A few moments of discussion was all it took for the Hand of Fortune and High Priest Horgûn Entargel to devise a plan of action. Speed was of the essence, and secrecy. The High Priest agreed to keep Gerif Urnoketh in custody and incommunicato while the Hand attempted to forestall the planned assassination of the Imperial Ambassador in Dürkon. He has trusted aides, and his own holy powers, to keep the man under control.
“I will keep him in my own chambers, while giving out that I have sent him on a task up the valley to our clay works… we have had some small problems there, it will be believable. Knowing who his spies are, I will see that they are kept too busy to think much about their master’s whereabouts, at least for half a tenday or so. Between a few trusted aids and my own powers, I should have no trouble keeping him subdued until your return.”
On the best method of reaching Dürkon in a hurry he also had some advice, after regretfully reminding the group that Nitaran Vortices didn’t work in this area, by the will of Kalos. So portal travel was not an option.
“However, ” the old man continued, “there are already several lake boats at our docks, preparing to carry some of our wealthier pilgrims back to Vespina Abbey and their road home – I’m sure enough silver could persuade one of them to carry you north instead… Indeed, I am almost certain that the boatman Gerif had in his pay is amongst them… what was his name? Ah, yes, Joreth Vederzin…”
While Mariala and Erol assisted Horgûn in getting their prisoner back to the High Priest’s private quarters, and Korwin went to find their entourage and explain what was afoot, Vulk and Devrik headed for the docks. The holy day fetsivities were just beginning to wind down, and they found several of the boatmen staggering back to their vessels.
The one they sought for specifically, however, had apparently skipped the party, and the drinking – they found Joreth Vederzin sober and sharp-witted, watching his competitors drunken revelry with a sardonic smile. He would have no hangover when the sun rose, and would thus be able to drive a harder bargain with the pilgrims (who would themselves most likely be worse for the wear) than the other boatmen.
And seeing a lucrative morning ahead, he was disinclined to take a party north, where he was not guaranteed any return business. He appeared a shrewd and hard man, if affable enough in the bargaining, and Vulk soon realized his diffident manner masked a keen intelligence. He was no doubt calculating who might pay for information on a group so anxious to reach the dwarven city. He was also extremely handsome, in a dark, rugged way, and Vulk was certain his appraising gaze held more than just pecuniary calculation.
“Devrik,” he said, pulling his friend aside, “why don’t you head back and get some rest? I think I can handle this negotiation on my own…”
Devrik glanced back at the boatman, who was watching them intently, then back at Vulk. He grinned knowingly, and gave the cantor a friendly slap on the back that almost sent him into the water.
“Just see that you get the better end of the deal, my friend,” he said as he strode off into the twin-moonlit night.
“I always do,” Vulk murmured as he turned back to Joreth.
The boatman gestured to the small cabin at the aft end of his boat, and suggested, with a grin, that they take their discussion to a more comfortable spot… When Vulk emerged back onto the dock some time later, having settled on a gold crown to ferry the group to Dürkon, both moons had sunk behind the western mountains, and the eastern sky was beginning to lighten. With a satisfied smirk he headed back toward the monastery complex.
Meanwhile, with the prisoner secured, the High Priest arranged with Mariala and Erol to keep the Hand’s horses and servants safe for them. This was not an unusual occurance when pilgrims failed to return from the Labyrinth, he assured them. Usually such livestock and possessions became the property of the monestary, and abandoned servants were known to take up a calling or engage in lay work for the monks, so no suspicions should be aroused.
With all done that could be done, the friends grabbed a few hours of rest, although no one was really tired. They had entered the Triple Labyrinth in the early morning, and had surely spent no more than two watches within (it was hard to be sure… time had seemed to move so strangely there), and despite the missing days their bodies felt it should be no later than mid-afternoon. Having the Mad God heal their injuries had, perhaps, something to do with it too.
Devrik returned to their chambers just as Mariala was settling in under her covers.
“Where is Vulk?” she asked quietly, as the warrior-mage hung his weapons on his bedpost.
“He’s… negotiating… a deal with the boatman,” he replied, giving her a knowing grin. “I wouldn’t expect him back any time soon.”
