by Dave Gross
Proving his words prophetic, the wisps abandoned Kemeili as she reached the manor. They stalked Oparal as she went to the amphitheater, but their bodies grew wan as they followed the fearless paladin.
"Here," said Variel. He offered me his hand. When I took it, he intoned a few words in a tone deeper than his speaking voice. The sound emanated not from his lips but from his chest, deep within his throat. I felt their vibrations throughout my body and saw the leaves of the living arches stir in sympathetic motion. Still grasping my hand, he stepped toward the nearest vine arch. "Come."
I followed, hesitating only for an instant as I saw him step into the living wood. When I followed, the arch offered no impediment to my passage between places. His Green magic transported us from his manor to somewhere else.
We arrived in a darkened hall. After a moment for my eyes to adjust to the gloom, I looked down the passage we had opened earlier to see the vine gate we had opened in the chambers beneath the city plaza. Variel had transported us from plant to plant, much as the whispering lilies I nurtured at Greensteeples communicated messages across vast distances.
"What is this?" said Variel. "Someone has tampered with my barrier."
"Our doing. We examined the vault but did not disturb the hidden spire."
He pressed a hidden panel on the wall to no obvious effect. He frowned, dissatisfied with the reaction.
"I am afraid we also disabled the trap."
"How many of my secrets have you already learned?"
I winced, but he smiled, apparently more impressed than annoyed.
In the faint moonlight of the corridor, I could barely discern the outline of the alcoves we found within the city's subterranean passage. I activated my tourmaline to illuminate the space. We entered the vault of the spire.
Variel studied my face for a moment. "Shall I trust you with a secret?"
Before I could answer, he touched the stones embedded in the surrounding hexagons with deliberate slowness. With each contact, an eldritch light suffused the stone. He spoke no words of magic, nor did I detect any furtive gestures from his other hand. It appeared that anyone who knew the sequence could operate the device.
The surrounding hexagons sank into the floor before moving aside. A stone spire rose out of the floor to fill the room, halting just before its tapered tip could touch the high ceiling. Purple witchlight played along the runes carved upon its six faces. Everywhere I saw signs and sigils of that darkest of all magic, necromancy.
Variel indicated another sequence of stones, this time careful not to touch them. At last he held his finger above a jasper. "That is to raise the spires to the surface. Do you have it?"
When I nodded, he pressed another sequence of stones, which I also consigned to memory. With a sound of grating stone, the spire sank once more into its hidden compartment. The arcane light flickered and died upon the activating stones.
"Come."
He led me out of the vault and over to the remaining alcove. Inside, he depressed the hidden wall panel and triggered an audible lock of the trapdoor. With another deep-chanted spell and a gesture of his staff, he parted the vine gate to reveal the passage to the sixth chamber. He gestured me toward the gemstones embedded in the floor.
"Would you care to do the honors? Just lift it from the vault. Please don't raise it into the city where Zuldanavox would see it."
I pressed the correct sequence to lift the spire from its vault. The runes along its edges glowed red. I expended a riffle scroll to confirm my suspicion: this spire channeled raw arcane energy, the stuff of fireballs and lightning bolts.
"Hasn't Zuldanavox come to examine these chambers herself?"
"She could, of course. You've seen how she sheds her shape. Still, the problem is ..." Variel winced as he considered his words. "She dislikes close quarters."
"A claustrophobic dragon?"
"Never put it that way where she might overhear," he warned. "Fortunately, this close to the spires, she can't spy upon us."
"That must be an effect of the warding spire."
"You understand these arcane matters better than I, but that was my assumption too. Anywhere else in the city, you never know for sure whether she is watching or listening."
"Why are you showing me this?"
His fingers danced across the gems. With a scrape of stone, the channeling spire vanished into the floor. He stood and slapped the dust from his hands. "You must be prepared to act as an emissary between Telandia and Zuldanavox in the event that I am killed."
