by Dave Gross
"He remains there unchallenged, endlessly summoning more forces, harboring cultists who infiltrate sites throughout Kyonin. They sacked Shevaroth and bent the temple of Calistria to their depraved rituals." Caladrel pointed an accusing finger at Kemeili. "Even then, the clergy of Iadara refused to support a counteroffensive."
"Don't speak to me of Shevaroth," said Kemeili. "True strength lies in patience. A ranger should know that."
Radovan pulled her by the arm and murmured, "Settle down, sweetheart. It's just a little difference of opinion."
"Perhaps to you," said Oparal. "With your fiendish blood, how are we to know where your loyalties fall?"
"What is it with you? I didn't do a damned thing—"
"Enough." How quickly the conversation had degenerated into a general melee. So much, I thought, for my hopes of clearing the distrust among my companions. "We will continue this conversation later. For now, wet clothes or dry, we must move farther from the site where the dragon spotted us. Apart from avoiding becoming her next prey, our purpose remains unchanged: to find Variel Morgethai."
An hour later, I regretted my decision about the wet clothes. Fortunately, we found the aqueducts both more expansive and far more interesting than I had previously imagined. Despite my efforts to record our path in my journal, I feared my impromptu map was hopelessly inaccurate. I would do no better until after I had rested.
The aqueduct ventilation system remained functional, so we risked a fire, laid out our damp clothing, and set a guard. After my turn to sleep, I performed the Thirty-Six Forms exercises alone. The calisthenics soothed my mind and body, but my soul remained restless. I felt we were close to finding Variel. I wondered whether he ever imagined seeing his son, and why he had not joined my mother in Cheliax. Was he ashamed of his half-breed child? Had he tired of my mother? None of my questions mattered unless I could find the man and demand the answers.
I surprised myself with an unconscious verbalization and realized my previously graceful gestures had become violent strikes. Oparal opened her eyes to look at me from where she sat meditating. I mouthed a silent apology and abandoned my exercise. Instead, I set to the task of replacing my riffle scrolls.
After everyone had time to recuperate, we continued our explorations. The towers of the northwestern sector aroused my curiosity. My hypothesis was that each was a center of learning dedicated to one of the eight classical schools of magic. My own arcane education had taken place in Korvosa, where the Acadamae maintains the tradition of separating students of each school in the hope of inspiring rivalry and, thereby, swifter innovation. That is the hope. The reality is somewhat more vicious and less productive.
Enticed as I was by the mysteries of the city's magic district, our goal remained locating Variel Morgethai. Judging by our rooftop survey of the city, the eastern manors seemed the most likely site for a resident druid. Unfortunately, they also seemed the most likely lair of the dragon. Of the city's other features, none seemed more likely to have drawn his attention than the prominent spires on their plinths in the city's central plaza. I directed our exploration of the aqueducts in that direction.
"Here," said Kemeili. She shone her light on a section of wall indistinguishable from the others. "Do you see?"
Radovan peered at the wall before turning to me and shaking his head.
"Of course," said Caladrel, approaching the wall. He knelt and blew on the floor, revealing ancient scratches in the stone.
"All right, now I see it," said Radovan. The three of them found the hidden seams of a concealed door. After a brief conference, Caladrel and Kemeili stepped back as Radovan tested a few spots with a needle-thin probe from a jacket pocket. A few moments later, he switched to a stronger probe and warned us all to step back.
"I don't feel any tricky stuff," he said. Standing to the side, he depressed a section of the wall. Immediately the borders of the portal became visible as a puff of air blew out the dust in the cracks. He pressed again, and the door receded half an inch before a hidden fulcrum allowed it to open toward us.
The warm breeze that washed into our passage smelled of fresh soil and plant growth. A barely distinguishable haze accompanied the gust, its earthy warmth reminding me of opening my greenhouse in winter. We peered down a gentle ramp, where the source of the mist was hidden behind a corner.
Kemeili made a Calistrian sign and said, "It's not poisonous."
