A few days passed while I came to grips with Kineta’s sudden departure. I was pretty sure I understood what it all meant, but as I didn’t really have any answers I just decided to abide by her decision and hope that I would indeed see her again.
During that time, people of all sorts started to arrive at Addaweyr’s camp. Even a couple I recognized – Shalvar, captain of the Waves of Grass, cropped up the day after Lion’s Lunge vanished. (Ha-ha, get it? Grass? Cropped? Forgive me the need for a little levity.) He seemed outwardly pleased to see me, which I hoped meant inwardly too. I don’t know why he would have been traveling away from his wife, but he wouldn’t give me the details, just reassurance that we’d all discuss it later.
He arrived in the company of a particularly tall Fey woman, who wile appearing Eladrin, was far too tall to be a member of that race. She was probably eight feed if she was an inch, all slender and graceful. Her face constantly shone, as though sunlight kept its eye trained on her wherever she went. Even at night, she had some sort of glow to her.
Nemmy was right – a few days after I arrived, the rest of Fellbane stumbled in our of the darkness. One of Addaweyr’s number retrieved me after their arrival, and brought me to them.
As it turned out, the prophecy of their trial was true – which didn’t convince me that prophecies are a good thing, ironic as that sounds. Sered had fallen to an onslaught of undead things in the strange temple they had been in, but Morin’s ritual abilities had granted him a reprieve and returned him to the Middle World. He was still a bit ragged from the scrape with death, but seemed relatively himself in spite of it. He seemed the most changed of all of them, something about him seemed more driven, somehow.
Dayereth Dust had turned. The rogue Morvreyan had, at the last, thrown his lot in with the demon Princess that exerted ownership of that place, rather than provoke a fight between her and the rest of the group. From what they told me, it was his action – motivated by self-interest and a license for power, as much as anything – that saved them all. Strange that he, who had forsaken the College of Morvrey and its brutality, should sign on with a creature of raw destruction. But then, perhaps in doing so he demonstrated himself more truly a student of their teachings than any of them.
The rest were about as I expected them – Deimos, Karac, Dray, Morin, they each had new scars, but by and large they were still the companions I knew. We spent the first evening with me listening to their story of fighting their way to the Dark Crucible beneath the Earth’s Boil. Chasing the Preserver as he barreled head-long into the dark, and discovering at the end that not only had he failed to claim the prize he sought, but had himself become an undead slave of the spirit beneath the place. In return, I gave a recounting of my adventures with Lion’s Lunge, our trip to the City of Brass and the Overspill Market, and my almost-rescue of them a few days past. Theirs seemed somehow the less comfortable road, though I would be hard-pressed to objectively gauge one as inherently more difficult than the other.
The day following their return, a few of us consulted Vizrith, ruler of Spiderwatch, sending a missive down the tunnels that formerly belonged to Veyd’s trolls to reach the small dunkel community beneath Shard Keep. Vizrith still ruled the place, which in my book demonstrated a cunning that took the usual deep-elf paranoia to a completely different level. Either he had eyes in the back of his head, or he was completely prescient. I may be slightly prejudiced, but I can’t imagine a dunkel town with the same leader for longer than a year. Too many ways to attract the wrong kind of attention, and with that, it’d all be over.
Yet he continued to survive.
Within hours of our sending the message on, the response came back to meet him at a small broken farmhouse, one we’d used before as a meeting point – well, one that they had used before, as it predated my arrival. Fellbane had used this house when Veyd still ruled the city, and they required a clandestine place to rest.
We found ourselves at the place well after dark. Of course there were no lights beyond what we carried for ourselves – I hadn’t really discussed my lack of a need for light with the rest of Fellbane yet, but I’m sure sooner or later it’d come up. Meanwhile, it didn’t hurt me to have them carry light sources, so I didn’t complain.
We waited for perhaps five minutes, before the dunkel rose up out of the grasses surrounding the house. Like shades rising from disturbed graves they appeared from the darkness, standing up slow and gracefully. We had probably walked past at least two of them, and I was mildly surprised that we hadn’t simply tripped over one or more.
Regardless, Vizrith was at their head. He did not approach closer, but instead addressed us from where he stood.
“You sought to find me?”
Sered chose to take the lead on this one. “Yes, we did.” He coughed a little. “We wish to know how our presence will be received in Shard Keep if we make ourselves known.”
“How should I know? I only trade with your surface-dwellers. I do not ‘chum around’ with them.” A few of his comrades laughed with the sibilant hisses that the dunkel use. I suppose it must be a cultural phenomenon. Elves of a normal sort laugh, albeit softly, but the elves of the deep places put no voice into it, letting the air escape them in the same manner that steam escapes a pot. Perhaps they emulate the spiders they worship, whose breath is expressed through a voiceless throat attached to a lung that resembles nothing so much as a book.
Ah well, another fact I was likely never to learn.
“You may not speak with them, but I have never known you to be uninformed of the goings-on above as well as beneath your lands.” Sered left the barb unsaid – if Visrith continued to deny knowledge, he would be ignorant of important intelligence regarding a potential threat to his budding nation.
And ignorance of any sort in a dunkel community often led to a death sentence.
“Of course I have information, blue-skin. But did you think I would offer it freely when it obviously has value to you, however intangible? Never give away what can be sold, as my mother used to say.” He grinned widely, the white teeth showing brightly in his ashen face.
“But did she ever tell you that a gift once given returns tenfold?” Sered completed the rhyme.
“She must have died before she had a chance to tell me that part, my friend.” More hissing laughter around. “For all our caution, sometimes our people can be prone to fatal accidents.”
“Then perhaps this will loosen the strings on your wallet of information,” Sered tossed over a small flickering object. A gem of some sort, I was fairly sure. It vanished a short distance away from Visrith, who flicked his hand out to retrieve it from the air.
“Ah yes, it is all coming back to me now,” he said. “In answer to the question you want to ask but haven’t the courage, no, they won’t kill you. However, there are eyes up there that aren’t mine, and questions asked that say you might be wiser to keep your visiting time limited.”
“And what of Dark Fellbane? How do they fare?”
“Why not ask them yourselves, since you seem to be intent on paying a visit?”
“Because you are here, and they are not.”
