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

by Marsheila Rockwell

  Elix began speaking as she set her glass on the table and watched the thick liquid slosh back and forth in tiny, ever-diminishing waves.

  “Now that Sabira is here, perhaps you’d care to give us a little more detail about the job you have for her?” he prompted, surprising Sabira enough to make her look up from her drink. She’d assumed Elix knew what the job was, since he’d come all the way from Vulyar to make sure she took it, even knowing she’d already quit the Marshals. Why would Breven enlist his aid in getting her to return to Karrnath for this mission and then withhold the details from him? Sabira found her interest piquing in spite of herself.

  Mountainheart regarded Elix for a moment, as if gauging how much he could say in front of the captain. Then he gave a small shrug.

  “Very well,” he said, scratching his chin and toying with one of the battle beads in his beard as he spoke.

  “Recently, there have been a number of murders of prominent dwarven citizens. Each was slain in a similar fashion, with no witnesses to the crime and no clues to be found at the scene.”

  Sabira waited expectantly for the dwarf to resume his narrative, but all he did was to scratch his chin again and continue to play with that damnable bead.

  “And?” she asked finally, letting her exasperation leak into her voice.

  This was what Breven had broken his word for? To get her to play Inquisitive? It was a ridiculous thought. The Sentinel Marshals weren’t in the business of solving crimes; their task was to bring the criminals to justice, no matter where they might be hiding.

  When Mountainheart continued to hesitate, Sabira leaned forward, ignoring Elix’s warning look and the quick shake of his head. Diplomacy wasn’t her game; she’d never played it well, and she wasn’t about to start now.

  “In case you’re somehow confused, this is House Deneith. We,” she spat, the word acid on her tongue, but not nearly as caustic as the look she threw Elix, “do the following: fight wars, protect people, and apprehend criminals. If you’re looking for someone to solve a string of murders for you, then you’re in the wrong place. Try House Medani, or Tharashk—that’s their line of work, not ours.” Sabira had to fight to contain her ire. She’d given up her brooch for this?

  She pushed back her chair and stood.

  “If that’s all, then I think we’re done here. I have an actual job waiting for me, and you’ve wasted quite enough of my time.”

  The dwarf’s own anger had been building during her tirade, and he snapped back at her with equal intensity.

  “I don’t know who you think you are—”

  “I’m a Sentinel Marshal,” Sabira interrupted, ignoring the voice in her head screaming was! was! “And I’ve had enough of this. If you are unable, or unwilling, to cooperate fully—and by fully, I mean disclosing all pertinent information, no matter how damning, or secret, or whatever it is that’s keeping you from revealing it—then I can’t help you, Baron’s orders or no Baron’s orders. And by can’t—”

  “—she means won’t,” Elix finished for her, rising to stand himself. Sabira looked over at him, surprised and gratified by his support.

  Mountainheart immediately stiffened in his seat.

  “But you said Baron Breven—” he began, but Elix cut him off.

  “—would never order a Marshal to commit suicide, which is exactly what Sabira would be doing if she went into this without sufficient, accurate information,” the captain finished smoothly, and Sabira marveled again at how much he’d changed. “So let’s either put aside the posturing and be honest with one another or let’s end this now.”

  Mountainheart’s eyes narrowed as he looked from Elix to her, and back again.

  “Yes, let’s do be honest with each other,” the dwarf finally replied after a moment, his voice thick with disgust as he eyed Elix darkly. Sabira had a feeling there was some undercurrent to this exchange that she was missing, and it was only confirmed by Mountainheart’s next words. “Would you like to begin, Captain, or shall I?”

  Elix was unruffled, gesturing graciously to the dwarf to proceed as he resumed his seat and motioned for Sabira to do the same.

  “Very well,” Mountainheart huffed, scratching his chin and twisting that same bead, an uncut bloodstone that signified his first kill. Sabira was beginning to think he had a nervous tic. Either that or his beard was infested with vermin.

