I took refuge several streets away, after I and one of the gurragal had sized each other up. I gave serious consideration to trying to tame the beast, but given I had no experience with such a creature (or any animal to speak of beyond a horse), decided it was more likely one of us would end up dead. Probably it. I let it eat in peace.
I proceeded to satisfy myself that I had left no body unsearched, and had gleaned off what I could of the bulette – including several large metallic scales from its hide and a handful of teeth (if nothing else, they’d look good on the wall of the inn or make good serving trays). Following this, locating shelter was my next goal. It was already well past noon and I had no intention of wandering the streets alone at night in this place.
I looked the map over, and gave it my full attention for a short while.
It was genuine – I could see portions of Vor Kragal down to the ruined buildings that our (Fellbane’s, that is) fight with the Morvreyans had left behind. Thorough bastards, they were. Locating a relatively intact building not far from where I was, I made my way over a few blocks and into what looked like a residential area that was still choked with ashes. Like grey snow it had drifted up a few feet on the sides of the stone buildings that served as homes here. Most even still had intact windows. I had to walk through three of them before I found what I wanted – a dining room with only two doors, central in the house so as not to show any light through errant windows. One of the doors was shut, and jammed hard, while the other door had rotted away ages ago. I hung a light blanket up over that one as insurance against any sort of emanation from my room. I also strung a small thread with tiny pin-nails at ankle-, waist-, and neck-height, tying a tiny silver bell to the end of the string.
If I was going to die here, at least I would die well-warned.
The last hours of daylight I spent in the room, becoming accustomed to its sounds, and laying out the gear and treasure I’d recovered earlier in the day.
Morgan had had a small crossbow, and a pack of bolts, which I was sure to find useful. I cocked and loaded it and laid it beside me. As well, I had found a broach in the form of a stylized ruby rod made of silver and painted red on its ends…obviously her true worship was of a familiar nature to me, the symbol of Erathis on her armor only so much fluff in disguise. A sack of coins and gems had spilled around her body, which I had recovered as well. Her hammer had been nowhere to be seen, probably tossed when she was struck by the fast-moving gurragal.
I also had Sheng’s wand and other equipment, and an assortment of other gear I was able to salvage from the corpses of the rest. Little use to me now, all this, so I wrapped it as best I was able and stuffed it all into the haversack – its enchantment such that it accepted even Stephan’s bow without a problem. All that into a small bag, I wondered how I’d gone on without such a thing before.
The night was surprisingly uneventful, though I did hear quite a bit of disturbance outside. I slept lightly, a sunrod wrapped in a sock beside me to provide a very low lighting in the room. Resting without armor is surprisingly difficult when traveling alone and in hostile country, I have discovered. Almost would be better to simply leave it on and suffer the chafing and constriction. Almost.
The noises outside were definitely sourced from inhabitants of the city, my fallen and restless ancestors, no doubt. I could hear them out in the streets, over the wind. Little that was natural stirs in this remnant of a city, and I did wonder what sort of existence these creatures might have. If ever Vor Kragal was to be resurrected, I am certain it would take an effort of monumental proportions.
Assuming it wished a re-life granted to it. If it resisted actively – and it might, if the Charspire was any indication – then perhaps it would be best to simply be buried forever, lost to the ages.
But I shall burn that bridge after I have crossed it.
In my remaining waking time, I ate sparingly of some bread and cheese I had in my pack, drank a little water, and investigated the map a little more. It seemed that when I focused on specific places, it would enlarge them, providing me a more detailed view – definitely some form of enchantment was used in its creation, perhaps a modified scribing ritual. It would make sense if that were the case, make sense of why the wizards of Morvrey had to walk the streets instead of simply float over them in their bladder-ship. It probably only showed where they had walked, as my room was not visible. I tried looking in on crushed buildings, and found that the details seemed to fray, to soften, when I took a squinting view of spots that might be difficult to see from the street.
Other areas, such as around the Charspire, were considerably less detailed – as though the wandering wizards chose not to approach it too closely, or perhaps if they had, somehow the enchantments protecting the spire and providing for its apparent random changes of location clouded their ritual’s ability to scribe this map.
There was a path to the Pool. I saw it clearly, they had apparently visited it while they were here. Whether they found anything, that I cannot say. And the Hellforge was also visible here. My journey would at least be well-marked, if not easy.
When I had had sufficient rest, and I observed a lightening of the outside through a peek along the blanket, I stowed the gear I had and retrieved my blanket and line from the door. The little haversack was wonderfully helpful in lightening the load. Given that I had not been assaulted during the night, I took hope that perhaps Kurrian had kept his word, and departed rather than pursue me in an attempt to fulfill his contract. Still, I kept a close watch on my steps as I made my way out of the house, looking for signs that were in excess of my own footprints and testing for tripwires up and down along my height.
Outside, I did find tracks, though not of any humanoid I’d known. At least, none living. Some kind of three-toed creature with bony feet (perhaps a three-toed skeleton?) had wandered the yard here, stopping several times to scratch at the earth in the garden out front.
Probably not something I wished to waste my resources dealing with. Still, I had to keep an eye out.
Walking down the road a ways, I left the map in my side pouch and referred to my memory of it, to keep my hands free. This turned out to work fine, as the crevasse in question was particularly large and to a large degree fairly obvious. I didn’t see the vultures this day, probably on top of a roof or ridge somewhere, digesting. I kept Crownfire in my hand as I walked, bumping time against my leg to a tune I had going in my head. The closer I approached the crevasse the clearer I could make out the smoke and ash of the Hellforge – still smoking, still vomiting its sulphurous mix of gas into the air. It smelled terrible, but I was going to have to pay it a visit.
I reached the crevasse after only about two hours of walking – it was a pretty simple walk, and nothing accosted me while I strolled cautiously along. It was really less than a mile total to reach it from the camp, but given the torn-up nature of the city and the caution I was putting into my movement, my pace was a mere fraction of what it should have been on clear ground.
