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

by Marsheila Rockwell

  “Follow the wall. Lights will appear in front of you after you’ve walked about a hundred feet, and they’ll disappear behind you after you’ve passed. You will want to go as quietly as possible—the guards will be listening for movement within the earth, in case the intruder got in that way. The tunnel ends in an alley behind the Sharpsword’s Bordello. If anyone sees you leaving, they’ll just assume you were too cheap to pay for a room.”

  Sabira nodded her thanks and headed down the stairs, but the Caretaker wasn’t quite finished.

  “And as for you, barrister,” he said, spitting out Rockfist’s title like it was poison, “we are more than even. And I’m revoking your privileges here. I don’t ever want to see you here again—either of you.”

  “Don’t worry,” Sabira said, grabbing Rockfist by the arm and pulling him down the stairs after her before he could protest. “You won’t.”

  Then the bathtub pivoted back into place above them, and they were left to find their way, at least for the moment, in total darkness.

  And as Sabira began feeling her way blindly down the tunnel, she hoped it wasn’t some sort of divine metaphor for the state of Aggar’s case thus far, or a portent for its future.

  Far, Nymm 20, 998 YK

  Frostmantle, Mror Holds.

  Kiruk’s caravan turned out to be his private covered earth sled, and Sabira its only passenger. Piloted by a dragonmarked member of House Orien, the land barge carved its way through Krona Pass and down to Lake Home in a little under a day and a half. However, it took Sabira another full day—and a letter of credit Kiruk had given her before she left—to convince a Lyrandar skipper to take her up to Frostmantle in his soarwood galleon, and to do the entire four-hundred-and-fifty-mile trip in one day. But this was the Holds, and coin was king, even to non-dwarves. Promising a price she hoped Kiruk wouldn’t take out of her hide, Sabira and the skipper came to an agreement and she arrived safely at the docks downslope of Frostmantle on the afternoon of Far, three days after she’d left Krona Peak.

  Mountainheart had been there ahead of her and left word for her to meet him at the Tankard whenever she arrived. A popular but pricy inn located in the upper levels of Frostmantle, the Tankard was known for its high-quality spirits, including her own personal favorite, the eponymous Frostmantle Fire. It was also one of the many places in the underground city where Aggar kept rooms to hide out in when he needed to escape from the pressures of being Kiruk’s son.

  If Sabira had to hazard a bet, she’d place good money on it also being the destination for a teleportation spell linked to one of the Silver Concordian rings Mountainheart had stolen from his uncle. That was the only way he could have come all the way from Vulyar and still beaten her to Frostmantle.

  With all of his extra time, Mountainheart had apparently also arranged for a horse to be readied for her when she arrived. As she waited for the hostler to saddle up a thick-coated bay, Sabira listened to the rush of the river behind her and tried not to think of the last time she’d stood on the banks of this waterway, when she’d been at the safehouse with Aggar and Leoned.

  When Ned had been taken from her.

  When she’d left him to be taken, a little niggling voice in the back of her mind whispered, but she suppressed it with an impatient stamp of her foot.

  Where was that damned hostler, anyway?

  Finally the dwarf led her borrowed mount out of the dockside stables, and she took the placid creature’s reins with a nod of thanks. She hoped the hostler wasn’t looking for more than that, as she had precious little coin left in her pouch. Hopefully she could find Nightshard’s accomplice quickly and wrap this mission up before the bag went completely slack. Though it wasn’t just money that had her itching for this to be over; while she’d been happily absent from Vulyar for seven years, her brief return there had ignited a spark of homesickness she thought she’d extinguished long ago. She found herself wanting to return, though she also found she didn’t want to examine the reasons why too closely.

  Sabira shook the thought away along with a few drops of the light summer rain that was beginning to fall. If it lasted, the soft drizzle would eventually turn to feathery flakes the higher up she went, even at this time of year.

  She put a boot in the stirrup and swung up into the saddle, pulling up the hood of Kiruk’s cloak against the rain. Then, with a sharp flick of the reins, she headed through the small cluster of buildings that huddled around the docks and out into the greensward beyond.