The suggestion struck me like a cold dash of water. "Who would wish to kill you?"
"Perhaps one of your companions from Iadara."
"But to what end?" My thoughts reeled. No stranger to murder as a tool of courtly intrigue, I struggled to conceive of my father as a target. So soon after our first meeting, the prospect of losing him to an assassin felt overwhelming. "What would killing you achieve?"
"It would delay or destroy any chance of an agreement between Zuldanavox and Queen Telandia."
"Who would dare such treachery?"
"Some—perhaps your paladin of Iomedae—would object to treating with a dragon. And not everyone in Kyonin agrees with Telandia's measured approach to the question of the Witchbole."
"'The question of the Witchbole.' That is a phrase I learned only recently."
"It has long been a point of contention at court," Variel said. "Some among the Calistrians desire revenge for the sack of Shevaroth. Others feel the time is not yet ripe. Telandia's cautious approach to the horde has frustrated some among the rangers. The half-elves of Erages would welcome any disruption of Iadaran authority. A dozen other factions would be glad to see the balance of power tip one way or another."
"You have been away from court for a century. Much has changed in that time."
Variel smiled. "Do you know the aphorism about the difference between elves and humans?"
I did. Since pure elven societies on Golarion were generally restricted to the relative confines of Kyonin and a handful of other strongholds, they did not claim so much territory as the humans of Cheliax, for example. "Elves think a hundred miles is a long distance ..."
" ...and humans think a hundred years is a long time. Rest assured that little has changed since I was last summoned to court. The trick is to anticipate what an individual is willing to do to achieve a goal."
"And you think one might be willing to murder you?"
"I am the one thing all of your companions expected to find when they agreed to accompany you. If their intention was to convey a message to me, they have had ample opportunity."
"Perhaps their goals changed upon discovering this city and the dragon."
He nodded. "Undoubtedly. We must prepare for the worst."
Variel's impulsive confidence troubled me. "Why are you entrusting this information to me rather than Fimbulthicket? Simply because I share your blood?"
"You have no affiliation at court, and I believe you when you say you came to Kyonin for the carriage."
"That is as flimsy a reason as saying you trust me because I am your son."
"No, Varian," he said. "I trust you because you are Pontia's son."
For his posing such an argument, I began to love him.
It was no time to wallow in sentimentality. "Caladrel says the rangers have suspected the existence of this city. How many others might be aware of it?"
"Very few, I imagine. The druids and rangers of Kyonin have long sensed an anomaly in this part of the Fierani, but there are no records of its existence in the archives."
"How is that possible?"
"I was hoping you might have an opinion on the matter. Despite my facility with the Green, matters of the arcane often elude me."
"But such a deception on such a grand scale is barely conceivable. It would require both a massive conspiracy and enchantments of the highest order. The six spires must be the key, of course. You say that Zuldanavox has a curious mind. Has she not researched their function?
"
"She has, although her reluctance to enter these chambers has limited her studies. I've described the chambers to her—in something less than perfect detail—but to her magic is not an academic pursuit but a birthright."
"But you have learned more than you have told her, yes?"
"A few things, perhaps. I know the inactive spires are not damaged, as I have led her to believe. I suspect some previous inhabitants of the city lowered them—whether intentionally or inadvertently, I can't say. Without knowing what they do, I've taken a cautious approach."
I remembered the caution hinted at in the notes he had left behind. "The pattern of these stones, and the arrangement of the six spires—do they not remind you of what you found within the Walking Man?"
"They do," he nodded. "Unfortunately, I never returned to perform practical experiments with the Walking Man. If only I had—"
"I did."
"You did?"
I took a deep breath and related the tale of my rash experiment. Variel's face paled when I described my unintentional drive toward Erages, but he seemed relieved to hear that I had at least some practical knowledge of the controls.
"Could you do more than raise and lower these spires?" he asked. "Can you control their powers?"
