Voyage of the Mourning Dawn: Heirs of Ash, Book 1 Page 6

  Omax looked back at them, his blue eyes casting about for any other threats. The metal plates in his torso still vibrated from the fury of his roar. “We must go now,” he said in his usual calm voice.

  Tristam nodded, offering a hand to help Seren to her feet. She ignored him and stood on her own. The trio hurried through the alleys, away from Marth and his men. Alarm bells and panicked shouts came from every direction.

  “At least this is a stroke of luck,” Tristam said, looking back at the fire. “The Watch and the fire brigade should be here soon. If your mysterious visitors are wise, they won’t remain here too long.”

  “Luck?” Seren snapped, glaring at him. “They killed my friend.”

  “Well,” Tristam said, stopping to look back at her. His mouth hung open lamely. He smoothed one hand nervously over his grime-streaked coat but could find nothing to say. “I mean at least we’re all safe. That’s what matters, right? You have my sympathies. To lose a friend and a home …”

  “My home?” she said sharply. “You think I live in an abandoned inn?”

  “I … er …” Tristam glanced back at the burning Buzzard and shrugged, obviously at a loss.

  “This conversation is intriguing,” Omax said, still scanning methodically for any enemies as he paused beside them. “But this is not the time to have it.”

  Seren flushed slightly in shame for allowing herself to lose her head in such a crisis. They began to move again.

  “I never caught your name,” Tristam said, looking back at her with an apologetic smile.

  Seren pushed past him and kept running. They emerged onto an unusually crowded street for this time of night, gawkers gathered to watch the fire from a safe distance. Seren ran out of the alley, directly toward them.

  Tristam grabbed her arm. She gave him an icy look.

  “Shouldn’t we be keeping a low profile?” he asked.

  “A crowd is the best place to hide right now,” she retorted.

  “I am somewhat conspicuous,” Omax said.

  “Then find your own way out of this,” she said.

  Tristam’s face burned red. He seemed to be struggling to find something to say.

  “You are right,” Omax said, and that surprised her. “We will find our own way from here, but one more thing before we go.”

  Seren looked up at him suspiciously. “Everyone always wants one more thing,” she said. “What is it?”

  “Thank you for saving our lives,” the construct answered.

  Seren blinked.

  Tristam gave a quick nod. “Thank you, my lady,” he added. “Whatever your name is.”

  “Seren,” she said softly. “Seren Morisse. And I’m not much of a lady.”

  “Thank you, Seren,” Omax repeated.

  “Whatever,” she said, though she her tone was light and drew a smile from Tristam. She turned to vanish into the crowd, but hesitated. She looked back just as the pair were leaving. “What were you two doing there tonight, anyway?”

  “Looking for answers,” Tristam said.

  “Answers to what?” she asked.

  “I’m not sure,” Tristam said. “Come to the docks tomorrow morning. Find Karia Naille, and maybe we can figure it out.”

  “I’ve had a terrible night,” Seren said. “Quite frankly, I have no reason to trust you.”

  Tristam laughed. “Trust us?” he asked. “We’re trusting you, Seren.” He glanced at the thick journal tucked under her arm. “Enjoy the book.”

  The Lhazaarite peered back the way they had come for sign of pursuit, then hurried off down the street. Omax followed, pausing only long enough to bow his head respectfully. She watched the strange duo for several moments, and then slipped into the crowd before the City Watch arrived.

  It was only after Seren had returned to her shabby apartment and cleaned off the mud and grime of the evening that the adrenalin of her escape faded. The reality of her situation began to sink in. In a single evening the city of Wroat had become a much darker, stranger, and lonelier place. She had known that Jamus was sick for a long time now, and though he never shared the details she had suspected it was serious. She had wondered how she might survive in the city without him. As much as Seren liked to think of herself as cool, capable, and independent, the truth was that she had come to depend upon him. Now he was gone, and she was alone.

