long. Wounds did not heal, plants did not grow, and horrible creatures born of flesh and metal warped by magic stalked the deserted ruins of the nation that had once been the jewel in Galifar’s crown.
Securing the use of the Morning Zephyr had been a little tricky, but she’d managed it. It was primarily a matter of convincing her friends in House Lyrandar that Arnoth had authorized it, without letting Arnoth know that she’d borrowed the vessel. If Gaven’s father knew that she was looking for Gaven, he’d want to be involved. And if he was involved, that Sentinel Marshal who had barged into her house would be involved soon after.
She told herself she would probably get the Sentinel Marshals involved soon enough anyway. After all, Gaven was a fugitive from Dreadhold. Whatever reservations she had about her role in getting him captured and convicted, the fact remained that he was a criminal. For all she knew, he might prove dangerous-even to her. Perhaps especially to her-the one responsible for turning him in to House Deneith in the first place. She might have to call in another favor once she reached Vathirond, to ensure her safety in case she actually found him.
“Lady Alastra?” The first mate’s voice stirred her from her thoughts. She turned to see that the young man’s face, normally smiling broadly, was creased with worry. “The storm is growing worse, and the captain isn’t sure she can fend it off much longer. We might need to alter our course slightly, which could delay our arrival in Vathirond.”
Rienne sighed. “A slight delay will probably not matter,” she said.
“Yes, lady. In the meantime, the captain suggests you take shelter below.” The young man smiled briefly, nodded a small bow, and disappeared back into the wheelhouse.
Rienne looked around the deserted deck. She had not even realized that the crew had left her alone, either in deference to her or in fear of the brewing storm. She turned around again and stared into the gray mist. Something stared back, she thought-something powerful and malevolent. She shuddered and made her way below.
Back in her cabin, the bundle of silk propped against her bed caught her eye immediately. She lifted it and sat on the bed, tenderly resting the bundle on her lap and carefully pulling at the wrappings. Beneath the silk was a fine leather scabbard tooled in gold, and she drew out the gleaming blade of her sword, the weapon she called Maelstrom. She removed a scrap of silk that caught on the blade as she drew it, and ran her finger carefully along the razor-sharp edge.
Rienne had not wielded Maelstrom in battle since the Sentinel Marshals had taken Gaven into custody. She had adopted the dress of a noblewoman and settled down in Stormhome. She had made herself useful to her family and lived a quiet and profitable life, making the most of her connections to House Lyrandar despite what she had done to Gaven.
But at least once a week, sometimes every night, she had closed the door to her chambers and brought out Maelstrom, polishing the blade and oiling the leather that wrapped its hilt. She kept it carefully wrapped and secure, in case she ever needed it. She hoped this journey wouldn’t be such an occasion, but she was glad to have Maelstrom with her. Some part of her soul sang as she touched it again.
The storm threatening from the Mournland diminished as they made their way farther south, though their route took them alongside the dead-gray mist all the way to Vathirond. Rienne watched the city as it came into view-stone buildings forming tiers and bridges at the bases of its many tall towers, a gray metropolis set in stark contrast to the surrounding green hills-but her mind was consumed with thoughts of how she might find Gaven.
She started her search in the docking tower. A larger airship had docked at roughly the same time as her vessel, and she scanned the disembarking passengers carefully, on the off chance that Gaven was among them. She tried to anticipate the effects of twenty-six years in Dreadhold on his appearance, as well as any magic he might use to hide his face. More than a few passengers responded with nervous stares or angry rebukes as she tried to peer into cowls and under the wide brims of hats meant to conceal.
After one passenger drew steel, Rienne abandoned that approach, making her way through the crowds to the city streets. She ran down her mental list of contacts in Vathirond-distant relatives, people who owed favors to her family, and a few very old friends-and chose the most likely suspect. Looking around the streets, she quickly got her bearings and made her way to Subsidence, the neighborhood perched along the stream that flowed alongside the city, carrying its filth into the Brey River.
