City of Torment

by Bruce R Cordell

  “What are the chances of that happening?” Raidon said.

  “Small. But real,” Seren said. “When I near the end of the ritual, it wouldn’t hurt for us to be on our guard.”

  “Should I cast off, then?” said Thoster

  Seren considered. “Yes. When I finish performing the ritual, the gleamtails appearing through the portal could draw quite a crowd. I don’t relish such attention.”

  The captain said, “I can’t imagine anything better!” Then he shouted to his crew, “Listen up, you miserable sacks! Cast off! Take us out of port. Take a heading due west until I tell you different!”

  Sailors jumped at Thoster’s voice. Even before he was done speaking, men and women began preparations to disembark. Activity swarmed the deck.

  Raidon paid the bustling crew no attention; he closed his eyes and meditated. When he was able to force all thoughts from his head, he could achieve a singularly peaceful—

  A voice from the dock broke into his blank sanctuary. “Hold, Green Siren! You’re not cleared to depart!”

  Raidon opened his eyes. A small force of soldiers was assembled at the end of the gangplank. He didn’t know how long they’d been there.

  The captain, who had made his way some distance down the deck, turned and yelled, “What’re you going on about? We paid the docking fee!”

  A man with a dagger naked in his hand stepped forward. He wore black leather armor and a red face mask. His eyes glittered with winter ice. He said, “I’m not the dockmaster—my name is Morgenthel. You are sheltering a criminal. Thay has ordered her repatriation so she can face her crimes. Her name is Seren Juramot!” He pointed at the wizard. “Send her across!”

  Seren said to no one in particular, “Dhenna Shavres, you bitch.”

  Raidon flexed his hands and stretched his legs.

  Thoster yelled, “A criminal? I’m surprised Aglarond would take Thay’s side in anything.”

  “I am not of Aglarond. I am collecting a bounty set by the regent.”

  Seren put a hand to her mouth.

  Raidon said, “She’s not going anywhere. Seren forswore Thay. She’s—”

  Morgenthel interrupted, “Wrong! Seren didn’t forswear Thay. The opposite. She made the smart move; she proclaimed Szass Tam her regent.”

  Raidon, Thoster, and several nearby crew members glanced at the wizard.

  Seren tried to meet Raidon’s gaze. “I …”

  The man in the red face mask continued, “She can’t deny it. Truth is, to demonstrate her loyalty to the new regime, she pledged the Raven’s Bluff Red Wizard enclave’s treasury to Szass Tam’s war coffers!”

  Thoster said, “Seren’s worked on Green Siren for mercenary pay at least a year. I’m certain she ain’t got a treasury tucked away anywhere. You sure you got your facts straight?”

  Morgenthel nodded. “It’s her. She retrieved the treasury, but she never brought it to Thay. A failure that rose to Szass Tam’s attention. Not a healthy status to attain. He declared her a traitor and put a price on her head.”

  Seren said, “It wasn’t my fault! I secured the hoard; I was on my way. But think, Morgenthel! I was waylaid by the Year of Blue Fire just like everyone else. I lost the treasury and, for a time, even my magic! It’s not my fault!”

  Morgenthel shrugged. “None of that really matters, does it? A bounty’s been placed on you, and I’m here to collect you, alive or dead. The regent can interrogate your corpse if you don’t come willingly.”

  Raidon wondered if the wizard was so desperate for treasure because she needed it to make amends with Thay. Whatever the truth, it was interfering with his own need. He didn’t want messy complications. He expanded his chest to accommodate a slow, deep breath.

  The monk said, “She’s not coming with you. Seren is in my employ. When we finish our task, Seren’s reward will be a treasure perhaps twice as large as she lost. Enough to pay off the price on her head.”

  Morgenthel snickered. “Do you really think that matters?”

  Seren said, “Enough!” She pulled her wand. It spat green flames across the railing at the bounty hunter.

  Morgenthel raised the dagger in his hand. The flame veered and caught on the dagger’s tip. There, it spat and burned, caught like an animal brought up short by its leash. He yelled to his force, “Take the ship!”

  People in leather armor surged up the gangplank, though the gangway’s width only allowed two at a time.

