They’d had the remembrance service for Leoned at Elix’s father’s manor estate, and she’d polished off an entire bottle of Frostmantle Fire by herself. She’d been drunk enough to be an embarrassment, and Elix had taken her up to his rooms, intending to put her to bed so she could sleep it off while he went back down to the service. But somehow, they’d wound up in his bed together, limbs tangled and slick with sweat, her needing to drown her grief in something stronger than drink, and him needing …
Her.
She looked up now into his concerned hazel eyes and saw the same swirling maelstrom of emotions she still remembered from that night. If she were honest with herself, it had been that storm that she’d been fleeing from when she’d left Vulyar, as much as any memories of Leoned—the vortex created when her abiding guilt and anger met his deep longing and need to protect and defend. It was a tempest that threatened to swallow them both whole, then and now.
And it was why he’d lied to try to get her back there, when his letters and messages pleading with her to return had gone unanswered. Not to protect some mercantile alliance with the dwarves, but just to see her, to make sure for himself that she really was well, and to do whatever was in his power to fix it if she weren’t.
“Oh, Elix,” she whispered, brought to tears for the second time today.
It was too much for him. Her proximity, her warmth beneath the thick Brelish cotton, her pain and sudden tenderness. He groaned and wrapped his arms around her, his lips finding hers in a desperate, frenzied kiss.
It would have been so easy to lose herself in him. A quick tug and the towel would pool at her feet, and there would be nothing separating them.
Except for the job she’d just signed on for, and the debt she needed to pay. And Leoned’s ghost, still haunting them both because neither one of them truly knew how to let him go.
She allowed herself one long, sweet moment to return the kiss and luxuriate in the strength of his embrace. And then she pulled away as gently as she could.
“We can’t do this, Elix. Not now. Maybe … maybe when I come back from the Holds. Maybe I can stay in Vulyar awhile and we can … talk.”
It was the most she could offer him, but for a moment as his eyes swam with desire, frustration, and hurt, she thought he was going to refuse her.
“It’s because of the letter, isn’t it?” he said finally, releasing her and stepping back, needing to put some distance between them.
“No.” Not now. Not anymore. “Elix … no.”
He held her gaze for a few moments longer, disbelief plain on his face, then looked away with a sigh.
“You’d better get dressed. You wouldn’t want Greigur walking in on you like that.”
As he turned to walk away, she reached out to touch his shoulder, stopping him. When he looked back, she gave him a small, crooked smile.
“Thank you.”
He regarded her for a silent moment, then a mischievous and welcome glint began to grow in his eyes. Finally, he smiled back, roguish, his disappointment firmly relegated to the corners of his mouth.
“You can thank me properly when you come back home,” he said, capturing her hand in his for a quick kiss before releasing it and making his way to the door.
Once there, he turned back to look at her, his gaze intent, as if trying to etch her every feature into his mind and heart.
“Just make sure you make it back. That’s an order.”
He stepped out of the room before she could reply, perhaps not trusting himself to leave if she spoke again.
As she stared at the darkwood paneling of the closed door, she pondered his words, her hand moving almost unconsciously up to touch her aching lips.
Home, he’d said. Twice now. Karrnath hadn’t been that to her in a very long time, but so many things had changed since she’d left. Maybe, just maybe, that could change, too.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Zol, Nymm 10, 998 YK
Stormreach, Xen’drik.
Sabira stopped by Falconer’s Spire at half past the third bell, to find Elix waiting beside the Inheritance, a sleek Sparrow airship that bore the crest of the Tordannon clan on either side of the hull. The smallest of the Windspyre models, the ship nevertheless boasted an impressive deck more than a hundred feet in length, with sizeable control fins that had been fancifully shaped to resemble the wings of its namesake. More impressive still was the huge fiery ring that crackled and spat as it circled the vessel’s middle, the bound elemental inside serving as the propulsive power behind the legendary speed of any airship.
