FIVE
If there was a word to describe the city of Korth, it was “uninviting.” Centuries of building and development had turned the streets of Korth into a meandering, confusing mess. Recent attempts to rebuild and restore order to damaged parts of the city had only made matters worse. Massive square buildings stood in even rows along well paved streets only blocks away from snarled webs of dead end streets. Karrnathi pride was obvious in its architecture, as all buildings, old and new, featured the grim statuary and delicately twisted wrought iron so common in this land. Compared to Wroat, Seren was amazed at how dark the city was. Her first impulse was that it seemed to be a very cold, unyielding place. The murky gray clouds and steady drizzle of rain cast the city in a mournful light. This was a place of strict, unflinching law.
The sooner they were gone from here, the better.
“It has been some time since I have visited a leader of my House,” Dalan mused, joining Seren at the railing. He held the same thick ledger he had been carrying so often of late, toying idly with a stick of charcoal as he sketched on a page. “I doubt Zorlan will be eager to see me. He was good friends with my uncle, until the end.”
“I’m guessing Zorlan was one of the ones who didn’t approve when Ashrem acquired a taste for peace?” Zed asked.
“Certain words were exchanged between Zorlan and my uncle on several occasions,” Dalan replied. “Suffice it to say that the Baron’s disrespect encouraged me to throw my support behind his rival, Merrix. I may not have agreed with my uncle’s philosophies, but neither will I endure slander heaped upon him.”
“I hesitate to posit such an uncomfortable question, Master d’Cannith,” Pherris said from the helm, “but what if Zorlan is in league with Marth? The changeling’s ship is crippled just as ours was. If Marth is forced to seek repairs and Zorlan is his ally, Korth will probably be his destination as well.”
“I haven’t ruled out the possibility,” Dalan said, eyeing the city below thoughtfully. He clapped the book shut and tucked the charcoal into his pocket. “Yet I think it is unlikely. Zorlan is not the sort of man to consort with mercenaries-he has plenty of his own loyal troops. Further, Zorlan lost all respect for my uncle’s work when Ashrem turned his attention away from armaments of war. As I said, he was quite vocal in his denouncements. I think Zorlan would be too proud to use the Legacy to secure his own bid for power. Using one of Ashrem’s inventions to secure his bid for power would be too much like admitting he was wrong. He would be more likely to destroy the Legacy altogether, if he knew about it.”
“So what do we expect to find here, Master d’Cannith?” Pherris asked.
“Clarity, Captain Gerriman,” Dalan answered. “Now take us down.”
Karia Naille soared downward, weaving between the heavy structures of Korth toward the sky towers near the river bank. A pot-bellied dock officer waddled across the bridge to inspect their vessel. Dalan took the man aside and, after a few quiet moments of discourse, pressed a small pouch into the man’s hand with a grin. The officer glanced over the ship a final time, smiling eagerly, and disappeared back into the tower.
“Docking fees, so to speak,” Dalan said. “I have tipped the man to be incurious.” Dalan glanced over the crew with a smug grin. “You are all free to do as you like. I have no idea how long we will remain here. At least long enough to conduct our repairs. Our next destination still waits for us to find it. Omax, if you would be so kind, I would appreciate your attendance as I go to meet with the would-be master of my House. We must hurry.”
The warforged looked over sharply from his daydreaming. Seren noticed that Omax seemed distracted of late. The injuries he had sustained on the Moon still scarred his metal chest.
The warforged inclined his head. “Do you expect danger, Dalan?” he asked coolly.
“Not from the Baron himself,” he said. “If Zorlan had hostile intents, there is little we could do, save flee. His resources and manpower dwarf nations. However, I do not believe he is our true rival.”
Omax’s eyes flickered. “Then who?” he asked evenly.
“I do not know,” Dalan said. “Thus we must hurry, so he will make a mistake and reveal himself.’
“I’m going too,” Tristam said, stepping onto the deck. His reading spectacles were still perched on the bridge of his nose. He snatched them away absently and tucked them into his coat. “I want to hear this.”
“You are required here, Tristam,” Dalan said, his voice edged with impatience. “Only you can direct the ship’s repairs.”
“And we can’t repair the ship without proper materials,” Tristam said. “I gave Gerith the list. He’ll gather them while we meet with the Baron. By the time he returns, we’ll be done.”
The halfling had been chewing absently on an apple. He looked up happily at the sound of his name, flashing the hastily written list he clutched in one hand.
Dalan’s gaze rested heavily on Gerith, then returned to Tristam again. “I do not have the energy to argue, Tristam,” he said with a sigh. “Accompany me if you must.”
“And Seren, too,” Tristam said.
“Khyber, why don’t we all go?” Dalan snapped, throwing his hands in the air. “I’ll bring the dog too. Aeven can come. We’ll make a holiday of it.”
Tristam’s face darkened.
“It’s fine,” Dalan amended, interrupting before Tristam could utter his angry reply. “Bring her. Follow me.”
Dalan crossed the bridge and entered the tower, shrugging into his hood to ward off the misty rain. Omax, Tristam, and Seren followed, descending the stairs and stepping out onto the road. Dalan was waiting, looking back with a curious glint in his eye.
“If you would accompany me,” he said, hurrying down the road once he saw they were following, “I must ask that you abide by my conditions.”
“What conditions?” Seren asked suspiciously.
“First, do not speak unless someone asks you a question,” Dalan said. “Answer with yes or no, if possible. If more information is needed, answer with as few words as you can muster.”
“What?” Tristam said. “You want us to shut up?”
“A focused front is required for all negotiations,” Seren said. “Jamus always taught me that.”
“Ha.” Dalan said smirked. “And who do you think taught him that? Me.”
“So we pretend to agree,” Tristam said. “Even if we don’t, just so that we are not divided further.”
“Precisely,” Dalan said. He glanced up and down the street, searching for an available coach. “I trust your expertise in matters of magic. You must trust me in matters of politics. The most basic tenet of politics is not to speak needlessly around men who hear more than you mean to say. Any arguments can be reserved for a later time, in private.”
“That makes a great deal of sense,” Tristam grudgingly admitted.
“My second condition,” Dalan said, “is that you listen carefully to me. If I use the name ‘Old Ash’ in reference to my uncle, that is a signal. I will not say it by accident, for I never called my uncle by that ridiculous nickname.”
“Signal for what?” Seren asked.
“To argue against me on whatever topic we happen to be discussing,” he said. “I’m certain none of you will find that too onerous a task.”
“Why?” Tristam asked. “What’s the point of that?”
“A focused front is a significant strength,” Dalan said, “but sometimes it is useful to appear weak. It can lead the opponent into overconfidence.”
“I think I’m thankful my mind isn’t as tangled as yours, Dalan,” Tristam said.
Dalan ignored the comment. “Just remember. Such trickery is generally unnecessary, but I prefer to lay contingencies in place.”
They hurried through the labyrinthine streets of Korth. The path was busy and more than one stranger studied them as they walked past. Seren felt strangely ill at ease. She peered about as she walked, her instincts screaming that something was amiss. She searched as cautiously as possible, hood shading her eyes so that her search would not be obvious. One hand rested unconsciously on her dagger’s hilt. She was uncertain what she was seeking-only that it was there.