City of Torment

by Bruce R Cordell

  “Anusha!” came Japheth’s yell.

  She followed the direction of his pointing finger with her gaze, back down the corridor where the aboleth had emerged.

  A jelly sac of eggs on the ceiling containing three or four particularly large white orbs was quivering and swinging like a pendulum.

  One of the eggs in the mass deflated. A flaccid abolethic bulk slid forth and slumped to the tunnel floor. Then another. And another. Two were nearly as large as the aboleth she and Yeva had just dispatched, and one was only half that big. But the smaller eggs also gave up their progeny, producing toy-size aboleths that plopped directly onto their larger siblings or slid down the walls on either side.

  The creatures jerked and shuddered, slowly blinking their newborn eyes. They righted themselves within the corridor, flexing their slug bodies and grabbing with their questing tentacles. They looked like nothing so much as a writhing swarm of worms.

  Then each and every one cried out, keening like the first one they’d just slain. The sound nearly dashed Anusha from her dream body. Up and down the corridor, the egg sacks that hadn’t reacted to the first aboleth’s scream twitched and shuddered.

  “Run!” she shrieked. She needn’t have said it. Yeva and Japheth were already dashing away up the corridor.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  The Year of the Secret (1396 DR)

  Green Siren,

  Beneath the Sea of Fallen Stars

  Seren entered her cabin, closed the door behind her, and slid the latch. She was alone again. Finally.

  Her cabin didn’t rate a porthole. Part of the compensation she’d received when Thoster retained her services was a space to call her own. On a ship packed with cargo and crew, privacy was a luxury. She’d argued that if anyone needed time by herself, it was a wizard. Thoster had relented but given her the smallest, meanest cabin on Green Siren. Truth was, she was glad to be without a porthole. A window, even on the sea, would have been one more place the world could spy on her. Even though she no longer did Thoster’s bidding, she held on to her room.

  With a wave of her hand, she illuminated the confined space, revealing a table and stool, a bunk, and a narrow wardrobe crammed into the far end of the cabin. Scrolls, tomes, charts, and diagrams were heaped on the table. Chalk marked the walls, and dried ink dribbled the floor.

  Seren settled on the stool and closed her eyes. She could only stand the company of others so long before she needed to get away. Her basic dislike of people was something she previously hid, but on a ship filled with pirates, no one really cared that she kept to herself. Concealing her distaste for company hadn’t been necessary since she’d left the Red Wizards.

  She snorted. She hadn’t left willingly. She’d been the victim of circumstances beyond her control. How could anyone have predicted the Spellplague would sweep across Faerûn when it did? No one could have. But she was being held to account for it regardless.

  Seren seemed to have a knack for collecting ungodly powerful enemies. First Szass Tam, then Gethshemeth … and soon enough, probably this Eldest monstrosity Raidon described.

  From his place in the circle on deck, the monk had claimed a couple hours of descent lay ahead of Green Siren. Time enough for her to sneak a nap, she’d thought.

  Of course, now she was too keyed up to sleep.

  Seren sighed and rose. She turned to the wardrobe and opened it. Her assortment of personal effects hung from the wooden rod or lay folded on the standing closet’s single lower shelf. Everything was white, including her spare sari, a long leather coat, a robe, and extra sandals and boots. Everything—except for one heavy crimson robe.

  Seren ran her hand along the red robe’s dramatically flaring collar. She recalled how much she’d enjoyed wearing the colors of Thay’s elite wizard body. People made way for her based solely on her association with the dark mesa. Even other Red Wizards!

  The memory of the day she lost everything ambushed her.

  They’d been at the zenith of a mountain pass in the Earthfasts, making for Impiltur. The caravan she hired stretched out behind her own wagon, horse-drawn boxes growing progressively smaller down the switchback trail. Each was filled with a portion of the gold taken from the disbanded Red Wizard enclave of Raven’s Bluff.

  The day was clear but cold. At the top of the pass, she could see for what seemed forever. She imagined the shadowed ridges to the east might be the ramparts of Thay, calling her to a new phase of service.