  “Cast off!” Thoster bellowed and unsheathed his golemwork sword. He slashed one of the thick hawser tie-downs holding the ship at dock. His crew rushed to emulate their captain.

  Raidon stepped to the head of the plank to meet the boarders. He felt energy unfurling through his body, anticipating the contest.

  The first two down the plank wielded hatchets. One charged him; the other threw her hatchet before closing.

  The monk knocked the spinning hatchet out of the air with a slapping parry. The other axe, still clutched in its attacker’s hand, he sidestepped. Even as the strike whistled past his shoulder, he swung one arm around and caught the wrist holding the weapon. He twisted the man’s wrist and pulled it simultaneously. The man gasped and the hatchet fell free.

  Raidon kept his grip on the wrist and held it just so; bones cracked. Then he shoved on the limb, keeping it rigidly twisted as he pushed. The man tripped backward, screaming in pain at his now loosely flopping arm, and slammed into the boarder immediately behind him. Both fell, one into the water.

  Seren brandished her wand again. This time she ignored Morgenthel. A miniature ice storm erupted across the gangplank. The angled path became a winter slide. With cries of dismay, a quarter of the attacking force slid off either side and down the icy slope.

  The bounty hunter’s confident visage melted into a glower of hate. He yelled, “Take them!”

  The majority of the boarders managed to keep their feet on the ice-slicked plank. They scrambled forward. Raidon’s roundhouse kick broke the first one’s ribs even as it propelled him diagonally into the water. The second attacker, wielding a chain, spun and released.

  The half-elf dipped his head back just enough to avoid the iron ball at the chain’s end, then cut forward inside the radius of the swing. Before the chain wielder could whip the chain around a second time, Raidon stomped his instep, kneed him in the groin, and punched him in the throat. The fellow crumpled, losing his grip on his chain, which sailed backward toward the dock.

  The plank shuddered, sending three more attackers into the bay. The monk retreated to solid ship decking. With a rending shriek, the gangplank suddenly ripped free of its pier mooring. Those closest to the dock leaped back to safety, but the remaining would-be boarders fell into the chop.

  Green Siren had caught some wind in its deployed sails and was heading out of dock. A cheer leaped from the mouths of the crew. Thoster grinned and raised his sword.

  Raidon watched Morgenthel. The man was livid. He yelled across the widening gap, “I’ll find you again!” He raised his dagger, on which green fire still glimmered, and pointed it at Seren. “I have your scent!”

  Seren’s eyes narrowed with concern. But she raised her chin. “The regent doesn’t accept failure from his underlings, Morgenthel, no matter how insignificant they are in his hierarchy. I’m proof of that. This marks your first failure. How many more before he replaces you?”

  She sniffed and turned away.

  Raidon stayed on deck. He watched the furious bounty hunter and Veltalar slowly recede as Green Siren sailed west.

  The man’s revelation concerning Seren disturbed Raidon. She hadn’t been forthright with him. He couldn’t do anything about it now; he didn’t want to take the time trying to replace her with a spellcaster shadowed with less history and fewer enemies. Also, Seren had a strategy for reaching Xxiphu. How many wizards could do the same, especially given how many had lost their spells altogether? There was nothing for it but to move ahead with the plan.

  Besides, if they reached Xx
iphu, Seren’s history wouldn’t matter. In Raidon’s estimation, neither she, nor he, nor anyone aboard Green Siren was likely to survive the trip.

  CHAPTER TEN

  The Year of the Secret (1396 DR)

  Xxiphu

  The women walked away from the luminous face of trapped dreams. They pressed forward into a darkness that settled on them like layers of weightless black gauze.

  Anusha gripped Yeva’s shoulder. The metal of the woman’s pauldrons bit her palm with a chill sting.

  “Do you know where you’re going?” Anusha asked.

  “No,” Yeva retuned. “We walk until we find the far wall. Then we trace it around until we find the exit.”

  They continued forward through a gloom whose depths seemed more unfathomable with every step.

  The woman she’d liberated from the ice dressed oddly, more so than anyone she’d previously known. At that thought, Anusha realized her own dream form was wearing the party gown she apparently unconsciously preferred.

