Queen of Thorns

by Dave Gross

  "Obviously not all," said Oparal.

  "Most elves in Kyonin favor the Savored Sting or Desna," said Caladrel. He lifted the clasp of his cloak to show off the symbol of a hawk on a crescent. "We rangers revere Ketephys, who teaches us to depend on our own strength rather trickery."

  "I don't know," I said. "Between your fancy arrows and the way you sneak through the woods ..."

  "Fair enough." Caladrel raised his chin to show I'd scored a point. When he did that, he didn't look all that different from one of the Eel Street boys back in Egorian. Well, taller, maybe. Cleaner, for sure. Anyway, all the elves seemed less weird to me after the past few weeks. Not exactly human, but more and more like the rest of us.

  When we got back to the vine door, the boss and Kemeili had done their tricks. While we filled them in on what we'd found, Fimbulthicket waggled his fingers, and his Green magic bent the vines to either side. The boss poked his head through, but Kemeili touched his shoulder. "Wait."

  She peered inside at a short corridor. A few seconds later, she drew in a hissing breath. "I don't like it."

  The boss riffled a scroll and had another look. "I detect a persistent aura of death magic, but it originates from the chamber beyond the corridor."

  "It's not that," said Kemeili. "The floor patterns look designed to conceal pressure plates."

  "Ah." Since he'd begun casting spells instead of just collecting them, the boss sometimes forgot it doesn't take a wizard to set a trap. "Radovan?"

  "All right," I sighed. "Let's lose the light."

  Checking security wasn't my favorite part of the job, and the only reason I'd gotten any good at it was that I used to take a percentage of whatever was on the other side. I guessed finding the boss's dad wasn't such a bad prize, as long as I didn't get crushed or impaled or dissolved or incinerated or turned into slime. I drew the wings.

  Smile on me, Desna, you sweetheart, you.

  The boss turned off his ring, and I had a look at the darkened corridor. Sometimes I can spot things better in the dark, but not this time. I signed for the light again.

  I saw what Kemeili meant about the floor patterns. They were all circles lying in perfect lines, with smaller circles overlapping the gaps between them.

  I leaned through the gate and blew on the floor. Not much dust, I noticed. If the owner of the tracks came here regular, he must know how to deactivate or avoid the trap. I looked left and right, studying the walls. I turned around to check the ceiling. When I didn't spot anything that looked dangerous, I knelt down and eased into the corridor an inch at a time.

  Everything seemed pretty all right until I put a little weight on my right hand and felt the tile give.

  "Everybody get back."

  "What sort of trap is it?" asked the boss.

  "Don't know yet." I hadn't felt or heard anything, but then I realized I had three and a half elves behind me. "You hear anything just then?"

  Nobody had. A pressure plate needs more weight than I'd given it before it lets go. Usually. I had a long look around the hallway. I didn't see any dart holes or gas cracks, no acid nozzles or floor dents.

  "Will this take long?" Fimbulthicket sounded impatient.

  "Don't rush me." My head was full of memories of the smoking corpses of Eel Street burglars and dismembered Sczarni, guys who'd moved when they should have stood still. I meant to take my time.

  "I'll help," said Kemeili.

  "Don't—" She was already through the door.

  "I can see things that you might miss."

  That was true. "All right. Just stay behind me. Don't put your weight anywhere you don't see me go first."

  She put her lips close to my ear and whispered, "You got it, boss."

  Part of me loved hearing that, but I hoped the others hadn't heard. I resisted the urge to look back to see their reaction.

  We spidered over the floor, testing every tile until we had a good idea which ones were safe. I crawled back to the door and asked the boss for some chalk. Crawling back, I marked the dangerous spots with a word in Elven.

  "Why are you writing 'bowl'?" asked Kemeili.

  "Damn it. I meant 'dangerous.'"

  "Here." She took my hand and traced her finger along my palm. Her touch made me tense in all the right places. She drew the word again. "Got it?"

  "Maybe once more, just to be sure."