  “As I said, over the past few months, there has been a rash of unsolved murders in the Holds. The victims have all been wealthy scholars, and—”

  “You mean members of the Aurum,” Sabira interjected. She wanted to see just how forthcoming the dwarf was willing to be.

  Mountainheart’s nostrils flared, but he gave no other sign of his irritation at her interruption.

  “Yes. Members of the Aurum. You’ve spent time in the Holds,” he said, addressing Sabira. “You know that we dwarves would not normally seek outside help in such a matter, and this is doubly true for the Aurum. However, there are a number of factors that make this situation … abnormal.”

  “Such as?”

  “The manner of their deaths, for one.”

  When he seemed inclined to scratch his chin again, Sabira hurriedly prompted him to continue.

  “So how did they die?”

  Mountainheart took a sip of Onatar’s Blood before responding, almost as if he were fortifying himself against what he was about to say next.

  “Their eyes had been plucked out—from all appearances, by their own hands—and then eaten; pieces that hadn’t yet been swallowed were found in two of the victims’ mouths. And after that, they were beheaded.”

  He paused again, but this time Sabira had no urge to hurry him along. Because she knew what was coming next.

  “It’s almost the exact method—”

  “—used by Nightshard,” she finished flatly, her stomach suddenly lodged somewhere between her heart and her throat. “But he’s dead. I saw him die myself.” And she had; the assassin had taken Leoned with him.

  “Yes,” Mountainheart agreed. “But the suspect in custody has intimate knowledge of those killings, which unfortunately is going to make it very hard to prove his innocence.”

  What? They’d already arrested someone? Then what by Olladra’s golden purse strings did they need her for?

  And perhaps more important, who had they arrested?

  “Don’t make me drag it out of you, Mountainheart,” she warned, her voice tight with dread and danger. “Who’s the suspect?”

  “My uncle,” the dwarf answered, hedging, and Sabira knew this was the crux of the matter—why Breven wanted her for this job and why the envoy was so reluctant to answer.

  Sabira’s growl was audible.

  “He’s also a member of the Aurum, which of course complicates—”

  “Who?”

  Mountainheart took a deep breath, and then just blurted it out.

  “Aggar Tordannon.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Mol, Nymm 9, 998 YK

  Stormreach, Xen’drik.

  No, Elix! I won’t do it! I won’t go back. Not for him.”

  She’d stormed out of the room after Mountainheart’s revelation, Elix chasing after her. He caught up with her in the hallway and guided her into a nearby empty room, which turned out to be a library. She rounded on him in a fit of fury and grief.

  “How can Breven even think of asking me to do this? How can Aggar?” She was as close to tears as she could remember being in years, and the realization only made her angrier.

  “Saba, you know you’re the only logical choice—not just because of your past with Aggar but because the dwarves trust you. No other Marshal would get the access they’ll give you. You’re like some sort of folk hero to them.” His tone softened and turned playful as he tried to calm her. “What’s that song that Tordannon bard wrote about you?

  Eyes of mithral

  And skin of gold

  Hair like fire

  But heart so cold.”

  “Silver,
” Sabira corrected automatically. At any other time, she’d joke back with him—flirt, even, for she knew Elix had had feelings for her once. She’d argue that her eyes were closer to lowly pewter than to any of the more precious metals and wait for him to rebut her. But not now. She couldn’t joke about this.

  “Look, Saba,” Elix said earnestly, no longer teasing, “I know this is bound to bring up some painful memories, and I’m sorry for that, but you have to deal with them sometime. You’re needed.”

  “Oh, really?” Sabira bit back, incensed. “And have you taken any assignments down in the Talenta Plains since Jayce died there?”

  Elix’s eyes went wide, as if she’d struck him, and she felt a momentary pang of regret. But it paled in comparison to the burden of guilt she carried, and she would not apologize.

  “It’s only been one year, not seven. And if I were called there tomorrow, I would go. I’m a Marshal; it’s my job.”

