“Remember, Be’naj: our wings will announce our heritage well before we ever engage in conversation.” The reminder came unbidden, and she wondered if Palomar shared it only with her, for he gave no physical indication of attention.
As soon as they passed the first row of structures on the outskirts of Anarchiapolis, Be’naj’s mind was bombarded by outside thoughts. A dozen conversations, all at once, danced in and out of her head like an impressionist changing voices every few words.
Be’naj clasped her face in both hands and saw that the others, save Palomar, were experiencing a similar distress. Thaelios had covered his ears, and Dyphina was shrugging and squirming like a slug bathed in salt.
“How do we stop it?” Saffron asked Palomar. “Can we shut them out?”
Palomar looked at her calmly, then assessed the others. He opened his mouth and sang; the sound was instantly soothing, though different from Saffron’s lulling tone. His voice was more like warm honey, dripping over Be’naj’s mind, blocking the extraneous noise with its viscosity. “There,” he said when he was through. “Though only temporary, that should keep telepathic thoughts not directed at you from being heard. I’m used to such things.”
“Thank you.” Be’naj felt much more at ease and able to focus on deciphering the strange environment. Not far off, shapes moved in the alleyways between buildings, and Palomar headed toward the activity.
“Keep your eyes open for ‘The Three Branches’ and possible danger as well,” he said. Be’naj did her best to obey, though her eyes kept returning to Saffron. Palomar walked straight through a cross street, and his head swiveled left as he cleared the corner, drawn momentarily toward something he chose to ignore. Dyphina winced and made a sound of disgust when she reached the same spot, then hurried forward closer to the Aasimar.
Curious, Be’naj turned left when she reached the intersection and stopped. A couple of hulking creatures stooped over a third who was strewn out on a flat-topped cart. The ones on their feet had short legs and one massive, ape-like arm paired with a shriveled, skinny appendage. They had monstrous faces and bat-like wings for ears, with short tails that looks like two clawed fingers, moving independently.
As disturbing as their appearance was, what they were doing shocked Be’naj more. The hands of their muscular arms were sifting through the entrails of the creature on the cart like they were a bowl of noodles. Whatever it was, it also was not human, Eladrin, or anything she was familiar with, and still rolled its head from side to side on an elongated neck.
The creatures turned to Be’naj, drawn by her stare, and her hand instinctively grasped the hilt of her sword. Before she drew, though, Saffron clasped her shoulders and pulled her away from the street. “Come, Palomar found it,” she said, sustaining eye contact until Be’naj nodded. Around the next corner stood a slanted, multi-story building. A pair of lit torches graced the two sides within view, illuminating what looked like the gnarled limbs of an old tree, springing from the outer walls. Dangling from chains that hung from these three branches were the severed heads of apparent humans – or something close. Their faces were grotesque in death, eyes and mouths wide as if the horror of their demise was purposefully captured and preserved.
A massive door, reinforced with iron bands, gaped open on the closest side. The sounds of a large gathering drifted out from it. An assortment of odd creatures milled about the exterior, many of whom took glances in their direction, taking particular notice of the Aasimar’s arrival. Palomar gave no outward sign of concern, but projected behind him without turning, “Come along and stay tight.”
Be’naj crowded forward with the others and they pushed into “The Three Branches,” close on Palomar’s heels. The interior bustled with activity. Tables had been placed inefficiently across the floor, forced to wind around almost haphazardly placed walls. The design of the structure, if there had indeed been any, was anything but orderly. The tables were nearly all occupied and patrons smashed together at the long, crooked bar that dominated the left side of the room.
What exactly the patrons were defied Be’naj’s knowledge. Some looked similar to one another, but the assortment was still widely varied. Horns or barbed appendages seemed common enough, along with rough or scaled skin of red and brownish hues. They were also talking with their mouths, uttering crude-sounding phrases in languages that grated harshly on her ears. Her skin had started to itch and Be’naj felt extremely uncomfortable.
The noise level dropped considerably once the denizens noticed their group, however. Many stopped to stare, granting a wide berth to Palomar as he cut through the standing crowd near the bar.
