This was a familiar sensation, at least, having spent so many years under Grinta’s tutelage. “You are mocking me,” he said.
“Yes, a bit,” she said.
To Cephas’s enormous relief, the twins approached Corvus’s wagon, each lightly burdened with haversacks and wearing bandoliers bristling with row upon row of the silvered darts they favored.
“Here’s another pair of warriors,” he said.
Ariella said, “To say the least. The WeavePasha named them among the kenku’s allies when he accepted my offer to come north. I had hoped to meet them, and I am happy they came through the fire with you. In Airspur, it is believed that no Arvoreeni adepts survive. I am glad that belief is wrong.”
Cephas said, “They’re rangers, I thought. Students of Mattias.”
The twins joined them, and Ariella shared with Cephas the smile she offered them. “To say the least,” she said.
An odd rushing sound came from behind them. On the lowered platform next to the wagon, a dim green glow manifested out of nothing, twisting shapes into the air and causing a light, inward flowing breeze to draw the dust of the terrace into a spiral.
Mattias returned, mounted atop Trill, who had her wing tips bound together above her lashing tail with lengths of leather, preventing flight.
“Clear out of the way,” called Mattias. “It’s best if we go through first, and she’s in an irritable mood after being left behind this morning.”
Trill grumbled and snapped as she made her way awkwardly to the portal. She normally used her wings to aid her balance when she went about on her two legs, and with them confined, her gait was even more like that of an enormous chicken than usual. Cephas had known the wyvern long enough to school his features into a respectful expression.
The ranger did not speak again; he did not, in fact, even acknowledge them as he passed. Trill did not hesitate next to the platform any longer than it took her to bring her enormous clawed feet together, bend her legs, and hop forward. If the gate had not been there, she would have crashed into the wagon, no doubt overturning it. As it was, she and Mattias simply vanished.
Ariella raised her eyebrows at the twins. “He really does have a wyvern,” she said. “And she’s traveled through a portal before. This is quite a circus-I regret I did not see you perform.” With that, she followed Trill through in two easy strides.
Cephas stood, unsure of whether he should wait or go after her when Corvus and Tobin walked around from the front of the wagon. Corvus muttered something into his hand, then pitched a bit of tinder beneath the wheels. “Best we all go through now,” he said. “Whitey knows to let the wagon burn.”
Cephas hoped never to see anything burn again, beyond cookfires and lamp wicks. The flames licking the underside of Corvus’s wagon were more than enough to overcome any unease he felt about walking through the portal.
Tobin stepped next to Cephas. “I have my hammer,” he said. “Do you know, Cephas, I thought I would never have to use it again? I liked the crossbows made of balloons better.”
The twins passed through. Cephas saw Shan draw her wicked parrying dagger at the last instant, ready for battle despite Corvus’s assurances they would reappear in a safe place.
Corvus would go through last.
“Why do you not go with Whitey and the others?” Cephas asked Tobin.
Tobin looked at Corvus, who motioned him on through. The goliath disappeared.
Corvus said, “Tuber died in the fire with the other clowns, Cephas. Now go. You’ve nothing to be afraid of.”
Cephas had trained for most of his life to never show fear, because, the Calishites said, fear was a quick path to death.
He set his foot on the path before him.
When blurred vision returned to her right eye, Ninlilah realized it was not pain that had blinded her, but blood. She had managed to escape the powerful foes who tracked her into the depths of the Spires only by sacrificing one of her horns in a desperate toss of her head that threw the goliath’s body between her and the arrows of the crippled archer.
She did not dare approach the genasi village now, but neither would she make contact with the master of games. She had been reminded of older, truer oaths than those that bound her to the slaveholding windsouled of Calimport and the djinn who lived among them.
She turned south, wondering if old allies yet lived.
Chapter Nine
The sha’ir who does not seek
the origin of magic is a coward.
The sha’ir who believes there is one is a fool.
– “Clever Janna and the Third Sha’ir”
Almraiven, the City of Spells, had stood by the Shining Sea for more than seven thousand years, despite the sea’s best efforts.
More than once in the city’s unthinkably long history, some sultan or potentate managed to offend a goddess who responded with enormous waves crashing over the high seawalls of the port. More than once, some magic user drunk on power called up creatures from the fathomless depths, hoping to harness their inhuman might, only to die with tens of thousands of others when the beasts breathed clouds of madness and sorcery through the ancient streets.
When the sea could not defeat the city, it sought retreat. The coastline of southern Faerun had changed a dozen times in the city’s life. Other cities drowned when the sea rushed in, or dried up when it disappeared over the southern horizon, but Almraiven endured. Whether by a god’s whim, the work of wizards of enormous power, or through simple luck, Almraiven still stood by the sea. It still thrived.
And it had endured more than oceanic threats. Fires mundane and magical, plagues of disease and of pests, drought and rebellion, and the yoke of foreign tyrants-all these befell Almraiven down the fantastically long roll of years that made up its history.
The city was conquered by human armies and by dragons, razed by alien orbs chattering indecipherable nightmare languages, and then rebuilt by freed slaves who cast off their shackles for a generation or two before finding it expedient to forge the chains again when some enemy force exhausted itself in another doomed attempt to wipe out Almraiven once and for all.
Almost anything that could be imagined occurring in a city of the South had occurred there a dozen times.
“Except for one thing,” the WeavePasha told Cephas. “Almraiven has never been conquered by the mad tyrants of the Elemental Chaos. Neither djinni nor efreeti has ever ruled her. No other city in these lands can make that claim.”
The human proved a generous host. Cephas and his companions were met the previous night by dozens of servants who offered them food and wine, hot baths, and cool silk sheets. They had yet to enter the palace, but each of the travelers was given his own vast tent, divided into multiple chambers by gauzy curtains and screens of an aromatic wood that let a scent like blooming flowers and cedar fill the air when it was warmed by the first rays of sunrise.
Cephas rose, dressed in loose cotton pants and an open-necked tunic, and considered what to do with his flail and armor, which were secreted beneath the huge round bed he’d slept on through the night.
He recognized his surroundings from stories. This was the home of a king. He decided to carry his possessions, but not don them.
In the courtyard, a horseshoe-shaped table stood next to a bubbling fountain. It was low to the ground, surrounded by cushions instead of chairs, and overflowed with platters of foodstuffs, vases of flowers, pitchers of chilled fruit juices, and carafes of fine wines. At least, that was Cephas’s best guess as to what constituted the enormous plenty. He could only be sure that he recognized a platter of oranges. He had once watched the freedman Talid win such in a game of dice with a caravan guard, only to devour the five bright fruits so quickly that he vomited them up.