“Very well. They are lighter by two members, recently. I have not had the concern to pay attention to which ones or under what circumstances. They returned from an expedition, heavily laden with treasures, but with two of their number gone.”
“I see. Thank you, Visrith, for the exchange.”
“Your coin, and other goods, are always welcome,” he bowed. When he stood, the others of his party had already vanished, disappearing before I realized I hadn’t been paying attention to them. I really needed a dog or something, that kind of inattention was likely to get me killed one day.
Sered bowed in return, and stood, coughing slightly again.
“You want a cane, or a crutch, there?” I asked.
“Up yours,” came the reply. I did see Morin crack a smile, though, so my humor wasn’t completely lost.
* * *
On the evening of the second day from their return, Addaweyr called everyone together in the clearing for a joint council. A wide variety of individuals were present – most of the remaining Jessil Kerith, representatives of the Sestus Wyr, and the Al-Kabeth among them – as well as the members of Fellbane. There were not so many this time, perhaps eight others besides us, so I assumed this meet was at least semi-private.
I saw the strange fey Lady again, standing in the back against the trees, flanked by two people who might have passed as trees themselves. But where she was a full oak, these two almost appeared as small saplings, their remarkably-thin limbs moving at unnatural angles. Bright eyes – not glowing, but reflecting the firelight – shone out from the two, observing everyone with something like caution. I have to admit it was hard to tell…reading emotions on Lotonna’s furry face was hard enough; I didn’t even know if animate vegetation had feelings.
Addaweyr started the meeting after turning back to everyone from the Lady.
“Courtesy of our friends of Fellbane,” he began, “we have the completed Gaulus Prophecies in our possession. The originals have been stored, and in many cases committed to memory.”
He looked up to us, eyes scanning our rank. “We have divined and interpreted a good deal of them, but we know such actions are imprecise. That said, we find out original suspicions of the circumstances playing out around us further confirmed.”
His eyes fell to an older man, who nodded and withdrew a dual-pinned scroll from his robes. He pulled the right pin to the side, unrolling the scroll from the left. This man spoke, and a weariness played out in his voice that betrayed a great many sleepless nights spent poring over tomes and scrolls that had gone unread for centuries.
“The lands of the Middle World are a battlefield,” he intoned.
“Tell me something I don’t know,” Karac muttered.
The old man didn’t look up, just continued. “And they are also farmland. The powers we call gods, entities of the Astral Sea’s boundless tides, ages ago saw the value of the peoples here. When the Primordials created these lands and scattered the living upon them, the gods drew power from the attentions of them. What we call worship, or reverence, has material value to a god. So it was with selfish intent that the gods began and eventually won the Dawn War. Rather than let the Primordials destroy the Middle World, they instead seized it for themselves.”
“Over the ages, the gods settled into their roles, creating mantles for themselves to capture more worship – and to refine it, enhance its quality. Thus did they take on aspects of love, death, war, and so on. These things, which call for our reverence, they now to a greater or lesser extent, control and manipulate.” He rolled a bit of the document across from one pin to another.
“Okay, didn’t know that.” Karac sounded peeved.
“The Primordials, on the other hand, are beings of living element – and they lost a great measure of their power when the gods took it from them. They were stopped from taking it back into themselves by the Dawn War.”
“Where’s he going with this?” Deimos asked quietly. I shrugged.
“Since then, a rough status quo has existed, one the gods encourage and one the Primordials must abide. Some Primordials, corrupted by the evil nature of the Abyss, and known to us as demons, have learned not only to live with the status quo, but to thrive in it. One such plague is Orcus, demon prince of the undead. He strives to assume godhead, to place himself at the end of all that lives and capture every living soul – and its worship – for himself.”
“Pleasant thought,” Karac continued. Sered made shushing motions with his hand, to which Karac responded with an affirmative. Of course, that affirmation came in the form of a raised middle finger, so it was difficult to determine the level of sincerity behind it.
“As well, one god, who ironically demonstrated that Orcus’ plan had merit – that a creature not of the gods could join their number – has a similar plan, one to eventually eclipse all other gods, and to dominate the Elemental Chaos as well. Asmodeus, Lord of the Ruby Rod, Crown Prince of Nessus, and King of the Hells, sets himself upon a course that competes with Orcus.”
“For thousands of generations, Asmodeus focused his intent upon the Elemental Chaos, having led his armies to victory in the Dawn War. He assumed that without the Primordials free to roam and defend their home plane, he could defeat the occupants and install himself as the de facto King of the Elements. This would seal for him the entirety of creation by harnessing that which is creation itself.”
He rolled more of the scroll out. “That plan, it seems, has failed. What we know as the Blood War has either paused or halted entirely with the withdrawal of Hell’s forces towards the end of the First Age.”
“He has since re-focused his goals. As the Ruby Lord is denied the option to visit war upon the Middle World directly, his fiends and infernals are sent to our world at the invite of members of the living.”
Karac glared at me. “What?” I asked. “Don’t look at me, I didn’t call them here.”
“Maybe not, but you look like you did,” he said.
“And you look like you dropped out of the ass end of a horse, but I don’t spread you on crops,” I countered.
“Would you two please just shut up?!?” Sered hissed.
The old man continued, seemingly oblivious to our exchange. “Once here, they corrupt those dealing with them, turning them into puppets, and inviting more of their kind. So long as they are invited, they may act freely within the bounds of their invitation. The world has always been infested with them, but since the Blood War drew to a halt, many of those who come have a new intent.”
“Orcus follows a similar course – he offers power, and ultimately corrupts those who receive it. Each one, infernal and demon, sees the Middle World as a field of resources to be won and owned. The worship of the living to enhance their power, and the souls of the dead to feed Orcus and his minions, or to serve Asmodeus and ultimately be consumed by his infernal engines , which will remanufacture the Lattice of Heaven in a structure that serves him.”
“The two have fought across this ground for ages. The empires of Bael Turath, Bael Nerath, and others as far back in time as there is history, have all been corrupted to serve the Ruby Lord. The fall of these empires, the Morrigu Invasion, the legend of the Plague of Spellfire, these were times dominated by the demons. We, the living, have eternally been pawns of the two forces.”
“What of the other gods? Surely they played some role in all of this,” Sered asked him.
