CHAPTER SIX

AIRSPUR
THE YEAR OF THE AGELESS ONE (1479 DR)

THEIR BOOTS THUDDED ON THE NARROW SUSPENSION BRIDGE that arced between floating citymotes. Below, the many-colored lights of Airspur dropped away into the night down the south cliff face. An evening breeze played through Demascus’s hair, and he was glad of his coat, despite the trouble it had caused him.

“The Cabal has safehouses all around Akanûl,” offered Chant. Demascus could tell the man wasn’t sold on their decision to visit the Cabal. But neither had he bowed out.

“The Motherhouse is one of these safehouses I take it,” Demascus said.

“The biggest. Actually, the Motherhouse is the Cabal’s headquarters. It’s where the big shots meet when they’re not in the field, and it’s where new recruits are groomed, unless they’re found wanting like your new friend Garth.”

Demascus snorted. He said, “Is the Firestorm Cabal known for summoning demons?”

“No. Like I said before, they’re mostly freebooters. They dally in good deeds to keep up appearances. But if they have secret dealings with things out of the Abyss, that’d be news to everybody!”

Demascus nodded, recalling the diminutive monster that had tried to eat him, already snacking on a loose foot as casually as if it had been a sandwich. He said, “The ones I found by the shrine were up to something with demons. I’m certain of it.”

Chant said, “I know people who would pay good money to have that confirmed.” He rubbed his hands, whether in pantomime of greed or to warm them in the evening chill, Demascus was unclear.

They reached the south face and ascended via a series of bridges and switchbacks. The hour had become late, and only a few people were around. City lamps burned periodically in lonely vigil. Finally Chant pointed ahead.

A great granite block protruded from the cliff face, blank of any design save for the scoring of countless chiselers. “The Motherhouse,” the pawnbroker said.

Demascus studied the foreboding structure, trying to estimate its height and breadth. Hard to tell, without any visible windows or secondary entrances besides the grand double door at street level. Orange flame burned all around the main entrance on the block’s front face.

An elegant carriage in black lacquer was parked in the drive in front of the Motherhouse. Two winged steeds stood in harness before the carriage, and a windsoul in dark livery sat on the carriage holding the reins.

Chant touched Demascus’s arm and said, “Hold a moment …”

Someone exited the structure through the double doors and entered the carriage. Because of the distance and the position of the coach, Demascus failed to get a good look at the conveyance’s passenger.

The driver snapped the reins, and the two steeds pulled the carriage around the drive. Before they hit the street, wings were unfurled, and then horses, driver, and coach took to the sky. Demascus tracked the coach upward, but quickly lost it in the dark.

He looked at Chant. “What was that about?”

“That looked a lot like the royal carriage Queen Arathane uses.”

Demascus wasn’t certain who Arathane was, but he supposed the royal title told him enough to go on. He said, “And so?”

“For her to openly visit the Firestorm Cabal, something strange must be going on. The queen normally keeps an official distance from the activities of the Cabal.”

“Maybe it was an envoy.”

“Yeah, could be. Rumor has it that Arathane unofficially supports the Cabal’s activities, especially along the border.”

“Probably nothing to do with my situation,” said Demascus. He was impatient to enter the Motherhouse.

Chant shrugged. “Probably not.”

They walked, unchallenged, up to the double doors. The fire curling and snapping around the lintel was bright but heatless. The knocker was the sculpted symbol of a burning spike, the same symbol that decorated the shoulder of his borrowed coat.

Demascus reached for the knocker, but Chant put a hand on his arm.

“What?” he said.

Chant said, “It’s late. I doubt the Motherhouse is in the habit of entertaining visitors in the dead of night. If we’re going to learn something of interest, we’ll have to sneak in.”

Demascus said, “Does this place have any side entrances?”

“Not that I know of, but if we take a moment to look around …”

Demascus laid hold of the knocker, and rapped it against its metal plate, one, two, three times. The sound was surprisingly loud. He said, “I prefer the direct approach.”

