Chapter 27
In the ensuing days, Twitcher had infuriated Garet beyond measure by vanishing for hours on end without a word of explanation beyond their desire to see their home. In sooth, Twitcher acted as spy master to the leader of their little project, Mara. Once Renaud had been located, Mara and those of the group she could trust would remove him by any means necessary. That particular stipulation brought a gleam of sadistic glee to Fred’s eye once it was mentioned. Arthur had been brought along because of his healing capabilities. And because Mara did not trust herself to remain herself if they’d done anything to Renaud. She’d strayed perilously close to the line with the Herald. She could not afford to lose her way, no matter how righteous the cause. Heed well the lessons of Mira, she would repeat when Twitcher returned with reports of brutal whippings from the camps below the Lonely Rock. They had not secured a route into Mira’s bed chamber. Though they had discovered its occupant; a councillor named Recala Ir Reordan. Briefly the co-monarch of Elys, the Vampire Queen had come to blows with her over the issue of slavery. It didn’t take long for Mira to intervene after that. Somehow, Mara doubted very much that this was their access to the depths of the Star Palace.
Twitcher had insisted and Mara found herself following the excitable automaton one sunny afternoon. They made their way over the bridge, gazing up at the statues of long-dead leaders of a great nation. Mara looked to the faces of Ferral and her son Foran. The two visionaries who’d brought bloody conquest to the eight provinces and ignited a sea change in civilization. As Mara continued over the bridge, her mind darkly reminded her that none of their reigns had been bloodless. The pair came to the open gates of the palace complex, nobles and functionaries milling about as the day’s governance ended. They surrounded an ominous statue of a woman dressed in robes, a silver circlet adorning her brow like all her predecessors. Her right hand was held aloft and sheathed in a clawed gauntlet. Her left hand held a stone semblance of the Crook of Arawn. Mara looked into the eyes of Mira Ir Tolves with a chill running up her spine. This woman, so feared and loved in equal measure, still held pride of place on the walk to her house. Her imperious gaze held power even in this petrified approximation, as Mara quickly moved along. She could not place why, but the eyes of the Ir unsettled her.
The Star Palace was every inch the grand residence Mara had been brought up to believe it was. Named for the twinkling material embedded in the roof tiles, it approximated the night sky perfectly. The gargantuan buildings were circular in shape, the grandest being the central Diet chamber. Above them, within the great dome that sat atop it, the Ir’s throne was enshrouded that they would hear everything their Diet was doing. The apartments that contained the Ir’s living space surrounded the throne room, bridges branching off into the towers that surrounded the main building. Mara imagined that from the top it would look like a great big web. It was the apartments which they sought access to. It made sense, in Mara’s view, that the former Ir would receive their living quarters.
As the one who’d made the arrangements, Twitcher spoke with the guards in hurried Elysian. They seemed dubious until a code word was given. It was all very clandestine as they entered the rotunda to see the great stone benches that once held the ‘citizens of merit’ chosen by the nobility. Those who had once held power to check their Ir’s. Alas, no longer as a single solitary table surrounded by seven high-backed chairs was all that remained for governance’s sake. Dozens of wooden chairs had been arranged in neat rows before this table, several occupied by laggards attending to one final note of business. Twitcher led the way past the nest of vipers towards a grand staircase that ran the circumference of the Diet. With curious eyes, Mara looked into the chambers that had once housed the Ir’s most powerful ministers and civil servants, those who’d managed her wars and commerce. Every so often, they’d spy another heavily armed and armoured Rev Chel. As if anyone doubted the folly of attacking this place.
Feeling out of breath, Mara arrived at the top of the stairwell. Feebly, she looked about to see a strangely innocuous archway with a golden lattice across it. There, the guard before it acknowledged their presence and opened the way. Twitcher moved without complaint while Mara waved a hand after them, wrestling with her impotent lungs. She now understood why being a great mage was required to become Ir. Flying was definitely preferable.
The uncomfortable height of the apartments was lain aside once Mara made her way inside. A close, comfortable parlour had been laid out for the reception of guests. Bookshelves sat stocked with various tomes, low tables laid out with silverware and crystal. Comfortable chairs that looked as if they had been spun from wood rather than carved sat around the tables, save for a grandly upholstered one that lay behind a desk. Twitcher made themselves quite at home, perusing the bookshelf while they waited. Although the group had been staying with Marie for some time, Mara still felt ill-used to the finery and confectionary of high-end living. She didn’t know whether the bowl of brightly coloured spheres were sweets or decorative. The amber fluid in the crystal decanters smelled more like honey than anything one could actually drink. Though one could drink honey if they were determined, Mara thought.
“Good afternoon, welcome guests.” A new voice greeted them in stiff, archaic Elysian. Mara looked up from the bowl of spheres she was inspecting to see a sallow-looking woman with a shaved head and a veil over her eyes. Her fingers were thin, skeletal as they indicated to the nearby chairs and smoothed the loose pantaloons she wore. Mara automatically sat herself down, in awe that she was now talking with Elysian royalty. Her sandals creaked as she sat down herself, adjusting her gown with a fastidious air.
“We’re glad you met with us, Ir Reordan.” Mara breathed as she attempted to get a hang of herself. Being starstruck would not do.
“Alas, I surrendered my claim to the throne in the name of peace. A fascinating tale, I shall have to regale you with it some time.” The former Ir corrected her guest, looking towards Twitcher for a moment. With her eyes concealed, it was very hard to read her. Was this how irritating it was for Solvi? “The one called Twitcher, which I am given to understand is an Elysian noble of some kind, spoke of your sora and his abduction. Dreadful business that reflects poorly on our nation. It reflects even more poorly on the council that one of our own would attempt to extort that fact for his own ends.” Recala commented with a gravitas that set the hairs on Mara’s neck prickling. But the mage kept a studiously neutral stare, all too aware that ulterior motives were at play. It was Elys, at least three were in play. “That our first contractors should engage in such behaviour is damnable. Particularly towards an esteemed and influential man like Gaius Renaud.” The councillor continued to muse, as if this had been the first time this had occurred to her. Mara rather doubted that. She nodded all the same, eyes flicking to Twitcher for a cue. But the automaton sat resolute, the picture of diplomatic dignity. “Naturally, the council has been divided. Some few of us have elected to take more direct action. We can’t allow ourselves to appear involved, after all.” Recala leaned forward, taking the stopper from the decanter and pouring herself a glass of the amber fluid. Mara felt a tickle of sensation, an understanding entered her mind as she saw a sliver of dark energy wriggle within the glass for a moment.
