The City of Towers

CHAPTER 16

The trip to the tavern had done one thing. It had taken Lei’s mind off of her own misfortune. Lei was full of questions as the trio headed back to High Walls, while Pierce was, if anything, quieter than usual.

“Do you suppose these Tarkanans could have killed his hippogriffs? Maybe they’d been hired by one of these opposing beast groups, and he was trying to find out who was behind it.”

“Possibly,” Daine said. “That, or he knew who killed his mounts and thought that the Tarkanans could help him get revenge on the killers. I suppose that finding the Tarkanans is the next step.”

“It sounds dangerous.”

“This from the woman who fought three hundred warforged?”

“Do you have an army I don’t know about?”

“Good point. Still, there’s something that’s bothering me.”

“What’s that?” Lei said. She was momentarily distracted by a small tower up the street. It appeared to be formed from overlapping steel plates.

“Alina implied that Rasial served her as a smuggler, bringing in contraband through the air. So if he was still flying, if he was still in Sharn, why’d he quit racing?”

“Perhaps he was still trying to find out who sabotaged his earlier bouts,” Lei said. “He didn’t dare return until he’d identified his foe.”

“It’s possible,” Daine said. “But … he was a member of the Sharn Watch! Why would he turn to a group of assassins instead of the forces of the law? Why would they have anything to do with him?”

“I don’t know.”

They walked a ways in silence, eventually reaching the lift. Three other people boarded the lift with them. Beggars by the look, dressed in worn cloaks and tatters. There was a muscular half-orc, a tall, lean man, and a young halfling woman. As the lift began to fall, something about the halfling caught Daine’s eye. She was covered with dirt, and her cloak was torn wool. At a glance, she seemed like any of the hundreds of beggars Daine had seen over the years. But as he watched, a rat came crawling out of the folds of her cloak and climbed up toward her face. It chittered and squeaked, and she whispered quietly to it. Daine remembered the rat he’d seen in the King of Fire, and a chill ran down his spine.

Looking up, Daine saw that the thin man had moved closer to him. Beneath the hood of his cloak, the stranger’s face was horribly disfigured, scarred by pustules and the ravages of disease. His robes carried a sweet odor of rot and decay.

He looked down at Daine and spoke in a deep, rasping voice, “You have information I require, Mourner.”

The stranger seemed quite confident, considering that both he and his companions were completely unarmed. Daine put his hand on the hilt of his sword, making the motion as obvious as possible.

“And you are?”

“I am Bal of the House of Tarkanan, and you will tell me what I wish to know. Or you will not leave this lift alive.”

“I guess that takes care of our next step,” said Lei.

“Is this going to happen every time we get on a lift?” Daine said. “Because I may start taking the stairs.” He drew his sword but kept the point to the side. “Now. Shall we start this conversation again?”

“I believe that we shall.” Bal spun forward in a blur of motion. Before Daine even realized what was happening, the rotting man smashed Daine’s hand with a powerful kick. The sword went spinning through the air and came to a halt against the railing. Bal drew his cracked lips back from decaying teeth. “Shall we begin?”

Daine nodded. He cursed himself for underestimating his foe … but he could see the same overconfidence in Bal. “All right. Let’s see if we can’t shed some light on things.”

Lei slipped her hand into her belt pouch, obviously catching Daine’s signal. She pulled a golden sphere from her pouch and flung it between the halfling and the half-orc. Both cried out as a cloud of blinding golden particles engulfed them.

Pierce drew his long flail from his back. As he shook the chain free from the haft, he sent Daine’s sword spinning across the lift with a well-placed kick. Daine knelt and caught the sword with his right hand, drawing his dagger with his left. He rose to his feet and leveled his sword at the chest of his foe.

“All right,” said Daine. “Let’s talk.”

Bal came forward again, moving with eerie speed and grace. But this time Daine was prepared. He ducked out of the way and drew a long, shallow cut along his enemy’s shin.

“You have no idea what you are dealing with,” Bal hissed through gritted teeth. Slipping past Daine’s guard as if he were a ghost, the rotting man pressed the palm of his right hand against Daine’s throat.

Suddenly ice was flowing through Daine’s blood. Chills ran along every nerve, and it was all that he could do to stay on his feet. He made a weak thrust, but Bal slipped under the blow. The next thing Daine knew, he was on the floor of the lift with Bal standing above him. The pain grew worse. He could see Pierce standing over the fallen body of the half-orc, with Lei and the rat girl beyond.

“Hold!” Bal called out, in a voice like a winter wind. “If I touch your friend again, he will die.”

Lei froze. Pierce kept the chain of his flail spinning, forming a singing web of steel, but he did not strike. “Should I shatter your comrade’s head,” he said, “I suspect that he will also die.” His voice was calm and collected.

There was a moment of tension that seemed to last for an eternity … and then Bal laughed, a long, dry rasp. “True enough.” He stepped back. “I apologize for my uncalled-for aggression. Perhaps we can help each other.”

