The warforged stared back without a sound.
“But I babble too much,” Gavus said with a light chuckle. “Tell me more of yourself, Master Dalan. I heard you were dead, and by all accounts, Tristam Xain is your killer.”
“Dead?” Dalan said, sounding impressed. “I have never been dead before. How exciting! I never saw it coming. Well executed, Master Xain. You are a man of unexpectedly cold blood.”
“You find this humorous?” Gavus asked archly. “You are a guild master of House Cannith, a dragonmarked heir, no less. I do not think you should take such news so lightly.”
“Why should such obvious fabrications concern me?” Dalan asked. “Such clumsy lies cannot harm me. They only fool those beneath concern. After all, my own house was clearly so certain I had survived that the Baron dispatched a tribe of halfling barbarians to collect me and return me safely home. Incidentally, Chief Rossa recently died at the hands of Cyran mercenaries. The Baron will need to find a new representative to monitor the house’s interests on the plains. I recommend Koranth. He seems an able fellow.”
A nervous flicker passed behind Gavus’s eyes. Tristam glanced past the magewright, studying the statue behind him. “I would not know anything about such things,” Gavus said.
“Of course not,” Dalan replied. “And though circumstances separated me from my earnest halfling guardians, I hurried here forthwith to thank the Baron for his kindness. Do you have any estimate when he will be free to attend me?”
“I cannot say,” Gavus said mildly.
“Just as well,” Dalan said. “I saw many interesting sights upon my journey and am eager to share them with a kinsman. The halflings are such a fascinating people. Their customs are an intriguing mixture of superstition, family loyalty, and pragmatic cunning. One, in particular, may interest you. Are you familiar with the hmael?”
“I am not,” Gavus said.
Dalan smiled mirthlessly. “I would not think you were,” he said. He chuckled, knuckling his forehead with one hand. “The translation of the term escapes me. Seren, do you remember?”
“The golden lie,” she said, eyes fixed thoughtfully on the magewright.
“Ah, yes,” Dalan said. “Thank you, Seren. A hmael is an obvious and blatant lie, crafted to draw attention away from an uncomfortable truth. Both parties know the truth, but they use the hmael as a convenient shield, allowing them to discuss the truth without embarrassment. For example, I could tell you that the Ghost Talons said that they were working for Baron Zorlan d’Cannith. The halflings believed this to be true. Yet you and I both know it to be a lie. Don’t we?”
Gavus’s eyes narrowed. “You are a rude man, Dalan.”
“You still have clay on your robes,” Seren said.
“What?” Gavus asked. He looked down at the hem of his robe, quickly hiding the gray stains among the folds.
“You have a keen eye, Seren,” Dalan said. “This is not your workshop, Gavus. By the spotless condition of the furniture in this room, I can assume you do not regularly come here to read without cleaning yourself first. Why would you rush here from your golems simply to entertain me until the Baron arrives? Any number of servants could have done that.”
“You are paranoid,” Gavus hissed.
“You have no idea,” Dalan said. “Regardless, you are no random emissary. Allow me to theorize. I think after our escape from the plains, the Ghost Talons rushed a messenger to Vulyar. Via speaker, he informed you that we would soon arrive. You posted a runner at the sky towers to watch for our vessel, but when we arrived, we gave you little time to organize a reception. You drew us here to delay us while you determined your next course of action, because you do not wish Baron Zorlan to know you have been wielding his authority unauthorized.”
“Why would I do any of that?” Gavus asked.
“I have absolutely no idea,” Dalan said. “I’m more interested in knowing how you learned about the Legacy, and why you interfered with our search for it.”
“Dalan,” Tristam said, a warning tone in his voice. His eyes were still on Ashrem’s statue.
“Not now, Tristam,” Dalan said. “What do you know about the Legacy?”
“Enough,” Gavus said. “You’re right, Dalan. I have monitored the Boneyard for many months now, through my Ghost Talon agents. They were seeking Kiris Overwood so that they might remand her to my custody. It was only random fortune that they discovered you instead.”
“How did you learn about the Legacy?” Seren asked.
“Ashrem told me himself,” Gavus said. “On the day he drew my promise to ensure it was never again completed.”
“On that end, at least, we agree,” Dalan said. “But there are others far closer to that goal than ourselves, and we cannot stop them unless we follow the same path.”
“You expect me to believe you would seek out the secrets of Ashrem’s work, but not use the Legacy for your own profit, Dalan?” Gavus asked. “Your greed and ambition are well known.”
Dalan rose from his seat. “Insult me if you wish,” he said. “You are insignificant, so I am hardly offended. However, if you interfere with my business again, I shall inform Baron Zorlan of your insolence and he-not I-will deal with you. Understood? That is all I wished to say. We are finished here.”
“Sit back down, Dalan,” Gavus said.
“Dalan,” Tristam said again.
“We have nothing more to discuss,” Dalan replied. He turned toward the door and jiggled the handle, finding it locked.
“Sit down,” Gavus repeated. “I do not wish to resort to violence.”
Dalan laughed. “Omax,” he said. “Open this door.”
The warforged rose and turned with a fluid creak of wood and metal. He moved toward the door and lifted a heavy clenched fist, knocking the door crooked on its hinges with a single blow.
“Omax, be careful,” Tristam said more urgently. The artificer rose, still watching Ashrem d’Cannith’s statue.
A sound of grinding stone hissed from the depths of the statue. Omax looked back. The sculpture had begun to move, lumbering toward them slowly with its blade and lantern held high.
“A golem,” the warforged said.
“Ashen, do not allow these people to leave,” Gavus said, standing and quickly moving behind the golem.
The stone servant staggered forward with an obedient groan, a sound like fire crackling in the heart of a great cave. Its eyes shone a baleful yellow as it moved toward Dalan. Omax darted into Ashen’s path, but the golem bashed the warforged with its lantern, knocking him back against the wall and flattening a bookcase. Dalan looked up in blank fear, quickly moving away from the door. The golem immediately ignored him, turning back to face the others. Seren rose and drew her dagger but was uncertain what to do with it against the stone creature. Tristam readied his wand and pointed it at the golem uncertainly.
“Don’t waste your magic, boy,” Gavus said. “Your master must have taught you that golems are immune to such things.”
Omax surged to his feet with a metallic roar. Ashen turned slowly to face the warforged, lifting its sword high. Tristam spoke a word of magic, unleashing his wand’s lightning, toppling a bookcase onto the golem. Ashen stumbled, giving Omax the opportunity he sought. The warforged collided with Ashen’s chest, ramming it against the wall and shattering another bookcase in a cloud of torn paper. Seren pulled Dalan out of the way as debris exploded across the library.