“Oh, it’s a suspension of necrotic energy held within a sothir distillate. A drink even the dead can enjoy.” Mara blurted out. Her eyes flicked about with embarrassment before she shrank back in her seat, retracting the hand that had just been poised to take a sample. “Sorry. It’s just that’s genius. The necrotic energy has a soothing affect for the living whilst the sothir distillate invigorates the undead. If I drank it, I’d probably explode.” The mage gushed until Twitcher prodded her in the back. That seemed to do the trick as Mara cleared her throat, lapsing into silence.
“I can see why you travelled to the ends of Auryth to get your sora back. He has taught you well, young lady.” Recala commented as her dark purple lips parted. They reminded Mara of Albrecht’s though the former Ir’s were considerably darker. It was unsurprising that a four-thousand-year-old elf was undead. Mara found herself impressed by the quality of the reanimation more than anything. It was probably impolite to ask how she died.
“Yes, we wanted your help with that. Garet hopes to mire us in local politics while we hope to remain firmly out of it. I just want my sora and I’ll go back home.” Mara explained emphatically with some dread as the smile on Recala’s face widened. Twitcher made a noise between snort and cough, perhaps unaware that they no longer had lungs.
“With respect, you’re already mired. I am merely here to present you with the swiftest route out of this swamp.” Recala condescended as she waved a hand at someone behind them. Several footsteps followed along with the clanking of chains. Mara looked over her shoulder to see Fred, Arthur and Ranva clapped in irons. Arthur looked mortified whilst Fred looked firmly used to this predicament. The white-haired Espali did not appear concerned though the irritation on her face was obvious. The mage’s head whipped about, eyebrows surging together with anger.
“What is the meaning of this?” The mage asked with a deceptive calm. A forced repose learned from years of playing diplomat between Renaud and Solvi. Recala sat back in her chair, pursing her lips as if in thought. It was mockery, most likely. Mara had never met a noble that didn’t enjoy the fruits of their own machinations.
“Your skitti friend was found in possession of smokables that are not permitted in Elys. Given he was found in a respectable establishment with your fellows, the guards most likely saw fit to detain them all as a precaution. We take the law very seriously here.” Recala explained with a smugness so unbearable that her interlocutors were reminded of Albrecht once more. She then returned to her thoughtful pose before seeming to come to an idea. “It is a first offence after all. A word to the magistrate and this will go away. Rest assured; we can work together to resolve this.” The undead woman then produced her personal pocketbook and began scribbling away, as if attending to some business she had forgotten.
“What is the need for this? I am Elysian. You can trust us.” Twitcher interceded, leaning forward imploringly. Recala looked up, seeming to take the point on board before giving them her full attention once more.
“You’re here to retrieve Professor Renaud. No doubt when you leave here with him and friends in hand, you will recount how hospitable and gracious we were as hosts.” Recala mused as her guards shifted uncomfortably. Mara’s eyes narrowed. “Of course, you will have to brave the depths of the Lonely Rock. The horrors within may drive you mad. We may have to detain you all for your own safety if such a thing happens. Certain secrets should remain left alone.” She continued as she took a swig of her drink, swirling it in the bottom of her glass with an appreciative nod. Mara was truly thankful that the rest of the party did not understand the petty extortion at hand. Perhaps Ranva did, though speaking Elysian was not a common skill. “If you should happen, over the course of your mission, to see that the Army has wandered where they should not be, do give me a call.” The councillor said as she slid a speaking stone with unfamiliar arcanography across the table towards Twitcher. They promptly placed it in their abdominal cavity, the lights that were their eyes somehow communicating silent fury.
“How will we know they’ve deviated?” Twitcher inquired with impressive politeness as they masked their expression by pretending to adjust their leather cuirass.
“There is a large, impressive door you’re familiar with beneath us. See that it remains closed.” Recala responded flatly, as if irritated by the charade. Her frown vanished as soon as it had materialized, indicating with her hand towards the guards once more. One by one, they unlocked the manacles. Fred grumbled in his native language. His teeth were bared as he rubbed where he’d chafed. Arthur began braiding his now impressively long beard as he prepared for what he knew was likely violence. “Congratulations, your friends have discretionary release. Do use it wisely while I secure their exoneration.” Recala advised as she stood. Finishing her glass, she laid it upon the table and bade them good day with a curious nod towards a door that led out of the apartments. Consulting her mental maps, Mara assumed that this was egress to one of the tower bridges. The guards filed out of the room without a word, their faces hidden by their helmets.
“What in Arawn’s back garden was all that about?” Arthur grunted as he found himself a seat. He then checked the stirrup his mace hung from with relief. They hadn’t taken it. Fred also had his rifle slung on his back. Ranva didn’t need a weapon to be dangerous. Mara seemed busy straightening her thoughts, so it fell to Twitcher to explain the oddities that were transpiring.
“Insurance policy. There are many secrets down there. We cannot be allowed to spread them.” Twitcher explained before knotting their fingers together under their chin. “But Renaud owing them is too big to ignore. So, they hold this over us. Forever.”
“Wot they got down there that’s so bad?” Fred asked as he checked his rifle for dints and dents. Satisfied, he returned his rifle to his back.
“We’re wasting time. We’ve been given a blank slate. I suggest we use it before the Army writes some of it for us.” Mara interjected with authority, standing to leave the room. Of course, there were questions to ask. Questions of loyalty, of trust, of the danger. All of that fell by the wayside in Mara’s mind. The party were here of their own volition, the risks to themselves and their own purpose. At least Solvi would be safe whatever the Elysians were petrified of.
To Mara’s immediate surprise as she opened the door, the party followed her. She smiled despite herself as she walked through what seemed to be an ordinary castle hallway. The stain glass windows hid the height of their traversal, a fact Mara was grateful for. She saw the lacquered wooden door to Mira’s bed chambers and frowned once she saw it mired in cobwebs. Whatever this fabled hidden passage was, it had been some time since its use. Mara hoped it wasn’t mechanical at all. Pausing at the threshold, she took a breath and opened it.