The pawnbroker frowned, and Demascus knew a moment of chagrin. It seemed Chant didn’t appreciate impulsiveness. The man said, “If you think the Cabal is responsible for leaving you to die in the wilderness, what makes you think they’ll be happy to see you’ve survived?”

A good point, all in all. He was probably walking straight into—

The door swung open. A genasi wearing a red coat was revealed. The jacket’s cut was different than Demascus’s. She wrinkled her brow in confusion upon seeing them on the stoop. She glanced past them to the drive and said, “Oh, I thought …”

She trailed off, looking at Demascus.

“We’d like to come in,” Demascus said.

She said, “Of course, sir! Sorry, please come in!”

His heart lurched; she recognized him!

The woman stepped back and ushered them down a corridor over which a series of iron portcullises hung, poised to descend in defense of the structure. They emerged into a wide lobby tiled in white and green stone. Light spilled from each corner of the grand chamber, where a sculpture of a statuesque genasi held up a bronze bowl heaped with flame. Several comfortable divans were all empty at that hour. Demascus looked around … but nothing was familiar.

“Is there anything else I can help you with, sir?”

“So … you know who I am?”

“I don’t know your name, sir; should I?”

“But you’ve seen me before, right?”

The door warden swallowed nervously. “No, sir, I haven’t. Is this some kind of test?”

He realized the woman was only reacting to the authority invested in his borrowed jacket or a subtlety in the design of the symbol blazoned on it. His excitement at being recognized whispered away.

He said, “No. No …”

Chant stepped forward and said, “My friend’s been out of touch for a while. Anything interesting going on he should know about?”

The genasi door warden said, “Uh, just the usual. More skirmishes along the Chessentan border. Reports of some bad business along the shores of the Akanamere in the south. Oh, and, let’s see …”

Chant said, “Anything local? We saw a black chariot pulling away as we arrived. That seemed interesting.”

The woman frowned at Chant. She said, “And who’re you?”

“I am Chant Morven,” said the pawnbroker. “I have accepted a commission from your organization to help track down special information.”

“Oh. Well …” She looked at Demascus for confirmation. He nodded.

“I guess that’s all right then. But I don’t have any comment about the chariot, on standing orders from the commander. Although … If you’re here to attend Lieutenant Leheren’s meeting, you’re late!” She gestured at one of the exits to the large room, then turned and headed back to the main entrance.

Demascus swallowed his disappointment and glanced at Chant. He said, his voice low, “Lieutenant Leheren?”

“One of the principals of the Cabal. One of the main figures beneath the deputy commander.”

“Let’s go see the lieutenant. Someone so important is certain to recognize me.”

“Leheren recognizing you may not turn out to be a good thing.”

They exited the lobby via the corridor the door warden had indicated. They passed three side halls and a total of twelve doors; Demascus couldn’t help but keep careful track.

Voices slipped around a door where the hallway terminated. Angry voices.

Chant put a finger to his lips, and they walked quietly to stand at the door.

“… is that the best you have to offer?” came a woman’s voice, tight with agitation. “With idiotic suggestions like that it’s no wonder the deputy commander put you on night duty!”

Another voice came through the door, but it was too muffled for Demascus to make out. A man’s voice.

The woman’s voice came again, louder, “What, you would have us do nothing? It falls to the Cabal to put right our mistake!” Mistake? That sounds promising, he thought.

Before second thoughts could dissuade his instinct, Demascus opened the door and entered the room.

A woman and two men were arranged around a large oak table. Maps of the city and the surrounding countryside lay across the dark-grained surface. Light from three hanging candle chandeliers gave the shadows in the room a life of their own. The men sat in high-backed chairs, but the woman was standing as if she’d been pacing. Each was dressed in a red jacket exactly like the one Demascus wore.

