CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

AIRSPUR
THE YEAR OF THE AGELESS ONE (1479 DR)

THE RUINED MOTHERHOUSE NO LONGER POURED RIVULETS of smoke into the sky. The massive construction lay in shattered heaps. Barricades alive with darting witchlights screened curious citizens out of the site. Peacemakers and Cabal members conferred in groups of two and three. Reconstruction was set to begin in a tenday or two; until then, no one was allowed in or out except ranking Firestormers.

Which was why Chant was crawling on his belly through an alley that neighbored the ruin, keeping his head down. Mud slicked his fine clothing and face, and the unpleasant stink clinging to him suggested he’d accidentally crawled through dog droppings.

Riltana slid ahead of him as easily as breathing. Behind Chant labored Carmenere. The earthsoul looked at least as uncomfortable as he felt pulling herself forward on her elbows, which surprised him. As an earthsoul, he would have expected Carmenere to be most comfortable so close to the ground. Demascus brought up the rear, lost in his own thoughts, but making reasonable headway.

The deva had remained uncharacteristically silent since they’d left the palace. At first Chant thought Demascus was mooning over his meeting with the queen. But then he suspected something else bothered the man. Not fear, though. After what Chant had seen Demascus do in the alley, he had a hard time believing anything could frighten the deva. Which was frightening to consider. Someone who didn’t feel fear was a liability on a team composed mostly of people who did not, as a matter of course, return to life if killed.

And if Chant was killed under the Motherhouse, chasing after Demascus’s identity and the truth of the Elder Elemental Eye, what would become of Jaul? Raneger had much to answer—

Riltana stopped. One finger went to her lips, then she pointed at a crack in the masonry. Was she suggesting they go through it? A giant block rested on a ridge of broken pilings, forming a sort of long tunnel. No way was he was going to fit …

The thief slipped into the gap.

He exhaled a long-suffering sigh. Then he wriggled after. Usually his husky frame didn’t impede him in the least. Not this time, he thought, struggling forward. It was at times like this that he seriously considered restricting himself to just five meals a day.

The odor of smoke and ash permeated everything. Plus the whiff of something dead.

The cleft emptied into a rubble-filled space open to the sky behind the largest heap of tumbled masonry, which neatly blocked the view from the street. Chant concentrated on remaining quiet. The mumble of conversation from a group of Cabal members penetrated the obstructing detritus. The friends had Arathane’s permission to investigate the ruin, but they were sworn not to reveal the queen’s involvement. Which essentially meant they were, indeed, trespassing.

A collection of mauls, pickaxes, pry bars, and other tools were laid out on tarps. Smaller piles of stone, wood, and cloth lay in regular piles around the periphery, as if they’d been sorted. A wheelbarrow stacked with crumbled stone rested at the mouth of an opening that plunged underground.

“Where are the workers?” whispered Carmenere.

“Lunch break,” he guessed. He pointed to the opening. “Let’s try there.”

They descended, picking their way around debris that the workers hadn’t yet managed to clear. If they’d gotten there sooner, the sloping tunnel would probably still be blocked.

A door hung half off its hinges at the bottom of the descent. Demascus took hold of it and carefully swung it. It scraped and resisted, but he managed to open it all the way.

The chamber beyond was half-collapsed, making what had apparently served the Motherhouse as an expansive beer and root cellar into a cramped and wreckage-strewn cavern. A yeasty, damp odor competed with the stink of ash and smoke. It made him a little sad to think of so much ale soaking into the earth.

Demascus entered, his head scanning left, right, up, and down. Chant was pretty sure the man was automatically assessing the room in case he had to kill someone in it. That was what assassins did, right?

Riltana was right on Demascus’s heels. Her face mask made her eyes seem particularly wide.

Chant came next, his crossbow a comfortable weight in his right hand. He didn’t normally think of himself as a violent man, but he’d put in enough time practicing with the unique triple-shot weapon that he was justifiably proud of his precision using it.

Unfortunately the light leaking down the stairs didn’t illuminate the area beyond a few paces.

Demascus said quietly to Riltana, “Do you have the sunrod you bought from Chant?”

“Wait,” Carmenere said. “Selûne can provide.” A silvery glow like the full moon swelled from her outstretched hand. The glow became a distinct sphere of phosphorescence that rolled away from her through the air and into the dark chamber like a miniature moon.

The space was bigger than he’d realized. Though the ceiling was collapsed, an open area was visible beyond the broken timbers, rocks, and rubble that filled the center of the chamber. Several passages gaped on the far wall.

“Perfect,” said Demascus.

The deva edged forward. Chant followed, wary for any timber movement or shifting surfaces in the floor or ceiling. Halfway around he noticed a lantern hanging on the wall above a wheelbarrow lying on its side. Two pickaxes and a pry bar lay on the ground as if they’d simply been dropped.

