by Troy Denning
You too. You must decide what is false and what is true, and what is tme for me but not for you. We are wandering the mazes, all of us, and we cannot hope to escape until we learn to tell between what is real and what is real for someone else. There lies the madness, and the truth as well.
But now the dream is done. It ended back in the cavern, when the Amnesian Hero slammed down on a bed of hard cobblestones and awoke to find himself crumpled at the base of a squalid hut of unmortared stones. His body was still covered by his bronze armor, and he felt remarkably refreshed, as though he had just awakened from a long and profound sleep. For a moment, the unexpected vigor confused him. He thought that perhaps his whole miserable trip to Sigil – better yet, his life since awakening on the shores of Thrassos – had been an unpleasant dream.
The horrid stench of decay quickly dashed his hopes, however, as did the fading ramble of the death wagon. The Thrasson pushed himself upright and saw that he was in a district of shabby gray huts similar to the one at his back. A few stooped forms were scurrying along from one shadow to the next, bare blades flashing in their hands. Otherwise, the street was largely deserted. Jayk the Snake stood a few steps away, cracking the long driver's whip over the heads of the stumbling dray horses.
"Wait!" The Amnesian Hero leapt to his feet and started after the wagon. "The amphora!"
Jayk caught his arm. "I have it, Zoombeel"
The tiefling gestured toward the squalid hut's entryway, where the shadows were too deep to reveal what might be leaning against the wall. As she turned, the Amnesian Hero glimpsed the familiar pearly flash of an abalone comb in her hair. He dropped a hand to his belt and discovered that his coin purse was gone.
"And my coin sack?"
"That, too."
If the tiefling was disappointed that he had noticed, her tone did not betray it. She reached under her cape and produced the purse, now heavily soiled by blood and ichor. He snatched it from her and opened it to peer inside. He still saw plenty of gold, but three other items were missing.
"You are such a berk, Zoombee! The sack, it fell off in the wagon. I do not covet your gold. It is nothing but an illusion."
Jayk turned toward the entryway, but the Amnesian Hero caught her by the arm. He gestured at the comb in her hair.
"Give it back."
The tiefling rolled her eyes, but reluctantly removed the comb and returned it.
"The thread and the mirror, too," he said.
"These are women's things, yes?" Despite her objection, Jayk reached into her robe, producing the silver palm mirror and the spool of golden thread she had taken from his purse. "Why does a man like you cany them?"
"I don't know." The Amnesian Hero returned the objects to his purse and drew it closed. "They were all I had when I awoke on the shores of Thrassos."
Jayk considered this a moment, then said, "So they have no meaning to you. It would have been better to let me keep them."
With that, she stepped through the entrance and instantly disappeared into the shadows. The Amnesian Hero paused long enough to tie his purse onto his belt with a double knot.
"Are you coming, Zoombee? Or do you wait for Tessali and his sleepcaster? You like that mindrest, yes?"
Before he could reply, a door creaked open, spilling a sliver of dark purple light into the doorway, barely illuminating the amphora leaning against the wall. The Thrasson grabbed the jar and followed the tiefling into a windowless chamber that was lit-barely-by three damson-flamed tapers. Unable to see anything except the flickering candles, the Amnesian Hero stood in the doorway, listening as the clatter of a slovenly feast rattled to a stop. The room reeked of charred meat, sulfur-burning pipes, and some rancid swill that smelled like moldy copper.
"What you got there, Jayk?"
The speaker seemed to be somewhere ahead and to one side of the doorway, though it was impossible to be certain. The fellow's voice was so deep and raspy that it croaked out of the darkness from all directions.
"Two silver's the best I'll go," the speaker croaked. "Maybe one more, if you throw in all his goods."
"You think me clueless?" Jayk started forward, vanishing into the purple darkness like a ghost. "Even without his goods, this one goes two gold at least!"
Cursing the tiefling's treachery, the Amnesian Hero reached for his sword, at the same time stooping down to put the amphora on the floor. From the darkness ahead came the sound of chair legs scraping across wet wood.
"Sit, my friends." Jayk's tone was amused. "This one, he would be more trouble than he is worth. I keep him for myself."
