“Oh, I certainly trust those who blindly place their faith in a higher power,” Dalan said. “I trust them to make horrible mistakes, to bring misery to those who disagree with their dogma, and inevitably to die disappointed in the world. I’m surprised you sought a paladin’s aid, Arthen. I thought you abandoned your faith.”
“This isn’t about me, d’Cannith,” Zed said. “Don’t push me.”
“Or you’ll silence my uncomfortable truths with your sword?” Dalan asked with a smug grin. “You become more like your old self every moment.”
Zed’s face darkened. He rose from his chair. Seren took a step back, hoping to look inconspicuous in case Zed drew his weapon.
“Why did I ever agree to help you?” Arthen asked.
“Because we both need the truth, and despite our history we both know we can’t find it alone,” Dalan said, staring at his desk as he drummed his fingers on its surface. “So did you learn anything useful from the lens and book?”
Zed shook his head. “There are definitely hidden messages in Ashrem’s journals that only that lens can read,” he said, “but I couldn’t break the cipher.”
“Are you certain?” Dalan asked peering up at him. “Imagine that. An inquisitive not only fails to find any useful clues but also lets himself be ambushed twice in one evening. I can’t imagine what that will do to whatever remains of your reputation.”
“Whatever, Dalan,” Zed said in a dull voice. He stepped toward the door. “Just put me down in Cragwar, or wherever. I was an idiot to get involved in this again.”
“Zed, please,” Seren said. “The leader of those mercenaries killed a good friend of mine. This was our only clue to stop him from finding the Legacy. If you discovered anything, anything at all, please help us.”
“Ah, the Legacy,” Zed said with a dark laugh. “Well, we certainly can’t let Ashrem d’Cannith’s work fall into irresponsible hands.”
“I should have a life as easy as yours, Arthen,” Dalan said. “So easy to walk away. Hide in a bottle. So easy to be offered a choice and make no choice at all.”
Zed stopped in the doorway, his back to Dalan. His hands tightened into fists.
“Did you have something else to add, Arthen?” Dalan asked.
“I didn’t break the code,” Zed said, “but I recognized it.”
“Oh?” Dalan asked, suddenly interested.
“Ashrem didn’t create that cipher,” Zed said. “Kiris created it for him.”
“Kiris Overwood?” Seren asked, remembering the name from Pherris’s stories.
Zed and Dalan both looked at Seren with some surprise. “That’s right,” Zed said. “It’s magically encrypted. Without the proper spells to translate the code, it might take a wizard or artificer years to decipher.”
“I sense an ‘unless,’ ” Dalan said.
Zed turned around to face Dalan again, extending a hand. “Let me see the lens.”
Dalan frowned curiously, then opened the drawer and handed the small chunk of glass back to Zed.
“Look at the frame,” Zed said, tracing the white rim around the edge of the glass. “That’s petrified dragon bone. And look at the characters.”
Dalan bent to study the item. “More illegible rubbish,” he said.
“Not quite,” Zed said. “That’s halfling script. It’s a prayer for clarity and wisdom in the name of Balinor, God of the Hunt. It also bears the mark of its creator. These arcane marks are very difficult to forge, and I recognize this one. Kiris Overwood made this herself.”
“She signed a piece of glass?” Seren asked dubiously.
“Kiris was a wizard,” Zed said, if that explained it.
Seren looked to Dalan, puzzled.
“Wizards are a curious lot,” Dalan explained with a wry smile. “They have always been somewhat jealous of the lasting mark artificers leave with each wonder they create. Their arrogance drives them to personalize the few rare things of use that they leave behind. Rare is the wizard who does not sign his work.”
“So Marth stole this from Kiris?” Seren asked. “Does that mean he knows how to read Ashrem’s cipher?”
“In all likelihood,” Dalan said. “A disturbing revelation, but not an altogether surprising one.”
“There’s more,” Zed continued. “The halflings are a people very much in tune with nature. They believe that the gods recreate the world every year on the first day of spring. That belief is reflected in their language. The characters they use to refer to the gods vary by the year, and from the way Kiris wrote Balinor’s name I can tell this was made within the last year. Overwood is still alive, Dalan, or at least she was recently.”
“Preposterous,” Dalan retorted. “Balinor’s name? What rubbish is that? You don’t even speak the halfling tongue, much know less their customs.”
“No, but Gerith does,” Zed said. “When I recognized the script two days ago I made him translate it. I figured if he was going to sit on that roof and spy on me all day, he might as well lend a hand.”
“Clumsy halfling,” Dalan muttered under his breath.
“It wasn’t his fault,” Zed said. “I knew you’d send someone, so I was looking. Give him credit. It took me two days to catch him.”
“Respectable,” Dalan admitted.
Seren resisted the urge to laugh. Somehow she wasn’t surprised that Gerith hadn’t told them he had been caught, or that he’d continued spying on Zed even though the inquisitive knew he was there.
Zed sat down beside Dalan’s desk and placed the lens between them. They both studied it intently, and for a time at least Seren could barely tell how much the two men despised one another.
“It makes sense, Dalan,” Zed said. “If Kiris wanted to vanish, where better than Talenta? A lot of the land is still wild. The halfling tribes keep to themselves. She could fade away there for years.”
“Working to unravel the secrets of the Legacy on her own,” Dalan mused.
Zed nodded. “So the man Seren nicked this from either stole it from Kiris within the last few months or commissioned it to be made. Either way, there’s a chance that the halflings will know where she is or might at least have some idea of what happened to her.”
“How can we be sure this isn’t some sort of trap?” Dalan asked. “Overwood has been missing for four years. Might this be some forgery intended to lead us astray?”
“That’s ridiculous,” Seren said. “Why would Marth bother with something like that? He had no way of knowing I’d steal the lens from him. The times we’ve run into him so far, he just tries to kill us. Something that contrived seems out of character.”
“A good point. I am merely entertaining all possibilities,” Dalan said, dismissing his own argument with a wave of his hand. “Pardon my paranoid mind. Perhaps I’m just too wary, but we’ve found misleading clues before. Of course it isn’t as if we have any other leads. Even this one is of dubious usefulness. Any halfling in Khorvaire could have taught Kiris how to write this script. She could be in Xen’drik with a halfling manservant for all we know.”
“Granted,” Zed answered, “but we can make a decent guess. There’s only one place I know of that boasts petrified dragon bone and halfling tribes in close vicinity. It’s a place called the Boneyard. We should start there.”
“We?” Dalan asked. “I thought you loathed the idea of the Legacy falling into irresponsible hands.”
“I guess that’s why I’m going,” Zed said.
“I hope you’ve left nothing of value in Black Pit,” Dalan said. “We won’t be returning there.”
“Nothing that matters,” Zed said.
“Then it is settled,” Dalan said, clapping his hands together. “We’ll need Gerith to plot a course. Seren, please fetch the halfling.”
Seren nodded and opened the door.
“Oh, and Seren …” Dalan continued.
She looked back at him.
“After that, make sure Tristam is well,” Dalan said, sounding genuinely concerned. “If I know him, he will be in one of his moods and we shall need him alert and aware when we reach Cragwar.”
“Aye,” Seren said, exiting the cabin.