Mariala just rolled her eyes, sighed, and turned over to try and sleep… it had been rather a long time since she’d done any… “negotiating” herself… if only Korwin wasn’t such an arrogant ass, maybe…
♦ ♦ ♦
Vulk roused his friends just before dawn, with an annoyingly cheery tone to his voice. “Come on, you slugs, we’ve an assassination to stop!”
Mariala slugged him as she headed for the latrine, which only made him grin more. The others just muttered darkly, save for Devrik, who asked if he’d gotten the best of the boatman.
“I think we both came out ahead, in the end,” Vulk laughed, slinging his pack over his shoulder and buckling on his sword belt. Devrik laughed and gathered up his own weapons.
The group was down at the docks, cloaked and shrouded against any curious eyes, as the sun was rising, and boarded Joeth’s boat quietly – a fact he no doubt noted keenly. With the sun low in a clear sky over the eastern mountains, Joreth poled off from the docks and set his sail to catch the dawn wind.
The boat ride was calm and uneventful, an easy sail on the deep blue waters of Lake Everbrite. The brilliant snow-capped peak of Mt. Ratonkül loomed ever larger ahead and to the left as it became another warm, brilliant fall day, with the sunlight reflecting brilliantly from the rippled waters.
“I can see why they call this Lake Everbrite,” Korwin commented idly as it grew on to mid-morning. “The light is quite dazzling…”
“Actually,” Mariala pointed out, “it was called Darl Lake for many centuries; but in the mid-26th Century it was renamed by Hain, the first king of Gostrial, in honor of his favorite daughter, Loryn the Everbrite.”
“And the light sparkles just the same on any body of water,” Devrik added dryly. “As I’m sure a water mage would know.”
Vulk snorted a laugh at that, while Korwin merely rolled his eyes and went back to admiring the view. Erol shook his head and sighed at the snarkiness of wizards…
♦ ♦ ♦
It was the middle of the third watch , just as the sun neared its zenith, when the group arrived on the stone docks of Kirak’s Anchorage, the bustling little port of the Khundari city of Dürkon. A dozen lake boats and barges lined the quays, loading up the ore and metal goods of Dürkon for the last trade journey of the year to the southern Umantrari kingdoms. Scores of Khundari and Umantari longshoremen swarmed the docks and ships in a dance of controlled chaos, amidst a cacophony of cursing sailors, screaming gulls, and pounding hammers. There were as many fishermen, all Umantari, bringing in the morning’s catch and adding to both the smells and boisterous energy of the area.
Paying off Joreth, and copping a feel while slipping him an extra crown to keep his eyes and ears alert for any interesting coming and goings, Vulk soon joined the others on the dock. Korwin had already begun asking after Trade Master Vorgev Greatcoffer, and was quickly directed to one of the nearby lake boats, in fact the largest and best equipped of those currently tied up, The Lake Goddess. A stout, business-like Khundari, sporting a black beard twined with colored cords in the pattern of a middle rank clan, was directing the loading and stowing of cargo from the foot of the gang plank. He looked up in surprise when Mariala was finally able to capture his attention. Initially annoyed at the interruption, he was quickly charmed by her idiosyncratic Khundic, and smiled indulgently upon her, if not her companions, when he learned what she sought.
“I’m afraid Master Greatcoffer is not presently here, mistress,” he informed her, tucking his manifest temporarily under one arm and rocking back on his heels to look up at her. “He’s up in the Inner City, attending an official reception at the command of the Prince – one of the responsibilities of important men such as he, however much it might conflict with business. But it’s an honor of course, and the master has me to oversee the work… can I perhaps be of service to such a lovely lady in his stead?”
“I’m fearing my business is for hearing his ears alone, good sir, though I thank you for your much courtesy,” Mariala replied, flashing him a demure smile of her own. “But what of this official reception speaking you say? I am but newly present…”
“Ah yes, of course you’d not know, mistress, but an ambassador has only recently arrived from the Ocean Empire, a Khundari lord from the Imperial Princedom of Lakzhan they say, and Prince Rhoghûn will receive him before the Court this very noon… however many of his own folk wish he wouldn’t,” he added soto voce. He then squinted up at the sun, and nodded. “In fact I expect the ceremony will begin quite soon –it’s almost noon now!”