The gash itself was perhaps a half-mile long, and about 700 feet across at its widest, with the entrance to the tunnel leading to the pool practically directly below me when I reached the edge. Getting down took some effort in climbing, but since I was no longer burdened with such a heavy backpack, it almost seemed a simple matter. I fastened the holed end of a sunrod to my belt, letting it hang free, and drew Riftspar in my off-hand before entering the massive cave. The entrance was probably three times my height, and easily ten to fifteen feet wide, so who knows what might have lived in it…our could still.
Travel in the tunnel was not difficult, but it was long – the tunnel turned left a good ways in, and took a steep dive shortly after. Bats in small numbers nested inside the place, small piles of guano set beneath their nesting places, usually easier to smell than to spot. Tiny mushrooms sprouted upon them, like little fungus gardens. After my first befouled boot, I made sure to keep a closer watch on where I stepped.
While I wiped the…poop, okay? It was poop. Everything deals with it. Even some gods poop. In fact, I’m pretty sure there is a god of poop. Alright, so I was wiping…it…off my boot, and I realized what a strange life this was. Here I was, refugee from a long-dead empire, searching for a pool of dead cursed souls, hoping to retrieve the best of them to put into my service. Life was so much simpler when I was just an officer in the Cairn Jale. On the other hand, no one was giving me orders, I made my own way. I much prefer that, even if my life is screwed beyond belief and my entire world is upturned. It was a lot simpler, though, before – getting direction from above and just pursuing things per orders. Maybe that’s the hallmark of independence though, wanting direction, but knowing that it isn’t going to be any better than what I decide for myself.
I resheathed Riftspar, and finished cleaning the best I could. Kept going, slowly walking into the dark. Nothing for it, really, other than to keep going. I felt the absence of my old talent for healing most acutely, realizing that being alone was simply a stupid position to be in, in a place like this. I really hoped that the path was relatively clear. Given that at least two heavy-hitting groups had passed this way in only a few months, I had high hopes that they’d done the job to empty the way.
I kept going, dodging bat-crap deposits and listening for…well, for anything, really. The place was dead quiet, except for the occasional rustle of insect or other life. I really hated the thought of getting ambushed in a place like this. Screw it, I hate getting ambushed in any place.
I moved down the tunnel further, and opened into a broad, wide chamber. The walls here were lined with crystals, all faintly glowing in a light phosphor luminescence. I could see what might have once been a fungus forest, but now was more a sculpture gallery. It looked like the molten pool below had let off enough bronze in its steam that the various great boletes had become coated in it as it condensed on them. They glinted in the light of my sunrod, shining bright with their golden glow. The metallic crystals on the huge mushrooms was reflected by a similar shine on the walls, as well as silicate crystals of various sorts.
I was more surprised by the beauty of it all than I would have been had I been mobbed by shambling amanitas. With the soft lighting – provided by tiny worms, I could see now, each fishing for insects with nearly invisible threads of silk draping down into the air. The smell was horrible, that much is true, all sulphur and bat poop, but there is no god above or below the real that could conceive of something quite so lovely. Only raw chance could produce something so lovely.
Around the edge to my left was another tunnel, perhaps thirty yards and downslope. I headed across the chamber slowly, trying not to crunch too many crystals beneath my feet. Making my way across, I marveled at the strange fungal shapes, preserved for who knows how long in this thin layer of bronze. I wondered if there was any remnant of the original mushrooms beneath the coatings.
While I was wondering, the creature struck.
I hadn’t even noticed it, it looked like another bronzed fungus stem among the grove. A column, seven or eight feet tall, covered in metallic and silicate crystals, cracked open a single eye high up on its body. A maw, vertically centered as opposed to horizontally, has also split down its height – filled with hundreds of triangular teeth. Each one serrated, sharp as knives, gnawing and gnashing at the air. It extruded tentacles from its sides like glossy worms, they’d been laying on the floor. If I’d not been watching the floor for bat poop, I’d not have seen it. What looked like a ridge or a submerged root, was really the thing’s arm.
The first one wrapped itself around my waist and constricted so hard I thought it might sever my spine. The surprise of it was half the pain, though it didn’t take long for me to get my balance back.
The second one lashed past my right ear, snaking by like a metal-encrusted whip. Had it wrapped around my neck, things might have been a bit more bloody. As soon as the grasping tentacle wrapped tight, it started to pull me towards that toothy gash in the side of the column. Crystals broke and shattered around my feet, and I left long dragging footsteps behind me in them, like running footprints in bronze snow. The sense of snowfall was accentuated further, as the tentacle around my waist was rapidly shedding its exterior coating in tiny flakes and slivers.
Without a thought, Riftspar was in my hand, and I ripped a narrow hole in reality directly between myself and this strange creature. Diving through, the frost I left in my wake shattered the tentacle that was gripping me, tinkling to the ground like so much mutated glass.
I emerged nearer to the cavern exit, gripped it with a curse, and slung a fey eye-bite across the column itself, seeing tiny tendrils of vapor erupt from its face as the charm took hold. The thing flailed its tentacles around the room and howled in frustration, but this didn’t help its cause at all. I kept pummeling it with repeated attacks on it this way, until it figured out a tactic that would work – it held its arms motionless on the floor, waiting for my charm of invisibility to wear off. Eye-bite charms are extremely useful, in that they both harm the enemy as well as shield you from their sight, but they are very short-lived. It’s rare for the invisibility to last long enough to get off a second attack. I was fortunate in that the Winter Lady to whom I had originally pledged had taught me to lace my charm with chill of her domain, and that Shan Doresh was also willing to lend his realm’s frozen aspect to my strength as well, for this made my strikes considerably more harmful. I had even found ways to enhance it slightly with frosts from the endless plains of Levistus, which made the power of the spell undeniable. Most practitioners are not so lucky, and while it does cause a little damage for them, the advantage of the attack is primarily one of becoming hidden.
I rippled my way across the room, collecting shadows to me as I did, and eyebiting the bronze-encrusted cavern dweller every few steps. But as I said, it eventually figured a tactic that would work – when its vision cleared enough to see me, it struck and once again grasped me with frightening strength to drag me towards it. It could only manage to get one arm close enough at any one time to strike at me this way, but it still did manage to tag me. I got angry this time, and my old heritage shone through as I responded by blasting it with brimstone-smelling flames while it dragged me closer. I ported again, frost covering the face of the thing and generating another enormously loud howl, and this time set the creature’s mind – if it had one – alight with witchfire. The flames danced about its form, racing as though chasing pockets of napthia, and once again the arms flailed aimlessly as the fires clouded its one eye.
