Rova 9, 4719

Citadel Altaerein

Afternoon

The stairs to the lower level have been rebuilt, and we cleared the rubble from the stairwell that descends to Alseta’s Ring. Which is a lengthy, boring way of saying we no longer have to spend half a day crawling through six miles of caves just to reach it. 

Easy access to the Ring means we can spend time studying it and hopefully make sense of what we’re seeing.

I’ll be honest: I am not our group’s expert when it comes to magic. I am no slouch and can certainly do some study and research, but when you really want to understand, oh, say, ancient elven teleportation rings, you probably want to talk to Qantrip. And after that, everyone else. And then me.

We started by just getting a good look at everything. The first time we were down here, we were a little preoccupied with not dying, and after that, getting past Raldar again (also without dying), then getting back to town. Now, we could take our time.

Of the six gates, only five were still standing. We didn’t need magic to tell us that the Lotusgate would never work again. If the burned-out husk of the former way station wasn’t enough to convince you, the half-melted archway would do it.

Dreamgate shimmered like clouds, with butterflies and stars worked into the stone. Duskgate felt warm despite being deep underground. Vengegate was not even decorated at all, or at least it seemed that way at first. Then someone pointed out it was covered with tiny carvings of wasps. I wish they hadn’t; now I can’t stop seeing them. Jewelgate looked like someone decided you just can’t have enough crystals.

And then there was Huntergate. Hawks, moons, and jungle vines were carved into the arch, all sacred to Ketephys, the elven god of the hunt. This was the one that we needed to go through. The one we needed to fix.

It didn’t take long to figure out what needed to be done here. The best way I can describe it is that the gate was out of tune. Apparently “out of alignment” is the more accurate term, but “out of tune” makes more sense to me. We can use the gate key—the arrowhead the Cinderclaws brought with them—to adjust it. It would just take time and patience.

That was the easy part. The hard part…

“Do we want to inform the council?” I asked.

The last time we discussed this, we couldn’t come to a consensus. About the only thing we did agree on was we weren’t saying anything to anyone until we secured the Ring and figured out how it worked. Well, as of that moment, both of those conditions had been met. So we called for a vote.

“I vote for telling the council,” I said. “We tell them the Cinderclaws came through a teleportation device that’s in our citadel, and that we intend to go through it ourselves to deal with the rest of them.”

Not everyone agreed. Kyira wanted to add that this is our citadel, and that no one else has the right to come in here to investigate or study it. And that the council shouldn’t share the knowledge of its existence with anyone else.

It wasn’t until we got to Trip, though, that the vote got really complicated.

“A witch votes ‘no’—at least not all of the council. Not that woman especially. The head woman, Greta, only is ok.”

“That woman” is Amera Lang. She’s the operations manager for Posandi Bros., one of the two masons we hired to repair our walls. They’re owned by town councilor Quentino Posandi.

Trip spent several days looking into the members of the council because she has a healthy dose of paranoia. That sounds pejorative, but it’s not. Yes, most of the time it’s exhausting. But then she’ll notice something the rest of us missed, and suddenly it doesn’t seem so excessive.

Posandi Bros. is a family business in the most extreme sense of the term. Literally everyone who works there is either family or married into it. And Trip did not like them. We didn’t hire them to rebuild the stairs for that reason. Trip didn’t want Amera, or anyone else from Posandi Bros., inside the citadel.

Greta Gardania used to run Lamond’s Lament. When she became council president, she handed it over to Renatta. Watching her, it’s hard not to think Greta sees being council president as just another way of taking care of people.

“I’ll support just telling Greta,” I said. 

One by one, we all agreed.

Night

We were able to meet with Greta in private late this afternoon. I ended up as spokesperson for what was likely to be an uncomfortable conversation.

“The Council asked us to deal with the Cinderclaws, and ensure they’re no longer a threat. Here’s what we’ve learned…” I said.

I explained that they had come through a teleportation gate beneath what was now our citadel—I specifically used that wording, “our citadel”—and caused extensive damage inside the structure. That the group got split in two, with neither able to reach the other. Then, about the caves, Voz’s involvement, and us finally reaching the Ring.

Greta looked increasingly tense. I couldn’t blame her. 

“We’ve rebuilt the stairs and cleared out the rubble,” I said, “so we now have access to the gate. We believe we know how to repair it and activate it. And to fulfill our contract, we need to go through it.”

“And you control this teleportation gate now, not them?” she asked.

“We have the device they used to activate the gate. It is uniquely coded. And we believe it’s the only one.” I took in a deep breath, then added, “We need you to keep this quiet.”

Greta looked relieved. Which made no sense to me. There was nothing about this that should have been relieving. “I was going to talk to you about this,” she said. “I’m glad you came to me.”

What?

She continued. “Voz said something troubling to me as she was being transferred to Elidir. ‘You don’t know what you’re doing, trusting those people you barely know! I bet they didn’t tell you that underneath their castle is a gate that’s controlled by a foreign cartel, and they’re going to invade!’”