"Given time, perhaps. Obviously the illusions and wards are already active. We experienced that magic upon our approach. Presumably there are also transfiguration and enchantment effects in place, but I have not observed their effects. That leaves the inactive necromantic and energy spires ...and the seventh spire."
"Why a seventh spire?"
"The ancient Thassilonians divided arcane magic into seven schools or philosophies."
He frowned. "So?"
"So perhaps the elves in this city followed the same tradition."
He started to scoff, then stopped himself as he saw my serious expression, turning the sound into a discreet cough. "I suppose it's possible," he admitted. "Certainly there must have been information exchanged between the scholars of Kyonin and the human empire, in the days before Earthfall. And it may well be that this city was constructed during that period. But I still can't truly imagine our wizards giving up one of the eight classical schools of magic—nor undertaking such a drastic change on the advice of humans." He winced slightly. "No offense intended."
I nodded. Inside, my spirit deflated at his casual dismissal of my hypothesis, but I pressed on. "It is a bit of a leap, admittedly. I had hoped—but never mind. In the Walking Man, you noted six panels surrounding a seventh. And here we have six spires surrounding a plaza. Surely the similarity is more than mere coincidence."
He considered. "You think there's another spire under the plaza."
"My hypothesis exactly."
"What does it do?"
"If each spire is tuned to a different type of magic, then the final one could be devoted to either divination or conjuring. As you say, there's no reason the builders of this city should have stuck to the same divisions as the Thassilonians. Perhaps the final spire is attuned to both. Yet it seems to me that conjuration would be more in line with the functions of the other spires"
"Like summoning elementals to defend the city?"
"Possibly. But I believe it is an aiudara."
Variel blinked. "That would explain why I haven't found one anywhere else in the city."
"And Zuldanavox does not know of its existence?"
"She suspects there must be an aiudara within the city, but as long as I continue to unearth other treasures to engage her curiosity, she is content."
"It must be connected in some manner to these six spires. When I halted the Walking Man, it required triggering filaments from all six panels at once. Perhaps all six spires must be raised—or lowered—to activate the aiudara."
"How much did you learn of these spires before you found me?"
"Less than you have just showed me. The rest I am simply extrapolating."
"Do your companions know of the aiudara?"
"Not with certainty, no," I said. "But some of them are clever enough to make the same connection as I."
"Let us hope not. Zuldana has only just begun to warm to the notion of establishing diplomatic relations with Iadara, but she considers this city her territory. She would not be pleased to discover that the forces of Iadara could march in at any time."
"How can I help?"
"Should the subject arise in your conversation with Zuldanavox, emphasize that while the court factions may influence the queen, she alone has the power to make treaty—not Prince Amarandlon, not the Calistrians, and certainly not some Forlorn agent of Cheliax."
I almost laughed. "You need not fear that Oparal represents the empire."
"You would be surprised how often a Forlorn elf returns to Kyonin only to reveal herself loyal to her adopted land."
"It is hardly likely in this case."
"Why not?"
"Oparal is truly a paladin," I said.
"Isn't Iomedae the inheritor of Aroden's mantle? I imagine all the temples of Cheliax have adopted her worship by now."
A hundred years is indeed a long time. Now did not seem the moment to explain that since Variel last heard word of Chelish politics, House Thrune had taken control of the empire by virtue of an infernal compact with Hell. "Trust me when I say that Oparal is no agent of Cheliax."
"I will," he said.
"We must return before your dragon summons me to audience."
Variel took my hand and once more led me through the concourse of the Green. We emerged where we had begun. Arnisant leaped up and woofed at our sudden appearance. I gave him the sign to sit. Behind him, Radovan relaxed after reaching for the darts concealed in his jacket.
"Where'd you go, boss?"
"Just a turn about the garden," I said, simultaneously giving him the sign that all was well. Seeing it, he relaxed. "Where are the others?"
"Everybody's been wandering off after talking to the dragon. Fimbulthicket's waiting for Oparal downstairs. I'm supposed to wait here until he comes to fetch me. She wants to see you last."
