by James Wyatt
SIGIL
The joy of the Chained God was a wild thing, fierce and manic, straining against the bounds of his prison. The merest hint of freedom, a whiff of possibility, filled him with savage delight. He could almost taste the annihilation of the world.
Through his mortal servant, he felt the power of the Living Gate. Even such a small piece of the crystal made the space between worlds thinner. In his servant’s hands, the fragment would open a window to his prison.
But the Chained God would not be able to escape through a window of that size. Even though his power filled the desolate universe that was his prison, he could only send a fraction of his might and majesty burrowing between worlds if the Living Gate opened the way. And the Progenitor would be the vehicle for that shard.
Like a wind that whips the sea’s waves into foam, he swept over the surface of the Progenitor, sending ripples and shivers through the liquid crystal. With a thought, he lifted a portion of its substance into a sphere that hovered in the void. Red and silver lightning sparked and crackled around it as the Chained God exerted his will, infusing it with a tiny portion of himself.
“We will soon be free.” The voice was his, and it was the whisper of the Progenitor. “Free to consume and destroy.” It was all around and it was distilled in the hovering orb. “Free to drown the world in blood.”
The ruins of Bael Turath had already proven dangerous—just a few hours earlier, Miri and Demas had come across a group of treasure hunters engaged in a fierce battle with a bone devil and its minions. Miri shook her head at the memory—the adventurers had fled while she and Demas fought the devils. Even the one Demas had saved from certain death had run off without a word of thanks.
Footsteps crunched on gravel somewhere close by in the ruins. Miri held up a hand to signal a stop.
“Someone’s coming,” she whispered.
“Yes,” Demas said. “Ioun has sent us aid.”
She turned and arched an eyebrow at him. His pale face was serene and confident—as always.
“A champion of Pelor and two companions,” Demas said. “They will help us find the Staff of Opening, if it’s not too late.”
“Ioun told you this?” Miri asked.
“Of course.”
Miri smiled. Demas was so enlightened in some ways, and so naive in others. He accepted Ioun’s gifts of prophecy without question, and apparently without even recognizing how unusual they were. “Shall I hail them, then?”
“Yes. His name is Brendis.”
Nowhere stopped in his tracks and gaped at the young woman who’d just emerged from the ruins, smiling, waving, and calling out to his paladin friend. He slowly turned and looked at Brendis. The paladin looked bewildered.
“You know this woman, Brendis?” Nowhere asked.
“Never seen her before in my life.” His eyes narrowed as he stared at the woman.
“She could be a devil,” Sherinna whispered. “Reading our minds to learn your name, ready to beguile and manipulate us all.”
“I don’t think she’s a devil,” Brendis muttered, absently touching the sun symbol of Pelor he wore at his chest.
Nowhere scoffed and found a position behind a crumbling wall where the woman—devil or half-elf or whatever she was—couldn’t see him. If she couldn’t see him, she probably couldn’t touch his mind, he figured, and he preferred to be out of sight when a fight broke out anyway.
He heard the woman walking closer, and another set of footsteps behind her.
“That’s far enough,” Brendis called. “Who are you?”
“My name is Miri,” the woman said.
“And I am Demascus, the Sword of the Gods.” His voice was loud and pure, as much the blast of a trumpet as it was the speech of a man.
“Demascus…” Brendis said.
Nowhere peered around the corner of the wall to see the paladin, whose brow was furrowed. His hand rested idly on the sunburst symbol of Pelor he wore around his neck, and he seemed deep in thought.
Finally Brendis looked up. “Have we met before?” he asked Demascus.
“We have not, but I am known to my confidants as Demas. The urging you are experiencing is the voice of Pelor. Heed it.”
Nowhere still couldn’t see the newcomers, but he watched Brendis bow his head, as if trying to hear a distant voice.
Sherinna stepped up beside the paladin. “We are in a city haunted by devils,” she said. “What assurance can you give that you are not beguiling fiends who read our thoughts and sap our wills?”
