Sea of Death: Blade of the Flame - Book 3 (8 page)

Tresslar was taken aback. If Solus had been protecting them since their arrival in Kolbyr, did that mean psiforged was the only thing that had been keeping the citizens from attacking them? And if so, what did that mean for Diran and the others now that they no longer had Solus to shield them?

“Fear not, my friend,” Solus said. “The protective aura I extended around the others will linger for some time yet, and the citizens of Kolbyr have much experience at resisting the dark magic that hangs over their city, though I sense that it is stronger this day than usual. We should all be safe enough—for the time being.”

Tresslar nodded, though he could’ve done without Solus’s qualification of “safe.”

“So where are we going?” Hinto asked.

Tresslar didn’t want to answer the little pirate’s question, but he
knew if he didn’t the halfling would only keep pestering him.

“Tinker’s Room.”

“Is that a tavern?” Hinto said. A chill breeze wafted down the street, and the halfling shivered. “It’s a bit early in the day to start drinking, but I
could
use a little something to warm me up inside.”

“No, it’s not a tavern, and Tinker’s Room isn’t its real name. It’s a customary nickname. There’s a Tinker’s Room in every city across Khorvaire, and while they’re a bit rarer in the Principalities, Perhata has one, and so does Kolbyr.”

Hinto frowned. “If they’re that common, why haven’t I heard of them before?”

Before Tresslar could reply, Solus said, “Because you aren’t an artificer, my friend.”

Tresslar scowled at the psiforged. “It’s impolite to read people’s minds without their permission, you know.”

Solus bowed his head. “My apologies, master artificer. I’m finding it more difficult to block out the thoughts of my new friends than I anticipated. The more time I spend in your company, the more my mind becomes … accustomed to yours, causing me to sense your surface thoughts without intending to.”

Tresslar, somewhat mollified by Solus’s referring to him as
master
artificer, decided to accept the psiforged’s apology. “Very well, but I’d appreciate it if you would allow me to keep my thoughts to myself in the future. Now, to return to Hinto’s question, while the existence of Tinker’s Rooms isn’t precisely a secret, it’s not something that artificers go out of their way to publicize. While both wizards and artificers work with magic, wizards deal with the more theoretical aspects of the craft, while artificers take a practical approach. Wizards research and study magic for the sake of acquiring knowledge and increasing their own personal power. Artificers, on the other hand,
use
magic, applying it for practical purposes. Wizards tend to work in isolation and guard their secrets jealously, but artificers—because of their more pragmatic approach to magic—are much more open about sharing their knowledge. Hence the existence of Tinker’s Rooms, places where artificers gather to talk shop, admire one another’s craftsmanship, and trade for materials and supplies as needed.”

“And you hope to learn something of your missing wand at the Tinker’s Room in Kolbyr?” Solus asked.

Tresslar shrugged. “No one at the Tinker’s Room in Perhata had any news about my wand, but someone here in Kolbyr might. Whenever an artificer is unsure how to begin tackling a problem, we have a saying: ‘Go to your room.’ So that’s what I’m doing.”

“Are you sure the people there won’t mind if we accompany you?” Hinto asked. “Neither Solus nor I are artificers.”

“Don’t worry,” Tresslar said. “While outsiders aren’t encouraged, they aren’t forbidden.” He then smiled at Solus. “In fact, I think you will be especially welcome, my bejeweled friend. Psiforged are extremely rare, and there’s nothing artificers love better than seeing a magical device—or in your case, a construct—that they haven’t encountered before.”

They continued walking through Kolbyr, and though Tresslar had never been here before, he’d received directions from artificers in Perhata before setting sail for this side of the gulf, and after a short time the three companions stood before a domed building with a single wooden door hanging slightly askew on its hinges.

“This is it?” Hinto said, eyeing the building skeptically. “Kolbyr’s artificers must not be very good if they can’t fix a simple door.”

“I told you, Tinker’s Rooms aren’t advertised,” Tresslar said. “The door’s state of disrepair is no doubt intended to help disguise the building’s true nature.” Which was possible, but it was equally possible—and Tresslar had to admit, more likely—that Kolbyr’s artificers hadn’t even noticed the door’s condition. If there was nothing magical about the door, there wouldn’t be anything about it to interest artificers. “But you don’t have to take my word for it.”

