Idrimel felt a warm rush of strength and well-being settle over her as the celestial pronounced his blessing on her and her brother. She felt herself brimming with confidence and excitement at the quest that lay before them.
Marius withdrew his touch though the feeling remained within her. “One last thing while you are there… In addition to your primary quest, seek out a plane-cursed woman. Sol hasn’t revealed her purpose, but she has a role to play. It is important the Enemy doesn’t find her before you. You shall know her when your paths cross.” With a smile and nod of his head, the celestial sprang into the air and soared away with swift beats of his powerful wings, leaving the siblings in surprise.
“I think it’s time to gather our gear, Brother. What say you?” Idrimel couldn’t help smiling at Marius’s blessing and at the exciting prospect of fulfilling Sol’s will on their quest.
“Indeed. If the court takes such an interest in our quest, it is best we not tarry.” Athyzon smiled in return, the troubled look from earlier banished from his countenance. “Let us make haste.”
***
Flurbinger made his way into the throne room of the Pale Lord’s fortress, dread creeping up his spine—not the same kind of dread he had experienced walking the courtyard in the open air, for the tunnels only took him to the outer bailey of the fortress. The hundred paces of open air were the worst… until he had to rouse the Pale Lord from his torpor, of course.
“Speak to the Lord, little man, and he will hear. Whether he deems an answer worthwhile… well, that is his decision,” the chamberlain said. The creature was of indeterminate race and sex although Flurbinger decided he was a he based on the deep voice. The chamberlain wore black mage’s robes trimmed in golden runes. His skin was tinged with a faint bluish tint, head bald and slightly elongated, with pink eyes. He withdrew to the shadows, leaving Flurbinger to face the Pale Lord alone.
Summoning the remainder of whatever courage he still possessed, Flurbinger stepped forward and approached the macabre throne on which the Lord of Nexus sat. The throne was a grim thing of asymmetry, fashioned from the bones of some great beast, perhaps a dragon. He went down on one knee, his joints popping painfully. He grunted and steadied himself with a hand on the flagstone floor before he could embarrass himself by tipping over.
The Pale Lord was a tall, cloaked figure sitting motionless atop his throne. Under the cowl was only darkness. Pale, bony hands gripping the arms of the throne were the only sign that a being inhabited the voluminous, inky cloak. The silence was palpable, as was the sheer presence of the Pale Lord.
“My Lord,” Flurbinger croaked softly. He swallowed the lump in his throat, striving not to cough or clear his throat loudly. After a long moment with no response, Flurbinger put more authority in his voice. “My Lord, the Machine has a fault. It is beyond the skill of myself and my workers to determine the cause and repair it.”
Yellow pinpricks of light appeared within the cowl, as if the shutters of a lantern were flipped open. A chill ran down Flurbinger’s spine as the awful weight of the Pale Lord’s gaze fell upon him.
“Speak, Flurbinger Flent.” The voice boomed through the chamber and in Flurbinger’s head. Perhaps the voice was spoken directly into his mind, as by one of those mind-benders. He could never be sure.
“Elaborate on what you have discovered.” The only sign of life was the Pale Lord’s long fingers slowly uncurling from the grips of the armrest.
“My Lord, the Machine is out of rhythm… like a damaged timepiece. We fear that it is losing cohesion with time and space, causing random portals to open… and close. I fear if we do not do something soon, it may lose its connection with the other planes. Worst case, it might even destroy itself, and the consequences will be catastrophic.”
The Pale Lord slowly rose to his feet, towering over the gnome from his seven-foot height. Flurbinger couldn’t help thinking of some great spindly insect awakening from hibernation.
“Show me.” The Pale Lord waved a hand, and they were suddenly standing underground on Level Three, beside the Machine.
Flurbinger’s stomach flip-flopped, and he nearly fell over before catching himself with a hand on the ground again. He wobbled as he regained his feet and tried to ignore the desire to retch from disorientation.
