Night of Long Shadows

CHAPTER 19

The third day of Long Shadows

Sar, the 28th day of Vult, 998

The district of Fallen was one of the most decrepit slums in Sharn. It was once called Godsgate, one of the city’s first temple districts, but as the population increased and the towers grew higher, the religious quarter moved upward as well, so they could be closer to their gods. Over the next few hundred years, the district slowly decayed and festered, but somehow managed to cling to a semblance of life, like a barnacle on a rock.

Until the day the Glass Tower fell from the sky, raining shards of death on everyone below.

Chunks as big as houses and razor pieces the size of pins showered over the area. Hundreds of people died. Some said it was punishment for the arrogance of the priests, for leaving their original homes of worship. But, as those hit by the disaster rightly asked, why not take it out on the priests who actually deserted the district in the first place?

It was a fair point, so the disaster was declared a terrible accident.

The council refused to rebuild. Although they didn’t say it out loud, they were all thinking the same thing. The accident had actually done the city a favor.

And so the district of Fallen fell even lower.

There were still plenty of areas of Fallen, far away from the ruins of the Glass Tower, where people remained to try to eke out some kind of a life. They ran businesses out of half-ruined towers, patched up and repaired with scavenged supplies. There was a weekly market, supplying residents with rather desultory pickings.

But everyone avoided the area where the Glass Tower had fallen. The place was thought to be cursed. Rumors of restless spirits abounded, and over the years, sightings of a more substantial kind gained fame. A race of crazed, feral creatures claimed the area as their home. No one knew if they were survivors of the original disaster or whether they simply arrived and chose to call the deserted streets their home. Some said they had shambled up from the very depths of Khyber itself. Over the years, the people of Fallen came to give them a name, one that suited their animalistic ways. They became known as the ravers.

Col circled the darkened skycoach around the ruins of the Glass Tower. Wren had never been to this section of Fallen before. He didn’t think anyone came here, so pervasive were the rumors of ghosts and the like. It was the perfect place for a criminal to hide out. In fact, he wondered if the ravers were real. Maybe they were simply rumors started by those using the area as a hideout. What better way to keep people out?

Wren stared over the side of the coach. It was like some strange magical forest. Huge chunks of glass stood embedded in the ground like colossal tree trunks. Some stood upright, but others slanted this way and that, like spears planted in the ground to repel a cavalry charge. As the skycoach moved slowly around the area of destruction, the small amount of light that trickled down winked and flashed on the faceted shards, revealing lethal edges and razor-sharp planes that promised a painful death to anyone caught inside.

And that was where they were going. Inside.

“Very bad idea,” repeated Wren. “Very bad idea.”

Col looked over his shoulder and frowned at him. “What’s wrong with you? You’ve come this far.”

“Sharp edges,” said Wren nervously. He peered over the side again and quickly yanked his head back as the skycoach drifted past a tall shard. The glass barely missed his head. “Watch what you’re doing! That one nearly sliced my face clean off!”

“You’re acting like a child,” said Col.

Wren vigorously rubbed his face. “You’re right. You’re right. Sorry. Got a fear of sharp things.” “What, like swords and knives?”

“No, they’re fine. Sharper than that. Razors, all this glass.” He gestured vaguely around. “It could take your finger clean off and you wouldn’t know it.”

“Yes, you would. As soon as the air hits the wound, you’d know. You’d feel a gentle throbbing at first, then you’d look down and see a bloody stump where you recently had a finger-”

“Yes, thank you. If you’d just shut up now, I’d greatly appreciate it.”

Col shook his head in exasperation. “I’m taking us over the fall zone. Keep your eyes open for any light.”

“Fine.”

Col pulled the skycoach up a few feet and headed straight over the forest of glass. Towers still stood within the area, some having escaped unscathed, others half collapsed, little more than decayed remains. Wren peered into the darkness, wishing that Xavien had been more specific with his directions.

They covered the area in a grid pattern, but it seemed hopeless. Wren couldn’t see any signs of life. He turned to Col to tell him it was a waste of time-

— and caught a glimpse of light out of the corner of his eye.

“Stop,” he ordered.

Col stopped the skycoach in midair. “What?” he asked.

“I saw something. A light.”

Col looked around. “Where about? I can’t see anything.”

Wren stared hard but he couldn’t see anything. “I’m sure I saw it. Just a flash. Like when you see a torch through a gap in a shutter.”

Col slowly moved the skycoach backward. A moment later, Wren saw it.

“There,” he said, pointing. The skycoach stopped moving and Col looked to where Wren was pointing.

“Looks like an old tower.”

“It’s been built up, though. The top half is wooden.”

Orange light speared through wooden slats. Col studied the tower. “There’s no way in from the top. It doesn’t look like there are any windows up there.”

“So we go in from the bottom,” said Wren. “Quietly.”