  "Greedy." She smiled as an idea sprouted in her brain. She traced the word again, but her other hand slid up the inside of my thigh, then over to touch the dagger tattoos on her belly. She licked the tip of her middle finger and drew it across my palm. This time it didn't tickle, it burned.

  "Ow, ow, what the hell?!" Recoiling from her touch, I slipped. My right spur touched the floor, and I felt it give. Stone grated beneath us, and the floor opened wide. We fell.

  ∗ ∗ ∗

  The boss didn't even shake his head at me. Unhappy as he was about our botched job in the hallway, he had to admit that we couldn't have figured out how to disable the trap from above. All the mechanisms were downstairs, along with the centuries-old bones of an ogre and a couple of goblins. At least the bones turned out handy. Once I'd jammed them into the works, the pit wouldn't be opening up again anytime soon.

  The boss watched as Kemeili blew dust off a section of carved stone. It was one of six six-sided spaces around another six-sided plug in the floor. She reached for a yellow cat's-eye embedded in the stone.

  "Be careful," said the boss. "The apparatus inside the Walking Man was similarly arrayed in a hexagonal configuration. While that contrivance appeared to combine arcane function with biological components, the similarity of form suggests that these stones might act as triggers to some motor function."

  I translated for her. "Don't push that button."

  Truth was, I half-hoped Kemeili would screw up again, if only to show everyone it hadn't been my fault with the trap. She thought it was cute to write her name on my hand with that nasty little spell. Afterward she said I was too sensitive and it was my fault for flinching like that. Still, she couldn't look anybody else in the eye since they'd pulled us out of the hole.

  Lucky for both of us, the boss had the right scroll in hand. After half a second of falling, his spell made us float as light as goose down. Much as it bothered me that he'd been ready for us to screw up, I was glad he was ready when we screwed up.

  The other thing that bothered me was that I hadn't figured Kemeili for so reckless or stupid. What was she trying to do? Maybe she was trying to get me killed, but that made no sense. She'd have been as dead as me if the boss hadn't saved us. The only thing I could figure was that she really wanted my attention, but that was childish.

  I wondered again just how old she was. Young for an inquisitor, I knew. But what did that mean?

  On the ceiling was another six-sided plug surrounded by tiles of the same shape, same size as below.

  "These blocks appear moveable," said the boss. "The central plug is approximately the size of the plinths in the city's central plaza. My hypothesis is that the active spires create the illusory and repulsion effects we experienced upon approaching the dome. The remaining two spires, currently beneath these chambers, must perform functions we have yet to discern."

  "What's the one down here do?"

  "Something dreadful," said Fimbulthicket in his spooky voice.

  The boss agreed. "I believe each spire is attuned to a different school of magic. The inscriptions on the surrounding stones indicate an emphasis on necromancy. We cannot determine its specific function without further study. Thus, it is imperative not to experiment with the controls."

  "What of the other two active spires?" said Oparal. "Wards and illusions only account for two of the four."

  "I have a theory. But first, let us examine the open chambers."

  We made the circuit, peeking inside each room. Instead of a ring of six-sided stones on the floor and ceiling, a six-sided pillar stood in the middle of each of the other rooms. The carved runes glowed a di
fferent color on each: green, blue, purple, and white. The boss nodded at each rune as if he understood what he meant, which of course he did. That's the sort of thing he's good at.

  "What kind of magic is in the other sealed room?" asked Oparal.

  "It should be a summoning, divination, or energy effect. There are eight schools of arcane magic, but only six plinths. Curious ..." He pinched the bridge of his nose the way he does when he's thinking real hard. "We should recover our strength before opening the other sealed door. Then we can be sure which of the schools are not represented."

  "Wouldn't you rather see where those footprints lead?" said Caladrel. "If I am not mistaken, they belong to your father."

  "How can you know that?"

  "Show me," said Fimbulthicket. "I will know."

  "Very well." The boss didn't sound happy to leave the spire rooms. Show him something magic, and he's like a kid with a new toy. Still, I thought he'd been keener on finding this long-lost father of his.

  Caladrel led the way, Fimbulthicket trotting close behind. The instant the ranger pointed, the gnome threw himself to the floor and sniffed at the print. He muttered, either another of his Green spells or just more crazy leaking out of his head.