Nowhere slid his dagger from his belt in perfect silence and stared at the razor-sharp edge.
“I can give no such assurance,” the man said. “Devils are creatures of deception. There is no truth I can utter that a devil could not feign. You must trust your paladin’s heart if he can listen to the voice of truth whispering in his breast.”
Sherinna looked to Brendis, but the paladin’s eyes were closed, his hand clenched around his holy symbol.
Nowhere padded to the other end of the wall and peered around the corner, trying to get a good look at the man who called himself the “Sword of the Gods.”
Demas’s skin was an unearthly pale, except where it was marked with jagged tattoos of scarlet. He was tall and regal in his bearing, and as Nowhere watched he took a few graceful steps closer to Brendis and Sherinna. He carried a smooth golden staff, but a heavy greatsword hung sheathed on his back.
“What does Pelor tell you, Brendis?” Demas asked.
Brendis opened his eyes, but his brow remained furrowed and his speech was hesitant. “That you are indeed the Sword of the Gods,” he said. “That we share a common purpose in these ruins.” He shook his head. “And that you are chasing your doom.”
For the first time, Demas looked ruffled, and he shot a glance at Miri. “Speak no more of that,” he said. “Ioun has shown me the path I follow.”
Brendis regarded Demas for a moment more, then extended his hand. “I’m glad to find you in this godsforsaken place, friend.”
Demas clasped the paladin’s hand. “Not godsforsaken, paladin. You and I carry their presence with us, even here.”
“My companions,” Brendis said, nodding toward the eladrin. “Sherinna and… Where is he?”
“Behind that wall.” Demas turned and his gaze fell on Nowhere. There wasn’t an instant of searching in his gaze—he’d known exactly where the tiefling was before he even turned.
Nowhere stepped out from his hiding place, stunned. “How long did you know I was there?”
“Nothing hides from the searching gaze of Ioun, my friend.”
Miri, at least, seemed surprised at Nowhere’s sudden appearance. She started when he emerged from his hiding place, and her brow furrowed as she took in his horns, his jagged jawline, the reddish cast of his skin, and the long tail that snaked behind him. He scowled back at her, then turned it on Demas.
“Few call me friend until they’ve proven it,” he said. “The divine whispers that only you two can hear mean nothing to me.”
Miri wheeled on Sherinna. “You accuse us of being devils while keeping company with him? A devil walking in mortal flesh?”
Sherinna shrugged. “I neither know nor care what’s in his heart. He has proven himself reliable and trustworthy. I ask only for similar proof from you.”
Nowhere ignored the twinge in his chest that her words provoked. “I won’t stab you in the back unless you give me a reason to.”
“A reason or an excuse?” Miri asked.
Nowhere took a step toward the half-elf, clutching his dagger tightly. “That depends on how long you continue being an arrogant, self-righteous—”
“That’s enough, Nowhere.” Brendis interposed himself between him and Miri, putting a hand on the tiefling’s chest.
Nowhere batted his hand aside and turned away. “We have more important things to do,” he said. “If the gods want these two to help, let them help. But while we stand here arguing, those cultists are getting closer to o
pening the Living Gate.”
“Cultists?” Miri asked.
“The ungrateful wretches we helped earlier, no doubt,” Demas said.
Nowhere wheeled back to the newcomers. “You helped them?”
“We helped a group of treasure-hunters who were fighting a pack of devils. We didn’t know… . We still don’t know that they were the cultists you’re looking for.”
“Even with the aid of Ioun’s searching gaze?” Nowhere said.
“The important thing now is to find them,” Brendis said, giving Nowhere a stern look.
Demas nodded. “And keep them from claiming the Staff of Opening.” The self-proclaimed Sword of the Gods closed his eyes and turned away.
Nowhere slid his dagger into its sheath to make sure he didn’t slide it into Demas’s sanctimonious back. Miri and Brendis both had their eyes fixed on Demas as if they expected a divine pronouncement. Sherinna met Nowhere’s glance and rolled her eyes, smiling.