  It wasn’t as if she was helpless. In three years she had cultivated her own contacts throughout the city, but Jamus was the only one she really trusted. Maybe that was because of all the people she had met here, he was the only one who honestly admitted he was using her. For a pair of thieves, they had always been remarkably honest with one another, ever since the beginning.

  They had first met shortly after Seren’s arrival in the city, only three days after she had realized that her future lay in crime. Seren had spent four hours shadowing a pretty young noblewoman out slumming in the fishermen’s district with her two bodyguards. Seren had been watching the girl carefully. When she paid for her drink, Seren noted that she kept her coin purse tucked carefully in her sleeve. She noted the sharp blades on the guards’ belts but also noted the bored expressions on their faces. The tavern keeper and patrons treated her with exaggerated courtesy, but called her “Lady Senthea,” not “my lady.” This was obviously not the first time she had come here. Her guards clearly expected no trouble; their presence at this point was a mere formality. If Seren were to sit beside this Senthea, perhaps brush against her arm as they reached for the same drink, none would notice that her purse had been stolen.

  It was a good plan, and it would have worked if Jamus hadn’t stopped her. Just as Seren was making her way across the tavern, the old man rose from a nearby table and seized her wrist. She had seen the old thief around the neighborhood, knew him by name and reputation, but had avoided him as she avoided most people. Seren tried to slip away, but the old man’s grip was surprisingly strong and she didn’t wish to make the struggle so obvious. Instead she merely drew a short knife from her belt, displaying it to him within the shadows of her coat.

  “I’m not worth the trouble I’d give you, old man,” she said.

  “Neither is she,” Jamus whispered with a wry grin. “You have no idea who she is, do you?”

  Seren looked at him with suspicious curiosity.

  “The esteemed Professor Senthea Montain is on leave from Morgrave University,” Jamus said. “She is no one to trifle with.”

  “Morgrave University?” Seren said, not familiar with the name.

  “An academy with a reputation for aggressive research,” Jamus answered with a smile. “Lady Senthea’s particular field of expertise is enchantment.”

  “She doesn’t look like a wizard to me,” Seren said, trying to glance surreptitiously at Lady Senthea while still hiding her struggle with the old man.

  “Of course she doesn’t.” Jamus cackled softly. “You can tell by the smell, though. Strawberries and just a hint of ammonia. Wizards always smell a bit off. They can never really get the smell of all those reagents out of their clothes.”

  “You can tell she’s a wizard because she smells funny?” Seren asked with a dubious chuckle.

  “No, that’s how you should be able to tell,” he answered. “I know because I talked to her at length the first night I saw her here. She was even more obvious then. I advised her that the jewels she wore were a bit ostentatious, and that she might have better luck if she used less obvious bait. She was quite grateful for my professional expertise, if a bit disappointed her disguise was pierced so easily.”

  “Bait?” Seren asked.

  “She’s a scholar doing a study on the criminal mind,” Jamus said. He released her arm now, and Seren did not step away. “Exploring the use of magic in their rehabilitation. That coin purse you’ve had your eye on is warded. She’ll sense its absence the moment it’s removed and find it wherever it goes. She’s left a trail of disappointed thieves in her wake, all now permanently charmed to be perfectly law-abiding c
itizens. Well, except for Markham. Fool got a bit violent when he learned the truth and is now exploring an exciting new life as a frog. I suppose that’s a form of rehabilitation, isn’t it?”

  Seren looked past Jamus, eyes wide. Lady Senthea was now watching them. She eyed Jamus with the bored, disappointed expression of a cat that has just watched a bird fly away.

  Seren tucked the dagger back into its sheath at the small of her back, though her hand still rested on its hilt. She looked at the old thief seriously. “Why are you helping me?” she asked.

  “Honestly?” Jamus ask as he returned to his seat. “Because I know this city. Senthea means well, but without theft as a viable means of income, what would happen to a young girl like you?”

  Seren’s face flushed. She looked away. “Thank you,” she mumbled.

