The Shard Axe: An Eberron Novel (Dungeons & Dragons)

by Marsheila Rockwell

  Mountainheart watched her closely, gauging her reaction.

  “So, unless you’re able to pay off your debt in full—all ten dragons of it, plus another two to cover my expenses in purchasing the note—then you are going to the Holds, where you will defend my uncle once again, only this time it will be in front of the Iron Council instead of in the depths of Korran’s Maw.”

  Before she could respond, Elix entered the room, a small pouch clutched in one hand.

  “Ah, Captain!” Mountainheart exclaimed, his smile expansive and more than a bit smug. “You’re just in time. Sabira has just agreed to return to Krona Peak with me. My uncle and the whole Tordannon clan will be very pleased.”

  Elix’s brow creased and he looked from the dwarf’s satisfied expression to Sabira, taking in her set jaw and angry glower. For a moment, bewilderment warred with relief on his face as he tried to divine what Mountainheart could have possibly said or done to make her change her mind so quickly. But then, like any good politician, he shook it off with a slight shrug and crossed over to her.

  “In that case, you’ll be needing this.” He pulled her brooch out of the silk bag and draped the leather cord around her neck so that the chimera brooch lay just above her heart, while she stood there, stiff and unyielding. As he moved her hair aside to knot the cord, his fingers brushed the nape of her neck. She could swear his hand was trembling; he was probably furious at her.

  The feeling was definitely mutual.

  Damn you, Elix, she thought. And Mountainheart and Aggar, too. Damn all your manipulating hides to the darkest depths of Khyber.

  While she was at it, she might as well curse that gnome at the Wayward Lobster who’d beaten her Royal Family with a full complement of lowly Spears. Or the dealer who’d given him the hand, or Olladra, who’d turned a blind eye toward her in favor of that sniveling little tinkerer.

  Or herself for raising, despite the fact the gnome was leaning back in his chair and clearly wanted her to call. Because, ultimately, she really had no one else to blame for her current predicament.

  But that didn’t mean she had to be the only one who suffered for it.

  “Yes, Envoy Mountainheart and I have come to an agreement on the matter,” she said, tossing her hair and smiling sweetly at the dwarf, whose eyes narrowed suspiciously. “He’s offered a most generous fee, which I simply could not refuse. He’ll be paying me five platinum dragons, and of course the House will get a cut, as well—another full dragon, I believe it was?”

  Elix, who’d returned to the table and retrieved his glass, nearly choked on his drink, while Mountainheart’s ruddy face darkened with fury, and his lips compressed so tightly, they almost disappeared. Sabira kept smiling, batting her eyelashes at him, and daring the dwarf to contradict her.

  For despite what he’d said about not needing the Marshals to compel her, he did still need their sanction for her to take this job. And if he gainsaid her, then the real reason he’d been able to convince her to return to the Holds would come out, and Elix would have no choice but to strip her of her brooch before she could so much as blink—permanently, this time. The Marshals did not brook criminal activity by their agents, and taking out a loan from one of Stormreach’s most notorious gangs could hardly be considered anything else.

  So unless Mountainheart was willing to wager his uncle’s freedom on the likelihood that the Iron Council would listen to Sabira d’Deneith, the disgraced former Marshal, with the same attention they would give the famed Shard Axe, he had no choice but to agree to the outrageous sum she’d just named.

  The dwarf’s deep-set brown eyes bored into Sabira’s own, and she matched him, gaze for gaze.

  “Yes, that’s right,” he said, though it sounded as if he might have bitten off a piece of his tongue and was having difficulty swallowing it. He stuck a reluctant hand out and Sabira grasped it firmly.

  Then he surprised her by chuckling.

  “My uncle said you were as stubborn as a dwarf, with twice the bite. I think he may have understated the situation just a bit.”

  Sabira smiled in spite of herself.

  “I look forward to working with you, too.”