“If you will follow me, my Lord, I can show you.”
***
Flurbinger mopped the sweat off his brow with a handkerchief he kept in the pocket of his overalls. Despite the circumstances, he still felt relief both from being back underground near his precious Machine and from having the Lord of Nexus gone.
After inspecting the Machine a short time earlier, the Pale Lord had said, “This is a troubling development. I must contemplate this,” and teleported away.
The words hadn’t given Flurbinger the relief he had expected. He had hoped the Pale Lord’s sorcery could remedy the problem, but that seemed not to be the case.
“Marekesh, enlighten us, for this looks truly ill,” he muttered.
He stomped back toward his small room in the crew quarters tucked into the cavern wall, and a head suddenly poked out of a crawlspace to his left, nearly striking his elbow.
Flurbinger uttered an oath of surprise as Dontarius squirmed free. His workers had all been conspicuously absent, unsurprisingly, due to the Pale Lord’s presence. He wished he could have joined them, curled up in his cubbyhole, and ignored the whole crisis.
“What did the master say?” the old dwarf asked, brushing some dust off of his overalls and grimacing as he massaged an aching shoulder that had troubled him for years.
We are all growing old, my friend. Especially our beloved Machine. It is no wonder it is starting to break down.
Aloud, Flurbinger said, “He merely stated that he must contemplate the quandary. Let us hope his sorcery and Marekesh’s enlightenment will show us a way… I hate to imagine the consequences, should the Machine fail.”
Dontarius grunted in agreement. “Want to join me for a tankard of ale and a platter of food? As my grandmama used to say, ‘An empty stomach leads to a head empty of ideas.’ I, for one, am fresh out of ideas.”
Flurbinger shook his head. “Nay, I’ve lost my appetite, my friend. Perhaps later. I need to keep working at finding the cause of the fault.” Hopefully, Marakesh will provide me with some inspiration.
Chapter 10
Malek watched Nera as she walked away across the plaza with a spring in her step, it seemed. He wondered about the origin of the term “plane-cursed,” which seemed to be used as a slur, likely a result of superstition and bigotry. He of course had no idea what it was like growing up a half-breed in the bizarre city of Nexus, but he wouldn’t have called Nera cursed. Her exotic features had a certain allure that wasn’t unappealing. He liked the thief’s feisty personality as well as her unexpected courage in saving him from the thugs in the alley. Although not yet sure exactly how far he could trust her, he did have a positive feeling about the future of their working relationship.
Nera glanced over her shoulder as if sensing his thoughts, and their eyes met briefly. He gave her a wave, and she responded likewise before disappearing in the crowds filtering up Foundry Hill. Despite her earlier remark about not wanting to be seen in his company, she proved talkative once they had left her hovel, friendly even. He wondered how much of that was genuine and how much was due to the appeal of his coin.
“I’ve got the whole day to myself. What shall I do to not get in trouble?” Malek munched on one of the sweet rolls he had bought from a baker on the way to the Industrial District that morning. Nera had at first declined when he offered her one but then had taken him up on it. He smiled, remembering how quickly she’d devoured the treat. Life on the streets taught one not to let food go to waste, he supposed.
This part of Nexus didn’t feel quite so claustrophobic since the ground sloped down toward the lowest area surrounding Foundry Hill, affording a good view of the Industrial District. The shops and buildings were more spread ou
t, giving more space to accommodate the crowds of working tradesmen, customers, and merchant wagons. From his vantage point, Malek thought the city resembled a deep saucer for a teacup, with a mound of sugar rising at the center for Foundry Hill.
Armorers, weaponsmiths, tanners, wainwrights, cobblers, coopers, carpenters, and every other type of business Malek could imagine were arrayed in a circle around and partially up the side of Foundry Hill. The clang of worked metal and the pounding of hammers broke the stillness of the morning air. To him, the day appeared exactly the same as the prior evening, perpetual twilight, although he realized dawn would be more accurate for the current time. The notable difference was the hearty bustle of industry.
