The Inquisitives [4] The Darkwood Mask

by Jeff LaSala

  “You first,” the woman said, pointing her blade at Soneste and then waving it northward. Beyond the curtain of shadow, she could see Korth’s waterfront. “You’re staying in front of me, you and your walking shield.”

  Soneste complied, pulling Aegis with her. “Thank you for disobeying me,” she whispered to the warforged. “You saved my life, I think.”

  “It is what I said I’d do, Mistress,” Aegis said. “Sometimes I succeed.”

  “I’ll never forgive you for hurting them like that,” Soneste heard Haedrun say to Tallis.

  The Karrn grunted. “Now let’s see if I can forgive you.”

  When they passed through the curtain of shadow, the natural lights of Korth’s early hours returned. The Storm Moon hung full overhead, casting its flickering image into the dark waters of King’s Bay.

  Tallis watched the inquisitive, Soneste, as she walked in front of him. She moved with the easy gait of a natural thief. What was her part in all this? He was glad to have found Haedrun again—at last, he was getting somewhere—but he couldn’t stop wondering about Soneste. Had she followed him to the Market, shadowed him all day? Did she know of the Midwife?

  Answers for later.

  “Brelander,” he said, deliberately adding a derisive tone to the imprecise term. When she looked back at him over her shoulder, he looked pointedly at the warforged and the hooked hammer he carried. “I would very much like my property back.”

  “And I would very much like mine returned,” she answered.

  “Naturally. A trade, then?”

  The inquisitive looked to the warforged. “Give it to him, Aegis.”

  “Mistress, are you sure?”

  “Yes. Can you wield this?” She held her rapier out to the warforged, which gleamed in the moonlight. Was that the same weapon he’d tossed over the bluff’s edge just yesterday? He’d thought for sure it would have been nabbed quickly. Every Karrn knew a good blade when he saw it.

  The bulky construct eyed the slender, fine-pointed blade. “I’d … rather not.”

  Despite himself, Tallis nearly laughed. They made their exchange.

  Soneste retained both her sword and the curious, violet-tinged dagger. The warforged seemed content without a weapon. Tallis knew the thick buckler attached to its forearm was weapon enough.

  The hooked hammer came into his hands with pleasing familiarity, like an old friend. It seemed so long ago that he’d lost it, but it’d only been three days. He pulled a handkerchief from his coat and did his best to wipe the pick’s head clean of blood. Fortunately, mithral was easier to clean than most metals.

  His arm still hurt from his injury—it needed to be dressed soon. He shook the thought away and looked to Haedrun. The Red Watcher was eyeing Soneste as if she expected an explanation, but Haedrun herself had much to explain.

  Haedrun led them in a wide, staggered line out to the waterfront, steering clear of the White Lion patrol routes. She kept furtive watch behind them, ensuring that none followed without her observance. Only the odd sailor or vagrant marked their passing, but she seemed unconcerned with these.

  They came to an empty and precarious pier whose repair had clearly not been a high priority after the war. Where the dock touched the wharf, a dilapidated warehouse with shattered windows stood, silent as a corpse. When Haedrun led them through a broken door, Tallis noticed that part of the building was still in use. Against the south wall, lumber was stacked nearly to the rafters. The walls shielded them from the wind but did nothing to neutralize the cold air.

  Shadows stirred at the base of the woodpile.

  Tallis pushed Soneste aside and swept the curved hook of his weapon low to the ground. A man, armored much like Haedrun, tumbled to the ground. He cursed and looked up at Tallis, rubbing at his shins. “I wasn’t going to attack.” The rogue climbed to his feet and slipped the dagger in his hand away.

  “Any more shadows?” Tallis asked Haedren.

  “Just the one,” she answered, then flicked her eyes at Soneste. “You’re bringing someone I don’t know. It’s only fair. He’s one of us and a friend I can trust.”

  “What we have to talk about doesn’t concern him.” He looked to the stranger. “Get out, or I’ll make certain you don’t hear.”

  Haedrun sighed, then looked to the man. “Just guard the door. We’ll be fine.”

