City of Fire dad-4

by T. H. Lain

  She'd told him to make contact when they reached the city gate or had the half-orc in tow. They had neither, but something told Grawltak it would be best not to delay any longer. Pulling out the amulet, he sat down on the damp floor. He did not wait for the rest of his pack to lope down the passage before he began his chanting.

  The red face appeared and Grawltak relayed the recent events. The rumbling, at least, had stopped, but that didn't seem to please his mistress. She swore effusively when he told her of their progress.

  "They can't be more than half an hour in front of us, Mistress," he whined. "I've sent my pack to capture them, but I knew you'd want to hear this news."

  "Curse you!" the red face said. "Very well… you were right, Grawltak," she allowed grudgingly. "You've failed to capture the half-orc or stop them from entering the city, but you did guess right in this. I am coming. I will be there momentarily."

  Reflexively, the gnoll blinked and looked over his shoulder, up the stairs to the passage beyond, as if he expected to see his mistress descending even as they spoke. She caught his movement through the amulet and laughed cruelly.

  "No, gnoll. I would have preferred not to do this, but-"

  The face turned away and Grawltak saw her lips move, though no sound came to him. Then the red face composed itself and closed its eyes. The amulet started to shine brightly. As the light intensified, Grawltak scrambled up on all fours, then backed away.

  There was a blinding flash and the sound of metal shattering. A piece of shrapnel hit Grawltak's bare wrist and he yelped. When he looked up from the scratch he gaped. His mistress, clad in her dark armor and bearing her sword and shield stood before him. Her sword glowed with a dark light, somehow illuminating the room without really dispelling the darkness. He fell to his knees.

  "Get up, fool." Her booted foot crunched on what remained of the hopelessly shattered amulet. Whatever magic it once held was completely gone. Grawltak didn't feel relieved, however-he'd traded the amulet for the real thing. "Lead me to them," she said.

  Without a word, the gnoll moved off toward the lighted passage. The blackguard strode behind him, her dark armor flashing in the torchlight.

  The adventurers rolled in the sand as the quaking slowly subsided. Naull spit dirt out of her mouth and pushed Krusk's big arm off her waist. The half-orc sat up, trying to rub his eyes clean with sand-encrusted paws. Naull made him stop and used a little of their precious water to clean his eyes. Behind her, Alhandra gasped.

  The gate was clear, Naull could see, but from where she sat, almost even with the left side of the arch, she could see nothing remarkable on either side. Alhandra stood directly in front of the archway, staring through it. Scrambling onto her feet, Naull looked through the gate and added her gasp to the paladin's.

  "The City of Fire…" she said.

  Through the archway, the adventurers saw a city. It filled the gate and obviously continued above and beside it-but the desert around the arch remained unchanged. A road on the other side of the arch led straight into the city.

  "The portal is open," Naull declared as they stared in wonder.

  Krusk recovered first. Taking the key off the arch, he stepped through the gate and started walking down the road at a brisk pace. There was no strange transition between worlds-he stepped through the arch as if it was just another passageway. Naull cried out and hurried after him. The paladin and the fighter brought up the rear. Krusk kept going as if he'd walked that path every day of his life.

  The rest of the adventurers hurried to follow, but they couldn't help but look at the wonders before and around them. The City of Fire was aptly named. It was filled with colors-most of the buildings were white or sand-colored, and there were blue and green gemstones decorating some of the windows-but by far, red and orange dominated the view. Windows were made of tinted, orange glass and what had to be magical flames served as pennants on the tallest spires. The towers were tall and straight but almost always topped with onion-shaped roofs. Those few that weren't seemed entirely flat, as if made for someone or something to land upon them.

  "It's cooler here," Alhandra observed.

  Indeed, there seemed to be a soft breeze wafting down the avenue toward them. They all inhaled deeply from the crisp air, then continued on.

  For several minutes, the adventurers were content to follow Krusk's lead. They watched the flames of the city dance and marveled at the gemstone decorations. Eventually Regdar's sense of apprehension grew and he stopped the half-orc.

  "Where are you going, Krusk?" he asked, seizing the half-orc's gray, muscled bicep.

