by Jeff LaSala
“I’d planned to stay the morning at my engagement, but the urgency of one of my favorite clients lured me back this early. Business first. I’m certain your reasons—and your gold—are worth it?”
“I am sorry,” he said and blew out a sigh. “The circumstances aren’t optimal for me, either.”
The halfling’s teasing vanished. She slid from her seat and walked directly in front on him, looking up at him with professional scrutiny. Even at half his size, the Midwife’s manner was imposing. Tallis always felt sleightly uncomfortable in her presence. She was a mage of considerable power. Not for the first time, he wondered if she’d studied in the Tower of the Twelve. If she had any blood connections to either House Jorasco or House Ghallanda—the dragonmarked houses of healing and hospitality—she never said. Not that she, of all people, would ever reveal her true identity to anyone.
“You’re alone,” she stated simply, “and my friends suggest that you’re not just fetching papers for another stray who needs to disappear. This is about the dead Brelish, right?”
Stray. The Midwife’s term for those who were wanted by the law, bounty hunters, or the murder-minded. Tallis had come to the Midwife many times to secure new identification papers for unfortunates who needed to disappear … usually the innocent servants or enemies of those he’d killed or financially ruined.
The Midwife had earned her epithet for just this reason. She ushered births into the world, not of new lives but of new identities. The halfling employed natural skill and tailored magic to create flawless identification papers that held up to intense scrutiny. Tallis knew of not a single instance in which her false papers were discovered for the counterfeits they were. He believed she could convincingly recreate identification papers for Kaius III.
The Midwife’s services were not cheap. Given the amount of gold he alone had poured into her coffers, along with her numerous other anonymous clients, Tallis knew she had to be one of Korth’s wealthiest citizens. He may have been a favored client of hers, but even Tallis didn’t know her real name. He doubted her own gang knew her story.
“Yes,” he admitted. “I’m the stray. If I just run from this, I’ll always be looking behind me. Hyran, Thauram, and Host knows who else are really after me this time.”
“Oh, yes. Your name has always been synonymous with legality in this town,” she said with a smile.
“Point taken. But I’ve got nothing to do with the Brelish ambassador—”
“Pshhh!” The halfling waved her hand dismissively. “If you want to go carving up foreign dignitaries, by all means do so. I’m sure you’d have good reasons for something like that. You always do, Tallis. Just don’t bring your mess to me, and that means not telling me about it. You came to me to give you some reprieve, and so I shall.”
Tallis ground his teeth together in frustration. For some reason, he wanted her to know he was innocent of this, but the Midwife’s neutrality in her clients’ affairs kept her in business and away from the scrutiny of the Justice Ministry. Her very existence was a rumor, nothing more. Those foolish few who had dared to implicate her in their crimes found that her gang of loyal rogues operated well outside of these underground chambers and were capable of delivering sound retribution.
The Midwife walked a slow circle around him now, muttering to herself as she did. Tallis felt her eyes appraising him and wondered if she was using wizardry to assess him. “I’ve known you for a long time, half-elf. I never thought I’d have the pleasure of rebirthing you.”
“I hope it’ll be all you ever dreamed.”
The halfling stopped her pacing. “The papers will be easy, of course, but you’ll need more than documents to blend in this time.”
Tallis spread out his hands. “What can I do?”
The Midwife called out over her shoulder. “Dorv, switch with your brother. Our client needs a new face.”
The halfling turned back to Tallis. She gestured to one of her servants, who stepped forward to offer Tallis a platter of vedbread and a wheel of cheese. “Make yourself comfortable, Tallis, and let’s talk about your fee.”
Soneste woke just after dawn, wondering if it was too much to hope that she not make any more embarrassing mistakes that day.
“Mistress,” a voice boomed when she climbed from her bed, startling her.
“Host!” she swore, reaching for her boot—which she wasn’t wearing. Then she shook her head. “You need to give us sleepers some time to adjust.”
