T Lain - City of Fire

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.