by Jeff LaSala
The savant waved the words away and began to unroll the papers upon the table. She leafed through them, discarding some in a separate pile and taking greater interest in others. From her vantage, Soneste could see that each of the documents contained the lofty diction of contracts, as well as lines of arcane writing she would never be able to decipher. At the bottom she saw notarizing Sivis marks.
Erice compared the designs inscribed upon the hollow underside of the steel hand with the arcane sigils inscribed upon the contracts. Sheet after sheet passed through her hands as Soneste waited, anxious. The savant seemed to be enjoying her search. Perhaps at heart, everyone in the House of Finding was an inquisitive. Soneste allowed herself a smile as she watched the woman.
Just when Soneste could wait no longer, the bookish woman squealed triumphantly and pulled a scroll from the sheaf. “Aha! This nimblewright, model seventy-two, crafted in the month of Eyre in 783 YK, was commissioned by Sehrok d’Phiarlan, a minister of the Committee of the Twelve. It was then gifted to the Malovyn family of dignitaries in Aerenal, who were granted ownership.”
Malovyn.
Soneste’s smile melted away. Lenrik Malovyn.
Chapter
TWENTY-TWO
Revelations
Wir, the 11th of Sypheros, 998 YK
“Malovyn,” Jotrem said as they climbed atop the pegasi once more. “You know this name. Who is it?”
Soneste ignored him, holding tightly to the Vadalis rider as they galloped from the loading dock. The black-winged stallion spread its wings and caught the cold air currents.
She felt sick. Fixing her eyes upon the conifers of the park below, Soneste lifted one hand up, watching her fingers tremble ever so sleightly. Could she have missed the clues?
Soneste swore she could feel a malevolent tension in the air. The clouds were swollen now, promising rain, and the wind was noticeably colder. Was this her imagination, some souring side effect of her extrasensory powers? In truth, she hadn’t used them as much in the last month as she had in the last few days.
When they touched down, she tipped the riders and walked from the Vadalis compound. Jotrem caught up to her. “I will find out for myself, if I must. Malovyn: it’s someone you’ve met here in this city, isn’t it? I’m certain I’ll find the name in the Ministry records.”
She turned to meet Jotrem’s eyes, but she felt like she was staring straight through him. A nauseating sensation roiled within her mind, like some sort of psychic runoff. Or was it just what betrayal felt like?
“I need to verify this for myself first. Promise me that you will not share what you heard with anyone else. Yet.” She carried a copy of the arcane contract in her bag—her final request of Lady Erice—knowing she would need to show it to Tallis. Assuming he wasn’t complicit as well.
Aureon forbid, she prayed. She can’t have misjudged everyone.
“Then place some trust in me,” Jotrem said. “Tell me. Maybe I can help.”
Soneste continued to stall, too distracted by this development to effectively steer Jotrem away from this line of inquiry.
“Go,” she bade the older inquisitive as they approached the gates of the park. “Find the name if you must. I have one more lead to follow before I confide in you. If you will be patient with me, Jotrem, I will share with you what I know.”
At any other time, she might have appreciated the simple beauty of the tree-lined path that wound beyond the gates or the wash of autumnal color in the thinning branches and leaf-strewn grounds. Even the trees of Karrnath looked regimented, spaced out evenly like a row of pillars.
“Say what you will, Brelish,” Jotrem said, keeping pace with her. “We are beyond trust. I can either be a hindrance to you or a boon. I helped you visit Lord Charoth on short notice. I can help again.”
Brelish? she thought. Jotrem had called her Brelander before. Was he trying to win her favor at last?
Soneste was still half a bell early for her rendezvous with Tallis. If she put her mind to it, she could get rid of Jotrem in that time. “We’ll see,” was all she said.
She casually made her way to the location Tallis had described: the statue of a robed Karrn, a royal wizard and chief advisor to Kaius II. A cluster of thorny bushes framed the pedestal. At the base huddled a vagrant in a filthy cloak. The man rubbed his hands together to keep warm.
Lovely. She’d need to clear him away too.
Soneste glanced around to see if any White Lions were near. In the distance she could see a patrol of four, but nothing else seemed amiss in the park. How did the White Lions treat the homeless here? she wondered.