Within the circular tower room were the religiously preserved affects of a bedroom. Her bed was not a grand affair but rather a cot set under the window. Her desk held the last orders she had signed before fleeing to construct her fortress. Set upon a pedestal next to the doorway to a washroom was a clawed gauntlet the twin of the one that adorned the statue. A fireplace lay cold and cobweb-ridden opposite the cot. What remained of the room was taken up by bookshelves and rugs, robes she would have worn strewn about the place. There was a definite musty air to the room, but Mara detected the faintest hints of magic. Lain dormant, they most likely preserved the more perishable elements of the Ir’s collection. Even they would fade, in time. In another time, Mara would have become overjoyed with archaeological zeal. Not now. She joined Fred in his frantic searching, though treating the room with some reverence.
“Bookshelves. Gotta be.” Fred grunted as he perused the titles, testing a few for disguised levers or hidden buttons. It was perhaps only the respect all skitti held for the ancient necromancer that prevented him from throwing the books back to Yanhelm. Yanhem, Mara thought ruefully, was so very far away. She would happily endure the abuses of the faculty if it meant returning to Solvi in the apartment.
“Would the gauntlet not control the mechanism?” Arthur postulated with a thoughtful tug of his braids. He experimentally reached forth only for Ranva to ensnare his wrist in a tight grasp. He winced visibly before indicating with his eyes that he’d gotten the message. Ranva released him with a shake of her head.
“That is Mira’s spell book.” Ranva explained whilst she began a cursory examination of the fireplace. “Mara is the expert, but I believe she inscribed the arcanography of her spells onto illusory pages which were then bound to the gauntlet. Through this, she was able to carry far more spells with far less weight.” She continued, meddling with the iron apparatus that sat over the grate in hopes it was some kind of lever. It was, as it turned out, just a spit used for hanging a kettle or pot from. Ranva sighed and reached into her bag, applying some ointment to the raw exposed muscle of her cheek. It seemed to improve her mood, by expression at least.
“Pretty good idea. Why ain’t you lot done that?” Fred asked over his shoulder, now checking the top of the bookshelf with his hand and the aid of a small ladder attached to the case. This too seemed to yield no results, though the careening along the shelves may have hampered his attempts.
“We’re not smart enough.” Mara sighed as she finished her examination of the cot. A long shot to be sure, but a necessary one. “Whatever you think of Merddyn or Lorana or any of the other archmages, Mira was beyond even them. Probably why conspiracists think she built Avon Soram.” The mage added as she pondered where a woman like that would hide the entrance to her secret escape. Intelligence did not overcomplicate things for the sake of appearing clever. It found the simplest solution to the problem and implemented it. What then would be the simplest solution for needing to get somewhere without excessive magical investment?
“Wot’s an Avid Serum?” Fred asked Ranva, noting that Mara had donned that look again. Visible since wearing the new mask, her eyes would take on this look of someone thinking of running through a wall. Or finding the best way to eat through bricks.
“A legendary super weapon designed by Mira. If you believe such stories, it was a weapon of such terrible power that it could have laid waste to the empire.” Ranva shrugged as she eyed the lighting fixture. “Propaganda by the High Houses to justify removing her from power. Someone in possession of that power doesn’t meekly submit to execution after a protracted siege.” The Espali scoffed as the candelabra of crystalline light sources failed to yield any promising results. From what any of them could tell it seemed to be an ordinary, if modest bedroom.
Mara then ducked to the ground, lifting one of the many exquisite rugs. Fred slapped his own forehead with a groan, joining her in this pursuit. Soon thereafter, the group had removed all coverings from the floor. Mara wrote the rough design of what they saw in her pocketbook, frustration growing in her eyes moment by moment. After she emerged from under the cot, she looked almost resigned.
“It makes no sense. The arcanography is gibberish.” Mara growled as she stalked the entire length of the circular pattern that now lay at their feet. She seemed to be channelling Mira once more as she looked at it from every conceivable angle, even climbing atop the bookshelves to peer down at the floor. Ranva seemed to take a more detail-oriented approach, crouching to look at the letters painstakingly carved into the floorboards. Perhaps it was some new language neither of them knew?
Twitcher was not a mage in the same sense as Mara or Ranva, but they attempted it regardless. They took their knowledge of their Ir in hand and rubbed their chin apprehensively. The solution was there but it was not immediately obvious. It would deter the brutish, the short-sighted and the pseudointellectual alike. They knelt down, running their fingers along the ‘gibberish’ and promptly burst out laughing. They were in such fits that Fred briefly commented that Twitcher had finally rolled their dice off the board. Mara was not so quick to judge and imitated her metal friend, eyes opening wide with realisation.
“You’re kidding me. And Renaud said it was a waste of time.” Mara laughed to herself, eyes looking towards Twitcher with admiration. Ranva knelt down, cocking her head to the side. Only when she ran her fingers over the carvings with closed eyes did she finally understand. Arthur looked to Fred as if the magical among them had gone insane. But he seemed willing to hear them out as he too ran his fingers over the carvings. Then, he too wore a look of dawning realisation.
“The visible writing makes no sense.” Twitcher grinned over at Fred, their hand running along the circular path of the writing. “But we’re not reading the visible writing.” They winked as Mara began scribbling the true coordinates into her pocketbook, running her fingers along the spell as it was written. Magic was the domain of the mind. And a mind did not require eyes to see.
“Well, I’ll be. Clever ol’ Ir.” Fred smirked as he ran his fingers over the carvings. Even to the untrained hand, he could perceive small tactile differences between the symbols. Some, he assumed, were the true sensation while others were meant to lead pursuers astray. Only someone who knew what they were looking for would read anything other than knots and whorls of wood.
“I remembered that Mira had a companion. An older man, scarred from war. They would meet to discuss anything but work. Play board games.” Twitcher mused as they remembered where once their sovereign had wended. The smiling Mira. The smart Mira. They’d found her again. “He was a mage. Taught her how to read the tactile arcanography.” The engineer then stood themselves up as Mara finished her translation, looking over to her friends with a smile visible even through the mask. The dimpling of her cheeks lifted the mask with them. She didn’t even ask if they were prepared as she poured magic into what they hoped had been a correct translation. The circle beneath them ignited with an eerie spectral blue light, glow intensifying until the rushing sensation of movement whipped them through. All while they fell through the blurring blue abyss that accompanied most teleportation, Arthur saw Mara with renewed eyes. She, who’d struggled to maintain flames now rent space and time as if they were immaterial. He smiled despite himself, remembering his grandfather’s faith through the dark days following her accident. He’d always believed that she’d recover.