  As the other Red Watcher disappeared outside the door, Haedrun led Tallis to the open space at the center of the warehouse. Soneste watched them carefully, eyeing every shadow and following behind. The warforged joined her but kept its smoldering blue eyes upon the door.

  “You know what happened, Haedrun. You gave me that job, so talk.”

  “I know,” she started, not looking him in the eye.

  “You gave me the information. I accepted, went precisely where you told me, and it was a setup! Ir’Montevik isn’t even in town.”

  She looked him in the eyes. “The source was good. Something … must have changed.”

  “Who was your source? Another Watcher?”

  “No,” she said. “My superiors didn’t even know about this job.”

  Tallis felt some measure of relief. He didn’t want to hear that the Red Watchers had been compromised. The organization was young and entirely too small. He wouldn’t join them, but he wanted them to do well.

  She went on. “This wouldn’t have been sanctioned by the Watchers, not without more information, especially with ir’Montevik staying at the Ebonspire. That’s why I turned to you, Tallis.”

  “What was it?” he asked.

  “I received a tip that ir’Montevik was coming to Korth to visit the Temple of the Blessed Lineage to make a delivery of scrolls—something new, spells that could disguise the undead … make them look, feel, even smell like living, so they’d be able to walk the streets openly, gather in untold numbers wherever the Seekers wanted them.”

  “Sounds like something the Ministry of the Dead would know about,” Tallis said.

  “No,” Haedrun replied. “This is something else. These spells could affect great numbers and last a very long time.”

  “Who was your informant?”

  “It’s not that simple.”

  “Damn it, Haedrun! I watched two children run through by the killer!”

  The woman’s eyes widened. “Sovereign Host,” she breathed. “I’d heard the Brelish had his family there, but I … didn’t know.”

  “Two children, Haedrun. Just like yours. They didn’t deserve to die. The job you gave me led the killer right to them.”

  Haedrun’s eyes misted, and she blinked, trying to counter grief with rage. The Red Watcher looked away, fighting with herself. Guilt tore into Tallis like a torrent of knives, but he couldn’t let those responsible for all of this get away with it. What—and who—was she hiding?

  “Their names were Rennet and Vestra.”

  They both looked to Aegis, who had spoken the words, its crystal eyes burning like blue fire. Of course, the warforged had been guarding Gamnon’s family before Tallis had disabled it. Tallis had probably spared the construct from dying itself at the hands of the assassin. Aegis seemed a formidable warrior, but it couldn’t have stopped the killer any more than Tallis.

  Beside the warforged, Soneste did not take her eyes from Haedrun. Tallis realized that the Brelish had probably been the one called in to examine the bodies of the victims. She’d seen the aftermath, all the blood.…

  “Who gave you all this information?” she asked. “That’s who sent the assassin.”

  Haedrun held her blade up and turned furious eyes on Soneste. “Don’t you dare accuse me!”

  “Just tell me,” Tallis said quietly.

  Haedrun shook her head in disbelief, as if trying to deny the events that had unfolded. Aegis turned sharply to face the door, but Tallis continued to watch Haedrun carefully. She was his—and probably Soneste’s—only lead.

  Haedrun wiped her eyes angrily then sighed. “There was an elf I’d been following
in Atur. He was Red Watcher material, but I had to be sure about him before I said anything else. One night, he approached me first. He’d known I was following him. He claimed to be a member of Aerenal’s Deathguard. That’s when he told me about ir’Montevik and the scrolls … he must have been working for the Seekers—”

  “Mistress!” Aegis interrupted. “The guard is gone.”

  Haedrun and Tallis looked to the broken door, where the other Red Watcher had exited to stand guard.

  Soneste had drawn her rapier and looked up. “Above us!” she shouted.

  Interlude

  At night, the window of the man’s room was shuttered tight. There were no lights within, but what did it matter as he sat alone in the dark with only his living memories as company?

  Lord Charoth enters my workroom. His manner is imposing, as always, and his expression evinces the temper for which he is well known. He is not happy with me. “Where is this new ‘servant’ of yours, Erevyn?”

  “My lord, it is good to see you again. Welcome back.”