“Did the workers down here go for lunch too?” Demascus asked.

“Maybe,” Chant replied. But why would they leave their tools?

Carmenere said, “Maybe the queen sent word to pull the workers out on some pretense so we could sneak in.”

“You’d think she would have mentioned that,” said Demascus. He drew his sword.

They advanced around the collapsed chamber’s perimeter in single file, Demascus in the lead, Chant trailing at the rear.

The pale light revealed a short silhouette. He saw it was a whole keg with its brewing seal intact. “Hey, this one’s not broken!” he exclaimed. He bent for a closer look. Yes! Liquid sloshed in the container when he nudged it.

“What does that matter?” asked Carmenere.

“Uh … it seems like a shame to let it go to waste.” By her look, the silverstar thought differently.

A low growl pushed thoughts of salvage from his mind. The sound was guttural, rough, and hungry.

Movement glimmered in Carmenere’s light. What he’d taken for a heap of refuse stood up on four legs and shook out scaled wings that were nightmarishly wide. Eyes wide as tea cups caught the silvery light, set in an almost human face. Almost. Curved barbs rose from its spine, and the tip of its lashing tail was crowned with spikes.

Chant recognized the beast from his books: it was a manticore. Manticores were vicious predators, sometimes trained as sentries by people who didn’t mind losing a few trainers to the process.

The creature growled again as its tail vibrated like a rattlesnake’s.

“Don’t excite it,” said Chant, his voice low. “It’s probably a guard. If we back off, it might leave us alone.”

The manticore’s snarl cracked off the close walls. Its tail lashed more violently.

“Down!” yelled Demascus as he hit the dirt.

Chant ducked behind a timber. A handful of spikes nailed themselves into a splintered rafter overhead. That was close!

He peered around the support, straining to control his rapid breathing. Demascus was back on his feet, sword tip aimed at the manticore. The ribbonlike length of the attached Veil twitched of its own accord.

“Everyone all right?” Demascus yelled.

“It missed us,” came Carmenere’s voice from Chant’s left. The silverstar was behind an overturned workbench.

Chant drew aim on the beast, but the deva blocked his shot.

The manticore advanced. Demascus jabbed at its eyes. It flinched, but flailed with a huge paw, forcing the deva backward. Chant’s line of fire cleared. He took his shot.

His crossbow spat a bolt. An arcane rune on the stock triggered, and one quarrel became three. Two found their mark.

The manticore screeched and reared, reflexively biting at a bolt protruding from its breast. Demascus stepped in to swipe at the beast’s exposed belly.

The thing’s wings were faster. They crashed in on him from either side like battering rams. The blow turned the deva sideways and nearly spun him off his feet. Chant feared Demascus was going to drop his sword. The pawnbroker plunged his hand into the quiver of bolts he wore on his thigh, trying to select one bolt in particular by feel.

Then Riltana was beside the deva, holding her short sword like a pike. She lunged and put another hole in the creature. Blood spurted from the wound. The manticore tried to bite her head off in retaliation. She danced back, remaining just out of its range.

Demascus swayed, shaking his head, apparently trying to clear away the aftereffects of the buffeting wings. Chant fumbled his bolt, and cursed. The manticore crouched low, as if preparing to spring at the disoriented deva.

The manticore’s tail rattled again, as it had before it sent its first salvo. Sharkbite! Demascus is too confused to take cover! He opened his mouth to cry warning, but another command sounded first.

“Goliath, break! Muzzle it!” The strange voice cracked with authority.

The manticore’s lethal rattle died to a rustle, and the beast’s wings pulled in to fold across its back. A low growl sounded as it bared its teeth at Demascus. Then it began inching forward as if pulling on an unseen leash.

“I said muzzle! Stand down, Goliath, these are not enemies!” came the voice again. Wait, he thought, that’s … Lieutenant Leheren’s voice!

The lieutenant emerged from one of the dark passages, the lantern gripped in one hand showing a bare flicker of flame. A long sword occupied her other hand. She said, “Goliath, down; save your strength until I command it!”

The bestial, almost humanoid face grimaced. Then it growled, “As you wish.”

Chant blinked. The thing could speak! He’d missed that in his reading.

The manticore sat back on its haunches and began to lick its wounds.

“Lieutenant,” said Demascus, surprise evident in his tone. “What’re you doing down here? I thought you were dead.”

Leheren’s red leather jacket was burned and as black as if she’d been rolling in ash. Her face was smudged, and her hands were so filthy she might as well have purposefully coated them in coal dust. Her eyes were sunken from exhaustion. She’d obviously seen a few things since she’d asked him and Demascus to check out the fire mage’s demesne.

