Voyage of the Mourning Dawn: Heirs of Ash, Book 1

by Rich Wulf

  As she stepped back to give the bookcases a better look, Seren stumbled over a book discarded on the floor. She glanced down to see the gorgon and albatross looking back at her impassively. Seren blinked in disbelief. She looked back at the dog. It only watched her with soulful black eyes, nose buried between furry paws, mourning the untimely demise of the cake. Rather than dwell upon her uncanny luck, Seren snatched the book and tucked it into the sack at her belt.

  The study door no doubt bore wards like the window, but fortunately it had been left open. Seren hurried out and down the stairs, tiptoeing with a silent grace. To her right, she could see the two men. Jamus stood near the door, playing the part of the lost and confused old man as he apologized repeatedly, stroking his long white beard with one hand. The guildmaster, apparently tired of the crazed beggar’s floundering, had snatched the marble bag and was now picking up the marbles himself.

  “Here, take the accursed things, and do not drop them again or you shall return to the orphans without them.”

  “Are you certain you found them all?” Jamus asked, blinking foolishly. “I think I saw one roll under the clock in the corner …”

  “Then here!” The man snapped. He rummaged in his pocket and held out a handful of silver. “To pay for your lost marbles.”

  Jamus opened his mouth to demur again, but his sharp eyes focused squarely upon Seren in the shadows of the stair. He gave a slight nod and reached for the bag and coins, clasping the guildmaster’s hands with both of his own in a gesture of exaggerated gratitude. Seren made her way to the back door and quietly unlocked the latch.

  “I thank you, Master d’Cannith,” Jamus said, bowing repeatedly as he clasped the man’s hands. “The orphans thank you as well.”

  “Yes, the orphans,” she heard the other man growl as she slipped out into the alley. “Give them my regards. Now go!”

  Closing the door gently, Seren broke into a sprint. Darting between the puddles and strewn garbage of the alleys, she stopped at a particular abandoned house after several minutes of running. Looking back to make certain she wasn’t followed, she pulled a loose board aside and stepped through the wall. The interior was lit by a single candle. An older gentleman dressed in a sleek black jacket and trousers reclined on a tattered couch. A long white beard lay discarded on the floor. He toyed with a pair of painted glass marbles, rolling them between his fingers idly.

  “Did you find the book?” he asked, looking up at her with a faint grin.

  She stared at Jamus. “How did you get here first?”

  “I should ask why it took you so long,” he said, though his smile took the barb off his words. He fell to a fit of coughing for several seconds and then looked up at her with a forced grin. “So. Find the book?”

  Seren nodded, patting the bag at her hip. She picked up her cloak from where she had left it folded on the floor earlier in the evening and began using it as an improvised towel, drying herself as best she could.

  “May I see it?” Jamus asked.

  “After you tell me why you left me up on that ledge in the rain for so long.”

  “Because I didn’t think you’d be foolish enough to keep climbing when the storm began,” Jamus said. “I thought you would come back down and we’d try another day.”

  She shrugged. “Can’t turn back once you start or you’ll never finish,” she said.

  “Of course,” he said. “I underestimated your stubbornness, as always. It is your second most endearing and maddening trait.”

  “Second?” she said. “What is the first?”

  “Your infuriating willingness to speak your mind,” he said. “You remind me a great deal of my daughter. I suppose before you give me the book I shall be subject to another lecture on my questionable wisdom of undertaking this mission.”

  Seren folded her arms across her chest and frowned. “I did the job, Jamus, but my opinion stands,” she said. “I don’t think it’s smart to cross the dragonmarked houses. I don’t care what the pay is. It’s going to be trouble.”

  “Afraid of magic, Seren?” he asked. Jamus rose from his couch and walked toward her. “I thought I taught you better than that.”

  “You taught me to respect power,” Seren said. “The Canniths are powerful. If they find out what we’ve done …”

  “They simply won’t care,” Jamus said. He rested one hand on her shoulder, looking down at her with the expression of a parent soothing a frightened child. “Dalan d’Cannith has a checkered past. He may be a local guildmaster, but he is not particularly liked or respected among his family. His power is limited outside of Wroat. Our payment for this job will place us far beyond his grasp.”