This has been what I was worried about from the start. But I figured it would be Calmont that would eventually convince someone the Ring existed. I never imagined Voz would say something just to spite us and sow division.

It was foolish of me not to have considered that possibility.

I chose my next words carefully. “So…much of that is accurate. There is a gate below the castle. The Cinderclaws were planning to invade through it. I…wouldn’t call them a cartel…”

“I just assumed she was lying—”

“She had financial backers to help set up her assassination guild and necromancy school. Those backers, they gave her that money because she promised them access to the gate.”

“That’s my concern. If they’re already in control of this thing—” 

“But they’re not. We are.”

And then I explained everything we had pieced together. The Hellknights somehow managed to build their castle on top of a millennia-old elf gate. Voz learned about a breach in the caves that led to it, and hatched this plan to sell access to it once she took control of it. Calmont found Voz’s notes and hatched his own plan to get there first. And then the Cinderclaws came through the gate at just the right time to upend everything.

“Voz was backed by a group called The Scarlet Triad, who are working through a business called Tabir’s Exotic Wares in Kintargo. But she never reached the gate herself. She’s taking pieces of the truth, and assembling a story that sounds alarming.”

Of course, the existence of five teleportation gates, one of which was functional and the other four potentially so, was alarming enough.

“So this cartel could be in control of some of them,” Greta said.

“Yes,” I admitted. “But as far as we know, none of the other gates have opened in millennia. Though we can’t prove that.”

To our relief, Greta agreed to keep the knowledge of Alseta’s Ring, and our plans to travel through Huntergate to confront the remaining Cinderclaws, to herself.

For now.

Rova 10, 4719

Citadel Altaerein

Late Afternoon

We were able to retune Huntergate. Everything after that was a disaster.

The two charau-ka are dead. We agreed to take them home, and we tried, but they never made it.

It’s not our fault. I know that. We didn’t promise to protect them. I know that too. But we were the means of getting them home, and that means is what got them killed. We didn’t know. No one could have known. And I can’t convince myself that this matters.

 

Iskaryn could have died in there.

 

And I should thank Magdh that she didn’t, because she and Renali got out a split second before the tunnel, or tube, or whatever in the Nine Hells you call that place, erupted in flames.

 

Iskaryn just said, “Enough.”

She’s right.

Rova 11, 4719

Citadel Altaerein

Morning

The waystation wasn’t there.

It’s not even a burned-out husk like Lotusgate’s—the one we walked through weeks ago. Huntergate’s is just gone.

The closest description I can think of is a lava tube. And it was hot. And it got hotter. Then this vision, or image, or phantasm of a dragon made of flames appeared, and we ran…

And not all of us made it out in time. The charau-ka never made it out at all.

Marcus says it looked like Dahak. He would know. He’s told us about his visions.

We think it’s a manifestation of him, or his aspect, or his power. Magdh, I don’t know how to describe it. It doesn’t matter.

Gath thinks we can…destroy it? Dissipate it? Turn its magic in on itself? I don’t know how any of that works, but I trust him. Qantrip and I will help him. Qantrip’s laughing is…unsettling…but it has this way of helping you focus if it’s done right. My part is to reinforce it with a calming, rhythmic chant.

I hope it’s enough.

But we’re warding ourselves against fire, just in case it’s not.

Akrivel, Mwangi

Night

We dissipated the Dahak manifestation and stepped through the portal on the far end of the tunnel.

Before we tried activating Huntergate, Renali told us what we should expect on the other side. She described a beautiful, open-air temple to the elven god Ketephys that now lay in ruins. “I watched in horror as the Cinderclaws smashed the temple and burned its gardens.”

And the weather?

“Hot. And humid.”

We exited the portal into the burned-out remains of a temple to Ketephys, dense jungle all around us. It was very hot. And very humid.

And we were surrounded by about two dozen dark-skinned elves, looking right at us with arrows drawn. They did not look pleased.

Before anyone could shoot us, I called out in Elvish, “We mean you no harm! We’re here in pursuit of the Cinderclaw cult!”

One of the elves stepped forward and asked, “You seek the Cinderclaws?”

“Yes,” I said. “They attacked us.”

“I see,” he said, looking at each of us with an appraising eye. “And you are…?”

“Here to kill Cinderclaws.”

His name was Jahsi, and he was a leadership figure of some sort—he used the word “keledi”, which is not one I recognized—in the Leopard Clan. After introductions, we had what I would call a tense conversation. Tense for us, because they still had bows and, except for Jahsi, seemed ready to use them. Jahsi was more relaxed.

He also spoke Taldane, which was a bit of a surprise. None of us knew precisely where in the Mwangi jungle we were, but I know generally where it is on a map, and it’s not a part of the world where Taldane is widely spoken. Jahsi was also the only one of them wearing any gold jewelry (none of us were wearing any gold either). I suppose I noticed it because my family once had plenty of it.

Our anti-Cinderclaw position, combined with the story of what happened on our side of Huntergate, earned us an invitation to their village for a feast. He explained that their clan is tasked with guarding this portal.