His eyes automatically swept the room, noting two additional exits, four unused chairs around the table, and three tall shelves along the wall. He saw from where the woman was standing he needed to take only two paces to engage her, while the other two genasi … He blinked. What in the name of the Nine Hells am I doing?

All eyes swiveled to fix on him. As the silence stretched, the second thoughts he’d beaten through the door caught up with him and perched on his shoulder. They whispered in his ear that he was possibly something of an idiot.

He coughed. “Sorry to interrupt. I’m here to see Lieutenant Leheren.”

The woman walked over to Demascus and looked him up and down. She said, “That’s me. But who’re you?” Silver lines traced swirls across the woman’s skin. She was a … stormsoul genasi.

“I’m Demascus. This is Chant, who—”

“And, why, Demascus, do you wear a lieutenant’s coat in the Order of the Firestorm?”

One of the genasi stood up. “An imposter!” The scarlet szuldar running across his bronze scalp marked him as a firesoul. A jagged spiral tattooed his neck in black ink, which seemed an odd counterpart to his natural designs.

The woman glanced at the firesoul, “It seems so, Jett. Or, at least a borrower of things he shouldn’t.” She returned her regard to Demascus. “What’s the meaning of this?”

Demascus felt as if the wind propelling him forward just died in his sails. They obviously had no idea who he was. Unless they were dissembling. Or—

“Answer her!” said Jett.

Demascus coughed. These people still represented his best bet at discovering his missing identity. He said, “I … was traveling west of Airspur, in the mountains, and stumbled upon an old shrine. Something terrible had happened. Nearly two dozen genasi, along with a few demons, lay dead. One genasi remained alive, just long enough to mumble something about an ‘elemental eye that watches’ or … something like that.”

The firesoul named Jett blanched, and glanced at Leheren like a child with his hand caught in the sweet jar.

Leheren didn’t notice. She was frowning suspiciously at Demascus. He added, “The genasi wore jackets like this one.” He patted his coat.

She said, “You’re saying you stumbled upon the bodies of a full patrol of Firestorm Cabal, all slain by demons?”

“Apparently. I found the bodies of demonic monsters anyway. Plus a live one feeding on the corpses. I dispatched it with a sword I took from the dead.”

“I see you also helped yourself to a coat,” said the stormsoul. “But this is foolishness. We’re not missing any patrols to the west. We don’t even normally send anyone that way.”

She turned and gazed at the other two genasi in the room.

Jett’s expression hardened. “He’s obviously some kind of spy, sent from Chessenta or Tymanther. Let me and Garel take him and his friend down to the Chamber of Questions and have a go at him.”

The other genasi, apparently Garel, jumped to his feet. He said, “I concur with Jett. Something’s not right with this fellow.”

“Hold on,” said Chant from the doorway. “Demascus came here to inform you, with no expectation of reward, how one of your patrols came to a bad end. And this is how you think to repay him? Anyway, you don’t have the authority to do any such thing. I’m a citizen of Airspur.” The pawnbroker folded his arms.

“You’re trespassing in a Firestorm safehouse,” said Jett. “Which means we can do whatever we like. Plus you’re self-admitted thieves, starting with this fellow’s coat and sword. Thieves and spies aren’t tolerated in this city.”

Demascus began to protest, but the lieutenant raised her hand, “Jett, enough. These two would have to be extraordinarily incompetent spies to wander straight into the Motherhouse and announce themselves to us, wouldn’t they?”

Demascus wondered if his cheeks were coloring.

Garel said, “That’s what they want you to think.”

“Oh, please,” said Leheren. She gestured for Chant to enter the chamber and said to him, “Were you with Demascus when he chanced upon this slaughtered group of the Firestorm Cabal?”

The human moved a few paces into the room. He said, “No. I don’t travel the Akanapeaks if I can help it. Demascus came to me in my shop and told me his story.” The pawnbroker didn’t bat an eye relaying the falsehood, which after all, was close enough to the truth.