With hasty thanks and assurances that she would see out Master Greatcoffer later in the day, Mariala and the others retreated towards the relative privacy of an alley between two warehouses. It was agreed they could waste no more time – although they didn’t know with certainty when the assassination was scheduled to occur, it was obvious that the most damning time, creating the most chaos and ill will, would be during the public ceremony. Vulk dug from his pack the Letter of Transit that Lekorm Darkeye had given him, granting the group free passage through the lands held by Dürkon and inviting them to an audience with the Prince, and they began to make their way to the city gates.
The road from the docks was straight and wide, a great stone-paved course, leading steadily uphill just over a kilometer to the sheer cliffs of the eastern foothills of Mt. Ratonkül. Ahead of them the snow-capped mountain loomed, and on either side clustered the homes and businesses of the Umantari subjects of the dwarven prince. The road ended in a great plaza at the foot of a sheer wall of granite that soared upward for over 200 meters, and a massive gate of stone and steel that guarded the entrance to the great underground city itself. Ten meters wide and 30 meters tall, at this hour the gates stood open with two Khundari warriors standing sentry. Each was fully armored in shining mail and plate, tall helms on their heads and lofty spears held firmly at rest.
As the Hand approached the gate both guards stepped forward and brought their spears down in unison to block their path.
“Who are you, Umantari, who seek to enter the Inner City of Prince Rhoghûn?” the shorter, and apparently senior, of the two barked as they came to a halt.
“We are friends of Lekorm Darkeye, Captain of the Shadow Guard,” Vulk replied in his best herald’s voice, stepping forward and offering their papers. “And invited guests of his Highness, Prince Rhoghûn.”
The guard commander looked briefly shocked, and for a moment Vulk thought he would refuse to take the proffered documents. But gathering his dignity the man frowned and reached to take them, snorting and harrumphing as he looked them over. His junior partner, looking considerably more impressed at the relationship they claimed with the head of his ruler’s personal guard, peered over his shoulder. After several minutes of examination, holding them up to the light, fingering the paper, and glaring suspiciously at each of the humans, the guard sergeant finally handed the papers back to Vulk.
“Well, they seem all in order,” he admitted, his tone implying otherwise. “But now is not a time for foreigners to be entering the city… a great ceremony is about to take place…”
“Yes, and it is that ceremony were are here to attend.” Vulk said in exasperation. “We were delayed in our travels, true, but are here in time, you must let us pass.”
The sergeant put up further arguments and excuses, to the increasing dismay of his partner, who finally coughed politely and touched his senior on the shoulder. “But Hargên, they have papers from the Shadow Commander himself, with his signature and seal. If you – we – keep them from something the Prince has invited them to attend…” he trailed off suggestively.
“The papers don’t say anything about the reception for the Imperial Envoy,” Hargên pointed out. “But fine Bhergan, I’ll not take it on myself to gainsay the orders of Darkeye.”
As everyone relaxed, prepared to continue on into the city, he added, “But I will also not let strangers into the city at such a time without specific orders from my own commander. You will wait here while I seek approval.”
Before anyone could react to this he whirled around and headed into the city, motioning for another guard in the shadows of the gate to take his place. The new guard threw a quizzical look at Bhergan, who looked rather embarrassed.
“I’m sorry about this,” he smiled apologetically at the human party, “I don’t know what’s gotten into the sergeant today. But I’m sure he’ll get it all straightened out in a few minutes… the Gate Commander is not far…”
But as the minutes crawled slowly past, and the sun rose ever closer to noon, it became increasingly obvious that Hargên would not be returning soon. It took very little effort on the part of Vulk to convince the remaining guard that he should let them pass. He didn’t even have to resort to using Abon’s Authority. The warrior was unwilling to desert his post, but more than happy to give them instructions to the audience chamber where the reception was, perhaps even now, taking place. With a wave of thanks the group hurried through the gate and entered the underground city of Dürkon.
The great plaza outside was mirrored by an identical one inside, from which various great halls lead off in eight directions. Immense lamps of bronze and crystal lit the passageways, and broad steps led either up or down. Taking the third passage on the right, as instructed, the Hand headed upward, making their way through the crowds of Khuindari going about their daily business. Many stared at the Umantari visitors with varying shades of curiosity or hostility, but most simply ignored them.