“Telepathy doesn’t seem to work here – or they’re all ignoring me,” Palomar said in Illanese as he circled back to face the mortals. With his brilliant armor, white skin, and golden hair, he stood out like a lantern in a dark wood. His wings created a buffer around them as the natives backed away, seemingly unwilling to make physical contact. “I don’t suppose any of you speak Abyssal?” he asked dismissively, scanning the room for someone who might be able to help.
“Actually,” Thaelios spoke up, “I do know a little, though it’s even worse than my Infernal.”
“Seriously?” Dyphina asked, though she didn’t sound impressed.
“Thaelios, you are a marvel!” Saffron exclaimed.
He shrugged. “Studying useless languages got me through my seventies, what can I say?”
“That’s wonderful,” Palomar put in. “Can you ask someone if they can point us to Ivaldi? And it might help if Be’naj and I move on first so it doesn’t look like you’re asking on our behalf.” He reached over and took Be’naj’s hand, which soothed some of the itching. Palomar pulled her deeper into the bowels of the tavern, leaving the rest behind. She looked back at Saffron, concerned at the separation. “Do not fret, we won’t go far,” he said quietly, and she worried less when they stopped moving while still within view.
She watched Thaelios engage one of the less dangerous-looking fiends, who still looked the Eladrin up and down like he was a potential meal. The creature’s gaze also caught the Celestial light of Saffron’s spear, however, and he eventually responded, pointing over the heads of the crowd toward a far corner of the tavern. Thaelios thanked the creature and took Dyphina’s arm, leading her over as he whispered into her ear.
“The fiend says the sage has a regular table in a corner of the second floor. He didn’t like that I was associating with Celestials, but I told him I’d just hired you as bodyguards.” Thaelios looked over his shoulder as he talked, checking to make sure no one was eavesdropping.
“There are some stairs over there,” Saffron pointed out. What Be’naj had thought to be a slanted column supporting the ceiled turned out to include a set of stairs, each step a different length and height.
Thaelios led the way, and she wondered if his confidence was due to his ability to communicate with the locals. She hoped his tongue wouldn’t get them into more trouble than was already likely. Be’naj climbed the stairs ahead of Palomar, who went last, keeping a buffer between them and the other patrons.
The second floor was smaller than the downstairs, and by the time Be’naj had cleared the final step, Thaelios was approaching a fiend sitting alone in a booth near the corner. It was nursing a frothy brew in a ceramic mug.
“Urzgwak thun coomtak Ivaldi?” Thaelios asked.
The face of the creature was bisected by a row of triangular horns, and its eyes held a wildness Be’naj had never seen before, split by crisscrossing pupils. It opened a fanged mouth, cursing in Abyssal as it scurried to get out of its seat. Saffron reacted the fastest, jumping in front of Thaelios to shield him and brandishing her spear at the fiend. Catching sight of the white, Celestial light, it growled and hissed but resisted standing.
“I don’t think he’s the one you’re looking for,” a voice from two booths over said in Eladrin. It belonged to a humanoid in a green, wide-brimmed hat that obscured his face. He held a feathered quil
l in one hand and a ledger sat open on the table in front of him. Books and parchment were stacked and spread across the majority of the surface.
Saffron backed Thaelios away from the aggressive fiend, and the whole party shifted in the direction of the speaker. Be’naj stepped right up to the edge of his table and placed her hands upon it. She scanned over the documents but couldn’t read the writing, and the stranger’s hat prevented her from establishing his identity.
“How is it you speak Eladrin in such a place as this?” she asked.
“I don’t,” he responded, setting his quill into an inkpot and leaning back. “Well, not exactly,” he amended. “I’m subject to an enchantment that allows my speech to be interpreted by any who hear my voice, and allows me to understand any language in turn.” Finally, he raised his head to look at her. He seemed to be telling the truth, for he was certainly not one of her people.