  She was uneasy with her decision, despite her bold pledge and subsequent vicious actions commandeering the treasury. She’d betrayed more than a few acquaintances. Some of them saw Seren’s actions as treachery and swore vengeance. All that, and Szass Tam was her new master. He had been Seren’s least favorite zulkir, as she was repulsed by necromancy. But when he seized power in Thay, what choice had she? Become a fugitive like so many others? Give up all she had worked for and achieved?

  No.

  She had pledged herself to the new order.

  It was onward, to Thay and hopefully to—

  The sky flashed.

  Seren shaded her eyes and looked up. The sun’s normally yellow face was frosted behind a steely sheen. Flares of blue fire ringed it, growing longer every moment Seren watched. The filaments of fire reached toward Faerûn, as if eager to embrace the world at long last.

  Something slipped effortlessly into Seren’s mind and squeezed. She uttered a curse and fell from the seat of her wagon. The impact with the ground wasn’t as bad as the pain in her mind.

  The Earthfasts shook and the horses reared. Seren rolled into a gully to escape the flashing hooves. But she couldn’t escape seeing the wagons lower on the trail pitch over the edge of the trembling precipice.

  She blacked out.

  When awareness returned, the pain was gone, but so was the treasury—and her magic.

  Seren blinked, and she was back in her cabin on Green Siren. The red robe she hadn’t worn in eleven years hung before her. She ran her hand down its side, feeling its wellmade weave.

  Her past had found her. Red Wizard rebels and probably Thay knew she lived. Morgenthel or other bounty hunters would try to pick up her trail once more. Red Wizards who had a bone to pick with Seren would keep an eye out for her, desiring some measure of payback.

  Her plan of remaining beneath her enemies’ notice while she recovered a treasure equal to what she’d lost was compromised. At least she’d regained her spells, and then some, in the decade since the catastrophe. And she’d accumulated a tidy sum during that time too. If Raidon was true to his word, the remainder of what she required might finally be hers.

  Which meant it was in her interest to see to it the monk’s crazy quest was completed successfully.

  Seren closed her wardrobe door.

  She’d done all she could for the time being to assure the success of their voyage. By anyone’s standards, that was a lot. But worry wormed through her gut anyway.

  Something wasn’t right with Thoster.

  She didn’t trust the pirate. Raidon was a fool if he believed anything that fell from that man’s lips.

  It wasn’t merely that the captain was criminal, out only for his own gain. Far more worrisome was the captain’s strange behavior under Gethshemeth’s isle. The man was unstable. Who knew when he’d crack next?

  Seren quit her cabin and stalked across the deck toward the captain’s cabin at the opposite end.

  Green Siren was lit by the lantern light reflecting off the gleamtail jacks swarming around the craft. Beyond their protective embrace, the solid rock fell away on both sides, allowing the ship to sail seams of mineral and stone into the depths.

  Raidon remained in the ritual circle, one hand across his chest where the Cerulean Sign burned.

  Seren paused to watch the half-elf. The monk was oblivious. His wide eyes saw something beyond the deck; they reflected what the gleamtail jacks could sense. Thus Seren had crafted the ritual.

  “You’re doing well, monk,” she mu
rmured.

  She moved on to the aftcastle that was built over the captain’s quarters. Light gleamed through the porthole in the narrow door to the captain’s mess where Thoster took his meals, planned raids, and smoked his odiferous weed.

  She pushed into the chamber.

  A miniature chandelier gleaming with magical flames provided a warm glow. Thoster was seated at a heavy table almost too big for the space. A pot of stew steamed at the table’s center.

  The captain looked up. “Seren! It’s been some time since you joined me for supper.” The captain ladled himself another serving of stew, then motioned to an empty setting.

  Seren sat and allowed the captain to serve her, first a portion of stew, then a finger of rum from a glass bottle.

  “So, what news?” said the captain. He motioned to the fine windows installed in the chamber. “I see we’re still descending. Does Raidon require something? A rest perhaps?”

  “No, the monk seems tireless. Probably drawing energy from his spellscar.”

