The City of Towers

CHAPTER 17

In the early days of Sharn, Togran Square had been a center for commerce. The tents of merchants from across Khorvaire and more exotic lands had filled the open plaza. The plaza was still filled with tents, but the richly decorated cloth had been replaced by patched oilskin. There were hundreds of Cyran refugees in the city, and many of them lived in this makeshift village. After the destruction of Cyre, Breland was the only nation that agreed to provide shelter to the refugees, and many Cyrans had made the long journey south in hopes of reconnecting with relatives that had been established in Sharn before the war. They’d arrived to find that Cyrans and other non-Brelish citizens had been relocated to the ghetto of High Walls and stripped of their livelihood. Like Daine, most of these refugees arrived in Sharn with only the clothes on their backs. In this tent town, nobles and peasants were all alike.

Dozens of people studied Daine as he made his way to the large black tent in the center of the square. Some nodded respectfully, but an equal number seemed sullen or even resentful.

“Not what I’d call a hero’s welcome,” Jode observed.

“Do you see any heroes?” Daine looked into the eyes of the angry refugees and wondered where they had been three years ago, what war had stolen from each of them. “We lost.”

Jode wore his one piece of festive attire-a jaunty burgundy flat cap, embroidered with a spiderweb pattern portrayed in a rainbow of colors. In addition to adding a touch of flair to his drab military leather, the cap hid his dragonmark from view.

“It looks like all the good spaces have been taken,” he said, studying the tents. “I was hoping to get a good view of one of the rubbish fires when we set up a tent of our own.”

Jode was trying to make light of the situation, but he had a point. Unless they completed the job for Alina, they might be living in here in a week.

“If we must, we can pawn something else,” Daine said. His dagger, Lei’s pack … they had a few valuable items left, even if Daine hated the idea of putting these treasures at risk.

“You have to wonder, though,” said Jode, “if we were to buy a tent of our own, what’s to stop us from getting a black one? And if we did get a black tent, Councilor Teral couldn’t tell people to come to the black tent. Do you think he’d do something about it?”

As it turned out, Teral’s tent was difficult to miss. Color aside, it towered over the surrounding tents, and the flag of Cyre was flying from the central post. A squat, balding dwarf stood by the entrance. He bowed as they approached and opened the flap.

“Teral is expecting you,” he said.

Cloth walls divided the interior into rooms. The entry chamber seemed to double as a dining hall and servants’ quarters, and tattered bedrolls were stacked against the walls. A low, round table dominated the center of the room, and six people were already seated on the floor around it-Teral, an old half-elven woman with a child, two young men who appeared to be identical twins, and a woman in her thirties who wore a patch over one eye.

Councilor Teral rose to his feet and slowly made his way around the table, leaning on a gnarled cane.

“Ah, Captain Daine! You are welcome in my house.”

Age and injury had both taken their toll on the former councilor. He favored his right foot, and the tip of a large, puckered scar could be seen at the left side of his throat. Despite these infirmities, he moved with calm confidence, and his voice was warm and soothing.

Jode stepped forward and bowed. “Truly, the honor is ours.” He smiled as he rose. “But I have to ask. Should you really call it a house? ‘Home’ is certainly a broad term. I’ve seen homes that really were just holes in a wall, but somehow I’ve always thought that it wasn’t a house if you could cut through the walls.”

Daine reached down and grabbed Jode’s collar, yanking him back. “I trust you remember Jode, my healer. As he said, it is we who are honored by the invitation, Lord ir’Soras.”

“Please, Daine. Just Teral. I have no estates any more, and we are all equals in this community.”

“Except your servants?” Jode said, as a young woman emerged from one of the flaps with bread for the table.

Daine gave him a rap on the head. “My apologies.”

“No, it’s a simple misunderstanding. There are no servants here. I am an old man, but there are those who respect what I have done for Cyre in the past and my attempts to unify the survivors today. I don’t know what I would do without Olalia, Karris, and the others.” He smiled at the young woman, who inclined her head and disappeared into the back of the tent. Despite Teral’s reassurances, she did not speak, and she avoided eye contact with the visitors.