  My assistant appears in the doorway and pauses, uncertain whether he is permitted to enter at this time. Charoth looks over to him in obvious astonishment.

  I realize, perhaps for the first time, that my assistant is not easily defined. I did not construct him for war—only to assist me with the delicate work of our unusual creation schemas. His mind is keen, his manipulation of the relics demonstrative of his skill. Sverak has been an asset to me and to the facility.

  As the director looks upon him now, I realize for the first time how frail he must appear.

  Sverak would resemble a common warforged if he had been built with the usual composite plating that protects the more integral framework, but I did not intend him to see combat at all. I expected he would not have the need to physically defend himself. His darkwood body is banded at the joints with metal strips. Silver and steel components do comprise his torso, needed to bind the living fibers and the creation patterns together. Even Sverak’s head and face are narrow, no wider than a human skull. The simple, hinged jaw common to most warforged forms an apathetic rictus.

  Despite my assistant’s singularity, the Orphanage is still an engine of war. As I look upon the livid face of my superior, I realize that my accomplishment with Sverak may be construed as impudence.

  My assistant looks to me for guidance.

  “What … have you done, Erevyn?”

  “My lord, Sverak has been invaluable to my work—to our work.” I turn to my assistant. “Sverak, this is Lord Charoth Arkenen d’Cannith.”

  The warforged is barely three months old, but he already knows who Charoth is—the man everyone in the facility knows and respects. And in truth, fears. Many have been demoted or released from service under his unforgiving management.

  Lord Charoth looks back to me, and I wonder if I, too, will soon be released.

  He strikes the ground with his staff. “Warforged are not mere novelties, Erevyn, to be adopted as pets or homunculi for the serving.”

  “I know that, my lord.” He must give me time to explain how much Sverak has accomplished for me—for us all—in three short months.

  “No, you do not,” he says with terrible calm. “You, to whom the workers of this facility look for guidance and leadership—a minister of the house, an example of what they aspire to be!—do not understand at all.”

  Lord Charoth steps close to me, his tall frame more imposing in close proximity. The smile of approval that all who answer to him crave, it is gone for me. Instead, this frown of disappointment weighs upon me.

  “House Cannith produces many great things, and the warforged are our crowning achievement, yet we do not simply create walking constructs to fight a tragic war in the stead of living men. We have spent thousands upon thousands of man hours designing the training programs needed to give these living weapons the proper psychological instruction to do what they must. These programs teach strategy, the concepts of life and death, the tenets of war, but most of all they teach obedience. Obedience to their makers and to those who purchase them.”

  I swallow and struggle to find my voice. “Lord, I assure you, Sverak is obedient, and he is more intelligent by far, more capable than—”

  “There is a reason we make no exceptions to these rules, Erevyn. Do you recall the early experiments of sensory deprivation? Select units were buried alive. For weeks. Months.”

  “Yes, lord. I know.” Denied anything to occupy their minds or explain their perceptions, they went insane. “But this place—here, at my side, there is no such risk.”

  Sverak steps into the room now. He is always concerned for me. It must unsettle my sensitive assistant.

  “Esteemed director,” Sverak says to him. “Please do not concern yourself with such trivialities. I am lucid.”

  Charoth whirls on Sverak, aiming a wand at him as he does. “Do not presume you can address me!”

  Sverak stares back at him without a word.

  Charoth faces me again. His hand touches my shoulder, briefly, and his grip is strong. Agitated. “Keep it here with you. I must think on this. We will revisit this soon, Erevyn, I promise you. Perhaps the creation energies you have wasted can be salvaged still.”

  Chapter

  SEVENTEEN

  Crossing Blades

  Zol, the 10th of Sypheros, 998 YK

  An inexplicable chill sank through Soneste as she felt more than saw shifting in the darkness of the rafters above. A shadow had separated from the rest, moving with preternatural grace. Soft as a whisper, it sprang from beam to beam, almost directly overhead.

  “Above us!”

  Like a creature borne on the wind, the nebulous shape floated down from the shadows, led by a long blade. Tallis turned sharply, bringing the curved head of his weapon to deflect a strike aimed directly at Haedrun. The blade was turned aside, but the figure—little more than an indistinct, humanoid shadow—had anticipated Tallis’s deflection. It kicked sideways, the force of the blow pushing him back. He stumbled, trying to keep his feet.