Behind him, the half-orc moaned and brought a hand to his head.

Daine rose to his feet. He was dizzy and nauseous, but the pain seemed to be subsiding. “What do you want?” he growled.

“We are looking for Rasial. Zae”-he nodded toward the halfling, who was rubbing her eyes and glaring at Lei-“heard you mention him. I’ve never seen you before. How do you know him?”

The lift was approaching the ground. “I think I’d like to hear your story before I say much more. I know an inn not far from here. Can I offer you a cup of tal?”

Bal glanced at his comrades, the rat girl huddled in the corner and the warrior stretched out on the floor. “Perhaps that would be for the best.”

The half-orc, whom Bal called Korlan, split off from the group after they arrived in High Walls; apparently he had a personal errand to attend to. Zae and Bal accompanied the trio to the Manticore. The other patrons quickly dispersed once Bal entered the common room, though Daine couldn’t say whether it was due to a sinister reputation or simply his diseased appearance. The innkeeper grumbled, but once Daine gave her a few crowns she quickly returned with a pot of steaming tal.

Little Zae ducked under a table and watched them. Two rats emerged from the folds of her cloak, and their movements mirrored her own.

“Chew this,” Bal said, handing Daine a dried, leathery leaf. “It will help with the symptoms.”

Daine considered the leaf and finally began to chew. The worst it could do was kill him, and with the way he was feeling that might be a relief. Though he hadn’t gotten any worse since they’d left the lift, he was still feeling dizzy and weak.

“What did you do to me?” he asked.

Bal took a slow sip of tal, watching Daine closely. “The chilling touch is my inheritance. It is a gift that I share with Rasial Tarkanan.”

“Tarkanan …” Lei breathed in sharply. “You’re aberrants!” She pushed her chair back from the table.

“I am blessed, child of Cannith,” Bal said. His voice was level, but his eyes glittered. “Shall we compare the power of our gifts?”

Zae giggled in the shadows of the table, her rats chittering beside her.

“Lei!” Daine barked. “Calm down! What are you talking about?”

Lei took a deep breath and pulled her chair back up to the table. “What do you know about the War of the Mark?” Daine shrugged.

“Halas Tarkanan was the mightiest of the aberrant lords. When the pure lines sought to cleanse the darkness, it was Tarkanan who organized those who bore aberrant marks into an army.”

Bal showed his teeth. “‘Cleanse the darkness.’ A pleasant way to talk about murder.”

Lei glared at him, and for a moment Daine thought she was about to draw a weapon. “The aberrant marks are dangerous to body and soul! Fire, darkness, death … these are not forces the living were meant to channel!”

“And yet we do. You fear what you cannot control. You build. I destroy.”

“Enough!” said Daine. The pieces were beginning to come together. “You said we could help each other, Bal. What is it you want?”

“Rasial is one of us, and he’s missing. He returned to the city two days ago, but in that time he hasn’t been seen. We are concerned that he has placed himself in danger, and we wish to find him before he is harmed.”

Daine wished Jode was around. Reading faces wasn’t his specialty. “Why do you think he’d be in danger?”

“Rasial was working in the shadows. We know he wasn’t telling us about some of his activities. We have our suspicions. Which leads me to ask: Why are you looking for him?”

“We were hired by the Windguard of Daggerwatch. They want him back for the upcoming race, and no one knows where he went.” Daine had spent the last ten minutes coming up with this story, and he cursed Jode for not being around. Lying was not something Daine did well.

“Daggerwatch?” Bal considered this. “So. The guardsmen of Daggerwatch hired a group of Mourners to do their work?”

Damn! Daine thought. If only they’d had time to buy new clothes. Lei spoke before he could answer. “I believe they gave us the job on my account,” she said. “I may be from … the Mournland, but I am of Cannith first and foremost. And I am of an age to be betrothed. I believe the commander hoped to win my favor by offering this work to my friends. And to be honest, I believe that he enjoys ordering a former Cyran captain about like a paid dog.”

Bal nodded slowly. “I suppose he might, at that. But Rasial won’t be coming back to your employers. Rasial Tann is dead. He is Rasial Tarkanan now, and his place is with us.”

“I understand,” Daine said. “But surely you understand that the longer we continue the investigation, the longer we get paid. Perhaps we can help you. We’re new in the city, and we could use a few friends. If we discover any more information, I’d be willing to pass it along-for the proper considerations.”

There was a pause as Bal drank the last of his tal. Finally he set the mug down. “Very well, Mourner. Prove your worth. You can contact me through the Illian Apothecary in Dragon Towers.”

He pushed back his chair and stood up. Beneath her table, Zae was carrying on a quiet, animated discussion with two rats and a mouse. In unison, the rodents disappeared into the folds of her cloak.

“Before you go,” said Daine, “is there anything you can tell us that could help us find him?”

Bal paused. “I believe he was dealing with someone in this district. But I don’t know who.” He nodded to Zae, and they moved for the door. “Perhaps we’ll meet again, Mourner. Next time, I’d think carefully before you draw your weapon.”