Malek strolled down to the lowest point of the city, where he was surprised to find a river bisecting Nexus. The water was dark blue with white froth and ran swiftly enough to turn a number of mill wheels in the distance. It curled around the far side of Foundry Hill and disappeared out of sight. A complicated tangle of piping drew water from the river and into nearby businesses. He wondered where the river originated since the city didn’t appear to have its own water supply.
Must be pumped in from off plane. He assumed the same was true of the air supply. He wasn’t exactly sure where Nexus was physically located—at the intersection of all planes, according to the monstrous bard’s tale. From his glimpse upon the Ashen Plains, Nexus appeared to be floating in the void. As odd as the city might be, the engineering work that allowed it to function was truly impressive.
After wandering into a quieter area along the outskirts of the Industrial District, Malek discovered a small grove fashioned from trees and vines woven together into a green oasis. Once he stepped inside, despite the short distance from the clatter of industry and the belching soot of smithies and the foundry, the noise was instantly dampened. He immediately felt relaxed in the cool tranquility of the grove. A subtle net of magic over the grove created its soothing effect. Despite his fascination with the strange marvels of Nexus, Malek found himself missing the green open spaces of Tyndaria, away from the constant bustle and crowds.
In the center of the grove stood a fountain with a beautifully carved stone nymph. Water burbled from a shell in the nymph’s extended hand. Stone benches surrounded the fountain, and Malek took the opportunity to sit and relax for a moment. On the opposite side of the fountain, an elf maiden sat on a bench, legs crossed beneath her and hands folded, apparently meditating. The soothing sound of the flowing water helped soothe Malek’s nerves a bit, and he relished the respite from the noise and crush of bodies.
His thoughts returned to his quest. Nera had promised to take him to the offices of the magistrate when her shift was over that evening. He would be able to file a petition with the Magehunters to locate and, hopefully, speak with his master. He wasn’t sure what he would do if he was denied access or if his master was no longer in Nexus.
The peaceful grove drowned out the sounds and smells of Nexus around Malek. He relaxed and thought of a pleasant memory of a day spent training with the mage several years earlier.
***
“You know the basics now, lad. Just focus your thoughts on the tree,” Magellan said gently. “It’s ready to come down but just needs a small nudge.”
The two of them had walked into the nearby woods a short distance from the mage’s small tower near the edge of the village. It was a warm summer day, and bright sunlight filtered through the leaves of the elm and oak trees.
Malek frowned at the dead tree twenty paces in front of him. The tree stood alone, illuminated in a shaft of sunlight formed because the dead branches no longer provided any leaf cover. The bark was splintered, and shattered branches lay broken off on the ground all around.
“Can you sense the ley line here?” Magellan asked. “I chose this spot because of the energy passing through this grove.”
Malek nodded. With closed eyes, he examined the ley line with his second sight. “Yes, Master. It is like a flowing river of golden light… so much power here.” He knew Magellan, being a traditional mage, couldn’t see the energy as he could but could sense it with a minor spell to detect magic.
“Indeed. Gently tap into the flow and focus the power within. Slowly release it and give the tree a nudge and push it over. It’s practically broken off already.”
A large crack had split the trunk, likely from a lightning strike, and Malek focused on the black scar. He shut out everything around him, noting how the wood was separated.
A wedge—I can drive a wedge of force into the crack. The tree will split apart and fall.
He reached out and touched the flow of energy in the ley line with his mind. It gave a light resistance, like the coagulating film atop a thick bowl of gravy. Pushing harder, he broke the film and touched the electrifying current of power. He tugged gently, and the power flowed into him, and he felt instantly energized, similar to how he felt after getting a rush of sugar from eating too many of the delicious sweet cakes the miller’s wife baked. But this was different, as if intensified a hundred times. After a few moments, he was practically buzzing with power.
“Easy now, lad.” Magellan’s voice came from a great distance. “Gently push the tree over.”
