The Dark Remains - Mark Anthony [124]
“Misar?” Durge rumbled. “Who is that?”
Melia let out a pained sigh. “The god of bureaucrats. So believe me when I tell you Misar is a stickler for rules. Much as I would have liked doing so, I couldn’t try anything to influence that horrid little man.”
“So now what?” Lirith asked.
“Now I must see if I can find other means of getting a message to Ephesian. If I can, then …”
Melia’s words faltered, and she lifted a hand to her brow.
Falken moved to her side. “The headache again?”
She gave a shallow nod. “Do not fear. I am certain it will pass as quickly as the others.”
Aryn gave Lirith a concerned glance. Since when had Melia been getting headaches?
Falken helped Melia into a chair, then looked up at the others. “I would be pleased to hear that the rest of you had better luck than we did.”
Unfortunately, they had not. Together, Aryn and Durge related their foul and fruitless trek into the sewers beneath the Fifth Circle.
“All of the followers of Geb are in hiding,” Aryn said in finish to their tale. “They’re afraid they’ll be killed now that they’re without a god. I suppose I can’t blame them. But we didn’t find anything at all helpful.”
“I did find this,” Durge said. He tossed a gold coin into the air and caught it again. “I saw it as we made our way through one of the more malodorous passages. Although I confess, it seems odd to find money in a sewer. Nor does it do us any good.”
“Odd indeed,” Falken said. “May I see that, Durge?”
The knight handed him the coin. Falken turned it over in his hand. “It’s blank—there’s no imprint on either side.”
Durge nodded. “I imagine it has been worn smooth by time. Most likely it has lain there for centuries.”
“Maybe.” Falken handed the coin back to Durge.
“What about you, Lirith?” Aryn said. “What did you learn from the goldsmiths?”
Lirith pushed the kitten from her lap and stood. “That if Ondo is anything like his followers, then nearly everyone in the city would have motivation for murder.”
They listened as Lirith recounted her numerous unpleasant conversations on the Street of Flames. When her words trailed off, she looked once more out the window. She gripped her gown, knotting the fabric in clenched hands.
Aryn moved to the witch. “What is it, Lirith? Something’s wrong, something you haven’t told us.”
At last Lirith turned back, her dark eyes grim. “I was attacked on my way back here.”
They all listened with growing horror as Lirith told how a man in a black robe—a man she had glimpsed as they disembarked from the Fate Runner—had thrown a knife at her before fleeing.
“I don’t know why he ran,” Lirith said, gazing at her hands. “Surely he meant to kill me, but for some reason he fled before he could throw his second knife.”
Aryn knelt beside her and placed her good hand atop Lirith’s.
Melia moved toward them, her expression grave. “Did you not … sense anything, dear?”
Lirith sighed. “I believe I did sense another presence, but I couldn’t be sure. You see, there was … something else I saw in the Weirding just before I was attacked.”
Aryn felt Lirith’s flesh go cold beneath her hand.
“What is it, sister?” she gasped.
Lirith looked up, her eyes haunted, and Melia nodded.
“You’ve seen it again, haven’t you?” Melia said.
Aryn gripped tighter. “What does she mean, Lirith? What did you see?”
Lirith licked her lips, then spoke words that made Aryn’s breath cease in her lungs.
“I have seen a tangle. A tangle in the threads of the Weirding.”
41.
Two days later, Durge awoke to cool silver light.
At first he could not tell whether it was late or early. Darkness never seemed to fall in this city, not completely; even in the deep of night, the white buildings reflected the light of the moon, the stars, and numberless torches, imparting a paleness to the air so unlike the inky, impenetrable nights that fell upon the Dominions. Durge did not like the eerie citylight; it made him think of ghosts.
But they are not here, Durge of Stonebreak.