“What’s with all the security?” she asked as soon as she was within earshot. There were twice as many Deneith mercenaries milling about as usual, and she’d had to flash her brooch three times on her way up because she wasn’t on the passenger manifests of any of the waiting airships. “This can’t all be for a Mrorian Envoy.”
“Hardly. A delegation from Droaam is coming in early tomorrow.”
“I heard about that.” Indeed, she couldn’t have escaped hearing about it; it had been the buzz of the Bogwater for the past week. “But I thought they were coming by sea …?”
“They are.”
At her questioning look, Elix just shrugged.
“Greigur,” he said, as if that explained everything. And, given rumors of the Stormreach captain’s aspirations, it probably did.
“Where’s Mountainheart?” she asked, noticing for the first time that the dwarf wasn’t there.
“He remembered some urgent errand he had to run at the last minute.” His tone was even, but Sabira could see his irritation in the sudden tightening of his jaw.
“I wonder what her name is,” Sabira quipped, earning her a quick upward twitch of Elix’s lips, there and gone again. But the glimpse of a smile was more than enough to set her heart to doing uncomfortable things, so she was almost glad when Mountainheart’s voice sounded icily from somewhere behind her left shoulder.
“Gunnett. And she’s my wife.” As Sabira turned to face him, more grateful than sheepish, he added, “I promised her I’d send a message via speaking stone when we were about to leave. And I had to tell her about our little detour to Sharn.”
Ah, Sabira thought. Newlyweds.
But … wait. Her name was what?
“Doesn’t that mean …?”
“No, it does not,” the dwarf interrupted testily as he made his way toward the gangplank. “The word you’re thinking of is gunnegdh. My wife was named for the gunethe, a rare flower with white petals and black thorns that grows only in the caverns of Noldrunhold.”
She didn’t know how he could be so sure; the words sounded indistinguishable from one another to her ear. Still, it wasn’t likely that any parent in the Holds would name their child “black blade,” seeing as it was a common dwarven euphemism for traitor, so she’d take his word for it.
“Now, if we’re to follow your ship to Sharn, perhaps you’d best make sure you’re actually on it?” Mountainheart prompted, waving at Elix to precede him.
“Right. Well, until Sharn, then.” Her eyes met Elix’s over the dwarf’s head. “Stay safe.”
He held her gaze for a long, charged moment before replying, and though his words gave nothing away, his look burned with a promise she didn’t dare dwell on.
“Until Sharn,” he said, then mercifully turned away and started up the plank. Sabira followed suit, turning and heading for the stairs, firmly banishing the image of his hazel eyes from her thoughts; whatever might be happening between them, it would have to wait. She had a job to do, and she couldn’t afford to be distracted by her feelings. She’d let that happen once before, and the loss had been incalculable. It was a mistake she was not about to make again.
Sabira found Arach’s airship just as easily as he’d said she would; it was the only one at the House Kundarak docking tower with two elemental rings, one a vibrant red and the other a garish purple. Whatever the dwarf’s true business was, he certainly wasn’t afraid to be seen doing it.
Since she was actually on the manifest for the Dust Dancer, she had no difficulty getting to the ship, though the security here was just as tight as it had been at Falconer’s Spire.
“You Sabira?” asked a heavily tattooed dwarf with a clipboard who stood at the foot of the gangplank. A golden hoop pierced his lower lip and several matching circles glittered in both ears, as well as in the braids of his black beard.
At her nod, he jabbed a thumb over his shoulder.
“Talk to the first mate, Thecla. He’s the bald one with the hook for a hand. He’ll get you squared away, tell you where to stow your gear and the like.”
Sabira made her way up the plank to the deck of the Dust Dancer. The airship, a modified Stormglory Typhoon, was three times as big as Mountainheart’s smaller Sparrow. It looked more like a floating parlor than a vessel that could choose to outfly a dragon or simply shoot it out of the sky, with no less than four massive ballistae—two atop the forecastle, just forward of the binding struts, and the other two astern of the rearmost elemental ring, attached to the main deck. Small potted trees and cushioned divans dotted the deck, complete with colorful awnings to shield their occupants from sun or rain. Even the soarwood life rings hanging on the walls of both the fore- and sterncastles shone in the afternoon sun, as though they’d been etched in gilt. Sabira got the impression that this ship didn’t make a lot of cargo runs, which made this mission all the more peculiar.