Col nodded and turned the skycoach around. He settled it in a gentle landing outside the tower, in a space that had been cleared of debris.

“I wonder if he’s been hiding here all this time,” mused Wren as he dropped to the ground.

“Possibly. No one’s going to come looking for him here.”

Col checked his weapons, then drew his long sword. “You ready?” he asked.

Wren checked the wands in his belt. “Ready.”

Col nodded and they walked around the tower until they found the door. Col stood to the side and motioned Wren to do the same. He reached around and flicked the latch, giving the door a gentle push.

It swung inward on silent hinges. They waited, but nothing happened. Col darted a quick look around the door frame.

“Clear,” he whispered to Wren. He crouched down and entered the tower. Wren followed. He saw a dark room cluttered with all kinds of junk. Old chairs were stacked one on top of the other all the way to the roof. Tables had been separated from their legs and piled into a corner. Cobwebs hung from the rafters. Diadus certainly didn’t spend any time down here.

Col was standing at the bottom of a spiral staircase. Wren joined him and they climbed slowly up the stone steps, keeping their eyes trained above them.

Wren leaned close to Col. “Watch out for him. He’s a powerful artificer. No telling what he’s got up his sleeve.”

Col nodded.

The next floor was the same as the one below-empty of life but cluttered with junk. They moved up, past two more deserted floors. Then the stone and rock of the tower walls gave way to the newly constructed wooden portion. Wren tensed, as this was probably where Diadus lived. They climbed a few more steps, then Wren heard a dull clomp. Col paused to look down. The stairs had been replaced with the wooden variety.

Col indicated for them to tread more carefully. Wren hoped it wasn’t too late. Maybe Diadus hadn’t heard Col’s footstep.

The stairs stopped at a sturdy door. Col studied it carefully, then motioned for Wren to retreat a few steps so they could talk.

“It’s solid,” he said. “If it’s locked, there’s no way we can break it down. I can pick the lock, but he may hear me.”

Wren smiled and pulled an amethyst wand from his belt. “No problem,” he said. “Just stand behind me, please. Thank you.”

Wren pointed the wand and released a wave of blue electricity that hit the door, crackling and smoking. All went silent for half a breath, then the whole door exploded inward with an implosion of air, disappearing from sight. Wren cut off the flow of energy and Col rushed passed him, sword raised, plunging into the room. Wren followed, waving away the smoke so he could see.

The door had smashed a desk and punched through the back wall of the tower. Smoke drifted out of the hole, and after a moment, Wren saw Col standing over something.

“Couldn’t you have used something with less of a bang?” he asked.

Wren joined him and looked down. “Oh.”

“Yes, ‘oh.’”

“Is he dead?”

Col crouched down beside Diadus and felt for a pulse. Blood seeped from a wound in his head. Wren didn’t think the door had hit him, for the simple fact that his body was still in one piece. Shrapnel from the desk had probably hit him.

“He’s alive,” said Col.

Wren breathed a sigh of relief.

“We just have to wait for him to wake up.”

Wren straightened and looked around the room. A single lantern on a table provided a small amount of light. An unmade bed was pushed against the wall. Next to it was a large table piled high with books. On the opposite wall, shelves held an assortment of jars and vials. He walked over to them and started sorting through the bottles, taking down jars and gingerly sniffing the contents.

One of the jars knocked his head back and made his eyes stream with tears. “Here,” he gasped, handing the jar to Col. “Wave this under his nose-don’t sniff it!”

Col froze, the jar halfway to his nose, then carefully lowered it. “What is it?”

“Smelling salts, I think.”

“You think?”

“Well … no, no I’m sure. It’s smelling salts.”

Col moved it toward Diadus, then paused and glanced back at Wren, who tried to look confident.

“What are you waiting for, man? Do it.”

Col shook his head and waved it under Diadus’s nose. The man jerked his head away, then opened his eyes and tried to focus on Col. He saw Wren standing over Col’s shoulder and sat up, scrabbling back against the wall. “Who are you?” he asked in a frightened voice.

“Just a couple of concerned citizens,” said Col.

Diadus frowned. “Concerned cit-? What?”

Wren leaned over. “I remember you, Diadus.”

At the mention of his name, Diadus let out a cry of fear and scrambled to his feet. He tried to push past Col, but the man was skinny to the point of sickliness. Wren reckoned a strong breeze could knock him over, so a shove from Col nearly sent him flying through the air. He fell onto his backside, then scrabbled quickly beneath a table, whimpering in fear.

“Why did you say that?” demanded Col, rounding on Wren.

“Say what?”

“You called him by his name!”

“Oh, excuse me, Master Professional Interrogator. What was I supposed to call him?”

“Nothing. Not until we assessed the situation.”

Wren glanced across at Diadus. “I think the situation’s assessed,” he said. “And in my humble opinion-and understand, I’m not a professional like you obviously are-I think we’ve got a slightly unbalanced individual on our hands.”