He had a patch over one eye, though the iris of the other was red. His nose was upturned like a hog’s, with wide nostrils, and short tusks protruded from his lower lip. “I am Ivaldi, Sage of the Doomwait,” he said. “Sorry to have not met your expectations, but I don’t see the point in maintaining the mystery. My cause is enlightenment, after all.”
“Oh, pleased to meet you, sir,” she said, surprised at both his appearance and straightforwardness. “My name is Be’naj, and these are my friends.”
“What are you saying, Be’naj?” Saffron asked.
She realized she’d be speaking in Eladrin and switched to Illanese, figuring it made no difference to the sage. “I’m sorry, I was just introducing myself.”
“I haven’t seen an Aasimar in ‘The Three Branches’ in a hundred tremor-cycles,” Ivaldi said, glancing past her to Palomar. “You must really be in need.”
Thaelios stepped closer, no doubt looking to put some distance between himself and the fiend two booths down. “You said that you were ‘subject to an enchantment.’ Does that mean you’re a Shaper?”
The hog-nosed sage turned to Thaelios and gestured an invitation to the open bench across from him. “I know some magic, among other things,” he said once the Eladrin had accepted the seat.
“So you have seen an Aasimar before?” Palomar asked. He looked over his shoulder at the fiend in the corner who was still cursing and muttering. When the creature spotted Palomar’s eyes on him he fell suddenly silent and returned his attention to his mug.
“I have,” Ivaldi answered. “A Plane-walker, named Ellingle. Courteous lass. Traded in some useful information. I assume that’s why you’re here, risking all this unwanted attention?”
“It is.” Saffron nudged Dyphina into the booth, beside Thaelios, and slid in after her, handing her spear off to Be’naj. “We need some information about a cult, back on our world. They go by ‘The Name of the Beast,’ and we have reason to believe they may have ties to the Abyss. Have you ever heard of them?”
Be’naj was a little surprised Saffron opened up so readily about their mission, but realized she’d probably calculated that spending time in such a place was far more dangerous than mentioning a cult operating on Elisahd, which these creatures had probably never heard of.
“A direct one. Excellent. Dispensing with pleasantries will return me to my work faster. However, my friend, not even one as benevolent as I gives away his work for free …”
Dyphina scoffed. “You’d make us pay for information?” She looked sideways at Palomar. “Don’t you think we have ways to get what we want out of you?”
“Dyphina!” Be’naj exclaimed. The half-fey shrugged.
Ivaldi cleared his throat. “Do not worry. What I ask in this case is something that means more to me than it will to you.”
Saffron leaned forward, resting her forearms on the table. “And what might that be?”
“Three of your friend’s golden feathers,” he answered.
Saffron’s head drew back as if she’d heard him wrong. Be’naj was confused as well – why would this stranger want Aasimar feathers?
Palomar stood straight, arms crossed over his chest. “How do we know your information is good?”
“Yes,” Saffron added, “what assurance do we have that you’re not just trying to swindle us?”
This time, the hog-nosed sage shrugged and tilted the green hat on his head. “You can afford it either way, I suspect. But I do have a reputation to uphold. Given that I trade in information, lying doesn’t serve me well.”
“Very well,” Palomar agreed. “I will give you the feathers – after you’ve told us what you know.” After a brief silence, he added, “I also don’t lie.”
Ivaldi snorted a laugh. “I suppose we’re trusting one another, then. That may be a first for ‘The Three Branches.’ So be it.” He set his hands on the table an interlaced his fingers. “As it happens, there was a Cambion – a half-fiend – in this very tavern, two tremor-cycles ago. She was recruiting Plane-walkers for a project she called ‘The Name of the Beast.’ Said she’d set up camp at the Tanar-ri assembly grounds for any berks interested in joining.”
“Do you remember her name?” Be’naj asked.
“And how long is a tremor-cycle?” Dyphina added.
“She went by the moniker of ‘Excaliana,’ and tremor-cycles vary, but it was not so long ago. She’s likely still there, unless she got exceptionally lucky in her recruitment.” Ivaldi looked calm. He was either telling the truth or an adept liar.