  “Going to the Holds is one thing, Elix, and I might consider it—might, eventually—but going there to help Aggar? He’s the one who got Leoned killed; if he’d just stayed where he was supposed to, and hadn’t followed me …” she couldn’t finish the thought; that well-trod path led only to pain. She glared up at him, Leoned’s cousin and closest friend, who’d loved him as much as she had. Or so she thought.

  “It was Aggar’s fault!” she spat fiercely, but the last word came out sounding like a sob.

  “It wasn’t his fault, Saba,” Elix chided gently, reaching out a hand to hold her chin up and force her gaze to meet his when she would have looked away. “And it wasn’t yours, either.”

  She closed her eyes against the sympathy and concern she saw in his face. She wanted to believe him, needed to … but she just couldn’t. If she hadn’t left Leoned alone, Nightshard would never have been able to capture him. To torture him, in that horrible cave, with no one to hear his screams.

  “Ned was a Defender. More than that, he was a Deneith, my aunt’s marriage into the ir’Thul family notwithstanding. He knew what it means to bear that name—knew the rewards and the risks. He wouldn’t want you to blame yourself for his death, and he’d never want you to refuse a request for aid because of him—especially not Aggar’s request. Ned cared about him. You both did, once.”

  Which only makes it that much harder, Sabira thought. She didn’t think she’d ever be able to forgive the dwarf for the part he played in Leoned’s death. Any more than she could forgive herself.

  She felt Elix’s hand, soft on her cheek, brushing away traitor wetness. When she opened her eyes, she saw an answering sparkle in his.

  “Leoned wouldn’t hesitate to take this assignment if he were still alive, you know that. He’s not here anymore; he can’t do it. But you are, and you can. Do what he can’t, Saba. Not for Aggar, not for the Marshals, but for him. So he can finally rest in peace. So you both can.”

  He held her gaze for a long moment, finally dropping his hand and taking a small step back, unsure of what he saw there.

  “Saba?”

  “I still can’t believe Breven would ask this of me. He made me a promise,” she whispered, her voice thick with suppressed rage and tears she would not, Host help her, shed.

  “He didn’t ask you, Saba.” Elix said, his chin lifting and his jaw tightening, as though he were expecting a blow. “I did.”

  “You …?”

  “The letter was from me.”

  Sabira felt as if she’d been hit square in the chest with a barbed quarrel—one that had been pulled back out the way it came in, rending flesh as it went. Only the last time that had happened, it hadn’t hurt this badly. And that wound had eventually healed, leaving a jagged two-inch scar. This one … this one would not.

  She groped behind her for the nearest chair and lowered herself slowly into it, not trusting her knees to hold her. Her thoughts raced as she went over in her mind the letter she’d thought was from Breven. She would have sworn the phrasing and the signature were both his, but any Sentinel Marshal with more than a few years’ experience knew both so intimately, it would not be hard to mimic one and forge the other. The letter hadn’t borne the Baron’s personal seal; instead it had been the chimera of House Deneith. That wasn’t so unusual, in and of itself, but considering the nature of the assignment, the lack should have tipped her off. Would have, if she’d had any reason to suspect duplicity. But she hadn’t. Not from Breven; not about this.

  Then again, she would never have expected it from Elix, either, and yet here they were. She stared up at him, at the once familiar and even cherished face that now looked as alien to her as that of any of the denizens of Xoriat.

  “Why, Elix? Why would you do this to me?” she whispered at last, not even caring how broken and lost her words sounded.

  “How else was I going to get you to come home?” he asked, looking pained.

  When she didn’t respond, he sighed and dropped to one knee in front of her.

  “If there were anyone else, don’t you think I would have gotten them? You’re the only one who can do this. Aggar needs you, and we need the Tordannons. And you’ve been gone so long, and you never answered any of my letters. I just needed to see y—”

  But she’d stopped listening, having heard all she needed to.

  So. He’d betrayed her trust to keep the Tordannons happy, to make sure their weapons kept pouring into Deneith’s armories.

