“Do you see?” Emilian asked at one high plateau. He pointed out across the ice.
The friends peered and stared, studying the distant vista. They noted the glacial wall, but weren’t quite sure what they were looking for.
The dancers in the sky shivered and swirled as if offering their light to the search, and Zaknafein spied it first. “There, on the glacier,” he said. “Near the top, down there to the right.”
Catti-brie started to ask what he meant, but then she saw it, too. At first, she thought it just the wind-beaten and -created sculptures of the ice wall, but as she looked more closely, she realized it to be more than that, more than natural.
It was a castle, gigantic and intricate, cut against the glacial wall hundreds of feet from the ground and still hundreds of feet high.
Now that they had seen it, they couldn’t unsee it. It was many miles away, certainly, but so grandiose, so huge, that it mocked them even from afar.
“That is the castle of the frost giants,” Emilian explained. “Or it was, until the slaadi came. Now it is shared, and I doubt the frost giant jarl, whoever leads them now, has much command above their guests.”
“Have you ever been there?”
“I have,” said Galathae. “On two occasions. It is not a place we raid regularly, for the cost is always too high. Your friend Doum’wielle fell there when we went in pursuit of a raiding party that had captured several kurit.
“We didn’t rescue them,” the paladin added somberly, “and I was one of only a score who managed to escape.”
“We believe Doum’wielle to still be alive,” Catti-brie told her. “I felt it through the sword. She could still be there.”
“I don’t know if she is or not. We don’t go there unless we have no choice,” Galathae said. “If she is alive, it would be in the ice dungeons below. But down there looms the frozen death, the cante and the n’divi, the uninhabited and the overtaken, and in great numbers. Worse, even Qadeej will wage war on invaders in those depths. If Doum’wielle is alive there, she’s still as good as dead.”
“Cante and n’divi?” Catti-brie asked.
“The uninhabited and the . . . ” Galathae began.
“I know what the words mean, but what are they?”
“Living water, or ice,” explained the paladin. “The cante hunt for living beings to encompass and possess, though it is more than possession. Together, the cante and the victim become n’divi.”
“Well, that sounds lovely,” Catti-brie said, turning to Jarlaxle. She remembered the strange sensations she had known when seeking Doum’wielle with Khazid’hea.
“You said you’d go only if you have no choice. I don’t think we have a choice,” Jarlaxle said, ignoring her concern. “She is truly important to us, both in duty to her poor family and because she might hold the power to stop a war. As you went for yours . . .”
“I do not doubt your desire or intent,” Galathae assured him. “You will speak with the Siglig when we return to Callidae. Make your case there, but do not expect that any of the aevendrow, the kurit, or the oroks will accompany you beyond the entrance.”
“We only wanted to show you,” Azzudonna explained. “This vantage alone along our trail reveals the ice castle under the light of the Merry Dancers. You kept asking about your friend . . .”
Catti-brie look at Jarlaxle, then both turned to Zaknafein.
He understood and drew out Khazid’hea, handing it over to Catti-brie. The woman closed her eyes and held forth the sword, her grip loose.
The sword swayed like the lights above, its tip going true to point at the distant castle.
“I feel her,” Catti-brie whispered. “She is alive. I feel her.”
“Perhaps what you feel is one not truly alive,” Galathae said quietly.
“Either way, we must find out,” Jarlaxle said with conviction.
Chapter 24
The Siglig
“Mona Chess,” Ilina announced to the companions as they came to the end of the long, straight corridor, open to the night sky but still lined with multicolored faerie fire.
Stepping out behind her, Catti-brie was greeted by a sight very different from that of Scellobel, and she could only think of the first time she had looked upon Menzoberranzan for any type of comparison.