Thus assured, I led the way down the ramp.
My impression of a hothouse intensified as we explored the corridor at the base of the ramp. The passage was a torus nearly twenty feet in diameter. A furrowed walkway rose above a pool in the floor. Water trickled down the mosaic walls to spill into runoff troughs on either side of the relatively narrow floor. Sunlight emanated from lenses at the base of cylinders disappearing into the ceiling. A few were dark, but most shone steadily.
"Sunlight," said Fimbulthicket, awe coloring his sepulchral voice.
I shared his wonderment. "I imagine those tubes are lined with some highly reflective material. They must lead to larger apertures on the surface. The dark ones must have collapsed or been overgrown."
"What is this place?" asked Oparal.
I was unprepared to speculate without further evidence. We followed the passage, pausing to study the mosaics. Composed of polished stones and glass, the images depicted elves performing a variety of activities: herbalists selecting plants, alchemists extracting the venom of giant centipedes, hunters stalking beasts both familiar and strange, druids healing the Fierani people with their Green magic, and geomancers conjuring crystal towers out of the bedrock. Fey creatures from fauns to gremlins accompanied the elves at many of their tasks. Some perched like familiars on the shoulders of elven scholars studying tablets.
We came to a short passage leading toward the city center. At its end stood a wide door covered in vines. They smelled fresh, as did the earth spilling from the foundation where they had rent the tiles.
"More Green magic?" I asked Fimbulthicket.
He touched the vines gently with the palm of his hand. "Yes, definitely." When they did not yield to pressure, he gripped one and pulled. It remained as rigid as an iron gate. "Variel has grown far more powerful. These vines are as hard as ironwood."
"How can you be sure Variel is the one who put these vines here?"
"It's his style," said Fimbulthicket. "Don't you recognize it?"
The almost imperceptible pattern in the plant-formed gate before us was the same as that of the sealed houses above. "I have no idea what his style—"
Epiphany struck. I had seen the design even before we reached this briar city. It was the signature pattern I had noticed in the dance floor in Iadara—and in the Red Carriage.
It was my father's signature.
"This is the sort of spell he must renew from time to time. We're close." He ran his fingertips across the hardened vines. "Very close indeed."
"Can you remove the barrier?"
He drew in a dubious hiss. "I can try, but the spells Variel used—"
"Behind the corner," whispered Caladrel, ushering the others toward the gate. He indicated the direction from which we had come. "Everyone, be ready to attack. Count, come with me please."
He led me forward rather than back, his bow in hand. "Our friends from outside have found us."
"Which friends?"
"Leucrottas, two of them judging from the sound of their hooves. I know you do not worship Calistria, but if you have any desire for revenge, now would be a good time to select a painful spell."
"We must capture one. The leucrottas may know the city's secrets."
He nodded, reaching for his quiver. At his unspoken thought, a tinted fletching placed itself into his fingers. He nocked a bulb-headed arrow to the string and stepped back into the gate alcove. "Let them see you. When they come, kill the one on the left. I will capture the other."
I selected a riffle scroll and waited. Soon I too heard the click of hooves on the floor. A pair of
badger-like heads appeared around the curving corridor, but the beasts stood as tall as stags. One lowered its head, an evil smile forming over its inhuman jaws.
"What have we here? Another elf?"
"A half-elf," said the monster's companion. They moved forward. "Look at its eyes. Its father must have been a gnome."
"I'm more interested in how it found its way in here," said the first leucrotta. It remained slightly behind its companion, wary of a trap. "It will tell us...eventually."
"Stay back," I warned them. My voice trembled in fear, most of it feigned. I could not forget the helpless agony of being dragged through the forest, arms pinned in the creatures' jaws.
My hand drifted to the pommel of the Shadowless Sword. At the sight of the weapon, the leucrotta stopped. It began to say something to its companion. I had to draw them closer.
I spun around and ran.
