The City of Ravens (10 page)

The coach rumbled on through the city streets.

The next day passed by Jack in a skull-splitting haze. He tried several times to climb out of his bed but failed on each attempt and finally resolved simply to spend the entire day in bed. He also found himself wishing Lord Panther significant and hopefully long-lasting dysfunctions from the one solid blow Jack had managed during their duel. By early evening he rallied enough to drag himself out for a hot skewer of grilled beef and onions at Nimber’s Skewer Shop, little more than a windowed kitchen on a busy corner of the Skymbles. Eating something served to steady him greatly, and Jack thought about his next moves as he sat under a wooden overhang near the skewer-shop and watched people plod through the mud and the rain. Elana, Zandria, Illyth… he certainly did not lack things to do!

Jack spent the rest of the evening and most of the day after making inquiries in various quarters regarding Iphegor the Black. He also wandered past the mage’s tower and studied it carefully, thinking about what he would have to do to break in. He considered briefly the notion of knocking on the door and simply asking Iphegor how much he wanted for the book—there might be a tidy profit to be made by acting as a broker in this instance. But three factors dissuaded him from that course of action: first, Elana seemed to be cautious with her purse and probably couldn’t afford to buy the book outright; second, Iphegor’s I’ll temper was legendary; and finally, Jack didn’t want to put the wizard on his guard by asking openly about the book. If the wizard refused to sell it, of course he would take steps to make sure that the prospective buyer wouldn’t resort to thievery.

By the end of the day, Jack had a good idea of what he would have to do to get his hands on the Sarkonagael.

He deliberately ignored his trepidation about the enterprise, assuming an attitude of supreme confidence. If he believed it possible, then it was surely possible, and nothing could prevent the success of any enterprise he cared to undertake. He headed toward the Cracked Tankard to celebrate his resolve and contemplate his coming reward.

Briesa was not there (he recalled that the fifth day of the week was her night off), so Jack simply stood at the bar and ordered a hunk of roast beef and a plate of boiled potatoes to go with his dark ale. He was just about to dig in when a cloaked and hooded figure moved up beside him and clamped a strong hand on his arm.

“Hello, Jack. Why don’t we find a quiet table where we can talk?”

“Elana!” Jack exclaimed around a mouthful of potatoes. “What a pleasant surprise!”

He seized his plate and his mug and hurried after the swordswoman, who was already threading her way toward a quiet alcove in the back of the room. It wasn’t Jack’s usual spot, but it was perhaps even harder to spy on if not quite as close to the room’s exits.

As he sat down, Elana drew the privacy curtain shut and lowered the cowl of her hood. Her strong beauty was undiminished—the dark eyes and raven hair, the soft lips, the lean grace. Jack decided that he’d have that book even if he had to fight his way through a horde of guardian demons to get his hands on it. Elana simply watched him for a moment and then smiled sardonically, as if she could guess at what he was thinking and was simply amused by it.

“Well, Jack Ravenwild, have you found me my book yet?”

“Possibly,” he said. “I have a very good lead, dear Elana, although I confess I am exceedingly curious to discover why you want it.”

“It’s good to want things that you can’t have,” she replied. “It keeps your ambition sharp. I see no need to take you into my confidence, Jack, not any deeper than you already are.”

“Be that as it may, I still don’t know exactly what the Sarkonagael is—”

“But you know where it is?” she asked, interrupting him.

“I’ll know for certain tomorrow,” Jack said. “If all goes well, I’ll have the book in hand by tomorrow evening.”

“What do you mean, if all goes well?”

“The book is the property of a person who is likely to object to its removal from his collection.”

“Who? Who has it?” Elana leaned forward, her eyes burning with intense interest.

“Why, I can’t tell you that,” Jack said with a laugh. “I told you on the occasion of our first meeting—I work for half in advance, half upon completion of the work. As of this very moment, you have paid me one hundred gold crowns out of a promised five hundred, plus a very generous bonus arrangement should I recover the book for you. But if I let you know exactly where the book is, why, you might forget the balance of our contract—and the attendant bonus—in your enthusiasm to claim your property, and then where would I be?”

“I don’t go back on my word once I give it,” Elana said in a hard voice.

“I never said that you would, dear Elana. I merely observe that some of my employers have had difficulty in recalling the exact terms of a bargain once I delivered what they wanted.”