“To the best of our knowledge,” the old man responded, “None of the gods had the military wherewithal or the determination to field an army upon the surface of this world. Their worship remains largely unchanged regardless of which of the two wins, so there is little incentive for them to intervene. Only in the greatest of trial, which is almost invariably when the demons possess too much of an upper hand, do they step in – and then it is to assist Asmodeus against his enemies.”
“Well, this is all quite uplifting,” I said. “When can I get off the wheel, please?”
The old man held up a hand. “All these things have gone before, and without action, they will come again. Until recently. The Gaulus Prophecies throw this eternal conflict into a new light.”
“How so?” Sered asked cautiously.
Addaweyr stood. “We believe that there is a chance to end this cycle, to break the conflict here in the Middle World, and that the Gaulus Prophecies show us the way.”
Was there any part of my life that was not subject to some form of prophecy? I tried to avoid thinking about it, since that only led me down a path to depression. Bad enough that Kineta was gone, I didn’t need to add to my misery with yet another problem. Particularly one as nebulous as a prophecy.
“Oh, so we’d be taking the word of a drugged-up medium trying to impress us with his command of the nothings and zilches?” Karac didn’t mutter this one. I had to agree, in spite of myself.
“No,” came a voice from behind. The lady had spoken, but I hadn’t seen her move. “You don’t take anyone’s word with prophecy. Prophecy is a guidestone, not a manual of instruction.”
Addaweyr half turned, making a presenting motion with his arm and bowing slightly. “Allow me to introduce the Lady Syntira, of the Court of Stars.”
“What brings you to this gathering, Lady?” I asked. “The Court rarely shares an interest in the affairs of the Middle World.”
“The land of the Fey is a mirror of your Middle World. What transpires here is reflected there, and often the reverse is true. Would we invite the dominance of an Infernal or demonic ruler to color our lands with its taint?”
Can’t fault that logic.
“As a result of the finding and interpretation of the Gaulus Prophecy, we felt it was time to take the situation a little more…gravely,” she said. “And to what extent that involvement shall take, remains to be seen. As a start, my arrival tonight and the assistance I am prepared to deliver is an appropriate beginning.”
Addaweyr nodded. “Perhaps it’s time we went over the prophecy,” he offered. “It would be good to get everyone at least aware of where we have drawn our conclusions, and solicit additional input. Fellbane may very well have insights into this that we do not.”
At that moment, through the brush, the sound of harsh swearing came out of the darkness behind me. Several of us turned, and the conversation paused while the source of the noise revealed itself. After a moment of crashing brush, Morin stumbled into the clearing.
He brushed various thorns and thistles off his coat, and gave the tree beside him a good kick. “Okay, next time someone put up a sign or some damn thing. Stone and bone, at least underground we put up freaking signs.” He looked up and saw most of us watching him.
“Well, get on with the damn thing, whatever it is. I’m fine. Signs. You people need signs. Blasted trees.”
Lady Syntira bowed her head slightly, then turned to the old seer. “Therous, please grace us with the text,” she said quietly. “One verse at a time, please,” she added. The old man – Therous, I supposed – put away his scroll and drew out another. Addaweyr offered him a cup, from which he drank a little, quietly thanking him.
He began, his voice slightly stronger.
“Wrack & Game’s ruin
Lit by Hell’s spiral flame
Carved souls of petty Knights
Jousting the Ruby Rod’s game”
Addaweyr waved about the circle. “We believe this to mean the nature of the conflict that continues across the lands, Wrack and ruin being the demonic outcomes, of course Hell’s spiral flame and Ruby Rod referring to Asmodeus and his part in all this. Carved souls of petty Knights would simply be his pawns. But jousting? We don’t know why that’s referred to, or what the spiral flame is, if anything.”
He motioned to Therous.
“Pinions of feathers spin on golden rings
Holding red eyes high aloft
Black Pawns and fell’s dark bane
and treason’s twice cost” Therous sipped at his cup.
Lady Syntira held up her hand, palm up. “Pinions of feathers we believe refers to Glasya and the rings being the Rings of Akharot her agents have collected. Black pawns, we cannot be sure, but it perhaps refers to Seven’s Ring, and fell’s dark bane we assume means all of you,” she pointed across at us.
“Or…” I mused, “…perhaps it means our counterparts, who call themselves Dark Fellbane, who have recently slain two of their own for harboring secret allegiance to the College of Morvrey. That would seem to fit.”
Addaweyr looked sharply over at us. “We weren’t aware they called themselves this. We thought you were all Fellbane,” he looked over at Lady Syntira, who expressed a tiny shred of surprise – the first emotion I’d seen to date.
Sered didn’t even look at me. “It might also mean Dark Fellbane will betray us, and there will be two costs to us.”
“Point to you, sir,” I replied.
Therous waited a moment, then continued.
“A checked King’s lost hope
Set sail o’er a sea of poisoned bone
The Rook & the iron circle
Binding a wolf cub to an empty throne.”
Lady Syntira spoke out. “This is the first reference to what is our future, we think, and it is why we chose to become involved here. A checked king would refer to the Grand King of Banner, sending his brother to us, though we aren’t sure what the sea of poisoned bone is. In any case, we are almost certain that Carifal Rath is the reference here. The Rook refers to the one you know by that name – perhaps the only individual referenced by a specific name here – who serves as advisor to the Andelyn household.”
She then looked back at Addaweyr. “The iron circle we think refers to the College of Morvrey, with their iron collars. The wolf cub would be Hesrith Andelyn himself, whose house animal is a wolf – and who, interestingly enough, was vaulted to the head of household by you.” With that she pointed at Sered.
“Me? How so?” He was taken aback at the sudden sense of accusation. “I had nothing to do with it.”
“On the contrary, Deva, you and yours slew his father, who had turned from good to become a Blackguard, some years ago.”
“Ohh, we did kill an Andelyn back then,” he pondered.
“Nice to know a follower of justice recalls his slayings,” I tossed the jibe casually. I could tell it stung a bit, he eyed me levelly.
“’Nuff said. Bad enough I have to listen to all this tripe, I don’t need you two sniping at each other to add to the misery.” Morin groaned.
“A dead star’s timely breath
Blowing white on a coming cold
Is the horn for smoke & scales
Written in water on the flag’s fold.”