Teral shuffled back to the table and sat down. “Now please, join us and introduce yourselves. I try to dine with different people each night. Our people are all that remains of our proud nation, and we must come together if we are going to survive.”

Daine sat next to Teral, and the other soldiers spread around the table. Pierce stood behind Daine. “I have no need of sustenance,” he said. “I prefer to stand.”

The other guests glanced at one another. “That’s fine,” Daine said. Bowing his head slightly, he continued, “This is my comrade Pierce, who served our nation as a scout and skirmisher. I am Daine, and until the tragedy I held the rank of captain in the southern command.”

The one-eyed woman sitting to Teral’s left smiled at that. She appeared to be slightly older than Daine. Her golden brown hair was tied back in a long ponytail that fell down to her hips. A maze of fine scars ran back to her torn right ear. She was dressed in a brown blouse and breeches, patched with green cloth. “And do you have a family name, Captain Daine?”

“I prefer Daine.”

“Who wouldn’t?”

Teral nodded toward the woman. “Greykell was also an officer of the southern command. Perhaps you know one another?”

Daine studied the woman. She grinned, and then it came to him. “The laughing wolf?”

“I prefer Greykell,” she said, her smile widening. Born to one of the lesser noble families of Cyre, she was one of the few female captains in the southern command and was known for her brilliantly unorthodox strategies, dogged tenacity, and ability to inspire her troops. Some said she showed too much mercy to the enemy, but mercy had always been a Cyran virtue, and the Queen had praised her behavior. She rubbed her chin thoughtfully, studying Daine in turn. “Let’s see. Daine. You fought on the Valenar front, didn’t you? And what was it I’d heard? Before you joined the guard, you-?”

“Could I get something to drink?” Daine said. “I’m parched.”

“My apologies,” said Teral. “Olalia!” He clapped his hands and the server returned, carrying a clay pitcher. “I’m afraid we only have water, Captain. My table is a humble one.”

“Company matters more than the mead,” said Daine.

The serving girl carefully filled his cup with water. She seemed to be trembling slightly.

“Is something wrong?” he asked.

Teral touched the girl’s arm and she flinched, almost dropping the pitcher. She made no sound.

“Olalia has suffered grievously these last few years. She lived in the village of Callol. Have you heard of it? It was captured by the Darguuls a little over two years ago, and she and her family were taken. After the disaster struck, she escaped into the ruins of Cyre, and I found her there when I was searching for survivors. It’s been hard to tell what was done by the goblins and what happened to her in the Mournland. But I know she had to watch her brothers die, and …” He took her hand, but she kept her eyes down on the floor. “Show them, Olalia,” he said gently.

Slowly, Olalia looked up. She pulled back her lips, and Jode gasped. Olalia’s teeth and gums were sculpted from black marble. The two fair-haired twins sitting across the table laughed, but Greykell glared at them and they fell silent.

“What …?” said Daine.

“Her mouth has been turned to stone,” Teral explained. “Teeth, gums, tongue, and much of the muscle. She can open her mouth just enough to drink. Terrible, I know, but fascinating, don’t you think?”

“How did this happen?” Daine said.

Olalia looked away and kept her silence. Her skin was even paler than Lei’s, and she had short black hair and dark eyes. Strangely, Daine found himself thinking that her teeth matched her eyes.

“I don’t know for certain,” Teral said. “She can’t speak, and as far as I know, she’s illiterate. My thought was some sort of torture-cockatrice blood, activated through sorcery and dripped in the mouth. But it could have just been some effect of the Mournland itself.”

Daine nodded. They had seen strange and terrible things during the time they spent in Cyre-far worse things than a stone tongue. She’d been lucky. “I’m sorry,” he said to her. “But I’m glad that you’re alive.”

Olalia refused to meet his gaze.