  It only took Elix a few moments to draw up the contract, which he’d had conveniently tucked between two decanters on the cabinet. The compact consisted of a preprinted form outlining the terms of engagement, with blanks for names and fees and additional pages for noting any irregularities about the job. By rights, it should have taken Elix a day just to record all of those, but he simply jotted a brief note:

  Assigned Marshal, Sabira Lyet d’Deneith (a.k.a., the Shard Axe) to assist in defense of client Aggar Tordannon (retained by proxy: Orin Mountainheart) only. Apprehension of any additional murder suspect(s) to be negotiated under separate contract as necessary.

  Mountainheart grunted when he read it, but he initialed the addendum without comment and signed both copies of the contract. Sabira and Elix countersigned, as Assigned Marshal and Supervising Marshal, respectively, and that was that. Except for the small matter of the deposit.

  “At an agreed-upon fee of five platinum dragons, a full third will be required to be kept in escrow until the job is complete,” Elix reminded the dwarf, who looked as though he might like to chew the captain’s head off and spit it out in disgust. “You can have the money deposited into the appropriate account at the local branch of the House Kundarak bank. If you need directions or require an escort, we’d be happy to provide either.”

  Mountainheart sniffed in disdain. If he was anything like the other dwarves Sabira had met, he knew exactly where the Lordsmarch Branch was located, and could likely tell you precisely how long it would take to get there from any point in Stormreach. It was the first thing a dwarf learned about a city, along with the locations of all its guardhouses and taverns. It paid to be prepared, and dwarves loved few things more than getting paid.

  “I’d be a fool to carry that kind of coin around with me,” Mountainheart replied haughtily. “I will have the required amount deposited, and then I will meet you at Falconer’s Spire at the ninth bell. The Inheritance departs for Vulyar at half past. Don’t be late.”

  Sabira recognized the Tordannon hand signals easily this time—a tug on the right earlobe, smoothing the long beard just so and then an infinitesimal adjustment of the cloak clasp. She didn’t need the dwarf to translate: Don’t cross me; I still own your debt.

  I still own you.

  His point made, Mountainheart gave a curt nod in Elix’s direction and turned to leave.

  “Actually, that’s not going to happen.”

  “What?” He and Elix spoke in unison, though only one voice echoed with anger.

  “I told you. I already have a job. Coincidentally enough, it’s for one of your Aurum buddies. Maybe you know him? Arach d’Kundarak?”

  She didn’t know for certain that Arach was a member of the Aurum, but the sudden look of fear that flashed across Mountainheart’s face confirmed it. He tried to cover the slip with arrogance, drawing himself up to his full height and looking down his nose at her in the way only dwarves and very old and proper schoolmarms could manage.

  “The Aurum is a vast, far-flung organization. There is no way any one member could possibly know all of the others. In fact—”

  “Poached some artifacts from him, did you? Well, don’t worry. You can leave tonight and wait for me in Sharn. Arach’s ship leaves at the fourth bell tomorrow, so I’ll only be a day behind you.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Mountainheart retorted. “I didn’t come all this way just to leave without you. Tell Arach you’re no longer available for whatever frivolous quest he’s sending you on.”

  “No.” To her surprise, it was Elix who answered. “Sabira entered into that agreement as a representative of House Deneith, even if not as a Marshal, and I won’t have the House’s reputation tarnished by her reneging on a contract. We’ll delay our departure to coincide with theirs, and detour to Sharn to pick Sabira up after th
ey’ve dropped her off.”

  “But Aggar’s trial—”

  “—doesn’t start for another three weeks.” Elix finished smoothly, having donned his diplomat’s hat again. “We’ll have her back in Krona Peak in plenty of time, Your Excellency. You have my word on that.”

  Mountainheart clearly wasn’t satisfied, but he was smart enough to realize it was the best he was going to get.

  “Very well, Captain. Until tomorrow afternoon, then,” he huffed, taking his leave with only minimal theatrics this time.

  Which left Sabira alone with Elix, a situation she meant to remedy as quickly as possible.