Lesser halls branched off, and great landings jutted out from some stairways, providing platforms from which, apparently, speeches could be made. One of these was being put to just such a use, and a great crowd of Khundari had gathered to listen to a grey-bearded fellow harangue and lecture them. As far as Mariala could make out, it was some anti-Imperial screed, with not a little Umantari-baiting thrown in. The crowd seemed about evenly divided in mocking or cheering the man’s pronouncements, but in either case rather restless. They were blocking the way, but Mariala assured the others that it would be best to go around, not through…
It took some meandering through a two-level shoping arcade/market square and some side passages, but eventually the group found themselves approaching the bronze gates of the Carnelian Reception Room. And who should they find there before them, but Guard Sergeant Hargên. The man was red in the face and blustering, in obvious argument with an ornately dressed older Khundari carrying a staff of office, who blocked his way.
“But I must get in, I have a vital message for Master Greatcoffer, it’s of the first importance –”
“I don’t care how important it is, sergeant,” the older man replied somewhat testily, “the ceremony is about to begin, and as Butler of the Chamber it is my responsibility, one of many, to see that no one interrupts it simply to carry messages that can wait for an hour. So, unless the city is under attack, leave me to my business, and go attend to your own… which I believe is at the Lake Gate, is it not?”
Before the enraged guard could argue further, Vulk stepped forward and addressed the court functionary himself.
“I beg your pardon, sir, but we are guests of the Captain of the Shadow Guard and of the Prince… I apoligize for our tardiness, but we were delayed at the city gates by certain… officious and overly zealous persons.” He stared pointedly at Hargên as he handed the Butler of the Chamber their papers. The man looked displeased to have yet more gate crashers to deal with, until he had scanned the documents and noted seal and signature. Then his countenance cleared and he made a small bow toward Vulk.
“I can’t imagine why you were so delayed, Cantor,” he sniffed, not even looking at the chagrined sergeant. “Your papers are entirely in order. If you hurry you might yet take your places before Ambassador Grimbold enters…” Even as he spoke he was turning to the bronze gates and lifting a key from the bunch hanging from his belt, unlocking them. With a flourish he waved the humans into the large room beyond, while blocking Hargên from following. The soldier gave a hiss of frustration and turned to stalk away.
“Across the banquet hall and down that corridor,” the Butler motioned them in the right direction. “Now excuse me, I have the final preparations for the feast to follow to oversee.” With that he bustled off to correct a menial who was placing a silver utensil on the wrong side of a plate…
But even as they hurried across the table-crowded room, they could see down the hall ahead the Imperial party leaving the vesting chamber where they had been preparing, and entering the audience chamber. By the time they reached the entrance to the Carnelian Reception Room, the Ambassador was already in the Speakers Circle before the dais where Prince Rhoghûn was seated, and making his formal greeting to the ruler. To either side of the Prince, along the back wall of the chamber and between the pillars that line it, were ranged eight Shadow Warriors of the Prince’s personal guard, two on the dais on either side of him, the others on the main floor. The Hand recognized some of the Shadow Guard from their earlier encounter, while others were new to them.
Just inside the Hall they were intercepted by Captain Darkeye, who was clearly surprised to see them, and somewhat confused at their presence at this particular moment. But even as Vulk began an urgent, whispered explanation, events began to spin out of control. As the Prince began his own greeting to Ambassador Grimbold, two of the Shadow Guard stepped forward from either side of the dais, raising their cross-bows, slamming bolts into place, and firing, all in one fluid motion. One of Grimbold’s bodyguards leapt forward, taking a bolt in the chest, while the Ambassador himself blocked the second bolt with his Staff of Office, his reflexes as sharp as ever.
Even as Lekorm was screaming orders to protect the Prince and drawing his own weapon and rushing forward to protect the Ambassador, the two Shadow Guards next to the Prince had leapt to his side, alert and tightly strung, shielding him from attack; in moments they had hustled him out the concealed door behind the throne. Vulk and Korwin scanned the suddenly roiled crowd for any sign of Arlun, the architect of this madness, while Devrik and Erol moved after Lekorm to engage the renegade Shadow Warrriors. These had dropped their cross-bows and drawn their ceremonial axes as they moved forward to attack the Imperial envoy and his party. Mariala began to summon the energies to cast her Fire Nerves spell.
But even as the fight swirled around them, and the panicked crowed tried to flee the room from the single entrance, Vulk and Korwin spotted one figure moving purposefully away from the crowd toward the western wall of the room. He wasn’t Arlun, to be sure, as he was clearly a Khundari, but for all they knew it might be his catspaw, Vorgev Greatcoffer. They moved to intercept him, struggling against the crowd, and yelled for the remaining Shadow Guards nearby to stop him. Whether he heard their calls, or simply found the man’s actions suspicious on his own, the Guard in the far left position dashed forward, even as the fleeing man reached the wall and activated a hidden door there.
