The Inquisitives [2] Night of Long Shadows (28 page)

He wondered how Wren was going to react. He knew he’d said he wouldn’t hand over the shard, but this was the only way they could find out what was going on. He’d just have to make sure he got it back before the delivery. Surely Wren would see that?

He stared at the walls as he walked, watching the faint glint of water as it trickled down the stone. He had to admit one thing. That comment about the shard changing the world had put a shiver down his spine.

P
lease tell me you’re joking,” said Wren.

Cutter pulled the robe over his head and threw it to the ground. “What did you expect me to do? Say no? Did you honestly think the trail would end here?”

“I don’t know!” snapped the half-elf. “I was hoping it would.” He turned to Torin. “Did you think it would end here?”

“Afraid not, Wren.”

“Fine. Everyone here is smarter than I am.” He turned to Cutter. “So what’s next? I’m assuming you have some kind of plan taking place in that rather square head of yours.”

“He’s going to pick me up once he’s finished. I’ll let him take me to whoever he’s giving it to, then take it back.”

“Did he tell you what he was doing with the shard?”

Cutter shook his head. “But as I was leaving, he sent an orc to fetch books by someone called Diadus.”

Wren looked thoughtful. “Diadus … Diadus. Why does that name sound familiar? Torin?”

“No idea,” said the dwarf. “I’ve never heard it before.”

“It definitely sounds familiar.” He thought for a few moments longer, then abruptly shook his head. “No. Can’t think why.”

“How are we supposed to know where you are?” asked Torin.

“You don’t. I’ll get the shard back once I’m done and meet you at the university. You can give it to that dwarf woman. I shouldn’t be long.”

“You’re very optimistic,” complained Wren.

Cutter shrugged. “I can take Anriel.”

“Oh, well,” said Wren sarcastically. “As long as you can take him, everything’s fine.”

Cutter sighed. “Look, I can see you’re angry because I gave away the shard—”

“Nonsense. Why should we be angry? I mean, how many people have died because of it? Only a few. Not many in the grand scheme of things.”

“Don’t talk to me about who has died because of this shard,” said Cutter quietly. “That’s
why
I gave it to him. I want the person who’s behind this whole thing, not just the lackeys. And if I have to take a risk to do that, then so be it.”

“Yes, but you’re risking other people’s lives. You’re doing exactly what they’ve been doing.”

“Then that’s something I have to deal with.”

Wren sighed and shook his head. “We’ll meet you back at Morgrave, then. Come, Torin.”

“Good luck,” Torin said to Cutter.

They turned and retraced their steps back through Khyber’s Gate.

Anriel walked out of the temple some time later. Cutter stood in the middle of the street and waited for the elf to approach. Cutter was shocked by the change in his appearance. His skin looked even pastier than before—almost gray. Cutter looked into his black-ringed eyes.

“Are you well?” he asked.

Anriel nodded wearily. “The binding took a lot more out of me than I thought it would.”

Cutter nodded, wondering what kind of binding he was talking about. He wished he could ask him straight out, but that would blow his cover. He’d find out soon enough.

They headed along the main street and up through the tunnels and passages that led out of the Cogs and into the Depths. Anriel didn’t talk, and Cutter didn’t push him. The less he said, the better chance he had of pulling this off.

When they reached the Depths, they found a rickety lift that took them up to Lower-Central. It wasn’t a lift like the others, but an actual mechanical contraption that whined and rattled as it rose slowly on its chains. At one point, the gears slipped and the lift dropped suddenly, screeching as it fell before the chain caught in the cogs once again.

Once off the lift, Anriel led them to an inn, then down a small alley that ran along the double-story building. He pulled open a tall gate and they stepped into an overgrown back garden. Cutter looked around. A couple of chairs stood outside the back door of the inn. Empty bottles and tiny heaps of pipe ash indicated that someone liked spending their time sitting among the long grass and weeds. Anriel headed to the back fence, where a large shape was hidden beneath a stained tarp. He pulled the cover off to reveal a decrepit skycoach.

They climbed inside and Anriel coaxed the skycoach into the air. Despite its look, the vehicle ran smoothly. He drove them to
the upper districts of Menthis Plateau and guided the skycoach until they were coasting through the well-kept streets of Crystal Bridge. Cutter looked at the massive manor houses and expensive mansions that lined the quiet streets, wondering at the kind of money needed to live there.

Anriel slowed the skycoach as they coasted along the street. He kept looking at the gates of the houses as they passed, searching for the correct address.

Cutter realized the surroundings looked familiar. He frowned, wondering why that was. But then it came to him. He’d been here before.

His stomach tensed as his mind processed this realization. Even as Anriel slowed near one of the huge mansions, Cutter was telling himself that it might be a mistake, that maybe they were headed to a different house.

But Anriel turned the skycoach into the gravel driveway and coasted up to the iron-wrought gates, and Cutter realized it was no mistake.

The person Anriel was delivering the dragonshard to, the person responsible for Rowen’s death, responsible for everything that had happened, was his boss, the halfling Tiel.

Cutter sat in shock while Anriel nodded at the guards. They used a glowing crystal to deactivate the security wards and the gates swung inward. Anriel guided the skycoach up the long pathway and around to the back of the house.