“You may go,” Teral said, and she returned to the kitchen without looking back.

There was a moment of silence following Olalia’s departure, then Teral broke one of the loaves of bread and passed it around. “You’ll see far worse sights here, I’m afraid,” he said quietly. “Many of those caught in the wake of the Mourning suffered in some way-either in mind or body.” His eyes dipped toward his injured leg and his scar. “I was one of the lucky ones.”

“I think the Mourning is the best thing that could have happened to us,” said one of the twins.

The two men across the table appeared to be identical. Both were humans, in their late twenties, dressed in identical drab green clothes. Lanky blond hair fell to their shoulders. But what caught Daine’s attention were the speaker’s eyes. They were the palest shade of blue he’d ever seen, and the man never blinked.

“And I think you’re an idiot, Monan,” Greykell said, striking the man above the nose with a well-placed chunk of bread.

“It’s Hugal.”

“No, it’s not. You’re just saying that because you think I can’t tell the difference between you.”

“Can you?” The man’s smirk wavered.

“You’ll never know, will you?”

Lei interrupted. “How could you possibly say that the destruction of our homeland has helped us?” She had grown increasingly moody as they’d pushed through the mobs of refugees to reach Teral’s tent, and her voice was low and hard.

Monan smiled and made a mock bow while seated. “I was beginning to wonder if you could speak or if you were stone-mouthed too. I am Monan Desal, and this is my brother Hugal.”

“I am Lei d-” Lei broke off, catching herself. She had removed her Cannith ring, and her dragonmark was hidden from view.

“Leida? A lovely name.”

“Back off,” Daine growled.

Lei flushed and glared at Daine before turning back to Monan. “You didn’t answer my question. How could you possibly believe that the Mourning was a good thing?”

Monan was distracted by the arrival of the meal-tribex stew seasoned with selas leaves. Teral may have considered the meal humble fare, but after six months of tasteless gruel, it was a true delight. The twins pounced on the stew like starving men, and it was Teral who finally answered Lei’s question.

“There are a few people in our community who believe that Cyre deserved its fate,” he said.

Daine almost dropped his spoon. “What?”

“Hundreds of refugees live in High Walls, and each person has a different opinion. But the root of this argument is that Cyre was weak. Mishann was the rightful heir to the throne of Galifar. If she’d been more aggressive, she might have put down the rebellion before it came to war.”

Greykell scowled. “In other words, she should have killed her brothers and sisters instead of trusting them to follow the laws and wishes of their father.”

Monan looked up from his stew. “Well, they didn’t, did they?”

Hugal laughed.

“Remind me, Monan, what you did during the war?”

Hugal stopped laughing and Monan looked away.

Greykell smirked, then looked back at Daine. “Speaking of the war, how long are you planning to wear that uniform?”

Daine flushed slightly, remembering his conversation with Jode earlier in the day. “Why? Was it so easy for you to abandon it?”

She shrugged. “Wearing a cloak or a pin doesn’t change who you are. Cyre is still with us. But the nation is gone. The army is gone. All you’re doing by wearing that cloak is angering the people you need as friends, and you should know better. You’re encouraging a fight when we need to work for peace.”

“This is a point that Greykell and I don’t quite see eye to eye on,” Teral said. “If we let go of our tradition, our unity, what do we have left?”

“What do we have now?” Greykell was still smiling, but her voice had taken a sharper tone. “Are we going to be the kingdom of tents? You’ve seen the Mournland. Cyre’s not coming back. I don’t like it any more then you do, but we should be trying to find good lives for our people here in Breland. We need to get our people out of High Walls, not rejoice in our isolation.”

Monan broke in again. No, this time it was Hugal. “We’re still a force to be reckoned with. What do you say, Captain? Do you believe the war is over?”

Is he serious? Daine didn’t know what to say.

“No offense, Hugal,” Jode said, “but how can you say otherwise? Let’s be honest. We were losing the war. Even if every surviving Cyran could wield a weapon, you couldn’t field an army capable of standing against Breland.”