  Seren’s eyes widened. “We’re leaving Wroat?” she asked, excited. “You never told me that.”

  Jamus nodded, though he glanced away as another fit of coughing shook his spare figure. “I didn’t want to distract you before the job,” he said. “Our employer guaranteed future opportunities beyond the city when she gave me our advance.”

  “There’s an advance?” she asked with a small grin. Jamus hadn’t mentioned that either. “Where’s my share?”

  The old thief smiled. “Right here,” he said, tossing her the bag of marbles. She caught it in one hand and favored him with a sour look. “No worries, Seren, you’ll be paid when we deliver. Only the most difficult part remains.”

  “The most difficult part?” she said, bewildered. “What can be more difficult than what we’ve just done?”

  “Don’t ask that question,” Jamus said with a chuckle. “Never ask that question, lest it be answered sooner than you’d like.”

  “I’m serious, Jamus,” she said. “What else is left? We already have the book. All we need to do is deliver it. Are you afraid the Watch will find us, or do you not trust our employer?”

  “I never trust my employer,” Jamus said. “Anyone who enters our line of work, as a client or a professional, is untrustworthy by definition.”

  “But we trust each other,” she said. “Don’t we?”

  He leaned forward and kissed her forehead, then made his way toward the door. “Only because we both have something to gain,” he said. “Ours is a relationship of mutual benefit, teacher and student. Trust is born from mutual benefit. We trust our employer because we are offered payment in return for our services … mutual benefit—but we do not trust foolishly.”

  “So what do we do if our employer decides there’s greater benefit in not paying us?” she asked. “What then?”

  “In this case such a betrayal would be foolish,” Jamus answered. He pushed the loose board aside, studying the street to make certain no one was outside. “I have a reputation in this city. Were I to disappear, questions would be asked, and I have arranged for answers. I have written speaker posts addressed to certain allies, describing the details of our work here. If I do not arrive to cancel the deliveries, the Sivis messengers will whisper into their speaking stones and the truth will fly upon the winds of Khorvaire. Within hours, friends as far away as Fairhaven will know the truth.”

  “That doesn’t make me feel much better,” Seren said. “If we die, we’re still dead, no matter who knows what happened.”

  “Then ignore the negative and focus on your goals, Seren, dear,” he said, stepping out into the street. “Think about leaving this place far behind, and it will be. Until then, be safe. Stay out of sight. The town guards will be suspicious of anyone on the streets on a terrible night like tonight. I will meet you back at the house.”

  The old thief slid the board back into place behind him. She could hear his wet footsteps and quiet cough recede into the distance. Dalan d’Cannith would have summoned the Watch by now, searching for the thief and his beggar accomplice. It was safer to wait, to move separately.

  Seren would have preferred Jamus carry the book, at least. It was his idea to steal it, after all. She took the book out of the sack and studied its cover. She recognized the Cannith crest; she had seen it in the city often enough
. Beneath a small hammer and anvil design, the snarling metal bull’s head of a gorgon glared up at her. The relatively indifferent albatross beneath it was not typically part of the crest. It must be some sort of personal seal. Seren opened the book and flipped through the pages cautiously. She told herself she was merely checking to make sure that the book hadn’t been damaged by the rain. In reality she wanted to know what was so important about it. Diagrams covered the pages within, depicting airships, clockwork mechanisms, and other artifacts whose purpose Seren could not comprehend. The writing was in a strange, arcane cipher. It told her nothing, nothing that would explain why it was important enough to make enemies of House Cannith.

  The Canniths were one of the twelve dragonmarked houses, powerful organizations ruled by individuals born marked by hereditary arcane symbols. Seren didn’t really understand what the Prophecy was, nor did she really care. All she knew was that the Prophecy gave incredible powers to those marked by it. Each of the dragonmarked houses boasted magical abilities and had used those abilities to cultivate great wealth and political influence. Each house was as powerful as a country, the services they offered so valuable that their power transcended international boundaries.