  "It's Variel." The gnome stood up and looked at us. When we stared back at his weird behavior, he said, "What are we waiting for? Let's go."

  The boss looked back in the direction of the gate we hadn't opened. "It would be helpful to know what Variel was doing with these spires before—"

  "You said you were going to find Variel, not to explore ruins." Fimbulthicket started out calm, but his face twisted as he went on. "You're just like him. No, you're worse than he ever was! I never should have ..." He stopped to look at his shaking hands.

  The boss didn't answer. He looked afraid—not of the gnome, weird as he was, but of the idea of finding his father. The longer he hesitated before answering, the more everyone stared.

  "You are correct, of course," he said at last.

  We fetched our packs and followed the trail of footprints. They were harder to spot once we entered the aqueducts. Caladrel showed us where they went in different directions, and he always knew where the trail was fresh and where it had been crossed most often.

  The main path led us to a big crack in the aqueduct wall. Squeezing through, we found a cool cellar filled with tall clay jugs sealed with wax. I gave one a shove, and liquid sloshed inside.

  "Fascinating," said the boss, shining his light-ring on one. "These amphorae bear a passing resemblance to those of—"

  "Leave it," Fimbulthicket said. "No more dawdling."

  The more reluctant the boss seemed to find his dad, the more eager Fimbulthicket became.

  Caladrel led us up to the main floor of the house. From all the shelves and counters, I took it for a shop or storehouse. The boss traced a finger over some elven writing on a smaller clay jug, but he didn't pause long enough to get another scolding from the gnome.

  We stepped outside into the cool night. The crescent moon grinned through the cage of the dome. Choirs of night birds and insects sang all across the city. I figured we'd wait until dawn to keep going, but Caladrel kept moving. We followed him along a wide street and around the corner of a grape arbor.

  "Do you notice the difference?" The boss spoke just above a whisper.

  Once he mentioned it, it was obvious. There was hardly any rubble in the streets. The trees and other plants filled their gardens but didn't overflow them. "Somebody's been minding the joint."

  In the arbor Caladrel led us to a hut. The door was latched but not locked. Inside we found the walls covered with gardening tools; pots and bins covered the worktables. We weren't in there ten seconds before Kemeili piped up. "Trapdoor."

  We checked it out and it seemed harmless. We climbed down into a cellar. There, half-hidden behind a pile of sacks, we found another secret passage. This one was a tunnel carved straight out of the earth. Instead of brick walls, thick roots grew up to form arches every seven or eight feet. The place smelled of fresh dirt and earthworms.

  We followed it for hundreds of feet, turning now and then but always heading east and upward. At the far end we found a simple door, no lock or traps. We stepped through into a wine cellar full of empty racks.

  It was a sight to break the boss's heart, but he didn't mention it. "We are in one of the manor houses."

  "Someone has been living here," said Oparal.

  The elves agreed. So did Fimbulthicket. "He's here," said the gnome. "He's here right now."

  Before anybody could stop him, he scampered up the stairs.

  We hustled after him, chasing him through halls with dark little rooms on either side. We caught up in a kitchen, where I saw a big bowl of vegetables and a basin of clean water. But he wasn't trying to get away from us—not that he could have on those little legs of his. He dropped his pack on the floor and called out, "Variel?"

  "Hush," said Kemeili. "Even if he is here, we don't know whether he's alone."

  Caladrel took the lead away from Fimbulthicket, but then the boss took it from Caladrel. The uncertainty I'd seen on his face was gone. His curiosity was taking charge. He had his finder face on.

  We moved through a hallway and what looked like a dining room that had been kept clean but wasn't much used. There was a salon with faded tapestries on the east wall and a huge window to the west. Through it we could see the whole city beneath us.

  The boss led us up a curving staircase and across another wide hallway. Through an open door I saw a room full of bookshelves and tables full of stuff. I spotted a couple of globes, a half-assembled orrery, several taxidermied animals, and what looked like the collected bones of a giant overflowing a basket. Arnisant spotted the bones and licked his chops.

