by Tim Pratt
She could already understand how madness could be a consequence of spending time down there.
WHEN ZALTYS’S VOICE, RAW WITH PANIC, BURST INTO his brain, Krailash stumbled in the sword form he was practicing, dropped his training weapon, and raced for Alaia’s wagon. Glory stepped out of her front door in front of him, and as usual upon seeing her, Krailash remembered her existence. “You heard it too?” he said.
“I did.” She rubbed the spot between her horns. “If she saw Julen taken, that means she’s—”
“Yes.” He rushed for his leader’s wagon, pounding on the door. “You must let us in, Alaia! This is urgent!”
“Enter,” came a soft, sad voice from beyond the door.
Krailash pushed his way in and saw Alaia, the tough, unflappable head of the Travelers, sitting on her divan with a look of utter despair on her face, tears rolling down her cheeks, holding a letter in her hands. Before Krailash could speak, she said, in a dull monotone, “Zaltys found out. I don’t know how. Perhaps she talked to Rainer, before he left camp? But she found out her people weren’t killed. That they were taken as slaves. Her letter … It says she can never forgive me for the lies I’ve told. How can I make her understand, I only wanted to protect her, to keep her from grief.”
“Did the letter say where she’s gone?” Krailash asked urgently.
Alaia nodded. “She’s going on a long circle patrol, to look for more terazul, she says. We shouldn’t expect her back for a few days. Should I send someone to find her? My spirit boar? Or should I just send a message? Or—”
“My friend,” Krailash said gently. “Zaltys, she did not tell you the truth. She went with young Julen to the ruined temple. They found access to the tunnels below. I think she must have some idea of freeing her people, but Julen …”
“She sent her thoughts, using the ring I gave her,” Glory said, shouldering her way into the wagon. “Julen has been taken by derro. Zaltys called out for help. But I doubt she has the sense to come back to the surface and wait for that help.”
Alaia stood up, the look of loss and sadness on her face suddenly gone. A boar of mist coalesced around her feet and streaked out of the wagon, presumably into the jungle. “Get Quelamia!” she shouted. “Glory, fetch her now, call her with your mind.”
“I am here,” Quelamia said, climbing the steps with her usual stately grace. “How may I serve?”
“You and Glory will go with me into the tunnels—” she began, but Krailash put his hand on her shoulder.
“You cannot go,” he said. “There is you, and your heir Zaltys, and as your head of security, I can’t let both of you go into the dark. You are the Travelers. Without you, the enterprise will founder. The family—”
“To hell with the family! She is my family. I’m going, Krailash, and nothing you say can stop me.” She turned to the wizard and the psion. “You two will accompany me.”
“I regret that I cannot venture into the Underdark.” Quelamia bowed low, and her voice held real contrition, but it held steel too. Krailash gaped at her.
“What is the meaning of this treachery?” There was even more steel in Alaia’s voice.
“No treachery. I would do no good there. If I went into those tunnels, we would soon be faced by dangers far greater than a clan of mad derro. As you know, I hail from the Feywild, but you may not realize that the Underdark has a counterpart in the Feywild too. We call it the Feydark, and it is home to many creatures, chief among them the fomorians, monstrous giants who … Well, they have sworn to kill me, for reasons that have no bearing on this situation. But if I venture into the darkness, given my natural affinity for the Feywild, they will sense my closeness, and open a portal from their realm to this one, and attempt to kill me. I would be fully engaged in fighting them and preserving my own life, and thus, of no use to your search for Zaltys.”
“Similar problem,” Glory said, raising one hand. “I’m the strongest psion for miles, and there are things in the Underdark—mind flayers mainly, but there are others—who are attracted to psionic energy, and want nothing more than to eat a brain like mine. If I go into the Underdark, I’d bring a whole new world of problems down on us.”
“So you’re saying you’re too powerful to help,” Alaia said bitterly.
Quelamia and Glory exchanged a look. The tiefling shrugged, and the eladrin nodded.
