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

by Marsheila Rockwell

  Tiadanna’s eyes widened, first in shock, and then in panic. She looked like she was trying to say something, but her mouth wouldn’t work. Nothing would: Jhuddona had paralyzed her. Then the priestess snatched up the hand pinned to the crossbow and jerked the Narathun’s knife out, twisting the blade as she did so and ripping open the clots that had begun forming at the edges of the wound. The crossbow tumbled to the floor and blood gushed anew from the gaping, ragged hole. Unable to move or make a sound, Tiadanna’s eyes still managed to convey her agony as her pupils constricted and tears fell from lids that could not blink to stop them. If she hadn’t been under the priestess’s spell, she would be screaming.

  But Jhuddona wasn’t done. She drew the knife back and then lunged at Tiadanna, her intent clear.

  Sabira and Torlan reached her at the same time, the dwarf tackling her about the waist and Sabira grabbing her weapon arm, trying to wrest the blade away. The three of them went down in a heap amid the renewed shouts of Council members and guards.

  Sabira wound up on top of the priestess and face-to-face with Torlan, whose hands were trapped beneath both her and Jhuddona. He couldn’t move until she got up. Sabira decided to take advantage of the situation.

  “I need you to delay the trial until I can go to Frostmantle and track down Nightshard’s accomplice,” she said, shaking strands of his beard out of her face.

  “So you’ve said,” he replied shortly. “I’m not convinced. And now’s not the time—”

  “Actually, now’s the perfect time. Or I’ll suggest to our little floormat here that she call in the Sentinel Marshals to arrest your wife for the murder of one of her junior priestesses. Since service to the Sovereigns knows no boundaries, it wouldn’t be hard to argue that protection of those servants falls under our jurisdiction. And we would make sure Tiadanna got a fair trial, not one whose outcome is decided on curried Mroranon favor.” She smiled brightly at him, and their faces were so close that she saw the hatred scurry across his features before he was able to hide it. “Do you really want to risk that?”

  “Fine. You have two weeks. But Tordannon remains here, in custody.”

  “Works for me,” Sabira said as she rolled off the priestess’s body. She quickly cleaned the knife off on Jhuddona’s already-bloodied robes and scrambled to her feet before tossing the weapon back to the startled Narathun who was still dogging Aggar’s steps. Torlan extricated himself and then climbed to his own feet, motioning for the guards to take the priestess into custody. Jhuddona stiffened her body and refused to rise, so, after stuffing a bit of cloth in her mouth to gag her, three of the guards hoisted her into the air as respectfully as possible and carted her off through the same door Hrun had used earlier.

  Torlan returned to his wife’s side just as the effects of Jhuddona’s spell began to wear off. He helped her over to the nearest bench while directing another of the guards to fetch a healer. Then he used Tiadanna’s discarded veils to bandage her hand.

  Sabira was somewhat confounded by the arbiter’s behavior toward his wife, given the fact that she’d just tried to attack the person she thought had murdered her lover. She must come from a powerful family Torlan couldn’t risk alienating by punishing her for her infidelity. Either that, or his was one of the rare dwarven marriages that had begun as a contract but had blossomed into love—even if it was decidedly one-sided.

  As she watched him gently wind the diaphanous black silk around Tiadanna’s wound, Sabira decided it was probably the latter, and felt a sudden pang of empathy.

  To offset it, she casually remarked, “You know, you might want to rethink allowing weapons in here.”

  Torlan’s look would have burned the hair off a gnoll.

  “Your two weeks have already started, Shard Axe. I’d suggest you leave. Now.”

  Sabira flashed a grin.

  “Best idea I’ve heard all day.”

  Sabira walked with Aggar, Gunnett, and Rockfist back to where the Tordannon heir had left his clothing, his faithful Narathun shadow not far behind. Before getting dressed, Aggar took his cloak and walked over to the perceptor’s body, lying forgotten on the eye of Aureon. He stooped low and spread the rich orange cloth over her corpse, pausing to reverently close her eyes before covering her face. Then he stood and addressed his guard.