Soneste hadn’t minded Aegis’s presence in her room at the Seventh Watch. He may have been an artificial creature composed of metal, wood, and stone, but he was Brelish. She had a few warforged acquaintances back in Sharn, and most of them were good company. She trusted this one faster than most, or it may have been pity for the loss of the family he’d lived to serve.
Warforged didn’t need to sleep—nor did they drink, eat, or even breathe. Magic from the Cannith forges that birthed them also sustained them entirely. When Aegis had offered to guard her, she accepted readily. She couldn’t be too careful in this city, especially since the criminal she was hunting had proved himself an efficient killer.
“I apologize,” he said.
“I’m sorry. It’s my fault,” she said. “I’m quite used to sleeping alone. What’s on your mind?”
“I’ve been thinking. This Tallis may have saved me.”
Soneste wiped her eyes and looked at the warforged. “How so?”
“He disabled me on the balcony, but he chose not kill me. If he had not disabled me, wouldn’t the assassin have killed me? I do not know. If I’d defeated Tallis, perhaps I could have stopped the assassin myself.”
Soneste recalled the wounds of the victims. “I think he may have saved you.”
“Or not,” Aegis said, sounding harsher. “At least I would have died with honor, defending my master and his family. I should not have survived.”
“We’ll have answers soon, I promise you.” Soneste glanced at the dent of his metal head. “I’m going to take you to a magewright shop to get some repairs today. I have an errand to run myself, but we’ll need to ditch Jotrem first.”
“Very good, Mistress.”
“You can call me by my name, Aegis.”
Recovering her rapier was Soneste’s priority in the first hours of the morning. The weapon was magewrought, a perfectly balanced blade of Brelish steel she’d saved up to buy. She wasn’t about to lose the sword. It was bad enough that Tallis had stolen the crysteel blade—its personal value was greater by far, a gift from Veshtalan.
Soneste searched among the fences who worked the Community Ward, threatening the hand of the Justice Ministry upon those she questioned. An enchanted rapier would have been pawned quickly into Korth’s black market to avoid evidence of theft. She thought she’d found the trail, but it remained ever out of reach. Given time, she knew she could track the rapier down herself, but she felt she was wasting time not searching for Tallis.
Swallowing her pride, Soneste settled for help. She walked into the city’s House Tharashk enclave, fully expecting expedience and a good deal. She cited employment in Thuranne d’Velderan’s agency—drawing disapproving looks at the half-orc’s family name—and found cooperation in the form of a sleight discount. Evidently, the Karrnath branch of House Tharashk didn’t care much for the Velderan family or its retainers.
Nevertheless, a human heir employed the Mark of Finding to locate Soneste’s missing rapier. With a pair of Tharashk mercenaries accompanying them both and Aegis clomping along behind, it didn’t take her long to convince the knave who had her rapier that it was in his “best interest” to give it up for free.
The entire episode hadn’t been a complete detour, for it had yielded a new lead. While searching among the rogues of Korth’s underground she learned the existence of the Midnight Market, a secretive bazaar that set up only night each week. On Zol.
Tonight.
“Drink this.” Ranec unstoppered a small vial of black liquid and held it out to Tallis
. While he’d worked on Tallis, applying skills both alchemical and mundane, the changeling had worn his own face. Tallis had never quite grown accustomed to the pallid skin and vague features of changelings, so he tried not to stare.
When he swallowed the thick solution, Tallis felt an uncomfortable strain on his muscles throughout his body then a fierce itch along his scalp. He winced. “Can I scratch?”
“Best to wait,” Ranec said, and sure enough, within a few seconds he felt normal again—although his hair had flowed down over his eyes.
“Come, see. I think you will agree that the change is sufficient.”
The changeling led Tallis from the stool to a full-length mirror where he stared in wonderment upon his own reflection. His hair, once almost shoulder length, had grown longer—was still growing as he watched—until it fell to his shoulder blades, curling sleightly as it did.
“Aundairian ladies love this philter the best,” the changeling said with a smile. Ranec’s face reshaped to resemble a human’s now that his work was complete. He bound Tallis’s hair into a tail with a thin leather cord.