  Anusha imagined herself wearing the golden dream armor she had mentally fashioned to face down the watery hag aboard Green Siren. The smooth tumble of her gown stiffened, becoming steel hard. Solidity flowed across her body, encasing her in a firm shell of protection. She flexed her gauntlets, articulated with flawless joints. She was fitted in her golden panoply, a suit of armor that enjoyed, she imagined, breathtaking strength and beauty.

  Anusha raised her free hand and called for her sword. Light burst upon them, glowing from the slender blade. Its shape was the same as the one hanging over the fireplace in the great room of her family estate. In life, it was too heavy for her to wield. In her dream, she raised it as easily as a switch of hazel.

  Yeva said, “Light! Why didn’t you summon that earlier? And I see you’ve changed your likeness …”

  Anusha asked, “Do you like it?”

  Yeva laughed in her curt manner, then grew serious. “Your dream is stronger than mere fancy, I sense. What is the secret of your power, Anusha?”

  Anusha said, “If I knew that, perhaps I could figure out how to get us out of here.” Her thoughts darted to Japheth, and how he’d tried to pull her free. And failed. She knew his game, and it offered her nothing except her current circumstance. She wouldn’t let her guard down again, regardless of his charm. And good looks. She frowned and tried to shove thoughts of Japheth from her mind.

  They walked on in silence. Even their footsteps made no sound. Because we’re not really here, of course, Anusha thought.

  Then her sword’s light revealed a wall. It was carved from obsidian, obsidian that was not merely glassy black but stained with reflective hues of red, brown, gray, and green. The wall receded to the left and right, and upward.

  “Which way?” said Anusha.

  Yeva trudged right. Anusha kept pace.

  They walked along the slightly curved wall for some time, though it was probably much shorter than it seemed. Suddenly the mottled woman stopped and said, “By Diomar’s Black Ring. We’re walking in circles!”

  “What?”

  “This is the second time we’ve passed here. See how the red splotch on this outcrop makes a shape like a tree? I noted it last time we passed—it reminded me of an old shadowtop. And here it is again.” The woman traced the line of color on the wall. Anusha saw that the pattern in the stone resembled a sprawling, shadowtop tree.

  A new thought came to Anusha. She slapped her forehead. “Why are we letting a simple wall stop us? We’ve no bodies to be trapped!”

  Anusha made as if to walk into the glassy surface, but Yeva grabbed her armored arm.

  “Wait! What are you doing?”

  Anusha smiled and said, “We’re dreams, Yeva. We can pass through doors and walls as easily as thinking about it.”

  Yeva gave a half shake of her head but said, “I suppose that must be true. But isn’t it dangerous? What if the wall is like the ice?”

  Anusha paused. She said, “I don’t get that feeling. Nor do I see any shapes of people stuck inside …”

  Yeva took a deep breath and slowly nodded.

  Anusha grabbed the woman’s hand. “Don’t worry. We’ll go through together.”

  They walked into the opaque obsidian. She pushed through what felt like the filmiest of veils, drawing her companion behind her.

  After just three paces, they were through.

  There was no ground beyond the wall, and Anusha fell. She screamed despite herself. She released her hold on Yeva and her sword, scrabbling for purchase on the surface from which she’d just emerged. That turned out to be as easy as wishing it—Anusha immediately stopped sliding.

  Yeva popped out of the wall and reacted similarly, though she didn’t scream. Anusha had collected herselfjust enough to reach out and snag one of Yeva’s flailing wrists before the woman dropped away. She yelled, “Grab onto the wall! It will hold you if you believe it can!”

  Yeva slapped her other hand to the slick, obsidian surface. Whether because of her own force of will or Anusha’s, the woman stopped sliding.

  Anusha’s shining sword was gone, but it would return if she imagined it. However, the area was illuminated by a dim, directionless light.

  Open air stretched away around them. Grinding, scraping noises echoed through it, and after a moment, Anusha saw their source.