  She should have known. After all, building that relationship had been the main reason she and Leoned had originally been sent to the Holds to guard the Tordannon heir. And her killing of Aggar’s would-be assassin—along with Ned’s death—had cemented the partnership with mortar made of equal parts guilt and gratitude.

  By rights, that ought to have been enough.

  For seven years, it had been.

  But now, the alliance built on Ned’s coffin was in danger, and so the House was calling her back, whether she would —whether she could—or no. Because the needs of the House always outweighed the needs of any of its individual members.

  And Elix was, first and foremost, a Deneith, and he’d protect the House’s interests at all costs. He’d said it himself.

  “I don’t know why I’m surprised. I mean, you gave me fair warning. ‘I’m a Marshal. It’s my job,’ ” she spat, viciously parroting his words back to him. “I didn’t know that job included lying to your friends and stabbing them in the back, but maybe they’ve changed the requirements since I earned my brooch.

  “So I guess it’s a good thing that I don’t have it anymore.”

  She cut off Elix’s protest before he could give it voice.

  “Don’t. Just … don’t.”

  She made her way to the library door and reached out to open it.

  “Saba. Please. I’m sorry, but—”

  Her hand stilled on the handle, but she didn’t turn.

  “I don’t care. Find someone else to save the House’s trading partnership with the Tordannons. As of tomorrow, I’m gone. And you needn’t bother sending any letters after me this time, real or forged. I won’t be coming back to Karrnath. Ever.”

  Then she stepped from the room without so much as a backward glance, slamming the door on Elix and on her life as a Marshal.

  Mountainheart jumped up from his seat when she returned to the sitting room.

  “Finally! I was beginning to think you’d completely forgotten the Tordannon hand signals.”

  She’d just been going back to retrieve her cloak and had had no intention of even speaking to the dwarf. But his words brought her up short.

  The hand signals. The chin scratching and bead twisting. Of course.

  He’d been trying to tell her they needed to speak privately … either that, or that her beard needed trimming, which hardly seemed likely.

  Not that it mattered.

  “You’re too late. I’ve resigned my commission; I’m no longer a Marshal. I did it before you even got here—Elix probably forgot to mention that little detail, didn’t he?
Seems he’s gotten pretty good at keeping secrets since I left,” she said as she reached down and retrieved her still-damp cloak from the hearth. “So whatever it is you wanted to say, save it. I’m not going back to the Holds with you, and neither Breven nor Elix can compel me to, now.”

  She turned away from him and took two steps toward the door before his next words stopped her where she stood.

  “I don’t need them. I have Sollego.”

  Sabira turned back slowly to face the dwarf, who was regarding her with an unpleasant smirk.

  “I’m actually a bit surprised,” he continued in a conversational tone, casually buffing his rings on his tunic. “My uncle told me you were a smart player; that you played like a dwarf. I guess that changed after you left the Holds, because no dwarf worth the name would be stupid enough to bet money they didn’t have.”

  Sabira’s eyes narrowed.

  “So I owe the gang a few galifars. So what?”

  “Actually, you no longer owe Sollego anything. I purchased your debt from him—at a considerable markup, I might add.” The smirk became a full-fledged grin, the movement making the beads in his black beard clatter together. “Now, you owe me.”

  Sabira swallowed. Owing a dwarf money was a deadly serious matter, even more so than owing a gang leader like Sollego. Sollego might rough her up, even maim her, but that’s as far as he would go, because his ultimate concern was getting his money back, and his ability to do so would be severely hampered if she were a corpse. A dwarf, on the other hand, had more at stake than mere money—his honor and very clan status were on the line. A dwarf who could not collect his debts was no dwarf at all.

  You could tell a lot about what was important to a race by the words they used and the words they didn’t. Dwarves, for instance, had more than two hundred words for “family” and nearly as many for “wealth.” But the only word they had for someone who defaulted on a loan was “dead.”