  The barbarian turned, fierce determination on his face. He growled and looked down at Regdar's hand, but the fighter didn't release him.

  "Must close the gate. Permanently," he said finally.

  Regdar nodded. That's what the half-orc had promised his dead captain, and that's what they'd come to do.

  "But how?" Regdar asked. "Do you have any idea what you're doing?"

  The half-orc's determination slipped for a moment and he looked less sure. Naull hurried up to them.

  "We have to find the palace," she said, pushing a page from the packet under their noses. "It says the rulers of the city could control everything from there. If there's a way to close the gate permanently, it'll be there."

  Alhandra added her voice to the debate. "But how can we find the palace? Is there a map?" She looked around. Many of the buildings might be considered a palace back in her homeland.

  Shaking her head, Naull said, "No, but I doubt it'll be hard. These papers refer to an 'Ivory Tower' and an 'Opal Throne'."

  Krusk made a noise and started in amazement. "Opal… Throne?" he asked.

  "Yes. It says right here: 'And the great caliph sat with flaming crown/The tower of Ivory/His Opal Throne.' I think it's a poem, but it really doesn't translate," she added. "It talks about how the caliph could control the city from the throne, so I'm guessing the throne is some sort of magical device."

  The half-orc's normally gray face seemed ashen. "My captain," he breathed. "Captain Tahrain's title-he was 'Protector of the Opal Throne'."

  "I'm guessing Kalpesh didn't have an actual Opal Throne, then?" Naull prompted.

  The half-orc shrugged. "Many jewels-some opals. Never thought about it."

  "Why would you?" Regdar asked, putting an arm on the barbarian's slumping shoulders. "And what would it matter anyway? At least it explains something about how this packet was protected. Your captain, Tahrain, must've been the last in a long line of protectors. It was his job to make sure nobody got the key and the power of the Opal Throne."

  Krusk looked up, his eyes dark and his face grim.

  "Not the last," the half-orc said.

  He clutched the key to his chest, and an awkward silence followed.

  "All right, then," Naull said at last. "Let's find this ivory tower. It shouldn't be too hard. I guess Krusk had the right idea. Keep walking along the main road and we should come to it, or see it."

  "Maybe we could ask for directions?" Alhandra joked.

  Regdar and Naull grinned.

  "There you go. If only everyone hadn't fled the city thousands of years ago…" the wizard said, snapping her fingers and smirking.

  Laughing with false bravado, they followed Krusk along the road.

  Flames flickered off in one of the side-streets and a shadow moved. It leaped from one small building to the side of a tower. Soon, another joined it. And another. As the adventurers walked down the road, shadows and flickering lights grew unnoticed on either side of them.

  Kark led the gnoll pack through the torchlit hall and down into the room. They found the tattered remains of the creatures that attacked the party, but did not know what to make of them. A few of the younger gnolls squabbled over the gemstones they found until Kark growled fiercely and they fell back into line. One of the scouts lifted a piece of leather and sniffed.

  "Blood," he said.

  "Whose?"

  The young
gnoll sniffed again, then tasted the dark red liquid.

  "Human," he answered.

  "Half-orc," another said from off to one side.

  There were several specks of blood in the room, and many of the pieces of fabric looked torn or ripped as if by sword or dagger. A few of the gnolls yipped with pleasure.

  Kark snarled, "You don't see any bodies, do you? Save your laughter for when we have our quarry by the throat. Now-up the stairs!"

  The younger gnolls whined and shied. Kark commanded them only by Grawltak's loaned authority, and even though it was less than an hour since their leader had sent them out, Kark could sense resistance. Gnoll packs followed one pack-master, and that leader ruled by strength and strength alone. The young gnolls saw an old curiosity before them-a live ex-pack-master. It was something they'd never seen before, nor likely would again.

  Seizing the nearest gnoll, Kark drew the surprised scout in close, his claws digging into the creature's shoulder. The younger gnoll yelped in surprise and pain as Kark bit the back of his neck and tore a hunk of flesh and fur away. Before the scout could use his youthful strength to break free, Kark pushed him away and leaped toward the rest. Blood dripped from his lower jaw.