All Malek could see was the tree, looming large in his vision. He hesitantly focused the energy flowing through him into a wedge and directed it outward, sending it against the split in the tree. Nothing happened.
Malek frowned. Why is nothing happening? It should give way now.
He pulled in more energy but lost his grip on it, and the power rushed into him, threatening to overwhelm him. The sheer power took his breath away, much like jumping into the chill waters of a lake filled with snowmelt. The rush threatened to overwhelm him. He let the power go, expecting the tree to splinter and fall.
Instead, the dead tree suddenly exploded in a violent cloud of splinters. The force of the blast knocked both of them on their backsides, Magellan with a startled curse. Spooked birds screeched as they took wing from nearby trees. A furious maelstrom of leaves swirled around them before the shockwave dispersed.
Malek sat up and looked around in shock, lightheaded from the surge of power. Leaves still rained silently down around them. The old tree had been reduced to small splinters of wood and sawdust.
Excited, Malek brushed himself off and got to his feet. “I did it, Master!”
Magellan glared up at him from beneath his bushy brows. “I said gently push it over, not blow it to flinders!” With Malek’s assistance, the old man picked himself up from the ground. Frowning, he grunted in annoyance as his knees popped. The old mage’s hair was sticking out like an unruly bird’s nest. His scowl was nearly hidden behind the pieces of bark sticking out of his long beard.
Malek couldn’t help laughing at how silly Magellan looked. “You said to bring it down, and I did, Master,” Malek managed to say between bouts of laughter.
Magellan’s frown gradually melted away, and he began chuckling as well. “I suppose I did, lad. I suppose I did.” He ruffled Malek’s hair. “Come, I think that’s enough practice for the day. What do you say we stop by the miller’s place and see if the missus baked any fresh cakes?”
***
Malek roused from his reverie, a smile on his face. The tree experiment hadn’t turned out much better than the candle incident from the day prior, when he’d accidentally set Magellan’s laboratory on fire, hence the trip to the woods to avoid any more inadvertent damage to their home.
He sighed, his moment of levity turning to worry. “I need to find him… Sure hope he’s well.”
He got up from the bench and left the grove to explore the city some more. Intrigued by the river he’d seen earlier, he decided to walk until he found its source in order to satisfy his curiosity.
The clamor and smells of the city assaulted his senses as soon as he stepped out of the trees. He barely made it ten paces from the grove when he was accosted by a street vendor. A bent-over crone shoved a battered wooden c
art with a squeaky wheel into his path. The stench of rotten meat assaulted Malek, and he was repulsed to find the cart loaded with the heads of some type of one-eyed bovine creatures packed in ice.
“Hungry, boy? Fifteen coppers for a head of white horn.” The hag squinted at him appraisingly. “Or perhaps a vial of the beast’s seed? It will put steel in your cock.” She chortled. Her breath smelled even worse than the meat.
“Ugh, no. Begone, woman.” Malek recoiled in disgust and waved the old woman away.
The crone cackled with laughter and pushed her cart onward.
Malek shook his head, trying to clear his nose of the foul smell of vendor and product.
“Not fond of Abyssian white horn, sir?” someone asked in a musical voice.
He turned to find the elven woman who had been meditating beside the fountain. Her eyes sparkled with amusement. Malek hadn’t noticed her approach.
“Um, no it’s not my delicacy of choice. I don’t know which was fouler, the meat or the woman trying to sell it.”
The elf woman’s laugh was light and musical. She approached and extended her hand. “I’m Endira. Welcome to Nexus, newcomer.”
He shook her small hand gently, feeling the delicate bones shift slightly. “Well met. I’m Malek. It’s that obvious I’m green, huh?”
Endira smiled gently. “All of us were green at one point. You made a good choice of places to relax. I enjoy meditating in this grove from time to time. There’s so little green space and flowing water in this city, which I miss dearly from my home. Stone and steel and soot are depressing in such large quantities.”
The Twilight City Page 8