  “A handy trick.”

  “I suppose.”

  Silence stretched, broken only by the sound of Thoster slurping stew. Finally the captain said, “What’s on your mind, Seren?”

  “You.”

  “Oh?” The captain winked. “After all this time, I’m flattered.”

  “I’m worried that you’re a liability.”

  “Ho! You think I can’t handle myself in—”

  “I think you’re hiding something, something to do with your past. Something that will compromise Raidon’s plan to eradicate this threat we face.”

  Thoster frowned.

  Seren said, “Remember when we fought Gethshemeth and its kuo-toa beneath the island? Of course you do. But do you recall when you started blubbering about the eidolon we found there?”

  “I’m not sure—”

  “You demanded that the monk not hurt it, despite that it nearly proved our end.”

  The captain put down his mug and spoon. He dropped his head. “I can’t explain it.”

  “Try.”

  The man squared his shoulders as if coming to some decision. Seren tensed, readying herself in case the captain made to draw his venomous blade.

  Thoster rolled back one sleeve. Tiny scales tiled his arm. Seren’s stomach dropped.

  “What does this mean?” she said.

  “I’m changing, Seren. I don’t know why. Something to do with the kuo-toa is my guess. These are growing all over me. Can you … can you stop it?” The man’s face looked more vulnerable than the wizard had ever seen it.

  Seren examined the scales, searching for arcane telltales of a curse or transformative magic. If this was the result of a spell or ritual, she might be able to reverse it … but no. Whatever this was, it wasn’t magic’s handiwork—or at least not recent magic.

  “Thoster,” she said, “whatever’s afflicting you, it is fundamental to your nature. I can’t remove it.”

  The captain sighed.

  “But I might be able to slow it down.”

  “Aye, that I’d welcome, Seren. How?”

  She said, “Tell me everything you know about it.”

  “I don’t know anything!”

  She frowned her annoyance. “Don’t be an idiot, Thoster. I’ve heard you talk about your ‘polluted blood’ on more than one occasion. You must know something.”

  Thoster helped himself to more rum, then said, “Well, my auntie raised me—I never knew my mother. Auntie was one for the drink, and we weren’t close. She always screamed at me when she finished off her liquor, that I was ‘an ungrateful little monster with unclean blood.’ Never knew what she meant, but it helped my reputation when I was older. I took it as a badge of honor ‘cause it made me special, especially in the rough crowd I ran with. Helped me get where I am now, in fact. I never thought it was anything more than the ravings of a drunk, until …”

  “Until what?” said Seren.

  “These damned scales started replacing my skin, what else?”

  “Below the island—you recognized that eidolon. Or something inside you did. Try to remember exactly what you saw and what you felt.”

  Thoster’s face was red and his breath came faster. He said, “I … it was like I knew the statue. Like it was maybe … some sorta representation of … my real mum.”

  Seren said, “A lobster-clawed shrine dedicated to a fish goddess reminded you of your mother? That can’t be good.”

  “No, don’t seem so,” acknowledged the captain.

  Seren closed her eyes. She tried to dredge up lore associated with kuo-toa deities. It seemed a good bet most kuo-toa revered Umberlee, the Queen of the Deeps, or one of Umberlee’s exarchs. Probably the latter—Umberlee’s symbol was a curling wave, not lobster claws. Of course, the kuo-toa on the island had revered Gethshemeth, and Gethshemeth had obviously become a servitor of the Sovereignty. The animate shrine that attacked them on the island had seemed perverted too. Its head had been hewn off and replaced with some sort of animating rune.

  So where did that leave Thoster?

  Seren opened her eyes just enough to study the captain. Was he half kuo-toa? She’d never heard of such a thing. Not that that didn’t make it possible. The eidolon to some hoary old kuo-toa exarch made the captain sentimental for his dear old missing mother, who he couldn’t consciously remember. Which could mean he was either of kuo-toa lineage, or the exarch really was his—

  She shook her head at such a foolish idea.

  “What?” said Thoster.