Cutter struggled to think, trying to understand. Why? What was going on? Had Rowen discovered something? Had she known it was Tiel? Was that why she was killed? Or had she simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time? It was too much, too quick. He hated to admit it, but he needed Wren to sort this through.

Anriel brought the skycoach down behind a line of trees.
Cutter looked over at the house. He didn’t know the answers to his questions, but he knew one thing: the person responsible for Rowen’s death was in that house.

Anriel stopped the coach and said, “Well, we made it—”

Cutter slammed his elbow into Anriel’s throat. The elf smacked against the seat, then slid to the floor, gasping for breath as he struggled to draw air through his crushed throat. Cutter retrieved the shard from his body, then pulled out his Khutai knives and jumped out of the skycoach. He sprinted across the grass to the back door and pulled it open.

Kitchens. Cutter looked about. Deserted. The ovens were cold. He crept through the room into a dark, uncarpeted hallway. The floor was scuffed and scratched. Cutter reckoned it was the servants’ quarters.

The hallway ended at a narrow flight of stairs. He climbed up, stopped at a door, pushed it open slightly, and put his eye to the crack. A large vestibule lay outside. Carpets had been scattered over the tiled floor, their colors the rich browns and reds favored by halflings from the Talenta Plains. He heard no signs of life.

He pushed the door wide and stepped through. The door was set into the wall below a wide set of stairs that curved up behind him. The front door to the house stood to his right.

He thought he heard voices, coming from upstairs.

Cutter tested the first step for loose boards that would alert people to his presence. Nothing. He tested each step in turn as he climbed, keeping his eye on the landing above. The voices grew louder—laughter, the low mumble of conversation.

He reached the top of the stairs and checked to make sure there were no guards posted. He saw none. Tiel had no reason to fear anything in his own house.

Cutter could see the room from which the voices issued.
The door was open and bright afternoon sunlight shone in a rectangle across the hall floor. Cutter crept forward and waited. He wanted to find out how many were inside. He had to make sure he got to Tiel. After that, they could do whatever they wanted to him.

“How do you plan on getting in?” asked a voice. It sounded like Bren. Was he involved? It gave Cutter pause. He respected Bren. Thought he was a man who stood up for his own principles. He’d be disappointed to find out he had anything to do with it.

“They’ll let me in.” Cutter recognized Tiel’s voice straight away, the laconic drawl. Whereas before it had irritated him, now it sent his heart hammering against his chest, sent a surge of hatred coursing through his body. He had to fight to keep himself from bursting into the room.

“Why?”

“The Tain gala’s all about power. As soon as everyone knows my father is Saidan Boromar, they’ll fall over their feet for my attention.”

“And you’re going to tell them?”

“Of course I am. What do you think all this is about?”

Cutter laid his head against the wall. The Tain gala? What did that have to do with anything? The Tain gala was a dinner party held every month on the floating district of Skyway and hosted by the Tains, the richest family in Sharn. Only the sixty most powerful figures in the city were invited. Anyone who mattered would be there, couldn’t afford
not
to be there.

A shadow fell across the rectangle of light on the floor. Cutter tensed, but it moved on. Just someone walking across the room.

“We’re going to be late,” said Tiel. “Where is that idiot? You’re going to have to take him out, by the way. I don’t trust him.”

“Fine,” said Bren, sounding bored.

Cutter took a deep breath. Now or never. They were going to walk out that door. He thought about waiting for them to do just that, but he had no way of knowing who would come first. No, he had to surprise them.

He held his blades in attack positions and stepped into the room.

The first thing he noticed was that the room was huge. It easily took up half the house. Skylights let in streams of sunlight. Pillars that seemed to be made of clay or mud reached up to the ceiling. Tiel had modeled them on something from the Plains.

Bren was lounging in a chair, clenching and unclenching his adamantine arm. Tiel paced back and forward in a short line. Both were an equal distance from Cutter, but he wasn’t sure if he could get to Tiel before Bren reached him. He flipped one of the knives around, holding it by the blade. The shape of the knives meant they weren’t ideal for throwing, but he still reckoned he could hit the halfling.

Bren stared at him. He didn’t move from his chair. “Cutter,” he said, by way of greeting. “Been looking for you. Where’ve you been?”

“Around,” he said.

Tiel turned in surprise, his eyes narrowing when he saw Cutter, knives drawn.

“What in Khyber’s name are you doing here? You should have just run with the money. Always knew you were an idiot.”

“I didn’t take your money. Someone beat me to it.”

“Then what are you doing here, Cutter?” asked Bren. “Why the blades?”

Cutter glanced at Bren. “I’m hoping you didn’t have anything to do with this, Bren.
Really
hoping.”

Bren frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“Anriel’s here,” Cutter said to Tiel, ignoring Bren for the moment.

“Who?”

“Don’t play dumb. You know who. He has the dragonshard you’ve been so eager to get your hands on.”

Tiel licked his lips. “Uh … where is he?”

“Dead.” He threw a glance at Bren. “I’ve saved you the effort.”

Bren sat forward in the chair. “Cutter, I’m getting a feeling here. Like you’re about to do something you might regret.”

“Oh, I won’t regret it, Bren. Believe me. I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt, tell you what happened. Stop me if you’ve already heard it.” He nodded at Tiel. “See, Rowen accidentally stole this precious dragonshard of his and went into hiding. She knew they would be after her.”