“I’ll go, of course,” Krailash said, a trifle wearily. “The wizard and the devil kin can make sure the caravan doesn’t fall apart in our absence. We couldn’t all go, anyway. Someone has to keep order here.”
“Fine,” Alaia said. “Gather your men. We leave immediately.” She stormed out of the wagon.
“Such are the consequences of lies,” Quelamia said.
“We had to tell Zaltys her parents were dead,” Krailash said. “You can’t raise a child to believe that family is the single most important thing in the world, and then tell her that some of her family is still alive in servitude to monsters beneath the earth. We didn’t tell her because we were afraid this very thing would happen.”
“Oh, right,” Glory said. “I forgot that was all you knew.”
He frowned. “What are you saying?”
“Glory,” Quelamia said warningly.
“Don’t worry about it, I’ll just wipe his mind in a few minutes,” Glory said. “The real reason we lied to Zaltys is because we didn’t want her to find out what she really is. You still think she’s a little human girl, but once we got her back to the city and examined her when she was a newborn, we figured it out pretty quick. I had to erase some memories that day, I’ll tell you. Those scales she had on her back as a baby, remember? She had those because she’s a yuan-ti.”
“A snakeman? That’s nonsense. And you will not erase any of my—”
“They call them purebloods,” Glory said, sitting down. “Yuan-ti who look almost human, throwbacks to the nonserpent stock in their heritage. Or creatures chosen by the dark gods to infiltrate the lesser races, depending on what you believe. The yuan-ti use them as spies and traitors, send them to live secretly among humans, spreading the cult of their gods, or just sowing discord and making trouble. Anyway, that’s what Zaltys is. The fact that we cut out her scales with an enchanted knife doesn’t change her nature. We didn’t want her to find out she’s the scion of a cult of evil snake people. If she did …”
“What?” Quelamia said. “You think if she found out her parents were, as you say, ‘evil snake people,’ it would make her pursue a similar path?”
Glory shrugged. “Some say evil’s in the blood. Believe me, I’ve heard it said a lot—I’ve got devil in my bloodline. I don’t think I’m evil, but then, a cultist of Zehir probably doesn’t think they’re evil, either, just devout. I know you and Alaia believe that how you’re brought up is what matters—that if she could be raised without the influence of Zehir she would be indistinguishable from a human. Maybe you’re right—she doesn’t wear her evil heritage on her face, and I’m sure that helps.” Glory touched her horns. “But what if Zehir is interested in her? I know, hardly likely. So leave all that aside. Even if Zaltys has no natural tendency toward dark behavior, finding out you’re not even the same species as your adopted family, that’s got to mess with your head. It’s a secret we wanted to keep from Zaltys until she was older. Funny thing is, Alaia was going to tell her soon, even though I said I thought it would be a bad idea. Alaia figured as an adult now, Zaltys deserved to know about her heritage. Of course, we’d still have to keep it a secret from everybody else.”
“Yuan-ti are scum,” Krailash said, nearly trembling with rage. To keep this from him! Didn’t they understand the implications? “If Zaltys is truly what you say, how can we know she wasn’t planted by cultists of Zehir for us to find? That she isn’t a spy like these other purebloods? Perhaps unknown even to herself, with commands planted deep in her mind, waiting to be activated when she’s head of the Travelers? What if this is part of some deep plan to rebuild their fallen empir
e? I must tell Alaia.”
“She knows,” Glory said wearily. “Alaia, Quelamia, and me—we’re the ones who know. There’s a reason we don’t let you remember, because you always get so paranoid. Zaltys’s people were stolen by slavers when she was an infant. There’s no big plot. The yuan-ti settlement here was a tattered remnant. They weren’t capable of a plan this baroque and drawn-out—I can’t believe anybody is. Zaltys was raised human, and more importantly, she was raised to be a Serrat, and that’s what counts.” Glory waved her hand.