“Follow me,” Demas said, starting to walk back the way he’d come. Nowhere smiled despite himself as he fell into position.
Albric lifted the staff reverently from its cradle on the wall. He slid his dagger from its sheath and used it to cut the strings that suspended the reddish crystal in place at the head of the staff. Cradling it in his hands, he discarded the smooth length of yew, letting it clatter to the floor of the ancient alcove. His three acolytes started with surprise at the sudden racket, but he ignored them, gazing at the crystal.
He studied its complex facets and his broken reflection that stared back at him as his heart hammered in his chest. He held a fragment of the Living Gate, shattered at the dawn of time. More importantly, he held the key to freeing the Elder Elemental Eye, and the surge of joy in his chest was at least partly the fierce joy of his god, about to taste his first breath of freedom in countless ages.
“Now what?” Fargrim rumbled, wrenching Albric’s attention from the crystal.
Albric rose from his crouch to tower over the frowning dwarf, but Fargrim met his eyes without flinching. Albric toyed with the idea of cutting the dwarf’s throat right there—a quick slash of his dagger, faster than Fargrim could even see—but the ritual demanded more hands, not fewer. He fought down the violent impulse.
“Now,” Albric said, “we open a path to the City of Doors, where we’ll find a way to our destination.”
Fargrim crossed his arms, his scowl deepening. “Why not just open a portal directly to our destination?”
The urge to violence welled in Albric’s gut again, and this time he gave in to it. The Eye spoke through his urges, after all, and who was he to deny the will of the Eye? His dagger flashed out and cut across the dwarf’s throat. The scowl disappeared from Fargrim’s face as his eyes and mouth opened. He choked and tried to cough, spraying blood onto Albric and the crystal. Albric turned away in disgust, using the hem of his cloak to wipe the blood from the shard of the Living Gate.
He glared at Gharik and Haver, who were watching the dwarf die with undisguised horror on their faces. “Opening a portal to the howling wastes of Pandemonium is very difficult, especially in the absence of some object tied to the place. Opening a portal to the City of Doors is almost trivially simple—that’s why they call it the City of Doors. Any other questions?”
Gharik’s hand absently rubbed his own throat. He didn’t look at Albric, but Haver did, madness in his eyes.
“Victory to the Elder Elemental Eye!” Haver blurted.
“Victory and freedom,” Albric said. An echo of the Eye’s wild joy surged through his chest again, but it was tinged with a sense of urgency. “Now, the portal! Enemies approach.”
His two acolytes snapped into alertness, weapons in hand and feet ready to move. They took up positions on either side of the breach in the wall that Albric’s magic had opened in the midst of his waking dream. Albric turned to the wall where the staff had stood, closed his eyes in concentration, and drew in a deep breath. When he opened his eyes again, in place of the wall he saw the weave of space, closely knit into an infinite and immutable tapestry.
He lifted the fragment of the Living Gate and traced it in a large circle, scraping it over the stone wall. Where it passed it cut the threads of the tapestry, and he felt the shifting currents of air in the room as the space changed. The great circle complete, he began tracing more intricate symbols within it, and other threads were drawn in to the weave, strands of a different weave from a distant space.
Almost finished, he heard Gharik’s growl of warning but didn’t let it break his concentration. He formed the last symbols in the circle, blinked several times, and looked upon the streets of Sigil, the City of Doors.
“They’re coming,” Haver said.
“And we’re leaving.” Albric stepped through the portal without a glance back at his acolytes. They would follow, or they would die—it didn’t matter to him.
Miri stayed close to Demas, trying to ensure that nothing surprised him as he led them through the ruins, following Ioun’s inspiration. Brendis walked beside her in silence, a frown creasing his face. Each time she glanced aside at him, his eyes were fixed on Demas. What had his god told him about Demas? Ioun was the god of prophecy, but clearly Pelor had shown his paladin something of Demas’s future, something terrible.
She could tell that Demas knew it as well, and he was shielding her from it. The way he’d silenced Brendis had made that clear. That stung. Did he not trust her with the knowledge? Did he think she couldn’t handle it?