  I nudged the boss. "Looks like your library."

  Caladrel raised his fist for silence. A second later, I heard the voice that put him on his guard. We crept up the hallway toward a corner where yellow light spilled out from a room on the other side of the library. The closer we got, the more I smelled fresh air. The voice grew louder, as did the sound of wind chimes.

  "—had your fun, I'll give the beasts another day to recover from their fright. I think it's time I had another look at the mage district. I haven't culled the aberrations since the windstorm took down the old willows. I know how they fascinate you, but we'll be sorry if we let them breed for more than a season or two."

  The voice sounded familiar, but I was pretty sure I hadn't heard it before. That's when it occurred to me that it sounded a lot like the boss.

  He must have thought so, too. He walked straight down the hallway and turned the corner.

  I hustled after him, the others so close on my heels that they nearly knocked me down when I stopped in the doorway.

  Inside was a bedroom that would have put a brothel to shame. Golden sheets of silk formed a canopy over the round bed. Dozens of pillows spilled onto the floor. Stuffed lounge chairs and sofas loitered all over the room. There was no fireplace, but the hanging braziers were big enough to float as skiffs. Like in the salon downstairs, the western windows looked down over the city. The only difference was that the windowpanes were gone, leaving that side of the room open to the sky.

  The boss stood still, hand on the pommel of his sword. He stared across the room at what I could have taken for a mirror if the other guy were wearing anything other than a long green skirt. His ears were longer, and no white showed around his big elven irises. He didn't have that little beard the boss keeps under his lip, and he looked a couple of inches taller. He also looked about twenty years younger.

  "Variel!" The gnome got past me and rushed the elf. The boss took a step forward but froze as Fimbulthicket threw himself at the elf.

  Variel caught him around the waist, leaning back as he held him on his hip like a child. "Fim?"

  Oh, sure, I thought. He gets to call you "Fim."

  Fimbulthicket buried his face in the elf's neck. Variel gave him a squee
ze back, but he stared at the boss.

  Caladrel stepped forward and bowed. "My lord Variel."

  Variel spared him a brief glance before returning his gaze to the boss. I couldn't see the boss's face well, but Variel's expression kept changing like the characters on the little pages of a riffle scroll.

  Caladrel spoke again. "Allow me to present Oparal, agent of the queen, and Kemeili, inquisitor of Calistria."

  Variel nodded, still looking at the boss. Each of them seemed to be waiting for the other to speak first. My money was on the boss holding out longer. Too bad I didn't have time to place a bet before Variel spoke.

  "You have your mother's eyes."

  "So you know," said the boss. "You know who I am."

  "I knew the instant I set eyes on you. You could only be the son of Pontia Jeggare."

  The boss's face filled with blood. He was going to pop any second. "Do you even remember her a century after—?"

  "Let's not begin with a quarrel." A woman's voice came from behind a dressing screen. I smelled flowers on the steamy air and guessed there was a bathtub hidden back there.

  She stepped into sight, a tall elf wearing only a towel. Her green hair spilled over her shoulders to curl down to a point between her hip and knees. Thick as it was, it did nothing to cover her curves.

  The boss stepped back. "Look out! She is not what she appears." The Shadowless Sword was in his hand, pointing at the woman's heart.

  "Of course," she said, fiddling with a ring on her finger, "if you have come for a fight, we can oblige you."

  "Please don't!" Variel dropped Fimbulthicket and stepped between them. At first I thought he was protecting her from the boss, but he turned to the woman. "Please."

  The woman's eyes narrowed as she studied us. She walked past Variel to have a closer look. She brushed catlike past me, drawing in a breath through her teeth. She felt Oparal's hair and brushed her cheek against Caladrel's ear.

  When she came to the boss, he lowered his sword and stood stock still. She leaned in to sniff his neck, first one side and then the next. "Interesting."

  "Let me talk to them," said Variel.

  "Very well." She walked to the wide open window, still fiddling with her ring. "But I want to talk, too. Catch up with your child, but send the others down to me, one at a time."