Demascus noticed the queen’s posture stiffen ever so slightly.
“That news is well-known,” she said. “It is a great loss.”
Then, “I appreciate you bringing your suspicions to me. I agreed to meet you because I dote on my niece and haven’t seen her in months. But I’ve got my own sources of intelligence, thanks to the Steward of Earth, and I can assure you we’re bending all available resources into determining what happened to the Motherhouse.”
“Then you already know about the Cult of the Elder Elemental Eye?” said Chant.
“I grant you, that name is new to me. You can be sure I shall immediately inform Tradrem of this potential connection.”
Chant leaned forward to speak, but the queen said in a preemptory manner, “I’ve enjoyed meeting all of you. And it’s been especially nice to see you again, Carmenere; you should come around more. But I’m afraid my free time this morning has concluded, much as I regret it.”
Arathane stood, and the rest of them scrambled to follow her lead. She swept to the exit, her gown hem wavering over the ground like a storm cloud.
Demascus said to the woman’s retreating profile, “We saw your carriage outside the Motherhouse the night before it was destroyed. And we know you asked the Cabal to look into monster attacks across Airspur.”
The queen paused at the bower’s edge. She said, “How do you know that?”
“Lieutenant Leheren told us. Before she sent us to spy on the fire mage.”
“That was injudicious of her,” said the queen. “But ultimately irrelevant.”
Demascus threw up his hands and said, “Will you just listen?”
Carmenere shot him a warning glance. Arathane rotated and let the weight of her full regard fall on him.
He swallowed and said, “I’m sorry, Your Majesty, to raise my voice. But you should know that after we left the Motherhouse to, ah, meet up with Riltana, we were attacked by another of these demonic monsters. It targeted us specifically. And now that I think about it, it probably trailed us from the Firestorm Cabal headquarters! Because it said—”
The queen said, “You really believe the Firestorm Cabal is implicated in the monstrous outbreaks afflicting the city?” She let her head fall to one side as she considered him with flashing eyes.
“Your Majesty,” said Chant, shuffling a pace closer. “We do believe it. The information we gained at Chevesh’s tower isn’t the only strike against the Cabal. When we met Leheren and two other lieutenants, one of them bore a jagged spiral tattoo on his neck. That mark is one of the signs of the Elder Elemental Eye. And … both the beasts we’ve fought, one by Demascus alone, swore allegiance to the same entity; the Elder Elemental Eye!”
The queen peered at Chant, then at Demascus, and finally at Carmenere as if for confirmation.
The silverstar said, “I have no reason to doubt their claims. And it could explain the destruction of the Motherhouse, through some sort of internal strife.”
Arathane lingered in the exit, her face impassive. Demascus noticed for the first time four genasi in palace livery stood within earshot. They scrutinized the queen, as if perhaps waiting for a sign from their sovereign.
Their distance from the bower and from one another, the weapons visible on their belts, and reserves likely nearby, just in case …
The queen said, eyes locked on Chant, “Tell me this; did you come here seeking a reward?”
“No,” said Demascus.
Chant opened his mouth as if to disagree, but Demascus hurtled onward. “Regardless of what you decide, I’m already involved. All of us are, to some extent. Even your niece, now that she’s associated with us. We’ve been marked by this cult. They’re sending killer monsters after us, by all that’s holy! Odds are, they’ll continue to do so until we’re dead. Even if you don’t want or need our assistance, if you have any information at all that would help us, we would be greatly in your debt.”
Arathane didn’t move for several long heartbeats.
Demascus wondered if he should describe his awakening at the shrine, the Veil’s revelation of his past incarnations, and the possibility that some kind of nemesis hunted him. The urge to reveal it all was overpowering. But doing so would just further muddy the waters, or even give the queen pause to wonder about his sanity. He forced himself to watch the monarch in silence as she decided.
Arathane sighed.
“You’re going to let us help!” guessed Riltana. She shot a quick look at Carmenere, then away.
The queen said, “Yes. We can aid each other. If you swear by your names to keep what I am about to tell you confidential to those of us gathered here?”