Ilina had told them that Mona Chess was a bit larger than Scellobel, but at first glance, it appeared much larger. Perhaps it was because this borough wasn’t split down the middle by a prow of stone. Perhaps it was the construction of the dwellings here, the whole of the borough punctuated by taller structures constructed of the magical blue and white ice, some reaching almost halfway up the towering glacial walls with their minarets and spires. All of the facades danced in waves of green and purple, reflections of the sky above, and still they were lined with faerie fire of all colors, accentuating the turrets and sweeping stairways, the columns and the decorated windows.
“So much like Menzoberranzan,” she said quietly.
“Or Silverymoon,” Jarlaxle added. “If you put the two together . . .”
“Mona Chess was originally the whole of Callidae,” Ilina explained. “The other boroughs were set for defense and as staging grounds for patrols, much as we use Cascatte today. Come, across the way is the Siglig. We are expected.”
Every side avenue they passed showed them more beauty. Every wall, every bridge had been sculpted with care, with myriad designs and perfect placement of highlighting magical light. The aevendrow greatly outnumbered the other peoples here in Mona Chess, which made sense since those not of drow heritage had come to the city later, and mostly, from what they had heard, few by few.
Soon after, the group turned down one wide lane, and Catti-brie didn’t have to ask which structure housed the assembly. For across the way, at the far end of the boulevard and cut into the glacial wall, loomed the most wondrous edifice of all, stately and huge, with wide stairs leading up its front to a landing set with gigantic columns, thick as a frost giant and twice as tall. Magical lights circled the columns, but in a way Catti-brie had never seen before. Rather than simply a line of faerie fire, these seemed more like rolling globes of varying colors, running up and around, up and around. Red, chased by orange, chased by yellow, chased by green, chased by blue, chased by indigo, chased by violet. Indeed, it seemed as if she were watching multicolored sprites at play, trying to form a true rainbow but never quite getting there.
It took her a long while to break her gaze from the enchanting displays, and she shook her head in embarrassment at first, until she understood that Ilina was patiently waiting for her and her three companions, who were similarly gawking.
“The Siglig,” Ilina told them. “The seat of government and the great library of the aevendrow.”
They moved down the lane and up the steps, pausing frequently to note the reliefs carved into the triangular facing of the roof supported by the six columns. Such a contrast in those panels. Some showed battle, with giants mostly, while others spoke of love and dance, a contrast so evident in Callidae.
The sublime and the profane, the joy and the struggle.
Like cazzcalci, Catti-brie thought, remembering the Boscaille army halting in the final battle even though it cost them any chance to even the score or perhaps claim victory, in order to lend their voices to the champion of their opponents.
Like Azzudonna herself, and all the other soldiers of the four armies, wearing the broken noses, the missing teeth, and all the other scars of that battle still, though the magic had returned and they could have become again such beautiful drow. Only the serious wounds inflicted in the four battles of cazzcalci had been treated by the priests.
They were people of love and joy and beauty in a land that demanded of them ferocity and strength.
The great doors of the Siglig were open, with guards standing to either side, silent and still as the columns, resplendent in purple waistcoats above the black sealskin clothing common about Callidae. Their polearms were of polished
wood, capped with blue ice three-way heads: pointed tip, axe presented forward, and hammer opposite.
The guards didn’t even turn their eyes as the five passed. Ilina led them into a maze of hallways and smaller chambers, all comfortably lit, the walls set with tapestries and paintings that evoked the same aesthetic as the panels on the roof facing outside. Multiple alcoves lined the hallways, every one set with a sculpture or a bust of a particular aevendrow or simply a posing figure, some naked, some scantily clad, some in regal arms and armament. There were kurit dwarves, too, and orcs, and the Ulutiun humans, all gathered in still and silent celebration.
Each of the friends, even Entreri, kept pausing to consider one or another of the artworks.
It occurred to Catti-brie that half of Luskan’s docks or all of Bleeding Vines could fit in this one building, but still, every bit of it, every inch of wall, every corner, every stairway or door they passed was carefully and lovingly designed, both functional and undeniably beautiful, provoking emotions and thoughtfulness.