Krailash’s sense of outrage and betrayal suddenly became a sense of confusion and bewilderment, and after a moment, he shook his head. Why was he standing here? There was work to be done, and the heir to his mistress was in danger. “I have to gather my men to go after Zaltys and Julen. Take care of the camp while we’re gone, please. We’ll return as soon as we’re able.” He left the wagon before they answered him, troubled by the sense that he was forgetting something important, but soon he was shouting at his men, and the necessity of the moment covered over his misgivings.
“Are you sure I can’t convince you to stay?” Krailash asked, as Alaia cursed and tripped over another tree root. “I know it’s been some time since you ventured into the wilderness.”
“I grew up in this jungle,” she snapped. “My mother initiated me into the shamanic arts under these very trees. I belong here.” A branch wrapped with thorn vines brushed her arm and made her hiss.
Krailash considered saying more, but didn’t. The truth was, in her youth, Alaia had been profoundly connected to the jungle, and had flourished as a shaman. But the needs of the family had forced her to spend more and more time in the city, and when she took over the Travelers when her mother passed, she’d given in to the inevitable fate of spending half the year in the city. Krailash could remember when she’d had two spirit companions at her feet, matched boars, but in the past twenty years she’d only had one. A shaman was meant to be a protector of the wild places, and while Alaia did steadfastly defend the area where terazul flowers grew, she did so for largely civilized reasons, and that tension had seemingly diminished her shamanic powers, if only because it sowed disorder and conflict in her own mind. A priest who strayed from their chosen deity as much as Alaia had strayed from her path might find himself on the wrong end of a god’s rage, but shamans took their power from the primal force of the natural world, which, lacking consciousness, was not prone to fits of pique or thoughts of vengeance. Alaia was still powerful, but she’d seldom had cause to call on that power, and Krailash wondered if she was still as capable as she assumed.
Sensing the blackness of her mood, he tried to change the subject. “I was surprised when Zaltys chose the path of a ranger, rather than the path of the shaman.” Surprised you let her choose it, was the unspoken remainder of that sentence.
“Ha,” Alaia said. “It’s just as well. With my luck she would have become a disciple of the World Serpent.”
Krailash frowned. “What’s wrong with that path? World Serpent shamans are formidable.”
“Hm. Never mind. Suffice to say I don’t like snakes, even astral snakes that hold the world in their protective coils. Being a ranger suits her better, and I daresay it’s a more practical specialty for the head of the Travelers.” She paused by a tree to catch her breath, and the dozen guards in a moving ring around her paused as well. “How much farther to this accursed temple?”
She’d never been there, Krailash realized. She’d never seen the chasm that led to the Underdark, or the rubble that covered it. She didn’t want to remember the origins of her daughter, he supposed, and who could blame her? “Not much farther,” he said. How much farther they would have to go once they made it under the temple, he could not guess, and did not care to speculate.
“My spirit companion is down there in the dark already, though it’s nearly reached the limit of its range—I swear there was a time when it could travel farther away from me than this. It’s found no sign of Zaltys, though it has discovered some sign of the derro slavers.” She stopped abruptly, and swore, reaching into the sleeve of her robe. “This is yours. Zaltys left it for you, and in the confusion I forgot about it.” She passed over a letter, not sealed, just folded, with his name written in Zaltys’s surprisingly elegant script. “I didn’t read it,” Alaia said, as if she’d been accused.
“I know.” Though he also knew she would hover by him and demand to know what it said. Squinting in the dim torchlight from the surrounding guards—a beacon to any animals in the jungle, but also a warning—he scanned the half page of words. “She says she doesn’t blame me,” he said. “That she knows I was only following orders, and that, ah …”
“That I’m the only liar of note?” Alaia said.
Krailash nodded. “More or less.” He shook his head. “We just wanted to give her a sense of closure, however tragic, so the thought of her lost parents wouldn’t eat at her. But even the best-intentioned lies can have unintended consequences.”
“Mmm. I see there are quite a few more words there,” Alaia prompted.
“The rest is just an apology for not coming to see me to organize the scout schedule, with some suggestions for how it might best be done,” he said. Krailash folded the letter in half, then in half again, and pushed it down into a pouch at his belt. “We should move on. Going is slow in the Underdark, I’ve heard, and we may catch up to them soon if we hurry.”