Then, the tunnel vanished from about them with a whipping wind that almost tossed Mara’s hood off her head. She clung to it as they all took in their surroundings.
Before them were the inner workings of some titanic machine. They stood upon a platform that supported gangways that ran in every which direction. They ran through monstrous hanging cables, archways that supported great tubes of fluid and streams of glowing purple circuitry. None assembled could even begin to guess what this assemblage of aulind, steel and circuits was intended for. But it did not matter. Mara checked about to see any sign of habitation, quickly spotting solid ground. Most likely this was some area not intended for normal use. The party swiftly left towards the more pristine parts of this underground complex, coming out into a hallway that was a mixture of grand entrance hall and technical facility. The walls were stark white, tiloben crawling along them to maintain that clinical cleanliness. Glass panels had been set into the walls as windows, allowing the party to peek at some grand circular arena within. It was easily the size of the rotunda. But that was not what concerned Mara, as she looked out into the darkness. A dull green stone was visible, almost crystalline in its sheen. She looked at it with growing consternation before she and Twitcher sucked in a breath in unison.
“The entire place is shrouded in nullstun.” Twitcher confirmed Mara’s look, turning to gaze down the corridor towards a pair of tightly locked bronze-coloured doors. They looked more like a vault or sanlater’s hatch door than anything that would be in a facility such as this.
“For the uninitiated that would be what exactly?” Arthur inquired pointedly as he checked behind them for marauding Army members. Thankfully, he only saw more of those curious little metal bugs that ate the floor scraps.
“An incredibly dense mineral used in the manufacture and containment of magical goods and emanations.” Fred recited as if it were second nature. The party collectively turned to stare at the short man who shrugged nonchalantly. “Whaddya think they got us diggin’ back there? Normal rocks?” Fred indicated over his shoulder at what Mara assumed were Ledsburg’s mining operations. Even before the revolution, Idhara had prized the production and refinement of that rare substance no matter how much blood was drawn in the process. Mara looked upon the works of her people, her mind mentally picturing the humans toiling to lift block after block into position. And for what? A stadium underground? Though with the presence of such powerful shielding, she was beginning to feel like the answer was closer to a reactor of some kind. A colossal one, like the conduit at Arawn’s temple.
The party continued away from the door, collectively not fancying their chances against the bulky obstruction. They found themselves at the top of a staircase, voices drifting up in the dimly lit hall. Mara took out her arcanometer, removed the direct sampling unit and deposited it directly into the dull red light at their feet.
“Far lower than required. The facility must be on emergency power.” Mara whispered to Twitcher, who nodded. They then grunted with pain, holding their head. Mara placed a hand on their back, unsure how to treat a body such as theirs. “What’s wrong?” She asked with urgency, hoping that healing magic at least would bring comfort to the automaton.
“Memories. Bad ones. A lot of bad ones of this place.” Twitcher indicated around them with a broad motion, standing resolute against their own mind. They began to walk down the staircase, sword sliding free of its housing in their forearm. When they didn’t hear footsteps, they turned to see the group lagging behind. “I will be fine. Facility was attacked. I was told to run.” The Elysian placated tersely as they resumed stalking towards the voices. The voices were speaking modern languages, Mara noted with dread. Gardish mostly, some Renoran and elvish. Whoever they were, they were being taught elvish. Most likely to pass the time.
Then, a familiar voice cut through them all in elvish. Renaud’s. Mara attempted to pay attention to the conversation but was waylaid as a posse of elves passed through the archway before them. Renaud walked among them, his face looking haggard. He had the look of a man on the brink of defeat, his feet dragging as he cradled the Crook in his arms. Mara almost flew down the stairwell, eyes ablaze with fury and desperation. If it were not for Arthur and Ranva both grabbing her, she would have carved her way to her sora in that very moment. Mara turned with an apoplectic anger distorting what was visible of her. Fred nudged her boot with his rifle, indicating behind him with a nod of his head. He then held up ten fingers three times, three fingers once. There was that dreadful look again. Twitcher took point, using the dim conditions of the halls to their advantage. Their eyes were fearful as they returned to the shadowy curve of the stairs.
Mara wasted no time in seeing what had rattled Twitcher, poking her head around the corner as low to the ground as she could. The larger hallway beyond was a veritable base camp of tents, boxes, arms and logbooks. The elves of the Army seemed to have torn a panel free of the wall, hooking up various crystalline devices and meters to the aulind wires and circuitry within. Daring to emerge further, she looked in the direction Renaud had gone. Through the archway lay a corridor filled with gold coins that had gone completely ignored. Statues lined the hallway’s alcoves in perhaps the most obvious trap Mara had ever seen.
Just then, Mara’s foot was grazed by a tiloben feebly butting its, she was going to call that a head, against the bottom stair. A devious idea began to form in Mara’s mind as she tore a scrap of her logbook free and rolled it up. With string from her component pouch, she tied the small roll of parchment to the tiloben. She then turned the little creature about on itself and set it off towards the Army personnel. Once it had shimmied between the wall and a tent, Mara lit the end of the roll aflame.
“What was that in aid of?” Twitcher hissed in her ear.
“Your tent on fire is a good distraction.” Mara grunted as several shouts began to pierce the hall. The little tiloben continued on its predetermined path, canvas going up in flames in its wake. Once the corridor was sucking black smoke into the faces of those who were occupying it, Mara ducked through the gap towards Renaud, followed shortly by her grumbling and cursing party. Several of the Army members noticed them through the choking smoke but their cries were lost in the general furore of people running out of the bunker for fresh air and sea water to douse the flames.
“Will the bug be alright?” Arthur called after the retreating back of Mara, who looked at him disbelievingly.
“It’s designed to survive fire, flood and, apparently, the gods going to war. I think it’ll be fine.” Mara answered with patience, turning towards the door looming before them. It had once been a grand door with several locks and, presumably, magical defences. All had been cast aside by explosives and, judging by the burned remains around it, warm bodies. Fred reached out a hand to take a particularly shiny goblet, only for Ranva to slap his hand and point to the golems at their sides.
“I want one of those.” Arthur laughed almost hysterically as they passed through the gate into the gargantuan room beyond.