Addaweyr picked up here. “The dead star is Acamar, whose light shines only every so often – the next instance of which is about six months from now. We think this to be the time when the armies of the various sides are prepared and launch on their business of conquering these lands. Smoke and scales, unfortunately, refers to your former compatriot, Azrael, it refers to Kaenig and his Shadrim army. They, we believe, will storm Banner by crossing the lake, the same way the Morrigu did when they first felled the city. Acamar was also shining on that night.”
I really didn’t like being referred to in the same breath as Kaenig. While I felt sympathy for his plight, he was still a traitor to the Empire.
“A black Crow & a grayed Troll
All carved by a skull’s jeweled glare
Make a quiver for a dreaming archer
Retrieved from ‘neath a red prison’s stair.”
“We feel these refer to Xirago, the priest of the Raven Queen, and J’Tiel, the…changed…Goliath with the skull tattoo upon his face and the jewel in his eye socket.” Lady Syntira paused to take a breath. “They will be the hosts for which the armies of Al’Veydra march at the behest of the dreaming archer – Carifal Rath – who shall be retrieved from Carceri, the Red Prison, to which he gained access from the stair which opened from our realm.”
“Thus burn and blaze to light a Devil’s smile
With a Demon’s brand and stake
A desert wind blows rot and dead
While souls gleam as future’s fate.”
“The battle focuses around Asmodeus and his forces, Orcus and the undead army of Tarsis, all fighting over the harvest of souls upon this world,” Lady Syntira’s voice was utterly flat.
“Two Queens, the dark Dream, on a bloodied Board
Warring for Rods of ruin & rule
Could kneel under a King’s hand-sewn cloth
Crowned only by pages & some lost Bishops’ jewels.”
“This would be the Princess Glasya and the adopted daughter of Orcus, Gracel. As well, Shan Doresh enters the picture here – we do not know how he enters the scene or what role he is to play. Rods of ruin and rule refer to their ultimate goals – the infernals to rule, the demonic to destroy. The rest…” Addaweyr was interrupted by a snore that might have come from a pack-mule, which was interrupted quickly into stuttering gasps.
Karac sat up, shaking his head. “Oh, still talking about all that stuff then? Alright.” He laid back on the grass, and promptly began softly snoring again.
The half-eladrin continued, somewhat perturbed. “The rest we don’t know. We just can’t piece anything to it at this time. Azrael, have you had any word from the Lord of Nightmare?”
“Not at present, no – I sent an agent to inquire, but it has not yet returned. I shall inform you as soon as possible when it does.”
“A spark, a stone, a horn, & a bone
Led by a thousand lives before
Might Knight their Pawn in fell’s dark flame
Never knowing who this King rules for.”
Addaweyr pointed to each of us in turn. “Spark would be you ,” he pointed to Deimos, “a stone we think refers to either your sleeping comrade, the horn would be Azrael, and a bone we would think refers to Morin.”
“A bone? Why do I get to be a bone? That’s stupid.” Morin griped.
“Must have something to do with your head,” Deimos offered.
“Bury your head in your own arse, see how that smart-alecky tongue works when yer mouth is full of yer own…”
“Enough,” Sered held up a hand. “Please.”
Addaweyr continued. “Led by a thousand lives before would refer to a deva, of which there is only one choice,” he waved at Sered.
“We don’t know what the rest refers to, though – might knight their pawn, perhaps a reference to Carifal Rath, but it might mean one of your own would be appointed to the throne.” Addaweyr said.
“That’s a possibility,” I volunteered. “If we are unable to recover the king’s brother, there is always that.” When following that logic, looking at the bunch of us, the dwarves were out, as they belonged to a different kingdom entirely. Deimos and I, no, another Shadrim empire would not be ideal. That left Sered. As a Deva, his history would at least grant him some insight on how to manage a kingdom until a proper human could be found. He’d make a good regent, I thought. Plus, having the backing of Pelor would supply his position with a halo of justice and hope that the kingdom would need after a war.
“One thing I would recommend on that course,” Addaweyr added in. “If you choose that, I would say that the king you nominate not be you.” He pointed at me when saying this.
“Me? I hadn’t been thinking that, but why not me?” I was a little surprised at the vehemence in his tone.
“Just not you,” he said. I decided to let it drop. Whatever he was intimating at wasn’t relevant to my future anyway, and taking insult from this fellow would only result in an ugly confrontation.
“Which leads to Boards and Games and Worlds made real
Carved on pages of mirror and glass
That will reflect old bindings in newly scribed chapters
Written with Man’s own hand at last…”
Lady Syntira let the silence carry for a few extra seconds, then took a single step towards the center. I realized she hadn’t moved her feet at all this entire time – most humans or Shadrim would have passed out by now, blood pooling in their legs and failing to circulate into the brain.
She said, gravely, “And here, we have the final stanza – all the plans, demons, devils, and your kinds, all coming to fruition at once. Carved on pages of mirror and glass – the Mirror Codex. The Codex bounds history, and in it will be the resolution of this conflict. Written in Man’s own hand, you will soon have your own destinies in hand rather than decided for you by forces of the Abyss or of the Hells. If, that is, this comes to a successful conclusion for you. Prophecies after all are rarely literally true.”
And old binding, recorded in newly scribed chapters. Asmodeus was bound in his deal with the gods – the Contract Diabolus was written to bind him as well as elevate him. The others did not react to this, I doubt they took the same significance from it that I did.
And yet it fit – even if we won this fight, he would insinuate himself back into human affairs in a generation, maybe less. Infernals were a patient lot, and humans the opposite. The short-lived mortals were easily corrupted, and either agents from the Hells would tempt them into servitude, or the power-hungry would harness demons and obligate themselves to the Abyss.
But a new binding, to replace the old – would imply that either Asmodeus would be re-bound, or perhaps another bound in his place. I thought of the conversation I’d had with Kineta, talking about the “what happens after.” I hadn’t thought it through, but perhaps this was my fate being referred to. To be bound in his place, I didn’t like the thought – would that not mean I would simply replace him? That a beating heart sitting in his throne is all it would take to continue the endless cycle? I wanted to effect a change, not simply take his place and resume the status quo.