Alaia grunted assent, and they continued walking through the jungle. Zaltys and Julen had left barely a trace of their passage, but a crowd of soldiers made a more obvious path, and went more slowly too, breaking through obstacles Zaltys and Julen would have leaped over or slipped beneath. “I don’t understand why she took Julen with her,” Alaia said. “That doesn’t seem like her. My daughter has always been of the opinion that she can do anything by herself.”
“Seems rather more likely it was Julen’s idea, don’t you think?” Krailash glanced at his mistress. He was surprised to see she had no idea what he was talking about. “He’s madly in love with Zaltys, you know,” he said. “You can see it written on his face like lines of ancient imperial poetry every time he looks at her.”
“Love? Nonsense, he’s her baby cousin,” Alaia sighed. “When did I get so old, Krailash? I know I never married, but there was a time when I at least dabbled in thoughts of love, when I had the free time. And the boy is nearly sixteen now, isn’t he? I’m sure he’s been falling in love with housemaids and shopgirls and his tutors for years by now. Naturally Zaltys would catch his eye.”
“And her being an adoptee means they’re not necessarily idle thoughts,” Krailash said.
Alaia groaned. “I can’t think of political marriages—or the possibility of a brat from the Guardians trying to put his hands on my daughter—just now. You don’t think … does Zaltys reciprocate his feelings?”
“I’ve seen no evidence of anything more than familial affection on her part,” Krailash assured her.
“That’s something,” Alaia said.
“Here’s the plaza.” Krailash pointed. “Where we found Zaltys as a baby.”
“Let’s hurry along to the place where we’ll find her as a teenaged girl, then, hmm?”
Krailash took her to the false grave, noting the two holes, one of which opened down into darkness. He set his men to widening the opening—it was far too small for a dragonborn, or even the larger human guards—while Alaia paced impatiently around the wreckage of the temple. After a few moments when the only sound was picks and axes striking the ground, Alaia tapped Krailash on the shoulder. “I’m an idiot,” she said. “Look at me. I’m wearing robes. To go crawling around in caves and tunnels.”
He nodded, having wondered when she was going to notice that, and opened his pack. “Quelamia caught me just as I was leaving camp and handed me this. She said you might need it.” He passed over a bundle of bluish-black cloth embroidered with tiny white stars.
Alaia shook it out and held it up, frowning. The
exotic cloth aside, it was a simple enough gown, if elegantly cut. “Rather fancy dress for grubbing about in holes in the ground.”
“Quelamia says it’s as good as leather armor at a tenth the weight.” He shrugged. “Wizard things, I imagine.”
Alaia squinted. “I think this is a robe of stars. Quelamia mentioned owning one once.”
“Sounds quite mystical,” Krailash said politely.
“I gather it can be used to bring light to dark situations. I won’t test that now, but if it can turn a sword blade, I’m well pleased. I’m going around this wall to change.”
“Not without an escort. I’ve lost one of the family to derro already, and won’t lose another. Rainer just went around the corner once, and he was stolen in moments.”
“Fine, then, come along, but don’t ogle.”
“You aren’t even my species,” he grumbled. “It would be like ogling a monkey. No offense.” He followed her around a fragment of freestanding wall, and averted his eyes while she changed.
“Well?” she said, and Krailash looked her over. She was rather regal in the garment, and the stars seemed almost to twinkle.
“You look like a magic user, all right,” he said.
“Oh good. Stab me?”
Krailash sighed, took a dagger from his belt, and pressed the point very gently against the sleeve of the gown. “Feel anything?”
“Pressure. No pinprick. Give me a slash.”
Krailash swung the knife, at an angle shallow enough that it wouldn’t cause much damage beyond shaving off a bit of skin if it got through. But the blade bounced off as if he’d struck boiled leather. “Won’t do you much good if a boulder falls on you, but it will afford some protection. Do you think you can crawl around on hands and knees in it if need be?”