I backed away, hammering at it time and again with various attacks this time – I focused on chill effects, since it did not seem to particularly like them, and I have a tendency to generate a heightened sensitivity to frost when I strike with those forms.
I approached the exit to the chamber, backing my way downwards while continuing to fling spells back at my attacker. I noticed then as I did, that there were two other of these columnar horrors here, who sat with their arms retracted, mouths closed, and eyelids open only a slit. Perhaps these were waiting to see how this more aggressive member of their kind fared. I’d like to think they were at least a little bit intimidated by my performance, but more likely they were considering which of the two of us would be easier to eat at the end of this fight. Thinking this through, I decided it best to finish this thing off and leave it behind for the other two to scavenge up. A creature with a full belly is much easier to convince to back away than one starving for its next meal.
That in mind, I positioned myself near the exit and simply jostled between two positions, keeping my movement up to maintain my cloak of shadows. It still managed to pummel me a few more times, and it did close the distance at its own slow pace, but my strikes were obviously having the desired effect – and eventually I took it down. The arms didn’t retract, they simply fell, limp and twitching, when I finally struck home directly enough to freeze through the rocky column. Apparently I’d frozen something vital, because it went into a shivering fit just before its arms fell lifelessly to the floor. I sent the chunk of spirit I harvested from its fall on to Taer Lian Doresh, and vanished from the room with a flash of frost.
The other two had begun moving closer across the great chamber, but they had not yet reached a place where they could get hold of me. When their cousin or comrade died though, I observed my suspicion was right – their own bronzed arms snaked around the column, gripping tightly and pulling it towards them. It toppled shortly after they grabbed it, and its lifeless form was dragged back to the other two.
Whether they fought over the carcass, I didn’t stay to find out.
There was no bat excrement in the tunnel beyond that chamber. Just a hot breeze coming up from below, tainted with the smell of eggs and coal. I guessed that the strange ambushers back there were responsible for that, grabbing anything they could stuff in their craw. In any case, I still kept watch on the floor – for although there might not be bats, other things might leave traces of their passage and give me some clue as to what I might face down here.
There was a side passage on the way down, which contained a desk at its entrance – an ancient, stone thing with drawer-holes that sported no sliding drawers. I guessed those had rotted away a long while back. This desk did appear carved straight out of the rock, which to me meant it had probably been a monitoring station for access to the pool when Vor Kragal was a living (okay, well, perhaps not the best choice of words) city. This passage led into a large room, with several bunks carved into the walls, and assorted flotsam and wreckage within it. Nothing truly of interest, but it was important to me to leave nothing unknown at my back.
Speaking of which, when I returned my attention to the main tunnel, I discovered a form in the mouth of the passage. Humanoid, certainly, but made entirely of bronze. It stood with its legs apart, and where its hands rested on its waist they seemed to blend back into it, as though they’d been sculpted that way. Its face had little feature, though I could make out enough at this distance to represent the general curvature of a face rather than a simple bland orb.
“Umm, hello,” I offered. Master of diplomacy, me. “Who’re you?”
“Greetings. Who are you, and what are you doing here?”
I considered lying for a minute, then considered this thing probably wasn’t interested in the play of factions on the surface. “I am Azrael Ille Macreane, of Ichaer, citizen of the Empire and third son of my house. Rightful heir to it.”
“Your purpose?”
“To visit the pool.” How it was managing to form words without a place to pass air through baffled me for a while, until I decided to ignore that aspect of this conversation. I also wondered whether this might be some kind of automated guardian golem. “Your turn.”
It paused for a moment. “I have no name, I am the voice.”
“Whose voice?”
“Our voice. We decide who may and may not visit us.”
So, the pool itself perhaps. “Do you possess a memory?”
“Only insofar as this form exists outside of us. When I rejoin, I resume and we gain the knowledge.”
“So, what next? Do I ask for permission? Do you escort me?”
“No, you simply go. I do not guard, I only watch. I am how we see, hear, feel things outside of us.”
Bad assumption on my part. I thought this was some kind of gatekeeper. Turns out more of a remote sensing thing. Interesting, that there was enough power to generate and control something like this in there.
I unslung my pack. “You had a visitor recently.”
“We have had many visitors. I do not remember any in specific.”
While I dug around in my pack, I kept an eye on the thing in case it turned hostile.
“I will accompany you to us.” It volunteered.
I just eyed it for a moment. “Why?”
“I am recalled.”
“You speak with…you?”
“I am independent, but I am able to receive instruction.”
“Can you speak for you all?”
“No, that is not an option for me.”
I found what I was looking for, and reslung my pack. “Well, if you’re coming along, you can show me the way. Is there anything between us and there that will be hostile to me?”
“No, though many things watch.”
That didn’t make a lot of sense to me, but I figured I’d find out as we went. The hot breath from below still passed by, and still stank horribly. The tunnel did not have the condensed crystals that were prevalent in the chamber before, but there was a sense of heat, oven-dry, that permeated the place. The stone down here was a deep charcoal gray, and when I scratched at it, it appeared darker under the immediate surface.
The simulacrum led the way, not looking back. Its motion was semi-fluid, pieces did seem to fold after a fashion, but largely it seemed to flow in this form. It did move slowly, as though contemplating each move before making it. I followed a few paces back, Crownfire held ready in case it – or something – decided to make this a less-than-peaceful descent.
We continued downward for another fifteen or twenty minutes, before the path leveled out. As we did, I noticed small veins of bronze and crystal lacing the walls, like capillaries in a large eye. Some even seemed to pulse with a kind of light if I looked at them long enough. Then again, that could just be my eyes deceiving me, pulsing with the blood in my veins.