She approached the vagrant, fishing for a couple of crowns, just enough for him to purchase a bowl of stew. “Sir, do you need a hot meal?”
Just then, Soneste recognized the oversized cloak the man wore. Didn’t Jotrem? They’d both seen it before.
“Don’t waste your coins,” Jotrem said as he stopped beside her and glared down at the vagrant. “Cheap ale is the only thing you’d be buying this man.”
The homeless man leaned up as Soneste held her copper coins out. “That’s hardly fair,” he said with a strong voice. His right hand flashed past her outstretched hand and gripped the hilt of Jotrem’s sword. He jerked it free even as he rose in one smooth motion.
“Tallis!” the older inquisitive gasped.
“Good to see you again, Jotrem!” the Karrn said with his crooked smile, smacking the man hard in the chest with the pommel of his own long sword. “Twice in as many days!”
Jotrem groaned and staggered away, but Tallis kept on him, pulling a thick leather sap from the bulk of his ragged cloak. He dropped the sword, gripped the weighted weapon, and slammed it against the side of Jotrem’s head.
Soneste’s reflexes were numbed by anxiety. She moved to stop him, but she gave up after his second blow. The third dropped the inquisitive heavily to the ground. Soneste stood as still as the statue above them as she watched Tallis make sure the attack had gone unnoticed. He stripped Jotrem of all weapons, pausing only a fraction of a moment when he spied the black opal ring on the older man’s finger. She marked his troubled expression before it melted away into his usual self-assuredness.
When he finished, Tallis removed the oversized cloak—wearing his green Lyrandar coat beneath—and wrapped the inquisitive in it. “Time to retire this thing anyway.” Tallis pushed the unconscious inquisitive into the bushes and out of sight, tossing his weapons into another bush.
Soneste pitied the older man such indignities, but she hadn’t liked Jotrem since the moment she met him. The next time she met him, things were sure to be ugly.
Tallis stepped back out, brushing off his coat. “Sorry about that,” he said with an awkward smile. “I like to be early for meetings, though I admit I imagined our secret tryst would be more romantic than this. And I didn’t think you’d bring your boyfriend.” Tallis winked, but Soneste didn’t appreciate the joke.
Soneste wanted to yell at him, but the news she bore hung over her like the storm clouds above the city. “How am I supposed to explain this later? You’re driving a wedge between me and the Ministry. This will only hurt us both.” Her words lacked conviction. Her relationship with Jotrem was hardly a concern right now.
“What’s wrong?” Tallis glanced up at the Tower of the Twelve, frowning. “You learned something, didn’t you? Something bad.”
Behind him, Soneste saw Aegis approaching them on the path. A small crowd of children trailed him, some of them pelting him with small stones and litter from the streets.
Tallis rolled his eyes. “It’s a good thing we’re not worried about drawing attention to ourselves.”
A larger stone rebounded off Aegis’s steel-armored back. The loud noise made Tallis wince—and drew the attention of several passersby, who eyed the construct suspiciously.
“Cannith trash!” the oldest boy jeered, as if daring the tall warforged to attack him.
Aegis stopped and turned to face the children. “You
are very astute, young master Karrn,” the warforged said to the boy. “I am, indeed, cobbled together from the dust and dross of a Cannith forgehold. It is a wonder I can move at all.”
Soneste wanted to smile, but Lady Erice’s words had frozen in her mind. She called out to Aegis. The children began to slip away, one by one, as the warforged approached the safety of two adults.
Soneste slipped her haversack free. “Tallis, let’s take a walk.”
She explained what Lady Erice had told her about nimblewrights and the nature of their possession. Aegis walked behind them, listening without comment. As they neared the far side of Wollvern Park, she handed Tallis her copy of the arcane contract. When he finished reading it, the Karrn stopped. His expression was dark, more confused than worried.
“What is this supposed to prove?” he said, turning to look at her as they walked. He looked calm, but his tone was hostile.
Soneste sighed. “Nimblewrights obey only the orders of their master. This particular one—our assassin—was given to the Malovyn family. Lenrik’s family. Only a Malovyn can command it.”