“Who said anything about an army?” Hugal’s eyes glittered.

“What then?” Daine said.

“Have you seen the Mournland?” Hugal asked.

Greykell rolled her eye. Apparently she’d heard this before.

“I spent months searching for survivors,” Daine replied. “Teral, you said you found the serving girl there, didn’t you? That’s one more survivor than we ever found.”

Teral stared down into his water, his eyes distant. “There were more in the south, Daine. I myself was in Metrol when the Mourning came. I’ll never forget that night.”

“If you’ve seen it, you should know,” Hugal said. “Cyre isn’t dead. It’s simply changed.”

Daine thought back, remembering the corpses that wouldn’t decay, the burning mist, the rain of blood. “I … suppose.”

“We can’t go back there,” Hugal said. “The land can’t support life. We know that. But it is still our homeland. It is our past-and perhaps our path to the future. There is power in Cyre. You’ve seen the wonders and horrors that lie beyond the mist. What if we can harness that power? How could anyone stand against us then?”

“And what would we do with such a weapon?” Greykell asked. “Olladra’s teeth, Hugal! Our ancestors prided themselves on their skill and wisdom. Alone of the five nations, we held true to the dictates of Galifar. Would you spread the Mournland across the entire continent?”

“The throne of Galifar was ours by right. The others betrayed a thousand years of tradition, and our homeland paid the price. Do they deserve any better? How about you, Daine? Do you intend to let Cyre be forgotten?”

Daine considered. Eventually he said, “I will never forgive Wroann for her role in starting the war. I don’t know if I can ever look at a Brelish soldier and see anything but an enemy. But Cyre always stood for peace and for wisdom. We fought to preserve our nation, not out of a desire for conquest or revenge. If we turn against that now … then we will be the ones who truly destroy Cyre.”

There was a long pause, then Teral clapped his hands. “Well said, Captain.”

Greykell nodded, and even Monan smiled.

Hugal inclined his head. “Indeed. I hope you’ll pardon my outburst. My brother and I enjoy taking the side of the Traveler, and sometimes I take things too far. Obviously it would be madness to spread the Mournland”-he smiled-“even if we could unlock the mysteries behind it.”

Daine studied the twin carefully, looking for any signs of his true thoughts. Had he simply been arguing the side of discord? Greykell was also watching Hugal, and there was nothing but disgust in her eye.

The conversation eventually began again. Teral shared his memories of the court and the last noble queen of Cyre, whom he had advised in the final days of the war. The other two diners were an elderly half-elf named Sallea and her grandson, Solas. They said little during the meal. Sallea occasionally made comments in the language of the Valenar, and Daine concluded that she didn’t speak the common tongue of Galifar. The boy was thin and sickly and picked at his stew. At one point he coughed, and Daine saw a spot of blood. Jode saw it too and quickly moved over to look at the boy.

“What is it, Jode?” Daine asked.

“Flameworms. Fairly advanced. It doesn’t look good.”

Sallea grabbed the child, pulling him away. Greykell frowned, and Teral nodded gravely. “He’s not the first, I’m afraid. I know the main wells are clean, but we’ve lost a number of the children. I’ll have Hulda take a look at him. She should be able to ease his pain.”

Jode looked at Daine, a question in his eyes. Daine nodded. Jode removed the woolen cap he was wearing, revealing the blue and silver spread across his bald head.

Teral’s eyes widened. “Is that …?”

Jode spoke a few words in Sallea’s language. Slowly, he pulled the boy away from her embrace and placed his palms on either side of the child’s head. The people around the table fell silent, and all eyes were fixed on Jode. The blue of his dragonmark began to glow with an inner light. It only lasted a moment, but it seemed to stretch on far longer.

Jode released the boy’s head, and the light from his mark faded. “It’s going to take a few days for him to recover,” he told Sallea. “But he’ll live.”

