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By Root 1154 0

once been a vivid burgundy but had faded under the relentless assault of sun and storm. On closer inspection, unusual details began to emerge. He was wearing a glove of fine leather on his left hand, oiled and polished with a loving care that his boots had never seen. The glove was deep black, with a wreath of vivid flames painted around the wrist and extending up the back of the hand toward the fingers; when he flexed his palm, the fire seemed to dance. But if Gerrion’s gloves were distinctive, his face was even more remarkable. At first Daine had thought that the man was hidden by shadows, but he quickly realized that Gerrion’s skin was gray—the cold color of faint smoke or the sky after a storm has just passed. His hair was a brilliant red with streaks of golden blonde; it fell to his shoulders and filled his hood, so that his head almost seemed aflame. His eyes were a gray so pale they were almost white, so that he seemed to have no irises at all. His eyes were slightly too large, slightly tilted, and his cheeks were high boned and perfectly smooth, with no trace of beard or stubble; after a moment Daine decided that the stranger had elven and human blood in his veins, though neither explained the strange tone of his skin.

“It seems we’re in your debt,” Daine said.

He had not sheathed his sword, and he was still ready to strike. Gerrion’s right hand was concealed beneath his cloak. Daine had spent years as a bodyguard, and he could easily imagine the small crossbow it held.

“So pay me,” Gerrion said carelessly.

He had the grace of a lazy cat; he leaned back against the alley wall, but Daine had watched him land, and he still remembered the crossbow bolt that shattered a tiny crystal. Gerrion might be in repose, but Daine had no doubt the man was ready to react to any perceived danger.

“Is that a threat?”

Gerrion rolled his eyes. He tossed back his cloak, revealing the expected crossbow—small, finely crafted, the wood of the stock polished to a fine sheen. With practiced grace, he pulled the quarrel and loosened the string, placing the weapon in a sheath on his right hip.

“If I wanted you dead, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.” He spoke with nonchalance, as if they were old friends discussing the weather.

“What is it that you want?” Lakashtai stepped up next to Daine. She was still drawn and pale, but her voice had regained its calm strength.

“That’s a question with a long, boring answer, and it’s not a tale I care to share with strangers in an alley, but gold will do for a start. I meant what I said before. You were right; you do need a guide in Stormwatch, and you’ll find few better. If you need to go along the coast or into the jungle, I can arrange that too.”

“Eavesdropping is always the best way to establish trust,” Daine said.

“You only know I was eavesdropping because I told you; if I wanted to be deceptive, I could have come up with any number of better stories. As a matter of fact, I was looking for you, Daine.”

“I’m supposed to be surprised that you know my name? That would play better if you hadn’t admitted to the eavesdropping.”

“Actually I was thinking another name might help matters. Perhaps Alina Lyrris means something to you?”

Daine had sheathed his sword, but in an instant it was out again. “Something, yes, but not a name I expected to hear here.”

“Well, your history is not my concern,” Gerrion said, the hint of a shrug passing across his shoulders. If he was perturbed by the blade, he hid it well. “I received a message by the stones, warning me of your arrival and asking me to look out for you—Stormreach is not kind to strangers. The description was good, but it wasn’t hard to spot you; a man traveling with a warforged and a kalashtar does stand out.”

“What about—” Lei interjected, peering over Daine’s shoulder.

“I’m afraid you weren’t mentioned. I have no idea who you are—though it’s a mystery I can’t wait to solve.”

Daine scowled. “Stand off a moment, would you?”

Gerrion made the slightest bow and walked farther down the alley.

Daine turned to the others. Pierce was standing