Elana studied him for a long moment. “You don’t want me to beat you to the book. Very well, I can appreciate that, but I’m going to insist that you tell me something of its whereabouts, so that if something happens to you I won’t have spent my money in vain.”

“Understandable,” Jack conceded. “In that case, I would ask for an additional one hundred and fifty crowns up front to make up the balance of my advance.”

The swordswoman’s eyes flashed in anger. “Are you attempting to change the terms of our agreement?”

“I never agreed to disclose all information as I discovered it,” Jack replied. “You are requesting me to do so now, so I am merely attempting to set a fair value on it. After all, the last thing you said to me on the subject was that you’d pay me the balance when I bring you the book or when I present evidence that convinces you that it cannot be found in Raven’s Bluff. I can’t show you any evidence of that sort, so I’d better produce the book.”

“You agreed, at least tacitly, to a reduced advance in exchange for the bonus on delivery” Elana pointed out.

“True,” Jack agreed. He offered a fierce grin. “A partial or complete payment of the bonus would certainly count toward my advance, but I didn’t want to bring it up unless you did.”

“I see,” Elana said. Her anger faded, replaced by some emotion that Jack had a harder time identifying— calculation, perhaps? Suddenly, she rose in her seat and leaned across the table, reaching behind his head with one hand and kissing him hard. His whole body jolted as if he’d been shocked.

Jack recoiled in surprise, but Elana refused to release him, and after a moment he returned her kiss with a building fervor. She teased his tongue with hers, her breath soft and hot on his face. He cupped her face with one hand and boldly extended the other to caress one perfect breast protected by the leather and steel that she wore, and then she pulled away, returning to her seat while Jack strained forward to maintain the moment’s contact.

Elana smirked at him and then reached into a deep

pocket, pulling out a small purse that jingled when it landed on the table. The balance of your advance, and a hint of your bonus if you succeed,” she said sweetly. “Now, what’s your lead?”

“Iphegor the Black,” Jack said blankly. He slumped back into his seat, looking up at the ceiling to regain his composure. “A wizard named Iphegor the Black. I believe that he acquired the book from another wizard named Durezil, who may have acquired it from Gerard’s belongings when they were sold off after his disappearance.”

“Is it reliable?” she asked.

“It’s guesswork, but it makes sense,” he admitted. “I rarely have the advantage of incontrovertible evidence and confirmed sightings. My gift lies in my intuition for weaving suggestions and suppositions into facts.”

“In other words, you’re a good guesser,” Elana said. She shook her head and started to stand. “Well, I will allow you to play your hunch, Jack. That’s what I hired you for, after all. If you’re right, bring the book to me three nights from now.”

“Here?”

Elana snorted. “Do you have any idea of how many people watch this place? No, I’ll leave word for you. Make sure you wrap up the book or cover it somehow.”

“My lady,” Jack said in a pained voice, “I am not unfamiliar with exchanges such as these.”

“I suppose so,” Elana said. “Good luck tomorrow. I’ll be keeping an eye on your progress.” With that, she slipped out of the privacy curtain and disappeared into the crowded tavern floor.

Absently, Jack counted the coins in the purse and picked at his dinner. To tell the truth, he would have told her anything for the kiss alone.

You have some dishonest purpose in mind,” said Tharzon, splashing through the knee-deep water of the sewer tunnel. “I can tell, Jack Ravenwild. In all the time I have known you, you have never approached me without some perfidious scheme at hand.”

“Dishonest is a relative term,” Jack replied. He struggled to keep up with his dwarven companion. The heavy spring rains now roared through the old mason-work sewers in a loud torrent, threatening to carry him away if he stepped too far to the center of the channel. “I have no doubt that the man I intend to rob came by his treasure in an underhanded fashion.”

Tharzon, on the other hand, seemed to have no concern for the rushing waters. Like all of his kind, the dwarf was as solid as an old anvil, with the strength of a hale human constrained in a thick frame four feet in height. He was a professional acquaintance of Jack’s, a master tunneler and lockpick who made his living by burrowing in on his prizes with careful deliberation. “So stealing from a thief is an honest act then?” The dwarf barked laughter, a sound like wet gravel sliding down a hill. “Two wrongs make a right!”

“Today I’ll choose to believe so,” Jack replied.