She spotted the first mate up near the helm, deep in conversation with the Lyrandar pilot. From the other dwarf’s description, she had expected Thecla to be some self-styled pirate out of an unimaginative bard’s tale, but when she reached the top of the sterncastle, she saw that the first mate was dressed in finery that probably cost more than she was getting for this job. With a tailored coat fashioned of glamerweave, silvercloth breeches, and high, glossy boots she could see her reflection in, Thecla would not have been out of place in a palace ballroom. An ornate sheath studded with huge cabochons and housing a sword that looked to be of even better make than her urgrosh completed the picture.
“Ah, you must be Sabira! The former,” his piercing blue eyes alighted briefly on the leather cord that disappeared beneath her shirt, “or, should I say, ‘newly reinstated’ Sentinel Marshal. It’s a pleasure to have you aboard!”
He stuck out his hook to her, then laughed at her momentary discomfiture as she tried to decide if she was actually supposed to shake it or not.
“I never get tired of that!” he chortled heartily, then withdrew the hook and offered his other, fleshy hand, which Sabira shook with somewhat less amusement. “Now, we’ve run into a bit of a delay—nothing you need to concern yourself with, of course—but we won’t be leaving until the fifth bell, so why don’t you spend the time getting acquainted with the ship? Hotch, here, will show you to your quarters and introduce you to the others.”
Hotch was a spindly legged kobold who seemed to have materialized beside her while Thecla had been entertaining himself at her expense, but Sabira quickly realized that the reason she hadn’t noticed the reptilian sailor was because, unlike most of his Stormreach brethren, he actually didn’t stink.
“This way. Come, come.” Sabira wrinkled her nose in distaste as she followed the kobold belowdecks, dodging his lashing tail. Hotch might not smell, but his yapping speech was every bit as annoying and much harder to ignore. “You sleep here. Own cabin, yes? Only girl.”
Hotch’s dog-like snout split into a big, toothy grin at that, though Sabira wasn’t sure if it was supposed to be a comforting smile or some sort of lecherous leer. She found both prospects equally disturbing.
“Galley there, engine room there, observation dome down there, cargo hold here.”
The cargo hold was a large space that stretched from the main deck to the Dust Dancer’s keel and could easily have fit a small house or two. It was empty, save for three crates firmly secured to the floor by thick netting.
Sabira wondered again what Arach was up to. Even if those crates were full of the largest, most flawless shards ever to fall from the Ring of Siberys, they still weren’t worth what this ship cost to man and to fly. Using the Dust Dancer to transport them was pure overkill.
Most likely the dragonshards were a cover for something either more valuable or less legal, or possibly both. She just hoped Arach wasn’t running dreamlily or absentia. She’d heard rumblings that Sharn’s Boromar clan was trying to expand into the Stormreach market, and they might well choose to partner with the Aurum rather than compete with them for business.
Maybe she should have backed out of her deal with Arach after all. Surely breaking a contract would do less harm to the House’s reputation than having one of their Marshals arrested for drug trafficking.
Well, as long as she didn’t actually look in the crates, she could always claim ignorance. It wouldn’t save her, of course, but it should spare the House—and Elix—too much embarrassment.
A sudden thrum moved through the soarwood hull and Hotch squeaked, “Time to go now! Topsides! Topsides!”
Sabira followed the muttering kobold as he scurried up the nearest ladder. She hadn’t heard the fifth bell, but she might not be able to over the constant soft hum of the bound elementals circling the ship. Or perhaps whatever delay Thecla had been referring to had been averted. She rather hoped the latter would prove to be the case; she could just imagine Mountainheart’s indignation at being forced to wait an extra hour for her to show up in Sharn. Whatever would he tell dear Gunnett-not-gunnegdh?
“Go now! Wizard here!”
