City of Torment

by Bruce R Cordell

  Japheth considered, but before he could answer, the Lord of Bats motioned toward the exit and said, “Let’s talk in the grand study. This place is no longer to my taste.” The creature guffawed at his own pun, then brushed past Japheth and exited the room of his long confinement.

  The warlock followed the Lord of Bats down into the grand study, wondering if he was allowing the archfey too much autonomy.

  Neifion stood in the center of the ornamental chamber and stretched, grinning around with undisguised glee. “It’s good to see my collections again.”

  Japheth moved to a large overstuffed leather chair and threw himself down. He was exhausted. It was good to sit.

  The Lord of Bats snapped his fingers. Something in the wall shifted, and a wrinkled homunculus crawled out of a hole in the wainscoting. Neifion, his grin still intact, said, “Fetch me some real food!”

  The creature scampered off down the main stairs without a glance at Japheth. The skin on the warlock’s face tightened. Should he gainsay Neifion’s request? No. The oath Neifion swore didn’t prevent the creature from taking his own initiative. However, commanding the actions of his old servitors, which was a right Japheth retained, tread dangerously close to a freedom the warlock didn’t want to contemplate.

  Since he’d gained control of the castle and the Lord of Bats’s servitors, Japheth had refrained from calling upon many of the powers that were his due. He’d worried he might wake some resonance between Neifion and an old perquisite of his station powerful enough to shake the creature from his enchanted feast—or worse, from the poorly worded pact that had allowed Japheth to assume control of far more than the Lord of Bats ever meant to allow.

  But even if he hadn’t feared releasing the Lord of Bats by making free use of the creature’s resources, Japheth didn’t like to demand service of the homunculi too often. When he did so, he always felt guilty. Their origin was too ghastly.

  The little horrors were once humans, or eladrin maybe. Their sad appearance was what was left after the Lord of Bats slaked his soul and blood thirst on each. What remained was a dried-up husk of flesh and spirit, a wrinkled remnant whose mind retained only enough wit to follow the commands of the Lord of Bats and whose body hovered somewhere between life and necromantic animation. Japheth hadn’t delved into it closely enough to determine which was the case.

  Neifion glanced at Japheth, at Japheth’s cloak, then yelled down the stairs after the patter of tiny feet, “And bring me a suit from my wardrobe! The obsidian ensemble. Don’t forget the boots!”

  Japheth watched the Lord of Bats move around the chamber, waving his arms and stamping his legs as if to force feeling into them. The enchantment of the Feast Never Ending had kept Neifion preserved against death, obesity, and even the need for a toilet. Regardless, the creature probably was somewhat stiff after having been forced to sit for the last few years, despite his enchanted repast and his own supernatural vigor.

  Then an image of Anusha sleeping for tendays came to Japheth and he grimaced. Keeping the girl fed and healthy had required a magical working. Luckily, he’d hit on adapting an aspect of the Feast Never Ending that kept her alive so long as she slept. One more injustice he’d dealt Anusha. At least she wouldn’t perish of malnutrition.

  After that, he’d spent all his time trying to devise a ritual to free her mind. And now the girl was shorn from him, in Raidon’s hands.

  Would the half-elf look after her? Yes.

  The monk was a self-proclaimed hero. He’d appeared out of nowhere to help Anusha free Japheth and the others. Instead of fleeing in the face of almost certain death, like any common person, he’d helped them defeat Gethshemeth.

  But now Raidon was apparently working with Captain Thoster and Seren … and those two were likely to toss the girl aside if her care became inconvenient. Then again, perhaps they’d see that keeping her safe was a bargaining chip useful against him. Maybe they’d think they could trade her for the Dreamheart. To do so, they’d have to keep Anusha safe.

  Either way, a champion like Raidon would protect Anusha regardless of how the other two might use her to influence Japheth. Right?

  He uttered a silent plea to the uncaring gods that Anusha remain secure in his absence.

  An ornate device of golden metal squatting in one corner clicked and began to chime, pulling the warlock from his reverie.