She said, “I’m trying to figure out where the traitors are in my organization. What are you doing here?”

“We’re … trying to do the same thing, I guess,” Demascus replied.

The genasi only half-lowered her sword. She said, “And how do I know you’re not in league with the bastards who tried to take over the Cabal from inside?”

“Only by our actions, I guess,” said Demascus. “We’re here to help.” A good answer, Chant thought. He nodded in agreement, trying to make his face as sincere as possible for the lieutenant’s assessment.

She lowered her sword and said, “I see a silverstar accompanies you.”

“I do,” confirmed Carmenere.

Chant moved up to stand next to Demascus. He said, “Lieutenant, you look ill-used. Are you all right?”

Leheren gestured around at the ruined basement and growled, “What do you think?”

“Sorry,” he said. Then, “You said traitors are in your organization. So you know …”

Leheren’s shoulders slumped. She leaned against the wall and wiped at her forehead with a filthy jacket sleeve. She said, “Yes, I know. The deputy commander wanted me to find out for certain who among the command staff were involved.”

“What did you determine?” asked Demascus.

“I’ve determined that the reason demonic monsters are popping up randomly in Airspur is because a handful of Cabal members are responsible. Under the guise of regular activities, they’ve secretly been setting up some sort of cult!”

“Is someone named Kalkan involved?” Demascus asked. If Kalkan was tied to the cult, then he could start to make some sense—

Leheren shook her head. “I’ve never heard that name before. Should I have?”

Demascus sighed. “No. Well, maybe. He’s involved in this somehow …”

“How about Jett?” Chant said. “That tattoo he has isn’t just for show, is it? He’s one of the cultists. He serves the Elder Elemental Eye.”

Leheren grimaced. “Yes, I think Jett is one. One day a few months ago his disposition seemed to shift from pleasant to surly, and he was wearing that new tattoo. I thought it was a silly affectation. Jett Var, Garel Komar, and others too. But even some without the mark are part of it. Though I scarcely want to believe it, I have reason to believe the deputy commander himself is implicated. Plus who knows how many journeyman-grade members.”

“The deputy commander?” said Carmenere. “That can’t be right. He’s the one who set you to ferret out the cult.”

Leheren said, “Without someone of his authority involved with the conspiracy, it couldn’t have stayed under wraps for so long. I would have known.”

The queen’s not going to be happy to hear about this, Chant thought.

Leheren continued, “I’ve been down here for I don’t know how long, sifting through broken tunnels, looking for where they might yet be hiding.”

“By yourself?” said Demascus.

“I didn’t know who else to trust. Once I discovered the Cabal was compromised, I realized anyone could be a damn turncoat.”

“When they found out you knew about them, they brought down the Motherhouse?” asked Riltana.

“No. I collapsed the Motherhouse. I figured I’d crush the infestation with a sudden bold move, and quash everyone involved. But I failed.” Leheren shoved her blade into its scabbard with an unsteady hand, then leaned against the wall.

“I’m afraid you did,” said Chant. “A beast with ties to the Elder Elemental Eye attacked us after the Motherhouse’s destruction.”

She nodded wearily.

“How long have you been down here?” said Carmenere.

“Seems like days. I think I … wandered into an unsafe area, and was caught in a collapse. I hit my head, so things are a little foggy.”

“We should get you to the surface,” said Carmenere. “You need tending. And rest.”

“The silverstar’s right,” agreed Demascus. “But first, tell us where you haven’t looked yet.”

Leheren straightened. “No. No, I’m not leaving here until I find them. It’s my responsibility.”

The lieutenant glared into the cavity sheltering the manticore and directed her lantern at the far wall.

Chant looked in too, searching for the symbol Arathane had described.

The walls were bare of decoration, save for the scoring of claws and spikes, and splatters of dried blood. The floor was a mess of gnawed bones and feces. He wrinkled his nose. Some of the bones looked gruesomely fresh. The manticore had probably chased away the wheelbarrow owners. Or … eaten them?

Leheren muttered, “I must be getting close.” Her gaze fixed on the passage to the right of the manticore den. She stumbled once, then made for an exit.

Demascus whispered, “Should we try to haul her back to the surface against her will?”

Chant shrugged and said in a voice equally quiet, “She’s almost dead on her feet. And I think a little crazy from exhaustion.”

“And I’m pretty sure she has a concussion,” said Carmenere. “She said she bumped her head.”

“Although,” said Chant, feeling a little guilty, “even injured, she’s got a better chance of leading us to the sublevel than we do of stumbling on it blind.”

Leheren wasn’t waiting on their conversation. She entered the passage and walked out of view.

They followed the lieutenant. The translucent ball of moonlight called by the silverstar came along like an obedient dog, providing just enough light to navigate.