“Can you direct us to the Tanar-ri assembly grounds? Are we likely to find Tanar-ri there?” asked Palomar.
Ivaldi shrugged. “I can tell you the way, sure. As to their current occupation – that depends, as always, on the current plans of the Lords of the Abyss.”
The Aasimar seemed perturbed, reaching down and plucking three feathers from different places along the edge of his wings. Be’naj felt a pinch of vestigial pain, flashing back to her own assault during her adolescence.
“Here is your payment. I think we’ve taken enough of your time,” Palomar said as he handed over the feathers.
Ivaldi took them and quickly tucked his prize into a pocket inside his robes. He started explaining the directions to where they could find Excaliana, but Be’naj wasn’t paying attention. She felt ill and her itching had returned, and now her wings were experiencing a thousand tiny pricks, born from her memory. All she wanted was to get out of ‘The Three Branches’ as soon as possible.
“Are you all right, Be’naj?” Saffron asked as she scooted from the booth and reclaimed her spear.
“Oh, yes, I’m just sick of the crowd.”
“I agree. The company leaves much to be desired, though even outdoors, this Plane is no prize. Still, you’ll feel better once we’re free of these strange folk.” Saffron put on a smile, but Be’naj could not find the energy to mirror the gesture.
She led the way back downstairs, even giving a slight push to a spiny fellow blocking her path at their base. She felt the crowd’s eyes on her, and the itching only worsened. She found herself holding her breath and didn’t release it until she’d squirmed past numerous fiends and escaped the cramped confines of the tavern. Be’naj bent over, hands on her knees, and exhaled deeply, not even sure whether her friends had kept up.
Chapter 8
The Recruitment
T he gibbering, Abyssal voices in her head had returned, and Be’naj felt like she was going to vomit. Already bent at the waist, she really wanted to curl up on the ground and enter a restful trance until everything else was pushed away.
“Come now, this is not the place to show weakness.”
Be’naj heard Palomar’s voice and felt hands around her midsection, guiding her up the alley, though she was not fully aware of her surroundings. There was walking and turning, and strange noises, and itching, and the world was spinning, though she knew somewhere in the back of her mind that this wasn’t her world.
Whether it was mere moments or hours later, Be’naj wasn’t sure, but she sat cross-legged on the unnaturally flat ground
and her eyes were closed. It was quiet, except for soft, murmuring voices, and she didn’t want to open her eyes lest she upset the balance. She stretched a hand down to the ground, which was surprisingly cold, then felt a soft touch against the hair atop her head.
“Be’naj, are you feeling better?” It was Saffron’s voice, and Be’naj smiled at the sound.
“My skin isn’t itching anymore,” she realized, supposing they must have gained some distance from the fiends.
“That’s good,” Saffron replied. “You had me worried.”
Be’naj opened her eyes to look upon the dark-haired beauty. The bright red of her form-fitting eladrin tunic stood out against the uniform grey of the Doomwait, and Be’naj felt an overwhelming desire to hold her close, to feel Saffron’s tanned skin against her own, to reassure her that as long as she was around, Be’naj couldn’t be anything but okay.
She settled instead for a few, inadequate words. “I am better, thank you.”
“I’m glad,” Saffron said, sitting cross-legged across from her. “We’ve been talking and think we’ve come up with a plan, but only if you’re feeling up to it.”
Be’naj looked past Saffron, whose spear lay across her lap, provided a halo of white light around them. The others were difficult to distinguish in the dim, hazy environment, but she saw shapes moving perhaps a dozen paces away. “Of course, I feel fine.” She dared to reach out and take hold of Saffron’s hand. “I want to put a stop to this cult.”
Saffron intertwined their fingers and nodded. “I’d hoped you’d say that, because this next part is going to be up to you and me. We’re going to try and trick Excaliana into giving us the information we’re looking for … by posing as possible recruits to her cause.”
Be’naj shook her head but didn’t let go of Saffron’s hand. “What about the others? Why just the two of us?”
The Hall of Doors Page 11