Daine stared at him, face grim. “Next time, surprise won’t be on your side.”

The rotting man held his gaze for a moment then left without a word.

Dassi the innkeeper finally broke the long silence that followed. “Good to see the back of that one, General. I’m sure you saw worse in your day, but I certainly didn’t like the looks of him. Why don’t I get you another cup of tal, and you can tell us the story about the Olaran orphanage again?”

Daine nodded and smiled, though inside he was cursing all lying halflings.

It was not long before Jode returned. The four retired to their room, and Daine recounted the events of the last two hours.

“Aberrant dragonmarks … interesting,” Jode said, rubbing his own dragonmark thoughtfully. “Disturbing,” Lei said.

“There’s one thing I don’t understand about this,” Daine said. “I’ve heard of aberrant dragonmarks before. But in the stories I’ve heard, the people with these black marks sour milk or scare dogs-that sort of thing. Killing with a touch is a far cry from making paint peel. How come I haven’t heard about this before?”

“Most of the aberrants were wiped out over a thousand years ago,” said Lei. “These days, they usually only appear when two people from different dragonmarked houses have a child together. Instead of possessing the mark of either house, the child may develop a warped, damaged mark-usually with a weak power or no power at all. The common theory is that the damaged mark reflects damage to the soul of the bearer, and those who bear aberrant marks often go mad, or so I’ve heard. That’s why the dragonmarked houses aren’t supposed to mingle their blood.”

“Killing with a touch doesn’t strike me as a weak power.”

“I met a man with an aberrant mark once,” Jode interjected. “He had a chilling touch, much as you described. An unpleasant fellow, no question there. But I wouldn’t think he’d have been able to take you down, Daine.”

“I know.” Lei paused and thought for a moment. “There is one other possibility … but it’s just a legend.”

Daine shrugged. “Tell me a story, then.”

“The War of the Mark established the twelve dragonmarked houses that exist today. Supposedly, the houses came together to put an end to aberrant marks-to prevent crossbreeding and to destroy those already tainted by the darkness.”

“So I’ve gathered.”

“All we have to work with now is legend and hearsay. But according to the tales, the aberrant dragonmarks possessed by Lord Tarkanan and his allies were not weak, damaged marks. They could spread plagues, call fire from the sky, break the earth with tremors, and far worse. But the human mind and body were not made to channel these dark powers, and the marks drove their bearers to madness or caused them to grow ill and die.”

“Which would explain the walking boil and the girl who spends more time talking to rats than people.”

“It’s just a theory.” Lei paused, considering. “I’ve also heard of a substance called dragon’s blood, which increases the power of a dragonmark for a brief period of time. I imagine it would work on an aberrant mark just as it would on a true mark.”

“And don’t forget Korlev,” Jode said, referring to a sorcerer who had served with them for a few months during the war.

While he had no dragonmark, Korlev had learned to manipulate mystical energy to produce a wide range of effects. He claimed to be one of the “teeth of Eberron” and had been quite useful before the Valenar killed him.

Daine shook his head. “Fine. Maybe they’re drug-addled aberrations. Maybe they’re sorcerers. So just don’t let them touch you. Let’s focus on Rasial. Did you find anything useful, Jode?”

“Rasial was well liked. Honest, by all accounts. Had a real knack for working with hippogriffs, and a lot of friends in the local enclave of House Vadalis. Racing and flying were both passions of his. All in all, he was handsome, talented, popular-a rising star. Then he suffered those two accidents. A week later, he vanished. No one has seen him since.”

“Hmm.”

“With that said, there were a few guards who weren’t telling the whole truth-and not the nicest bunch. Rasial may have been honest to begin with, but I think he’s been dealing with these Tarkanans recently-probably to help hide his smuggling activities.”

Daine nodded. “So the real question is why. Why does a successful, honest man throw away everything he has and turn to the other side of the law?”

“Maybe he didn’t have a choice,” Lei said. The others turned and looked at her. “Think about it, Jode. Dragonmarks … pure dragonmarks … don’t appear at birth. They appear late in life, usually triggered by stress. If Rasial really had this chilling touch, what if it first manifested during the Race of Eight Winds? What if he killed his mount?”

Jode nodded. “He gets excited during the races, his mount dies … that would be a dilemma.”

“He could have joined the Tarkanans to learn about his mark.”

“And from the sound of it,” Daine said, “once you sign up, you’re in for life. But there are still a few loose ends. I don’t think the Tarkanans know about the connection between Rasial and Alina, and we’d better keep it that way. But what was Rasial doing for Alina? Why did he betray her, and who is he dealing with now? What is he hiding from the Tarkanans? And where is he?”

“All good questions,” Jode said. “But as I recall, we’re supposed to meet Councilor Teral for dinner at the seventh bell.”

“And?” Daine said.

Outside, the seventh bell rang. Jode smiled. “Shall we be off to dinner, Lord Daine?”