Chapter 27
In the ensuing days, Twitcher had infuriated Garet beyond measure by vanishing for hours on end without a word of explanation beyond their desire to see their home. In sooth, Twitcher acted as spy master to the leader of their little project, Mara. Once Renaud had been located, Mara and those of the group she could trust would remove him by any means necessary. That particular stipulation brought a gleam of sadistic glee to Fred’s eye once it was mentioned. Arthur had been brought along because of his healing capabilities. And because Mara did not trust herself to remain herself if they’d done anything to Renaud. She’d strayed perilously close to the line with the Herald. She could not afford to lose her way, no matter how righteous the cause. Heed well the lessons of Mira, she would repeat when Twitcher returned with reports of brutal whippings from the camps below the Lonely Rock. They had not secured a route into Mira’s bed chamber. Though they had discovered its occupant; a councillor named Recala Ir Reordan. Briefly the co-monarch of Elys, the Vampire Queen had come to blows with her over the issue of slavery. It didn’t take long for Mira to intervene after that. Somehow, Mara doubted very much that this was their access to the depths of the Star Palace.
Twitcher had insisted and Mara found herself following the excitable automaton one sunny afternoon. They made their way over the bridge, gazing up at the statues of long-dead leaders of a great nation. Mara looked to the faces of Ferral and her son Foran. The two visionaries who’d brought bloody conquest to the eight provinces and ignited a sea change in civilization. As Mara continued over the bridge, her mind darkly reminded her that none of their reigns had been bloodless. The pair came to the open gates of the palace complex, nobles and functionaries milling about as the day’s governance ended. They surrounded an ominous statue of a woman dressed in robes, a silver circlet adorning her brow like all her predecessors. Her right hand was held aloft and sheathed in a clawed gauntlet. Her left hand held a stone semblance of the Crook of Arawn. Mara looked into the eyes of Mira Ir Tolves with a chill running up her spine. This woman, so feared and loved in equal measure, still held pride of place on the walk to her house. Her imperious gaze held power even in this petrified approximation, as Mara quickly moved along. She could not place why, but the eyes of the Ir unsettled her.
The Star Palace was every inch the grand residence Mara had been brought up to believe it was. Named for the twinkling material embedded in the roof tiles, it approximated the night sky perfectly. The gargantuan buildings were circular in shape, the grandest being the central Diet chamber. Above them, within the great dome that sat atop it, the Ir’s throne was enshrouded that they would hear everything their Diet was doing. The apartments that contained the Ir’s living space surrounded the throne room, bridges branching off into the towers that surrounded the main building. Mara imagined that from the top it would look like a great big web. It was the apartments which they sought access to. It made sense, in Mara’s view, that the former Ir would receive their living quarters.
As the one who’d made the arrangements, Twitcher spoke with the guards in hurried Elysian. They seemed dubious until a code word was given. It was all very clandestine as they entered the rotunda to see the great stone benches that once held the ‘citizens of merit’ chosen by the nobility. Those who had once held power to check their Ir’s. Alas, no longer as a single solitary table surrounded by seven high-backed chairs was all that remained for governance’s sake. Dozens of wooden chairs had been arranged in neat rows before this table, several occupied by laggards attending to one final note of business. Twitcher led the way past the nest of vipers towards a grand staircase that ran the circumference of the Diet. With curious eyes, Mara looked into the chambers that had once housed the Ir’s most powerful ministers and civil servants, those who’d managed her wars and commerce. Every so often, they’d spy another heavily armed and armoured Rev Chel. As if anyone doubted the folly of attacking this place.
Feeling out of breath, Mara arrived at the top of the stairwell. Feebly, she looked about to see a strangely innocuous archway with a golden lattice across it. There, the guard before it acknowledged their presence and opened the way. Twitcher moved without complaint while Mara waved a hand after them, wrestling with her impotent lungs. She now understood why being a great mage was required to become Ir. Flying was definitely preferable.
The uncomfortable height of the apartments was lain aside once Mara made her way inside. A close, comfortable parlour had been laid out for the reception of guests. Bookshelves sat stocked with various tomes, low tables laid out with silverware and crystal. Comfortable chairs that looked as if they had been spun from wood rather than carved sat around the tables, save for a grandly upholstered one that lay behind a desk. Twitcher made themselves quite at home, perusing the bookshelf while they waited. Although the group had been staying with Marie for some time, Mara still felt ill-used to the finery and confectionary of high-end living. She didn’t know whether the bowl of brightly coloured spheres were sweets or decorative. The amber fluid in the crystal decanters smelled more like honey than anything one could actually drink. Though one could drink honey if they were determined, Mara thought.
“Good afternoon, welcome guests.” A new voice greeted them in stiff, archaic Elysian. Mara looked up from the bowl of spheres she was inspecting to see a sallow-looking woman with a shaved head and a veil over her eyes. Her fingers were thin, skeletal as they indicated to the nearby chairs and smoothed the loose pantaloons she wore. Mara automatically sat herself down, in awe that she was now talking with Elysian royalty. Her sandals creaked as she sat down herself, adjusting her gown with a fastidious air.
“We’re glad you met with us, Ir Reordan.” Mara breathed as she attempted to get a hang of herself. Being starstruck would not do.
“Alas, I surrendered my claim to the throne in the name of peace. A fascinating tale, I shall have to regale you with it some time.” The former Ir corrected her guest, looking towards Twitcher for a moment. With her eyes concealed, it was very hard to read her. Was this how irritating it was for Solvi? “The one called Twitcher, which I am given to understand is an Elysian noble of some kind, spoke of your sora and his abduction. Dreadful business that reflects poorly on our nation. It reflects even more poorly on the council that one of our own would attempt to extort that fact for his own ends.” Recala commented with a gravitas that set the hairs on Mara’s neck prickling. But the mage kept a studiously neutral stare, all too aware that ulterior motives were at play. It was Elys, at least three were in play. “That our first contractors should engage in such behaviour is damnable. Particularly towards an esteemed and influential man like Gaius Renaud.” The councillor continued to muse, as if this had been the first time this had occurred to her. Mara rather doubted that. She nodded all the same, eyes flicking to Twitcher for a cue. But the automaton sat resolute, the picture of diplomatic dignity. “Naturally, the council has been divided. Some few of us have elected to take more direct action. We can’t allow ourselves to appear involved, after all.” Recala leaned forward, taking the stopper from the decanter and pouring herself a glass of the amber fluid. Mara felt a tickle of sensation, an understanding entered her mind as she saw a sliver of dark energy wriggle within the glass for a moment.