At last they came to a large set of decorated double doors, flanked by a pair of guards attired and armed like those outside, and with two more aevendrow standing right before the doors, dressed fully in purple with silver trim, and each wearing a single white glove, on the left hand of the doorkeeper to the right and the right hand of the doorkeeper to the left.
They bowed as one and turned, each taking a doorknob in hand and drawing open the portal. They didn’t blink, they didn’t move beyond their prescribed ritual, they said nothing at all.
Until the companions passed them, when one whispered, “Perte miye Zaknafein.”
Caught by surprise, Catti-brie turned sharply, and the aevendrow flashed a wink and a smile, then became again his stoic self.
The chamber before them was the largest they had seen by far, and perfectly befitting the rest of this creation. Obviously this was the Siglig itself, the assembly for what they called the Temporal Convocation. The room was rectangular, except that the far wall opposite the doors was concave, curving about in a semicircle around a raised platform. Bench seats escalated up that curving facade, and there milled scores of aevendrow, and a fair number of the other three peoples of Callidae as well. It took Catti-brie just a moment to make sense of the sashes each wore, for they reflected the colors she had seen at cazzcalci for the armies of the four boroughs, and though the representatives were not separated into distinct groups, she soon discerned that the numbers of each color were an appropriate ratio to the number of the cazzcalci onlookers, thus the population of each respective borough.
On the center dais stood Mona Valrissa Zhamboule in her grand robes, flanked by two of the inquisitors who had spoken with the companions when they had first arrived in Scellobel, with the third of the trio, Galathae, standing before the dais on the main floor.
Galathae turned as the five entered, and pointed toward chairs of blue ice set on the floor several strides out before the dais.
Ilina led the companions to them and took a seat on one end, motioning for the others to sit.
As soon as they did, Mona Valrissa clapped her hands sharply three times, calling the Temporal Convocation to order, and the representatives all found seats along the multiple levels of the arena.
“Welcome to the Siglig,” Mona Valrissa told them. “And our assembly, the Temporal Convocation. Holy Galathae, whom you know, will speak for this bench and this gallery, but let me first assure you that this is not an inquisition, nor a trial of any sort. All who happen upon Callidae must come here to speak before us. It is a necessary formality and an open discussion of your coming choices, nothing more.
“And be assured that we are well aware of your actions during your time here, and your assistance. This congress is grateful to you for directing our warriors to the hatchery of the slaadi, and impressed that you chose to lead the way into battle. Your exploits have not gone unnoticed.” She paused and smiled warmly at them, and Catti-brie thought it sincere.
“Holy Galathae,” Mona Valrissa prompted.
“I trust you are all rested from our great expedition,” the paladin began. “Your single transgression in not telling us of your encounter with the giants and the slaadi is understood and excused, as you have more than corrected the issue.
“And so I must echo the words of Mona Valrissa: this is no inquisition. I do not expect that you are surprised by our caution here in Callidae, or ignorant of the purpose of this meeting. I will guide you through this assembly. Mona Valrissa might take the floor, as others might be recognized by her if there is a pressing matter they wish to inquire of you, but please rest assured that you are not among enemies here, nor judges. None in attendance may speak without the recognition of Mona Valrissa except for me and for you. Any questions, any additions, anything at all you feel should be said, please—”
“I understand,” Artemis Entreri interrupted.
Catti-brie and the others turned abruptly to regard the man, whom they all expected would be the least likely of the group to jump in. But Catti-brie figured it out as Entreri went on, realizing that his somewhat rude interruption of Galathae was done more to measure the reaction of the gathering than because his thoughts could not wait. Also, the first remark in such a setting was always the hardest to voice, she knew. Entreri had just broken that emotional spell of silence for all of them in this intimidating place, whether intentionally or not. For that, Catti-brie was grateful to him.
“I understand the purpose, I mean,” he went on. “This is akin to the geas my companion Catti-brie accepted from you, a continuation of that which you deem necessary for the security of Callidae. We may leave, but on your terms alone.”