For a little while as we walked levelly, I could hear a noise, a breeze reminiscent of breath. It rose above the heated wind that we walked in, but passed quickly. I didn’t really give it much thought at the time, though in hindsight I should have expected something to emulate the living in that fashion.
We emerged into a chamber almost as great as that which housed the outpost of Cozule – it vanished into darkness far from me, beyond my vision. The walls curved up to a great height that also defied my view, roughly hewn from the deep grey stone around me. The floor upon which we traveled was relatively smooth, and tilted in a very slight – but slightly alarming – angle towards the main feature of the cavern.
A veritable sea of bronze lay before me, lit by everburning torches in the walls behind me. It rippled with cats-paw waves, as if breezes played upon it chaotically, instead of the steady slow wind that came forward to meet me. Larger waves stirred the surface, intimating objects or patterns moving in the fluid metal.
Three patterns on the floor ahead of me caught my attention – reminiscent of summoning circles, they had symbols of binding all around them, and arcane sigils dominated their features. Each was inlaid into the floor, set in what appeared to be carved patterns filled with silver, one inside the other inside the other. The outer layer had grooves like a butcher’s block, leading towards the great lake, the middle was smooth as glass, and the center was perforated like a drain.
The strange model walked into the center circle, over the outer two, and stopped.
“This is where we were rendered,” it said calmly, then it simply dissolved and poured through the drain.
The sea stirred. It seemed several of the larger disturbances headed my way, like the wake of great fish approaching the shore. They merged, combined in size, and halted before me. A blob of metal rose up, tenuously connected to the rest by a ropy strand of glowing fluid. It turned on this stalk, a misshapen dandelion. I was reminded of the face of Zog, the beholder of the Jessil Kerith’s library.
“You say, that you come to visit us, why?” The voice had no source, but the blob seemed to vibrate while it spoke. Perhaps it was using this as a resonator, like the skin of a drum. It was deep, deliberate, and resonant. Even the walls seemed to be part of it.
“To seek your aid.”
“Your kind condemned us to this lifeless monotony. You deserve our wrath, not aid. Why should we not drown you, crush you beneath our weight here?”
“I am of Ichaer, not Vor Kragal. Though my people did this, I did not. My family did not. I seek to offer you a way to visit vengeance against he who condemned you here.”
“Many and varied were our persecutors, Shadrim. There was no one singular responsibility. We owe your kind vengeance in the collective.” Two of the humanoid simulacra had formed behind me, covering the hole through which I had entered.
Now I was a little nervous.
“You recently were visited by the Horn Prince Kaenig, traveling in the company of the Malebranche and others. You aided him,” I reasoned.
“He gave to us, and we gave to him. He serves the Lord,” the voice whispered back to me.
“As you create these bodies to extend your grasp into the world,” I gestured at the figures guarding my exit, “I offer another way to extend yourself. A body of sorts, though not like these.”
It gave no indication that it heard me.
“Kaenig is a tool of your lord, as you were ages past. He will be discarded in short order, for your lord intends vengeance upon his family for their turning away from him.”
“Irrelevant. He serves.”
“You were each one of you proud and strong, were you not?” Perhaps not the best thing to remind them of this, but I saw no other way.
“It is as you say,” came the response.
“And your lord ordered your service to my people, did he not?”
Silence.
“You considered us inferior beings, didn’t you? That drove each of you to rebel.”
“Our reasons were as many and varied as our persecutors, Shadrim. Why do you state this? You only draw our anger further, ensure your demise to be more painful.” Alright, now I knew where I stood, even if it wasn’t comfortable ground.
“Yet my people were powerful – enough to send each of you here, to condemn you for eternity to be punished for your disobedience.” I paced a bit, trying to logic this properly.
Silence again greeted me. My tail itched.
“Your lord, the master that slew He Who Was, promised you to my people. He did not raise his hand to cease this – did not care that they did this to you. In fact, he probably approved of this, for your rebellion would have been a threat to him – an inconvenience.”
“You blaspheme now, Shadrim. Our lord would do no such thing. The Master of the Rod did not do this to us.”
“And yet, here you are, so many centuries passed before you. My empire has long since fallen, the city above reduced to so much ruin. You lay here, forgotten. If your lord had the desire, he would restore you to bodies with him in the Hells. But he does not. I submit to you, he is happy to have you here, and prefers you to remain trapped, where you are no threat to him. Did not a single one of you possess ambition beyond your station?”
“You LIE!” A large wave slapped against the rock before me, spraying me with molten droplets. My clothes and my armor smoked where it touched, and although it stung, it did me no permanent harm. Unlike water, waves in this lake died out quickly, the fluid being too heavy for a lengthy pattern to develop. It made the surface eerily familiar, but alien enough to be disorienting.
“I come to ask your aid. By aiding me, I am also offering you a chance at vengeance. Not upon my people, though they in their cruelty do deserve your anger. Vengeance upon he who engineered your imprisonment. Surely, you don’t believe that my people would invent such a punishment as this for you, when they could simply have dismissed you to the hells? Do you not see that it was he who taught my people how to construct this place? That it was he who taught them the rituals, the symbols of power, the incantations necessary to deprive you of form and condemn you to this existence?”
“Your people were cruel. Such devices are not beyond them.” The two golem-figures had approached a bit closer.
I finished with what I hoped was the best capper: “Do you not recognize that my people acted on His instruction to imprison you here, far away and powerless to cast influence upon his realm?”
Silence again. It stretched on for a terribly long time. Then the globule stirred. “We have railed in anger against the lord ourselves for his oversight in trusting our service to your kind. We have developed a fondness for our anger. With him. With your people.”
“I offer you vengeance upon him who has done this to you. As the sword is not guilty of the murder the man commits, I swear to you my people were only the instruments of the treachery of Asmodeus against you.” I took a step back from the shore.
Now it was my turn to be silent. The quiet seemed to stretch on forever, here in the dark.
Eventually, the globule stirred. “Why do you seek us? It cannot be only to offer us this.”
“No. He that betrayed you also betrayed my people. As cruel as we were, we were made so by him, and we were abandoned by him. He ruined my people, and destroyed us by casting us against an implacable foe.”
“That is no answer.”