But whatever the outcome, the reference to bindings brought the thought to mind – it was the Contract that both bound Asmodeus and gave him his power. An angel revolting against a god, it had never been before, and never since. Even with my limited recollection of the meager education I’d had regarding religious matters, such an event would be disastrous to the order of heaven. I would have to consult further on this, but perhaps the Contract suspended punishment for the offense Asmodeus had committed…breaking of the Contract, or its destruction, might render him vulnerable or even destroy him.
I filed the thought away for future research.
They continued to debate a few of the niggling details while I scanned the skies. Acamar was not visible, of course, but I couldn’t deny that its name had cropped up a few times in our adventuring. Of course, did this mean the prophecy was right, or was Acamar simply playing a large enough role in people’s lives over history that it made a convenient marker for an author centuries ago to include it as a marker of time?
I saw the Lady Syntira conferring with Addawyr quietly to one side. He nodded, then turned and clapped for everyone’s attention.
After things quieted, she stepped forward – again, somehow appearing to glide without motion – and spoke to us all. “Your missing scion, Carifal Rath, whom you have known as ‘Bow’, no longer wanders the Feywild. He is in Carceri. That much we know. We of the Court feel we bear some responsibility for his being there, as we chose to ignore his petitions for audience for what, in your eyes, is an interminable length of time. He took the Crimson Stair at its last appearance.”
“Well, guess that makes the search a little more difficult,” Karac grumbled.
“Yes, but also a little easier. Carceri has only six islands, and one of those no mortal is permitted to set foot upon,” I replied. “Getting to, getting in, getting out and getting home will certainly be more difficult, but finding him once inside should be considerably easier than if we were to have to comb the entire Feywild for him.” As I spoke, I remembered the man, sitting on an enormous tree root with his longbow across his knees. His silver pipe into which he’d broken up one of my cigars, and the wine I gave him out of sympathy for his journey. If I’d only known then who he was, if only any of us had known.
But then, of such moments regrets are always made. We had what we had for a situation, we would find a way to deal with it.
“I can perhaps help you with the issue of the tedium of finding and entering the Red Prison,” Lady Syntira offered. “You have a helm, enchanted to take an appropriate vessel to the Astral Sea. I have such a vessel, and will grant you its use and its captain for the duration of your need.” She held out one arm, and Shalvar stepped forward with a sheepish grin on his face.
“The Waves of Grass is at your service,” he said with a small bow.
Realization dawned on me. “I wondered what you were doing here, Shalvar. Glad to have you with us.” I turned to Lady Syntira. “It seems you have everything already planned out for us, and all we need to donate is our muscles.”
“Planned out? No,” her laughter didn’t resonate like a human’s or a Shadrim. Instead her voice lilted slightly, and the sound of tinkling bells echoed around her. “No, I merely present a possibility, and hope to influence your choices. But a plan? No, plans are for the ones you oppose.”
Sered obviously didn’t like where thiswas going, but his face was determined – he’d made up his mind to do it, despite the distaste it held. “So. That makes the getting there and getting back easy.”
Shalvar grunted. “Fast maybe. Easy? We’ll see.”
Sered looked at him without a reaction. “What about the getting in and getting out?”
Lady Syntira turned her head slightly. “In the realm of Arvandor, a pathway exists that allows travelers to cross into and on occasion exit from Carceri. It is where the Great Hunt takes place, where we track down and dispose of those abominations which escape Carceri through craft or strength. Once there, our people can show you this path.”
Deimos and I looked at each other. “Not to put too fine a point on it, but will you be making sure that we don’t get confused with the hunted?” He asked.
“We will make sure our hunters are well-informed of your presence and the importance of your safety.” She replied.
“Okay, so the getting in and out is handled too.” I said.
“Perhaps the getting in, yes.” She countered. “Carceri is, after all, a prison, and was designed to contain its charges. At that it is very, very effective. Yet there are ways out, as abominations leak from it often. We are of the opinion that you will have to find a way out on your own.”
“Knew there had to be a catch,” Karac said.
I wasn’t so sure I liked this idea, but it sure seemed as though this might be our only option if we wanted a true king to rally the forces of Al’Veydra and Banner.
Sered looked over at me. I shrugged and nodded. Others gave their own confirmation in their own way.
When he’d gotten everyone’s assent, Sered turned to Lady Syntira. “We will undertake this effort, and return Carifal Rath from the prison of Carceri.
“Then retrieve your helm. The Waves of Grass stands waiting,” she motioned to the tree-line, where the boughs drew back to reveal the double-masted ship sitting in the forest. Strangely, it remained upright, and it felt very disconcerting to see it without an ocean beneath it. “I will also send along one of my attendants, as a representative of the Court to lend our strength to yours.”
As she said this, one of her tree-like companions stepped into the circle before her. “This is Zatsa, it will assist you in whatever way it can to succeed in this quest.”
The thing raised both arms and held them forward, then returned them to its side. Its speech was difficult to take up, but even without my Stone of Language, I made out the words “Happy to join.”
Addaweyr circled his gaze around the bunch of us. “Then it’s settled. Will you need help transporting your helm?”
Sered shook his head. “No, it is easy enough to move it around. We’ll go to the keep tonight, and retrieve it tomorrow.”
“Then our hopes and thanks go with you.”
* * *
Rain had settled in when we walked up to the gates of Shard Keep that night, and our cloaks, though largely water-proof themselves, could not prevent the wet chill from finding its way inside. Karac pounded on the gate loudly, with his warhammer.
A guard appeared, looking over the door from above, and called out: “The keep takes no visitors after evening darks, return in the morning.”
Sered pulled back his hood and returned the challenge: “We are not visitors, we are returned home, and wish to sleep in our own rooms this night.”
The tired man – who was considerably older than I’d first thought, now that I looked at him more closely – climbed down from his perch and opened a man-sized door in the gate. When he looked Sered over more closely, his eyes widened just slightly.
“Yes, sir. Master Sered, we had no word of your return, I apologize.” He bowed slightly.
Karac looked around. “Are we planning on having a nice chat here, or are we going inside already? And since when is the front door locked against the people who actually live here?”
The guard looked down to Karac. “Sir, it has been recently that we’ve found the need to maintain a locked door after nightfall, purely for security.”
I didn’t have much to add. In what was rapidly becoming a city, young thieves with an itch to prove something would find an open door just too tempting. Apparently the others felt similarly, as no one voiced any complaints.