A clatter of hooves erupted behind me. After half a dozen steps, I whirled and unleashed the scroll I had readied. Four gray bolts of raw arcane energy shot forth. They struck the leucrotta in the breast and throat. The force knocked him against the outer wall, allowing his cautious companion to pass him.
Caladrel stepped out of hiding and unleashed his arrow. It struck the floor a good ten feet in front of the charging leucrotta. The bulb exploded in a mass of white-and-yellow fluid. The substance expanded so quickly that the creature never had a chance to veer away. It plunged its hooves into the tacky mess, crying out as its forelegs adhered to the floor. Its body jerked forward, sending its head and neck into more of the sticky trap.
Dazed but undeterred, the other leucrotta resumed its charge. I dropped the depleted scroll and reached for another as I drew my sword. The scroll would sweeten my aim, perfecting my stroke as I stepped aside and struck the beast's thick neck.
The monster charged past Caladrel, who ignored it in favor of shooting another gooey arrow at the trapped beast. A red blur flew from the alcove, sliding beneath the leucrotta's belly as a dagger sprouted from the beast's ear. Oparal's blazing sword struck down upon the monster's flanks as Arnisant leaped out to catch its hind leg. I stepped aside as momentum carried its carcass past me, dragging the tenacious wolfhound along in the slick wake of blood from its open belly.
Radovan jumped up, bloody blade in hand. He ran to the surviving leucrotta, which struggled to free itself from the goo. He rapped it on the head with the butt of his knife. "Sit still, Stinky, unless you want some of what we gave your buddy."
Our captive required another rap and a punch on the muzzle from Radovan before settling down to accept its captivity. Stifling my disappointment at the lost opportunity to demonstrate my flawless sword-strike, I kept the sword in hand as I approached the surviving leucrotta.
The magic of the Shadowless Sword revealed no illusion, but the very thought of its power reminded me of the paladin's earlier offer. "Oparal, would you be so good as to create your aura of truth?"
She spoke the prayer and said, "Done."
"And if this abomination dares to utter a lie, strike off his head."
"Gladly." She raised her sword high in an executioner's posture. I thought that a nice touch for intimidating the subject.
I returned my attention to our captive. "You called me 'another elf.' Are there others in this city?"
The monster growled its defiance until Arnisant returned the threat. Some bestial message passed between them, and the leucrotta yielded. "There is one, a druid. The dragon's pet."
"Who is he? What does he do?"
"He spends his days exploring the buildings and the chambers under the city. We had never been able to follow him here until you left the door open."
"Oops," said Radovan. "I'll be right back." He ran toward the secret portal. I trusted him not to close it without ensuring he knew how to open it from this side.
"Where does the elf reside?"
"In a big house on the eastern hills."
"How do you open the vine gates?"
"We don't. They part only for the druid."
"Then how do you leave and return through the dome?"
"He opens them when she grows bored," said the leucrotta. "Some of my kin always make a run for it. The dragon enjoys hunting them. She leaves their bodies on the thorns."
I glanced at Oparal, who nodded. "The abomination speaks the truth."
"We could tell," said Kemeili, "since it still has its head."
"Let me go," said the leucrotta. "There are dozens of us. My brothers were right behind us. Doubtless they have already devoured your friend. They will come—"
Oparal's sword fell like a final blade of Galt. The leucrotta's warm blood spattered my face. I stepped back and reached for the handkerchief in my sleeve.
"Why did you do that?!" cried Kemeili.
"The creature lied."
I blotted the blood from my mouth. "You could simply have informed us of that fact."
"But you said to execute him—"
"A ploy. A matter of intimidation." My mind reeled at her stupidity.
"You Forlorn—" Caladrel stopped himself from saying more.
My own anger wrestled with the desire for harmonious relations among these uncertain allies. I considered my words before speaking. "The fault is mine. I presumed too much on your unspoken understanding."
Radovan ran back to us, a sheen of sweat on his face. "What'd I miss?"
"Before we could finish questioning the leucrotta," said Kemeili, "Oparal chopped off its head."