  The approach to Frostmantle was an unusual one. Consisting of a wide cobbled path just big enough for two carts abreast, it led up into the foothills of the Ironroot Mountains. The path then seemingly dead-ended at the northern face of the mountain also known as Frostmantle, at the base of a sheer cliff, in between two huge piles of boulders. Nearer to the escarpment, however, it became clear that the rock face was not an actual cliff but rather a pair of massive gates deliberately designed to blend in with their surroundings. Likewise, the boulders were in fact guardhouses.

  Whereas Krona Peak had been carved out of the side of a mountain, Frostmantle was the mountain. Back when the Holds were originally settled, the ancient Tordannons had either chosen or been ceded—depending on which clan was telling the story—land that included some of the highest peaks in the Ironroot range. And it was the tallest of those peaks, and the closest to the Mirror River, which the clan chief had selected for his seat of power. But rather than build upon or excavate their city out of the mountain’s flanks, as the ancient Mroranons had done, the Tordannons had chosen instead to hollow the mountain out and live within it. Aside from the fortified main entrance, the only thing distinguishing Frostmantle from the peaks on either side of it was its summit, which housed the Tordannon palace, Frostspire, and had been carved on all four sides with the likenesses of the clan’s greatest heroes.

  When Sabira had been here before, the stone gates had been shut tight in response to the threat posed by Nightshard, and travel in and out of the city had been closely monitored. During those dark days, the job of lighting the city, from highest reach to lowest, had fallen to the ubiquitous everbright lanterns that floated through its many byways and tunnels like gigantic, slumbering fireflies. But now, with the gates flung open wide, the early afternoon sunlight spilled onto the main thoroughfare and, through a clever system of thousands of hidden mirrors, filled the underground city with the soft light of the sun’s rays, if not with its warmth.

  Dwarf guards were stationed outside their rocky outposts, enjoying the summer weather now that the tepid drizzle had stopped. As Sabira approached, one of them, a woman with a greataxe strapped to her back, stepped forward and asked for her papers. But before Sabira could reach into her pack and retrieve them, another of the guards hurried forward.

  “I’ve got this one, Guddrun,” he said, tugging a sapphire bead and scratching his right ear quickly before the other guard could notice.

  Guddrun looked from Sabira to the second guard for a moment, then shrugged, turned on her heel, and walked back to the guardhouse.

  The new guard had signaled, “Just follow my lead.”

  Surprised, Sabira took a closer look at the dwarf, wondering if she knew him. His hair and beard were jet black, and he had a thick scar bisecting his right cheek horizontally and puckering the skin. With such distinctive features, Sabira should be able to place him, but she couldn’t. Someone Mountainheart had told to look for her, then? She didn’t think Aggar’s nephew had that much sway in Frostmantle, especially since he’d chosen to make his home with Gunnett in Krona Peak, but perhaps the title of envoy carried more weight than she thought. Or perhaps the fact that Mountainheart was Aggar’s designated heir was not as great a secret as the Tordannons would like to think.

  The guard held out his hand for her papers and Sabira passed them down. As the black-haired dwarf made a show of looking at them, he said in a low voice, “Best to keep your hood up inside, and keep off the main ways. Kiruk thinks it’s better if the whole
city doesn’t know you’re back.”

  Ah. That explained it. The Tordannon chief would, of course, have loyal followers within the guard who’d be willing to get someone inside the city incognito, based solely on a message sent via speaking stone or courier.

  Louder, and more gruffly, he said, “Mute, eh? Well, let me see inside that hood! How am I supposed to verify your identity if I can’t see your face?”

  Sabira bent over in the saddle so the dwarf could better see her face, wondering what his and Kiruk’s game was.

  The dwarf winked at her, then contorted his face and drew back dramatically in disgust.

  “Onatar’s stubble, woman! That’s even worse than your picture! You keep that hood up while you’re inside my city—I don’t want you frightening the citizens!”