He frowned in distaste at his surroundings. He’d replaced the fine clothes and noble trappings of the previous few days with what he thought of as his working clothes—black leather over gray cotton, all veiled in a fine dark cloak of light wool. But his flesh crawled as he contemplated what might or might not be scurrying past him in the rainwater. Jack was more fastidious than he cared to let on, and he would never wear these clothes again without imagining a faint whiff of the sewers in the fabric, no matter how many times he cleaned them. “Are we almost there?”

“Almost,” Tharzon replied. “So, what’s this dwarfwork mystery you wanted to ask me about?”

“Have you ever heard of Cedrizarun?”

“The master distiller of ancient Sarbreen?”

“The very one. I take that as a yes.”

“Of course!” Tharzon said. “I’ve spent a human lifetime exploring old Sarbreen and studying the lore of my fathers. Cedrizarun’s name is still revered among my folk.”

“Can you think of a reason why a Red Wizard—leader of an adventuring company—might become intensely interested in Cedrizarun’s resting place? Specifically, a riddle or an inscription on or around the tomb?”

“Certainly. Your mage seeks the Guilder’s Vault.”

Jack looked up so quickly that he knocked his head on the tunnel roof. “The Guilder’s Vault? Hold a moment, friend Tharzon, and tell me of the Guilder’s Vault.”

Tharzon looked back over his broad shoulder. His eyes smoldered beneath his heavy brow, and gold bands glinted in his ringleted beard. He paused in the next intersection, a high chamber where water streamed down from the glow of daylight above, and set his lantern on a ledge high on the wall.

“What do you know of old Sarbreen, Jack?” the dwarf asked, hunkering down on a dry ledge.

“A great dwarven city, built about seven hundred years

ago but destroyed soon after. Raven’s Bluff sits on top of Sarbreen’s ruins. Many of these sewers are old dwarfwork… as are cellars, vaults, and catacombs underneath much of the city.”

Tharzon shrugged. “About as much as a human might be expected to know, I guess. Well, let me tell you a little more. These passageways were indeed built by master masons of the City of the Hammer, but carving stone and delving chambers is not all that there is to a city. Dozens of masters skilled in the other arts—armorers, weaponsmiths, jewelers and miners and woodcarvers and glass-blowers and all the others—ruled thousands of skillful craftsmen. That was the wonder and the strength of Sarbreen, my friend. Skill and industry, ceaseless labor in a great thriving city that shone for a brief moment as the richest of all dwarven holds.

“Everyone knows the work of the old stonecutters, but the master masons were only a part of Sarbreen’s Ruling Ring. Other masters whose works do not survive today were held in high honor, too—swordsmiths whose blades are scattered from here to Waterdeep, merchants whose wealth now lies in dragon hoards or lost at the bottom of the sea, and others. They were sometimes known as Guilders, since they led guilds of craftsmen.

“Cedrizarun was the master distiller, the maker of dwarven spirits whose fire would consume any lesser mortal who dared imbibe them.” Tharzon offered a sere smile. “My folk delight in work well done, but we also delight in strong drink, and it’s said that none crafted a better spirit than Cedrizarun. He was an old and honored dwarf when Sarbreen was first built, and he wielded great influence as a Guilder.

“He died before the fall of the city and was entombed in the old manner, with his riches about him. Few of the other Guilders or the master masons received such

honors. Sarbreen was sacked a short time later, and most of Cedrizarun’s peers died in battle, their hoards carried off by the cursed ores and vile drow who worked Sarbreen’s doom. But Cedrizarun’s tomb has not yet been found.” Tharzon fixed his eyes on Jack. “What do you know of this mage?”

“She’s found Cedrizarun’s crypt. In fact, she’s recorded some kind of inscription or riddle in or around the tomb.” Jack thought for a moment, and then reached into a waterproof pouch at his hip and pulled out the parchment copy of the rubbing. “She’s been trying to figure out what this means,” he said, handing it to Tharzon. “I suspect that she knows that something of great value is hidden nearby. She is desperate to solve the riddle.”

“And you think that I can solve it for you?” the dwarf asked. “Instead of asking me to solve the riddle so that she can loot the Guilder’s Vault, I would prefer that you ask the mage where Cedrizarun’s tomb lies. We can solve the riddle and respectfully remove the Guilder’s wealth ourselves. My people laid it to rest; it is only fitting that I, as their heir and descendant, should bring it back into the sunlight again.”