Although his face was still his own, Tallis’s features had been altered in subtle ways. His brows were sleightly arched, his silver-gray eyes had shifted to green, and even his ears appeared to have a sharper point. His face was perfectly clean shaven.
“Now, these affectations will disappear over the course of a few days,” the changeling explained, “so do whatever it is you need to do, sooner than later.”
Next Ranec gestured to a bench, where a fine coat of forest green with silver buttons was folded neatly with a shiny brooch resting atop it. When Tallis tried the coat on, both men looked into the mirror at his image. The changeling smiled again, and Tallis noted the single silver-capped tooth. He felt like he was trying on fine suits at ir’Alanso’s Clothier. It made him vaguely uncomfortable.
Finally, Ranec produced a matching tri-cornered hat and placed it on Tallis’s head. “These garments and the signet brooch are accounted for in the Midwife’s fee.”
“Thanks, Ranec. You’re really good at this.”
The changeling gave a half bow.
Soon after, the Midwife emerged from another room, now dressed in the work clothes Tallis was accustomed to seeing. Her attire included a many-pocketed apron and a pair of thick lenses which she’d tucked up into her hair.
The Midwife held out a slim metallic case. She flipped it open to display new identification papers within. “Ranec, add a portrait to this,” she said, handing the case over to him.
She turned to Tallis as the changeling produced a set of colored inks. “You are now Findel d’Lyrandar, an upstanding member of the Windwrights Guild. It’s just one of the names I put into circulation some time ago, so there will already be a record of you active in this city.”
Tallis nodded. “Where am I supposed to be from?”
The Midwife gave him a funny look. “I know you can’t convincingly pull off an accent, so you’re still from Karrnath. However, you spent some time in Cyre during the months of tenuous peace between the two nations. You lost your immediate family on the Day of Mourning—convenient, eh?—and are now based out of Rekkenmark. You come to Korth all the time, for pleasure as much as business. Maybe you have a lover who works somewhere in the Temple Ward?”
Was that a veiled reference to Lenrik? No, she couldn’t know about him. Even if she did, she wouldn’t care. Information to the Midwife was armor and weaponry, to be used only when necessary. She’d get along well in Zilargo, Tallis had always thought.
“Lyrandar. Windwrights Guild. Pious sweetheart. Yes, sounds like me.” Tallis smiled. “Do I possess a dragonmark?” He pulled up one sleeve, on the chance that Ranec had somehow applied a false tattoo without his knowledge.
“No. Believe me, you don’t want that much attention. Your father did, however, and you’ve just hoped to live up to the prestige he once commanded within the house. Don’t try to fool anyone for too long, Findel, especially real members of House Lyrandar. The papers will show your reader precisely what they expect to see and nothing more. Don’t linger. Just show it and move on.”
“Marvelous work, as always.”
“I know,” she answered, accepting the compliment, “but I don’t want to see you here again. King’s fire is on you, and the authorities are stirring all over the city. Clear things up or don’t come back. Fair enough?”
The Midwife’s motherly tones carried a true sense of menace. Tallis looked to Ranec, who minutes ago had gently applied a shaving razor to his throat. Now the changeling fingered a fine-bladed stiletto.
“Fair enough.”
Soneste searched the archives of the Korth Sentinel for two hours before finding the same article that Tallis had tacked to his wall. With Jotrem working nearby, she quickly skimmed the article and buried it again among the stacks of broadsheets. She wasn’t about to discuss the particulars of her research with him.
The full article described an event which place in 974 YK. Twenty-six sons and daughters of Karrnath were put to the sword by the Aundairians who’d captured them. Before they could burn the bodies—an Aundairian policy when battling Karrns—the enemies were routed by a platoon of undead infantry led by a bone knight. The recovered bodies were, of course, claimed by the royal corpse collectors and became property of the state.
Why was this article of such interest to Tallis? Or was it some arbitrary clipping, meant to mislead anyone who found his residence?
