City of Towers_ The Dreaming Dark - Keith Baker [118]
Teral waved his hand dismissively. “Preposterous. Olalia couldn’t harm a soul. She—” He broke off, noticing the unconscious guard. “What is this?”
“We need to finish talking to her, Councilor. This mystery threatens us all. Including you.”
The old man glared at Daine. “You presume too much, Captain. Beating and questioning my servants. Leave now.”
“Teral, you need to listen to me. Something terrible is hidden in High Walls. Hugal and Monan were not what they seemed.”
“I have had enough of this, Captain!”
Olalia whimpered. Lei had been concealing the glowing crystal in her hand. She flung it away as hard as she could. “Lei, what—?”
“Daine, it’s him.”
Daine looked at Teral. The councilor laughed. “I see. You were watching Olalia’s thoughts while you talked to me. Oh, very good.”
Daine’s sword was in his hand in an instant, the point leveled at Teral’s throat. “What are you talking about?”
Lei winced and clutched her head, as if the visions she’d drawn from Olalia’s mind was causing her pain. “Inside … it’s inside.”
“I hope you don’t mind, Daine,” Teral said, his voice growing colder. “But I’ve just invited a few friends to join us.”
Hugal emerged from the rear of the tent. Two more people walked through the front flap—a young boy with a feral expression and a middle-aged man whose left arm had been severed at the elbow.
“If they come any closer, you’ll be dead,” Daine warned. He flicked the point of his sword across the old man’s throat, drawing a spot of blood. Across the room, Lei drew her dagger and set her back against the wall of the tent. Her face twisted in a rictus of pain, but whatever was bother her, she seemed to be fighting it and winning.
“I think not,” said Teral.
There was a flash of movement, followed by a cold pain at Daine’s throat. He fell to the floor, every muscle refusing to respond. The councilor kicked his sword out of his hand.
“I’m so glad you left your warforged friend behind,” Teral said, retracting his long, barbed tongue. “He would have proved more difficult to deal with.” As he spoke, Daine saw that the puckered scar at his throat was opening. A layer of raw muscle oozed out of the wound, flowing over Teral’s flesh like a second skin. Within seconds Teral seemed to have doubled in mass. He threw aside his cane and turned to face Lei, glaring at her from eyes newly sunken in deep fleshy sockets. “Now, whatever shall we do about you?”
“I’m not afraid of you, monster,” Lei said. Her voice was calm, and she held her dagger in a throwing grip.
The young boy hissed, and in the instant Lei glanced at him Teral was in motion. His left arm whipped forward and a long tentacle of flesh lashed out of his sleeve, catching Lei’s wrist and jerking the dagger from her hand. A second later, he had his right hand around her throat.
“Lei …” Teral said, as she gasped for air. He studied the color of her hair and skin. “An artificer, it seems—and from Cyre.” Then he noticed the bare circle on her finger where her house signet had been. “Could it be?” He sniffed the air around her, like a hound searching for a scent. Finally he lifted her off the ground with one hand, turned her back toward him, and with his other hand he brushed aside her hair, revealing the tip of the Mark of Making rising above her collar.
Daine raged within, but he couldn’t move. He watched helplessly as Teral stabbed Lei with his venomous tongue and let her fall to the ground.
“Fortune shines on us again, my brothers,” Teral said, raising his bloody, pulsing arms above his head. “Another true mark is ours for the taking. The call has gone out. The master awaits. Hugal, take her below.”
“And this one?” Long claws had sprouted from the boy’s right hand, and he ran these talons along Daine’s throat.
“Take him as well. Why waste blood and brain? One way or the other, he will serve our master.”
Daine woke in chains. His arms were stretched painfully above his head, bound by steel manacles and suspended by a hook in the hard stone wall. His legs