“I swear on my name,” said Demascus. The oath had tumbled out of his mouth before he quite realized it.
“As do I,” said Carmenere.
Riltana looked around the bower as if looking for some hidden scribe. She said, “I am Riltana; I swear.”
Chant shook his head like a man just informed that his child had a terminal illness. But he said, “I’m Chant Morven; I swear to keep what you tell us here between only the five of us.” The human’s tone was resigned.
Arathane leaned into the bower. She said, her voice lower than before, “The deputy commander of the Cabal is a friend of mine. In an unofficial capacity, the Firestorm Cabal sometimes provides services to the Crown, especially when I don’t want to involve the stewards.”
“I’ve heard rumors to that effect,” said Chant.
“And if you know what’s good for you, they’ll stay rumors,” said Carmenere.
“Let the queen continue,” said Demascus.
Arathane’s mouth quirked in what might be a smile. She continued, “I visited the Motherhouse to enlist the Cabal’s aid in the matter of several monstrous rampages. He told me then he’d discovered a secret faction within the Cabal.”
“Ah,” said the silverstar.
“Ah, indeed. The Firestorm Cabal is divided. However, he mentioned nothing about a cult or the Elder Elemental Eye. On the other hand, the deputy commander was concerned this splinter sect might be responsible for the monster attacks around Airspur.”
“Wait, you knew the Firestorm Cabal was involved?” said Chant.
The queen speared the pawnbroker with her gaze. “I just said so, didn’t I?”
The human said, “Pardon, Your Majesty.” His face reddened.
Arathane said, “The deputy commander suspected a few subordinates in particular. He explained he would have his most trustworthy lieutenant look into the matter, and determine if there really was a link between the monsters, the splinter Cabal faction, and the genasi he suspected.”
“Leheren? Was she the one the deputy commander put in charge?” said Demascus. “And did he tell you the names of the ones he suspected?”
“Was it Jett?” said Chant.
“He didn’t provide names; he seemed to have things well enough in hand. But that was before the Motherhouse was destroyed. I haven’t had any contact with the deputy commander since then. I’m afraid that he and many others may have lost their lives in the blaze.”
The stormsoul queen dropped her gaze, and the lights in her circlet dimmed. And was that a sheen of sorrow in her eyes? The queen said the deputy commander was a friend …
Riltana said, “Have you sent a team to investigate the ruins?” The woman seemed completely oblivious to the queen’s mournful attitude.
The queen wiped at her face. That tiny movement was the first time since they’d entered the bower that Arathane seemed the least bit vulnerable. Demascus brushed at his own face as if in unconscious sympathy.
“Officially,” said Arathane, completely in control of herself, “it’s a matter for Magnol’s civic forces. The Steward of Fire has dispatched a special detachment to the ruins to see what can be learned.”
“What’d they find?” asked Riltana.
“Nothing; at least nothing regarding monsters, secret factions, or … cults. Which means the investigation is officiall
y over; it was put down as an accident. Survivors are being located, and Firestorm Cabal lodges in other parts of Akanûl are sending representatives.”
“But?” said Demascus, sensing that Arathane was holding something back.
She nodded and said, “More could possibly be found at the Motherhouse, if the searchers knew where to look. But I can’t ask Magnol to send his team back, because it would alert the stewards to my special knowledge of the Cabal. They’ve heard the same rumors Chant has, I can assure you, and I do not want to give them any further reason to believe I sometimes circumvent the Covenant of Stewardship to safeguard the realm.”
“We can investigate the Motherhouse ruins for you,” said Demascus, “if you tell us what to look for.”
“You’ve guessed my intent, which means you’re intuitive,” said the queen. “By the sound of it, you’ve successfully faced these oddly demonic creatures before, which means you’re also able to handle yourself in a fight.”
If only you knew, he thought. He said, “I am. We all are.”
“And Carmenere, will you accompany Demascus, Riltana, and Chant Morven, as my personal agent in this matter?”