Galathae nodded. None in the audience gasped or seemed surprised, or annoyed at all by Entreri’s interruption, Catti-brie noted. A good sign.
“The choice we must soon put to you is straightforward,” Galathae explained, “and yet not. You are welcome to remain here, to choose a borough all together as one household, or individually, or in any combination you decide, in which to make your home or homes. In short time, perhaps as early as Conception Verdant, the vernal sunrise, you will be acclaimed as full Callidaeans, with all rights of voice here in the Siglig, with all opportunities to become as you will and as you can achieve, in trade, in art, in battle, or in governance.”
She paused and offered the four a little smile. “I hope that will prove your course.”
“And if we do not?” Entreri pressed, rather brusquely.
He’s pushing too hard, Catti-brie thought, given the generosity of their hosts. And yet, she wanted to know the answer to that, too.
“Then you will leave,” Mona Valrissa replied before Galathae could. “When you decide, and when you are able. The winter draws deeper. The cold and snows will not relent. Beyond this place is cold death, I warn.” She looked directly at Catti-brie and added, “Unless, of course, you have a magical journey prepared.
“But this should be the discussion at the end of our session, not the beginning,” Mona Valrissa decided. “We have other matters to attend before you make such a choice. There is no urgency here, in any case. You may wander the ways of Callidae freely through the coming hours and tendays, with but one condition that we must place upon you.”
“A continuation of the magic-muting geas,” Catti-brie stated. “I accept, and assure you that I alone among my party can perform the evacuation magic, or whisper across the distances.”
Mona Valrissa and Galathae exchanged looks, then the mona nodded.
“Distant whispers?” Jarlaxle asked Catti-brie. “Messages to the south?”
She nodded, not quite understanding his eagerness here.
The mercenary reached for a chain around his neck and produced a small ornament hanging upon it. “A whistle,” he explained to the assembly. “A whistle with which I can sometimes call to a faraway friend.”
He pulled it over his head and handed it to Ilina, who seemed pleased. They all seemed pleased.
/> “I did not know,” Catti-brie apologized, side-gazing at the ever-surprising rogue, and to Galathae, she added slyly, “You should inquire more deeply with this one, as he is ever the clever fellow.”
“Not so clever,” Mona Valrissa said, and she turned to the man at her left, the inquisitor from Scellobel, who reached for a chain on his own neck and produced a whistle remarkably similar—indeed physically identical—to the one Jarlaxle had just handed over.
“The one we gave back to you would have only called a mukteff,” Mona Valrissa assured Jarlaxle, who laughed in reply, as did most of the assembly.
The rogue stood up from his chair and bowed low, sweeping his hat.
“He wouldn’t make that particular gesture if he knew what it meant up here in Callidae,” Ilina whispered to Catti-brie. “Not adding the hat sweep, at least.”
Catti-brie eyed her curiously and the aevendrow priestess whispered in her ear, “I’ll tell you later,” in a very salacious tone.
Catti-brie figured in that moment that they’d never get Jarlaxle out of this place, and that, yes, he probably would have made the inviting bow in an even more exaggerated form if he knew the customs!
“And the rest of our gear?” Jarlaxle politely asked.
The mona offered the floor to the male inquisitor, who stood up.
“You’ll find that everything else is as it was. This whistle is the only thing we withheld,” he replied. “We do not understand the magic of it, other than that it is used to communicate across the miles. You understand, I hope, that we had to be certain, given our vulnerable situation here.”
“I have witnessed cazzcalci, and now the fight at the caves,” Jarlaxle replied. “‘Vulnerable’ is not a label I would affix to Callidae.”
“We have learned to defend ourselves, yes, but we are few in number compared to those that might come against us,” Galathae said, motioning for the inquisitor to sit back down, which he did. “We are not ignorant of the southland. We know of Silverymoon, of Cormyr, of Baldur’s Gate and of great Waterdeep. We know, too, of the southernmost reaches, of Calimport. If all of Callidae moved to mighty Calimport, the people there would hardly realize the addition.”
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