  “She was one of yours, wasn’t she? Why don’t you see about getting someone to take care of her, since the Council seems … otherwise occupied at the moment.” He looked sidelong at the clustered Council members, who had fallen back into arguing over whether or not Tiadanna should be arrested. Then he looked back at the Narathun. “Don’t worry. I won’t be going anywhere.”

  The blond-bearded guard hesitated for a moment, his eyes straying to the orange shroud. Then he nodded his agreement and headed for the wide double doors, presumably to get one of his counterparts there to summon someone from the Temple of Aureon across town.

  As Aggar buttoned his shirt and Rockfist stood by, waiting to return his client’s Gold Concordian rings to him, Sabira and Gunnett moved a little bit apart.

  “You didn’t have a lot to say back there.”

  Gunnett raised a black brow at her. “Everything had already been said; I had nothing pertinent to add,” she said with a shrug. “And I did tell you I wasn’t sure what good my presence here would do.”

  “You also didn’t seem all that surprised to hear Nightshard had an accomplice.” Indeed, the black-haired woman had barely reacted to the news, seeming more interested in how the Council members responded. Sabira wondered if the dwarf had somehow managed to read Elix’s letter on the way over from Vulyar.

  “I’m not.”

  “Why is that? Because it fits into your theory that evil is just a point of view? If Nightshard had an accomplice, then that means there’s at least one other person out there to whom he wasn’t the villain of the story but the hero, right?”

  “Essentially. But—”

  “Wrong,” Sabira said heatedly, speaking over the other woman in her indignation. “Nightshard was no hero. He was nothing but a cowardly, murdering, evil bastard, and that’s all his accomplice is—just another criminal. And he’s going to be brought to justice, just like Nightshard was.”

  “If you call that justice.”

  “Excuse me?”

  The two women left off their glaring to turn at the interruption. Anneka Soldorak had left the other Council members and crossed the room to speak with Sabira.

  “If I may have a word, Marshal?”

  Sabira shot one last disgusted look at Gunnett, then she nodded and took a few steps away, gesturing for the Soldorak woman to follow her as Gunnett rejoined the others.

  Anneka got right to the point.

  “I still think this whole business with an accomplice is just a little too convenient, but, if you’re right … if there is an accomplice and if he’s intent on continuing Nightshard’s work, then my daughters could be in danger.”

  “A lot of ‘ifs,’ there,” Sabira commented, but went no further. It was obvious from Anneka’s halting speech that she was still undecided as to her course of action, and Sabira wasn’t going to make it any easier for her.

  “More than I’m comfortable with,” Anneka replied, “but I will not take chances with the lives of my children.”

  Sabira had heard the tale from Aggar. Anneka had been thought barren and the twins were conceived when she was well past her child-bearing years. Her husband, Veddar, had been on his way back from Korunda’s Gate to attend the much-anticipated birth when he’d been waylaid by Jhorash’tar orcs. The story went that the first twin had been born at the precise moment Veddar died, and an old dwarven superstition held that she carried some of his spirit within her as a result. Unfortunately, the girls were identical in every respect, and the midwife—now deceased—had been drinking. Once she’d placed the two girls side by side, she couldn’t remember which had been born first, and Anneka never knew which one bore pieces of her husband’s soul. So she’d coddle
d them both from birth, and her protectiveness was legendary. If she perceived a threat to her children, Anneka would go to any length to neutralize it.

  Including, Sabira hoped, defying Torlan Mroranon and the edicts of the Iron Council.

  “What is it you’re trying to say, Anneka?” Sabira asked, prodding the dwarf woman along.

  “I want you to make sure my daughters stay safe,” the Soldorak clan chief said at last, though it looked as if she’d swallowed a mouthful of rancid goat’s milk as she did.

  Perfect.

  “The best way to do that is to keep Aggar safe,” Sabira replied, careful to show neither her eagerness nor her relief. Anneka needed to believe Sabira was doing her a favor, not the other way around. “As long as the killer has Aggar to focus on, he won’t move on to other targets.”

  “But you’re going to Frostmantle!” Anneka protested, finally getting an inkling of what Sabira was trying to do.

