The City of Towers: The Dreaming Dark - Book I (20 page)

“There are a few people in our community who believe that Cyre deserved its fate,” he said.

Daine almost dropped his spoon.
“What?”

“Hundreds of refugees live in High Walls, and each person has a different opinion. But the root of this argument is that Cyre was weak. Mishann was the rightful heir to the throne of Galifar. If she’d been more aggressive, she might have put down the rebellion before it came to war.”

Greykell scowled. “In other words, she should have killed her brothers and sisters instead of trusting them to follow the laws and wishes of their father.”

Monan looked up from his stew. “Well, they didn’t, did they?”

Hugal laughed.

“Remind me, Monan, what you did during the war?”

Hugal stopped laughing and Monan looked away.

Greykell smirked, then looked back at Daine. “Speaking of the war, how long are you planning to wear that uniform?”

Daine flushed slightly, remembering his conversation with Jode earlier in the day. “Why? Was it so easy for you to abandon it?”

She shrugged. “Wearing a cloak or a pin doesn’t change who you are. Cyre is still with us. But the nation is gone. The army is gone. All you’re doing by wearing that cloak is angering the people you need as friends, and you should know better. You’re encouraging a fight when we need to work for peace.”

“This is a point that Greykell and I don’t quite see eye to eye on,” Teral said. “If we let go of our tradition, our unity, what do we have left?”

“What do we have now?” Greykell was still smiling, but her voice had taken a sharper tone. “Are we going to be the kingdom of tents? You’ve seen the Mournland. Cyre’s not coming back. I don’t like it any more then you do, but we should be trying to find good lives for our people here in Breland. We need to get our people out of High Walls, not rejoice in our isolation.”

Monan broke in again. No, this time it was Hugal. “We’re still a force to be reckoned with. What do you say, Captain? Do you believe the war is over?”

Is he serious?
Daine didn’t know what to say.

“No offense, Hugal,” Jode said, “but how can you say otherwise? Let’s be honest. We were losing the war. Even if every surviving Cyran could wield a weapon, you couldn’t field an army capable of standing against Breland.”

“Who said anything about an army?” Hugal’s eyes glittered.

“What then?” Daine said.

“Have you
seen
the Mournland?” Hugal asked.

Greykell rolled her eye. Apparently she’d heard this before.

“I spent months searching for survivors,” Daine replied. “Teral, you said you found the serving girl there, didn’t you? That’s one more survivor than we ever found.”

Teral stared down into his water, his eyes distant. “There were more in the south, Daine. I myself was in Metrol when the Mourning came. I’ll never forget that night.”

“If you’ve seen it, you should know,” Hugal said. “Cyre isn’t dead. It’s simply changed.”

Daine thought back, remembering the corpses that wouldn’t decay, the burning mist, the rain of blood. “I … suppose.”

“We can’t go back there,” Hugal said. “The land can’t support life. We know that. But it is still our homeland. It is our past—and perhaps our path to the future. There is power in Cyre. You’ve seen the wonders and horrors that lie beyond the mist. What if we can harness that power? How could anyone stand against us then?”

“And what would we do with such a weapon?” Greykell asked. “Olladra’s teeth, Hugal! Our ancestors prided themselves on their skill and wisdom. Alone of the five nations, we held true to the dictates of Galifar. Would you spread the Mournland across the entire continent?”

“The throne of Galifar was ours by right. The others betrayed a thousand years of tradition, and our homeland paid the price. Do they deserve any better? How about you, Daine? Do you intend to let Cyre be forgotten?”

Daine considered. Eventually he said, “I will never forgive Wroann for her role in starting the war. I don’t know if I can ever look at a Brelish soldier and see anything but an enemy. But Cyre always stood for peace and for wisdom. We fought to preserve our nation, not out of a desire for conquest or revenge. If we turn against that now … then we will be the ones who truly destroy Cyre.”

There was a long pause, then Teral clapped his hands. “Well said, Captain.”

Greykell nodded, and even Monan smiled.

