The Inquisitives [2] Night of Long Shadows (21 page)

“Wren, I’m not hitting you.”

“Why not? I want you to. I
order
it.”

“No.”

“Coward.”

“What?”

“Scared I’ll show you up? Come. Hit me. I won’t feel a thing.”

Torin sighed. “Fine. You ready?”

“Yes—no, wait.” He leaned forward and tensed his stomach. “Right. Now.”

Torin swung his arm and jabbed the half-elf in the stomach. He dropped like a sack of sand falling from a great height. The dwarf stood over him. “I didn’t even hit you that hard!”

Cutter turned and resumed his march, leaving the bickering voices far behind him.

Rowen’s family crypt stood on the outskirts of the city itself, nestling amidst the crags of the cliffs and overlooking the district of Dura. Cutter wasn’t sure if that was because her ancestor couldn’t afford a better plot, or if the city itself hadn’t existed back then and he just picked the spot he wanted.

The last time they’d come, it was a clear day. They’d stood on the crumbling steps of the mausoleum, her back against his chest, his arms encircling her, and looked out over Sharn. A fierce wind buffeted them, flicked her hair against his face. The Dagger River had been visible way to the south. She’d talked idly about finding a ship and sailing away. Like it was that easy.

And why couldn’t it have been? Host, if they’d just gone, simply upped and left, she’d still be alive.

They’d still be together.

Cutter stood on those same crags, the same wind slapping at his face, and gazed into the night. Sharn unfolded below him, an untidy mess of twinkling lights and inky blackness. Skycoaches drifted through the air, crisscrossing each others’ paths, their lights winking out as they descended behind invisible buildings.

He watched for a moment longer, then turned and walked up the steps into the dark doorway of the crypt.

As he entered, a small everbright lantern flickered on above him and cast an orange glow over the interior. Rowen must have come back on her own and placed it there. Unless she’d brought it with her recently when she hid the dreamlily.

He looked around for signs of her recent visit. Faint footprints
had disturbed the dust, leading to one of the rectangular alcoves that lined the walls. Thick cobwebs hung over these like silk sheets hanging over the beds of the dead.

He carried her to the center of the room. A crude plinth emerged from the tiles, an obtrusion of the rock itself as high as his waist. It had been carved into a rough hourglass shape and a smooth slab of stone placed atop it.

Cutter laid Rowen on the stone, then stared down at the shrouded shape. He still found it hard to believe it was her.

But it wasn’t. Not anymore. She had been full of life, full of passion. This was just a vessel, something that tried to contain her spirit while she was here.

He knew that, but he couldn’t quite
feel
it. Not yet.

He turned down the sheet, gently kissed her cold lips, then covered her face for the last time.

He bowed his head for a moment, then stepped back and turned away. He closed his eyes, squeezing them so tight that his head started to ache.

He breathed in. Held it. Let it go in a shuddering sigh. He breathed in again.

Fight it, he told himself.

Hide it.

Push the pain away until you need it.

You can’t tame the beast. You can only chain it. And you
know
. Know that one day that chain will break and it will rise up and devour you, grown and fattened by the energy you’ve pumped into it in your attempt to keep the shackles strong.

But that day was far away.

Right now was what mattered.

Cutter opened his eyes and stared at the wall.

Right now was what
always
mattered.

“You can come in,” he called.

Wren and Torin entered, both of them subdued. They cast sidelong glances at the plinth.

Cutter nodded to the alcove in the wall. “Her footprints lead there.”

Wren nodded and hurried to the wall. He pushed aside the cobwebs and peered inside. After a moment, he turned back.

“There’s nothing here.”

“What?”

Cutter hurried forward and looked for himself. The hole was empty. But there were signs in the dust that something box-shaped recently lay inside.

“But …” he looked at Wren, confused.

“Maybe she gave up its location. They tortured her, Cutter. Not many can hold out against that.”

“Wren!” said Torin urgently.

Wren and Cutter turned at the tone of his voice. He was staring at the entrance to the crypt. A young woman stood there, dressed in white robes and smiling at them.

“Hello,” she said. “Are you looking for something? Maybe I can help.”

T
he young woman explained that her name was Gaia. She was a cleric of the Silver Flame, and she was simply
ecstatic
to have some company other than the dead bodies she was usually forced to talk to.

They were such terrible conversationalists, she said.

Wren thought she was a bit touched in the head.

She led them through the thoroughfares of Dragon Crypts, babbling all the while about how lonely it was, and how it wasn’t fair that she was stuck here on her own, and something about a stupid lich over in Halden’s Tomb.

Wren had to interrupt. “Sorry, did you say
lich?”

She glanced over her shoulder. “Yes. That’s what I said. He hangs about with necromancers and the like. Not a nice creature, I can tell you that.”

“No,” said Wren weakly. “I’m sure he’s not.” He exchanged a look with Torin. The dwarf raised an eyebrow as if to ask, What are we doing?