  The Lord of Bats was still in the chamber. He was just shrugging into a stylishly cut black coat, one whose perfectly tailored lines screamed great expense. A homunculus stood to one side, still holding black gloves, a bloodred cravat, and a pair of supple leather boots.

  “Neifion,” the warlock said, “we need to travel down, below the world’s crust where no tunnels reach.”

  “The world? You want me to cross over to the other side?”

  Japheth nodded.

  The Lord of Bats cracked a rare smile of pleasure and said, “I think this new accommodation between us may work out after all.” He adjusted his cravat with hands the color of porcelain. Even when he’d possessed his full complement of power, the creature had a difficult time entering the world without an invitation.

  “Passing back into Toril is the least of our tasks. Do you know a way to travel as deeply below ground as I have indicated?”

  Neifion put a finger to his chin. “How did you arrive here still wearing the cloak? Even for one such as I, the skin must be left behind to serve as a bridge.”

  Some inner instinct warned Japheth against revealing the relic. “I utilized, ah, a ritual to provide extra energy. It was enough to pull the far end of the path along with me.”

  “Then use the same ritual again, maggot. You managed to travel all the way here with a single step. Shouldn’t be any harder to get anywhere else. And I think I would like to learn this ritual for myself. Sounds like an impressive bit of sorcery.” The pale creature in its black noble’s garb squinted at Japheth in a speculative fashion.

  The more he considered revealing his possession of the Dreamheart to the nearly free-willed Lord of Bats, the worse the idea sounded. He’d do so only if Neifion couldn’t provide some other method.

  Japheth finally replied, “I used up the components for that ritual, and I can’t procure more without months of searching. We are nearly out of time. I need a quicker option. Do you have any?”

  The Lord of Bats brushed some unseen piece of lint from his sleeves. “I know you’re lying to me, ‘ally,’ but let’s leave that for now. I know several other ways to travel, even through water or solid earth should it come to it. In my centuries of existence, many creatures have made pacts with me and yet owe me favors. I know one who will provide the kind of transport you desire.”

  “One we can ride safely wherever I direct?”

  “Nay, one who will lower us through dimensional barriers in an enchanted planar bell; a trek bell. A trek bell already in my collection. I used it when I sought out one of the fomorian courts, hoping to draw the malformed ones into a pact of mutual convenience.”

  “I don’t know what a trek bell is. Tell me.”

  “That doesn’t surprise me, given your atrophied wit. Follow me and you’ll find out,” said the Lord of Bats. He walked down the side hall plastered with faded tapestries.

  Japheth followed. A couple of homunculi fell in behind, but Japheth shooed them away. The Lord of Bats glanced back and frowned, but held his tongue.

  The warlock had ventured down the tapestried passage once after gaining control of the castle. The musty smell of the wall hangings had turned his stomach, and he abandoned his exploration after opening three or four doors onto rooms heaped with nameless detritus.

  Neifion marched to a door about halfway down the hall. It slammed open with the Lord of Bats’s merest touch, sending echoes down the corridor. He glanced back and nodded. “I keep many interesting things back here. Some quite lethal. It’s fortunate you never poked around back here without me. Heh. Fortunate for you, I mean.”

  Japheth followed the
archfey into a high chamber thick with the odor of mildew and old rot. Objects whose true shapes were shrouded beneath oilskin tarps cluttered the space.

  Neifion wound his way to the chamber’s far end, where a large article stood alone beneath a swath of fabric. With a showman’s flourish, Neifion whipped away the tarp.

  A dull iron bell stood on wooden blocks. It was immense. If actually a bell, it must have once swung in the belfry of a temple whose prayer call reverberated for miles. The warlock figured four or five people could easily fit up inside with room to spare.

  Runes with angular, harsh lines traced a spiraling path around the bell. The strange letters reminded the warlock of the Dwarvish script, but these seemed more primitive.

  “This is a trek bell. It will protect us in nearly any medium,” said the Lord of Bats. “And it can be lowered through earth and stone as easily as through water, or even through dimensional walls under certain circumstances.”

  “Hmm,” replied Japheth. “What about the clapper?”

  “It has none.”