  “Glad to see you use your actual signature this time,” she said as she turned and made to follow Mountainheart’s lead. “Of course, the contracts wouldn’t be legal otherwise, and you’d lose the House a trading partner and a pretty tip besides, so I can see why you refrained from practicing your new forging skills. I hope it wasn’t too difficult for you—”

  She was too busy berating him to hear his quick approach, so she was utterly unprepared when his hand landed on her shoulder and he spun her around bodily to face him.

  “Saba,” he began, his tone soft but his face as flushed with fury as she had ever seen it. But as her chin lifted in defiance, ready to give as good as she got, Sabira saw the fire bleed out of his eyes, replaced by an emotion she couldn’t name. Elix took a deep breath and released her shoulder, taking a step back.

  “Go get cleaned up. I’ve been assigned the suite for visiting officers on the third floor; use that. I have to take care of your reinstatement papers with Greigur, so you needn’t worry about anyone disturbing you.” When she opened her mouth to argue, he cut her off with a sigh. “It’s an order, Marshal.”

  Without bothering to wait for a reply, he turned and walked away, grabbing his half-full snifter off the table as he left the room.

  And though Elix hadn’t so much as raised his voice, as the door closed behind him, Sabira couldn’t help but feel that she had just been quite thoroughly chastised.

  The suite for visiting officers was a grandiose name for an oversized storage closet with a small fireplace, a scratched desk and mismatched chair, a sagging cot, and an attached privy. The so-called suite’s one boast to luxury was a large wooden tub that had, either by some clever artificer’s trick or else by some extremely fast coordination on Elix’s part, been filled with steaming water by the time she’d finished her own snifter of Onatar’s Blood and made her way up from the sitting room. A plate of still-warm vedbread and a bowl of brine sausage stew sat on a small side table near the tub, earning a grudging smile for the absent captain. He’d remembered her childhood favorites from Karrnath, though where he’d found either commodity in Stormreach was a mystery. Perhaps he’d brought his own private stock along. If so, she hoped it was because they were his favorites, too, and not some sort of subtle bribery.

  For a moment she was paralyzed with indecision. Hot food or a hot bath? She needed both equally, but she found she wanted to be clean more than she wanted to assuage her grumbling stomach. Something about being forced to go back to Vulyar when she’d sworn never to return there left her feeling dirty, almost violated. She hoped a bath would wash the sensation away, but she had her doubts.

  She didn’t have the time it would take to soak today’s events from her bones, so she settled for a vigorous scouring that left her skin pink and shiny. Then she climbed out of the tub and wrapped herself in one of the plush towels hanging on a nearby hook—Brelish, by the look, and expensive. Good to see there were at least some perks to being a captain.

  A set of clean clothing to accompany the towels was apparently too much to hope for, and she didn’t exactly relish putting her own clothes back on, muddy as they were and still smelling vaguely of the sewers, so she set about scrubbing them in the still-warm bath water. She thought ruefully of the change of clothes sitting in the small pack she’d left with Borlan back at the Bogwater, but she’d actually paid to have those laundered and she was saving them for a special occasion. Like appearing before the Iron Council to defend an Aurum member from the accusations of other Aurum members.

  Sabira could only shake her head at the thought. Marshals acting as counsel for criminals. That had to be the fulfillment of some minor part of the Draconic Prophecy, or something equally portentous and dire. Olladra’s luck that she’d be part of it.

  After cleaning the clothes as best she could, she laid them out before the fire. She was effectively trapped here until they dried, so she took the opportunity to poke through Elix’s things and try to understand just when and how he had changed so much.

  A small trunk of Karrnathi make sat at the foot of the cot. Sabira lifted it onto the cot frame and opened the lid. Two sets of tailored clothes in Deneith colors were folded neatly on top. They were wellmade but worn, and not the sort a man of means with a woman in his life would be allowed to wear, Sabira noted with unwonted satisfaction, a reaction she didn’t want to examine too closely.

  As she set the clothing aside, she briefly considered appropriating one of Elix’s shirts to wear while her own dried, but decided against it. Standing naked save for her Marshal’s brooch and a towel in the room where Elix slept was uncomfortable enough; wearing his clothing would be asserting a level of intimacy she no longer had any claim to.

  If she ever had.