For the first time since she’d met him, Tallis was speechless. Anger and denial warred in his quicksilver eyes.
“Tallis,” she said with a whisper, not wanting to be overheard. “Don’t dismiss this out of hand. Your emotions will mislead you.”
“No, this just isn’t right. Lenrik isn’t … I know him—better than anyone else on Eberron.” He looked back at her. “Better than I know you.”
Soneste wished for something else, some hidden clue to disprove her own fears and substantiate her doubts. She’d only met Lenrik this very morning. She felt like she’d gauged the elf’s character fairly well. She’d enjoyed his company and had understood why Tallis had confided in him.
The Aerenal tapestry came unbidden to mind. What if her earlier supposition about that had been right? Tallis had known the elf most of his life, but the deepest deceptions were personal.
“Does he have any other family in Khorvaire?” she asked.
“No. He’s the only one. His father is dead. The rest … are still in Aerenal or someplace. No contact.” He shook the paper in his hand, looking as though he would tear it up. “Even if this thing is accurate, the thing’s master could be someone else. In Aerenal. Some relative.”
“Commanding the creature here in Korth? That’s a very big coincidence.”
Tallis shook his head. “If this was true, why didn’t Lenrik try and stop us from identifying the nimblewright’s hand if it could implicate him? If he was involved somehow, why would he allow us to find out more? We’d find out the truth eventually. He’d have held onto it to be safe, promising to find out more in the Archives of Aureon. It’s all a lie.”
“I don’t know. I know it doesn’t make perfect sense, which is why we need to approach this carefully.”
“You don’t need to approach this at all. I’ll talk to him.” Tallis glared at her then began to outpace her.
Soneste hurried to keep up, the heavy footfalls from behind reminding her that Aegis was still with them. “Listen, you can’t just confront him about it.” Tallis kept moving, as obstinate as Jotrem had ever been. “Damn it,” she said. “You’re such a Karrn!”
When they exited the park, a squad of White Lions tore past them on the street, responding to some emergency. A sergeant barked orders to his men, and Soneste heard only the words “lightning rail.” She watched them as they disappeared around a street corner, desiring to know what errand demanded their presence so urgently. She could follow them or find out at the Justice Ministry, but she couldn’t let Tallis go to the cathedral alone. Things had become entirely too dangerous.
“Slow down,” she demanded. “You’re going to attract attention. I’m coming with you. Just slow down!”
Tallis said nothing, brooding as he walked.
“Tallis,” she said quietly. “Before you go barging into the cathedral, we need to learn more—”
The Karrn stopped sharply, snatched one of her hands, and pulled her close to him. As her body pressed against his, he looked into her eyes—then bent her arm behind her back. He applied pressure just so, sending a wave of agony through her arm. She gasped from the pain.
Still Tallis held her gaze. He’d chosen his moment well. They stood out of sight of most foot traffic, and those who passed by could easily take their posture as a lover’s embrace.
Soneste heard Aegis stepping close behind her. “Unhand her or die,” he said, his tone deadly.
“Another step,” Tallis warned the warforged without shifting his gaze, “and this arm will break.”
“Aegis … just wait,” Soneste managed through her pain. She tried to think. The sleightest movement of her arm in any direction sent a surge of fire through her nerves. She considered a psychic attack, but she wasn’t sure she could muster the concentration for it.
“Remember our truce!” she said to Tallis. “For your king and mine.”
He leaned in close, his lips close to her ear. “Kaius and Boranel don’t know about any of this.” Tallis’s voice was pure scorn. “They wouldn’t care if they did.”
“I’m here to help,” she said softly. “I don’t want to believe Lenrik is involved in this any more than you do.”
“You’re here for your case.” There was a long pause. Soneste could feel the tension in his body, the anger in his grip. “Leave me—leave us—alone, Brelish.” He released her arm then shoved her away. Hard.
She would have fallen to the cobbles gracelessly, but Aegis’s strong hands caught her and held her upright. She composed herself, mind astir with both rage and sorrow. She looked back to see Tallis already some distance away, his pace quickening into a run. Soneste turned to the warforged.