  “You’re not.”

  Anneka looked at her for a moment, brief anger fading quickly to resignation as she saw how she’d been manipulated.

  “What do you want me to do?” she asked at last.

  “We all know Tiadanna’s not going to be arrested for Dorro’s death, and if she tried to kill Aggar once, there’s every chance she’ll try again. Keep her from succeeding. And make sure the Council doesn’t continue the trial in my absence—because Aggar will be found guilty if I don’t come back with hard evidence, and if that happens … well, then your daughters could be next.

  “And you need to put Jhuddona under your protection as well. The only reason Torlan agreed to an extension is because he’s afraid the Sentinel Marshals will come after Tiadanna—but the only way that will happen is if Jhuddona brings formal charges against her. He and Tiadanna already have the death of one priestess on their hands, and murder is so much easier the second time around.”

  Anneka nodded, the strands of her long gold earrings clashing together disharmoniously with the abrupt movement.

  “I’ll do it,” she said, turning to leave. “Just make sure you bring that proof. If it turns out Aggar really is guilty, I’ll kill him myself.”

  “If that happens, you’ll have to get in line,” Sabira said under her breath as the Soldorak woman walked away. Then she hurried back over to where the others waited impatiently for her.

  “You’ll need help in Frostmantle,” Aggar said as she approached. “I’ll send word for Orin to meet you there. He should be fully healed by then, and he’s the only one I trust with this.”

  Gunnett opened her mouth as if to protest, but Aggar silenced her with a look.

  “You’ve both already avoided your marital obligations this long—another two weeks isn’t going to hurt any.”

  “That’s hardly been by choice—” the dwarf woman began angrily, her face reddening, but Aggar continued on, as if she hadn’t spoken.

  “Speaking of obligations, the Mountainhearts have been neglecting the clan’s mining operations in Irontown for far too long, especially in light of the recent robbery attempts on the lightning rail run from there to Vulyar. Since Orin is going to be otherwise engaged, I would suggest you get down there and find out exactly what’s going on and how to best protect our interests.”

  For a moment, Sabira thought there might be yet another attempted murder in the Council chambers today. Gunnett’s lips compressed so tightly they lost all color and her hands balled into fists at her sides. Then she seemed to get hold of herself, and her face smoothed into a brittle smile, though Sabira saw that her knuckles were still an angry white. The dwarf woman inclined her head ever so slightly to Aggar and then she whirled and stormed from the room without another word.

  “I swear I don’t know what that boy sees in her,” Aggar commented drily after she had gone. Sabira wondered the same thing herself. She also wondered, again, what had caused Aggar to name Mountainheart his heir. She doubted he’d tell her, but maybe she could get it out of his nephew.

  But there would time for that later. Right now, she needed to make a quick stop before she left for the capital of Tordannonhold. A visit neither of the dwarves was going to like.

  “I’ll leave for Frostmantle in the morning, then. But for now, I need a favor.” As the dwarves looked at her—Rockfist surprised and Aggar leery—she lowered her voice and leaned closer. If any of the other dwarves in the chamber heard her, she’d be sitting in a cell in between Jhuddona and Aggar, if they didn’t just execute her outright. She wasn’t entirely sure the barrister and the Tordannon heir wouldn’t react the same way, but she couldn’t get where she needed to go without them.

  “I need you to get me into the Tombs.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Mol, Nymm 16, 998 YK

  Krona Peak, Mror Holds.

  You need us to do what?” Aggar asked, incredulous, but Rockfist, surprisingly, took the request in stride.

  “I can do that,” he said calmly, not quite able to keep the smugness from his tone.

  “What?” Aggar repeated, appalled. “No, you can’t!”

  “The Caretaker was an old client of Blackiron’s—how do you think he got that position in the first place? It’s supposed to be hereditary,” Rockfist replied, looking at the other dwarf over the top of his spectacles. “And I’ve read his file. I imagine he’ll do pretty much anything I ask.”

  “But … it’s the Tombs!” Aggar protested, not sharing the barrister’s lack of qualms.