“Then know this – I seek your aid, and your service. I seek the strongest among you to accompany me. Your power and mine together to carve out my destiny.”
“Leave us. You have no place here. We have no further part in destiny beyond what you see before you.”
“I…”
“LEAVE US.” This last came with the volume of a trumpet blast, and the hot wind off the surface blew doubly hard upon me.
I thought it over, and stepped back further. I did not bow, but turned toward the entry I had come through and walked to the exit. I took one look back as the two bronze figures parted slowly before me. Returned my attention to the tunnel ahead and stepped up.
A voice stopped me. One of the simulacra laid a hand on my shoulder, painful through the leather, but it did not char my clothes.
“We are not all of one mind here, Shadrim. Wait above, in the room you first encountered ourself.”
I paused, nodded, and left in silence.
I walked up the tunnel to the side passage I’d seen before, and settled myself in that room. Unslinging my pack, I made a meal of cheese and bread again, with a healthy serving of water to go along with it. Heat such as that below drains far more out of you simply by your breathing than you might realize, and I was parched.
After a while, I sat back against the wall and tried to get a little rest.
I dozed for some time, it must have been. I am embarrassed to say I was awakened by a simulacrum, kneeling before me. I should have been more alert, but I suppose I was more exhausted than I had guessed.
“You will come,” was all it said.
I fetched what I’d brought with me, and followed it down to the Pool. Nothing had changed, and the globule that had formed either had never dissipated, or an identical one had formed.
“Stand in the circle, Shadrim,” it intoned.
I sensed no threat from it, though I certainly wasn’t comfortable standing where countless devils had been reduced to so much molten slag.
“Ichaer is known to us. Ille Macreane is known to us. You are known to us, Azrael.”
I was not sure how to respond, and so refrained from doing so.
“Your cause is questionable,” it hummed this at me. “Your kind are questionable.” It seemed conflicted about this, somehow.
“I am nothing but honest with you. We share common cause, and I have need of you.”
“As with others who have come before you, we make the same offer. You leave with us that which you take, and take only that which you leave with us.”
I pondered this enigmatic statement for a moment, then decided. Drawing Riftspar out, I set the jug upon the ground, the metal-encased glass making a strangely crystalline sound on the stone floor. I unhinged the ceramic top, and opened it. Using the tip of the dagger, I slit open one of the veins on the inside of my arm, then directed the flow with the blade of the dagger to spill into the bottle, draining off the tip of the long knife.
It took several minutes before the bottle filled, probably ten or fifteen, and I was certainly a little light-headed by the time I had completed it. I wrapped a bandage around the injury, wiping my dagger off on my trouser leg before sheathing it. I grasped the jug by its handle and reached out over the Pool, upending it and pouring my blood into the molten bronze. Where it hit, it dove below the surface with a burst of steam. Tiny droplets sputtered about on the surface, dancing as if they had a will of their own, much like water in a hot frying pan. The smell almost gagged me, but I contained myself and tried to keep my face out of the smoke.
“An interesting choice, Shadrim. Others have chosen limbs. Some simply have dived in, but they always remain here with us. You would take us, have us in your veins?”
“That is not my intent, no. I wish to carry you in equal volume to the Hellforge.” I gestured with the jug as I explained.
“You believe the Smith will be of use to you?”
“That is my hope.”
“Dip your bottle then, Shadrim, and take a part of us.”
I knelt beside the pool, and using one hand lowered the jug by its handle into the molten bronze. A small stream of the metal actually rose up and found the mouth of the jug, pouring itself into the container. The last remnants of blood in it steamed and hissed, but in short order I was re-sealing the container on a full load.
I stood up again, straightening my clothes. “I thank you for this.”
“Do not thank us, not yet. You are not done.”
“What do you mean?”
“Your exchange has given you a part of us, but you cannot hear it. Cannot feel it. Even if the Smith does provide you with his services, you will not be able to wield us.”
“How may I do so, then?”
“None have come and left us without putting themselves into contact with us. The first had lost his arm, we replaced it. The Horn Prince had his arm taken and given to us. We replaced it.”
I didn’t much like the direction this was going. “I am missing no limb, and have no intent to arrange for such loss.”
“Fear not, Shadrim. We have considered and decided for you.”
Before I could even turn, the lights went out, and I knew no more.
* * *
I woke, I suppose some hours later, laying on the floor beside the Pool. The jug still sat beside me, sealed and quiet. Remembering, I quickly looked at my hands. Both appeared normal. As did my tail. As did my legs. I looked normal, at least as far as I could see.
“What did you do?” I flipped my hands over, back and forth. The lake of metal was silent.
But in my mind, a quiet voice whispered, Take your bottle as our gift. We have returned to you that which you gave us.
My blood. It was inside me, in my veins. Indeed, Shadrim. We are closer now than any before you.
That was interesting. I could almost see the voice, see it as a figure in my mind. Most curious. How is it that I wasn’t being incinerated?
Your death would be the death of me. First time it had referred to itself singularly, too. Now this was very interesting.
“Are you joined with what is in the jug?”
That is a part of me, just as the lake is part of me, just as I am part of you.
Curious.
Best get moving. Dawn will come soon, and with it your safest travel to the Hellforge.
Can’t fault that logic.
I stood and regathered my things. My shoulders were stiff, and my left waist chafed badly from sitting unconscious in the armor for so long, but I hoped that a good bit of walking would unclench my muscles. Not much I could do about the chafing, so I bit my lip and moved on.
I could have spent more time being cautious in the room where the bronzed fungus forest was, but I wanted to get out into light. I rippled my way across, teleporting as rapidly as possible. I caught sight of one of the remaining creatures watching me as I moved, its large eye sluggishly tracing my passage. I didn’t pause at all, just kept echoing by, shadows draping out behind me like a dark gossamer robe.
I did reach the surface without incident, and took a breath of clear air for a change. It was remarkably refreshing to be out of the brimstone-and-batshit odor of those tunnels. I had to wonder what Kaenig must be experiencing throughout all of this, what his trip below had been like.
