T Lain - City of Fire

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 dwarf 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.

Surprisingly, the dwarf stepped up and bowed low, his flaming mane flickering. When he finished and spoke again, his voice changed. It was still strong and full of authority, but there was some respect there, too.

“Forgive me,” he said at last. “I have not had visitors for many years. My manners are suspect. Please, let me welcome you, Protector, and your companions. Come, and I will show you the Opal Throne you have traveled so far to see.”

The dwarf paused to see Krusk and the others nod, then he set off down the road with the travelers spread out on either side of him. He began talking, telling the story of Secrustia Nar.

Most of Gurn Klaggesar’s tale echoed what Naull had already told the group of the legends, but some of it amazed her as well. It was a long tale and most of it made little sense. Still, Gurn had a way of telling a story that made the details interesting, even though none of the adventurers knew the people and places he spoke about. Eventually the dwarf got to the point of his tale, however, and each listened intently as he told of the creation of the city.

“Your world still breeds mighty wizards?” Gurn asked after some time. He looked at Naull pointedly and she nodded. “Then you know how they can be. Always delving, always probing for knowledge… and always looking for new ways to express their powers.

“Well,” the dwarf continued, “a millennia—or was it two?—ago, powerful wizards from your world on the Material Plane made alliances with some of the beings dwelling on the Elemental Plane of Fire. They bargained with the efreet—” the dwarf spat that word out like a curse—“the azer—” Gurn indicated himself—“and others. With the aid of their magic, my people built this city between the two worlds and made it accessible to both. Beings of both planes can exist here; the magic sustains all.”

“I told you it was dwarves,” Krusk interrupted.

“Yes, you’re very smart, Krusk,” Naull said impatiently. She was eager to hear what the dwarf—the azer—imparted to them. The wizard studied the planes from books and scrolls; here, she had an actual denizen of one of the Inner Planes! “Please, Gurn, continue.”

“There is not much more to tell,” the azer said. “At first, the peoples of both planes dwelt together in peace. Good, evil, fire, and flesh. Magic and truce kept all in check and there was much commerce.” The azer’s eyes flickered at that word and Naull wondered how similar these fiery dwarves were to those she knew from home. “But conflicts arose. I know not what pressures built on the Material-worlders,” he said, though his voice sounded a little harsh, “but some of the most evil creatures of Fire, the zegguthi’ter ata garra—”

The flames around the azer’s head, which had been mostly bright orange, turned dark red and his bronze face darkened visibly.

“Excuse me,” he apologized, and his face lightened, “the efreet—” again Gurn spat the word—“used their powers to corrupt and influence others. War began on both planes, and the city became a conduit for conflict and chaos.”

“So you closed the gate,” Naull concluded.

The azer nodded solemnly.

“But why didn’t you shut it permanently?” Regdar asked. “I mean, if it’s such a danger…”

“The city itself is no danger. It is a conduit through which many can draw power. Beings from either plane can come here, or be forced here, by any who know how to do so. The controller can then send these creatures out to perform services,” he said. His voice was grim. “That is what started the war in the first place. Creatures of fire have some power on the Material Plane, no?” The others nodded their agreement. “And wizards still use them to fight their battles? Imagine if they did not have to use their own magic to summon and control creatures of fire. How dangerous would someone with that sort of power be?”

Naull thought of the little she’d seen done with summoning spells and the flaming sky outside. She shuddered.

“As to your question,” the azer continued, not waiting for an answer, “the gates could not be permanently closed without also collecting all the keys. I could not leave the city to retrieve them. I sent out searchers for the keys long ago, but…” Gum shrugged. “Most of the keys were stolen and scattered over many planes. I and my allies retrieved all of them but this one. The key taken to Kalpesh was not stolen,” he said, looking at Krusk again, “but taken there for safekeeping while we searched for the others. As long as one remained, however, the gate could still be reopened.”

Krusk started to open his hand again, perhaps to offer the burning key to the azer, but the dwarf turned away and gestured up and away from them. The adventurers’ eyes followed his hands.