But as he drifted off to sleep, he couldn’t help wondering if the words he’d heard had been real and, if they were, to which of the women in his prayers they had been referring.
After a brief stop a day and a half later to replenish their supplies in the small riverside city of Olath, they continued on, reaching Shadukar on the morning of the fifth day since they’d left the metal monks of Angwar Keep.
The gray walls of Shadukar were visible for several miles, situated atop an escarpment that formed the base of what locals called “The Arrow,” a low-lying spit of land jutting north into Scions Sound. The bulk of the city itself had been built into the side of the bluff, looking north toward Flamekeep and Thronehold. But over the years the population had outgrown the stony confines of the scarp, and buildings had sprouted at the top of the cliffs. Eventually, Upper Shadukar had become a city in its own right, and walls had been erected to protect the affluent neighborhoods located there. From this distance, the only things that marked the shattered Jewel of the Sound as a ruin were the lack of movement atop those walls and the eerie quiet that hung over them.
“It doesn’t look that bad,” Greddark remarked. “Why didn’t they try to rebuild it?”
“Just wait,” Andri replied. He’d never been to the ruined city himself, but one did not become a paladin in Thrane without hearing how clerics had had to drive out the unquiet spirits of the dead, and at what cost. The people of Thrane believed Shadukar was cursed, and with cause.
As they approached, they could see the first hints of disrepair. The massive gates were black with soot and hung ajar, swinging slowly on rusty hinges. The creaking complaint of the distressed metal made the hair on the back of Andri’s neck stand up.
Andri and Greddark dismounted and moved toward the entrance. Setting their shoulders against the blackened wood, they pushed the heavy gate open enough for their mounts to pass through unimpeded. Then they climbed back on their horses and entered the city.
The extent of the devastation wreaked by the Karrns became readily apparent as soon as they were within the city walls. The burnt skeletons of wooden buildings rose into the air out of mounds of old ash and debris, while their stone counterparts were crumbling and overgrown with sickly-looking moss and vines. Chunks of wood, fallen stones, and broken glass littered the streets, and here and there some bit of rotting fabric that had miraculously escaped the fires waved languorously in the cool salt-scented breeze.
In the distance, a bird cawed, shattering the silence and making them all jump.
Andri turned to the others.
“Welcome to Shadukar.”
Chapter FOURTEEN
Wir, Eyre 4, 998 YK
After a quick consultation of the camp shifters’ maps, they found the nearest likely lairing spot and planned out the shortest route, one that would take them through the Lodging District, Artificer’s Avenue, and the Greensward-though Greddark doubted very much that the large park was green any longer.
They formed a loose line, with Irulan leading on foot, arrow nocked as she scoured the ground and sniffed the air for any traces of their quarry-or anything else that might be wandering the ruins. Greddark followed on horseback, with Irulan’s horse tied to his saddle. Andri, also mounted, brought up the rear, his sword out and ready, but thankfully extinguished. They’d all agreed that having a paladin with a flaming silver sword in the lead would make it rather difficult to sneak up on a lycanthrope.
They followed the winding road through the Lodging District, an area populated largely by inns and taverns-or what was left of them. Stone chimneys reached up out of the burned wreckage of common rooms, and here and there the remains of soot-blackened staircases ended in nothing but the tomb-gray sky. A few of the inns still had a wall or two standing. One still boasted a gaping hole where its door had once been, with a sign scorched beyond readability hanging dejectedly above it from one rusting chain.
The wind occasionally stirred ashes into the air, forming tiny gray whirlwinds that skipped across the road before dying again on the other side, as if nothing could live long in this forsaken city. The smells of salt and smoke haunted the breeze and made Greddark think, inexplicably, of Karrnathi sausages.
They were nearing the end of the row of hostels and alehouses when Greddark caught movement out of the corner of his eye. Fleeting, and gone before he could be sure it was anything more than an errant gust of wind, but still enough to make the small hairs on the back of his neck stand up and take notice.
A wide curve brought them through a blasted gate and into a business district-jewelers, clockmakers, and artificers of all stripes, judging by the tiny gears and springs that littered their path. Artificer’s Avenue. These buildings had been made primarily of stone and so were petrified corpses instead of the rotting skeletons of the Lodging District. Here, most of the second floors were still intact and they rose up to block the sky, casting the road into shadow. Black windows stared down at them as they passed, like empty eye sockets.
Another movement, behind them and to the left. A second story window above a toymaker’s shop.
Some of the sockets still had eyes, after all.
Greddark slowed his horse, pretending to scrutinize one of the maps while Andri caught up to him.
“Is there a problem?” the paladin asked as he reined in his horse next to the dwarf’s mount.
“You might say that,” Greddark said, pointing his finger at the paper while turning toward Andri. He lowered his voice. “Act as if I’m showing you something interesting,” he said as he glanced surreptitiously over the paladin’s mailed shoulder.
The window was empty.
Andri caught on immediately. “We’re being followed?” he asked, leaning forward and pretending to examine the map. “Is it Quillion?”
“Well, like Irulan said,” the dwarf replied, grinning wolfishly at the perplexed shifter as she turned back to see what was keeping them. “There’s only one way to know for sure.”
The trap was simple. After a quick perusal of his maps, Greddark found a circular junction where the road they were on intersected two others. He would stop there, feigning an injury to his mount with the aid of a tiny spiked ball he kept for just such occasions. Meanwhile Irulan and Andri would seem to press on, following their intended route to a spacious park that backed up to several large, gated estates. Once out of sight, they would double back, cutting through several alleyways to another of the roads that fed into the junction. Greddark, meanwhile, would appear to busy himself with tending to his horse, leaving him seemingly vulnerable to attack. Though it was still daytime, the opportunity to catch him alone and distracted should prove tempting enough to draw the lycanthrope out, especially with the threat of Andri’s silver sword removed.
Of course, Andri’s sword was also the only weapon any of them had that would do real damage to a lycanthrope. Irulan had her single silver-tipped claw, but it was more decoration than dagger. Whether it would actually hurt the creature or simply annoy him remained to be seen. She’d also been able to haggle with one of the camp shifters for a large pair of silver teardrop earrings, which Greddark had helped her melt down and apply to a single arrowhead, but she’d only use the makeshift arrow as a last resort.
Greddark hadn’t anticipated facing a werewolf when he left Sigilstar, and so he had nothing to hand that could hurt one, nor had he been able to find a suitable weapon on the journey here. In Thrane, silver swords-in actuality, steel swords alchemically bonded with silver-were the province of knights, forged by commission. Even if Greddark could have found a weaponsmith willing to make one, he wouldn’t have been able to afford the cost-in time or in gold.