Tresslar removed his backpack, reached inside, and withdrew a small metal ring with a wooden handle attached. Tresslar held the device, which resembled a magnifying glass that had lost its lens, up to the stone wall to the right of the door. He moved the device slowly up and down until a golden light began to glow within the center of the ring. The glow grew brighter, and the illumination began to take on a distinct shape: a hand grasping a tool that looked like a small trident wrapped in a coil of wire.

“Behold the Tinker’s Mark,” Tresslar said. He held the revealer steady for a moment while he gazed upon the mark, his mind filling with fond memories of the many Tinker’s Rooms he’d visited over the years—especially back when he’d been a young adventurer sailing on the
Sea Star
with Erdis Cai. Without a doubt, those had been the happiest days of his life, and he missed them.

Tresslar sensed he was being scrutinized, and he turned to see Solus looking at him, though it wasn’t always easy to tell when warforged had their artificial eyes trained on you. He was certain Solus had been reading his thoughts, purposefully or not, and he turned away, embarrassed. He deactivated the revealer and the golden image of the Tinker’s Mark winked out. Tresslar put the revealer away, slid his pack over his shoulders once again and, without looking at either of his companions, pushed open the door. The hinges creaked and the door wobbled, but it opened smoothly enough. Tresslar stepped inside without hesitation, and Solus and Hinto followed.

This was Tresslar’s favorite part of entering a Tinker’s Room: seeing what the outer chamber looked like. Tinker’s Rooms always had a legitimate business as a front in order to conceal their true nature and to create a plausible reason why people—quite often strangers such as themselves—would be entering and leaving at all hours. In his time, Tresslar had seen Tinker’s Rooms that had such wildly diverse disguises as a chandlers’ shop, a garment merchant, and once even a taxidermist’s. But this rivaled them all.

The outer chamber was set up as a shop, with a main counter and display shelves. But the wares for sale were like nothing Tresslar had ever seen before. At first he thought they were some sort of glass sculptures, but after a moment’s inspection, he realized that the beautiful arrangements of translucent blue-green orbs were, in fact, structures created out of water bubbles. The bubbles were of various sizes, configurations, and hues, but the arrangements all had two things in common: the bubbles were frozen in space without any visible sign that anything was holding them up, and they were all set atop triangular jade bases. A number of the bubbles glowed with soft, gentle light, providing illumination for the room.

A beautiful woman in her late forties or early fifties emerged
from a back room behind the counter. She had long flowing hair that was tinted blue and bereft of the usual beadwork favored by most Lhazaarites. Her dress—if that was the right word for her garment—was made from the same blue-green bubbles as the sculptures that filled the room, though hers were less translucent, providing only a suggestion of the body they concealed.

She took Tresslar’s breath away. She was the single most beautiful woman he had ever seen, and considering how widely he’d traveled during his youth, that was saying something.

“It may be rude to read people’s minds without permission,” Solus said, “but if I’m not mistaken, it’s equally rude to stare.”

Tresslar felt his cheeks burn, and he knew he was blushing.

Hinto ignored the exchange between the artificer and the psiforged. He walked over to one of the displays and rose on his tiptoes, stretching out his hand to touch the nearest sculpture.

“Please don’t,” the woman behind the counter said. “Those are actual water bubbles harvested from the sea. The spells that keep them intact and in place are quite fragile. A single touch could well disrupt them and destroy the sculpture.”

With an almost childlike expression of disappointment, the halfling lowered his hand and came back down on the flats of his feet.

The woman came around from behind the counter, moving with such easy grace that it seemed that she didn’t so much walk as glided toward them.

“My name is Illyia,” she said. “Are you art lovers? It may be immodest of me, but I daresay my sculptures are among the most unique objects to be found in the Principalities.” Her voice was like the breaking of gentle surf upon a sandy beach.

A moment of silence passed before Tresslar realized everyone was waiting for him to speak, and when he did, his voice was huskier than usual. “Indeed, though the word I would use is spectacular.”

Illyia smiled, and a mischievous gleam came into her eyes. “Are you speaking of my bubbles?”