  "Grawltak says we follow, so we follow!" he barked. "Until our pack-master rejoins us, I lead!"

  He glared at the gnolls and knew they'd been cowed, at least for a time. The injured scout gripped his wound in pain, but dipped his head as meekly as the others.

  "Now-up the stairs!"

  The gnoll pack came out of the stairs and into the bright light far more reluctantly than the adventurers had. Kark had them in charge, but the light was so bright it burned their eyes. They shuffled and whined, snuffling at the ground for some scent, but the shifting sand made it difficult to find any trail.

  Kark shielded his eyes and looked around. He could not see the archway-gnoll vision wasn't good in bright light-but fortune aided him. A few dozen steps away from the stairway he saw a rag half-buried in the sand. He loped over to it, the rest of the pack following. It was a discarded end of a bandage, with some blood still fresh on it. It gave him a direction and he led his pack that way. They moved slowly across the sand, not daring to miss another sign.

  "Regdar," Naull whispered. Krusk and Alhandra were out in front again. "I've got to ask you a question."

  "What?" Regdar replied. He was looking around again, this time not in wonder, but worry.

  "Have you seen-"

  "Things moving in the shadows?" the fighter interrupted.

  Naull nearly jumped. "What? No… I was going to point out all the gemstones. This place is rich!" But now she looked around apprehensively. "What do you see?"

  "At first I thought it was just the flames-shadows flickering and all that, but I'm sure-there!"

  Regdar pointed and Naull whirled. She thought she saw something move between one of the buildings.

  "Alhandra! Krusk! We've got trouble," Regdar said. He drew his big sword from its back-sheath. "What've you got, Naull?"

  "Not much," the wizard said grimly, mentally adding like always.' "Maybe a surprise or two."

  The adventurers stood in a square, back to the middle, as more shapes moved around them. Some were shadowy, but others looked as if they were made of fire. Knowing that the adventurers clearly saw them, they seemed less interested in stealth. At least a score of the figures closed in or darted among the buildings and spires.

  "Get ready," Regdar said, without much hope.

  Most of the figures were small, but he'd gotten a good look at a few of them. Several were made of fire, others of smoke. The few that were humanoid were naked and wreathed in fire or smoke and had a distinctly devilish appearance. Slowly they closed in.

  "Now!" the fighter shouted, stepping forward to swing at the nearest creature.

  "Stop!"

  The gnolls sniffed at the archway suspiciously. They saw the city and the street beyond, but none of the pack crossed the threshold. All of them panted in the heat, desperately uncomfortable.

  Kark, too, sniffed at the arch again and stared at the gem gleaming on the top. The adventurers went through it, he had no doubt.

  Grawltak's orders were to follow their quarry and capture them if possible. The mistress, however, hadn't wanted Kark or the others to know about the city, and he didn't think she'd be pleased if they entered without their leader. He did not know what to do, and he'd been thinking about it since reaching the arch nearly a half-hour before.

  Where is Grawltak? he thought.

  In that thought, Kark decided-I follow my pack-master, not a soft-skin.

  He feared the mistress, but he was loyal to the gnoll who spared and healed him. He knew no other gnoll, except perhaps Grawltak himself, would make the same choice, but he knew what he had to do.

  "Come!" he snarled.

  The other gnolls looked at him in surprise and concern, but a quick bark had them stepping through the archway and prowling the city's streets.

  Grawltak remained below. His mistress set off down the passage on his heels but she stopped several times, as if unsure of something. When they reached the room at the end of the hallway she did not say a word, but he watched as she drew a wand from her robe and gestured around the area. She frowned and stood still for several minutes.

  The gnoll pack-master didn't dare disturb his mistress-not for ten minutes, then not for twenty. When thirty passed he made a soft barking sound, as if clearing his throat.

  The black knight looked up suddenly, her dark eyes glaring as her hair tossed behind her. He could not think of her as a soft-skin when she looked at him like that. He feared his fangs would break if he ever even tried biting her.

  "What is it?" she snapped.

  "Mistress, they went up," he said, pointing at the stairs.

