Eight days to reach you from Everlund, came the reply. Find Farideh and wait for them to contact you. Dahl bristled. He spent the evening praying indignantly to Oghma.
The next day he tried again, and while the villagers seemed to be less wary of him, they weren’t welcoming. He made his way, winding through the alleys, toward the crowded quarter where the children had said he could find Oota, wondering if there were better ways to track down Tharra, the elusive Harper who might have a way to get into the fortress. Instead he found a trio of villagers, all muscle and grim expressions, weaving through the scattered people and alleyways, searching for Dahl. He lost them without much trouble, but every time he came back out into the open, he saw them again. Tucked into a narrow passage between houses, he crouched over someone’s fallow garden, puzzling over what to try next.
He reached the street again and found a delicate line of violets peeking out of the dirt.
Perhaps they bloom early here, Dahl thought. It wasn’t warm on the mountain, but it wasn’t as cold as it should have been. Perhaps. . it’s warmer this year. Perhaps the mountains have volcanos’ hearts, and the seeds stay warm. There were a dozen answers more likely than flowers signaling the presence of a. . what? What did he expect to find?
Chosen growing in the mud, he thought. Waiting for a wizard to harvest them.
“Cakes, some sweetmeats, lovely grapes only a little bruised.” A woman’s voice stopped Dahl in his tracks. “And half a ham on the edge of spoiling-I suppose she doesn’t much appreciate the wizard’s hospitality.”
Dahl peered around the building’s corner-there was Tharra again, holding open a sack. She was talking to a half-elf man with broad shoulders. Beside them, Samayan perched on a windowsill, while little Vanri hopped one-footed around them, squelching in the chilly mud.
“Brightnose lady?” the man asked.
The woman shook her head. “She’s odd. But I don’t think so. Wants to wear armor, not frilly dresses. Looks embarrassed half the time she gives an order. She puts my nerves to the blade, but she’s better than the wizard-so far.”
The man shook his head. “Small comfort. Is she certainly on his side?”
Tharra gave the man a look Dahl was all too familiar with. “Look at the signs. You don’t deck an enemy in gems.”
“Right,” the man said, with the air of a chastened pupil. He scratched his forehead with the back of his hand, and Dahl noticed the cages-the man’s fingers were locked into awkward curls by metal brackets. “Wish I could help in there. You still think it’s worth it?” he asked. “Walking among the guards-they could figure you out any time now.”
“Then they will have to reckon with the fact I’m not just a servant,” the woman said. “But don’t worry. They don’t want to figure me out.”
“That’s what I’m afraid they’ll notice-Vanri, stop. You’re getting mud everywhere.”
Vanri made a face at the man, then looked across the road. Right at Dahl. Her eyes brightened. “Hey! Hey! There’s that jack!”
And now all of them were looking where Vanri pointed.
“Dahl,” Samayan said.
“Yeah, Dahl,” Vanri said. She looked up at the woman as Dahl walked over. “He got took two days ago.”
“Three,” Samayan said.
Tharra pulled the little girl behind her, her eyes on Dahl. “We’ve met already. Armas?” The half-elf man took hold of Vanri’s hand. She pulled against it.
“Dahl, Dahl, Dahl!” she said. “Want to see how far I can jump?”
“Later perhaps,” Dahl said. “I need to talk to Tharra right now.”
“Vanri, Samayan,” Tharra said. “Go with Armas, please.”
Armas frowned. “Are you sure?”
“She knocked me down pretty quick the last time,” Dahl said. “I wouldn’t worry.”
Tharra looked over at Armas. “I’ve dealt with worse. I’ll meet you later. You too,” she said to Vanri and Samayan, as she passed Armas the sack of food. “Go with Armas now.”
“Bye, Dahl!” Vanri said, as Samayan slid off the windowsill. Dahl waved, but at the same time he was thinking about how fast he could get the dagger out of his boot. Tharra only smiled pleasantly at him, as Armas and the children headed up the road.
“You’re a pretty incautious fellow,” Tharra said. “Strolling around in your uniform. Walking right up to me like this. I hear you’ve been looking, though, asking around. But not getting anywhere.”
Dahl blinked at her. “You told them to stay away from me.”
“Guilty,” she said. “But I have to say, you’ve done better than expected- you went to the children. Good instincts.”
“Thank you,” Dahl said.
“And you’ve managed to keep ahead of Oota’s enforcers,” Tharra pointed out. She straightened her apron, her hand reaching into the front of it briefly, as if adjusting the pin Dahl knew hid there. “They’ve been trailing you all day.”
“They’re easy to spot,” Dahl admitted. “Do you think I need to talk to Oota?” Dahl frowned. Why would he talk to Oota? Why wouldn’t he just talk to Tharra, here and now? He had to show her. . something. “Wait,” he said, shaking his head. “I need to talk to you. I need to get back in the fortress.”
“Well, we can talk about that. No problems there. But I need to go, I’m keeping someone more powerful than me waiting.” She smiled. “You can wait in my house here. I’ll even leave you some bread and wine to keep you company.”
He nearly agreed-bread and a seat and some stlarning wine was all he wanted in the entire world, and a chance to talk to Tharra besides? She smiled, and he nearly thanked her profusely and followed her in.
But it didn’t sound nice, a little part of him thought-in fact, it sounded like an ambush meant to catch a complete imbecile, even if a little of the wine would be fine, drugged or not. “Something’s not right here.”
Tharra gave him a pleasant smile. “We could talk about it inside.”
She looked past him, up the street. Dahl followed her gaze to where three powerful brutes-two humans and a half-orc-were marching down the street toward them.
“Ah, never mind,” Tharra said, and the urge to follow her dissolved. “They’ve finally found you. Give Oota my regards, would you?”
“You stlarning-” But Dahl stopped, transfixed-not by the approaching toughs, but by the trail of tiny wine-dark violets running up the path between them, beginning in the spot where Samayan had stepped down from his perch.
As bad as having Rhand loom over Farideh’s shoulder was, being left alone in the fortress for two days was almost worse. Alone with her thoughts, with nothing to do, she alternated between sudden, racing plans to escape, to unravel Sairché’s deal-or at least speed her way through it somehow-and deep, smothering sadness.
She might well die here, and she couldn’t even hope for someone to save her. If she didn’t uphold her end of the deal, Sairché would have her soul, and anyone who might manage their way past the wall would be in grave danger.
Tharra still came in the mornings, to help her dress and style her hair. Farideh made no protests-not any longer. What was the point? She took out Dahl’s cards and made a game of them just to keep Tharra from talking to her any more. Dahl was right: the game did still her thoughts, for a time.
Once the maid had left, Farideh searched nearly every inch of the black glass castle, spiraling down from the battlements to Rhand’s study, into the dark cellars. She passed storerooms and servant’s quarters; barracks and an armory where she found her rod, dagger, and sword; more guest rooms and a strange little kitchen. She walked the wall around the fortress, hunting for Dahl among the people passing through the little village. She never found him. The shadar-kai guards watched her pass, their coal-black eyes glittering, but their weapons still. Rhand was as good as his word-not a one moved to stop her.
It wasn’t until she stood before a pair of iron-banded doors that the shadarkai reacted, blocking her passage and herding her back to her room.