“Hold on,” said Riltana, “this could be dangerous! Carmenere’s not—”
“Not what?” said the earthsoul, one eyebrow arched.
Arathane said, “Carmenere is a silverstar, and one of some ability. She goes with you.”
“Thank you, my queen,” said Carmenere, and smiled.
Chant clapped his hands and said, “Wonderful! We should go right away, before too much more time passes. What should we be looking for, Your Majesty?”
“In the basement levels, look for the sign of the Firestorm Cabal inscribed over the symbol of a cube. You’ll find it inscribed here and there, as if a decorative flourish. But each point where that dual sign is inscribed marks an entrance to the sublevel vault. I want you to enter and see if it was destroyed with the rest of the Motherhouse. If not, see what you can learn.”
Demascus watched the queen walk down the path, one elite bodyguard on each side. She was a vision, no doubt about it. But without her direct presence to focus on, his thoughts spiraled back to the question that had ambushed him earlier.
Will I find a link to my past self—my past selves—in the Motherhouse vault? I might be offered the chance to embrace all I once was … and never be able to escape myself again.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
AIRSPUR
THE YEAR OF THE AGELESS ONE (1479 DR)
THE RUINED MOTHERHOUSE NO LONGER POURED RIVULETS of smoke into the sky. The massive construction lay in shattered heaps. Barricades alive with darting witchlights screened curious citizens out of the site. Peacemakers and Cabal members conferred in groups of two and three. Reconstruction was set to begin in a tenday or two; until then, no one was allowed in or out except ranking Firestormers.
Which was why Chant was crawling on his belly through an alley that neighbored the ruin, keeping his head down. Mud slicked his fine clothing and face, and the unpleasant stink clinging to him suggested he’d accidentally crawled through dog droppings.
Riltana slid ahead of him as easily as breathing. Behind Chant labored Carmenere. The earthsoul looked at least as uncomfortable as he felt pulling herself forward on her elbows, which surprised him. As an earthsoul, he would have expected Carmenere to be most comfortable so close to the ground. Demascus brought up the rear, lost in his own thoughts, but making reasonable headway.
The deva had remained uncharacteristically silent since they’d left the palace. At first Chant thought Demascus was mooning over his meeting with the queen. But then he suspected something else bothered the man. Not fear, though. After what Chant had seen Demascus do in the alley, he had a hard time believing anything could frighten the deva. Which was frightening to consider. Someone who didn’t feel fear was a liability on a team composed mostly of people who did not, as a matter of course, return to life if killed.
And if Chant was killed under the Motherhouse, chasing after Demascus’s identity and the truth of the Elder Elemental Eye, what would become of Jaul? Raneger had much to answer—
Riltana stopped. One finger went to her lips, then she pointed at a crack in the masonry. Was she suggesting they go through it? A giant block rested on a ridge of broken pilings, forming a sort of long tunnel. No way was he was going to fit …
The thief slipped into the gap.
He exhaled a long-suffering sigh. Then he wriggled after. Usually his husky frame didn’t impede him in the least. Not this time, he thought, struggling forward. It was at times like this that he seriously considered restricting himself to just five meals a day.
The odor of smoke and ash permeated everything. Plus the whiff of something dead.
The cleft emptied into a rubble-filled space open to the sky behind the largest heap of tumbled masonry, which neatly blocked the view from the street. Chant concentrated on remaining quiet. The mumble of conversation from a group of Cabal members penetrated the obstructing detritus. The friends had Arathane’s permission to investigate the ruin, but they were sworn not to reveal the queen’s involvement. Which essentially meant they were, indeed, trespassing.
A collection of mauls, pickaxes, pry bars, and other tools were laid out on tarps. Smaller piles of stone, wood, and cloth lay in regular piles around the periphery, as if they’d been sorted. A wheelbarrow stacked with crumbled stone rested at the mouth of an opening that plunged underground.
“Where are the workers?” whispered Carmenere.
“Lunch break,” he guessed. He pointed to the opening. “Let’s try there.”