Demascus said, “You can have this coat and sword. I came here … to tell you what happened to your people at the shrine, and learn what it meant. It wasn’t my goal to flaunt what I’d taken from the dead.” He shrugged out of his coat. Beneath it he wore the thin leather armor he’d also liberated from the dead. The genasi didn’t remark upon it.

The lieutenant took the jacket from Demascus and examined it. She ran her hands through the pockets, then said, “Did you find any identification?”

“No. None of the dead carried any papers, except a map showing the shrine’s location.” He produced the map and handed it over.

Leheren took it and smoothed it out on the table over the other documents.

“Nothing extraordinary; this old shrine appears on other maps. What’s more troubling,” she said, looking up from the table, “is that every Cabal member must carry identification at all times. I don’t understand why those you found did not.”

Demascus shrugged. “It’s what I found.” When I woke up there naked, he didn’t say.

A pensive look on Jett’s face transformed into one of calculation. He said, “If these men Demascus found carried no identification, perhaps they were the imposters! Attempting to sully the Cabal’s good name with acts of … of demonic ritual!”

“We certainly have our enemies,” murmured Leheren. “How very odd. A place of old power, and demons. Just like …”

“Just like what?” asked Demascus.

The woman looked at him. Pulses of silver seemed to flow through the szuldar that threaded her skin. She cocked her head slightly, as if she were mentally weighing him. Finally she said, “Just like other stories of demons we’ve recently heard. At least, monstrous creatures of some sort. Perhaps it’s a sign that you show up now speaking of creature incursions, on the heels of a contract we’ve just taken from the queen.”

“I knew it!” said Chant. Demascus looked at him, and the pawnbroker smirked. He said, “A royal carriage was leaving as we arrived.”

“Yes. Well,” said Leheren, “Since you two are already involved, it shouldn’t hurt to tell you that this is not the first such incident to trouble Airspur of late. We’ve heard rumors, but the queen’s envoy laid it out for the deputy commander.”

The lieutenant pushed aside Demascus’s map and revealed a detailed sketch of a city built up on either side of two cliffs framing a deep bay. It was Airspur. Four sites were circled in red ink.

Leheren said, “Each marked location represents an attack by nightmarish entities. Descriptions are vague and vary wildly, so we don’t really know what we’re dealing with. This one”—her finger stabbed down to one circle on the north face—“was an attack over an abandoned temple to some dead Chessentan god. This one”—her finger moved to a lower neighborhood—“occurred within the confines of an old druid’s grove, now a city park. These other two, same thing; monsters popping out of nowhere in the immediate vicinity of places where either divine power once flowed, or where an old portal once emptied.”

Demascus said, “The demons I discovered were in an old shrine dedicated to animal spirits of some sort.”

“Exactly. For some reason, demonic creatures are popping up where spiritual energy once flowered. Such places are acting like beacons to these horrors. We have to find out why. Are you interested in helping us?”

Demascus blinked. “What? Me?”

“You seem the type; you showed up here to tell us what you’d found, as your friend indicated. In my experience, people who stumble upon an awful scene like the one you describe turn the other way and run. They don’t wonder how to fix the situation—they think only of saving their own skin. You picked up a sword and dealt with the threat that remained.”

“Actually, it caught me by surprise. I had no choice but to fight. It was lucky I managed to kill it. I’m no hero, if that’s what you’re implying.”

His denial tasted false in his mouth. The reclaimed memory of his stand against an undead host argued that he had faced down evil, and maybe’d been pretty good at it. His brows furrowed.

Leheren said, “But here you are, one monster to your credit, and obviously a desire to find out more. So, I’ll ask once more: do you want to help us figure out what’s going on and put a stop to it?”

“I want to find out what’s going on.” Including who the Hells I am, he didn’t say. “So, yes, I’d like to help, if I can.”

The woman glanced at Chant. “And you?”

