Dawnbringer by Samantha Henderson

Author:Samantha Henderson [Henderson, Samantha]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780786959174
Publisher: Wizards of the Coast
Published: 2011-05-03T05:00:00+00:00

Sanwar Beguine regarded the bodies laid in a row outside the courtyard before the sanctuary.

“The livery of House Jadaren,” he said, his voice shaking in rage. “They dare set an ambush for my niece, on her way to make an alliance with them! Kestrel!” He turned to the girl next to him, who surveyed the bloodstained corpses with a pale but resolute face. “You see the madness in this plan now, I hope, even if your father does not.”

Lakini studied the man’s face—handsome, and indolent in a way she suspected was just for show. She wondered again why he hadn’t made part of the caravan.

He had said that once the traveling party had left, he feared treachery and had a premonition of an assassination attempt, and so had ridden to the sanctuary on his own, risking the dangers of a solitary journey out of love for his niece.

Commendable enough, Lakini thought. But it was strange he had missed the caravan along the way and had chosen instead a back route to reach Shadrun-of-the-Snows before Kestrel and her escort.

Instead of replying to Sanwar directly, Kestrel left her sister’s side and crouched beside the body of the man Ansel Chuit had killed. She took a bit of sage green cloth gingerly between her fingertips. Ansel, having taken Lakini’s lecture to heart, stood close by her side, his hands on the hilt of his newly bloodied weapon. His gaze flicked across the gathered folk, which included those who dwelt at the sanctuary, as well as curious pilgrims. Among them was Diamar, the Vashtun’s right hand. Long ago he had given up family name, status, and inheritance to serve at Shadrun-of-the-Snows and would eventually take on the duties of his master.

Better Ansel take his duties too seriously than neglect them, thought Lakini, as the young guard glanced at the forest stretched below them, at the white-marbled entrance to the Great Hall of the sanctuary, and at the human and half-orc bodies as if their deaths were an elaborate ruse and they were likely to jump up and fight again. If he lived long enough, he would learn balance.

“This cloth is terribly worn,” Kestrel said. “Look. The seam is torn halfway up and has been repaired with crude twine.”

She rubbed the tunic between her forefinger and thumb. “And it has a strange feel to it, as though it’s been churned in the washing like work clothes.”

She straightened and rubbed her hand on her skirt, frowning in concentration.

“What of it?” said Sanwar. “It’s unsurprising that a crew of brigands would take poor care of their clothing.”

“Unsurprising for brigands,” broke in Lakini. “But what of the guards you hire in your household? How do you clothe them? I’ll wager their uniforms are kept in good condition. And likewise I wager House Jadaren is no different.”

“Our worn livery is stripped of its insignia and sold down-market,” said Kestrel. “I know, because I keep the records. I wonder if those chevrons are real.”

“They’re not.”

Kestrel started as a slender young man, perhaps in his mid-twenties, with a thin face and mouse brown hair, spoke behind her.

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