  “Ah. How does one enter?”

  Neifion said, “It doesn’t surprise me a moron like you couldn’t figure that out. The entire bottom is open—it’s called a moon well. Means entrance and view port all in one. This trek bell has two chambers, each large enough for a couple of travelers of your size. Easily large enough to accommodate you and me, and perhaps a servitor or two.”

  Japheth kneeled by the bell and looked beneath, careful not to dislodge the wooden blocks. The bell’s bottom was wide open, save for a central bulwark dividing the open space in two. Each half chamber contained a curving seat, apparently for passengers. “Hmm.” He did not really understand how it could work.

  “You mentioned earlier,” said Japheth, allowing his hand to glide along the bell’s cool, smooth surface, “that you knew of an entity who would lower us in this?”

  Neifion flicked his arms in a manner reminiscent of a bat fluttering its wings. “Yes. Are we ready to depart?”

  “Nearly.” Japheth clapped his hands and concentrated.

  A flurry of winged forms swept into the chamber, followed by one of the homunculi he had chased away earlier. Apparently it hadn’t gone far. The warlock pointed at the wrinkled little man and said, “Prepare a pack for me that includes two tendays’ worth of dried food from the pantry. Make it a large pack with extra space. Don’t forget water!”

  The homunculus scurried off, but the bats continued to flit around the chamber.

  Neifion frowned. He didn’t like to be reminded who actually held the reins of power in Darroch Castle. Too bad, thought Japheth.

  They waited in silence. Neifion stared at Japheth, grinning with his needle-sharp teeth. The creature was happy to be free and would fight like the monster he was when it was time for Japheth to seat him again before the Feast Never Ending. Trying to imagine how he might accomplish that made the warlock’s stomach hurt. The Lord of Bats wouldn’t fall for the same trick twice, but it wouldn’t do to leave the creature free to plot. Perhaps he would have to slay Neifion. That would strip all of Japheth’s power … which wasn’t an option. As soon as Japheth lost his power and patron, his addiction to traveler’s dust would overwhelm him. If Japheth was to live, so must the Lord of Bats, even though the creature spent all his spare moments devising plans against the warlock.

  No wonder his stomach hurt.

  The homunculus returned to the chamber, hauling a large pack behind it. Japheth hoisted the pack and looked inside. The creature had done as he had asked. He sent the pack into his cloak.

  “I’m ready, Neifion. Get on with it.”

  The Lord of Bats’s grin stretched wider. He was a grotesque creature, Japheth reflected. Nightmarish. And of the fey, who were known to be duplicitous. If the Lord of Bats could twist his oath or shuck himself free of it completely, he would do so without compunction.

  Neifion burst into a chant, his voice melodious and heavy. “O divine servant, I summon you by virtue of the pacts sworn by your masters and by the divine knowledge given me through their intervention. I conjure you by the articles of those pacts, which mark and express the strictures you cannot ignore. I conjure you by the name Mapathious, your true name—that I, having pronounced it, and I, having secured the agreement of your masters, may summon you.”

  The warlock listened and watched.

  When Neifion fell silent, Japheth looked around. The homunculus crouched beneath the bell as if hiding. The bats he’d earlier summoned swirled one last time around the chamber and fled through the open door.

  Wind screamed through the chamber, and light burst from a point in the air two paces from the Lord of Bats. The point of brilliance swelled instantly, forming the shape of a large creature with wings of molten fire. It was humanoid, but only just. Porcelain white skin made its featureless face a mask, but for eyes the color of a glacier. The creature’s lower body trailed away into ethereal mist, but its torso and arms were protected by elaborate golden plate armor. A sword of quivering lava matching its wings was clutched in one hand.

  “An angel of exploration,” said Neifion. “It will serve me, for a time. Long enough to ferry us in the trek bell to our destination.”

  The creature flexed its wings, dripping sizzling gobbets of magma on the floor.

  “Will it answer to me?” inquired Japheth. He concentrated, looking for an answer to his own question. He sensed none of the lines of connection he usually was able to fumble for when accessing the Lord of Bats’s abilities.

