The City of Towers

INTERLUDE

Korlan hated Sharn. He was a child of the deep swamps, and he missed the tranquility of his homeland-the nights spent alone with the sounds of shadowtoads, water, crickets, the wind in the rushes …

The towers of Sharn were unnatural, and the constant babble of voices was a constant assault on his ears. He hated the mobs of people; eyes everywhere he looked, watching him, shouting and squabbling, filling the air with noise and stench.

But the marshes were no longer his home. When he was ten, the mark had appeared, the fire flowed in his blood, threatening to consume his spirit if he did not grant it a release. In a moment of madness, he had killed his brother with a gout of fire that burst forth from his hands. That was all it took. He was driven from the Marches, tainted and touched by the Deep Wyrm, and if he returned to his family they would do their best to kill him. For a time he had wandered, feverish and dazed, through the western plains-and then the Tarkanans had found him and taught him to control his gift. He hated Sharn, but it was the home of his true family. It was the only place he would ever belong.

Korlan had the pink skin of a Brelander, but his muscular physique and fiery temper hinted at his inhuman ancestry, and oversized canine teeth protruded from his lips when he was angry. Today, his fangs were in full view. Bal had said that intimidation would be the best approach, and Korlan wanted to get this over with quickly, so he could return to his quiet room in Dragon Towers.

There was a guard in front of the tentflap. But Korlan had grown up hunting duskwisps, and it was a simple matter to slip through the shadows without being seen. A single powerful blow was all it took to send the guard to the ground in a crumpled heap.

His target was already waiting for him when he stepped inside the tent. The man appeared to be unarmed, but Korlan was well aware of how deceiving appearances could be. Korlan concentrated, and there was a moment of terrible pain as the blood in his veins burned with a terrible heat. He focused the pain on his palm, and flames flickered around his fingers.

“I am here for Rasial Tarkanan,” Korlan said, glaring down at his enemy. “You will tell me where he is, and you will tell me what dealings you have had with him.”

“I’m afraid I have other plans.”

It was difficult to read the man’s expression. His face was a horrid mask of raw, wet muscle, and his eyes were sunk deep within his sockets. If he was afraid of Korlan and the flames, he did not show it.

“It wasn’t a request,” Korlan said.

He couldn’t unleash the full force of his burning hands without setting the tent alight, but he’d found that his fiery touch had a way of changing opinions, and he reached for the flayed man’s shoulder.

The man moved with astonishing speed, darting down and slamming into Korlan. He was unnaturally strong for his size, and Korlan was thrown back against the side of the tent. Snarling, he rose to his feet, intending to release the full fire he held within. Bal had wanted answers, but there would be other sources.

But as he raised his burning hands, there was a blur before him. His enemy’s tongue snapped out of his mouth, stretching across the space between them. Pain stabbed his throat, and as the tongue withdrew Korlan saw a vicious barb protruding from the tip. A cold chill spread across his body, numbing his nerves and extinguishing the flames. His legs refused to respond to his brain, and he fell. Within seconds he was completely paralyzed, unable to do anything but watch as his foe came toward him.

“I am pleased to see that Rasial’s former friends are looking for him,” the skinless man said. Korlan could not even cringe as the man produced a long knife. With one smooth motion the stranger cut open Korlan’s jerkin, revealing his torso and the aberrant mark that covered his left breast. “Lovely.”

The man smiled, revealing a mouth filled with bloody teeth. He stepped out of Korlan’s field of vision. Korlan heard others enter the tent, but he couldn’t turn his head to look.

“Take him below,” the man said. He came back into view, leering at Korlan with his ruined face. “I’m afraid I have business elsewhere, but my associates will see that you are reunited with young Rasial. I thank you for your contribution to our cause.”