  “You never needed me to save you,” Jamus said. “You saw the signs just like I did. The only mistake you made was not listening to your instinct. Of course, one mistake is generally more than enough for people like us.” The old thief leaned back in the chair, clasping his hands behind his head.

  He was right. The smell of spell reagents was only one clue. Seren had thought it somewhat odd that the guards were so bored in such a dangerous part of town. The bartender and other servants recognized Senthea by the way she was acting. She wouldn’t have survived an excursion into this part of town without some means of defending herself. Seren had convinced herself she was just lucky. She might have found a more reliable target, but this just seemed too good to be true. She had chalked it up to a well-deserved instance of good fortune. Her hand fell limply from her dagger. She slumped into the chair across from Jamus and stared at the table.

  “As old as I am, I have never seen a real wolf,” Jamus said, rocking idly on the back legs of his chair. “I spend too much time in cities. But I have read books about wolves. I am reminded of the lesson of the wolf.”

  Seren glared at the old thief. “What?” she said. Her tone was perhaps a bit more irritable than she intended, but she was not in a pleasant mood and had no patience for nonsense.

  Jamus did not appear to take offense. “Though many creatures of magic and legend roam the wilds, the simple wolf is still among the most feared,” Jamus answered. “The Valenar respect the wolf greatly, for it is a creature of great cunning as well as ferocity. The lesson of the wolf is twofold. The first lesson is patience. The wolf must choose its prey carefully, for if the hunt fails it will not have the strength to hunt again. A poorly chosen hunt can kill a wolf.”

  “I think I know that feeling,” Seren said, her voice much softer now. She tried without success to ignore the gnawing feeling in her belly. Seren had counted on a quick pull to earn enough coin to eat, and had almost paid the price.

  “I’m glad you understand,” Jamus said. “The second lesson of the wolf is more important. Loyalty.”

  Seren studied Jamus’s weathered face thoughtfully. There was a keen, excited look in his eye. “We had wolves out by my father’s farm,” she said. “Father always said that the wolf you saw was never the wolf that killed you.”

  “Exactly,” Jamus said, snapping his fingers. “Strength in numbers. Loyalty born of mutual benefit. Each member of the pack offers strengths the others lack. Each one watches the other’s back. Youth and energy are strengths. As are wisdom and experience. With these combined, there is little that the pack cannot accomplish.”

  “I see,” Seren said. “You want me to join your pack, then?”

  Jamus nodded.

  “And how many are in your pack?” she asked.

  “One,” he said with a laugh. “This old wolf has lost his pack, and he is too old to hunt alone. What say you, Seren Morisse? Are you interested in learning what I have to teach?”

  “How do you know my name?” she asked, folding her arms and leaning back in her chair the same way he did.

  Jamus smiled.

  Seren wiped her face with the back of one hand. She had not even noticed the tears when they came. She huddled on the tattered pallet in the corner of her apartment, rocking gently as memories of her mentor flooded through her mind. He was gone now. She was alone in the city, but that was not the worst part.

  What had happened tonight? Why had Jamus agreed to take a job from a man like Marth? Why had he hidden the truth from her? They had always been honest with one another, at least professionally. Now, she knew that Jamus had not merely been a thief before they met. He had been a spy. His old “pack” had been Fiona Keenig’s intelligence network, washed away when the innkeeper vanished after the Day of Mourning.

  There were no answers.

  She still had a little money saved up. It might be enough to buy passage on a coach out of town. She could go back to Ringbriar, back to her mother. Whatever troubles Jamus had stirred up in Wroat would never find her there. She would still have to find a way to scrape out a living without relying on her impoverished mother, but she would be relatively safe. No more stealing. No more strangers following her through the streets or threatening to disembowel her. She might starve, but at least she would see it coming.

  Then she saw the seal of the gorgon and albatross looking up at her from the Cannith journal. The eyes of the gorgon glared up at her relentlessly. The albatross looked only to its flight, ignoring her completely. Seren wiped the tears from her cheeks again.

  Loyalty.