The pawnbroker coughed and said, “I assume standard contractual terms apply?”

Leheren nodded impatiently. “Yes, I’ll pay you, if that’s what you’re asking!”

“Then, by all means, I’m interested in hearing what you have to say.”

“Good, because I’ve just thought of a task for you two. Based on how easily you walked into the Motherhouse, your talents seem suited for gathering reconnaissance. I need you to look into someone for me. Someone who I’d rather didn’t find out that the Firestorm Cabal is taking a closer look at his operations.”

Jett said, “Leheren, you’re too quick to trust these two strangers. And besides, I thought we decided not to risk antagonizing the fire wizard.”

“That hadn’t been decided,” Leheren said. “And, yes, I’m aware enlisting these two smacks of desperation. But we need answers. And besides, I prefer to think I’d be a fool if I did not take advantage of what’s just dropped in our lap.” She pointed at Demascus and Chant.

“You want to send us to spy for you because if we’re caught, you’ll have plausible deniability?” asked the pawnbroker.

“Perceptive,” said the lieutenant.

“Who do you want us to spy on?” said Demascus.

“A wizard named Chevesh. He’s got a tower in Airspur—”

“What’s Chevesh got to do with the demons at the shrine?” interrupted Demascus. Was Leheren sending them off in a direction that had nothing to do with his missing memory?

The lieutenant raised a placating hand and continued, “Everyone knows Chevesh has dabbled too deeply in fire magic, and his mind has cracked. But he’s too powerful to risk annoying on mere suspicion, so people in Airspur leave him to his pursuits. But on my list of who might be responsible for summoning demons randomly into the city, Chevesh is in the top three. He’s been sanctioned before for destructive experiments involving the Elemental Chaos.”

Something connected in Demascus’s memory. He blurted, “That’s where demons come from; the Abyss swirls at the center of the Elemental Chaos.”

“Right.” She raised an eyebrow at him, but went on, “However, suspicion isn’t evidence. We can’t just barge into his tower with an elite Cabal strike force without some sort of proof. The Order of the Firestorm has had past altercations with Chevesh and, well, it was a mistake to let him live.”

Chant said, “What did he—”

“Is that the mistake you were talking about, before?” said Demascus.

She cocked her head and smiled. “Just so,” she said. For a Firestorm Cabal member, she seemed less like a mercenary captain than Demascus had expected. She seemed like someone who really cared about threats to Airspur.

Leheren continued, “Allowing Chevesh his autonomy back then was a decision made over my head. This time we’ll have him dead to rights, if you find evidence he’s summoning demons into Akanûl.”

Jett grunted and said, “Leheren, the only ‘mistake’ here would be to let these two poke their noses into Chevesh’s business. If he connects them back to us, he’ll come after the Cabal. He’s dangerous.” The firesoul rubbed at the tattoo on his neck.

“Plausible deniability,” said Chant again, in a manner that suggested he liked saying that phrase.

“The deputy commander assigned me this task,” said the lieutenant. “And I think I know best about how to proceed. These two have no previous connection to us. They’ve shown a measure of interest in the Cabal’s well-being by warning us what Demascus found at the shrine in the Akanapeaks. We shouldn’t spit at the gifts fortune throws in our path; that’s not the Firestorm Cabal’s way.”

Jett frowned.

“But,” Leheren said, fixing her regard on Demascus, then the pawnbroker, “don’t mention this commission to anyone. And if Chevesh does discover you lurking around his tower, pretend you’re robbers.”

“How will he react to thieves in his home?” asked Demascus.

“With extreme prejudice,” supplied Jett. “If you’re lucky, he’ll kill you right off.”

Perfect. Demons, and now crazy fire wizards. And somewhere between them, if fortune smiled, his true identity. He just had to get past the obstacles that could rob him of more than just his mind.

“We’ll deal with Chevesh, if it comes to it,” said Chant. “I have a way with people.”

“Then I think we have a deal.” She held out her hand.