Soneste spent the next hour cross-referencing the skirmish against a roster of the dead maintained by the Ministry. Hyran had granted her limited access to Karrnath’s archived casualty reports. The battle was a minor one and hadn’t even been named, but the date allowed her to find the names of the fallen.
Then she found something, the fifth name on the list from that unnamed battle in 974 YK.
Recruit number 966-5-1372. Captain Tallis.
Chapter
FOURTEEN
The Midnight Market
Zol, the 10th of Sypheros, 998 YK
At sunset, Tallis had taken to the streets again, confident he could move around freely in his new disguise. He’d followed every possible lead in search of Haedrun, yet every dead end pointed back to the one place he might be able to find her—the Midnight Market.
Having confirmed the Market’s location for this week, Tallis set out to find himself something to eat. He turned onto one of the major roads and was startled by a lone figure trudging towards him, moving slowly away from the docks beneath a suspicious burden.
It was an older man, the lower half of his trousers soaked through as though he’d opted to take a midnight swim in the river but had changed his mind at the last moment. He carried a large, leather-wrapped bundle over one shoulder and steadied his pace with a metal-shod staff. Two feet, one missing a shoe, stuck out of the bundle at one end.
Under the circumstances, Tallis knew he ought to just keep moving, but something about the man gave him pause. Perhaps it was the holy symbol of Dol Dorn the stranger wore around his neck or the glimmer of moisture in his eyes. Despite his solemn burden, the man was no corpse collector. He looked more like some errant pilgrim.
“Need some help, friend?” Tallis asked, surprised that he really meant it.
The man looked him up and down then smiled sadly. “I fear not,” he answered, continuing on with weary steps. “He’s already dead. I thank you, though.”
“Of course,” Tallis said in parting, doubting the man even heard him.
He watched the stranger walk away. Maybe it was the man’s dignified bearing or the holy symbol he wore, but he’d brought Lenrik to mind—a resilient, battle-hardened man who hadn’t let the war steal his compassion from him. It weighed heavily on Tallis that he’d relied so much upon his old friend in this crisis. He’d been forced to stay the night in Lenrik’s undercroft yet again.
The Brelish inquisitive had found his flat. The ever-predictable Jotrem had staked it out all night fr
om across the street, counting on Tallis to return like some idiot cutpurse. At least the Brelish girl knew better. She’d pulled whatever clues there were and left it behind. Still, it wasn’t safe for him to return there again. The Justice Ministry would have it on file. Damn it, it had been one of his favorite haunts.
But edible birds didn’t live long—he had to let it go.
Still, how long would he need to keep relying on Lenrik? Tallis supposed that’d depend on what he learned from Haedrun tonight. The thought helped him refocus. There was work do to.
It was midnight. Tallis left Aureon’s shrine and made his way, tier by tier, down the city. Whenever he passed a patrol of Lions, he strode by with the pretense of an important house errand. The signet brooch upon his lapel proclaimed his affiliation with the Windwrights Guild, and that was enough to satisfy most without comment. Under other circumstances, Tallis might have enjoyed playing up the role of a scion of the House Lyrandar, but this wasn’t a time for role-playing. This was survival.
In the plaza at the center of the Community Ward, Tallis passed beneath the giant-sized statue of Karrn the Conqueror. He glanced up at the grim, marble countenance of Karrnath’s namesake and greatest hero. The famous warlord had fought for and established human civilization upon Khorvaire millennia ago. In his wake, Karrnath and eventually Galifar itself had been founded.
A small entourage of well-dressed revelers emerged from the street on the opposite side of the plaza. Despite their languid stroll, a handful of guards kept pace on either side.
Tallis felt a stab of fear as he realized the latter were members of the Conqueror’s Host—the king’s own royal guard, among the finest soldiers in the land! They weren’t wearing their customary silver and black surcoats, no doubt pretending to be hired bodyguards so as not to draw attention, but Tallis recognized the signature greatswords strapped to their backs, weapons specially commissioned at the Bluefist of Mror. Not many would.
To his dismay, the young revelers moved to intercept him. The nobles walked close together, most hanging upon each other, a couple bottles of Nightwood passing back and forth among them.