“I understand.”
Soneste placed the assassin’s metal hand upon the tabletop. Erice and Jotrem both moved in with interest. “I will tell you that this hand was taken by force from an armored assailant. I need to know everything possible about it, particularly the nature of the armor it came from, and if magic is involved, I need to know what kind.” She pointed to the scored cuff where Tallis had cut the hand free. “This hand was part of the rest of the armor, not merely a detachable gauntlet.”
“I will see what I can learn,” Erice said, intrigued by the hand.
What she had deduced so far Soneste could only guess. A scholar of the arcane probably knew of countless possible origins for a creature composed of solid armor, but likely only a spell would begin to unlock the true secrets.
Soneste idled in the laboratory, taking care not to offend the savant by tampering with the tools of her trade. When she could do so unnoticed, Soneste studied Jotrem. His posture and sleight body movements were as stiff as usual, but there was something subtle about him that puzzled her. Occasionally, he blinked unusually long periods of time. That seemed … familiar.
Meanwhile, the gray-furred tomcat studied her. Soneste knew that familiars were intelligent, not merely dumb animals, so she smiled and waved once. Occasionally she watched Erice work. The savant’s examination of the hand was quite unlike Verdax’s. Where the artificer had woven temporal patterns upon the metal itself, Erice seemed to focus more upon her own spell than its object. She chanted softly and conjured divinatory magic around the hand, which formed a misty wreath. Erice studied the complex array of auras that took shape within.
At last, her work finished. The savant sat down, removed her spectacles, and rubbed her eyes from the strain. Soneste gained her feet and approached the table. Jotrem snapped to attention and merely looked on.
“Did you learn anything?” Soneste asked, feeling dumb asking the obvious.
“It is a wonder,” the woman said somewhat distantly. “I should have guessed it. The design was so unusual.”
“Lady Erice?”
The woman looked up. “I’m sorry. Yes. I can tell you a great deal more now.”
Jotrem sidled forward.
Erice indicated the metal hand. “This belongs to a spirit called a nimblewright. Its entire body is mechanical in nature, a hollow shell of armor. It is, for all intents and purposes, a construct.”
Soneste blinked. Except for having a name for it, this didn’t tell her anything new. “I see. A construct, like something House Cannith would produce? Like warforged?”
“Not quite.” Erice pointed to a diagram on one wall, which depicted the core design of a standard-sized warforged: a fibrous wooden musculature, steel, adamantine, or mithral composite plating which encased the frame like armor, and various elements of stone. “A nimblewright is in many ways far more complex and in others not as complex as a warforged. They weren’t produced like warforged were, churned out of creation forges in mass production. Instead, a single mage of great power might create one-much like a servitor golem. In fact, like golems, nimblewrights weren’t exactly cost-effective-certainly not in a time of war-which is why the Canniths invented the ’forged.
“Both a nimblewright and a warforged possess the ability to adapt to their surroundings, to improvise and strategize. Even a warforged titan has some level of adaptability, if not true sentience. Golems are expensive and deadly but ultimately unable to think for themselves. Nimblewrights are more like ’forged in this regard.”
Soneste compared the savant’s words against all she’d witnessed. “So what, aside from cost, truly separates nimblewrights from warforged?”
“Nimblewrights, unlike ’forged, are not free-willed. They are more proficient instruments of martial combat, but they obey their creators only-or one who is designated as their master. Centuries ago, wizards of the Twelve created nimblewrights as personal bodyguards and sentries. Some still guard the inner vaults. I’ve even heard that some were used as spies at the beginning of the war.”
“Or assassins,” Soneste said, unable to keep the bitterness from her voice.
“Yes, possibly.” Erice’s voice softened. “But not many of these exist anymore. I’ve never even heard of one being created in my lifetime.”
Soneste looked at the laboratory around her. The creature had most likely been fashioned here, within the walls of the Tower of the Twelve, probably by some powerful wizard hiding behind layers of magical and political protection. The nimblewright’s master could be here.
But if nimblewrights were used as guardians of the Tower, what was one doing loose in the city below? Someone had commanded the nimblewright to kill the ambassador and his family. And Haedrun.
Yet not Tallis or me, she thought. According to the Karrn, the nimblewright had fled after wounding her. What were its orders, if not to kill everyone investigating the massacre?
Jotrem interrupted. “Are you telling me there is one of these deadly constructs in Korth, acting solely at one man’s behest? That is the assassin?”
“Yes,” Soneste answered reluctantly. Then another thought occurred to her. “Lady Erice, you said the nimblewright was a construct ‘for all intents and purposes.’ But not in truth?”
“Well, it is. Normal constructs are simply valuable materials animated by elemental spirits-in the case of golems, earth elementals bound into an artificial body and commanded into mindless obedience. The nimblewright, however, is animated by an elemental spirit of water. This makes them fast, agile.
“What makes the nimblewright most effective is its shapechanging ability. It can wear the illusion of any other person, so it can walk among regular people. Like changelings, but more powerful. Not many constructs can do that.”
Soneste remembered the fluidity of the assassin’s movement and the shadowy illusion it wore in the warehouse. This, no doubt, explained how it had followed them undetected. The nimblewright might have been one of the drunks or the sailors they’d walked past or had simply tailed them like a shadow. According to Tallis’s account, in the Ebonspire it had worn its true form-steel armor on every inch of its body. Even the nimblewright couldn’t defy the Ebonspire’s illusion-stripping defenses.
“Is there anything else you can tell me about them?” Soneste asked. “Any vulnerabilities or immunities?”
“I …” Erice began to look flustered. “I suppose they would share many characteristics with golems, an immunity to magic used against them, but maybe not all. I … I don’t know much, Miss Otänsin. I am a scholar, not a war wizard, and this is hardly House Tharashk’s purview. I could try and find out more for you, but I would need to consult with Cannith wizards.”
“I understand, but there isn’t time. Can you do me just one more favor? I need to know who specifically created this nimblewright. Can you find out, just from this hand?”
Erice nodded. “I can try, but I don’t know when I could find-”
“Please, Lady Erice. Time isn’t on our side,” Soneste said. “The nimblewright whose hand we’re looking at killed the Brelish ambassador Gamnon ir’Daresh three days ago. It also killed his family and their servants. Since that day, it has been trying to kill those who can implicate its master. You’re my last lead, Lady.”
The gray cat was watching them both as they waited for Lady Erice to return. Soneste tried to ignore it, but she suspected it would relay what it witnessed to its mistress. In the back of her mind, she was afraid that Lady Erice would tell someone else about Soneste’s discovery, that news of her meddling would reach the wizard who commanded the nimblewright. If the killer behind it all knew she had a lead, wouldn’t he have her followed?