  The fluidity of the assailant’s form unnerved her. Soneste hesitated, then steeled her will and raised her weapon against it. At the same moment, Haedrun surged forward with her own sword.

  A second blade appeared in the assailant’s other hand, and it parried both attacks with ease. Aegis ran to join the fray, leading with his shield. Nearly surrounded, the figure vaulted backward, the rapier-blades vanishing in the same motion.

  Soneste’s mind raced. Was this was the Ebonspire assassin? Tallis had recovered himself and braced his hooked hammer again, his face twisted in loathing.

  “What is this thing?” Haedrun shouted.

  “Use magic!” Tallis said. Soneste saw him pull a black wand from a pocket of his coat. “The bloody thing can’t be harmed with weapons.”

  Soneste focused on the shape of their enemy, who paused at a distance and appeared to study the four of them with unseen eyes. She had only one power that had ever proven effective in a fight, a mental trick that could force an opponent to repeat its previous action. She recalled the assailant’s last maneuver—a brief retreat—and willed it to effect the same action again immediately.

  After a moment’s concentration, Soneste exerted her will, but she felt the invisible power disperse around the assassin’s mind as if unable to find purchase. In the same instant, the creature sprang into motion, advancing again without fear. The twin blades seemed to unfold from nowhere with blinding speed, appearing in its grasp again.

  Aegis was there to intercept, striking out with one empty hand to accept the assassin’s attack. One blade skittered off the composite plating, while the other stabbed clear through the wood components of his arm. Entangled, the assassin was unable to move clear of Aegis’s true attack. The buckler on his left arm crashed into its body, slamming it to the ground. Soneste heard the bang of metal against metal—was the assassin armored beneath its raiment of shadow? regardless, they could hit it.

  Tallis
and Haedrun were ready, standing beside one another as in a military formation. Soneste could see that they’d fought side by side before.

  The assassin gained its feet in one fluid motion, dodged another heavy swing from the warforged, then stabbed both rapier-blades through the center of Aegis’s artificial body. A dark, alchemical fluid leaked from the exit wound at his back. The warforged dropped loudly to the floor and lay inert. Soneste cursed.

  Tallis pointed his wand at the assassin and a narrow beam of fire stabbed through the air. When it struck the assassin, the fire flickered harmlessly away.

  “Khyber,” Tallis cursed, abandoning the wand. He stepped in front of Haedrun, ready to engage it.

  The assassin closed the distance. Tallis swung—

  —and the creature danced around him with liquid grace, focusing its attack fully upon Haedrun.

  The Red Watcher was ready for it, watching the flashing blades with a veteran’s eye. She countered one rapier then sent the second blade out wide. Still the assassin was too fast. It spun its body in a complete circuit, stabbing with both blades at frightening speed. She cleared the first …

  Her defenses opened.

  The assassin’s second blade pierced the stiff, boiled leather of Haedrun’s armor and slid deep into her body, stopping only when the creature’s shadowy hand struck the leather. The woman hissed from the pain, lacking the breath or focus to do anything else.

  “Sovereigns,” Tallis gasped, taking that moment to bring the hammered end of his weapon into the assassin’s back at full force.

  The loud slam of metal shook the thing’s body. It did not react to the blow, evincing no pain at all. It merely pulled its blade from Haedrun’s chest. A steady river of blood followed the length of metal out.

  Soneste reached out and caught the woman in her arms. If she could have one moment of peace, perhaps she could stem the flow of blood and save Haedrun! She carried bandages, even a minor healing draught.

  Dol Arrah, she prayed, let her live!

  Tallis struck again, reversing the weapon and bringing the sharp pick’s head against the assassin’s back. She saw the figure jerk as the pick caught somewhere on its body. Although she was unable to gauge its wounds—uncertain if the creature could even suffer injury—Soneste knew it was still a very real threat. Tallis had settled into a soldier’s calm, focused now that he discovered he could actually strike the enemy.