“Oh, it’s a suspension of necrotic energy held within a sothir distillate. A drink even the dead can enjoy.” Mara blurted out. Her eyes flicked about with embarrassment before she shrank back in her seat, retracting the hand that had just been poised to take a sample. “Sorry. It’s just that’s genius. The necrotic energy has a soothing affect for the living whilst the sothir distillate invigorates the undead. If I drank it, I’d probably explode.” The mage gushed until Twitcher prodded her in the back. That seemed to do the trick as Mara cleared her throat, lapsing into silence.
“I can see why you travelled to the ends of Auryth to get your sora back. He has taught you well, young lady.” Recala commented as her dark purple lips parted. They reminded Mara of Albrecht’s though the former Ir’s were considerably darker. It was unsurprising that a four-thousand-year-old elf was undead. Mara found herself impressed by the quality of the reanimation more than anything. It was probably impolite to ask how she died.
“Yes, we wanted your help with that. Garet hopes to mire us in local politics while we hope to remain firmly out of it. I just want my sora and I’ll go back home.” Mara explained emphatically with some dread as the smile on Recala’s face widened. Twitcher made a noise between snort and cough, perhaps unaware that they no longer had lungs.
“With respect, you’re already mired. I am merely here to present you with the swiftest route out of this swamp.” Recala condescended as she waved a hand at someone behind them. Several footsteps followed along with the clanking of chains. Mara looked over her shoulder to see Fred, Arthur and Ranva clapped in irons. Arthur looked mortified whilst Fred looked firmly used to this predicament. The white-haired Espali did not appear concerned though the irritation on her face was obvious. The mage’s head whipped about, eyebrows surging together with anger.
“What is the meaning of this?” The mage asked with a deceptive calm. A forced repose learned from years of playing diplomat between Renaud and Solvi. Recala sat back in her chair, pursing her lips as if in thought. It was mockery, most likely. Mara had never met a noble that didn’t enjoy the fruits of their own machinations.
“Your skitti friend was found in possession of smokables that are not permitted in Elys. Given he was found in a respectable establishment with your fellows, the guards most likely saw fit to detain them all as a precaution. We take the law very seriously here.” Recala explained with a smugness so unbearable that her interlocutors were reminded of Albrecht once more. She then returned to her thoughtful pose before seeming to come to an idea. “It is a first offence after all. A word to the magistrate and this will go away. Rest assured; we can work together to resolve this.” The undead woman then produced her personal pocketbook and began scribbling away, as if attending to some business she had forgotten.
“What is the need for this? I am Elysian. You can trust us.” Twitcher interceded, leaning forward imploringly. Recala looked up, seeming to take the point on board before giving them her full attention once more.
“You’re here to retrieve Professor Renaud. No doubt when you leave here with him and friends in hand, you will recount how hospitable and gracious we were as hosts.” Recala mused as her guards shifted uncomfortably. Mara’s eyes narrowed. “Of course, you will have to brave the depths of the Lonely Rock. The horrors within may drive you mad. We may have to detain you all for your own safety if such a thing happens. Certain secrets should remain left alone.” She continued as she took a swig of her drink, swirling it in the bottom of her glass with an appreciative nod. Mara was truly thankful that the rest of the party did not understand the petty extortion at hand. Perhaps Ranva did, though speaking Elysian was not a common skill. “If you should happen, over the course of your mission, to see that the Army has wandered where they should not be, do give me a call.” The councillor said as she slid a speaking stone with unfamiliar arcanography across the table towards Twitcher. They promptly placed it in their abdominal cavity, the lights that were their eyes somehow communicating silent fury.
“How will we know they’ve deviated?” Twitcher inquired with impressive politeness as they masked their expression by pretending to adjust their leather cuirass.
“There is a large, impressive door you’re familiar with beneath us. See that it remains closed.” Recala responded flatly, as if irritated by the charade. Her frown vanished as soon as it had materialized, indicating with her hand towards the guards once more. One by one, they unlocked the manacles. Fred grumbled in his native language. His teeth were bared as he rubbed where he’d chafed. Arthur began braiding his now impressively long beard as he prepared for what he knew was likely violence. “Congratulations, your friends have discretionary release. Do use it wisely while I secure their exoneration.” Recala advised as she stood. Finishing her glass, she laid it upon the table and bade them good day with a curious nod towards a door that led out of the apartments. Consulting her mental maps, Mara assumed that this was egress to one of the tower bridges. The guards filed out of the room without a word, their faces hidden by their helmets.
“What in Arawn’s back garden was all that about?” Arthur grunted as he found himself a seat. He then checked the stirrup his mace hung from with relief. They hadn’t taken it. Fred also had his rifle slung on his back. Ranva didn’t need a weapon to be dangerous. Mara seemed busy straightening her thoughts, so it fell to Twitcher to explain the oddities that were transpiring.
“Insurance policy. There are many secrets down there. We cannot be allowed to spread them.” Twitcher explained before knotting their fingers together under their chin. “But Renaud owing them is too big to ignore. So, they hold this over us. Forever.”
“Wot they got down there that’s so bad?” Fred asked as he checked his rifle for dints and dents. Satisfied, he returned his rifle to his back.
“We’re wasting time. We’ve been given a blank slate. I suggest we use it before the Army writes some of it for us.” Mara interjected with authority, standing to leave the room. Of course, there were questions to ask. Questions of loyalty, of trust, of the danger. All of that fell by the wayside in Mara’s mind. The party were here of their own volition, the risks to themselves and their own purpose. At least Solvi would be safe whatever the Elysians were petrified of.
To Mara’s immediate surprise as she opened the door, the party followed her. She smiled despite herself as she walked through what seemed to be an ordinary castle hallway. The stain glass windows hid the height of their traversal, a fact Mara was grateful for. She saw the lacquered wooden door to Mira’s bed chambers and frowned once she saw it mired in cobwebs. Whatever this fabled hidden passage was, it had been some time since its use. Mara hoped it wasn’t mechanical at all. Pausing at the threshold, she took a breath and opened it.
