The Shattered Land_ The Dreaming Dark - Keith Baker [45]
“If I may ask, my lady, what is the name of this mysterious stranger? I am well rested already, and I may be able to save you some time with your inquiries.”
Gerrion had set his cloak on the floor, and Daine noticed a new detail in the flickering light from the hearth—a triangular tattoo at the top of the man’s forehead, forming a sort of widow’s peak. The tattoo was almost invisible against his pale gray skin and looked as though it continued back beneath his hair; while it was hard to see the details in the flickering light, the design appeared to be a complex pattern of interwoven flames.
“Hassalac Chaar,” Lakashtai said.
Gerrion’s eyes widened for an instant. “In that case, I hope you won’t mind if I ask for some of my payment up front as well. There are debts I promised to pay before I passed away, and it seems that I should do this as quickly as possible. Shall we meet back here at the eighth bell?”
Lakashtai nodded, and after sorting through her belongings she produced a few platinum coins for the guide. Gerrion gave a slight bow, flashed a smile at the innkeeper, and darted out the door.
“It’s interesting,” Lei said, watching him leave. “He looks like he has elven blood, but I’ve never seen any Khoravar with that skin tone before—or elf, for that matter.”
“He’s certainly in a hurry,” Daine said. “Care to tell us more about this Hassalac, Lakashtai?”
The kalashtar woman glanced toward him, and Daine was surprised by the weariness in her eyes. The strength seemed to have flowed out of her, as if she had been holding herself together until the stranger had left.
“Not now,” she said quietly. “There will be time to talk on the morrow. Let us find our shelter and rest: we have much to do tomorrow.”
The innkeeper led them upstairs, and eventually Daine settled a small room that felt more like a rat’s nest than a hostel. It was only as he was drifting into sleep that he realized—he hadn’t seen Pierce since Gerrion’s departure.
Long shadows filled the streets of Stormreach. Cold fire lanterns cast light into the darkness, but in the grimy avenues and alleys around the Ship’s Cat these pools of radiance were few and far between.
The gloom suited Pierce’s purposes, and he drifted from shadow to shadow as he followed Gerrion. He hadn’t decided whether he trusted Gerrion or believed his claim to be an agent of Alina, but Pierce and his companions were in hostile territory. There were enemies about, and Gerrion was one of their only resources. If he were a traitor, Pierce needed to watch his movements. If he truly were an ally, he might need protection from their enemies. Either way, Pierce would be watching.
Pierce loved the hunt. Every thought, every sense, was focused on stalking his prey. This was what he was made for, and it came as naturally to him as breathing would to a human. Instinct guided him to every shadow, every patch of cover. Without even thinking, he analyzed every living creature in his field of vision, judging their apparent abilities of perception and the threat they might present in battle. It was calming, and for a time he let go of all of his concerns and questions, submerging himself in the pursuit of Gerrion.
Gerrion’s behavior was anything but suspicious. He was in no hurry to go anywhere. For the next few hours Gerrion wandered the city. He brought a skin of wine to a group of beggars and passed half an hour with gossip and conversation. He spoke with a few sailors and simple tradesmen, discussing the weather, the shipping news, word of various expeditions into the interior. Occasionally he brought up the name Hassalac, the man Lakashtai wanted to see—but it seemed like Gerrion was gathering information on his recent activities. If he was betraying Pierce and his companions, the signs were too subtle for Pierce to perceive.
While Gerrion seemed to have many