City of Towers_ The Dreaming Dark - Keith Baker [26]
Lei said nothing.
At the gate to the mansion a warforged servant met them and led them inside without a word. Where Hadran’s servant was an imposing, bejeweled figure, this construct was a spindly assembly of wood and leather that seemed on the verge of falling apart. It smelled of mildew, and clicked and clattered with every motion.
Entering the manor was like walking into a swamp. The air was unnaturally warm and moist, and the smell of rotting vegetation filled their nostrils. Glistening ivy covered the walls, and woven rushes were spread in place of carpets. Globes of mystical energy lit the halls, but these were shuttered and the ambience was dark and wet.
“The man likes his plants,” Daine muttered. Why a man would spend good gold to grow weeds inside his house was beyond his understanding.
“Oh, Uncle Jura loves … plants,” Lei said absently. Her thoughts seemed far away.
After leading them through a green maze of hallways, the warforged guide paused at a large pair of double doors and rapped sharply. The doors slowly swung open, propelled by invisible hands. A wall of mist hid the chamber beyond. Daine glanced at Lei, but she just shrugged. More Cannith tricks, he thought.
The warforged turned to them and bowed. “Lord Jura awaits you,” it said, its voice a raspy rustle.
The fog concealed a forest. When Daine stepped through the mist, his boot sank into muddy earth. A dense grove of trees spread out before him. Tendrils of mist drifted across the ground, and he could hear the sounds of insects and the rustle of birds and rodents all around.
“What is this?” he whispered, his dagger already in his hand.
“Don’t worry,” Lei said as she came through the mist behind him. “Uncle Jura?” she called, peering into the woods.
“Over here, girl.” The deep voice came from somewhere in the center of the grove. “Just follow the path. I’ll give you more light.”
With that, the sun came up—at least, the sky brightened to the color of full daylight. Studying the sky, Daine spotted a stone seam. They were standing in a vast chamber. The high domed ceiling was painted with a perfect illusion of a cloudy sky. Still, the mud seemed real enough.
Jode whistled. “Now, I’ve seen some fine shadow-work in my time, but this … do you know how much he must have spent just on the moisture? Do you think he can make it rain in here?”
Lei dismissed him with a wave of her hand. “Hush. And don’t mention the trees. I’ll explain later.” She led the way down a wide, muddy path, and they passed beneath the canopy of the trees. After a few twists they came to a large clearing.
Jura Darkhart was waiting for them. He shared Lei’s coloring—pale skin and red hair—but otherwise the two couldn’t have been more different. Daine had seen corpses that looked healthier than Jura. The excoriate lord was little more than a skeleton, with leathery skin stretched across protruding bones. His fine velvet clothing hung from his emaciated frame, and what little hair he had was concentrated in a scraggly beard. Jura sat crosslegged on an enormous wooden throne carved from the stump of a fallen dark wood tree. He had a small knife in one hand and a long darkwood staff laid across his legs, and he was whittling figures on the surface of the staff. He did not look up to acknowledge his guests.
“Greetings, Lord Jura!” Jode called out before Lei could speak. “Thank you for allowing us into your home. What a fantastic throne you have. Truly, I’ve never seen its equal.”
Lei gritted her teeth, but held her tongue.
Jura looked up from his work and studied the halfling carefully, his gaze lingering on Jode’s dragonmark. “It cost me dearly, Jorasco. It meant a great deal to my wife, rest her soul.” His voice was deep, but cold and emotionless.
“Did something happen to your wife, my lord? Allow me to extend my most sincere condolences. If we can—”
“Enough,” Jura said, and his cold gaze was enough to silence even Jode.