The Amnesian Hero felt more than heard the sigh that rustled through the room. A few chairs clattered, and, growing more accustomed to the darkness, he glimpsed a dozen dark shapes returning to their seats. They had high, pointy heads and humped backs, and several seemed to be holding large bone clubs in their gnarled hands. Although many of them sat facing each other at the same tables, not a word passed among the entire group.
The voice that had welcomed Jayk chuckled merrily, then asked, "You got jink?"
"But of course, Brill."
From the darkness ahead came the chime of a thumbnail striking metal, then the Thrasson saw a flash of gold arcing through the darkness. There was a sharp crack, and the coin disappeared in midair. The Amnesian Hero saw a black tendril curling back toward the wall, where a hulking, round-headed silhouette stood behind a chest-high curtain of darkness that was probably a serving counter.
The round-headed figure, presumably Brill, spat the gold into a small spindly-fingered hand. He stowed the coin – the Thrasson's, no doubt – somewhere under his counter.
"Your friend got a name?"
"Zoombee. And we have trouble close behind."
" 'Course," Brill grumbled. "Why else come around when you got jink?"
With a great groan, the silhouette heaved his bulk up and lumbered along to one of the purple tapers. He fumbled beneath his counter a moment, then held a second candle to the damson flame. The wick caught fire, flooding the chamber with a flickering yellow light that gave the Amnesian Hero his first good look at Brill and the room's other occupants. He nearly dropped the amphora.
Brill was a slaad, one of the massive, froglike beings reputed to scavenge the battlefields of the Lower Planes. The Amnesian Hero had never before seen one in the flesh – at least that he could recall-but he had heard many accounts of their taste for blood. This one was a Green, with a flat pate, scalloped brows jutting over wide-set eyes, and a mouth large enough to swallow a swine.
The Amnesian Hero could not identify the race of Brill's customers, but they were uglier than the tavern keeper himself.
They did not bother to cover their leathery nakedness, perhaps because of their sparse covering of wiry bristles, which would have torn most garments to shreds. The shape of their bodies bore a remote semblance to that of a human, though too skeletal, somehow twisted. They had waspish waists showing ugly grates of ribs, knobby-jointed limbs much too long for their bodies, and gnarled, yellow-taloned fingers that looked as though they could dig a bear from its cave. The tables before them were piled high with charred haunches and shoulders, many of which looked human.
As one, the customers swung their gray eyes toward the Amnesian Hero and burst into fits of hissing, as though laughing at some joke he had not heard.
"What manner of place is this?" the Thrasson gasped, wondering again if perhaps he had not lost his way and tumbled into the Abyss. He turned to Jayk. "Where have you taken me?"
It was Brill who answered. "I call the place Rivergate." The slaad passed the candle in his hand to Jayk, then said, "You know where to hide."
The tiefling nodded, then stretched over the counter and brought her mouth close to Brill's. To the Thrasson's surprise, the slaad let her kiss him upon the lips long and hard. They remained coupled for several moments. When she finally drew back, her pupils remained round, and there was no sign that her fangs had dropped. The Amnesian Hero •could not help
thinking of their own near kiss and wondering if he, too, would have been spared her bite.
"Zoombee, don't be jealous," Jayk chided. "You won't make kiss with me."
Brill placed a dusty jug and two black mugs on the counter. "Go on, then – before your trouble walks in the door. You know what a mess these rutterkin make when they get to killing."
Jayk filled both mugs, then corked the jug and tucked it under her arm. Leaving one cup on the counter, she moved deeper into the tavern, joking and flirting as she danced past the tables of rutterkin. Though they never made any reply the Amnesian Hero could hear, twice she pinched long-lobed ears and threw back her head to laugh. The Thrasson followed without picking up the cup she had left for him. He loved wine as much as the next man – perhaps even a bit more – but he had no stomach for the coppery vinegar he smelled in this place.
The Amnesian Hero had barely worked his way past the first table when something snapped his backplate and jerked him onto his heels. Shifting the amphora's weight to one arm, he spun around to see a long, slender tongue curling back toward Brill's mouth.