Hugal inclined his head. “Indeed. I hope you’ll pardon
my outburst. My brother and I enjoy taking the side of the Traveler, and sometimes I take things too far. Obviously it would be madness to spread the Mournland”—he smiled—“even if we could unlock the mysteries behind it.”

Daine studied the twin carefully, looking for any signs of his true thoughts. Had he simply been arguing the side of discord? Greykell was also watching Hugal, and there was nothing but disgust in her eye.

The conversation eventually began again. Teral shared his memories of the court and the last noble queen of Cyre, whom he had advised in the final days of the war. The other two diners were an elderly half-elf named Sallea and her grandson, Solas. They said little during the meal. Sallea occasionally made comments in the language of the Valenar, and Daine concluded that she didn’t speak the common tongue of Galifar. The boy was thin and sickly and picked at his stew. At one point he coughed, and Daine saw a spot of blood. Jode saw it too and quickly moved over to look at the boy.

“What is it, Jode?” Daine asked.

“Flameworms. Fairly advanced. It doesn’t look good.”

Sallea grabbed the child, pulling him away. Greykell frowned, and Teral nodded gravely. “He’s not the first, I’m afraid. I know the main wells are clean, but we’ve lost a number of the children. I’ll have Hulda take a look at him. She should be able to ease his pain.”

Jode looked at Daine, a question in his eyes. Daine nodded. Jode removed the woolen cap he was wearing, revealing the blue and silver spread across his bald head.

Teral’s eyes widened. “Is that …?”

Jode spoke a few words in Sallea’s language. Slowly, he pulled the boy away from her embrace and placed his palms on either side of the child’s head. The people around the table fell silent, and all eyes were fixed on Jode. The blue of his dragonmark began to glow with an inner light. It only lasted a moment, but it seemed to stretch on far longer.

Jode released the boy’s head, and the light from his mark faded. “It’s going to take a few days for him to recover,” he told Sallea. “But he’ll live.”

With that, the spell was broken, and everyone began to talk at once. Teral made his voice heard over the din. “Jold, did you just heal that boy?”

Jode nodded. “Yes. And it’s
Jode.”

“So you are a member of House Jorasco?”

Jode shrugged. “I bear the Mark of Healing, but I owe allegiance to no house.” He said this so easily that it seemed perfectly natural.

Greykell broke in. “This is outstanding! What are your limits? I can think of half a dozen sick children, and then there’s Elymer—he’s starting to go blind.”

Jode looked back to Daine. This was why he’d hidden the mark to begin with, why he’d asked Daine before healing the child.

“I can only draw so much power before I need to rest,” Jode said. “Fighting an infection is hard—harder than fighting a battle. You may have had healers in your other units, but most probably used dragonshards to focus their energy. I suppose I can try to treat the children, but I’ll only be able to help one each day. And I can’t do anything for this Elymer, I’m afraid. I just don’t have that kind of power.”

“Then I suppose …” Greykell tapped her eyepatch.

“I’m afraid not.”

“Well, I’m getting used to it. But any sort of help you could provide to the community would be appreciated.”

“Absolutely!” Teral echoed. “This is an unprecedented stroke of good fortune. I had no idea. A free dragonmark, right here in our midst!”

Daine glanced over at Lei, but she remained silent.

“And you, Daine?” Greykell pointed at his sword, with the blazing Eye of Deneith emblazoned on the pommel. “Do you carry the Mark of Sentinel?”

Thank you, Captain Grazen, Daine thought. “No,” he said. “I lost my sword during our travels, and this is a gift from a friend.”

For a time, the conversation turned to the powers and limitations of Jode’s dragonmark. Teral was interested in what he could do. Could he restore Olalia’s jaw? What sort of parasites
could he destroy? Greykell was more interested in the immediate civic applications of his abilities, and Jode agreed to work with the local healer Hulda to try to identify and help those refugees with the most serious problems.

After the meal was done, Sallea thanked Jode again and took her grandson off to bed. One of the twins left—Daine couldn’t remember which one it was. Looking across the table, he noticed that Lei and the other twin were still deep in conversation—a little too deep for his tastes.