Tresslar had to force himself to keep from gazing at the way her garment clung to her chest—and wondering if those bubbles
would be “disrupted” by a single touch like those that comprised her sculptures.
“Everything
I see here is spectacular.”

Hinto rolled his eyes. “You’ve spent too many years on Dreadhold, Tresslar. That line is as stale as decade-old sea rations.”

Tresslar glared at the halfling, but Illyia continued smiling. “Just because something is … seasoned doesn’t mean it’s no longer good. Often, quite the opposite is true, wouldn’t you say …?”

“Tresslar. And these are my companions, Hinto and Solus.”

Illyia nodded briefly to the halfling, but she took her time regarding Solus. “We don’t get many warforged here in Kolbyr, Solus, and I doubt we’ve ever had any quite like you.”

Solus bowed his head. “I shall take that as a compliment.”

Illyia’s eyes twinkled. “Good, since that’s how I meant it.” She turned back to Tresslar. “So, you spent time on Dreadhold. You don’t look like a hardened criminal, but then looks can be deceiving, can’t they?”

Tresslar smiled. “I worked there as an artificer, helping to maintain the facility’s magical wards and defenses.”

Illyia hmphed. “You must’ve had your work cut out for you, then. The artificers of House Kundarak aren’t exactly known for their attention to detail.”

The dwarves of House Kundarak were responsible for running Dreadhold, but while most of the prison staff were members of the House, many—like Tresslar—were not.

“I must admit, I
did
have occasion to double-check their work from time to time,” Tresslar said, trying to sound more modest than he felt. A sudden realization hit him then, and he forgot all about the artificers of Dreadhold. “You’re being nice to us.”

Illyia laughed. “Why do you find that so surprising?”

“Up until this point, we haven’t had the warmest of welcomes here in Kolbyr,” Tresslar said.

Illyia’s merriment ebbed and she grew serious. “I’m afraid you’ve experienced the effects of the curse that plagues our city. We call it the Fury.”

“It hasn’t seemed to have affected you,” Hinto said.

“It’s her dress,” Solus said. “It radiates a field of mystic energy that protects her from the curse’s effect.”

Illyia spread her arms and slowly spun around, as if modeling her dress for them. “Stylish
and
practical, that’s me.”

“Indeed,” Tresslar said with appreciation. “It’s a most impressive piece of work.”

Hinto groaned, and it took all of Tresslar’s self-discipline to keep the artificer from striking the halfling.

“The Fury is like the weather,” Illyia said. “Some days it’s worse than others. On mild days people are merely more rude and brusque, but on bad days people brawl in the streets. On extremely bad days, the streets run red with spilled blood. We don’t leave our homes on bad days and try to avoid contact with anyone else, lest we find ourselves in the grip of a murderous fury.”

“It sounds awful!” Hinto said. “How can you live with it?”

Illyia shrugged. “If you grow up in Kolbyr, as I have, you become accustomed to it. The effects of the curse are manageable, though it does take some effort to resist them. Newcomers to the city, such as yourselves, are the most vulnerable to the Fury. Since they aren’t local, there’s less reason for citizens to care about not harming them, which makes it more difficult to resist the Fury. Newcomers aren’t affected by the curse right away, but the Fury is both powerful and insidious. Over the space of just a few hours, it will slowly worm its way into your heart without your realizing it, and it will fill you with anger … anger that you have no experience at managing. Newcomers often succumb to the Fury within their first day in Kolbyr. It’s why we’re so leery of strangers, as I’m sure you noticed as you made your way through the city.”

Tresslar didn’t feel any anger building within him. All he felt was the general irritation he often experienced at the annoyances presented by day-to-day living. Was Solus—?

The psiforged’s voice whispered in Tresslar’s mind.

I cannot counter magic, but as we first approached Kolbyr, I used my psionic abilities to strengthen everyone’s emotional self-control to help slow the effects of the Fury. So far, my efforts seem to have been successful
.

Tresslar’s first impulse was to chide the psiforged for altering people’s minds without permission, but he decided not to worry about it, especially since it
did
appear to be working. Still, before
long someone would need to explain to Solus that it was a good idea to ask before using his psionic powers in such a fashion—especially on friends.