With that, the spell was broken, and everyone began to talk at once. Teral made his voice heard over the din. “Jold, did you just heal that boy?”

Jode nodded. “Yes. And it’s Jode.”

“So you are a member of House Jorasco?”

Jode shrugged. “I bear the Mark of Healing, but I owe allegiance to no house.” He said this so easily that it seemed perfectly natural.

Greykell broke in. “This is outstanding! What are your limits? I can think of half a dozen sick children, and then there’s Elymer-he’s starting to go blind.”

Jode looked back to Daine. This was why he’d hidden the mark to begin with, why he’d asked Daine before healing the child.

“I can only draw so much power before I need to rest,” Jode said. “Fighting an infection is hard-harder than fighting a battle. You may have had healers in your other units, but most probably used dragonshards to focus their energy. I suppose I can try to treat the children, but I’ll only be able to help one each day. And I can’t do anything for this Elymer, I’m afraid. I just don’t have that kind of power.”

“Then I suppose …” Greykell tapped her eyepatch.

“I’m afraid not.”

“Well, I’m getting used to it. But any sort of help you could provide to the community would be appreciated.”

“Absolutely!” Teral echoed. “This is an unprecedented stroke of good fortune. I had no idea. A free dragonmark, right here in our midst!”

Daine glanced over at Lei, but she remained silent.

“And you, Daine?” Greykell pointed at his sword, with the blazing Eye of Deneith emblazoned on the pommel. “Do you carry the Mark of Sentinel?”

Thank you, Captain Grazen, Daine thought. “No,” he said. “I lost my sword during our travels, and this is a gift from a friend.”

For a time, the conversation turned to the powers and limitations of Jode’s dragonmark. Teral was interested in what he could do. Could he restore Olalia’s jaw? What sort of parasites could he destroy? Greykell was more interested in the immediate civic applications of his abilities, and Jode agreed to work with the local healer Hulda to try to identify and help those refugees with the most serious problems.

After the meal was done, Sallea thanked Jode again and took her grandson off to bed. One of the twins left-Daine couldn’t remember which one it was. Looking across the table, he noticed that Lei and the other twin were still deep in conversation-a little too deep for his tastes.

“Monan,” Daine said, “shouldn’t you be going now?”

The man laughed-a sound Daine was beginning to hate. “It’s Hugal.” He put a hand on Lei’s shoulder. “And it’s been such a lovely conversation.”

“We must be going,” Daine said. “Lei, Jode …”

“One moment,” Jode said. “Councilor Teral, if I may ask-you are fairly familiar with the comings and goings in High Walls, yes?”

Teral nodded. “Why do you ask?”

“Have you seen this man, by any chance?” Jode produced one of Alina’s sketches, folded to hide the writing. He pushed it to the center of the table, and both Hugal and Teral examined it. “His name is Rasial.”

“Is he Cyran?” Teral said, frowning.

“No. Brelish. But he had family in Cyre. One of his cousins served in our unit and died at Keldan Ridge. We just need to deliver a message.”

Teral studied the parchment for a moment. “No, I’m afraid I can’t help you.”

Hugal just shook his head and laughed.

“He does look somewhat familiar,” Greykell said. “Are you sure you haven’t seen him, Hugal?” The twin shrugged. “Hmm. Perhaps it was Monan, then.”

“Well, it was worth a try.” Jode picked up the sheet of parchment and stood up. “Shall we, my friends?”

Greykell stood, and without warning she wrapped Daine in a crushing embrace. She had the strength of a bear. “Well met, Daine, Lei! Jode, I’ll expect to see you tomorrow.”

After he’d caught his breath, Daine nodded. “Good night, Captain. And thank you again, Lord Teral. Let me know if we can be of service.”

“Don’t worry, Daine. I certainly shall.”

The four soldiers gathered their belongings. The serving girl, Olalia, had emerged to clear the table, and Daine noticed that she was staring at Jode. Her marble teeth glittered in the torchlight, and then she disappeared behind a flap of cloth.