  Shrugging that thought off, Sabira continued her clandestine search, looking for more clues about Elix’s life and the years she’d so carelessly let pass between them. There were two books, their spines creased with use: The Complete Annotated History of Karrn the Conqueror by Plini and The Collected Verses of Theodon Dorn. Verses had a silk ribbon marking his spot, and Sabira flipped it open, curious to see what he’d been reading.

  It was “The Marshal and the Maiden.” She’d always preferred the second in the series, “The Marshal and the Mistress,” in which the Marshal appeared to be having an illicit love affair with a nameless woman until the very last stanza, wherein Dorn gleefully revealed that the Marshal’s lady love was, in fact, his sword.

  “The Maiden” was the more popular of the two, though, and like every Karrn ever born, Sabira knew it well.

  The Marshal saw that time had fled

  And though she pleaded and implored

  Tears cutting worse than any sword

  “Farewell, my heart,” was all he said

  She knew then in her deepest core

  He was Deneith, trueborn and bred

  And even if they one day wed

  He’d always love his duty more

  Pursing her lips thoughtfully, Sabira closed the book and placed it with its companion on top of Elix’s clothes. If asked, she wouldn’t have pegged Elix for a devotee of epic romances, but the revelation didn’t really surprise her. For many in her House, love and duty were so intertwined that the concepts were almost synonymous. No wonder, then, that all the best tales of unrequited love involved a Deneith hero. Or heroine.

  Sabira lifted the last item out of the trunk, a sheathed scimitar. The blade’s presence puzzled her; Elix’s weapon of choice had always been the broadsword. Drawing the curved sword, she realized that part of its hilt had been broken off in an odd way. It took her a moment to realize what was so strange about the damage, and why the sheath didn’t quite seem to fit.

  This was no ordinary scimitar, but part of a much rarer and more lethal weapon—a Valenar double scimitar. Used to deadly effect by the elven cavalry of Valenar, it was unusual to see one north of the Blade Desert or south of Kraken Bay. When you did, it was invariably a war trophy.

  Sabira wondered if this had been the weapon that killed Tabeth and what the other Marshal had meant to him that he would keep it. She pushed the thought away quickly. More likely, it had belonged to one of the elves Elix had himself killed while trying to escape with the Lyrandar heir. Either way, it had to serve as a constant—and deliberate—memory of what he’d lost in the desert.

  She reached
out to run her fingertips lightly along the blade’s edge. This change, at least, she understood.

  The door opened suddenly, and she spun around too fast, slicing two of her fingers nearly to the bone on the still-sharp blade in her haste.

  Elix paused in the doorway to take in the sight of her standing in front of his bed, clad only in a towel, startled eyes framed by a mess of coppery hair still in damp ringlets, and blood dripping from her hand onto the floor.

  Without comment, he closed the door and crossed over to the desk, dumping the pile of papers he was holding and rummaging about in a drawer. When he straightened, he held a small vial made of cut blue glass. He tucked it into his shirt pocket, then came around the desk and walked to her side. There, he very gently took her injured hand in his and used the corner of the towel to absorb most of the welling blood. Then, still holding her hand, he fished in his pocket for the vial, pulled the stopper out with his teeth and poured it over the cuts before the bleeding could resume.

  As the greenish liquid hit her skin and the exposed tissue beneath, there was a moment of blessed numbness, then a hot flash of agony as the flesh of her fingers regenerated and grew back together, like she’d thrust her hand in the hearth fire or in the icy waters of Karrn Bay.

  She bit her tongue to keep from crying out, or flinching, but she couldn’t keep the pain from her face, and Elix looked at her sympathetically.

  “I know it’s stronger than what you’re probably used to, but it’ll only hurt a moment, Saba,” he said, still holding her hand and beginning to stroke the inside of her wrist with his thumb. Sure enough, once Sabira focused on that rhythmic motion, the pain did begin to ease.

  Only to be replaced by a sensation that was far more alarming. As a different sort of warmth began to spread through her, Sabira was assaulted with memories of her last night in Vulyar, seven years ago.