“Well done, child,” Demas said.
Miri’s heart swelled with pride, even as tears pricked at her eyes. Why couldn’t he see her as something more than a child?
“It appears that our rescue attempt was successful,” the cleric continued. “Even the one who was dying—they all escaped.”
Miri frowned. “Why did they take off like that?”
“You felt the fear the bone devil inspired,” Demas said.
“True. Maybe they’ll come back to thank us once the fear wears off.”
“I wouldn’t stand around waiting.”
Miri sighed, irritated. “That thing could have killed me. I can still taste the poison.”
“We did the right thing. They needed our help and we gave it. “
“Is it still the right thing even if they’re ungrateful wretches?” Miri said.
Demas smiled, and her anger melted away. “Even then.”
Gharik ran with his hand to his throat, as if he still couldn’t believe that his head was still attached to his body. When he caught up with the others, Haver clapped him on the shoulder.
“I thought you were dead,” Haver said.
“So did I,” Gharik growled. He didn’t meet Haver’s gaze. “The cleric healed me.”
“We’re still half the number we were when we came to this wretched place,” Albric said, glaring at his three acolytes. “The Elder Elemental Eye expects more from its servants.”
All three bit their tongues and bowed their heads, though Albric caught a flash of anger in Fargrim’s eyes. He would have to watch the dwarf—his stubborn pride would be an obstacle to his service of the Eye.
“While those bold and foolish heroes deal with the devils,” Albric said, “the Eye will lead us to the object we seek.” He reached beneath his heavy mantle and pulled out the golden spiral symbol he wore, his connection to the Elder Elemental Eye. His fingers tingled as he touched the warm metal, and his head swam at the edge of dream. “Follow me wherever I lead, but be on your guard.”
He closed his eyes and lost all connection to the world around him. The ruined city fell away, and he stood in a vast silver sea. Stars glimmered in the midst of a fine silvery mist that swirled around his legs. He turned around, looking for a path, and a stream of midnight blue formed from his feet, stretching off into the hazy distance.
He walked along the stream, letting its flow carry him as the silvery dream around him turned into a nightmare. The misty sea on either side fell away into a swirling maelstrom flashing with fire and lightning. The stream became a narrow bridge, and the reek of death wafted up from the abyss on either side, making him dizzy with nausea. He clutched the Eye’s symbol to his chest and put one foot carefully in front of the other.
Shadows drifted up from the maelstroms alongside his path, and he heard, as if from a great distance, the shouts of his acolytes, sharp with terror. The shadows—great winged forms like demons or dragons—menaced but did not attack, and though he felt the acolytes draw in closer to him, they did not try to rouse him. One foot in front of the other, he followed the path the Elemental Eye set out for him.
The path began to descend, and darkness rose up around him on all sides. Some kind of obstacle stood before him, but he reached out a hand and felt the Elder Elemental Eye’s power coursing down his arm, erupting in a spray of vitriol that washed the barrier away. He stepped through the broken remnants of the door or wall and saw a blinding glow, blood-red and cold as Stygia’s icy sea. He threw his arms up to cover his eyes and woke from his dream.
Albric stood in a tiny alcove cluttered with ruined masonry. His three acolytes clustered behind him, wide eyes fixed on him in awe and terror. He allowed the hint of a smile to touch his lips. They should fear him and the power that flowed through him. He turned back to find the source of the glow that blinded him in his dream, the object of his quest.
A gnarled staff stood against the far wall of the small chamber, supported by two wooden braces attached to the wall. The staff itself was unremarkable, nothing more than a length of yew branch worn smooth from the touch of many hands. At the heavy head, a lattice of gut strings held a long, slender shard of reddish crystal suspended in place—a shard of the Living Gate.
Albric seized the staff in triumph, and felt a surge of joy that was not entirely his own. The Elder Elemental Eye was pleased.
Sigil
The joy of the Chained God was a wild thing, fierce and manic, straining against the bounds of his prison. The merest hint of freedom, a whiff of possibility, filled him with savage delight. He could almost taste the annihilation of the world.
Through his mortal servant, he felt the power of the Living Gate. Even such a small piece of the crystal made the space between worlds thinner. In his servant’s hands, the fragment would open a window to his prison.
But the Chained God would not be able to escape through a window of that size. Even though his power filled the desolate universe that was his prison, he could only send a fraction of his might and majesty burrowing between worlds if the Living Gate opened the way. And the Progenitor would be the vehicle for that shard.
Like a wind that whips the sea’s waves into foam, he swept over the surface of the Progenitor, sending ripples and shivers through the liquid crystal. With a thought, he lifted a portion of its substance into a sphere that hovered in the void. Red and silver lightning sparked and crackled around it as the Chained God exerted his will, infusing it with a tiny portion of himself.
“We will soon be free.” The voice was his, and it was the whisper of the Progenitor. “Free to consume and destroy.” It was all around and it was distilled in the hovering orb. “Free to drown the world in blood.”
The ruins of Bael Turath had already proven dangerous—just a few hours earlier, Miri and Demas had come across a group of treasure hunters engaged in a fierce battle with a bone devil and its minions. Miri shook her head at the memory—the adventurers had fled while she and Demas fought the devils. Even the one Demas had saved from certain death had run off without a word of thanks.
Footsteps crunched on gravel somewhere close by in the ruins. Miri held up a hand to signal a stop.
“Someone’s coming,” she whispered.
“Yes,” Demas said. “Ioun has sent us aid.”
She turned and arched an eyebrow at him. His pale face was serene and confident—as always.
“A champion of Pelor and two companions,” Demas said. “They will help us find the Staff of Opening, if it’s not too late.”
“Ioun told you this?” Miri asked.
“Of course.”
Miri smiled. Demas was so enlightened in some ways, and so naive in others. He accepted Ioun’s gifts of prophecy without question, and apparently without even recognizing how unusual they were. “Shall I hail them, then?”
“Yes. His name is Brendis.”
Nowhere stopped in his tracks and gaped at the young woman who’d just emerged from the ruins, smiling, waving, and calling out to his paladin friend. He slowly turned and looked at Brendis. The paladin looked bewildered.
“You know this woman, Brendis?” Nowhere asked.
“Never seen her before in my life.” His eyes narrowed as he stared at the woman.
“She could be a devil,” Sherinna whispered. “Reading our minds to learn your name, ready to beguile and manipulate us all.”
“I don’t think she’s a devil,” Brendis muttered, absently touching the sun symbol of Pelor he wore at his chest.
Nowhere scoffed and found a position behind a crumbling wall where the woman—devil or half-elf or whatever she was—couldn’t see him. If she couldn’t see him, she probably couldn’t touch his mind, he figured, and he preferred to be out of sight when a fight broke out anyway.