  The Tombs was the colloquial name the dwarves had given to their Hall of Records, a vast underground library below Ferrous House that was off limits to all save the Iron Council and other high-ranking officials in the Holds. A dwarf who entered the Tombs without permission would be thrown into a small, dark cell for the rest of his or her life. A non-dwarf who did so would be killed on the spot, no questions asked.

  Even the Shard Axe, who, as Aggar liked to say, was as close to being a dwarf as it was possible to get without being born one.

  Sabira shrugged.

  “It’s the Tombs or your tomb,” she said bluntly.

  When Aggar didn’t reply, Rockfist spoke up.

  “Not that I’m questioning the need, but I am curious. What is it you’re looking for there?”

  “Goldglove’s journal entry mentioned a Tombs report,” she answered. “His was the first murder, and the one that makes the least sense. If you want to frame someone for murder, you don’t leave the body where there’s a good chance it won’t be found anytime soon, if ever. It’s almost as if setting up Aggar was an afterthought. If that’s the case, then figuring out why Goldglove was murdered might give me a clue to the identity of his killer. Since he was killed in the vicinity of the hot springs, it’s reasonable to assume his death may have had something to do with them, and if that’s the case, that report he referenced from the Tombs might hold valuable information.”

  Taking material out of the record hall was forbidden, and visitors were required to log whatever documents they examined, so if anything was damaged, the Caretaker would know where to place the blame. So she should be able to find the report easily enough—once she actually got in to the Tombs.

  “That’s a long, thin chain you’ve forged there, Saba,” Aggar said, frowning. “One I wouldn’t hang a pendant from, let alone my life.”

  “It’s all we have to go on, Agg,” she replied. The old nickname caught him off-guard, as she’d hoped it would. Maybe it would convince him of her earnestness—she really did think this was her best chance for clearing his name. Probably her only chance.

  “But the Tombs, Saba? If you’re caught there …” he trailed off for a moment, then finished in a barely audible whisper, his face a mask of anguish he didn’t bother to try to conceal. “I don’t want you to die here, too.”

  “I won’t be caught,” she assured him quickly, pretending not to have heard his last words. Wishing she really hadn’t. She’d somehow managed to keep Ned from the forefront of her thoughts thus far, but Aggar’s words
threatened to bring memories of her old partner bubbling back up to the surface like gas escaping from a drowned corpse.

  “I’ll get her in during the dark hours, after midnight,” Rockfist chimed in, the idea of being part of the clandestine mission bringing color to cheeks washed pale by too many hours spent studying law books. The sordid lives of the clients he’d inherited from Blackiron notwithstanding, this was probably the most exciting thing he’d done since before he’d decided to become a barrister. Which, upon reflection, might actually be a pleasant way to live—only reading about the dirt on paper and not having to wallow in it every day. Not that Sabira knew anything about that, or likely ever would.

  “There won’t be anybody around at that time of night besides the Caretaker,” the barrister continued. “A quick in and out, with no one the wiser.”

  “Are you set on this?”

  Sabira looked Aggar straight in the eyes, gray to green.

  “I am.”

  Aggar sighed.

  “Well, in that case, I want you to take this.” He pulled off one of the Gold Concordian rings he’d retrieved from Rockfist. The plain gold band was a pinky ring for him, but on Sabira it fit snugly around her middle finger.

  “What’s it do?” Sabira asked curiously. “Let someone know where to return me if I get lost?”

  Aggar chuckled at that. “Not quite. It’s one of my old friend Greddark’s little inventions. I think I mentioned him to you before.”

  “He’s the one who got kicked out of the Tower of the Twelve? And who taught you how to cheat—badly, I might add—at Jarot’s Bluff?”

  “The same,” Aggar confirmed. “He made this before they expelled him from the Twelve. It’s the only one of its kind in existence—I think ‘Ring of Calling’ was the name he ultimately decided on for it. A bit boring, but serviceable enough, I suppose.”

  “Never mind what he called it. What does it do?”

  “Twist it three times clockwise while saying my name, and it will summon me from anywhere in the Holds.”