“I have to follow him.”
“But Mistress, he will—”
“He won’t.” She pointed in the direction the White Lions had run down the street. “I need you to find out what’s going on. Follow the White Lions from a distance if you can. They’re headed to the lightning rail station, I think. If anyone questions you, just give my name and the Civic Minister’s, Hyran ir’Tennet. Then wait outside the cathedral. That’s where I’ll be.”
“Yes, Mistress.”
Chapter
TWENTY-THREE
Speculations of Death
Wir, the 11th of Sypheros, 998 YK
The Cathedral of the Sovereign Host loomed high above the treetops of the temple grounds, its towering belfry spearing the gray sky and rivaling even the spires of Crownhome. Tallis had seen it a thousand times, but it brought him no comfort now. Men had constructed an edifice in worship of the gods, but where were the gods now? Where was the justice so vaunted by Aureon’s teachings?
In his new guise, Tallis decided it would be best to enter the cathedral through the front door, to visit Aureon’s shrine and speak to the priest like anyone else would.
Tallis couldn’t quiet his mind. Images, conversations, and shared moments streamed through his head in a hundred disjointed pieces. Lenrik, the humble elf priest who’d given Tallis’s family an extra loaf of bread when food was scarce back home in Teryk. Lenrik, who’d risked his life time and again in skirmishes upon the Karrnath-Cyre border just to heal the sons and daughters of Karrnath … and occasionally the orphans of Cyre. Lenrik, who’d brought Tallis himself back from death innumerable times.
That he could be party to the murder of innocents was unthinkable. Lenrik had known Gamnon as well as Tallis, and he was less likely to bear a grudge against the arrogant Brelish captain.
How could he be tied to this construct, this … nimblewright? To the Ebonspire murder? Lenrik hadn’t known Tallis would even be anywhere near the Ebonspire that night, not until Tallis himself had told him about it the next day.
But he had known Haedrun, hadn’t he? She’d mentioned being approached by an elf before the assassin attacked them at the docks. Was that Lenrik, after all?
“Fury’s madness,” he swor
e, anguished at the thought. Perhaps it had all been some horrible coincidence.
What was Soneste playing at? Anger surged through him when he thought of the Brelish inquisitive’s argument, for seeding this doubt within him at all. He didn’t know her, and she couldn’t possibly know him or Lenrik. So she’d found “evidence” in the Tower of the Twelve? Perhaps the Twelve, with its great influence, had instigated the whole event, fabricating evidence to redirect blame.
But why Lenrik?
Adopting the confident bearing of a Lyrandar guildsman—feeling none of it himself—Tallis strode up the steps of the cathedral and passed through the main doors. He nodded to the Vassals who greeted him, but he couldn’t offer a smile in turn.
He marched down the central aisle of the worship hall, heedless of the great pillars he passed and the Sovereign scripture carved upon them. Above him, a magical panorama of the night sky and its unclouded moons drew the eyes of visitors and priests alike. Tallis had stared into its mystic depths many times before, somehow finding a modicum of comfort in its terrible beauty. The dark firmament made Eberron and all its wars seem so small.
Not today.
A spiraling stair on one side of Aureon’s sanctuary led him down to the undercroft. Therein lay the caretaker’s personal chambers, where none but Lenrik or Prelate Alinda were officially permitted.
At the bottom of the steps, he passed adjoining rooms—study chambers, a vestry, and the eminent Archives of Aureon. It had been a place more comfortable for Tallis than any other in Korth.
“Lenrik?” Tallis called out, hearing only his own echo return. From its hiding place in the vestry, he retrieved his hooked hammer. It felt wrong—blasphemous—to wield a weapon in this place. At last he entered the spare room that Lenrik had converted to a healing chamber, where Tallis and Soneste had both woken with mended wounds in the last few days.
Once inside, Tallis set about examining every corner, every detail, as if it were the scene of a crime. He looked at their game of Conqueror in the corner. Tallis’s chancellor had been deposed by Lenrik’s general in an unexpected maneuver and now lay discarded off the board. The elf’s king was poised for a final strike against his own. Tallis felt a chill.