We were ushered into the council chamber, where we found J’Tiel struggling on his night-robe, too small for his frame. “Well met, all of you,” he intoned in his basso rumble. “Your rooms are being uncovered as we speak, and should be ready in short order.”
Deimos looked up from his survey of the room. J’Tiel noticed him, and quickly added, “…and guest quarters are already prepared for those of you who are new. Please, I’m sure there is much to discuss, but unless it is an emergency, I’m sure you’d prefer a warm room and talk over a breakfast table.”
General assent was arrived at without a word, and we all went to our places. I found my room as I’d left it, a fire going in the small hearth, not a speck of dust in the place. I undid my sash and belts, laying my gear down on the table by the bed. Dreaming Fire went into the bed beside me, RIftspar beneath my pillow, and Crownfire hung from a bedpost-peg.
It was good to be home, or at least in what passed for it. Helped to assuage a small bit of the hollow still aching inside me. I wanted to be grief-stricken, angry, I wanted to break something – but nothing would make a difference now. I would save this for a time when I could harness the anger.
I fell asleep with the smell of her in my nose.
* * *
The morning came more quickly than I wanted, but I struggled down to the dining hall anyway. There I found hot tea, scones, large rolls, and ham to take care of my rumbling stomach. A heavy red wine was also present, which I drank a little of, alternating with the tea. The rest of Dark Fellbane was there – Xirago, the dwarven priest; Thray, the dunkel Spider Knight we’d met down in Erelhei-Cinlu. Of Gal-van, Jarim Hook, and Wynter there was no sign.
Their number reduced, those there appeared to be in good health.
“Before we begin,” J’Tiel said, standing at his table, “We offer a welcome home to Fellbane, our predecessors and comrades.” He raised his glass, and we all acknowledged his gesture with thanks.
“The question that you are about to ask, we’ll answer first. In our last expedition, Wynter was lost.” He paused for a second.
Karac muttered quietly to Sered, “Probably fell and couldn’t get up.”
J’Tiel continued: “He fell into a chasm and was killed. We had no way of recovering him.”
Karac looked a little embarrassed. “Hmm,” was all he could muster at that.
I decided not to open the debate over whether a revenant – one already dead, but animated out of purpose and the power of Shadow – could really be considered to have been ‘killed,’ and simply filed away the inconsistency for future reference.
“Gal-van and Jerim Hook met their ends in a slightly different manner. Both were found to have been collaborating with the Morvreyans, and we killed them. In fact, the College of Morvrey has spent a great deal of effort digging about in an attempt to ferret out information about the whereabouts of you all. They have brought up the Gaulus Prophecies in our questioning of their agents. I will also add that while we have secured ourselves reasonably against their intrusion, their spies could be anywhere.”
“Even among your own, it would seem,” Sered pointed out.
“Oh, we took care of that.” Thray said flatly. “Gal-van managed to die before I was through with him, but Jerim, oh, he lasted a good long time. Told us a great deal, too. Around the third or fourth finger, he was singing like a bird.” He twirled a thin stiletto in a small pile of ham.
“In spite of them, we did recover from the last expedition, and returned in time to refuse Hesryth Andelyn’s demand for fealty and troops. We had no desire to participate in his consolidation of his kingdom.” J’Tiel sat back down. “And that is the brief version of what has transpired.”
We variously recounted our own adventures, including the departure of our own (former) Morvreyan while the groupwas acing entrapment inside the Dark Crucible. As well, what we knew of the situation in Banner, that they were facing not Andelyn’s ambition, but instead an invading army of Shadrim led by a crazed infernal – and the true threat in the Morvreyans who “advised” Andelyn’s supposed court.
J’Tiel expressed a great deal of reluctance to supplying Banner with aid. “He tried to conscript the three Wards of the town into his army not long ago,” he said. “The arrogance, to think he could simply demand fealty like that.”
I thought it over. “Perhaps it would be best to assemble what troops you can and march to assist Banner as an allied city – thus you gain the benefit of a friendly and needed gesture, but also present the enemy with a unified force, and additionally you force Andelyn to acknowledge Al’Veydra as a separate and independent entity.”
He considered that, and nodded. “That would work. If he refuses, he loses our aid. If he accepts, he stands a much better chance during the siege, and we gain recognition in case he survives.”
“You’d still have to extract your troops as quickly as possible after any victory is won, to guard against his treachery,” I went on. “But the public would see our banners flying, and soldiers who have just fought together side by side will resist the idea of turning against one another.”
Thray tapped his blade against the table. “That’s worthy of one of us, Shadrim. Good thinking.”
I bowed my head slightly. “Despite your kind’s reputation, you didn’t invent sharp-edged diplomacy,” I suggested.
“Oh, no, we didn’t invent it – but we did perfect it,” he appeared very self-satisfied with that answer.
I shrugged, unwilling to concede the point, but also not interested in continuing that line of conversation.
“All right, we’ll assemble the Wards, and get what help we can from Spiderwatch,” J’Tiel said. “Banner will receive our help, but only as much as we are comfortable in giving.”
“That’s all anyone can ask,” Sered concluded.
“Well, there is one other thing we can ask,” I suggested.
“Which is?” J’Tiel waited patiently.
“Oh, that,” Sered said. “Yes, we want the helm, the one taken from Cozule.” He looked over to J’Tiel, who shrugged without concern.
“I’ll have it brought up for you now. It’s yours after all, and we have no need for it.”
“Thank you,” I said. He shrugged and nodded.
“One thing I do wish to know,” J’Tiel toyed with his food on the plate in front of him. “Is there an army massing in the Trollhaunt Weld? I know you’ve come from there, so I’d appreciate an honest answer.”
“No,” Sered said. “Refugees. The Al-Kabeth from Tarsis, some from Banner, and the Sestus Wyr. No army.”
“They’re welcome in the city, you know,” J’Tiel said. “They could join us here, there’s plenty of room.”
“Some are not feeling so welcome,” I said. “I know our people here did not take kindly to the Al-Kabeth, and blamed them for the undead attacks a few weeks ago.”
Xirago finally spoke, his gruff voice echoing in the chamber. “Yes, and they probably were,” he said. “We should have denied them coming here, turned them away at the wall. It’s a good thing my Lady values fairness.”