Wren gestured for him to keep quiet and follow his lead. He just hoped Cutter would do the same. The man was starting to show signs of impatience.

Gaia led them to Warden Tower, a soaring white monolith that stood on the edge of the cliffs and overlooked Clifftop. Wren counted the windows that dotted the pitted surface and reckoned the structure was twenty floors high.

“Do you live here?” he asked.

“Yes. All the Wardens do.”

“And how many of you are there?”

“Oh, just me. The powers that be think one cleric is sufficient.” She stopped and turned to them. “But they’re all fools! Don’t they know how dangerous it is here? I’m
beset!
Beset from all sides!”

Wren glanced warily to the right and left of the deserted concourse. “By what exactly?” he asked.

“By them! Necromancers, worshipers of the Keeper.” She leaned forward conspiratorially. “Creatures of
evil!”
She smiled and straightened up again. “The last Warden couldn’t handle it,” she said matter-of-factly.

“What happened to him?” asked Torin.

Gaia pointed to the top floor. “He threw himself out of that window.” She turned and pointed to the spot where Wren stood. “And he landed right there.”

Wren took a step to the side.

“He made quite a mess, I can tell you.”

“I can imagine,” said Wren.

She hurried ahead and disappeared into the tower. A moment later she appeared at a window one floor up. “Come, then. If you want to know what happened to your box.”

The three looked at each other. Cutter shrugged and started forward. The others joined him and they walked through the open door into the tower.

It was dark, but enough light filtered in from outside to reveal that they stood in a small anteroom. A door stood closed directly opposite them. Wren pushed it open and paused as a wave of warmth and golden light spilled out, catching him by surprise. The room beyond was lit by a massive fire almost as high as Torin. The flames roared in a huge, ornately carved grate, the smoke disappearing up the chimney. Wren wondered where the chimney led. He hadn’t seen any smoke coming from the tower outside.

They stepped into the room.

“Up here,” called Gaia.

A staircase started at the base of a dark archway and curved around the inside of the tower. They followed it all the way to the top and emerged into an untidy attic room. Windows were all around, affording a panoramic view of the City of the Dead. Gaia sat on a small stool at one of the windows, waiting for them.

Cutter looked around. “So where’s the box?”

“Hmm? Oh, it’s not here.”

“But you said—”

“I said I know where it is. And I do.” She turned to the window and pointed outside. “It’s there.”

The three crowded to the window and stared out. There were no lights among the crypts. The streets and tiny square buildings were shrouded in darkness.

Except for one spot.

Far away, close to the outskirts of the city, they could see twinkling lights.

“And what is that?” asked Torin.

“The Mausoleum of Gath.”

“Oh. And who is Gath?”

“Gath is the lich. Haven’t you been listening?”

“Are you saying the lich stole the box?” asked the dwarf, turning to face the cleric.

“Not the lich. He’s not there. His priests did.”

“Why?”

Gaia shrugged. “I’ve no idea.”

“She’s lying,” said Wren, glancing over his shoulder.

“What?” said Torin.

“She’s lying.” Wren turned and stared at Gaia. “See, we inquisitives have a few tricks up our sleeves. One of them is a little infusion that tells us when we’re being lied to.”

“And?” whispered Gaia.

“And I activated it when I entered this room. Now, why don’t you tell us where the box really is?”

“No.”

“No?”

“No. It’s hidden safely away. That’s all you need to know. If you want it back, you have to do something for me.”

“Like what?” asked Torin.

“The lich stole something from me—a chest with scrolls in it—ancient teachings. I want you to retrieve them for me. If you do, I’ll give you your box.”

Wren looked at the others. “What do you think?”

Torin shrugged. “Your call.”

“Why is it his call?” asked Cutter. The others looked at him. “What? I mean, do we even need to get it back?”

Wren looked surprised. “But it has the dreamlily in it.”

Cutter shrugged. “So?”

“Excuse me,” interrupted Gaia. “What are you talking about? What dreamlily?”

“The dreamlily in the box. We’re trying to return it to someone.”

“Who told you it contained dreamlily?”

“What are you talking about?” snapped Cutter, his patience giving out. “We
know
it contains dreamlily.”

Gaia shrugged. “Don’t get angry with
me
. It’s just … I happened to open the box and look inside. It’s not dreamlily.”

“Well?” prompted Wren. “What is it?”

“A Khyber dragonshard.”

Wren, Cutter, and Torin sat on chairs around the fire on the lowest level of the tower.

“So what are we thinking?” asked Wren.

“That this has suddenly gotten a lot more complicated and a lot more dangerous,” said Torin.

“Agreed. But it explains why they’re so desperate to get the package back. Now that we know it’s a Khyber shard, that opens up a lot of possibilities. Maybe we’ve walked into a fight for ownership.”