“Hold on,” said Chant. “What are we looking for in the mage’s tower exactly? If we’re going to break in to find evidence, it’ll be a lot easier if we know ahead of time what we’re looking for.”

Leheren frowned. She said, “If you can find a ritual scroll inked with a demon summoning spell, that’ll be a good start. Something solid I can use.”

“Great,” said Demascus. He held out his hand and shook to seal the deal.

“Return if you find anything, but not immediately; return by roundabout paths. If Chevesh notices you and has you followed—”

“I’m familiar with this wizard,” said Chant, “and following thieves seems like too much subtlety for someone like him. He’d rather just blast us.”

“Probably. In truth, I regard you both as expendable. But if you do come back in one piece with news, you’ll be doing a great service to your city. Also, hold a moment …”

Leheren pointed at Jett. “Jett, get a team together. Visit the shrine shown on Demascus’s map. Bring back the bodies; if some group is implicating us in foul deeds, we need to know it, and stop it. On the other hand, if you find no evidence of this man’s story being true, I would also like to know.”

She stared at Demascus and Chant for a cool heartbeat, then added, “Because that would put a whole new spin on the conversation we just had.”

“You’ll find the bodies,” Demascus said. Unless some animal has dragged them off, or more demons have shown up and eaten them, or—

“I’m sure.” She motioned with a shake of her head at the door.

Demascus kept his lip buttoned over all his second thoughts and followed Chant out.

Both men maintained silence as they exited the Motherhouse. Outside, the evening chill had deepened, and Demascus was down one leather coat. He folded his arms across his chest.

“Do you have a place to stay?” the pawnbroker said.

“Not yet. But I have some coin. I can rent a room at the Lantern. Good thing the lieutenant didn’t make me hand over everything I scavenged at the shrine.”

“If the bodies you found were imposter Firestorm Cabal, she wouldn’t have any more right to that stuff than you.”

“Oh, I suppose that makes sense. Listen, I’m sorry I got you into this. You can walk away and forget it, and I won’t think any less of you. Based on what Leheren said about the fire wizard, we might end up hurt or worse if we beard him in his den.”

“Are you kidding? We’ve stumbled into a font of covert information. And we’re getting paid on top of it. I’ve risked more for less coin.” The pawnbroker made a face at something only he could see, as if he’d just taken a bite of a bad piece of fish.

Good, thought Demascus, I need an ally. He didn’t see that he had a choice in visiting the mad wizard. If Chevesh was behind the demon incursion, he probably also held the keys to Demascus’s missing memory. Plus, the idea of facing off against a wizard in his tower sent a shiver of anticipation through him. He should be afraid, especially since every time he tried to draw his sword, he dropped it, tripped, or otherwise embarrassed himself. But he was going to learn exactly nothing if he turned away.

They retraced their route back to Chant’s shop. Demascus yawned. His legs were like lead weights. He couldn’t ever remember being so tired—

Demascus stopped that line of thought dead in its tracks. He couldn’t remember a lot.

“Nice thinking, telling them how you stumbled on the shrine,” said Chant. “But did you also make up that bit about the ‘Elemental Eye’? Because it sure got Jett’s attention.”

“I didn’t make it up. And yes, I noticed Jett’s reaction. It was a hit. He knows something about it.”

“Maybe. But Jett was full of bluster and threat. People who act that way do so because they’re secretly cowards, or are afraid you’ll find out something they’re trying to keep secret. I couldn’t tell whether he was concealing something or if he was actually scared. Or both!”

Demascus made a noncommittal noise. He wondered if he had once been familiar with the phrase “Elemental Eye?” He was becoming sick of all his self-questions. He concentrated on trudging back to the shop. Because if he considered his situation overlong, he’d be forced to admit he was less afraid of being killed by an annoyed wizard or hungry demon than finding out he wasn’t the hero he hoped for.

What kind of person strangles priests?