“In here,” Demas announced, coming to a stop in front of a crumbling building. “There are four of…” His brow furrowed for an instant. “No. There are three of them. But we must make haste.”
“How does he do that?” Brendis asked Miri as Demas turned back to the building.
“Do what?”
“It’s like Ioun is right beside him, carrying on a conversation only he can hear. Like all her wisdom and knowledge is right at hand for him. It’s amazing.”
Miri smiled. “Yes, it is.”
The tiefling stepped between Miri and Brendis to follow Demas into the building. “Didn’t he say something about haste?” he said, a wry smile on his brick-red face.
Brendis scowled and stepped through the open doorway behind Nowhere. Miri followed with a glance back at the wizard Sherinna, who glided along as though their little procession were a parade in her honor. Sherinna didn’t meet her gaze, and Miri suddenly felt very alone. She hurried to catch up with Demas before he reached the cultists.
Nowhere let her slip past him, and she reached Brendis’s side at the top of a short flight of stairs.
“Hold!” Demas’s voice echoed up from below, and a flash of brilliant light dazzled her eyes.
As one, Miri and Brendis hurtled down the stairs. Demas stood before a hole in the masonry wall, his staff lifted high, a nimbus of divine power surrounding him like a storm. Brendis pushed past him, and Miri saw him run through what looked like a circular hole in the opposite wall. On the other side of that hole, rather than more crumbling walls and dim chambers, she could see the bustling streets of an unfamiliar city. She looked at Demas.
“After them!” he urged. His free hand was outstretched toward the portal. “I can’t keep it open for long!”
Nowhere ran past them and followed Brendis through the portal, which Miri noticed was growing smaller as the city on the other side seemed to recede. Sherinna paused at Demas’s side.
“I can help,” the eladrin said, reaching her own hand toward the portal.
“The far end is moving,” Demas said. “Help me stabilize it.”
“What can I do?” Miri said.
“Go through, child. Find the others.”
“What about you?”
“We’ll be right behind you,” Sherinna said. “Hurry!”
Miri ran to the portal and stepped into a crowded street. She couldn’t see Brendis or Nowhere or the fleeing cultists. As she spun to look behind her, she saw only more city streets
winding off into the distance.
“Demas!” she shouted. People of every race, garbed in clothes and armor of every possible description, hurried past her in all directions, few even sparing her a glance.
“Demas! Sherinna!” she called again. She didn’t see them, and no one answered her call. Brendis and the tiefling must have been long gone. She was in the middle of the largest city she’d ever seen, and as far as she could tell, she was completely alone.
Haver kept looking over his shoulder as he followed Albric through the twisting streets of the City of Doors as if he expected the warriors who had chased them through the portal to appear at any moment. He accompanied his hurried steps with a constant stream of gloomy mumbling.
Albric frowned. The madness of the Elder Elemental Eye was a precious gift, leading to insight and inspiration, but some minds could not handle it. He suspected that Haver would soon degenerate into raving—but not, he hoped, before fulfilling his role in the ritual. After that, Haver’s sanity would cease to matter.
Escaping their pursuers had been easy enough. The portal had begun to close as soon as Albric stepped through. Gharik and Haver followed quickly and appeared nearby, warning of the adventurers hot on their heels. But by the time the first warrior came through, the end of the portal had already begun to slide away, depositing him a dozen yards down the street, easily avoided. The others, if they made it through at all, would have emerged even farther away.
Even so, the fact of their pursuit was troubling. It appeared that other forces were moving against the Eye, seeking to prevent what Albric was trying to accomplish and keep the Eye imprisoned. A jolt of fury surged through his chest at the thought. They would not stop him. The Eye would destroy them all, even the gods who had first cast him into his prison.
Albric stopped and leaned against a wall for a moment, closing his eyes and seeking insight from his master. His knees buckled as his mind drifted into dream, the Eye revealing in an instant what he needed to know. Gharik caught his arm and helped him find his feet.