They descended, picking their way around debris that the workers hadn’t yet managed to clear. If they’d gotten there sooner, the sloping tunnel would probably still be blocked.
A door hung half off its hinges at the bottom of the descent. Demascus took hold of it and carefully swung it. It scraped and resisted, but he managed to open it all the way.
The chamber beyond was half-collapsed, making what had apparently served the Motherhouse as an expansive beer and root cellar into a cramped and wreckage-strewn cavern. A yeasty, damp odor competed with the stink of ash and smoke. It made him a little sad to think of so much ale soaking into the earth.
Demascus entered, his head scanning left, right, up, and down. Chant was pretty sure the man was automatically assessing the room in case he had to kill someone in it. That was what assassins did, right?
Riltana was right on Demascus’s heels. Her face mask made her eyes seem particularly wide.
Chant came next, his crossbow a comfortable weight in his right hand. He didn’t normally think of himself as a violent man, but he’d put in enough time practicing with the unique triple-shot weapon that he was justifiably proud of his precision using it.
Unfortunately the light leaking down the stairs didn’t illuminate the area beyond a few paces.
Demascus said quietly to Riltana, “Do you have the sunrod you bought from Chant?”
“Wait,” Carmenere said. “Selûne can provide.” A silvery glow like the full moon swelled from her outstretched hand. The glow became a distinct sphere of phosphorescence that rolled away from her through the air and into the dark chamber like a miniature moon.
The space was bigger than he’d realized. Though the ceiling was collapsed, an open area was visible beyond the broken timbers, rocks, and rubble that filled the center of the chamber. Several passages gaped on the far wall.
“Perfect,” said Demascus.
The deva edged forward. Chant followed, wary for any timber movement or shifting surfaces in the floor or ceiling. Halfway around he noticed a lantern hanging on the wall above a wheelbarrow lying on its side. Two pickaxes and a pry bar lay on the ground as if they’d simply been dropped.
“Did the workers down here go for lunch too?” Demascus asked.
“Maybe,” Chant replied. But why would they leave their tools?
Carmenere said, “Maybe the queen sent word
to pull the workers out on some pretense so we could sneak in.”
“You’d think she would have mentioned that,” said Demascus. He drew his sword.
They advanced around the collapsed chamber’s perimeter in single file, Demascus in the lead, Chant trailing at the rear.
The pale light revealed a short silhouette. He saw it was a whole keg with its brewing seal intact. “Hey, this one’s not broken!” he exclaimed. He bent for a closer look. Yes! Liquid sloshed in the container when he nudged it.
“What does that matter?” asked Carmenere.
“Uh … it seems like a shame to let it go to waste.” By her look, the silverstar thought differently.
A low growl pushed thoughts of salvage from his mind. The sound was guttural, rough, and hungry.
Movement glimmered in Carmenere’s light. What he’d taken for a heap of refuse stood up on four legs and shook out scaled wings that were nightmarishly wide. Eyes wide as tea cups caught the silvery light, set in an almost human face. Almost. Curved barbs rose from its spine, and the tip of its lashing tail was crowned with spikes.
Chant recognized the beast from his books: it was a manticore. Manticores were vicious predators, sometimes trained as sentries by people who didn’t mind losing a few trainers to the process.
The creature growled again as its tail vibrated like a rattlesnake’s.
“Don’t excite it,” said Chant, his voice low. “It’s probably a guard. If we back off, it might leave us alone.”
The manticore’s snarl cracked off the close walls. Its tail lashed more violently.
“Down!” yelled Demascus as he hit the dirt.
Chant ducked behind a timber. A handful of spikes nailed themselves into a splintered rafter overhead. That was close!
He peered around the support, straining to control his rapid breathing. Demascus was back on his feet, sword tip aimed at the manticore. The ribbonlike length of the attached Veil twitched of its own accord.
“Everyone all right?” Demascus yelled.
“It missed us,” came Carmenere’s voice from Chant’s left. The silverstar was behind an overturned workbench.
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