T Lain - City of Fire

“Here. We have arrived. Behold the Ivory Tower! Inside you will see something no one from your plane of existence has seen for centuries. Othakil eb Anar—the Opal Throne.”

The party stared in wonder.

The building that led to the tower was a wide, sandy structure set back from the road they walked along. It stood two tall stories high and marble statues with blazing, ruby eyes graced its courtyard. The party’s eyes climbed the steps to the grand entrance but continued upward to where a white tower, so slender it had to have been built by magic, grew up out of the mansion. It continued up into the sky to end at a minaret made entirely of flickering flame.

“Well,” Naull said at last.

The party entered the palace, walking underneath a marble dragon’s legs. Winding stairs led up on either side of the building and small figures flitted over them, through the air and along the banisters. Many leaped to the side of the azer and he bent to listen to their wispy, crackling voices.

“My servants,” he said. “Mephits and fire spirits and creatures of smoke. They spied you entering the city and told me. They will serve you as long as you are here.”

The party nodded and Naull asked, “Do you have somewhere we can clean up?” She didn’t know how long they intended to be there, but the wizard felt very tired and very dirty.

It’s all this white, she thought.

“Of course,” Gurn began, but then a small figure, a naked woman of perfect proportions but with fire instead of hair, hopped up to him and tugged on his kilt. He bent and his eyes widened as she spoke. “No!” he said. He turned to the party, his coal-black eyes now red with flame. “Others have entered the gate! How—there is no other key!” He glared accusingly at Krusk. “You left the gate open!” he said angrily.

The sudden change in their host’s manner startled Naull, but the half-orc bristled and met the azer’s stare. Before he could respond or Gurn could say anything further, Alhandra interrupted.

“The gnolls,” she said. “We didn’t realize they were so close behind us. We raced them here.”

Quickly, the party told Gurn an abbreviated version of Krusk’s story, and of their own flight into the caverns and down through the passage. He did not react to the burning of Kalpesh, but his eyes smoldered when he heard of the blackguard. He called the fiery woman to his side again and spoke to her in a strange language. She responded in kind, shaking her head.

“My servants have not seen—” he paused, as if considering, then continued, “—a human woman in black armor,” Gurn said with obvious relief, “but there are many of these gnolls. They must not reach the palace.”

“Can’t your servant…?” Naull gestured, but her voice trailed off. At least one of the azer’s mephits looked to be made of lava and others seemed to consist entirely of fire and smoke. “Can’t they stop the gnolls?”

Gurn shook his head. “No—the compact with the Inner Planes is inviolate. They cannot harm anyone of the Material Plane while they are here. I will not be the one to shatter a treaty that has stood for millennia. You are of their home world; it is up to you to repel them.”

“Oh, terrific,” Naull said tiredly.

The azer and his servants led Regdar and the others quickly into what looked like a small guardroom.

“I, too, cannot help you fight. If the blackguard reaches the citadel… perhaps,” Gurn said, shuffling through a small chest. “But I can give you the means to battle. You, wizard.”

He gestured to Naull. She stepped up beside him and he handed her a small black wand. As she touched it, one end glowed red.

“Point the bright end at the enemy and say ‘secrus’,” the azer explained.

Naull nodded, recognizing the draconic word for “fire.” She had little doubt of the wand’s function.

“Krusk,” he continued as he drew a quiver of arrows out of a small, nearly empty weapons locker, “use these arrows. I think you’ll find them effective.”

He gestured to Regdar and pulled out the last weapon, a bastard sword covered in runes that were burned into the blade with acid and treated with burgundy dye. He grinned, the first time they’d seen him truly smile. His teeth were white, but smoke wisped out between them.

“I think you’ll like this,” the azer said to Regdar.

“Paladin of Heironeous,” he continued, “I have nothing for you. When the dwellers between worlds abandoned the city, they took or destroyed nearly all the weapons and magic within. Even if I could find something you might use, you would rather trust your sword and shield, marked as they are by your god?”

Alhandra shifted and said, “Don’t misunderstand, sir. I will turn any weapon, unless it was created in evil, to the service of Heironeous, but I trust my sword and shield well enough. You are more than generous.”

Gurn nodded sternly, but appeared pleased by the paladin’s words.

“Perhaps I have something for you after all,” he said.

From his own surcoat the azer drew a gem hanging from a silver thread. The paladin bent at the waist and Gurn laid the necklace over her head solemnly. It hung down over the emblem of Heironeous and both glowed briefly, the emblem gold and the gem red.

“Accept the blessing of Moradin,” he said.

She nodded, apparently surprised to hear the dwarf god invoked by a creature of the Inner Planes.

“I will go up into the tower,” Gurn concluded. “When you have defeated the gnolls, or destroyed them, return. We must work quickly. I can begin the process of closing the gate, but you must bring the key and its protector.” The azer pointed at Krusk deliberately. “I cannot close the gate without you, and it.”

Krusk nodded.

“C’mon, folks,” Regdar said, hefting his new sword. “Time we got rid of these dogs.”

“What are they?” asked one of the scouts.

The gnolls strung their bows and nocked arrows but Kark ordered them not to fire. The creatures dancing in the shadows on either side of the road approached no nearer than the walkways and did not threaten them yet.

“They aren’t human,” the gnoll said.

Kark snarled, “I can smell that.” His ears lay flat against his head. “They aren’t attacking, anyway. Keep moving. Find the soft-skins.”

The gnolls moved along the road, spread out and snuffling. Three scouts up front, three behind, and Kark and three others in the middle. They would find their quarry, and they would kill them. Kark believed the soft-skins couldn’t run much farther.

He was right.

One of the forward gnolls, the one on the left, stopped suddenly. He yipped softly, just loud enough to draw the attention of the others. As Kark looked up, he saw a jet of flame stream down from one of the nearby buildings and strike the scout high in the chest. Fire burst around the gnoll, and he went down hard, his bow clattering on the stonework. The fire sizzled briefly, charring the dead scout’s fur and sending up a horrid stench. Even before his nose caught the filthy odor, Kark barked an alarm.

Too late for the middle scout—an arrow made entirely of flame blasted the next gnoll as he turned. The young gnoll howled in fright and fear, beating at his fur before the fire could catch. Another arrow, this one made of wood and feather and tipped with steel, struck him high in the chest. He spun away from the impact, trying to flee, but stumbled and fell dead.

Kark barked orders, trying to rally his remaining troops, but they were frightened. The scouts were experienced ambushers, but they’d never before been caught in one themselves. Kark realized immediately that their prey had doubled back on them, letting the gnolls follow the trail right into a trap. The old gnoll knew from experience how effective that trap could be.