Before he could enter the secret passage the mystery man found himself on the floor, the guard’s hands clutching at his clothes to gain a grip and pin him. In this the guard succeeded, and he felt something give – with a start that caused him to lose his grip he saw the man beneath him suddenly change from Khundari to Umantari, and found himself holding a bone-carved amulet of some sort, on a leather thong. Before he could regain a hold on his prisoner, however, a movement in the corner of his eye caused him to turn his head just in time to avoid the full impact of a savage blow from behind. Stars flared behind his eyes, and darkness swallowed him for a moment.
As they fought through the crowd Vulk and Korwin had seen the supposed Kundari shift into the known and despised form of Arlun Parek. As his accomplice, yet another of the Shadow Guard, helped him to his feet and toward the secret passage, Vulk called out to Devrik and the others. “It’s Arlun! We can’t let him escape!”
But already their nemesis was gone, the hidden door swinging shut behind him, and Vulk knew it would take time to find the trigger mechanism, time Parek would surely use to good advantage. Even as he broke free of the crowd the door was almost closed – and then the stunned guard was on his knees and sliding his dagger across the floor into the narrow opening, wedging the door open!
As Devrik and the others hurried towards Vulk and Korwin, the other Shadow renegades being subdued and in Lekorm’s custody. Unable to pursue himself, the Shadow Guard commander called out to his man, “They’re friends, Toran! Go with them, help them, we need that man alive if possible – but kill him if there’s any chance he’ll escape the City!”
Vulk and Korwin had pulled the dazed Khundari to his feet by this time, and the man saluted his commander before turning to pry open the secret door with a grunt. As the rest of the group arrived he plunged through the doorway, calling out “Follow me!”
They did, and found themselves in a short, narrow hallway that led to a steep, narrow flight of stairs that plunged down into darkness. Toran pulled a cloudy crystal from his belt and muttered a word, and the stone was soon giving off a mild, warm light. Bringing up the rear, Devrik muttered a few words of his own and caused a small flame to appear in his palm, providing more warm light. Vulk stared at his friend in surprise, never having seen him so easily and casually wield flame before; but there was no time to comment. Between the two lights, the group was able to see as they began the winding descent of the stairs, which turned every seven meters or so, spiraling into the depths of the city.
After twenty minutes or more of headlong flight downward, the stairs came to an end in another corridor running south, at the end of which was a stone door. Pushing it cautiously open, the group found themselves in what appeared to be a mine, complete with tracks for ore carts. Reading the runic script carved in a nearby support beam, Toran recognized the area.
“It’s one of the older, upper mine levels, the Third Deep,”he explained quietly to his companions. “It’s been played out of the valuable minerals for many years now, and is seldom used except as access to the lower, more productive levels.”
He affixed his glowstone to the metal band around his helmet, drew his battleaxe, and motioned the others forward silently. Drawing their own weapons, the group followed him across the tracks and under the arch of an opening into another, larger chamber. The caution was well advised – as the last person entered the chamber two armed men, City Watch by their armor and weapons, leapt to the attack. The battle was short and sharp, but even as the last attacker was subdued the third renegade Shadow Warrior appeared from the shadows and the fight was renewed. He was good, to be sure, and fought hard, but in the end he was no match for the fighters of the Hand of Fortune.
Examining the fallen fighters, Vulk noticed something odd, and called for more light. This revealed a gray-green mass of plant matter at the base of the neck of each man, with thin tendrils penetrating the skin over the spine.
“This must be how Arlun was controlling these men,” Mariala exclaimed, and the others agreed.
Toran seemed relieved to realize his comrades hadn’t been suborned, but only mind-controlled. Unfortunately, when they pried the plant mass off one of the City watchmen, the man suddenly convulsed uncontrollably, and was dead in less than a minute, to the shock and consternation of all. They all knew time pressed, but they couldn’t leave these men behind still mind-controlled, and they couldn’t kill them.
