the torchlight, and Zaehr guessed it had never seen use in battle. She struggled to break the spell, but her will was no match for this magic. She could only stand helplessly as Haladan returned with the blade. He put the point to her throat, and Zaehr felt the cold sting of steel pressing through the skin. Then he paused.
“Of course, I suppose it would make a better story if you’d fought me first—the helpless servant showing just how deadly the beast can be.” He smiled, and as he did a long, bloody cut stretched down across his cheek. Teeth-marks appeared on his shoulder and right wrist, and bloodstained slits spread across his clothes. “That should do.”
“I think we can do better.”
Zaehr had been watching Haladan, and for all her remarkable senses she hadn’t seen Tolar move; she’d never have guessed the old man was capable of such stealth. But the surprise was far worse for Haladan. Zaehr saw a glint of dark steel in Tolar’s hand, and she heard the sound of a blade piercing flesh.
The servant’s scream drowned out all other sounds. The howl was deep, undulating, more beast than a man. Spinning around, he grabbed Tolar by the throat and lifted him into the air, displaying an inhuman strength that Zaehr would never have guessed was hidden beneath his flabby flesh. Dark fire flickered around Haladan’s fist. Tolar gasped and turned pale. The bloody wound on Haladan’s back was quickly healing, as if he was drawing the lifeforce from the old man and using it to rejuvenate himself. With a final curse, Haladan flung Tolar across the hall. The old man slammed into the far wall and slid to the floor.
Zaehr called on every ounce of strength she possessed. She felt her jaws distend as her fangs slid out, but she needed more than the strength of the beast. She reached back to her childhood, calling on the feral monster that had haunted the sewers of Sharn. Back then she’d been more animal than human, driven by pure, primal emotions—fear, hunger, anger. It was that rage that she drew on now, a terrible fury that burned away all thought. The mystical bonds that had held her paralyzed shattered, and she flew forward.
She was upon Haladan in a storm of tooth and steel. She felt a raw visceral thrill as one of her curved blades traced a red streak across her enemy’s back. Lunging, she sank her teeth into his neck.
Pain washed over her, a whitehhot flash of agony. It was as if she’d bitten a burning log. Haladan’s blood was fire, searing her lips and mouth. Pain blinded her, and in that instant Haladan struck.
“You worm!” he roared.
Zaehr ducked back, but she wasn’t quick enough. The tip of Haladan’s blade pierced her leather harness and dug a bloody furrow along her ribs. Blood and pain fogged Zaehr’s eyes, but her animal spirit was still with her. Beneath the streets of Sharn, she’d often had to fight her prey in utter darkness, and she let those instincts guide her now. Scent and sound painted a picture that was almost as clear as sight, and she could feel her enemy charging her, giving her just enough insight to block his blow. She lashed out with her twin blades, tearing into Haladan’s arm.
But something was wrong.
There wasn’t enough blood. Her sense of smell painted a picture, and for all the blows Zaehr had landed, Haladan wasn’t bleeding. Other smells filled the room—a powerful odor of smoke, of sulphur, threatening to overwhelm her keen senses.
Her vision cleared. She parried a blow from Haladan’s blade and lashed at his neck… and nearly dropped her blade in surprise.
Haladan was gone.
The portly servant had been replaced by a new figure—a lean, muscular male who held the shortsword with obvious confidence and skill. This stranger was anything but human. He had the head of a fierce jungle cat, and his fangs were larger and longer than Zaehr’s. Thick fur covered his body—glossy black fur streaked by bands of rippling fire. These same flames danced in his inhuman eyes. He was beautiful and terrible, a hunter from Zaehr’s deepest nightmares. Yet her nose told her that he was also Haladan. His scent was masked by fire and musk, and his old robes had vanished completely—but the traces were still there, ghostly wisps of scent clinging to him like mist.
“What are you?” she said, stumbling back and crossing her blades before her.
The stranger laughed, and his voice was like bubbling oil. “I am the darkness. I am fear and I am fire. My kind ruled this world in its infancy, and we—”
“Love the sound of your own voice?” Zaehr hurled both her knives, drawing new blades the instant they left her hands. One of the daggers struck between the monster’s eyes. The other sank into his gut.
Whatever this thing was, he didn’t have the weaknesses of a man. With a rumbling, oily laugh, he tore the blades from his flesh and flung them back at her. Zaehr spun to the side, but she wasn’t fast enough and one of the knives carved a deep gash along her forearm. The monster’s wounds began healing the instant he plucked out the knives.
“Fool!” he rumbled. “You cannot harm me with mortal steel. While I can end this with but a touch.” Black fire crackled around his fingers, and he strode toward her.
Fear filled Zaehr’s mind. But reason fought back. She was no longer the savage child. “She was faster than the fiend, and she used her speed, retreating as her mind raced. She remembered her lessons, as Tolar taught her the ways of logic and reason. Every problem has a solution. Every mystery has an answer.
Mortal steel.
The dagger Tolar had used—that had certainly caused the creature pain. Whether it was magical or forged of some unearthly metal, it was what she needed. She leaped to the side as the feline monstrosity charged at her, staying inches ahead of his touch. She scoured the room, searching as best as she could while staying in constant motion.
There!
Zaehr pounced, leaping past the fiend and snatching the dagger off the floor. It was made of a dark metal with a reddish sheen, and it felt warm to the touch. She caught sight of some sort of engraving on the blade, but there was no time to study the inscription. Haladan was upon her, and even as she turned she could feel a terrible chill as the dark aura around his hands grazed her shoulder.
“We’re all mortal,” she said, burying the blade in his heart.
Haladan howled, a cry of agony that echoed the one she’d heard before. Zaehr yanked the blade free, and a fountain of darkness flowed from the wound. The demon dropped to one kn
ee, clutching at his chest with his left hand.
“No!” he cried, his voice losing strength with each second. “You… destroyed me, creature of dirt.”
Zaehr was astonished. One blow? She looked down at the knife.
She knew it was a mistake the instant she took her eyes off Haladan. He dived forward, his blade rising in a steel arc. Fool! She cursed herself—too late. She started to move back, but he struck with inhuman precision. His blade smashed into—
The crimson dagger.
Fire flashed and thunder rolled. When the smoke cleared both blades had shattered, leaving only blackened shards and twisted hilts. And Haladan’s hand was around Zaehr’s throat.
“You pathetic creature,” he said, lifting her off the ground. “You think to match wits with me?”
Zaehr kicked him hard, aiming her blow for a place most men would find difficult to ignore. Haladan simply laughed and tightened his grip on her neck.
“I was there at the dawn of creation. I have played games with your kind since you were rooting in the mud, before you even knew how to make fire. You are a pawn on a board so vast you cannot even see the squares.” Cold flames flowed around his hand, and Zaehr felt her strength being drawn away. “There was only one creature in this city that I feared, and she—”
“Was not alone.” The voice was a thunderclap, and the blow that accompanied it smashed the demon to the ground.
Zaehr fell back against the floor, dazed and weakened by the fiend’s touch. She heard terrible sounds, and the smell of sulphur and molten steel swept over her, threatening to drown her senses. She forced herself to her elbows. What she saw made her doubt her reason.
There was a dragon in the chamber, filling the hall behind her.
It was smaller than the massive silver beast that had died in Pride of the Storm, but it was still one of the most majestic and terrifying creatures she’d ever seen. About thirty feet from nose to tail, its thick scales were the color of wet blood. Long black horns swept back across its head, and its eyes were pools of flickering light. Vast jaws yawned wide, and fire filled the hall.
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