Within the circular tower room were the religiously preserved affects of a bedroom. Her bed was not a grand affair but rather a cot set under the window. Her desk held the last orders she had signed before fleeing to construct her fortress. Set upon a pedestal next to the doorway to a washroom was a clawed gauntlet the twin of the one that adorned the statue. A fireplace lay cold and cobweb-ridden opposite the cot. What remained of the room was taken up by bookshelves and rugs, robes she would have worn strewn about the place. There was a definite musty air to the room, but Mara detected the faintest hints of magic. Lain dormant, they most likely preserved the more perishable elements of the Ir’s collection. Even they would fade, in time. In another time, Mara would have become overjoyed with archaeological zeal. Not now. She joined Fred in his frantic searching, though treating the room with some reverence.
“Bookshelves. Gotta be.” Fred grunted as he perused the titles, testing a few for disguised levers or hidden buttons. It was perhaps only the respect all skitti held for the ancient necromancer that prevented him from throwing the books back to Yanhelm. Yanhem, Mara thought ruefully, was so very far away. She would happily endure the abuses of the faculty if it meant returning to Solvi in the apartment.
“Would the gauntlet not control the mechanism?” Arthur postulated with a thoughtful tug of his braids. He experimentally reached forth only for Ranva to ensnare his wrist in a tight grasp. He winced visibly before indicating with his eyes that he’d gotten the message. Ranva released him with a shake of her head.
“That is Mira’s spell book.” Ranva explained whilst she began a cursory examination of the fireplace. “Mara is the expert, but I believe she inscribed the arcanography of her spells onto illusory pages which were then bound to the gauntlet. Through this, she was able to carry far more spells with far less weight.” She continued, meddling with the iron apparatus that sat over the grate in hopes it was some kind of lever. It was, as it turned out, just a spit used for hanging a kettle or pot from. Ranva sighed and reached into her bag, applying some ointment to the raw exposed muscle of her cheek. It seemed to improve her mood, by expression at least.
“Pretty good idea. Why ain’t you lot done that?” Fred asked over his shoulder, now checking the top of the bookshelf with his hand and the aid of a small ladder attached to the case. This too seemed to yield no results, though the careening along the shelves may have hampered his attempts.
“We’re not smart enough.” Mara sighed as she finished her examination of the cot. A long shot to be sure, but a necessary one. “Whatever you think of Merddyn or Lorana or any of the other archmages, Mira was beyond even them. Probably why conspiracists think she built Avon Soram.” The mage added as she pondered where a woman like that would hide the entrance to her secret escape. Intelligence did not overcomplicate things for the sake of appearing clever. It found the simplest solution to the problem and implemented it. What then would be the simplest solution for needing to get somewhere without excessive magical investment?
“Wot’s an Avid Serum?” Fred asked Ranva, noting that Mara had donned that look again. Visible since wearing the new mask, her eyes would take on this look of someone thinking of running through a wall. Or finding the best way to eat through bricks.
“A legendary super weapon designed by Mira. If you believe such stories, it was a weapon of such terrible power that it could have laid waste to the empire.” Ranva shrugged as she eyed the lighting fixture. “Propaganda by the High Houses to justify removing her from power. Someone in possession of that power doesn’t meekly submit to execution after a protracted siege.” The Espali scoffed as the candelabra of crystalline light sources failed to yield any promising results. From what any of them could tell it seemed to be an ordinary, if modest bedroom.
Mara then ducked to the ground, lifting one of the many exquisite rugs. Fred slapped his own forehead with a groan, joining her in this pursuit. Soon thereafter, the group had removed all coverings from the floor. Mara wrote the rough design of what they saw in her pocketbook, frustration growing in her eyes moment by moment. After she emerged from under the cot, she looked almost resigned.
“It makes no sense. The arcanography is gibberish.” Mara growled as she stalked the entire length of the circular pattern that now lay at their feet. She seemed to be channelling Mira once more as she looked at it from every conceivable angle, even climbing atop the bookshelves to peer down at the floor. Ranva seemed to take a more detail-oriented approach, crouching to look at the letters painstakingly carved into the floorboards. Perhaps it was some new language neither of them knew?
Twitcher was not a mage in the same sense as Mara or Ranva, but they attempted it regardless. They took their knowledge of their Ir in hand and rubbed their chin apprehensively. The solution was there but it was not immediately obvious. It would deter the brutish, the short-sighted and the pseudointellectual alike. They knelt down, running their fingers along the ‘gibberish’ and promptly burst out laughing. They were in such fits that Fred briefly commented that Twitcher had finally rolled their dice off the board. Mara was not so quick to judge and imitated her metal friend, eyes opening wide with realisation.
“You’re kidding me. And Renaud said it was a waste of time.” Mara laughed to herself, eyes looking towards Twitcher with admiration. Ranva knelt down, cocking her head to the side. Only when she ran her fingers over the carvings with closed eyes did she finally understand. Arthur looked to Fred as if the magical among them had gone insane. But he seemed willing to hear them out as he too ran his fingers over the carvings. Then, he too wore a look of dawning realisation.
“The visible writing makes no sense.” Twitcher grinned over at Fred, their hand running along the circular path of the writing. “But we’re not reading the visible writing.” They winked as Mara began scribbling the true coordinates into her pocketbook, running her fingers along the spell as it was written. Magic was the domain of the mind. And a mind did not require eyes to see.
“Well, I’ll be. Clever ol’ Ir.” Fred smirked as he ran his fingers over the carvings. Even to the untrained hand, he could perceive small tactile differences between the symbols. Some, he assumed, were the true sensation while others were meant to lead pursuers astray. Only someone who knew what they were looking for would read anything other than knots and whorls of wood.
“I remembered that Mira had a companion. An older man, scarred from war. They would meet to discuss anything but work. Play board games.” Twitcher mused as they remembered where once their sovereign had wended. The smiling Mira. The smart Mira. They’d found her again. “He was a mage. Taught her how to read the tactile arcanography.” The engineer then stood themselves up as Mara finished her translation, looking over to her friends with a smile visible even through the mask. The dimpling of her cheeks lifted the mask with them. She didn’t even ask if they were prepared as she poured magic into what they hoped had been a correct translation. The circle beneath them ignited with an eerie spectral blue light, glow intensifying until the rushing sensation of movement whipped them through. All while they fell through the blurring blue abyss that accompanied most teleportation, Arthur saw Mara with renewed eyes. She, who’d struggled to maintain flames now rent space and time as if they were immaterial. He smiled despite himself, remembering his grandfather’s faith through the dark days following her accident. He’d always believed that she’d recover.