“Let me try something,” Devrik growled suddenly, and he leaned forward over the neck of the second watchman, bringing the flame in his hand to the plant mass. He muttered another word and the flame flared suddenly white and hot, turning the vegetable matter to ash, and scorching a patch of the man’s skin, but leaving him breathing, if still unconscious. Vulk was soon able to rouse him, however, and though confused and sick, the man seemed essentially unharmed. Devrik quickly applied the treatment to the ensorcelled Shadow Warrior, who recovered his wits much quicker.
Anxious to be off after Arlun, the group explained all to the the warrior, and sent him back with the watchman to find Lekorm and pass on the method for freeing the other victims of Arlun’s mind control. Hopefully they hadn’t yet tried to remove the plants…
Toran was able to pick up their prey’s trail, and the group followed him through the mines to a narrow side passage off a main line, one partially obscured by rubble. At the end of this close, narrow tunnel, they came on a breakout into a corridor of ancient finished stone… clearly Arlun, or someone, had excavated this passage either into or out of some very old finished section of the city. Although Toran was puzzled as to what it could be at this level…
He didn’t have long to ponder the question, for as he stepped cautiously into the corridor, which stretched both left and right, he heard a sudden intake of breathe and a muttered curse to his right. As he turned he saw Arlun Parek framed in a doorway, perhaps 5 meters away, a leather pack slung over one shoulder. Even as their eyes met the mage was raising both hands and muttering under his breath – Toran leaped backward into the tunnel, shoving Erol and Vulk down as he did. The fire ball filled the corridor and the intense heat washed over the prone figures in the tunnel, forcing the others to stagger back as well. Almost immediately there was the “whoosh” of a second fireball, but no flame or heat.
Dazed and singed, it took a moment for everyone to pull themselves together enough to peer out of the tunnel… the stone walls of the corridor beyond were black with scorch marks, and heat still radiated from the walls, but of Arlun there was no sign. The group cautiously approached the now-closed door where Toran had last seen him, and Devrik pushed it open with a booted foot… a rush of superheated air gushed out, nearly singeing him. As the heat abated, he peered into the smoldering remains of what looked to have recently been a modest bedroom/study. Clearly the Vortex mage had wanted to leave no evidence behind!
Turning back down the corridor, the group went quickly but warily in the only direction their enemy could have taken. A turn of the corridor brought them to the first of several flights of crumbling stairs going down; after another 45° bend they could see, past yet more steep, crumbling stairs, a ruddy glow on the dark stone walls and floor. Several dozen more meters of descent brought them at last to a long, level corridor, at the end of which was a doorway through which an orange light poured.
With Devrik in the lead now, ready to defend the group with a pyrokinetic shield should it be necessary, they entered a large natural cavern of irregular shape. They stood on a platform 5 meters deep and 10 meters wide, in the southeast corner of the cavern, and from the left side of the platform a peninsula jutted out towards the center of the space, narrowing to just 3 meters. Arlun stood at the end of this tongue of stone, between two intricately carved pillars of basalt, and smiled at them as a wall of spectral flame rose up, cutting them off from him.
But the aspect of the room that caught the attention, more so even than their enemy, was the roiling lake of lava that surged and bubbled perhaps 5 meters below the platform, filling the cavern from side to side. A great cascade of molten rock poured into the lake from a vent maybe six meters up the northwest wall, like a viscous, yellow-red waterfall. The heat was tremendous, and a low, almost subsonic roar filled the air around them. If Arlun spoke, they didn’t hear him, but his hand moved in a sharp gesture, and another wall of ethereal flame sprang up behind the group, blocking their exit from the chamber.
“You have been a thorn in our side for many months now,” he called from his perch above the churning lava. “Particularly for me – you have made me look bad, and for that you are now going to pay!”
With that he began a low chant, raising his arms toward the roof of the cavern. There came a sudden shift in the background rumble. A shimmering vortex of energy, almost invisible in the already wavering superheated air of the cavern, began to swirl over the lava pool. A form began to take shape there…
“Dear gods,” Devrik shouted, aghast. “He’s summoning a Lava Elemental!”
He began to prepare the only spell he could think of, a Dispel, despite the unlikelihood of it succeeding. Behind and beside him, the others who could do so began their own preparations – Vulk his holy armor, Mariala her Fire Nerves spell, and Korwin a spell of freezing… and Erol focused desperately on invoking his talent for amplifying the results of arcane energies around him.