  Clever, Sabira thought as she took her papers back and replaced them in her pack. If the guards circulated a description of a deformed mute visiting the city, she’d be less likely to be accosted by the watches inside, and her true identity would stay hidden longer. Given how she’d been received in Krona Peak, that was definitely a good thing. The last thing she needed was a series of spontaneous parades in her honor. And if Nightshard’s accomplice didn’t realize she was here, it might just be easier to find him.

  The guard stepped back and waved her through, but Sabira didn’t respond immediately. The last time she’d entered through this gate, Leoned had been at her side, laughing at some jest she’d made. The memory hit her with such force that, for a moment, she couldn’t breathe.

  Now that she was actually here, she wasn’t sure she could bring herself to go inside. Leoned’s face swam before her vision, then Aggar’s, and Kiruk’s, his eyes forlorn and desperate. Then Anneka’s, Gunnett’s, and Mountainheart’s, in quick succession. The last face was Elix’s, flushed and earnest in his borrowed office in Stormreach, ordering her to come back home safely.

  To come back to him.

  And the only way to do that was to enter the city, find Nightshard’s accomplice, and clear Aggar’s name.

  After the briefest of hesitations, Sabira drew in a deep, resolute breath, flicked the reins, and crossed over the threshold into Frostmantle.

  Mountainheart was waiting for her at a secluded back table in the Tankard’s common room, near a fireplace that blazed cheerily with illusory fire. He was sipping on an oversized snifter of Onatar’s Blood and making eyes at one of the serving women, whose ample bosom was displayed to good effect by her low-cut bodice.

  “So what did Gunnett think of you running off to do your uncle’s bidding yet again?” Sabira asked as she slid into a chair across from him, one that gave her a full view of the room’s occupants and the door.

  Mountainheart glared at her for a moment.

  “I love my wife and would do anything to please her,” he said at last, as if by rote.

  “That’s obvious,” Sabira remarked, looking askance at the barmaid, who slunk away without getting her order. “But I think maybe you want to please your uncle more—or maybe you just owe him more, for making you his heir. How did that happen, anyway? It’s not as if he’s too old to have children of his own.”

  “If he wanted you to know, he would have told you,” the dwarf responded sourly.

  “Well, he and I didn’t exactly have time for that, did we? You and I do, and we’re not leaving this table until you tell me what exactly it is you’re holding over Aggar’s head that would make him take such a drastic step.”

  She hadn’t actually been sure that was the case, but Mountainheart’s surprised look told her she was on the right track. He covered it quickly with a drink from his snifter, but Sabira had seen enough.

  “Maybe he just sees potential in me,” the dwarf replied flippantly, and Sabira almost laughed.

  “Oh, I’ve no doubt he sees potential in you for something, but not for ruling Frostmantle in the event of his death. And marrying Gunnett, that was a stroke of genius, because there’s no way Kiruk would risk Frostmantle going to the Toldoraths. She virtually guarantees no one will be hiding beneath your bed to slit your throat after Aggar dies.”

  Sabira leaned forward, pinning the dwarf to his seat with the ferocity of her stare. “Which he will, unless I can find what I need here to clear his name. And that gives you more than enough motive to have orchestrated these events, either yourself or in league with the true killer. So unless you want me to arrest you on suspicion of murder, you’d better start talking. Now.”

  “Please,” Mountainheart scoffed. “If I’d wanted him found guilty, why would I have bothered procuring your services to help free him?”

  “You’re right, I’m sorry. I should have said it gives your wife more than enough motive. As I recall, there’s a House Sivis station with a speaking stone down one level on Dragonbane Way,” she said, pushing her chair back. “I’ll just send word over to Kiruk and have her arrested. Then maybe you’ll be more inclined to talk.”

  She stood, and Mountainheart’s hand shot out to grab her arm in an iron grip.

  “You wouldn’t.”

  Sabira looked at him pityingly.

  “I would think you’d know me better than that by now. Not only will I do it, I’ll enjoy doing it.”

  “Fine,” Mountainheart growled, releasing her arm and motioning for her to sit. “I’ll tell you what I know.”

  Sabira sat, rubbing her arm under the table. Mountainheart’s ire would be visible to everyone come tomorrow; he’d gripped her hard enough to bruise.