It was nowhere near as pleasant as yours, came the voice. His attendant devil gave him no time to wait or decide. When he showed hesitation, it ripped his arm free in an instant to remind him that he served at the convenience of the Lord of the Ruby Rod. He had no choice but to lower the bleeding stump into the Pool.
Ouch. Unfortunate, that. I was beginning to wonder whether Kaenig truly deserved the full damnation I’d wished upon him all those centuries ago.
Enough of that. Mercy for him would be a clean death. Let his soul find its way to where it belonged.
I took a bearing on where I was in the grey light, and scanned around the area into which I’d emerged. Nothing appeared untoward, though I maintained a certain level of paranoia about Kurrian. I spotted the rising smoke that emerged from the forge, and began making my way in that direction.
* * *
The Charspire, always present, seemed to dominate my attention as I walked. I felt as though it watched me – very likely my paranoia getting the best of me, but in this eldritch ruin where spells themselves occasionally took on a vicarious life, perhaps paranoia was simply a good survival instinct.
The Hellforge was actually an easier walk, as two broad avenues led directly to it, and one of them passed within a block or two of the crevasse I had climbed up out of. I took the left side of the street, and stayed close to the buildings there. A slight fall of ash was drifting down, looking for all the world like a quiet winter morning.
It wasn’t far down that road when I met…it. I don’t know what to call it, it seemed formless and never really gave me a name to call it. The ashes on the ground and drifting through the air formed in a kind of slow-moving dust devil (ironic, that term, no?) in the center of the street, and it drifted slowly in my direction. I held Crownfire ready, while unsheathing Riftspar. I held both pointed straight at the thing as it approached, and prepared to escape should it prove wise.
“Lower your weapons, Shadrim, you are in no danger from me,” the things voice was that of wind in the branches, but very clear.
“So you would say if you wanted an easy meal, I think,” I responded with a smirk.
It stopped and drew itself up taller, perhaps eight or nine feet tall and a third that width. It rotated slowly before me.
“Who are you, Shadrim?”
“Why does everyone ask me that here? What does it matter?”
“Who one is, is often more important than what one is.”
“Fine, you first. Who are you?”
“I watch. I watched you climb down, and then climb up. Did you visit the Pool?”
“Perhaps. Why?”
“You are not the first to do so.”
“I know that.”
“One recently did, as well. Know you him?”
“I did, once upon a time. Now, I cannot say.”
“If you visited the Pool, did it grant you a boon?”
“That’s a little personal.”
“I see no metal upon you. Perhaps it refused you.”
“Perhaps. Why?”
“You seek after the one who came before, do you not?”
“In a way I do, yes.”
“Then you may find him again.”
“I really fail to see why this is important.”
“He is important to me,” it actually sounded wistful now.
“How’s that?”
“He is…family, of a sort, though long since has his line to me been broken. Ages of eking out an existence in the darkness has ruined his soul.”
“And you are?”
“This is but a tool of vision. I use it to come to you, for I recall your earlier visit, many months past.”
“So if you recognize me, why is it important who I am?”
“Because of who you are.”
“Okay, who am I?”
“Only you can know that.”
“This is beginning to tire me. Answer directly, or do not answer at all.”
“Will you perform a service for me?”
“Depends on the nature of the service.”
“I wish you to carry a message.”
“That’s all?”
“Yes.”
“You couldn’t tell him this yourself when he was here?”
“No.”
“What is in it for me?”
“I offer a trade of information.”
“What kind of information?”
“Information that you will find very useful, if what I believe is true.”
“Remember that part about answering directly?”
“That was as direct as I wish to be.”
“Great. Okay, what’s the message?”
“Come home.”
“That’s all?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, fine.”
“You have my gratitude.”
“Yeah, great. Now what information are you talking about?”
“The one you seek now, he values unique materials upon which to work.”
“Boy, is he ever going to love me then.”
“You may find some such at the foot of the spire.”
“That narrows it down. Which spire?”
“My home.”
With that, the thing collapsed in upon itself, falling to the street in a small cloud of dust.
“I’m beginning to really not like this place.” I sheathed my weapons and straightened up.
Come home, it had said. Its home. Suddenly it was clear.
The Charspire. It had withstood the entire fall of Bael Turath. It stood today, and even was said to move on its own accord. The Barikdrals are in there, still. The last bastion of those who defied Asmodeus and brokered their own agreement with the denizens of the Abyss.
Perhaps in there, they were safe from the reach of the Lord of Hell.
Like nothing you can imagine, the voice within me said. Why do you think he goes out of his way to retrieve a soul of theirs from the home of his greatest enemy at such expense to him, simply to raise it up and dash it upon the rocks? Parading it in front of them as his little puppet? He cannot reach them, no, but he can still reward them for their treachery.
All the more reason to destroy him, I thought. Not that the opposition was any better. But I had no personal stake against them – yet.
I struck out in the direction of the Charspire.
When I’d been in the Cairn Jale, shortly before I left the ranks, we’d had false reports saying that it had fallen. When I learned more about the situation, it hadn’t fallen at all – it had been attacked, indeed, but fallen? No. In response to the attack, or perhaps precipitating it, it had bolted its doors and never opened again.
The pillar on which the Charspire is built, and the spire itself, is all of bone. True to its name, it is blackened as though it passed through a blast furnace – which, for all intents and purposes, I’m sure it has. The bones are purportedly all from a single dragon, though given the size of the tower, I find that claim somewhat dubious. Beneath it, dead gardens sprawl their lifeless walkways in a twisted parody of a royal palace, like the dead leaves of last year’s autumn revealed when the snow melts away.
It points to the sky, in reality perhaps half a mile in height (another reason to suspect bone isn’t its only construction, though with the proper enchantments I suppose bone would do), like a single finger reaching to touch the clouds. Whether that is a gesture at the heavens themselves or simply an outcome of its architecture I don’t think anyone but the original builders will ever know.
I found it easily enough – it isn’t as if it gets blocked from view by anything in this city’s ruins. The morning was early yet, and though my progress was slow, I did reach the courtyard around the base of the tower before the sun passed its apex. Standing there, it was hard not to be a little in awe of the thing. It really is big. Seeing it in the distance just doesn’t give you the sense of perspective you get from being at the base of it. Having it tower over you gives you a remarkable sense of vertigo, particularly when clouds are racing past it – or are parting around it.