The slaad gestured at the mug on the counter. "Forgot your drink."
The Amnesian Hero tried not to make a distasteful face. "I'm, uh… not thirsty."
Brill croaked what seemed to be a laugh. "I wouldn't waste blood port on no human, but I expect you'd rather have Arborean ruby anyway. Take it and drink up, or you'll have reason to wish you had."
Deciding to accept Brill's threat as the price of a good hiding place, the Amnesian Hero retrieved his mug and joined Jayk at the back of the room, where wisps of black mist were pouring through the cracks of a badly warped door. The tiefling shouldered the portal open and stepped through, already quaffing down the contents of her mug. The Thrasson started to follow, still holding his cup in hand.
"Drink, Zoombee!" Jayk urged. "Otherwise, you find yourself swimming in the River Styx."
The Amnesian Hero paused with one foot over the threshold. "This is a portal?"
"Yes. If you step through without drinking, then splash," she explained. "The key is backwards. That is why it is a good place to hide, you see?"
The Thrasson did not see, but he was too proud to admit it. He raised his mug and stepped into the room. The wine proved to be somewhat tangier and more fruity than his Arborean favorites, but it was at least palatable. He drained the entire cup in a single gulp, then licked his lips clean.
"I had no idea how thirsty I had become."
He thrust the cup at Jayk to be refilled, then found a safe comer in which to place the amphora. The storeroom stank of mildew and sour coppery wine, which, from all appearances, was the rutterkins' preference in drink. Casks and boxes stood against every wall, stacked to the ceiling and more often than not barely visible behind silky veils of spider webs. In the center of the room sat several stools and a barrel with a set of knucklebones etched for gambling.
The Amnesian Hero closed the door and pulled a stool over, then sat down and pressed his eye to a crack. Without Jayk's candle, the main room had again grown gloomy and purple. Brill and the rutterkin were no more than vague black shapes, more imagined than seen unless they happened to be silhouetted against a taper's damson flame. Save for the constant sound of gnawing and an occasional sniggering hiss, the tavern remained quiet.
Jayk placed the Thrasson's cup in his hand. "When Tessali comes, you must tell me so I can put out the candle. Otherwise, he sees the light through the cracks, yes?"
The Amnesian Hero did not bother to ask why she thought Tessali would look for them in Rivergate. The Thrasson had met enough elves in Arborea to know that tracking ran in their blood. He took a long swallow from his mug, then smacked his lips and took another one.
"What is to prevent Tessali from tracking us from Rivergate's door into this storeroom? I worry that he'll have us cornered."
"There is no need for that." Jayk sounded amused. "Brill and the rutterkin have a certain, how do I say…fondness for elves and humans. Tessali and his guards will not linger."
"As long as there is no killing. They may be chasing us, but the misunderstanding is more our fault than theirs." The Amnesian Hero did not add that in Jayk's case, the pursuit was entirely justified. "They don't deserve to land on a rutterkin's plate."
"Why do you fret so much about this 'killing' all the time?" Jayk demanded. "Even if you believe life is genuine, why does it make you so envious to see others advance toward the One Death?"
"It does not make me envious!" He turned away from his peephole and looked at the tiefling, who sat on a stool, absently rolling the knucklebones between her fingers. "But murder, and especially senseless murder, is the enemy of civilization. Even your Dustmen understand that, or I doubt they would have committed you to the Gatehouse."
"My work had nothing to do with it!" Jayk hurled the knucklebones into a web-filled comer. "That was Komosahl Trevant! He's jealous of my gifts."
"Your gifts?"
Jayk's eyes grew narrow and sly. "I know you have seen them, Zoombee. That's why you won't make kiss with me, yes?"
"You mean your fangs?" He hid his expression by draining his mug, but as he drank, he kept a wary eye on the tiefling's shadowy face. "And the way your pupils change into diamonds?"
"Of course." Jayk smiled, then came over and pulled his empty mug from his mouth. "It only happens when I am excited. Frightened or angry, you know, but especially when I am amorous, Zoombee."