I withheld the barb I wanted to stab him with. I’ve never liked the little dwarf, and one day I might just have to settle things with him. But dislike is not enough reason to kill, at least not for me.
Not yet, at least.
J’Tiel sighed heavily. “We’ve already established that what was here existed before them, priest. Give it a rest.”
Sered went on, choosing not to follow that course of discussion either. “They are establishing themselves there, whether as a satellite to Al’Veydra or a community unto themselves is up to them. They pose no threat.”
J’Tiel sat impassively. “Good. Thank you. Bad enough a nest of spiders beneath us, having another possible source of enemies would have been unacceptable.”
We finished out our breakfast, and talked about a variety of smallish topics. When we were done, we thanked the others and moved out, back to the camp. The helm was in a narrow wagon, drawn by a single light horse. Two hours after we departed (both I and Deimos hanging back to observe for trailers), we arrived at the circle site. Sered and the others were conversing with Zatsa, which was apparently holding up its end of the conversation well.
Great, talking plants. Bad enough there are some that are willing to eat me, but now they talk, too.
It didn’t take long to mate the planar helm to the existing one on the Waves of Grass, just a few muttered incantations by Shalvar and a couple of small pegs. The helm itself did the rest, extending small tendrils into the wood, anchoring itself solidly to the decking and the wheel-stand. The helm itself had a second, smaller wheel attached that sat perpendicular to the original ship’s wheel, and a lever on its other side; both controls were reachable by the single helmsman’s position. Taking an educated guess, I assumed the wheel to be a control for the ship’s pitch, but it took Shalvar’s first experiments to show me that the lever was to control the ship’s velocity.
Most curious!
Shalvar examined the apparatus, kicking it a few times and trying to shove it over, and then without much ceremony shrugged and looked over at us. “I guess we can go,” he said, then went belowdecks.
Probably to get a drink. That’s what I would have done.
The rest of us climbed aboard, some setting bags down on deck, others just taking a position near the masts. Shalvar’s goblin crew bustled about at the ropes and netting, seeming unsure of themselves as to what to do. The sails were dressed tight, and the rigging was secured well. I suspected that for this sort of sailing, they were a redundant element.
Unless we needed damage control, that is. Which, knowing us, we probably would.
Shalvar came back up about twenty minutes later, a foul expression on his face. I was standing closest to the stairs, and caught his eye as he came up.
“She still doesn’t like you, Shadrim,” he said.
“Sorry.” I held my hands up passively. Wasn’t sure what else I should say in response to that.
“Don’t worry, same goes for most of your team here. I have nothing against you personally, but our one time together wasn’t the easiest trip I’ve ever taken, you see? And since then you yourself have become much closer to the one place I didn’t want to go.”
I nodded. “Yeah, I can see that. We’ll try to keep the trip short as possible, I suppose.”
“As uneventful as possible would be nice, too,” he responded.
“Not so sure I can accomplish much on that front.”
“Try.”
With that, he ascended to the wheel deck and took station behind the helm. Resting his hands on the wheel, he called out. “All hands ready?”
The goblins on deck looked around from one to the other, variously shrugging and looking confused. One went over to the side of the ship and looked down, hands braced on the rails, then looked up at Shalvar again. It stood up and waved at Shalvar, croaking out in a high-pitched guttural. “Boss, some of the guys, we…well…where’s the water, boss? We can’t go no place without water.”
Shalvar glanced down at him. “Just say ready, Lob.”
Lob brought his gaze back down to the others, who variously expressed bewilderment. One of them made a circular motion around his temple with one finger and shook his head. Lob dropped his hands to his sides and said, “Okay, ready.”
Shalvar muttered a few words, I recognized them as the inscriptions on the top surface of the helm by their rhythm.
Nothing happened for a moment. I at first wondered if he’d mispronounced something. Then, a sense of weight kicked in, as if we were somehow heavier. Mutterings from the crew indicated I wasn’t the only one experiencing the feeling. A soft hissing sound began to prickle at my ears, which I suddenly realized was the leaves and branches of the trees around us brushing against the hull. We raised about a yard off the ground before the rustling stopped and was replaced by a deadening silence.
Looking around, the trees to every side suddenly receded in all directions, flying away into the distance, leaving nothing but a grey shadow of empty behind. Before I really had time to contemplate that emptiness, it flowed over the deck in streamers of mist, cool and soft. Strangely, it was dry – perhaps that was the most disconcerting thing of all about it. I was expecting it to be a fog of sorts, wet and thick, but instead when touched it simply parted. I could tell it was there, but it left no trace of its presence. No damp, no odor, just a presence in the air.
The muttering of the crew took a decisively more alarmed tone. All of the goblins were looking about frantically, until one towards the bow let out a tiny hiccupping scream – more of a chirp, really – and fled below. The rest followed rapidly, Lob the last to go, looking around with a little amazement before another goblin reached up and seized his belt to pull him down.
Shalvar looked as intrigued as I felt, and he promptly reached forward and pushed the lever up on the helm. The ship accelerated forward, I could feel it gathering momentum behind its weight, and the mists began to flow directly back.
We were moving.
In moments, the mists we were in parted, and we emerged into the Astral Sea.
The mist formed a cloud behind us, which receded rapidly into the middle distance. It seemed to form a surface upon which we ‘sailed,’ a thin, gauzy indicator of where our travel took us. Before us, millions of stars pricked a twilit night sky that had no true horizon, just a faded distance where everything became purple and hazy. The stars continued above us, a perfect dome, broken only occasionally by tiny, distant whorls of color and faint lines. Watching, occasionally I would spot a star moving, sliding silently across the map of heaven on its own mysterious purpose. I found myself wondering if these were themselves ships such as ours, or perhaps entire worlds…but time enough to explore when our mission was done.
Behind us, the grey mist congealed into a large cloud – I recognized this as a “color veil” from my studies a long while back. Around it were smaller blotches of mist, some flickering with an internal light, some glowing steadily, some merely inert. The smaller accumulations fell into the main or broke away from it, seeming to randomly choose their direction and destiny while we watched. Our world, obscured in mist, falling away behind us.
I knew I had come quite a distance from home now.