  “You’ll not leave me behind so easily,” said Neifion. “The angel answers to me, and that is not a bargain I can alter. As we originally agreed, I will be accompanying you on your journey. I am your newly minted ally, and I want to personally help you achieve the success you so richly deserve.”

  “I’m sure.”

  “As your ally, I can do no less.”

  Japheth frowned. But he produced from his pouch the iron ring that contained a strand of Anusha’s hair. “This’ll help your angel find Xxiphu. The dream of her to whom it belongs is trapped there.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  The Year of the Secret (1396 DR)

  Green Siren docked in Veltalar, Aglarond

  Raidon sat, his back against the port rail with his legs folded, watching the wizard.

  Seren paced Green Siren’s deck. She paused, bent, and with quick strokes made a change to a sigil she’d chalked earlier. The alteration was too subtle for Raidon to tell any real difference. The sigil was just one of hundreds that, in sum, formed a wide circle of arcane script in the open area between the central masts.

  Seren scribed, Raidon watched, and every so often Thoster turned up with a vaguely worried expression. He heard Green Siren’s crew going about general repairs and, farther off, other ships on the dock being loaded and unloaded. The squealing cries of gulls were an omnipresent counterpoint.

  The monk knew the broad outline of Seren’s plan to enhance the ship; she said she could make it briefly able to travel the deeps. Something to do with creating the proper resonance between the ship, its crew, and the elemental creatures she hoped to summon.

  Raidon was content to watch, but Thoster kept popping up to pester the wizard. And … there he was again. The monk fixed the captain with a scowl, but the man failed to notice.

  “What’s that for?” said Thoster.

  Seren had replaced her chalk with an odiferous fish corpse. It was the gleamtail jack she’d retrieved from the pool on Gethshemeth’s isle. She bent, and with a wide stroke gave one of the sigils a greasy highlight.

  The captain said, “I doubt that’s sanitary.”

  Raidon considered asking Thoster to stop bothering Seren. She had things in hand and didn’t need distractions. Watching the woman eye each symbol critically before moving to the next, he decided to remain silent. If she were perturbed, she would tell Thoster to leave off herself. She wasn’t shy.

  He recalled his and Seren’s visit to Rose Keep and recogni
zed again he didn’t know much about the wizard. He wondered why she’d decided to renounce Thay …

  Raidon breathed out and tried once more to let go of worry and embrace his focus. He had a quest to fulfill. Nothing else really mattered.

  Seren rolled a scroll out on a barrelhead and fixed the ends down with ballast stones. The gleamtail jack had stained her white clothing with streaks of green and brown. He couldn’t recall ever seeing the woman’s garments so dirty before.

  The wizard noticed him looking, and with a wink and a whispered syllable, her gown was as unsoiled as ever.

  She said, “Don’t worry, Raidon. I’m usually clean as the driven snow.”

  “Ah … good to know.”

  “Hey,” said Thoster, “done?”

  “With the preparations. Now comes the incantation. Performing this part of the ritual will require another few hours, I think. It’s hard to say for certain.”

  “Hmm. Seems like the kind of thing you’d know with greater certainty,” said Thoster. “If you’re calling up some swarm of beasties from the Chaos, I think—”

  Seren said, “Captain, I’m adapting a rite meant for another purpose to our needs. I’ve already explained this is somewhat experimental.”

  The captain grunted. Then he said, “So you have. Sorry.” He doffed his hat and continued, “I promise not to trouble you again until you ask for help.”

  Seren said, “Thanks.” She placed the dead and ragged gleamtail jack in the center of the summoning circle.

  Thoster said, “Poor little fish. A sadder symbol to launch our epic voyage I can’t imagine.”

  Seren broke out laughing, and Thoster joined her. Raidon frowned.

  “So,” said Thoster, “since this ain’t been tried before, care to hazard a guess on what else to watch for?”

  The wizard said, “I’ll be calling into the realm where boundaries mean little and where gleamtail jacks school through the Chaos. I’m after the fish, but it’s possible something else could get caught up in the summoning—something more dangerous and hungry.”