I didn’t immediately see what the strange messenger was referring to while I walked around. The tower is held to its pillar, and that anchored to the ground, by great sinewy-looking columns that rise from the earth all around it. I wondered passively how deep underground they went, and what form of under-caverns might be connected to the tower.
The spire itself had no doors that were visible, only blank areas between the supporting columns that were glossy-smooth and black as the rest of the spire.
I finished my circuit of the base of it, and moved in to have a closer look. No tracks marred the ground near the spire, and I could see very little to indicate that it had ever suffered real weathering or damage of any kind. Strangely, it almost appeared grown, like some mutant weed reaching up from the earth. Against my better judgment, I reached out and touched fingertips to the smooth surface. They came away black. I wiped them off on my trouser leg, though the stain proved difficult to remove. Greasy, like the drip-pan of a cooking grill that hasn’t been touched in an age.
A thudding impact reached me through the ground – I heard it as well, though it was hard to place the source. Turning around, I saw three rods embedded in the ground some yards behind me, each about two inches in diameter and perhaps four feet in length. A forth object, a charred but otherwise intact bone, lay lengthwise on the ground a little ways further out. The bone was some three or four feet in length, and at its narrowest about three inches in diameter.
Unsubtle, that. I gripped one of the bars and pulled – to no avail. After a great deal of wrenching side-to-side, I did manage to get it free, and discovered that a good two feet in length had been submerged where it met the ground. I looked up, trying to determine where it had been dropped from. Nothing was immediately apparent.
I retrieved the other materials from the ground as well, and slung them over my shoulder. One of the bars was unmistakably mitrhil, its light weight and silvery surface easily spotted. The others were more difficult. I suspected one was adamantium, but I’ve never worked with exotic metals before and couldn’t be certain. The third I had no idea…it was coppery, but with a sheen beneath it, as though copper water had washed over a white metal of some kind.
I suppose this was fair payment for my proposed courier duty. Hefting them experimentally, I decided to rig a harness for them so as to sling them horizontally across my back. Tight alleys might prove problematic, but where I was going I didn’t think that would be a problem.
With a nod, I started back towards the plume of smoke, and made my way to the Hellforge.
Though the afternoon, I trudged through the streets, lugging the long rods of metal over my shoulders. They became surprisingly bulky and difficult after only a short while, and eventually I jokingly considered it might have been simpler just to build a wagon.
As with coming to the Charspire, making my way back towards the large avenue that led to the Hellforge was not much of a challenge – more a logistical event than a suspenseful one. I’ll spare you the details of navigating through the one small alley and the point where I tripped and face-planted on the cobblestones. Not my most graceful moment. I’ve looked cleaner in my life, I can safely say.
Eventually, though, in the midafternoon I found myself staring up at a mound of brick, carved stone, and ash, whose form was that of a stylized caldera. Even small channels (presumably for magma) ran down the sides, and smoke billowed up from beneath it. To the right, behind this conical structure, I could see a large pyramidal monument – I vaguely remembered it to be a storehouse for a great library. To the left the crater walls of the city arced down, almost meeting the forge’s base.
Where the road met the forge-house, a great gated entry stood, black iron chained and locked. House Zolfura’s emblems and sigils were carved into the iron practically anywhere they would fit. I could see through the gate to the other side, and rather than screw with the gate, I tried to rift my way through. I was rebuffed hard, bouncing off some form of repulsion and landing on my side. I sat for a moment, hands on my knees. I didn’t come all this way to be turned back by just a gate. I looked at the chains and the huge locking mechanism sealing the iron. No keyhole was evident, though it was obvious that the locks did move – they weren’t simply solid barriers.
After a moment of contemplation, a thought occurred to me – this structure was of Zolfura make, and they had been masters of the elements. It seemed worth a try, so I first tried a dose of fey-lined fire, and followed it up with a shower of ice shards. To my surprise, the gate responded, its iron bindings emitting a shower of black and brown dust as they shook free ancient rust and ash.
I stood for a moment with my hands out, reveling in having made at least one right call here on the first try. The gates swung wide before me, showing a dark maw leading deep into the large mound of the forge. I struggled my burden back onto my shoulders, and walked in.
In the dark it was particularly difficult for me to work my way around, and eventually I had to draw out my only magical torch (having used my remaining sunrod the night before) in order to see properly. The hall before me – for it did take on the look of artifice after a short distance – was magnificently worked. The stonework was glass-smooth granite, with statues every fifteen feet or so. Each was dressed in a ceremonial armor and held weapons of various sorts, from many-headed flails to wickedly-curved swords. They were all quite lovely, really. Quite a shame that they did not sit in view for more people to appreciate.
As I ranged deeper into the structure, I could begin to hear the sounds of a furnace ahead, and some form of yellow-red light ahead became evident. Once I had covered a bit of the distance the hallway opened out onto a broad balcony, overlooking a deep pit, inside of which were walkways and work areas that threaded themselves among several glowing channels of glowing fluid. Whether rock or metal I could not tell. Probably metal, given that this region was not prone to volcanism, but it was entirely possible that it could be anything.
Stairs led down into the pit, broad and elaborate, more like something one would find in a ballroom than a smithy. I descended them, each a lengthy step, but shallow. My feet made little noise, my boots being of soft leather, but I felt it best not to try to sound as though I did not belong. To appear to be sneaking in could be dangerously misconstrued if observed at the wrong moment.
Once at the bottom, I made my way to the center of the room, where a smithy of truly monstrous scale rested. An extremely large set of tools rested on a clean bench – the primary hammer probably weighed as much as I did, and its grip was at least as long as my leg. I truly felt dwarfed by these, and I wondered at the sort of talent that could churn out weapons balanced for the use of a man-sized creature using tools of that magnitude.
I laid down my burden, and stretched, hands at the small of my back. I heard the vertebra crack a few times, and sighed with satisfaction. Turning around, I surveyed the room.