Krathas was a half-orc she believed had some connection to House Tharashk, though he didn’t carry the Mark of Finding. His residence in Subsidence suggested that he didn’t benefit much from this connection, and Rienne wondered if he were an excoriate like Gaven. She had never met Krathas, but Gaven had spoken of him a few times, and she had the impression that Gaven trusted him.
Setting foot in Subsidence reminded her of descending into Khyber. Danger was near-she could feel it-and she loosened Maelstrom’s silk wrappings.
“Look, Marsh,” an oily voice purred from an alley to her right, “we found ourselves a noble mouse. A half-elf mouse. Half elf, half mouse.” The man laughed, loud and grating.
Rienne sank into a combat stance, and she could feel the hesitation already taking root in her opponents’ minds. A quick glance showed her two assailants, emerging from the alleys on either side of her, and she heard a third trying to sneak up behind her. Keeping her attention on the position of the three attackers, she pulled again at Maelstrom’s wrappings, trying to free the hilt so she could pull the blade loose.
“Ooh, the mouse has been to fencing school.” It was the same one that had spoken before, foolishly drawing attention to himself before he was close enough to attack. He was a lanky human with a weirdly asymmetrical look to him, like one side of his body had grown just a bit faster than the other. He sort of half limped, half shuffled toward her, a leering smile spread across his angular face.
“I’m not sure about this, Jad.” The one coming in from her left was an orc, clearly brought in on the operation for his size and strength, though he displayed more sense than his leader at that moment.
Jad responded to Marsh’s hesitation the best way he could imagine: he shouted, “Get her!” and sprang forward, his gangly arms flailing wildly. He held a wavy-bladed dagger in each hand.
Rienne managed a firm grip on the hilt of Maelstrom but didn’t have time to draw the blade. She didn’t need to. She ducked slightly, batted Jad’s left arm aside with her sword-silk, scabbard, and all-and pushed his right arm so the dagger slashed across Marsh’s chest. Marsh yelped in pain and surprise, and Jad staggered backward. She could see the doubt gnawing at his mind, and she used their hesitation to quiet her mind.
While her eyes kept careful watch on the two assailants before her and her ears listened for the approach of the man behind, her innermost mind quieted, opened-like a flower opening to the new sun-then focused, channeling her inner energy into a fine point, a sharp edge of energy that flowed into her limbs. She focused the energy and held it, waiting.
The one behind her hung back for that first instant, but then he came charging in. Without turning, Rienne crouched, gathered her soul energy, then released it, springing straight upward. She slammed down on the back of the third attacker, cracking his skull with Maelstrom in its sheath, then landed on her feet behind him. The third assailant fell like a stone, and his head bounced once off the stone walkway.
Jad and Marsh stood flanking the prone body of their companion and gaped at her. Marsh started backing away first, keeping a wary eye on her in case she decided to charge after him. Rienne took the opportunity to draw Maelstrom from its sheath.
That was enough. Marsh and Jad turned tail and ran, leaving their unconscious ally to Rienne’s mercy. She touched her lips to Maelstrom’s blade and slid it back into the sheath. She started to return the blade to its silk wrapping, then thought better of it. She unrolled the silk and wound it around her waist, then carefully placed the scabbard into its folds so she could draw the blade more easily if she were attacked again.
Only then did she check on the third attacker, the one whose face she’d never seen. She rolled him over onto his back-he was a handsome young man-and checked the pulse in his throat. Aside from a large bump on his head, he’d be fine when he woke up.
He was lucky she’d never freed her blade.
Krathas stared at her across a filthy desk covered with scraps of parchment, and Rienne stared back. The sign on his office door had identified him as an inquisitive affiliated with House Tharashk’s Finders’ Guild. Rienne wondered what kind of business he attracted in Subsidence-certainly not jobs that paid very well, if his office was any indication. He was clearly past his prime, his hair thinning and white and his face deeply lined, though he was still muscular and tall-very tall. He had made a show of welcoming her in and clearing a chair for her to sit on,