Suddenly there was another change in the thrumming of the air in the chamber – it ratcheted up to a high-piched whine for a moment, and then seemed to implode in a great “whomp” that was more felt than heard. In that instant the vaguely humanoid shape forming in the lava suddenly lost its form, collapsing into itself in a whirpool of molten rock. Arlun staggered on his stony perch, and turned to stare in shock as his summoning disintegrated. But his shock quickly turned to fear as the maelstrom of lava, instead of tamping down, grew ever larger and deeper.
A wind sprang up in the cavern, blowing toward the expanding maw of elemental energy, whipping the clothes of those on the stone platform about them, and staggering the lighter figures. Arlun, much closer to the vortex, grasped at one of the pillars next to him, but the stone was smooth and worn with age – despite the carvings he could gain no purchase, and began sliding toward the edge of the stone pier, his robes and cloak snapping out ahead of him like the pennants on a ship in a gale. He fell to his knees, scrabbling at the paving stones, but here again he could find no hold. Suddenly, with a shriek of combined fury and despair, he was pulled into the air and plunged down into the heart of the maelstrom.
In an instant he was gone, and in a blinding flash the swirling whirlpool collapsed in on itself, sending a great gout of molten stone straight up to splash against the cavern’s ceiling. With Arlun no longer there to sustain them, the walls of ethereal fire had vanished, and the Hand beat a hasty retreat from the cavern as gobbets of liquid rock began to rain down around them.
Once safe in the relative coolness of the long stone corridor, they turned to one another in amazement and relief, and began to talk all at once.
“What the Void just happened?!”
“Is he dead, or did he escape again?”
“Did you see his face? Hear that scream?”
“Was that you, Devrik?”
“What happened?!”
Erol’s voice cut through the babble after a moment.
“I think it might have been me, actually.” They all turned to stare at the former gladiator. He shrugged and looked a little embarrassed. “I was trying to summon up my ability to boost your spells, you see… and I’m learning to tell when it works, I get this sort of… shock, or thrill, under my breastbone… and I sure felt it this time! I’m not sure, but I think that it affected Arlun’s spell… none of your spells could have been active yet, right?”
Mariala and Devrik laughed in sudden understanding, as did Korwin after a moment’s chagrin. They explained to the others the process of summoning or creating an elemental creature, and how it opened a pin-prick into another dimension, through which was summoned an intelligence to animate matter in this world. When Erol’s ability suddenly increased the power of Arlun’s spell, it ripped open a much large portal into the elemental plane, and rather than bringing something here, it sucked him from here to there… whether or not the mage could have survived the journey was uncertain, but it seemed unlikely.
With Arlun beyond the reach of any mortal justice, the group went back to the torched room that seemed to have been his quarters when he was in the City, to see if anything could be salvaged. After an hour of sifting through the charred remains of desk, shelves and bed, they found only a handful of items… in a scorched box of ivory, three pieces of jewelry: a silver ring set with a carved onyx stone, surrounded by four faceted black crystals, a broach of silver adorned with 5 cut amethyst, and a jade pendant carved in the shape of a cat’s head, in the style of Azdankür, hung from a silver chain; on the floor behind the remains of the desk, a brass ring, etched in an interlocking Torkel pattern, and a leather pouch containing two ivory earrings, each set with a single carnelian stone, in the style of the southern Ukalis kingdoms.
But the most important find might have been the three documents to survive the conflagration. Two were found together, at the center of a large folio of papers, and were only lightly singed around the edges – they appeared to be spell descriptions of the Yalva convocation, and Devrik took to them hungrily. The last document was found tucked into the charred remains of a notebook… more heavily damaged than the spell treatises, it was nonetheless readable, and proved to be a transaction record for the sale of 100 broadswords and 100 cross-bows, made by a Dürkonian weapon smith, brokered by one Vergov Greatcoffer, and shipped south to Kar Lakona two months earlier.
“But it is illegal to sell cross-bows to the Umantari!” Toran declared when had scanned the paper. “And Kar Lakona is the Republic’s fortress on the shores of Lake Everbrite, their trading hub with us…This must be reported to the Prince at once!”
“Yes,” Vulk agreed. “I think there’s going to be a great deal of housecleaning in Dürkon this autumn. I wonder if they managed to take Arlun’s agent, this Greatcoffer, alive? We’d better get back to City and fill the authorities in on what we’ve found…”