  If she didn’t find out who Marth was and why he killed Jamus Roland, who else would ever care? Jamus had been a spy and a thief. He had taken her under his wing because he was too old to scale walls and pick pockets himself. He was no hero. Even to say he was a good man would have been a stretch.

  But he was her friend. He was her teacher. He had accepted her unconditionally when no one else would. Even if he had hidden things from her, Seren owed it to Jamus to find the truth.

  She cradled the thick book to her chest as she lay back on her bed, quite literally clinging to the only clue she had. She would find the truth, she told herself as she pulled the thin sheets over her shoulders.

  But not tonight.

  Seren lay in the dark for several hours, and the tears continued to come. Eventually, somehow, sleep found her.

  The next morning, Seren set out to find Karia Naille. If Tristam and Omax had been truly sincere in their offer for help, then she would need to share information with them. The possibility that this might be some sort of trap flickered only briefly through her consideration. What would they have to gain? If the warforged had wanted to kill her, capture her, or take the book away from her, they could have done so easily last night.

  Of course that was no reason to walk into a situation unprepared. She rose and dressed conservatively in a long linen dress and cloak, so as not to draw attention. She stuffed the Cannith journal in a clean woolen bag and then stuffed a blanket in as well. Carrying around an expensive journal bearing the seal of a dragonmarked house might draw a question or two, but carrying a sack of laundry to the river was normal enough. Plucking her coin purse from the broken wooden crate that served as a dressing table, she counted her remaining funds. It would have to do for now. Tucking her knife into the folds of her dress at the waist, Seren set out for the landing.

  Seren soon arrived at the docks and carefully inspected each ship from a distance. She couldn’t find one named Karia Naille. She began discreetly asking dockworkers and other passersby if they had heard of such a ship; most seemed to know nothing. She felt frustrated and confused. Why ask her to meet them at a ship that didn’t exist? It didn’t make sense, but then again, most of this didn’t make sense. Perhaps she was simply asking in the wrong place. Wroat was a large city, after all, and whatever Tristam and his associates were up to, they would likely keep to themselves. Even so, it wouldn’t matter how discreet they wished to be, a ship couldn’t dock in Wroat and not announce itself to the Watch. However, that meant talking to the Watch. For a known thief like Seren, that was a tricky sort of undertaking.

  Luckily she soon fo
und a watchman whose face she didn’t recognize. “Pardon me,” she said in as meek a voice as she could muster. “Do you know where I might find a ship called Karia Naille?”

  The guard looked at her with a bored expression then pointed past her with his spear. She looked that way only to see an empty area of the docks. Then she looked up. It was amazing, sometimes, what the eye could miss when it was simply unprepared to see it. The city of Wroat sprawled on both sides of the Howling River, and on the opposite side of the river, a series of six short towers faced the docks, each capped by a short bridge that ended in open air. Seren had always wondered what purpose the strange towers served, for she had never seen them in use. Now a long, sleek vessel hovered in the air beside one of the towers.

  Karia Naille was an airship.

  Airships were a relatively rare sight to begin with, at least in the poorer parts of Wroat. Only the phenomenally wealthy could afford such vehicles, and only expert artificers could maintain them.

  “Do you know who owns that ship?” Seren asked, looking back at the guard. He had already continued his patrol and didn’t hear. Seren let him go. After last night, she reasoned she was better off not leaving a lasting impression on the Watch.

  She crossed a nearby bridge and made her way to the tower’s base. Seren felt one final pang of paranoia, a fear that she was walking into danger. She looked up at the ship. Seren didn’t believe that Omax and Tristam planned to harm her. Her real fear was that, after this, there would be no turning back. Whatever Jamus, Marth, Dalan d’Cannith, and the others were involved in, it didn’t really involve her yet. She didn’t know enough to be a threat to any of them, and only Tristam and Omax even knew her last name. She could easily step away now, leave the city with the handful of coins she had left, and face whatever bleak and uncertain fate awaited her.