Bruce Cordell: City of Torment

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

Japheth stood in a shadowed, many-roomed space slicked with glowing slime. Shadows flowed as if oil in dank hollows. The rancid odor of rotting fish stung his eyes and nostrils.

He couldn't recall how he'd come to be there.

A shuffling step scraped behind him. Japheth spun around, or tried to. He felt clumsy and disor iented. His foot caught on a rock spur, and he sprawled onto the rough floor.

He craned his neck around and saw a woman. A woman he knew-

"Anusha!" he called.

She stood in a vast, misty space. But she wasn't alone. Shapes made indistinct by the roiling fog shuddered and crept across the floor.

He stumbled to his feet. Before he could run to Anusha, one of the shapes behind the woman moved close enough that Japheth was able to see it.

A fine haze of mucus haloed a gelatinous bulk. He squinted, his mind trying to fit some previously encountered shape to it. It was a gruesome slug grown monstrously large-a slug with tentacles.

It slid closer, and Japheth saw it regarded him with three scarlet eyes. A tooth-studded tongue coiled forth from its lipless mouth and rasped along the floor. Nausea stirred in his gut.

He returned his regard to Anusha. Her eyes had never left him. They were desperate with some need. Her hands reached out. Her lips moved, though Japheth heard nothing.

"What?" He held out his hands. "Tell me what's wrong!"

She shook her head and looked up, above and behind him. Tears traced lines down her cheeks. Her lips moved once more, but it was as if she were trapped behind crystal. "Tell me!" Japheth yelled. He stepped closer, but his feet seemed frozen in mud. He leaned, trying to touch her outstretched fingers, but she was too far.

The vapor behind Anusha churned. An eye the size of a house blinked open. Then five more. Their reddish glow pierced the fog like bonfires. All of them stared at Anusha with unmasked hunger.

Japheth startled awake, one flailing hand knocking the pile of tomes next to his bed crashing to the floor.

He sat up and looked at the vault door. Lucky lay before it. The dog whined and raised his head from folded paws. His ears twitched forward with nervous curiosity.

The door to the vault was ajar!

The warlock rolled from his bed and charged into the vault, sending another stack of books tumbling.

Anusha lay sleeping in her travel chest. She hadn't moved. As Japheth's breathing slowed, he recalled leaving the vault door open on purpose so he could keep watch over her as she slept. He'd fallen asleep before closing it again.

He wasn't getting enough sleep, and it was starting to show. He was getting sloppy. Forgetting things.

Japheth walked to the chest. "Hope you slept better than me," he said.

The woman remained as quiescent as ever, her breath coming in slow but measured waves.

Japheth sighed. Just a dream, it seemed, though a nasty one all the same.

"Today's the day," he confided. "I've got everything I need. You'll wake this time, I'm certain."

Actually, he wasn't, but if any part of her could hear his words, he wanted to be reassuring.

Which was why he'd never voiced his terrible remorse. The image of a silver vial in her slack hand haunted him.

When he'd found her on the beach in her travel chest guarded by Lucky, it was obvious she'd imbibed the liquid.

She'd been unable to wake up and escape the Dreamheart's pull thanks to Japheth's own elixir of sleep. The guilt rose up like gorge, trying to strangle him.

The creatures he'd seen in his dream earlier were probably manifestations of his guilt.

Doubt assailed him: was he even worthy of her?

Events demonstrated merely being around him was dangerous. Worse, his predilection for taking forbidden substances could ensnare others besides himself-even someone like Anusha. Once she realized his part in her situation, Anusha might well come to hate him.

It was a thought too cruel for him to ponder. The only thing he could do was try to prove himself to her. Prove that despite all his shortcomings, he would do anything for her.

Starting with rescuing her.

He turned away from Anusha and regarded the slender birchwood podium he'd dragged into the vault the previous evening. On it lay several arcane components: a rod, a scroll case, a tome, an iron ring, and a vial of green dust. His nautilus shell hung from its hemp cord off one side of the podium.

Except for the shell, he would use each of the items-one way or another-in the rituals he contemplated. He began to sort through them.

The scroll case contained a ritual of curse breaking more potent than any Japheth had previously tried.

The tome contained a ritual similar to that penned on the scroll, but one that dealt more specifically with relieving maladies of the mind.

The rod was carved of jade. It had been blessed by a priest of Kelemvor who'd returned to awareness after spending a full ten years in a holy trance.

The dust in the vial was powdered dragon scales, collected from the lair of a green dragon whose ammoniac odor was so pungent some claimed it could wake the recently dead.

The iron ring was the cheapest of the assembled items, but the most precious to him. He'd wound several strands of Anusha's dark hair around it, which he hoped would allow him to trace her soul wherever it had fled.

Japheth wasn't sure which of the two rituals, the one on the scroll or the one in the tome, was the one he needed.

He figured he would try both, starting with the cure for curses. The Dreamheart was like a curse made manifest.

He glanced back at Anusha. "One other component I need too, if I'm going to have any chance of finding your dream. I'm sorry…"

The warlock pulled a small object from the folds of his cloak. It was shaped somewhat like a clamshell, but the delicate hinges and miniature clasp revealed it to be manmade. It resembled a noblewoman's silver compact used to hold a bit of rouge, or perhaps something an ostentatious merchant would use to keep loose pipeweed. For Japheth, it was a secure container for a substance whose sale was banned in most of western Faerun. For good reason, desire for it could overmaster the minds of paupers, wizards, and kings alike. He was fortunate the Razorhides dealt in the vile substance.

His hands trembled as he held the container.

Japheth wondered if traveler's dust was really necessary for a successful ritual, or if he was just using it as an excuse to indulge.

Moisture fled his mouth as he considered. Maybe he should take just half a crystal now, before he started the ritual. It would probably be all right. In fact, it might help matters… no. He closed his eyes and drew in a calming breath.

"Not yet," he remonstrated, gently placing the compact on the edge of the podium.

First the powdered dragon scales. He opened the container. The initial whiff stung his eyes and burned his nostrils. Steeling himself, he carefully dribbled the powder out in a line thin enough to completely encircle Anusha's travel chest, using the silver circle inscribed on the floor as a guide. The smell of chlorine filled the room. Lucky whined and retreated from the chamber-the odor was too much for the dog.

Japheth set aside the emptied container. He pulled the scroll out of its case and studied the cramped letters. The overwhelming odor tried to claw down his throat. Through it, he intoned the ritual's arcane syllables.

Halfway through the recitation, he opened the compact. Within nestled a bed of red crystals. He pinched a crystal no larger than a grain of rice between thumb and forefinger. He raised his gaze to the vault's ceiling and dropped the grain directly into his right eye.

The crystal dissolved across his perception, sheeting the chamber with a veil of blood. The outlines of the podium, Anusha, and the stand holding the Dreamheart shimmered, as if no longer certain of their boundaries.