She heard heavy boots approaching and looked up. A group of armed guards approached them. Some were White Lions, the Korth City Watch. Seren recognized the guards from the nearby House of Making as well. Other curious bystanders appeared as well, watching from windows and doorways. Seren deftly tucked her dagger into its hiding place in the back of her belt before the guards noticed it, along with Tristam’s wand.
“What’s going on here?” demanded one of the watchmen, glancing sharply from the injured artificer to the roof of the building across the street, now smoking in the rain.
“He’s been stabbed,” Seren said. “We need a healer.”
“Out of the way!” shouted an imperious voice. “This man is under the protection of House Cannith.”
The watchman turned, his expression annoyed as a group of Cannith guardsman approached. Dalan himself led the group.
“I represent the House of Making,” Dalan said, flashing his signet ring at the guard. “Please stand aside. This boy has pending membership in the Fabricator’s Guild. His welfare is my responsibility.”
“Wait,” the guard said, stunned. “What happened here? What was that explosion? Why is that roof on fire?”
Dalan held out one hand, cupping the rain as it fell. “In Wroat we often have thunderstorms,” he said. “They are frightening events, to be sure, but our City Watch has long since ceased trying to arrest them.”
The watchman gaped. Dalan pressed his advantage, sending two of the guards to help Tristam to his feet and carry him back to the House of Making. The dumfounded watchman opened his mouth to speak again, but Dalan interrupted.
“If you need to question the boy further, simply report to the Cannith house and inquire my name,” Dalan said.
“Whatever is happening here, Baron Zorlan will answer for this, d’Cannith,” the guardsman promised.
“I’m sure he will,” Dalan said. He patted the guard on the shoulder and hurried off.
Seren followed. “You never gave him your name.”
“I know,” Dalan said. “The White Lions are altogether too curious and vigilant to give them that sort of useful information. So what happened? More Cyrans or just Tristam being Tristam?”
“It was an elf,” Seren said. “He appeared from nowhere, then vanished into a cloud of darkness when Tristam’s lightning alerted the guards.”
“An elf?” Dalan said, eyes widening. “You say he ran into the darkness?”
“No,” Seren said. “He summoned shadows and stepped into them. It was magic.”
Dalan looked around nervously and quickened his pace. “Let’s waste no time, gentlemen,” he shouted to the guards. “The night is unfriendly.”
“What’s going on, Dalan?” she asked.
“You’ve described a Thuranni,” he said. “A dragonmarked assassin.”
“I thought the Thuranni were dancers and artists,” Seren said.
“Of course they are,” Dalan said with a humorless laugh. “And I’m just a humble merchant. Now let’s hurry inside before he returns to dance for us again.”
The guards deposited Tristam in a small guest bedroom near the entrance. Dalan posted two men at the door and sent another to find a healer. Tristam lay on the bed, sweat beading on his face. Seren sat beside him, clutching his hand with a worried face.
“What if he’s poisoned?” she asked.
“If a Thuranni poisoned him, he’d already be dead,” Dalan said. “Fortunately, many of their agents don’t use poison-it’s too easily traceable. Better to just strike accurately and leave the target dead than pump him full of chemicals that an inquisitive could use to track you down.” Dalan frowned. “The entire existence of the House is something of an oddity. I consider them to be the worst kept secret in Khorvaire. I imagine it must be difficult to pretend your house is a band of entertainers and sculptors when you kill people for money-how’s anyone supposed to hire you if they don’t know what you really do? Anyone of questionable morality who possesses the financial means to dispose of his enemies will inevitably ‘discover’ the truth of the Thuranni’s existence. It’s amazing how many wealthy nobles believe they are the only ones who know the truth.” Dalan laughed dryly.
“Why would he attack us?” Tristam asked. “Are they enemies of the Canniths?”
“No,” Dalan said. “They are neutral. Professional killers who will take any contract. Presumably Marth has discarded subtlety and now simply seeks to remove the threat Tristam poses. Quite a clever move, in my opinion. Tristam, do you realize that you are the only member of the Karia Naille’s crew, including myself, who is indispensable? Without you to maintain the ship and decipher Ashrem’s clues, we would be lost. We are all fortunate that you survived.”
Tristam didn’t speak for a time. “You told the guards I had pending guild membership. Was that just a lie so they would get out of their way?”
“Yes,” Dalan said, “though only because I’ve not yet had a chance to speak with the Baron and officially sponsor you. If you are still interested, I think the House of Making could benefit a great deal from your presence. You bear a mix of talent and wisdom that has been sorely lacking since my uncle’s death.”
“Thank you, Dalan,” Tristam said, shocked.
“No need to thank me,” Dalan said. “Bringing such a brilliant talent into the house will boost my own standing as well. Now just try to stay alive so that you can accept the sponsorship when this is all done.”
“Will Tristam be all right?” Seren asked.
“Oh, I’m not worried for his wounds,” Dalan said, “He’s safe enough here. Once the healers arrive he will be fine. Especially if we can find Eraina. She has a talent for patching us back together. I only worry for future attacks.” Dalan looked at her intently. “As should you, Miss Morisse.”
“Me?” she asked.
Dalan pointed at the cuts on Seren’s hip and leg. She had forgotten her own injuries completely. “You fought a Thuranni assassin and survived,” Dalan said. “Not only did you survive, but you denied him his target. I smell bruised elf pride, Miss Morisse.” Dalan smirked. “I commend you for your feat, but you must be more cautious now.”
“This is serious, Dalan,” Seren said. “There’s an assassin hunting us.”
“And only days ago an army of assassins hunted us,” Dalan said, shrugging. He rose and moved to the door. “We’re alive, Seren. Exult in it. Mock your enemies while you retain the breath to do so.”
The door opened and two halfling women in the livery of House Jorasco healers entered. One carried a small basin of fresh water. The other carried a leather satchel. They smelled distinctly of the fragrant herbs they used in their medicines.
“Your patients, Doctors,” Dalan said, gesturing at Seren and Tristam. “Please forward the bill to Baron Zorlan d’Cannith.”
The halflings pushed past Dalan with a mumbled acknowledgment, more concerned with their work than payment for the time being.
“Just remain vigilant, Miss Morisse,” Dalan said as he closed the door. “You have made a powerful enemy.”
Seren stared at the closed door for some time. The halflings quietly asked her about their injuries and what sort of medicine Tristam had already used, all while conscientiously avoiding any questions about her attacker. Seren wondered how frequently the Jorasco healers had to deal with such suspicious injuries. She supposed in their place she would learn to be incurious as well. After cleaning and bandaging Seren’s relatively minor wounds, the elder healer politely shooed Seren from the room. She stopped only long enough to set Tristam’s wand atop his discarded coat, then slipped out into the hall.
Seren walked aimlessly through the halls of the House of Making. Her mind wandered over past events, and how much her life had changed of late. She opened a door and stepped out into a large, well-appointed courtyard. The drizzly rain had finally begun to die away, leaving the garden coated in a fine mist. Seren breathed deeply and sat on a stone bench near a bubbling fountain across from a weathered statue. She laughed at her own distraction when she saw the statue move, looking at her with shining blue eyes.