  House Cannith bore the Mark of Making, which granted the ability to repair what had been broken or to create new things. They were engineers, artificers, and weaponsmiths. Many of the most incredible inventions in all of Eberron—the lightning rails, the airships, and even the mysterious warforged soldiers—bore a Cannith artisan’s seal. Many of the most ferocious battles in the Last War had been fought with Cannith weapons, and Breland was not the only nation that still owed them a great debt. If this book was as valuable as Jamus claimed and the Canniths realized who had stolen it from them … well, making two thieves in the slums of Wroat disappear wouldn’t be such a difficult task for a house that commanded the loyalty of kings.

  Seren pushed the book back into the sack and pushed such thoughts away with it. Her own words returned to her—can’t turn back once you start or you’ll never finish. There was no option now but to see the job through and try to make a profit. If this really got her out of Wroat, then maybe it was worth it.

  But she hated waiting the most.

  Seren slipped back into the streets, avoiding the main roads as best she could. She cursed the rain again as it instantly soaked her cloak and clung to her bare legs. No one was in the streets at this time of night, no crowd to fade into. Anyone outside at this time of night would look suspicious. Though she was a fairly talented thief, her face was not unknown to the City Watch. Recognition was inevitable, Jamus had said. Just as even the finest tailor sometimes stuck himself with a needle; all the finest thieves got caught. Even Seren had visited the city’s prison.

  All things considered, her brief stay in the dungeon had been comfortable. The cells weren’t the dank, shadowed affairs she expected but were in fact surprisingly clean and dry. Her cellmate was a quiet old woman who kept to herself. Seren never even knew why she was there and hadn’t wanted to pry. Warden Thomas was a polite and courteous young man. He had seemed a bit taken with Seren, so she flirted innocently to pass the time. The more she flirted back, the more the quality of her food improved. It would have been a rather pleasant stay overall if it hadn’t been, well, prison.

  After a few weeks as a guest of the King (as Jamus called it), Seren had been turned out on the streets. As large a city as Wroat was, its prisons were extremely crowded with all manner of serious criminals. There simply was no room for a minor offender like Seren, so it was not unusual to be set free after such a short time if you knew better than to make trouble for the guards. Yet forgiveness did not imply forgetfulness. The Wroat City Watch was annoyingly vigilant. They kept a list of known thieves, and hardly a week went by that she was not harassed on suspicion of one crime or another, usually a matter in which she had no involvement.

  Ironically it was her innocence that had earned her something of a reputation with the city watchmen. Seren sometimes found it difficult to control her temper, and more than one guard had been on the receiving end of a scathing verbal assault when she knew she had a solid alibi. One such event had even led to her being thrown into the prisons again after making a particularly brutal comment about a high-ranking watchman’s parentage. It had only been for a night, and it was nice to see Warden Thomas again, but Seren had tried to control her temper and avoid the Watch since then—especially on nights like tonight, when she actually had been up to no good and was still carrying the fruits of her illicit labor in a burlap sack on her hip.

  The sound of heavy boots approached from around the corner. Seren fell into a crouch and ducked behind a rain barrel. She could hear the creak of armor and the metal clank of swords as they slapped against armored legs. A cold chill spread down her back; a stream of water spilled from a leak in the gutter directly onto her shoulders, soaking through her cloak and adding to her general misery. She grimaced and stayed where she was. She feared that if she shifted position the new sound of water striking cobblestones might alert the guards.

  The footsteps drew closer, stopping near the barrels. Seren peered up to see the backs of two watchmen, standing uncomfortably close to her. They didn’t seem interested in much besides stepping out of the rain, but she quieted her breathing and hunched lower anyway.

  “Damn this weather,” one of the guards grumbled. “First night I have patrol in a week and it rains like this. Can’t believe they expect us to walk the streets on a night like this.”

  If the guards hated walking in it, Seren thought to herself, maybe they should try climbing in it. Preferably now, somewhere far away from here, so she could get out from under the leak and leave.