"That's a striking jacket," said Variel.
"You like it?" Radovan turned around to show off the tooling. "I got it in a city called Goka on the other side of the world."
"They must have excellent tailors there," said Variel. "It's very well fitted."
I did not like Variel's admiring tone.
"Yeah." Radovan raised an arm to mime the act of elbowing an opponent. The spur on his elbow jutted out from the slot built into the arm. "Keeps me ready for action."
"I've no doubt of that."
"Show me the library," I said abruptly. "If you don't mind, I have more questions about the reasons this city was concealed after the Retreat."
"Of course."
"Sounds good," agreed Radovan, turning to lead the way. "Looks comfy in there."
"You go downstairs," I said. "Fimbulthicket will be waiting for you there."
"All right," said Radovan, seemingly oblivious to the flirtatious undercurrent of Variel's banter.
Radovan descended to the ground floor while Variel led me to the library. He spoke a resonant word that woke a dozen glowing blossoms to illuminate the chamber. Hundreds of volumes lined shelves on the eastern wall, safely away from the open western wall.
I was eager to pore over their titles, but I had to dispense with the tawdry matter at hand. "As Radovan might say, you are barking up the wrong tree."
Variel reached down to stroke Arnisant's head. "I was just being friendly."
"Well, stop it."
I ignored his laughter and went to the nearest table to peruse the lost history of the City of Thorns.
Chapter Sixteen
The Temple Baths
Radovan
It seemed to me like it'd take a thousand elves or more to fill the amphitheater. Even at the bottom, the dragon looked big enough that one good stretch would bring the place down. Above us, birds perched on the rotten shell of the roof and chirped at the
sunrise. A flock of sparrows took off as I came in, shitting white streaks across the dragon's scales. She didn't seem to notice.
She sat still as a hill and twice as quiet while I walked down the aisle. She lounged in a flooded pit where a stage once stood. The sight of her should have grabbed all my attention, but I couldn't keep my eyes off the treasures surrounding us.
Heaps of brass urns, silver plates, gold chains, crystal goblets, and iron chests overflowing with ancient coins spilled over the tiers. I saw lacquered boxes and wardrobes, embossed shields and bows and curveblades, statues, carvings, goblets, and a bunch of paintings made of thin layers of colored wood. Tapestries and banners hung from wooden frames, and so did a map of the Inner Sea painted on the blue hide of a six-legged lizard. You could empty all the vaults of all the manors in Egorian and not come up with so much loot.
There were even few suits of gleaming plate armor standing guard among the treasure. Someone had to put in a lot of work to keep the metal shining. I wondered whether that was one of Variel's duties or if they had some servants hidden away. Either way, it was a nice touch. It caught my eye and tickled my greed. At the same time, the sheer amount of wealth reminded me that this was a dragon's hoard. I'd be a fool to palm so much as a copper coin.
I went down to stand on the Qadiran carpet on the tier nearest the dragon's head. Still she didn't make a sound. I wondered how she could even talk through jaws that had less in common with a mouth than with a city gate. Her smallest teeth were the size of rum kegs. Her fangs were longer than me. I caught myself staring at them and made myself look away.
A couple of chairs sat on either side of the carpet. Not just chairs but thrones of polished wood inlaid with gold and gemstones. Maybe she expected me to sit in one. Or maybe it was some kind of test to see how high I thought of myself. Did she expect me to bow? Kneel? Make a speech? I wondered what Caladrel had done. I should have spied on him earlier instead of hanging back near the boss. Whatever the others had done, they'd come out uneaten. I didn't want to break that streak.
Thinking about it was making me twitchy, so I swallowed the lump in my throat and looked up at the dragon's eyes. They glowed like emeralds held up against the sun. Looking up at them made me dizzy. As I felt myself about to fall backward, I blurted out, "So, you and the old man? How long's that been going on?"