“Not Cannith, not artificer make. Is wizard work.”
The female’s eyebrows rose, as if this was some astounding revelation. It really wasn’t, though. Verdax had learned that much from the hand at first glance.
“Is there anything else you can tell us about it?” Tallis asked.
“Construct powerful. Elemental, but not. Force in construct outside my work. I cannot say. Not know. Wizard work.” Verdax hated the common tongue of Khorvaire’s most populous races. Draconic was so much more articulate and easier to pronounce. He’d only learned this cast-off language of the Five Nations to advance his career.
“So that’s really all? You can’t determine what this thing came from?”
“Give you discount on hand identify,” Verdax answered, feeling generous and patient. The half-breed was a good customer and the secrets of Sharn awaited.
“Can you at least tell me where I can find out more?” There was that impertinence again.
“Yes,” Verdax responded. There really was only one place in Karrnath he knew of where one might find out more. He pointed one clawed finger up. “Tower of Twelve.”
Tallis and his female exchanged worried glances. Mystery and power surrounded the dragonmarked institution that floated above the City of Danger. It didn’t frighten Verdax, of course. He’d love to visit the halls of the Twelve and study relics as ancient as the Dhakaani Empire, but he’d long since given up the notion of visiting. He certainly doubted Tallis, of all the warmbloods in this city, would be welcome there.
“Good luck!” he offered them both and set to rewrapping the metal hand.
“Do you think it’s possible?” Tallis asked the female.
“It is,” she replied, sounding distracted, “but I’d probably need to provide a good reason. I’m not sure Hyran’s writ is enough. The Twelve does not answer to the Justice Ministry or to any government, for that matter. This may require me to tell them about the assassin and the hand.”
Tallis sighed. “More will die if we don’t track this thing down.”
“Keep death away here,” Verdax warned, not liking the turn of their conversation.
The female turned her attention full upon him. There was a sneaky look in her eyes, like she was investigating him. “Verdax, you pointed to that bin a moment ago. Can I ask what you keep in there?”
Worthless but potentially useful junk, he thought. At least until last night, when one of his dockside associates had made him an offer. The wharf-dweller had found something that he knew a salvager like Verdax might be interested in. It had cost the kobold fifty gold coins, and he had yet to determine if the trade had really been worth it.
“Junk,” he answered.
“Specifically,” she pressed. “What is under that tarp?”
Verdax hissed. “Breland warforged. Damaged life core, but fixenable. Found last night. Will make new helper, not having to feed.”
Tallis raised his hornless brows, and the female smiled big, showing her garish, flat white teeth. Her voice rose in a funny pitch as she spoke. “Master Verdax, you are a most resourceful kobold. I have one final request of you.”
Chapter TWENTY
Wir, the 11th of Sypheros, 998 YK
Soneste set out from Verdax’s shop with Aegis beside her. The warforged’s composite plating was repaired, the deep cuts made by the assassin’s blade smooth again. The artificer’s infusions had restored Aegis to his full physical capacity. Verdax charged her several times an acceptable amount, but now wasn’t the time to argue cost, especially since the funds weren’t her own. She knew what they were up against now, and the assassin evidently knew how to find them. She needed Aegis at his best. It would take a lot more than a few rapier stabs to bring him down again.
Despite his mended condition, the warforged’s spirits were low.
“I have failed again,” he said.
Soneste rapped on the pauldron that served as the warforged’s shoulder. “I paid for your repair with the Citadel’s gold. You’re called to serve a duty, Aegis. To Breland. You haven’t failed your king yet.”
“I have been disabled twice.”
“Well, me too. First by Tallis and then …” Soneste instinctively touched her stomach. She could still feel the tight bandages beneath her shirt and remembered all too well the blade sliding into her body. “Last night … I nearly died. It was Tallis and his friend who saved me.”
“You found Tallis, Mistress,” Aegis said. “Why are we leaving him again?”
“We’re not. We’re working together now. In saving me and burying his friend, Tallis has had no rest. He needs it now. And there are some places I must go that I cannot take him. We’re meeting him in the park at four bells.”
“I do not trust the half-elf.”
“Aegis,” she said, “he’s not our killer and you know that now. We’ve faced off against the real one. Now we have to trust Tallis, and we cannot give him up to the Justice Ministry or to Jotrem. Promise me you will say nothing about last night.”
When he did not answer, she stopped him. “Aegis. Promise me in the name of King Boranel-the very liege of your former master, Gamnon ir’Daresh. Promise me, for Rennet and Vestra.”
“And Lady Maril.” The warforged looked down at her, the fibrous wood that served as his muscles flexing as he stood tall. “I promise.”
Soneste smiled. “Thank you.”
Soneste secured permission with the Justice Ministry for passage and admission to the Tower of the Twelve, but Hyran’s writ could not guarantee her a meeting with one of its wizards. She had to wait two bells until the proper document was notarized, transportation with House Vadalis was arranged, and approval from the Twelve was given. Soneste left the Ministry’s headquarters, intent on a new destination to pass the time.
“I take it you’ve been busy, Miss Otänsin?” a voice called out to her.
Jotrem stood waiting for her just outside the gate. He excused himself from a conversation he’d been having with one of the White Lions standing sentry. The older inquisitive’s calculating eyes looked Aegis up and down, no doubt observing the warforged’s immaculate condition. She had no intention of justifying anything.
“Something like that,” she answered, not slowing to talk.
“Where have you been?” Jotrem asked.
Soneste chuckled darkly. “I’m sorry, Jotrem. The Civic Minister said you would ‘serve as my guide in this unfamiliar city.’ I am not required to confide in you or share with you the results of my own independent investigation. If you’d like to register a complaint with the Ministry bureaucrats, feel free. I have work to do.”
Jotrem fell into step beside her, his familiar scowl returned. “I did not see you leave the Seventh Watch this morning,” he said.
“I guess my day started earlier than you expected.”
“Where are you going?” he demanded.
“You wish to help, then?”
“Of course, Miss Otänsin.”
“Well, thanks. I wish to find Lord Charoth again. I’ve thought of another question for him. Now that I’ve already visited him once, I don’t think it matters if you’re with me.”
Soneste saw Jotrem rub his hands together for warmth as they walked. He caught her glance, and he lets his hands fall again. “I’ve done work of my own,” he said. “Lord Charoth, unlike many of the nobles of this city, spends most of his time at work. That is where we will find him now, at his factory. That you found him at home the other day was mere chance.”
“Lead on, then,” she said, glad she didn’t need to return to Charoth’s brooding estate.
“What do you intend to ask him?” Jotrem asked.
“You’ll see.” Soneste didn’t have to look at him to sense the man’s frustration. She had another trick to use against Charoth now. It was a gamble, but one worth taking.
For a man unaffiliated with one of the dragonmarked enclaves, Lord Charoth’s place of business was impressive. Arkenen Glass comprised several facilities, but most prominent was the glass factory near the bluff’s edge of the Commerce Ward. Beyond producing mundane glass products, Arkenen Glass supplied the Tower of the Twelve exclusively with reinforced glass for its windows and laboratories alike.