Baron had expressly forbidden him to do so. The needs of the House came first. As always.
“You, as well.”
Sabira carefully replaced the mithral bracelet back in its box and handed it Elix, who took it reluctantly, the question he wasn’t willing to voice plain in his gaze.
“Keep that safe for me, won’t you?”
His relief was almost palpable, and his smile could have outshone the sun.
“Always.”
CHAPTER THREE
Sar, Lharvion 28, 998 YK
Sharn, Breland.
Sabira reached the City of Towers four days later. Normally, the journey from Vulyar didn’t take that long by air, but the crew of the Cantrip had refused to fly over the dead gray mists of the Mournland, opting instead to follow along its northern edge until they reached Thronehold, then bearing southwest from there. Irritating as the delay was, the annoyance was somewhat counterbalanced by the knowledge that even Breven couldn’t compete with the power of superstition.
It was late afternoon when she arrived, but she’d already been able to see the lights of the city for miles. Located in the middle of a manifest zone linked to the plane of Syrania, the Azure Sky, which enhanced magic related to flying and levitation, the city grew to impossible heights, reaching from the Cogs deep underground to the floating island district of Skyway, home to the wealthy and powerful. And every level was lit up by everbright lanterns that had been twisted into fantastical shapes to advertise both business and pleasure, the riotous colors making the city look like a crystal sparkling in the sunlight. Either that, or a floating oil slick. Sabira could never quite decide.
Sharn was situated on a series of five plateaus bounded on two sides by rivers and on the other two sides by cliffs. It was divided into districts not only by plateau, but also by height. Sabira was supposed to meet Lord Boroman ir’Dayne, the head of the Wayfinder Foundation, at the foundation’s office in Korran-Thiven, one of the many financial districts in Upper Central Plateau. The Cantrip docked nearby, in Highest Towers, and Sabira disembarked, trying to orient herself amidst the tall buildings. Before she’d done more than identify north, a gnomish boy came running up to her, envelope in hand.
“You the Shard Axe?”
Host. Could she escape that name nowhere?
At her short nod, the boy handed the envelope over, then stood by expectantly, obviously waiting for a tip. Sabira dug in her pouch, found a copper crown based on feel alone, and flipped it to him. From the boy’s frown, it was clear he was used to more from customers in the wealthy upper city, but a glare sent him scurrying without complaint. Considering the Sivis message station was just around the corner, he was lucky she hadn’t sent him scurrying with a boot to his rear.
She opened the envelope and read the short message.
Saba,
I found you a partner for your expedition. Meet him at the Glitterdust around the sixth bell. He’ll be the one fleecing the customers at the card table. Try to make sure you’re not one of them.
— Agg
Wonderful. After having most of Arach d’Kundarak’s men arrested for drug smuggling on her way from Stormreach to the Mror Holds, the last place in Sharn she wanted to go was the Glitterdust, where members of the dwarf’s crew often spent their shore leave. While she was sure most of the crew of the Dust Dancer were still in custody, Arach was a member of the Aurum’s Gold Concord. He had the resources to replace men faster than they could be apprehended. He probably already had a new airship and a new supply of dreamlily to peddle. And a bounty on Sabira’s head worth twice what he paid for both.
Still, unlike Tilde, she wasn’t going to be able to go into Tarath Marad with a contingent of hand-picked Blademarks-not that it had done the sorceress any good. If she knew Breven, she wasn’t going to be able to rely on anyone from Deneith at all; the Baron wouldn’t want to risk Greigur’s involvement. Which meant Sabira was going to need all the help she could get, and she couldn’t afford to be too picky about details like who they were or where they came from. Or where they wanted to meet.
By her reckoning, that gave her about an hour to get down to Deathsgate, an unremarkable adventurer’s quarter in Middle Tavick’s Landing. Unremarkable, save for the Glitterdust, nestled under the massive Bridge of Giants that connected the district to the necropolis of Haldren’s Tomb. Though the rest of the quarter served the lower class inhabitants of the district, the Glitterdust catered exclusively to those with far heavier pouches. She could only hope Aggar or the mysterious unnamed partner had thought to put her on the guest list, since she didn’t have enough coin on her to bribe her way in, and the Glitterdust didn’t take letters of credit.
She hailed a skycoach, one of Sharn’s graceful boatlike vessels that sailed through the city’s airways, lit from within and without by glowing blue everbright globes. She gave the driver her destination, ignoring the skeptical look he gave her in return. Sabira knew she was hardly dressed for the place, but she had a fashion accessory he didn’t know about, if it came down to that.
As they descended into the city, the ubiquitous rain began again. It wasn’t actual precipitation, of course-only Skyway and the upper city ever got that. No, the rain experienced in the middle and lower levels of Sharn was actually runoff from the upper wards-brackish water that flowed down daily when the streets of the wealthy were cleaned, dousing those below so that those above wouldn’t have to risk dirtying their expensive shoes. Sabira knew there were other, architectural reasons for the false rain, but she wasn’t an architect, so she didn’t really care to learn them. She was just grateful for the charm that kept the inside of the skycoach dry and warm and somewhat free of the urban cacophony as the vessel threaded its way between other coaches and lifts, thin gaps between towers, and even the occasional gargoyle or griffin.
Residents of the City of Towers often joked that it took about an hour to get wherever you were going in the city, regardless of whether it was from one district to its neighbor or from Skyway to the Cogs. The truth of the matter was, of course, that it took however long the coach drivers decided it was going to take, and an hour was about what most people were willing to pay for before they started getting unruly.
Sure enough, the sixth bell was sounding throughout the city as the driver pulled up near the Bridge of Giants. Having lived in Xen’drik, which had once been the home to actual giants, Sabira always found the grandiose title of the massive stone edifice amusing. It might be large by human standards, but it would have been dwarfed beside a true relic of the Age of Giants, like the statue of the Emperor that stood guard over the Stormreach harbor.
Digging out gold from her pouch this time, Sabira stepped off the coach and was immediately enveloped in a fine mist that smelled vaguely of feet. She hurried over to the spiral wrought-iron staircase under the bridge and wound her way down, the wail of shardhorns and the scent of Thunderherder bacon rising up to greet her before she’d made it halfway.
The door to the club was guarded by hobgoblins in ornate armor, but the blades at their sides were practical enough, and Sabira found one pointed at the middle of her chest before she could so much as open her mouth.
“Name?”
She knew from experience that this wasn’t the greeting most of the club’s clientele got, but then most of them didn’t look like they’d gotten lost on their way down to the slums of Lower Dura, either.
“Sabira Lyet d’Deneith.”
The hobgoblin who’d kept his sword sheathed made a show of looking at the list he held in one clawed hand, but it was clear he had no intention of letting her in, whether her name was on it or not.
“Sorry. Better luck next time.”
Sabira gave the green-skinned oaf her most provocative smile.
“Are you sure there’s nothing I can do to get inside?” she asked, tossing her coppery hair over her shoulder coyly and licking her lips.
The bouncer with the list snorted indelicately, but the one with the sword lowered it an inch or two to get a better look, his fanged mouth widening in a lascivious grin.