“Monan,” Daine said, “shouldn’t you be going now?”

The man laughed—a sound Daine was beginning to hate. “It’s Hugal.” He put a hand on Lei’s shoulder. “And it’s been such a lovely conversation.”

“We must be going,” Daine said. “Lei, Jode …”

“One moment,” Jode said. “Councilor Teral, if I may ask—you are fairly familiar with the comings and goings in High Walls, yes?”

Teral nodded. “Why do you ask?”

“Have you seen this man, by any chance?” Jode produced one of Alina’s sketches, folded to hide the writing. He pushed it to the center of the table, and both Hugal and Teral examined it. “His name is Rasial.”

“Is he Cyran?” Teral said, frowning.

“No. Brelish. But he had family in Cyre. One of his cousins served in our unit and died at Keldan Ridge. We just need to deliver a message.”

Teral studied the parchment for a moment. “No, I’m afraid I can’t help you.”

Hugal just shook his head and laughed.

“He does look somewhat familiar,” Greykell said. “Are you sure you haven’t seen him, Hugal?” The twin shrugged. “Hmm. Perhaps it was Monan, then.”

“Well, it was worth a try.” Jode picked up the sheet of parchment and stood up. “Shall we, my friends?”

Greykell stood, and without warning she wrapped Daine in a crushing embrace. She had the strength of a bear. “Well met, Daine, Lei! Jode, I’ll expect to see you tomorrow.”

After he’d caught his breath, Daine nodded. “Good night,
Captain. And thank you again, Lord Teral. Let me know if we can be of service.”

“Don’t worry, Daine. I certainly shall.”

The four soldiers gathered their belongings. The serving girl, Olalia, had emerged to clear the table, and Daine noticed that she was staring at Jode. Her marble teeth glittered in the torchlight, and then she disappeared behind a flap of cloth.

N
ight had fallen long ago. Shadows stretched across the streets, punctuated by pools of light from the cold fire torches as they made their way back to the Manticore. Pierce had slung his bow across his back and was carrying his long flail. The chain swung slightly as he walked. He found the motion was relaxing, steady, predictable.

“It was nice to see a few friendly faces,” Lei said.

“Some a little too friendly, if you ask me,” Daine grumbled.

“I’m not so sure about that,” Jode said.

“What do you mean?”

“Hugal … he’d seen Rasial before. I’m sure of it. I was watching him, and there was a definite reaction.”

“Interesting,” Daine said. “We’ll track him down in the morning. Pierce, are you all right? You didn’t say a word at dinner.”

Pierce raised his flail, causing the chain to wind around the haft. “There seemed little to say, Captain. Though I wonder at Greykell’s words. If she believes that it is a mistake for you to wear your uniform because it is a symbol of the war, what am I to do?” Pierce had been built to serve in the Cyran military, and the symbols of his service were engraved into his torso. “War is my purpose. If the world must forget the war, what place is there for me?”

Even the usually glib Jode had no answer to this.

“Your place is with us,” Lei offered.

Pierce inclined his head, acknowledging the thought. But he wasn’t so certain. He heard a stranger’s words echoing in the back of his mind.
Are you just a weapon, worthless when there is no blood to be spilled?

They followed the street around a tight curve as it followed the wall of the central tower. Around the bend, six people were spread across the street. In the dim light, they all appeared human, though their features were hidden by ragged cloaks and cowls. The man in the center pulled back his hood. It was Monan—or Hugal. Pierce had noticed that the two had a few unique quirks; Hugal seemed to speak more often and more quickly, and Monan had a tendency to fidget. Given time, he was confident he could distinguish between the two. But at a glance, he wasn’t sure which one they were dealing with.

“I suppose we could have that talk now,” Daine said.

The six figures rushed forward. Monan brandished a long knife, and one young woman had her hands outstretched like weapons. Pierce saw that her fingers were tipped with long, curved claws.

“Take them alive if you can!” Daine cried.