I moved to the railing, to look over the side. I knew what I’d see, clinically I’d read about it, but nothing really prepared me for the vertigo of realizing the sky didn’t end – it extended out below us, showing us as not so much sailing as falling through a night sky, buoyed up by only the thinnest layer of insubstantial mists. The mist parted at the prow, extending a wake beside and behind us, like the surface of a mirror-smooth glass lake before the leading cut of a canoe. As the wake made distance from us, it settled down, and eventually flattened out, whereupon I lost sight of its dividing line. Perhaps there was no dividing line, and it just faded to the nothing that it had started as.
With Zatsa advising Shalvar, the ship sailed on for an hour or so, before I spied ahead one of the lines tracing the sky. Deep green in color, it was almost impossible to discern from the fathomless sky, but as it grew closer I made out its definition better – it traced an almost-straight path along the way, gentle curves and rises breaking up its otherwise-perfect smoothness. This was a “color strand”, one of the flowing connectors that tied all the realms of heaven to one another and the Middle World.
We sailed straight to it, before snugging up upon it and somehow ‘lowering’ our hull into the strand. As soon as we linked with it, the multitude of stars began to move – which I soon realized was because we were moving between them. It gave a measure of three-dimensional perspective that I had missed before, as the closer ones moved much more quickly than the further, and the ones fore and aft had less parallax to them. The sense of motion was uncanny, and the speed with which we moved must have been fantastic.
I was entranced, and remained so for a time I cannot even begin to measure. Was each of these stars a world like ours? A ship plying this sea? Something else new and entirely unpredictable? I couldn’t begin to guess. That didn’t stop me from imagining, though, or from being stupefied with the vastness of it.
My dreams would take a whole new scale now, I think.
Time loses some meaning when traveling the Astral – what I mean to say is that without a sun to rise and set, the passing of days is not noticeable. I became hungry at times which I suppose are predictable, I had to visit the head on a similar timeframe, but my waking and sleeping patterns were thrown out of synch quickly.
The goblin crew ventured up on deck after the first day, studiously keeping their faces pointed at the deck. As they went about their business of scrubbing the decks and tidying the sails, it struck me – they used no water in doing so. They were doing what could better be termed “dusting” rather than “washing.” It was then that I realized that this was no sea, but an enormous and lovely desert, for there was no water to be had here. Whatever a ship might need would be out of necessity brought along, and without magical aid, no ship would last long without a large water store.
We saw the clot towards the end of the second day. We had been riding the green line for the entire time, long enough for me to have seen it as consisting of a strange vaporous steam, its particles glowing faintly with their strange light. It even had a smell – it brought to mind the deep dark autumn of a pine forest on a mountainside, the kind where you expect to find children out picking mushrooms, or bears hunting out a honeybee nest (or hunting children, perhaps). I had wondered what other lines might be, as we’d passed so many that I’d lost count. The number and the colors were constantly different. I had also begun to analyze how to take advantage of such ribbons…for instance, if they had a relatively stable placement, then junctions, where two or more ribbons crossed in close proximity to one another, would become very valuable strategically. Even more so for a raider, if one could predict intersections of the ribbons.
The clot, when I first saw it, was a deep charcoal smudge against the sky to the fore, barely large enough to be the nail of my smallest finger. As it grew, it became visible as a tattered cloud of mist, resembling smoke. Tendrils reached out from it and fell back within, and a reddish color stained portions of it, as if ink were spilled in a pool of deep water. It rested to one side of our color line, a little to the left – sorry, port – of where we would pass by.
It grew rapidly as we proceeded along the color line, expanding to fill fully a third of the sky as we flew along. The red stain grew darker, to become almost a brown, and small charges of lightning crackled around its periphery. I looked up at Shalvar and called out to him.
“What is that? Is it safe for us to pass so close?”
He shrugged back at me, “What am I supposed to know? This is my first time sailing this way. I’m no expert. Doesn’t look all that good though – but it’s hard for me to judge distance here, with no reference points to work from between us. At least on the ocean, I can count waves and space between them – here, I have nothing.”
Shalvar tapped his forehead slightly, a victorious look crossing his face. “Nuggin! Arrow, shoot that, give me some distance.”
One of the goblins ran belowdecks and returned moments later with a bow and quiver, which he quickly loaded up and fired an arrow from, targeting the clot, which had grown slightly larger just in the time he’d been absent. The arrow winged over quickly, taking perhaps three seconds to traverse the intervening space and then vanish into the dark bulbous cloud.
A moment after the arrow disappeared, the cloud started to extrude a huge knob, a bulge that grew from its side like a giant reddish tumor. While not pointed directly at us, it was aimed slightly ahead, where I imagined it could catch us more easily. I wondered if this thing were somehow a living being, and whether we appeared to be prey for it. While I contemplated this, a small flash of red light lanced out from the bulge and struck the green color-line we were on, generating a wave that pulsed down to us.
“Hold on!” Shalvar shouted, bracing himself against the wheel. The wave reached us, and the ship bucked like a horse, dislodging from the line and careening sharply starboard as it found its bearings in the ‘normal’ space of the Astral Sea. I gripped as strongly as I was able, and saw that no one had fallen overboard, before looking back at the clot.
The enormous tumor had grown spikes, and had extended a much greater distance now – two or three lengths of the Waves of Grass, at least – and was curving towards us. While I watched, the smoke and mist that comprised it tore, shredding from around its contents. It vomited out a huge construct of wood and iron, adorned with masts that extruded from all its sides. Its main deck was slick with blood, and crawling all around upon it were various insectile forms as well as a crew of imps and other infernals. Glowing brightly at its midships was a rotating furnace of crystal and metal, throwing sparks upon its soaked deck. In the distance, I could hear the tortured screams of the souls feeding its infernal engine. Standing tall on its deck, a blue-skinned deva with charcoal tattoos upon its face held position, blade drawn, while beside it a familiar form, enormous, covered in spines and bearing an enormous flail, spread its wings wide as it bellowed a challenge.
Sariel. The war devil we’d met in Vor Kragal months ago.
Sered whispered under his breath, “It can’t be,” while drawing his own blade. At the time, I thought he was talking about Sariel.
As we watched, the Dominion vessel Seven Deadly Sins hove to and moved to intercept us.