  "I know! I know, but if they entered the city…" She shook her head, then said in a low voice, "No, they do not know its secrets. They cannot use its power, not yet. It is useless to delay."

  But she continued to hesitate. Grawltak shifted uneasily, his claws scraping on the floor. Was his mistress afraid? He shook his head and growled at the thought. What she feared did not bear thinking about.

  "All right!" she said suddenly, but not to him. "I will go."

  Without a glance in his direction, the black knight stepped onto the stairs and Grawltak hurried after her.

  The power of command resonated in that voice. Regdar halted in his tracks with Naull's hand pausing halfway to a spell pouch. Krusk and Alhandra looked up and saw someone standing on one of the lower building's flat roofs.

  "Stop," the voice rumbled again.

  The dancing, fiery figures on either side of the road continued flickering but they stayed as still as flames ever could, in a ring around the adventurers.

  The voice came from a short, stocky figure. He looked like a well-muscled dwarf but his skin shone as if it were made of brass. Instead of hair and a beard, orange flame wreathed his face and swirled up from his head. He wore a kilt made of some coppery metal and a surcoat woven of thin wire and studded with many gemstones.

  "Disperse." Smoke rose from the creature's bright eyes as he spoke again.

  Almost as one, the small figures surrounding the adventurers jumped and danced back between the side buildings. Within seconds, no sign of their presence remained.

  The fiery dwarf looked around, apparently satisfied, then he strode down a set of steps leading from the flat roof to an alley adjoining the road. He walked right up to the party and Alhandra, who stood nearest his side of the street. The emblems on her shield and breastplate caught his attention and he nodded.

  "Hail, servant of Heironeous," he said, holding one hand up in a gesture of peace. His mouth barely moved when he spoke, but his baritone voice rumbled from deep in his throat.

  Alhandra recovered quickly. Sheathing her sword smoothly, she mirrored the dwarf's gesture.

  "Hail, and well met. I am Alhandra, paladin of Heironeous."

  The dwar
f nodded, his flaming hair flickering as he did so. His face looked grim, but he bore no weapon, only a thick rod tucked into his belt.

  "Welcome to the City of Fire," he said. "I am Gurn Klaggesar, warden of the city."

  "W-Warden?" Naull stammered. "But we thought the city deserted."

  The dwarf stared at her, his eyes smoldering-and not metaphorically. It was disconcerting, Naull thought, to look into eyes that burned like coals.

  She shifted in the brief silence, then stammered, "Oh, I-I'm Naull, a wizard of… well, a wizard."

  "No one dwells here, Naull the Wizard," the dwarf answered, "save I and my servants. We watch over Secrustia Nar and protect it from outsiders."

  Naull fidgeted again, and Regdar said, "We're glad to hear it. We have the same mission."

  A fiery eyebrow cocked and the dwarf looked at the fighter in what appeared to be mild disbelief, mixed with a small measure of amusement.

  "I'm Regdar, and this is Krusk. He comes from the city of Kalpesh. He bears a key."

  Krusk, suddenly aware of the dwarf's attentive gaze, fumbled in his pouch and drew out the key. He gasped and nearly dropped it. He'd grown accustomed to its magic nature-flames seemed to dance along its edge whenever he held it out-but now it appeared to be a ball of living flame, flickering and burning in his palm. Still, it gave off no heat and the half-orc's thick skin was unscorched.

  "I am aware of the key," the dwarf said evenly. "I wondered when it would return." He sounded almost disgruntled, as if talking to children who'd 'borrowed' something that did not belong to them.

  Krusk bristled and closed his fist over the ball of fire. "I come from Kalpesh!" he declared loudly. "My master was Captain of the Royal Guard and Protector of the Opal Throne. He died protecting the key and he passed it on to me. I will close the gate." His chin jutted out and his eyes bulged, daring the dwarf to respond.

  Naull gaped and readied herself. It was one of the longest, most eloquent speeches the half-orc had given since she'd met him, and it seemed particularly ill-timed. Whatever this dwarf was, they stood on his home ground. She forced herself to look away from the defiant half-orc and over toward Gurn Klaggesar.