Then, the tunnel vanished from about them with a whipping wind that almost tossed Mara’s hood off her head. She clung to it as they all took in their surroundings.
Before them were the inner workings of some titanic machine. They stood upon a platform that supported gangways that ran in every which direction. They ran through monstrous hanging cables, archways that supported great tubes of fluid and streams of glowing purple circuitry. None assembled could even begin to guess what this assemblage of aulind, steel and circuits was intended for. But it did not matter. Mara checked about to see any sign of habitation, quickly spotting solid ground. Most likely this was some area not intended for normal use. The party swiftly left towards the more pristine parts of this underground complex, coming out into a hallway that was a mixture of grand entrance hall and technical facility. The walls were stark white, tiloben crawling along them to maintain that clinical cleanliness. Glass panels had been set into the walls as windows, allowing the party to peek at some grand circular arena within. It was easily the size of the rotunda. But that was not what concerned Mara, as she looked out into the darkness. A dull green stone was visible, almost crystalline in its sheen. She looked at it with growing consternation before she and Twitcher sucked in a breath in unison.
“The entire place is shrouded in nullstun.” Twitcher confirmed Mara’s look, turning to gaze down the corridor towards a pair of tightly locked bronze-coloured doors. They looked more like a vault or sanlater’s hatch door than anything that would be in a facility such as this.
“For the uninitiated that would be what exactly?” Arthur inquired pointedly as he checked behind them for marauding Army members. Thankfully, he only saw more of those curious little metal bugs that ate the floor scraps.
“An incredibly dense mineral used in the manufacture and containment of magical goods and emanations.” Fred recited as if it were second nature. The party collectively turned to stare at the short man who shrugged nonchalantly. “Whaddya think they got us diggin’ back there? Normal rocks?” Fred indicated over his shoulder at what Mara assumed were Ledsburg’s mining operations. Even before the revolution, Idhara had prized the production and refinement of that rare substance no matter how much blood was drawn in the process. Mara looked upon the works of her people, her mind mentally picturing the humans toiling to lift block after block into position. And for what? A stadium underground? Though with the presence of such powerful shielding, she was beginning to feel like the answer was closer to a reactor of some kind. A colossal one, like the conduit at Arawn’s temple.
The party continued away from the door, collectively not fancying their chances against the bulky obstruction. They found themselves at the top of a staircase, voices drifting up in the dimly lit hall. Mara took out her arcanometer, removed the direct sampling unit and deposited it directly into the dull red light at their feet.
“Far lower than required. The facility must be on emergency power.” Mara whispered to Twitcher, who nodded. They then grunted with pain, holding their head. Mara placed a hand on their back, unsure how to treat a body such as theirs. “What’s wrong?” She asked with urgency, hoping that healing magic at least would bring comfort to the automaton.
“Memories. Bad ones. A lot of bad ones of this place.” Twitcher indicated around them with a broad motion, standing resolute against their own mind. They began to walk down the staircase, sword sliding free of its housing in their forearm. When they didn’t hear footsteps, they turned to see the group lagging behind. “I will be fine. Facility was attacked. I was told to run.” The Elysian placated tersely as they resumed stalking towards the voices. The voices were speaking modern languages, Mara noted with dread. Gardish mostly, some Renoran and elvish. Whoever they were, they were being taught elvish. Most likely to pass the time.
Then, a familiar voice cut through them all in elvish. Renaud’s. Mara attempted to pay attention to the conversation but was waylaid as a posse of elves passed through the archway before them. Renaud walked among them, his face looking haggard. He had the look of a man on the brink of defeat, his feet dragging as he cradled the Crook in his arms. Mara almost flew down the stairwell, eyes ablaze with fury and desperation. If it were not for Arthur and Ranva both grabbing her, she would have carved her way to her sora in that very moment. Mara turned with an apoplectic anger distorting what was visible of her. Fred nudged her boot with his rifle, indicating behind him with a nod of his head. He then held up ten fingers three times, three fingers once. There was that dreadful look again. Twitcher took point, using the dim conditions of the halls to their advantage. Their eyes were fearful as they returned to the shadowy curve of the stairs.
Mara wasted no time in seeing what had rattled Twitcher, poking her head around the corner as low to the ground as she could. The larger hallway beyond was a veritable base camp of tents, boxes, arms and logbooks. The elves of the Army seemed to have torn a panel free of the wall, hooking up various crystalline devices and meters to the aulind wires and circuitry within. Daring to emerge further, she looked in the direction Renaud had gone. Through the archway lay a corridor filled with gold coins that had gone completely ignored. Statues lined the hallway’s alcoves in perhaps the most obvious trap Mara had ever seen.
Just then, Mara’s foot was grazed by a tiloben feebly butting its, she was going to call that a head, against the bottom stair. A devious idea began to form in Mara’s mind as she tore a scrap of her logbook free and rolled it up. With string from her component pouch, she tied the small roll of parchment to the tiloben. She then turned the little creature about on itself and set it off towards the Army personnel. Once it had shimmied between the wall and a tent, Mara lit the end of the roll aflame.
“What was that in aid of?” Twitcher hissed in her ear.
“Your tent on fire is a good distraction.” Mara grunted as several shouts began to pierce the hall. The little tiloben continued on its predetermined path, canvas going up in flames in its wake. Once the corridor was sucking black smoke into the faces of those who were occupying it, Mara ducked through the gap towards Renaud, followed shortly by her grumbling and cursing party. Several of the Army members noticed them through the choking smoke but their cries were lost in the general furore of people running out of the bunker for fresh air and sea water to douse the flames.
“Will the bug be alright?” Arthur called after the retreating back of Mara, who looked at him disbelievingly.
“It’s designed to survive fire, flood and, apparently, the gods going to war. I think it’ll be fine.” Mara answered with patience, turning towards the door looming before them. It had once been a grand door with several locks and, presumably, magical defences. All had been cast aside by explosives and, judging by the burned remains around it, warm bodies. Fred reached out a hand to take a particularly shiny goblet, only for Ranva to slap his hand and point to the golems at their sides.
“I want one of those.” Arthur laughed almost hysterically as they passed through the gate into the gargantuan room beyond.
