Bruce Cordell: City of Torment

Yeva continued, "Let us explore. Perhaps the inhabitants of this city hibernate like their lord, the Eldest. We shall search for a door and try to exit. Unless things are changed, we are deep in the earth, in the bottommost cellars and roots of the Underdark. Perhaps some tunnels to higher caverns can be found."

Anusha said, "Yes, let's try! Though I hope if I walk too far, I won't be pulled back here."

"Pulled back here? Is there some reason to believe you might be?"

"No, I… well, yes. There is that concern. My dream form used to be bound to my body. I could only move so far from it before I was pulled back into wakefulness. Now, my body is far away, much farther than my old limit.

When I try to wake up, I flicker and remain in this chamber of ice…"

"So?"

"So, I might have a new focus. Maybe this very sphere of ice."

Yeva said, "For your sake, I hope you're wrong. Otherwise, you will probably never escape. Then it will only be a matter of time before you go insane, or the Eldest's condensed and frozen thoughts reabsorb you."

"Oh."

Yeva gave a grim chuckle and gestured into the darkness. "This way?"

"Sure."

The Year of the Secret (1396 DR) Veltalar, Aglarond

Seagulls hung on invisible thermals over the alley. Their beaks jerked left and right as they scanned every foot of the squalid space for scraps. Bird cries echoed off the clapboards. Broken furnishings, heaped garbage, and less identifiable waste crowded the narrow lane. The stink was overpowering.

Raidon guessed the odor was composed of rotting fish, dead rats, and-overwhelmingly-urine.

The smell threatened to ruin his concentration. His Sign had drawn him to Veltalar, but now it was giving him problems.

A breeze managed to squeeze between the buildings to ruffle his hair, easing the rank smell. He breathed in more deeply while the opportunity presented itself. The old storehouses were too far from the new port to enjoy a consistent sea breeze.

"Still nothing?" thoster asked from behind Raidon.

Raidon glanced back. The captain and Seren walked single file after the monk, trusting him to lead them to their quarry.

Raidon said, "Nothing. I'll let you know if that changes. No need to keep inquiring."

Seren chuckled. Thoster nodded, then mopped his brow.

The Cerulean Sign's direction had dispersed as they'd drawn near the Aglarondan port. The Dreamheart was in the city, that was clear, but the relic's power was too overwhelming this close. The Sign was too inundated with the Dreamheart's aberrant influence to get a precise fix.

"Well, how about your directions-sure you ain't lost?" Thoster asked. "I doubt Japheth's holed up out here. It's a sty."

"The man I spoke with last night-"

Seren interrupted, "He was a thief. He tried to steal my wand! I wish you'd let me deal with him."

Raidon said, "My hard-won contact, who we should not disable until we're certain we no longer require his services, said a man in a dark cape took control of a gang of thieves tough enough to intimidate the locals. The man's description matches Japheth."

"What was the gang called again?" asked Thoster. The captain watched the gulls overhead.

"The Razorhides."

Seren said, "I have no doubt it's Japheth. The warlock was moody, dependent on traveler's dust, and beholden to Behroun Marhana. Just the sort who'd take up with a band of ragtag thieves."

"And he's had the Dreamheart for tendays," said Raidon. "Who knows how much it's further corrupted him? If providence favors us, the newest Razorhide will prove to be our quarry."

"Well, let's be on with it," groused Thoster, still watching the antics of the birds. "I ain't broke last night's fast yet, you rushed us off the ship so early."

The trio came to a place where the alley widened. A kid lounged on a terrace above, watching the same gulls as the pirate captain. The dirt-smeared sentry was no more than ten or twelve years old, Raidon judged. A small part of him suspected he should feel sad to see the lot life had handed the child. The monk raised his hand, a signal for Thoster and Seren to pause. The kid glanced down and saw Raidon in the alley mouth.

"Well met," Raidon ventured, his voice pitched low, but loud enough for the child to hear. "I have a potentially valuable proposition for you. Do you know someone called-"

The boy's shrill whistle echoed down the alley. He ducked off the balcony through a doorway behind him.

"You handled that well," said Thoster.

Raidon shrugged and said, "Follow me." He charged the scarred wooden door below the balcony. The area in front of it was conspicuously free of garbage. Raidon transferred the momentum of his dash into a simple front kick. His heel smashed the reinforced door from its iron hinges.

Yells of surprise and alarm issued from somewhere inside. The monk ducked into the opening. He stood in a halllike vestibule that smelled of damp, soot, and salt. Another set of doors blocked the way, but these were guarded.

Vaguely humanoid, the guardian seemed to be an animated accumulation of dockside debris-tattered sails, fish teeth, matted seaweed, gull feathers, and dirt. It wore a crown of smashed shells and a cloak of sea mist. Its eyes were smoothed stones, and its hands were rusted nails from shipwrecks.

The creature didn't move. It intoned, "Leave, intruder, or see your organs pulled from your flesh moments before Kelemvor claims your wailing spirit." The voice seemed familiar…

Seren called from behind, "That sounds like Japheth!" The woman peeked into the vestibule, her wand drawn.

Thoster stood next to her, his whirring, clicking sword unsheathed.

"Warlock, you hiding in there?" said the captain.

Raidon advanced another step.

The doors behind the creature opened. Several grim young faces peered out. Mostly humans, male and female, only a few older than twenty. The tallest said, "You're dead meat."

Captain Thoster guffawed. "The three of us faced down a great kraken less than a month ago, lad. I don't reckon we'll have trouble turning you lot into so much chum for the sharks."

Raidon raised his hand. "We only want to know one thing-where is the warlock Japheth?"

The tallest youth scowled. He was a little older than the rest, and his arms were bare, apparently to show off an elaborate stitchery of scars and tattoos.

A younger, pudgier kid behind the tall one blurted, "He's the man! What d'you want with Japheth?"

"Is he here now?" purred Seren. She moved into the vestibule. "We'd like to talk to him."

"Nah," continued the pudgy kid. "He don't hardly ever come here. We bring him his tribute at the-"

The scarred youth backhanded the talkative kid across the face. He hissed, "Sheathe it or I'll rip out your entrails, eh?"

The pudgy kid yelped, "Sorry, Dherk!"

The youth, apparently named Dherk, addressed his guests again. "Japheth didn't mention friends. So get lost."

"I'm sure he'll want to talk to us," said Seren, her voice silky.

"Lady, I'll talk to you right now," the scarred fellow leered.

Then his smile faded. He said, "I have a question-how did you find our den? Too many loose lips, I think."

As he finished his almost thoughtful statement, Dherk flipped his right hand up from where it hung at his side.

He released a small knife that hadn't been there a moment earlier.

The knife buried itself in Seren's throat. Her eyes went wide. Blood welled around a protruding blade smeared with green paste. A cry of excitement went up among the gang members as the wizard staggered backward, one hand clutching at the knife hilt.

Raidon charged. He aimed a flying knee at the treacherous youth.

Just before his knee connected with Dherk's head, one of the constructs nail hands clawed Raidon out of the air.