Leheren was a good way down the passage already. They hurried to catch up, but she exited the far end of the corridor well ahead of them.

The chamber beyond the corridor wasn’t large or high. Several rusted chests were shoved against one wall. Three rude tunnels provided exits. Leheren was nowhere to be seen.

Demascus said, “Where’d she go?”

Chant cocked his head and put his hand to one ear. He heard a faint scuffing as of boots on stone. He pointed down the middle tunnel. “That way. I think.”

Demascus dashed into the passage. I don’t like this, Chant thought, but followed after Carmenere and Riltana.

They broke out into a room slightly larger than the one with the chests. Leheren wasn’t there either.

“Is she trying to lose us?” Chant said. Maybe they should have brought the lieutenant back to the surface.

“I don’t think she’s in her right mind,” said Carmenere. “She ran off before I could ask Selûne’s aid on her behalf.”

The walls were irregularly sized stones mortared in place, though most of the mortar was long gone. A litter of skulls lay on the floor. Humanoid skulls, Chant noted.

“Burning dominions, why are there skulls down here?” Demascus suddenly exclaimed. The deva seemed particularly upset. Chant wondered what memory, if any, the skulls had triggered.

“Maybe evidence of the cult,” said Chant. “Which would mean we’re close.”

“I think Leheren went this way,” said Riltana, who was peering down a steep stair of mismatched stone slabs. The descent looked more like a ladder than a staircase.

“Then that’s where we go,” said Demascus. “Keep an eye out for a flame inscribed over the symbol of a cube. Even if we lose the lieutenant, we can still access the sublevel.”

They took the stairs. The stairwell meandered as it descended, then emptied into a room lit by torches.

Leheren was there.

She was threatening a genasi with her long sword; its tip rested in the hollow of the man’s neck. The genasi was dressed in the red leather of the Firestorm Cabal, but had defaced it with black paint showing a jagged spiral. A similar symbol had been carved into the back wall of the chamber. The new design was situated almost directly above a flame and cube symbol.

We have a winner, Chant thought.

The genasi’s fearful eyes tracked to them as they entered, then darted back to Leheren.

“I said, explain yourself, recruit. What in Karshimis’s name are you doing down here?”

“I … this is my post, Lieutenant!”

The room, except for the back wall, was draped in yards of red cloth hung inexpertly from torch brackets. An old couch in the chamber was similarly covered in scarlet swathes, while a mounded heap of the material apparently served the genasi as his bed. A crude table, a single chair, and a couple kegs rounded out the chamber’s furnishings.

“And what is this symbol you’ve adorned yourself with?”

The genasi glanced again at the newcomers.

“Answer me!” screamed Leheren.

The man’s gaze snapped back and he squeaked, “The Elder Elemental Eye, Lieutentant!”

“And,” continued Leheren, her voice gone quiet and flat, “how long have you secretly served this Elemental Eye down here below the Motherhouse?”

“Not long. I was only recruited a few tendays ago.”

“Why did you betray your Firestorm Cabal comrades?”

“Betray? Lieutenant Jett said learning about the Eye was how one joined the Cabal’s inner order. I thought this was a promotion—”

Leheren slapped the genasi so hard he tumbled to the floor.

“Bind him,” she said, glaring at the genasi. “You’re a fool. There’s no inner order. How stupid are you?”

Demascus watched over the genasi while Chant used one of the lengths of red fabric to bind him hand to foot. The fellow seemed stunned, but whether at the lieutenant’s blow or her accusatory words Chant couldn’t tell. Both, probably.

Leheren and Riltana studied the wall with the inscribed symbols.

Riltana reached to touch one. Leheren knocked the thief’s hand away before she could touch the wall.

“Hey!” said Riltana.

“Sorry. Something’s not right here.” Leheren turned to regard the captive. She said, “If there’s a trick to opening the passage, now would be a good time to tell us. As opposed to after we trigger something nasty.”

Chant said, “Yeah. That would probably makes us feel less charitable toward you.”

Demascus raised a single eyebrow and measured out a length of scarf, which Chant found more intimidating than Leheren’s and his own efforts combined.

The genasi coughed. Then he mumbled, “It’s a three-step sequence. Press each symbol twice, starting with the flame, then the square, then the spiral, in that order. Otherwise some kind of curse is triggered. I don’t know what.”

“And what will we find beyond?” said Riltana. “More guards?”

“This entrance is hardly ever used. I’ve only seen it open once, and I’ve never been beyond the threshold. All I saw were stairs. No guards.”

Leheren kept her eyes on the man another few moments, then rose. She touched the symbols in the order prescribed. Chant held his breath.

Stone grated on stone, reverberating through the small chamber. A slab of the wall slid away, revealing broad gray steps leading down.