Radovan started to laugh but stopped himself when he saw our bleak expressions. "Oops."
Chapter Fourteen
Six Spires
Radovan
The boss and Fimbulthicket called Kemeili over to help with the vine door. That left the rest of us to lug the guts away from the alcove.
Arni wanted to come with us, but I sent him back to the boss to keep his snout out of the gore. The magicians always get out of the dirty jobs. On the other hand, I have blades and picks in my pockets. The boss has a bag full of bat shit and dead spiders.
After dragging off the corpses, we saw Kemeili, Fimbulthicket, and the boss take turns calling on the power of Calistria, the Green, or arithmetic. It looked like it would take a while, so Caladrel, Oparal, and I took a stroll around the ring to make sure nothing else was going to sneak up on us.
The air was wet, and all the sunlight made the passage feel even roomier than it was. The art didn't hurt, either. We saw more murals of whole worlds, green and blue balls floating in a black sea. Others were diagrams that made no sense to me. Caladrel called them "star charts."
The elves spotted more hidden doors. Even when I knew where to expect the next one, I couldn't see them until Caladrel traced the edges under the water running over the outer wall. About a third of the circle was dry. I figured that part had to be under the clogged fountain outside.
Caladrel paused to kneel a few times in the dry area. I spotted the edge of a footprint in the dust.
"Fresh?"
"And frequent. They are harder to see where the spray dampens the floor, but here you can see the edges in the dust. They are from one person: an elven man, a trifle taller than me."
"You can tell he's an elf? Not a human?"
Caladrel nodded.
"How much money's in his purse?"
Caladrel smiled, but Oparal shook her head. She got the joke all right. She just disapproved of humor. Or maybe she didn't think I was funny.
"I'd been meaning to ask what happened with the unicorn after the fight. I guess you sent it packing, huh?"
Caladrel stared at her. "You saw it again?"
She nodded.
"Did it ...submit to you again?"
Oparal looked at the floor. I nodded for her.
"And you refused. Unbelievable."
Oparal set her jaw and walked past us. Caladrel looked at me. It was our turn to shake our heads at her.
Caladrel found the spot he was looking for and put his hand on the east side of t
he passageway. "He comes from this direction."
"Shall we open it?" said Oparal.
"Let's wait for the boss. He'll want to see this."
We counted six hidden doors on the outside wall and six alcoves on the inside. One other alcove was sealed up with vines like the first one. It didn't take a wizard to figure out that the two closed rooms were under the missing spires up top. I said as much to the elves. Caladrel nodded.
"What do they do?" said Oparal.
"I bet they do the magic that keeps people from finding this place. Maybe these two are broken."
"Or deactivated," said Caladrel.
I nodded. "Still, there's one thing I can't figure out."
"And that is?"
"How the hell you elves can spot a secret door twenty feet away but lose track of a whole damned city."
Caladrel shrugged again, but I didn't buy it. He knew something, and he knew I knew. "We've long suspected something was wrong in this part of the Fierani. The primary goal of the rangers is to track the movements of the demon horde. We leave the archaeology to scholars and druids, like your master's father."
I showed him my teeth at "master" and turned to Oparal.
"Don't look at me," she said. "As my kin are fond of reminding me, I grew up elsewhere and have never traveled widely in Kyonin."
"Much was lost in the retreat." Caladrel softened his tone, maybe picking up that he'd hit a nerve with his "master" crack. "When our people left here for Sovyrian, it was because we believed Golarion doomed after Earthfall."
"But you're always reminding the boss how you know the true history of the world. I just can't see how your scholars let something as big as a city slip out of a scroll somewhere."
"Perhaps Kemeili can tell you more." There was a hint in his tone, but I didn't trust it.
Neither did Oparal. She snorted. "A temple spy? The prostitute?"
"You underestimate her," said Caladrel. "Of the three stings, guile is the sharpest. The Calistrians are by turns as subtle as they are lewd or vengeful."
"I thought all you elves worshiped Calistria."