  “It’s not nearly as dramatic as you make it out to be,” he continued, toying with his glass as he spoke. “Aggar sired a bastard in Krona Peak. The woman—a server at one of Aggar’s favorite haunts—came to me when she learned she was with child, knowing I was his nephew. I suppose she hoped to gain either money or status, but I hid her away until the birth. I was not going to allow her to extort my uncle if the child wasn’t even his. When she was in labor, I summoned my uncle and he saw her give birth to the child. A red-haired little boy who was born with no eyes. Naturally, he was devastated. The mother experienced some complications during childbirth, and we were unable to save her. The child died soon after, and Aggar swore he’d never risk siring another again. He’s been celibate ever since.”

  It was a simple enough story, and believable, though Sabira was certain Mountainheart was glossing over some of the details. What sort of complications? And had they been unable to save the mother, or simply unwilling? For that matter, why had the child died? Blindness wasn’t fatal; starvation, on the other hand, was. Had they simply failed to get a wet nurse for the little boy, and let him die? Could Aggar really be that coldhearted?

  Then again, Mountainheart had kept the woman’s pregnancy from Aggar until the last possible moment. It was no great leap to imagine he’d told his uncle he’d find a nurse for the child while doing nothing of the sort, in a misguided attempt to save Aggar’s honor. Never mind that killing a bastard child was a far worse crime than siring one.

  Sabira couldn’t help thinking there was more to the tale, and as Mountainheart began talking again, she learned the rest. As the dwarf spoke effusively of his uncle’s grief, his fingers painted another, even darker picture with the tugs, twists, and twitches of the Tordannon’s secret sign language, for he wouldn’t risk putting the story to words in such a public place.

  Aggar had poured out the whole sordid saga while drowning his sorrows in a case of vintage brandy. The blind child, it seemed, had not been the first. Before that, Aggar had sired twin girls with a d’Kundarak banker. The girls came months early and were born fused together from throat to hip. One girl took a single breath before dying, while the other never even opened her eyes. The mother had killed herself soon after, unable to deal with either the deformity or the loss. And before that, he’d gotten another girl pregnant, but she’d been lost in an avalanche during the harsh winter of ’93, months before she was due to give birth.

  After this last child, Aggar had become convinced he
was cursed by the Sovereigns for some unknown sin and would never father a normal child, or one who would live. He’d decided to name Mountainheart his heir—with no small amount of urging from Mountainheart himself, Sabira was sure. Though Mountainheart didn’t say as much, Sabira imagined the inheritance was the price of his silence. If word got out that Aggar could sire only monstrous children, the rest of the clan could easily turn on both him and his father, leaving the Tordannons open to a war of succession that would weaken them and make them easy prey for their enemies.

  And all of this had happened before Mountainheart had even met Gunnett. Furthermore, he was quick to inform her, fingers working furiously, he had not revealed his status as heir designee to Gunnett until after their wedding—when he’d informed her that he was leaving Krona Peak to go find the legendary Shard Axe. Which did nothing in Sabira’s book to eliminate either of them as suspects, since they’d still had not only motive, but means and opportunity.

  But she just couldn’t see Mountainheart as Nightshard’s accomplice. Aggar’s nephew might be petty—even cruel, considering what he’d just revealed—but he didn’t have the kind of evil in him to countenance the things the assassin had done. Not to mention, as he’d correctly pointed out, if he’d wanted Aggar dead, there was no reason for him to have come to her for help in the first place.

  And Gunnett’s own father had been Nightshard’s first victim, so there was no way she could be in league with the assassin’s accomplice.

  No, Mountainheart’s first instinct had been right; she’d been bluffing. She’d only come to Frostmantle to arrest one person, and it wasn’t Mountainheart or his wife.

  But the ruse had gotten her the information she wanted, so it wasn’t a wasted effort. Whether that information would prove to have any bearing on Aggar’s case remained to be seen.

  “Nicely done, Mountainheart. You’ve convinced me not to arrest your blushing bride. So let’s focus on our other suspect. I assume Aggar let you know that we do have another suspect?”