City of Towers_ The Dreaming Dark - Keith Baker [79]
“Do you remember our last battle at Keldan Ridge?”
“How could I forget?”
“We never did find out who those ’forged were fighting for.”
“So?”
“Come on, Lei. An army of strange warforged? You know as well as I do that they don’t build themselves, and they weren’t wearing any insignia. What were they doing in Cyre? And then there’s the stormship. Someone had devoted a tremendous amount of resources to protecting that area. What was going on there?”
Lei looked away. “You’re thinking of Whitehearth, aren’t you?”
“C an you blame me?”
Lei sighed and shook her head. They had reached the lift. Surprisingly, it was empty. “I know. You’ve got no reason to trust my—er, House Cannith. But I refuse to believe that my parents had anything to do with this.”
“What did they do during the war?”
“They spent most of their lives working on the warforged. They worked with Aaren d’Cannith on the first true warforged thirty-one years ago. It’s a long story, but we weren’t that close at the end. It’s my fault, I suppose.”
“Hmm. What was it the sphinx said? ‘You must forget your house and focus on your family?’”
Lei nodded, thoughtfully. They stopped at the next district, and a patrol of the Watch came aboard. “You’re right. But how could I—”
“Well, well!” The harsh voice came from behind them, ringing out as the lift began to descend.
Daine turned. There were four halberdiers blocking the gate of the lift. Standing before them was a dwarf—Sergeant Lorrak, whom Daine had thrown off a lift.
This lift.
“Looking to get to the ground, boy?” the dwarf said. “I know a faster way.”
Jode made his way through the streets of Daggerwatch. Where yesterday the streets had been calm and quiet, today the garrison district was thronged with people. Beggars, soldiers, and many others lined the wide streets, waiting for something. Jode made his way through the crowd, but given his small stature, it was quite a challenge. He squeezed through a jungle of shifting legs and feet, dodging boots and kicks. After a few minutes, he felt the need to escape from the chaos, if only of a moment. Passing by a large storm drain, he considered a moment then crawled into the hole.
The tunnel was three feet across, and the walls were crusted with dirt and mold. Insects scurried into the shadows, and the stench of rot filled the air. The passage dropped down nearly six feet before ending in a metal grate. It was the perfect sanctuary for a curious halfling, and that’s exactly what Jode found there.
The self-appointed guardian of the grate was a ragged halfling, who would have seemed more at home in High Walls or Malleon’s Gate than a respectable garrison district. His profession was clear. A few scraps of cloth and leather lay at his feet—the remains of purses and pouches sliced apart with a deft hand and sharp blade. Most of his dark hair was gathered in a thick braid that fell down his back. A smaller plait of hair fell along his left cheek. His eyes were bright, and so was the blade of the curved dagger he held in his hands.
“Jhola’tanda!” Jode called. The stranger’s plait was the mark of a Talentan scout, and Jode hailed him in the Halfling tongue. This salutation could be interpreted many different ways, depending on the relationship between the speakers and the time of day. Under these circumstances, it could be generally translated as, “Greetings, one who is not my brother in blood but yet might become one in friendship.”
The stranger studied him then blew on his blade—a symbolic preparation for battle. “This is my ground, orasca.” His voice was high and raspy. In this place, the word orasca meant “one who seeks to steal my livelihood” or “lizard-meat seller”—or in the case of a dispute between lizard-vendors, both.
Jode held up his empty hands. “I have no interest in crowns and copper,” he said. “I simply sought shelter from the gorlan’tor.” The term meant “stampede” or more literally “thundering herd of pea-brained creatures that a just deity should never have made so huge.”
The stranger smiled slightly at that but kept his blade at the ready.
“I