  “Oh, just considering some outlandish possibilities.”

  The captain snorted. “I don’t think anything’s too outlandish at this point!”

  “Mmm, that’s relative. Anyhow, Captain, I might be able to help you.”

  “You know what’s afflicting me?”

  She shrugged. “Close enough. You know it yourself. I don’t even want to think about how it happened, but looks like your auntie had it right. You’ve got something of the kuo-toa in you.”

  “Why’s it coming out now?”

  “Something’s triggered it. But like I said, I might be able to slow it down some or, if we’re lucky, halt the change altogether.”

  “I’m listening.”

  Seren smiled. “Good. Now, before we get down to specifics, I’d like to discuss my fee.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  The Year of the Secret (1396 DR)

  Xxiphu

  A lane of shadow stretched into existence between the world and its echoes.

  The massive hound named Tamur hurtled down the shadow road, hot on the trail of succulent quarry. That which fled before it was not flesh, though, and the hound was hard pressed to maintain the scent and the lane of shadow simultaneously.

  Tamur’s eladrin mistress strode behind it. Her mere presence froze water out of the air; the hound felt her like a chill wind behind it. Though her steps were measured and graceful, she easily kept pace.

  The hound snuffled, momentarily confused. The scent wavered. Ahead of them, the walls of gloom making up the corridor decayed and threatened to collapse.

  “Do not lose it, Tamur,” said the woman.

  The ebony creature was far more intelligent than a normal animal, and more vicious too. Yet its loyalty to its mistress echoed that of a dog’s to its owner. It wanted to please Malyanna.

  Tamur redoubled its effort. It put its muzzle down, snuffling and snorting. The hound tracked an intangible mote embodying a splintered oath. The mote winged across the dimensions, pointing the way to an archfey its mistress wished to meet.

  If it was possible to track such a thing, Tamur would do it.

  The essence it tracked ceased moving. It was close!

  Unconsciously, Tamur allowed the shadow lane to begin to collapse.

  Ahead, the corridor widened. Shafts of fiery light broke through the leading discontinuity. The orange gleams dissolved the shadow walls. The hound leaped from the shadow, which immediately tattered and faded. Its mist
ress was only a step behind Tamur.

  They stood at the curbed edge of a stone balcony.

  Tamur glanced over the edge, sniffing. It saw a fiery-winged creature being pulled below the surface of a murky subterranean sea. A dozen thick, boneless arms wrapped the angel in an unbreakable grip. The red light quickly faded.

  That was not the source of the scent. But it was close.

  The hound turned to its mistress. Her pupil-less eyes glimmered with the phosphorescent glow of the wide cavern the balcony overlooked.

  When she smiled, Tamur was glad. That meant it had done well. It watched her as she in turn took in her surroundings.

  Malyanna murmured, “How convenient that of all places, I find myself here.”

  The hound could make out her basic words but couldn’t put meaning to them. That wasn’t unusual. That she was content was all that was really important. When Malyanna was happy, she indulged Tamur with treats that usually involved live prey.

  A new smell sparked across the hound’s awareness. It barked as it turned to the balcony’s interior. They weren’t alone.

  A figure stood amid smoking metallic shards. It was a man, bald and pale, with narrow squinting eyes and pointed ears. He wore elaborately cut black clothing, as elegant as if he were dressed for a prominent theater production. An aura of needle-toothed bats swirled around him. He stood nearly seven feet tall, and the muscles of his lean form bunched beneath his clothing.

  Tamur took an instant dislike to the man, despite that he reeked of the scent the hound had chased through shadow. Tamur loosed a low growl.

  The Lord of Bats preened. He couldn’t recall how long it had been since he’d felt so fine. He smiled when the great black dog growled. It amused him to consider all the ways he could bring the hound’s life to a swift and painful end.

  And there was the eladrin noble.

  “Malyanna,” he said, his voice rich with barely contained triumph, “strange you arrive on the heels of my release. Stranger still you were able to find me at all, here in this place history never knew. I can only presume it was you who broke my pact stone? Do I have you to thank for my liberation?”