“What does it say?” Dalan asked.
“She says she’s made a breakthrough in her research,” Tristam said, looking up at Dalan urgently. “She asks that we come to Sharn immediately and contact her through a university librarian named Petra Ghein.”
“That’s all?” Dalan said. “Nothing more?”
“You expected Norra to just give information away?” Ijaac said dryly.
Dalan sighed. “She’ll have to wait,” he said. “Nathyrr is our next destination.”
“What if she’s in danger?” Seren asked.
“Then she’s in danger on the far side of the continent,” Dalan said. “Zed and Eraina aren’t even a quarter the distance away. They’re just as likely to need our aid.”
“More likely, if they’ve found Marth,” Tristam said.
“Indeed,” Dalan said. “In either case our business here is done. Return to the Mourning Dawn. We depart for Nathyrr as soon as possible. I have some paperwork to attend, but I should follow you presently.”
Tristam remained behind as the others filed out of the garden. Dalan gave him a questioning look and returned to his seat, drawing his book out of his jacket.
“Did you have something else you wished to discuss, Tristam?” Dalan asked.
“Back in Metrol you said you had no illusions about who commands this quest,” Tristam said, “but since we landed at Gatherhold you’ve done nothing but give orders. Were you only passing me responsibility to see if I would fail?”
Dalan looked at Tristam over the top of his book. “No,” he said, then returned to reading.
“Then why?” Tristam demanded, growing annoyed at Dalan’s indifference.
“Because you had just failed to prevent your most deadly rival from escaping,” Dalan said. “Because your arrogance had nearly cost your closest friend his life. Because we were in the most hostile environment imaginable. I gave you command so that you would not have time to dwell on how horrible the situation had become. We needed you to survive, Tristam.”
“And now?” Tristam asked.
Dalan closed his book and sighed. “You are a brilliant man, Tristam. Your skill at artifice may exceed that of Ashrem himself one day, and should you clash with Marth again on even terms I have no doubt who will prevail. But you are no leader. You hesitate. You vacillate. You agonize over mistakes that are no fault of your own. You do not compromise. You are unprepared to make sacrifices. I will value your counsel, Tristam, but you must realize that no other member of this crew is as suited to command as I am.”
“Even though no one trusts you?” Tristam said.
“I do not care if they trust me,” Dalan said. “I do not care if they like me. All that matters is that they obey me.”
“You haven’t changed, Dalan,” Tristam said.
“How sad that you think so,” Dalan said. He opened his book again.
“I thought you had work to do,” Tristam said.
“I do,” he said. “I am waiting for Baron Zorlan’s scribe to return and notarize the final draft.”
“Of what?” Tristam asked.
“My sponsorship for your initiation to the House of Making,” Dalan said. “I submitted the initial application shortly before we left Korth the last time. I assumed you were still interested.”
“If you’re trying to bribe my loyalty-”
“A bribe you aren’t even aware of?” Dalan asked. “That would be cryptic, even for me. Does it surprise you that I am capable of giving a friend credit where it is due?”
“I’m surprised you consider me a friend,” Tristam said.
“You know it is not a term I use lightly,” Dalan said, “but yes. I do.”
A young woman in the livery of a Cannith servant entered the courtyard carrying a stack of papers. Dalan set his book aside and waved her over while Tristam quietly excused himself. The artificer made his way through the halls of the Cannith estates, hands tucked deep in the pockets of his coat.
There was a time when membership in House Cannith was his fondest desire. When Ashrem had denied it, he abandoned his master and set out on his own. Now he was not so certain. It would be an incredible opportunity, to be certain. He would have a chance to work beside the brightest minds in the field of artifice. The resources he would have to conduct his research would be nearly unlimited. But would they manipulate him as Dalan did? Would they ostracize him as they had Ashrem?
Would he be forced to leave the Mourning Dawn behind?
Tristam stepped onto the streets of Korth. The others were waiting for him there. Seren smiled at him, pushing away his bleak thoughts. She took his hand as they made their way back toward the airship.
Captain Gerriman stood at the ship’s helm, absorbed in his charts. Aeven sat in the bow, letting the wind spill through her long blond hair. The hatch of Dalan’s cabin opened a creak and the guildmaster’s shaggy dog, Gunther, waddled out to greet Seren. The dog whined softly as Omax emerged from the hold, shying away from the unfamiliar stranger.
“Omax?” Pherris said, looking at the warforged in astonishment.
Aeven opened her eyes for a brief moment and looked at Omax. The warforged knelt and extended one hand to the dog. Gunther cocked his head and eased forward, sniffing Omax’s hand. The old dog eased onto its haunches as Omax gently scratched the animal’s ears.
The leathery flap of wings sounded above them. Gerith’s glidewing swooped gracefully around them and perched on the deck, halfling mounted on its back.
“I found it,” Gerith said proudly. He leapt out of the saddle and marched up to Omax.
The warforged peered at Gerith as he rose. “Found what?” he asked.
The halfling reached into his vest and drew out a lump of dusty cloth. He proudly offered it to the warforged. Omax hesitated before accepting gently with both hands. He stared at the gift for a long moment before setting his shapeless woolen hat back upon his head.
“Thank you,” the warforged said.
Gerith beamed.
“Gerith, where did you find that?” Tristam asked.
“Metrol,” Gerith said. “I went back while you were in Gatherhold.”
Ijaac gaped at the halfling. “You flew back into the Mournland alone to find a hat?”
“He always wears it,” Gerith said.
“It was just a hat,” the warforged said.
“Oh,” Gerith answered, his shoulders slumping. “I thought it was special for some reason.”
“It is now,” Omax said.
TEN
Lady Kairen?” Petra called out. “Lady Kairen, please wait up.”
Norra glared over one shoulder as she marched down the university stairs. Petra stopped, surprised at her angry look.
“It’s Kairel,” Norra said, looking around quickly to make certain they were not overheard. “Not Kairen. I don’t know how you remember every book ever borrowed from your library but you can’t keep my name straight.”
“Sorry,” Petra said sheepishly. “I actually have a horrible memory. That’s why I write everything down.”
“I don’t care,” Norra snapped. “What did you want, Petra? Just use my real name. No one is here to overhear.”
“Those men came again, Norra,” he said. “They were asking about you. They have begun visiting me directly.”
Norra’s face paled, though the enchanted cap that masked her features did not show it. Her face was wrapped in the illusion of a young university student, dark-haired with fair skin and the slightly pointed ears of a half-elf. “Did you tell them anything?” she asked.
“Nothing,” he insisted.
“Are you certain? You are the only person who knows I’ve returned to Sharn.”
“Norra, please,” Petra pleaded. “You know I wouldn’t do anything to hurt you. If I did, why would I warn you?”
“I’m sorry, Petra,” Norra said. She closed her eyes and rubbed her face with one hand, trying to think. “I feel like such a fool for letting this happen, though I cannot help but think it’s no less than I deserve.” She sat down heavily on the steps, watching the airships as they soared across the skyline.