And saw the smith, seated, on a large throne-like edifice carved into the wall beneath the balcony I’d arrived on. He was eyeing me, leaning forward with both hands on the handle of a mace as tall as I was, chin resting on his hands. The fire behind his eyes – and I mean fire, not just some figure of speech – lit up the knuckles of his fingers. He had horns of jet, probably four feet long each. He could be a minotaur with those features, though a magnificently huge one.
He stared at me levelly for at least five minutes while I regarded him. Somehow, running didn’t seem advisable.
“What is your name, Shadrim?” Again with the names.
“I am Azrael. You are the smith, I believe?”
He nodded, not lifting his head from his hands. Flicked a thumb at himself. “Rithzalgor. You are Ille Zolfura?”
I shook my head. “Ille Macreane. I am not Zolfura.”
“I suppose that is fortunate.” He still made no move.
“I do not understand, Rithzalgor.”
“Were you Zolfura, I would have to chain you to the walls, take your hands and feet, and feed them to you while trying to keep you alive for another year or three.”
“Then that is fortunate, for me, I suppose.”
He nodded again, still not raising his head. “They say I am insane, that these walls and the endless years have driven me beyond the realm of sanity with the boredom. Tell me, why are you here? Why risk coming to a place inhabited by an insane master smith?”
“I am convinced I can escape you if necessary, defeat you in time, and that insanity means very little where a superior devil is concerned. Above all, I wish your assistance, Rithzalgor.”
“Treading close to insult there, short-tail. Why would I give it?”
“Only respect is intended, Master Smith. In answer to your question: boredom, vengeance, challenge of skill, the kindness of your heart.” I grinned as I said this last.
The infernal finally stirred, and what I thought at first was a roar of anger turned into enormous, echoing laughter that filled the chamber, almost deafening me. This went on for a few minutes, which I deemed unwise to interrupt. “You talk a good game, Azrael Ille Macreane. I have not laughed since, oh, long before you were born.”
“You’d be surprised,” I offered.
“As might you. Tell me, what assistance do you seek?”
“I would like a weapon, Rithzalgor. I respectfully defer to your superior skill and knowledge, and wish to commission you a weapon the likes of which has been rarely made before.”
“Who do you wish to slay with this weapon, Shadrim? One does not commission Rithzalgor without great and specific need.” He set the mace aside and stood, his great tail unraveling behind him.
“I am hopeful that this will bear no insult, for none is intended, Master Smith, but I wish this weapon to be used against infernals of great caliber.” I braced myself to run.
His wings stretched out, their breadth was – dramatic. I was reminded of seeing Vargan Lightweaver, the magnitude of the creature was quite amazing, though amplified in these close quarters.
“So, a young rebel, are you? Wanting to take on the empire all by yourself?”
“Rebel is probably not the correct word, Master Smith, for the empire is no more. You have seen others such as me?”
He looked down. “Once in a while an upstart would seek me out, oft times simply to overthrow his house’s lord, now and then to take on the empire itself. Most I simply turned away, an occasional few I ate, and a rare one or two got what they wished for.”
“How are you kept aware of the goings-on outside?”
“I am not as isolated as the scions of Zolfura would believe. Though I am bound here, I do have…visitors.” He snapped his fingers, and a group of five devils appeared around him in bursts of spark, flame, and smoke. The tallest of them, a misshapen Malebranche, knelt before the Smith and rose to face me. “They bring me news of the outside, occasionally fetch me things I desire. They assist me here in many ways.”
“I see. So if my choices are to be turned away, eaten, or receive my request, I would choose the last of them.”
Rithzalgor chuckled. “Let me see what you have brought. Then we shall see what my decision will be.” He walked forward and reached down to take up the bars and bone I’d brought with me. “These are finely smelted, very pure,” he said this last as he held one close to his ear, tapping it with a claw.
“Where did you get these?” He looked down at me sharply. “Your kind hasn’t smelted this material in an age.”
“They were gifted to me,” I answered. “A messenger from Barikdral sent me to collect them from the Charspire.”
He turned to his retinue and waved in dismissal. They each vanished with a bow.
He turned back to me. “Who are you, Azrael Ille Macreane?”
“I am who I say, if that is your question. I don’t think it is, but I don’t quite understand your question, in truth.”
“The mistress of the Charspire gives nothing unless it benefits her. And since they locked themselves away, there are few things that can benefit her. And here you are, asking for a weapon with which to strike at my kind, to be made from materials given you by her, or a member of her family. This leaves me few conclusions, fewer still of a convenient nature.” He set the bar down, leaning it against the anvil with a gentleness that belied his enormous bulk. Picked up the bone and tested its weight.
Without looking at me, he said: “You are a harvester of souls, are you not?”
“I have made bargains of that sort, yes, and serve the exchanges thus established.”
“A tactful response, Shadrim. You understand that the one with whom you wish to tangle is also a bargainer of sorts? That He also channels soulstuff to his own ends?”
I shrugged. “I know little at this point. Only that I must see to it that my people have a free future.”
“Are these the only materials? The forge does run on souls, much as your own power does, you know. What have you brought with you to satisfy that? I cannot very well take yours, nothing would remain to wield the thing you ask of me.”
I drew the jug from my pack and offered it up to the great infernal. “I had hoped that this would prove useful in the construction.”
Rithzalgor unclasped the latch and held the jug up to his nose, sniffing. His eyes widened, the yellow light dancing across me.
“Now THAT is unique. I don’t think anyone has ever thought along these lines before. I’d been meaning to ask what happened to your eyes, but this explains it.” He picked up the rods in one hand, and gently laid the bone among them.
He set the jug down on the anvil. “I will do as you ask, Shadrim. Return to me in a month’s time. I should have your piece done by then.”
I bowed before him, and stepped back. “My thanks, Master Smith. I look forward to our next meeting.”
I turned and walked to the stairs. As my hand came to rest on the banister, his voice echoed out behind me.
“Shadrim,” he intoned.
I turned back to look. He was eyeing me over his shoulder.
“Bring me a barrel of your whiskey when you return.”
I nodded, and took my leave.
What had he been talking about? What was wrong with my eyes?