The Thrasson's mouth grew dry. "And you c-call this a gift?"
"But yes!" Jayk took his empty mug and returned to the center of the room. "My destiny, it is to help people reach the One Death. But Trevant, he does not understand this. He says I have too much excitement to be a Dustman."
Jayk whirled back toward the Thrasson, sloshing wine as she poured. "I ask you, how can I have too much excitement? That is how I help others, is it not?"
"Well…"
"But Trevant is a coward. He says the other factions will drive the Dustmen from the city if I give so much help." She thrust the wine back into the Thrasson's hand. "I say he is a fraud. How can he claim to know the One Death and fear anything? It is impossible!"
"And that's the real reason you were taking me to the Mortuary," the Amnesian Hero surmised. "You wanted me to avenge Trevant's betrayal."
"You will do that, Zoombee?" The tiefling dropped beside his stool and, resting her arms in his lap, gazed up at him. She did not quite flutter her eyelashes. "For me?"
"Maybe-er, not" Always vulnerable to adoration, the Amnesian Hero barely caught himself. "Weren't you supposed to be taking me to the Lady of Pain?"
Jayk rose and backed away, her dark eyes now as cold and hard as obsidian. "I mean to do both, Zoombee. We can summon her whenever we like." Her lips curled into a cunning smile, then she shrugged. "So what is the harm if we do it in Secretary Trevant's office?"
The Amnesian Hero scowled. "I don't see how that avenges you."
Jayk raised her mug to her lips and took a long swallow, staring at him over the rim.
"I'm sure others can tell me how to summon her," the Thrasson warned.
"But will they? You have wondered why everyone thinks you are barmy for wanting to see her?" Jayk sal her mug on the barrel and met the Thrasson's gaze. "The Lady, she does not deal kindly with those who summon her-or those who help. That is why you need me. Only I will show you. I ask – no, I demand-one thing in return: Komosahl Trevant must be near, yes?"
"We struck our bargain in the Gatehouse." The Amnesian Hero turned back to his peephole, already beginning to feel the wine. "You said nothing about Trevant then."
"Exactly."
Though he could not quite figure out why, the Thrasson had the unpleasant feeling Jayk had just declared herself winner of the argument. He swallowed another mouthful of wine and silently cursed Rivergate's darkness. Staring into the murky room gave him an uneasy feeling, as though he were spying upon the realm of Hades itself and might be caught at any moment.
An irritating creak sounded across the room, then a beam of gray light shot through the purple murk. Squinting against its unexpected brilliance, the Amnesian Hero saw the blocky shape of an armored man silhouetted in the doorway. The warrior glanced back over his shoulder.
"We'll need the torches." The voice was that of Mateus.
The Amnesian Hero glanced in Jayk's direction, whispering, "Put out the candle. They're here."
By the time he looked back through his peephole, Mateus was leading the rest of the party into Rivergate. A Mercykiller followed close behind with a lit torch, then came Tessali, the sleepcaster, and the other guards.
They advanced just far enough so that the torch lit the dark comers of the room. Tessali braced his hands on his hips and, being careful to avoid looking at what lay piled on the tables, stood in the heart of the light.
"We're pursuing a tiefling sorceress and a bronze-armored warrior."
A rutterkin stood, ripping a hunk of meat from a haunch of flesh that looked slender enough to be elven, and glared directly into Tessali's eyes. There was no other response.
"If you'll tell us where they are, we'll retrieve them and be gone," Tessali said. "They're barmies, both of them, and quite dangerous."
This drew a chorus of wispy teeters. One of the Mercykillers drew his sword and stepped in front of Tessali, pressing the blade to the throat of the rutterkin who had risen to mock the elf.
"The Factor asked you a question, berk."
The rutterkin calmly raised a misshaped arm and placed his bare hand over the blade. "Uh… et ur… mood air… ut brey… feast."
The rutterkin's words were so slow and thick that it took the Amnesian Hero a moment to puzzle them out. By the time the Mercykiller had done likewise, Tessali had pulled the fellow away and pushed him back toward the door.
"We're here for everyone's good," the elf said. "We are not looking for a fight."