“That’s impossible,” said Col. “He’s involved in all of this. He helped put the Shadow elemental inside the dragonshard.”

“No. I didn’t.”

Col and Wren turned to Diadus, who had poked his head out from beneath the table.

“What?” said Wren.

“I said, ‘No. I didn’t.’”

“But Xavien said-”

“Xavien knows nothing. It doesn’t matter, anyway. He’ll be dead soon. Just like all the rest.”

“What are you babbling about?” snapped Col.

Diadus shook his head. “Nothing,” he said. “It doesn’t matter now. Nothing does.”

Col strode forward and grabbed hold of Diadus, dragging him out from beneath the table. He squealed and tried to slap Col’s hands away.

“Let me go! You’ll regret it. I promise you.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Not me.”

“Then who?”

Wren stepped forward. “The warforged?”

Diadus stared at him with bulging eyes.

“Yes,” said Wren. “I told you I knew who you were. You created that warforged a few years ago. The one who was destroyed for killing all those people. You’ve done it again, haven’t you? You’ve created another one.”

Diadus smiled, a slow grin that made his thin face look like a skull. “Not another one. He was never destroyed in the first place.”

“What?”

“He decided to stop killing. For the time being. He said he had grander things to plan. He brought me here.” Diadus looked around the tower room. “I’ve been here ever since.”

“For four years?”

“No choice. He wouldn’t let me leave.” Diadus seemed to reach a decision. He sighed. “Please put me down. I’ll tell you what you need to know.”

Col released his grip.

Diadus smoothed down his clothing and looked at them. “There’s nothing you can do, you know. I meant what I said. It’s too late.”

“Too late for what?”

Diadus took a shaky breath. “Everything that’s been happening. All this stuff about Tiel killing the council and pinning the blame on Daask. It’s not real. It’s a cover for what’s really going to happen. When Tiel activates the shard-”

“If he activates the shard,” said Wren. “Someone’s already tracked him down to stop him.”

“Then I wish him well. Because if Tiel manages to activate it …” Diadus shook his head sorrowfully. “I had to do it. Do you understand? I had no choice.”

Wren looked at Col. The Dark Lantern looked worried.

“Had no choice about what? What did you do, Diadus?”

Wren sniffed the air. “Col,” he said. “Do you smell smoke?”

Diadus looked at Wren in alarm, then sniffed the air. “You’re right,” he said, and hurried over to the shattered doorway.

“Where are you going?” snapped Col, stepping forward to pull him away.

He didn’t make it in time. A warforged stood at the top of the stairs. Its body was so black that it was almost invisible, melding with the darkness around it. Wren could see it only because its eyes were bright white, flaring and dimming as if in time to someone’s breathing.

The scene seemed to freeze for a heartbeat. Wren saw the fear in Diadus’s eyes. The warforged reached out, almost hesitantly.

“I am sorry, father,” it whispered.

Then the warforged ran Diadus through with a blade, pushing so hard that it lifted the skinny man off the floor.

Diadus screamed in pain and the warforged yanked the sword free. Diadus staggered back and collapsed at Wren’s feet, curling up around the wound and sobbing in pain. The warforged looked at Wren, and the half-elf realized that the construct was probably standing there when he said Cutter was going to stop Tiel. The warforged’s eyes flared white, but didn’t dim. It turned and ran down the stairs. Col chased after the warforged.

Wren grabbed Diadus under his arms and dragged him across the floor, leaving a smeared trail of blood in his wake. He just managed to manhandle Diadus onto the bed when a terrific explosion ripped through the lower half of the tower. It was followed by the sounds of rending wood and collapsing beams.

Wren hurried to the doorway. As he reached it, Col staggered into the room, coughing and waving at the smoke that billowed up the stairs behind him.

“It had some sort of explosive. Everything’s on fire down there.”

“Wonderful,” said Wren. He returned to Diadus, rolling the wounded man onto his back. “Diadus! Diadus, is there another way out of here?”

“He … he has killed me,” the man whispered, and Wren thought he could hear outrage in his voice. “I … I created him, and this is how he repays me.”

“Diadus, what will the shard do? You have to tell us.”

Diadus looked into Wren’s eyes and grinned. Blood trickled from his mouth. “Everyone must die,” he whispered.

“The smoke’s getting thicker,” said Col from the other side of the room.

Wren looked over his shoulder and could see orange light flickering from the staircase. He could already feel the heat at his feet.

“Diadus, tell me! If Tiel activates the dragonshard, what will happen? What has the warforged done?”

“He has brought the end upon us,” gasped the skinny man, grabbing Wren’s wrist. He doubled over in pain, and a moment later he relaxed with a long sigh. Wren checked for a pulse. The man was dead.

“Wren,” said Col, standing near the hole in the wall, “you’d better get over here. We’ve got a problem.”