  Long stone spans arched out across the area, many apparently extending from above. As each span curved outward, its diameter narrowed. A sphere hung at the end of each stone beam, attached by some sort of elaborate harness. Some spheres were large as houses. Most of the largest orbs sprouted smaller stone arms of their own, to which much smaller spheres were attached. Each globe seemed carved of a different material, some stony, others metallic. The golden sphere not more than a hundred feet from them looked like yellow calcite, while its smaller moon looked like sandstone. More distant spheres had textures and hues reminiscent of jasper, silver, and other minerals and metals.

  “It moves!” Yeva exclaimed.

  Anusha saw the woman spoke true. The great arms advanced slowly, ponderously, but noticeably around the immense space, transcribing great circles. The smaller stone spans protruding from the largest spheres visibly spun so that the least orbs nearly whipped around the larger ones like … moons, in truth.

  Encompassing the entire vast space were walls that extended from a pit of darkness below up to more indefinite gloom high above. The walls were illuminated by huge patches of what Anusha guessed might be mold that glowed pale and icy.

  She looked at the obsidian surface they’d emerged from. It curved away in all directions.

  “We’re on a sphere too,” Anusha said. “The largest, around which all these others spin.”

  They watched the stately rotation of the great mechanism. They were like flies on a waterwheel, and just as ignorant of its function.

  Yeva said, “It seems like a god’s orrery. But it doesn’t track the motions of any stars or heavenly bodies I’m familiar with.”

  “An orrery? What’s that?” Anusha asked.

  “It is … an apparatus that shows the positions and motions of objects in the night sky, usually through clever wheelwork, though I’ve seen versions that move through magical or psionic impetus. But this one … This orrery dwarfs all others I’ve witnessed or heard tell of. And by the random way the arms of this mechanism rotate, I almost suspect they do not correspond to heavenly shapes at all.”

  “Mmm,” responded Anusha. She’d never spent much time studying the points of light in the night sky, other than to remark from time to time on the beauty of Selune’s Tears.

  “Look at that,” Anusha said, pointing. One of the orbs, this one bluish red, wobbled violently. As she watched, her mouth falling open in surprise, three stone arms sprouted from the orb’s elaborate harness. The new-birthed stone spans reached outward like plant seedlings nuzzling up from the soil, but far more quickly. As the stone lengths unfurled, a “fruit” swelled and ripened at the end of each, fiery red at
first, but cooling even as growth ceased. Newly minted globes began to rotate around the larger sphere, each on its own connecting arm. One seemed mottled quartz, the other two dull copper.

  “What’s that?” said Yeva.

  Wormlike glyphs crawled across the newborn orbs, then faded to invisibility.

  Anusha said, “Writing of some kind?” She turned her gaze from the echoing spectacle to Yeva.

  The woman’s yellowish skin was noticeably paler. She gave a sharp nod. “I saw it. The glyphs were of a script that seemed familiar, but they faded before I could read them. But I think—”

  A screech ripped through the chamber, jerking their attention toward the ceiling.

  Three unsupported shapes materialized from the gulf of darkness enshrouding the air overhead. Anusha immediately saw the newcomers were not birds—they were too squat and lacked wings.

  As the objects grew closer, they reminded Anusha of fish. They undulated through the air as if swimming. One’s coloration was mottled quartz, and the other two were dull brown … like copper.

  Anusha said, “What—”

  “Aboleths,” whispered Yeva, “but not close kin of those I’m familiar with. And these fly.” She said the last as an accusation.

  Anusha said, “They have the same color as—”

  Yeva put a finger to her lips and shook her head. She whispered, “We might live if we remain beneath their notice.”

  Anusha considered reminding the woman they were intangible. They were probably invisible to the approaching creatures. Probably. Of course, she didn’t know what abilities an aboleth possessed. Uncertainty made her hold back.

  The things spiraled down with languid grace. Their descent stopped when the aboleths reached the newly formed orbs, each choosing the one that most closely matched its own hue.

  Gorge tried to rise in her nonexistent throat as she studied the hovering monsters.

  A fine haze of mucus hung in the air around their soft, gelatinous skins. They looked half primeval fish, half enormous slugs, with four muscular tentacles sprouting from where pelvic and pectoral fins would have protruded from real fish. Instead of having tail fins, their bodies tapered to slimy, sluglike conclusions.