  “Typical,” the other watchman answered. “Someone up there doesn’t like us I guess, Rolf.”

  Someone down here doesn’t like you much either. Leave!

  “Well it’s not as if anything is even going on tonight, Shain,” the watchman who apparently was named Rolf countered. “Nobody in their right mind would be out on a night like tonight.”

  Seren had no argument.

  “Mmm-hm,” came the other guard’s agreement. She heard the dry hiss of a match striking stone, followed by the faint smell of burning herb.

  “No thanks, trying to quit,” Rolf said to some unspoken offer. “Wife can’t stand washing the smoke smell out of my armor.”

  “You sure?” said the other. “Karrnathi cigars. They’re the best.”

  “Aren’t those expensive?”

  “Host, yes,” Officer Shain said. “This pack cost me a week’s pay, but they’re worth it. Finest smoke in Eberron.”

  “Doris would kill you if she knew you spent that kind of money on cigars.”

  “That’s why I offered you one,” Shain said. “So you don’t tell her.”

  A long pause. Thunder cracked overhead, and the stream of rain on Seren’s back came down a bit more forcefully. “Very well, then,” Rolf said. “May as well enjoy ourselves and wait for this rain to die down.”

  Seren gritted her teeth and clutched her knees with both arms, trying to preserve what warmth she could. She suspected she had never hated two people as much in her entire life as she did these two watchmen. She shivered uncontrollably. She would have to risk moving out from under the leak and hope they were too stupid to notice. If she stayed here any longer they would hear her teeth chatter anyway. She crawled slowly, looking up at the guards as the water fell gently on the street. Seren scowled. Somehow it irritated her that they didn’t even notice the sound after she’d suffered so much not to draw any attention. Shaking her head, she began to crawl deeper into the alley.

  A sudden shudder passed through her and, despite her best efforts to control herself, she sneezed. Seren slapped herself in the face.

  “Who goes there?” Rolf shouted, holding up his lantern and flooding the alley with light.

  “Show yourself!” said Shain.

  Seren peered back and tried her best to lo
ok innocent, which she found a somewhat difficult prospect crawling on her hands and knees in a garbage strewn alley at night during a thunderstorm. She held out her hands so that they could see she held no weapons and slowly rose, turning to face them. She made sure to keep her hood’s shadows over her face but held her cloak open so they could see the rest of her. Watchmen, especially young watchmen, tended to be a bit more easily distracted when they saw she was a girl. Sure enough, Officer Shain stopped wrestling with his crossbow strap and left the weapon hanging at his belt.

  “Who are you?” Rolf demanded. “Why are you hiding?”

  “There’s a simple explanation,” Seren said, keeping a charming lilt in her voice despite her chattering teeth.

  Rolf lowered his lantern a bit and looked at her warily. “What is it?”

  Seren pretended to sneeze to buy time. She couldn’t think of anything they’d be likely to believe, but at least she had stalled long enough to stand up and get a good look at them. Both guards were somewhat overweight and wore the cumbersome chain mail that was part of their typical uniform. They still hadn’t seen her face. Seren doubled over in a fake sneezing fit, then heaved the rain barrel at their legs and ran off through the alleys.

  “Get her!” Rolf cried, jumping back as the heavy barrel rolled past. The clang of a loud bell followed as he did everything he could to summon his fellow watchmen.

  Seren wove and ducked as she ran, trying to present a small and random target. She didn’t expect the guards to shoot their crossbows, but she wasn’t willing to risk it. Lightning crashed overhead, throwing the alleys into a flash of daylight brilliance. In that moment of clarity she saw a mounted watchman in the intersection ahead, looking toward the clamor. Not willing to attempt outrunning a horse, Seren stopped abruptly and ran back to an unmarked door she had passed.

  Well, that was what she intended to do, at least. In reality she tried to turn and found the rain slicked alley unwilling to cooperate. Her feet slipped out from under her and she skidded through the mud and garbage to stop near the horseman. She looked up at the point of a hastily drawn sword and tried to smile demurely. Given that she was flat on her back and covered with filth, the guard was unimpressed.