Wizard?
She reached out to grab Hotch’s tail before he could scramble up the last few rungs to the main deck.
“We were waiting for a wizard? Why?”
“Big green birds cause problems for ship. So wizard cause problems for birds.”
Ah. He must be talking about yrthaks, though only a kobold would refer to the hideous flying reptiles as “birds.” The sightless creatures had been known to harry airships coming into and out of the Stormreach harbor; since the yrthaks were sensitive to both sound and vibration, all the activity associated with the Droaam contingent’s arrival had probably stirred them up in their aeries. Any ship was potential prey to the destructive sonic blasts the animals unleashed through their distinctive spiral horns. She had heard stories of a clutch of yrthaks that destroyed a Silver Flame monastery in the mountains of Thrane soon after it had been built. During the inaugural blessing ceremony, the priests had raised their voices in song, and the melody had attracted the yrthaks from miles away. Agitated by the sound echoing off the tall peaks, the yrthaks had used powerful lances of pure, cacophonous noise to bring the building down on top of the singers, silencing their music forever. The monastery had never been rebuilt.
She was glad Arach was taking precautions to ensure the Dust Dancer did not suffer a similar fate. She could only hope those aboard the Inheritance were taking comparable measures.
Once back on deck, Hotch hurried her over to where a group of dwarves stood listening to Thecla give the final instructions before takeoff.
“… and those of you assigned to protect our cargo will deploy as follows: Yven and Durgin, in the hold. Fasir and Eamon, take the foredeck. Sabira, you and Ears, here, will take the aft deck.” He looked up from his clipboard to find her in the crowd—not hard, since she stood a half a head higher than the tallest of them. “You can operate a ballista, I assume?”
“With my eyes closed and one hand fending off a drunken sailor,” she replied flippantly, which earned her some appreciative chuckles from the assembled crew. The question actually set her somewhat at ease. Sentinel Marshals were required to have at least a passing familiarity with any and all weapons they might be called upon to use during the course of their duties, and dwarven ballistae of the type used on the Dust Dancer were handcranked, something that would require both knowledge of the weapon and the strength to use it. Perhaps that was why Arach had wanted her on his ship; a
nd not so that her connection to House Deneith might give this trip at least a veneer of legitimacy.
“Well, hopefully none of the boys will decide to make you prove that,” Thecla countered, which drew even more laughter. “All right, all right! To your stations, boys, and aweigh the anchor!”
There was a chorus of “aye aye,” and then a flurry of activity as the group of dwarves broke up and hurried off to follow the first mate’s instructions. No longer tethered to the docking tower, the Dust Dancer rose slowly into the air and was soon floating above the Kundarak enclave and the glowing yellow crystal atop the massive Bank of Kundarak, with the Tower of Kol Korran like a darker, more somber shadow behind it. As the ship turned northward and the Lyrandar pilot gradually released his hold on the bound elementals, the wonders of Stormreach faded into the distance, until all that could be seen was the Emperor’s beam of light shooting high into the sky, a shining beacon in the wilderness that was Xen’drik.
Sharn was almost fifteen hundred miles due north of Stormreach, a trip that would take three days via airship, assuming fair weather and no encounters with anything more dangerous than a flock of seagulls. Assumptions that Sabira knew were likely to prove grossly incorrect, for skies clear of cloud or creature were rare indeed on the Thunder Sea.
As if Olladra had heard her thoughts and wanted to prove the point, a shout rang out from the prow just as they were passing over Three Barrel Cove.
“Yrthak! Dead ahead!”
Sabira strained to see from her vantage point near the helm, but even if the forecastle hadn’t been blocking her view, the double rings of fire that encircled the ship made it impossible to do anything more than squint in that direction. She suddenly understood Arach’s wisdom in having as many ballistae as he did, stationed where they were.
“Where’s that damned wizard?” Thecla barked, coming up to stand by the pilot. “Get him and that horn of his over here! Now!”
The Shard Axe: An Eberron Novel (Dungeons & Dragons) Page 9
