Janik’s fists clenched the wheel. He pulled on it as if it were a horse’s reins, willing the elemental to obey him. He squeezed his eyes shut and the ship disappeared from around him—the bucking deck, the screaming passengers, the dead pilot. He felt as if he stood alone in the middle of a giant ring of wildly burning fire. As he pulled on the wheel with his hands and pulled on the fiery ring with his mind, it seemed to grow smaller, tamer.
“Up!” he shouted, and the ship moved up.
Surprised, Janik opened his eyes. Immediately, the ship jerked hard to port as the elemental felt his hold weaken. No! Obey me! With his renewed focus, the ship moved smoothly once more.
“Take her higher, Janik,” Kelas said, still standing in the door of the wheelhouse. “We’re still awfully close to the ground.” He paused. “But that was well done, I must say.”
Janik allowed a smile to flicker across his face before exerting his will on the elemental once more. This time, it responded immediately and smoothly to his telepathic command, gently lifting the airship higher while keeping the deck level. He was vaguely aware of cheers and a quiet babble of relief from the passengers on deck, but the more he stretched his attention beyond the little wheelhouse, the more he felt his control over the elemental slip.
“Now what?” he said to Kelas. “I can’t keep this up forever.”
“I’ll get word to House Lyrandar,” the Aundairian replied. “Maybe they can get another pilot up here.”
“Another pilot? How are they going to do that?”
“Call in a favor from the teleporters of House Orien, maybe? They’re dragonmarked. They’ll figure it out.” Kelas jumped down the steps to the deck, leaving Janik alone in the wheelhouse.
Janik had no idea how much time passed while he goaded the elemental forward. He was only dimly aware of Kelas returning and offering a course correction to point them toward Fairhaven again. Through a haze of exhaustion, he watched moonlight creep into the sky and brighten the deck. Before long, a man appeared in the wheelhouse—a half-elf whose Lyrandar dragonmark covered much of his muscular chest, only partly covered by the loose, open shirt he wore. The windwright stepped up and gripped the wheel, thanking Janik formally. It was the last thing Janik remembered until he woke in his cabin the next afternoon.
“Fairhaven!” A steward’s voice outside his cabin door penetrated the depths of his exhaustion, and Janik sat up in bed. Looking out the window, he could see the square towers and carefully planned streets of the Aundairian capital below. He jumped up and threw the clothes that were scattered around the cabin into his backpack, then slung it over one shoulder. He felt his pocket to make sure Dania’s letter was still there, then hurried out of the cabin with a backward glance to make sure he hadn’t forgotten anything.
In his years of travel, Janik had never become accustomed to crowds—standing amid a sea of people waiting to disembark, feeling somehow like a sheep being herded for shearing. Even though he was tall enough to see over the heads of many people, he still felt swallowed up in crowds, as though he might drown in their relentless tides. So he breathed a relieved sigh when he finally made his way off the airship, through the busy mooring tower, and down to the relatively quiet, wide streets of Fairhaven.
Now what? he thought. He stood in the red brick plaza outside the mooring tower and tried to collect his jumbled thoughts. He had spent much of the four-day journey from Sharn planning what to do at this moment, but the assassin’s attack and his stint as airship pilot had driven his careful plans from his mind.
First things first, he thought. I’ve got to put this bag down somewhere, and I might not find Mathas today.
He looked around to get his bearings. In contrast to Sharn, with its mile-high towers reaching up to claw at the slate clouds above, Fairhaven spread serenely beneath a clear blue sky. Only the great alabaster palace at the city’s center, to Janik’s right, towered more than several stories. Neat clusters of white-plastered houses lined wide, clean streets. In this part of town, the houses and shops all sported carved lintels and elegantly arched windows. He was surprised by all the green—orderly rows of trees displaying gold and red leaves divided the major roadways, and lush ground covers hinted at beds of colorful flowers in the spring. He spotted the blink dog emblem of House Ghallanda on a large building near the plaza. Shifting his pack on his shoulder, he started walking.
Janik settled himself in a luxurious room in the Ghallanda Inn then wandered into the city. He set out to master Fairhaven, as though he were on another Xen’drik expedition, learning its streets and shops, paying particular attention to fine restaurants and booksellers. He spent the whole of his second day wandering the University of Wynarn, amazed at its size and grandeur compared to Morgrave University, where he taught between expeditions. Everywhere he walked, he kept thinking he saw people he knew—not just Mathas, but Dania, Krael, and—setting his pulse pounding—Maija. But none of his exploring turned up what he sought.
The morning of the third day, Janik sat on his bed, one boot on and the other in his hands, planning the day’s search. He was startled out of his reverie by a sharp knock on the door. “Who’s there?” he called, stuffing his foot into his boot and looking around for his sword.
“Kelas ir’Darran.”
“Kelas?” Janik found his sword, drew it, and walked to the door. “What are you doing here?” Holding the sword in his left hand, he hid it behind the door as he swung it open, forcing a smile to greet the Aundairian.
Kelas’s smile looked genuine enough. “I’ve got some information that might help you, Janik,” he said.
“Information?”
Kelas held out a scrawled note. “Mathas Allister will be pleased to dine with you at the Dragonhawk Towers for luncheon today. That’s the address,” he added, as Janik took the parchment.
Janik shot Kelas a quizzical look. “You found him for me? Why?”
“Too slow!” Kelas laughed. “You should have left for Thrane by now. Instead, you’ve spent two days learning every back alley of Fairhaven and apparently not asking a soul where you might find your friend.” Kelas’s face grew serious. “You saved my life and the lives of a lot of other people on that airship, Janik Martell. So I’m willing to believe that you weren’t lying to me about your business here. But that doesn’t change the fact that you’re a Brelish spy, and certain people would like you to complete your business and be on your way.”
Janik studied the address Kelas had given him, momentarily speechless.
“Besides,” Kelas continued, “it wasn’t hard to find him. As you said, we’ve got him under surveillance.” Smiling, he turned and started walking down the hall. “Enjoy your lunch!” he said over his shoulder.
“Thanks,” Janik called after him, still staring at the note in his hand.
Dragonhawk Towers, Janik thought. He remembered the restaurant—he had walked past it several times in the previous days. It looked like the kind of place Mathas would frequent: finely carved columns at the door, warm firelight spilling out the windows, high-class clientele, probably very expensive.
I never went in. Why? Janik closed the door and sat down on the bed.
Because I thought I might find him, he admitted.
Again he found himself rehearsing the meeting in his mind. Always he saw the old elf’s face wearing a mixture of horror and reproach, not at all the kindly expression Mathas had worn most of the time Janik had known him. His breath started coming faster and he stood up, pacing around the room as he tried for the hundredth time to think of something he could say—something that would make the horror of Maija’s betrayal and the shame of his ill-advised romance with Dania go away. The spacious room felt much too small. Grabbing his coat, he strode out the door and down to the street.