Alseta’s Ring dates back to before Earthfall. They’ve been doing this for thousands of years. That is a remarkably long time, even by elven standards. And I doubt that they normally do it with two dozen archers. My guess is the Cinderclaws changed that when they tore through here.

The Leopard Clan’s village was built just under the tree canopy, with branches intertwined to support the weight of buildings and platforms. Bridges made from vines spread out from it in all directions, providing a walkway through the jungle stretching as far as I could see. Some of the trees were massive, with trunks easily ten feet in diameter. The Ekujae grafted fruit trees onto the trunks, and occasionally meshed branches together and filled them with soil to create floating gardens.

The scale of it is spectacular.

It’s also the anti-Druma. It is the opposite of all I’ve learned about how communities function. There are no shops or markets. From what I can see, everyone contributes to the tribe in their way, making what’s needed, when it’s needed. No currency, no buying or selling, no profit or loss, and none of the social trappings that come with these things. It also means no poverty and no one left impoverished. It certainly appears that everyone is cared for by, well, everyone.

As long as you feel like you are part of your community, of course. I wonder if this is where the Renalis of the world come from: people who feel trapped by obligation. But I suppose we have those problems, too.

We were allowed to wander the village ahead of the feast, so I set down my weapons, removed my armor, pulled out my new cittern, and went in search of the tribe’s artisans and musicians. 

Over the last few weeks, I’d been making good on my promise to Nish—or perhaps that promise was to myself—to become comfortable with string instruments. I chose the cittern to honor her. As it turns out, while the lute may have a warmer, more mellow sound, the cittern is simply more fun to play.

Carrying that with me here, surrounded by elves, reminded me of her. I could almost feel her walking beside me.

The instruments here are very different, which means the music is as well. But it’s more than just the sound they produce: it’s also the way they put rhythms together, weaving several independent patterns into something that somehow feels simpler than any one of them alone.

I, uh, spent hours with the tribe’s musicians, trading styles, even instruments (I learned to play a kora, which I’d heard of but never seen!). I was so caught up in it that I didn’t even notice when it started getting dark.

I am not sure what the others did with their time. A few joined the hunting party for the feast (I am still wrapping my head around the notion of declaring a feast before you have food to serve). I think Tarsius spent time talking with the guards. And Gath, true to form, just seemed to pick a direction and walk.

Just ahead of the feast, we were summoned to meet with the Twin Leopards, the twin sisters Ose Panin and Ose Atsu, who lead the clan. They wanted to learn a little about us before the festivities began. And that’s where things took a turn.

“Please tell us about your friends and families, your occupations, what you consider important, and what you are most proud of about yourselves.”

And just like that, I wanted to be anywhere else. I could feel Iskaryn shift uncomfortably. I mean, I would be more than happy to talk about myself, but…tell them about my family? I did not want to do that at all. And I didn’t feel I could avoid it.

When my turn came, I took a deep breath and said, “My father hung himself. My mother is probably alive somewhere. If I’m lucky, I’ll never find her.

“Family is…complicated.

“My friends are the people I travel with. They’re probably the first people I’ve known who’ve learned truths about me and stayed. What’s most important to me is keeping your word so people will trust you. And what I’m proud of,” I said, pointing to Iskaryn, perched on a branch above us, “is her.”

True to form, she fluttered down, landed on top of my head, and gave a very human bow.

The biggest shock of this exchange came from Qantrip. It didn’t occur to me until she stood up that none of us knew anything about her. She has never said anything about where she was from.

Then she spoke. “A witch is called Qantrip,” she said. “This was the name given to her by her slave master. She has not found another yet. She has no family. The same master slaughtered them all. A witch’s entire tribe. A witch was in his service.

“Look around. These are the things a witch considers friends. Bound by a Harrow we still don’t talk about.

“What is most important? A witch is in service to the sovereign hourglass. That, above all, is where a witch leads. What a witch is most proud of?” 

She pulled out an elven skull and said, “A witch outlived him.”

Nine Hells.

Late night

Before the feast, Osa Panin challenged me to a little music competition. Because of course she plays the flute.

We just sort of agreed on a duel. I don’t generally like competitions, but duels are another matter. Done right, they are really a conversation in music. We started cautiously, probing each other’s skills, then started adding variations, passing them back and forth. Then came a little modulation, some unusual rhythms, and then suddenly we were playing with each other rather than against. Which is exactly how it was supposed to go.

We both looked ridiculously pleased with ourselves after it was done.

“Thank you,” she said, grinning. “I needed that.”

I needed it, too.

Then she offered us a gift. And things went a little sideways.

“As token of the skill and character you displayed here, you are the friends of the Leopard Clan. I understand it is the way of your people to give gifts at such occasions, so please allow us to offer you this.”

It wasn’t intended to be for me, specifically; I just happened to be there. She picked up a dagger and presented it to me to take. I reached for it, and then suddenly realized that I could feel it. It was made of cold iron.

Cold iron doesn’t harm me, but ever since the Forest, it makes me uneasy. There’s just a wrongness to it.

I hesitated.

And pulled my hand back.

And then every pair of eyes was suddenly on me.

Liberte stepped up to accept instead.

I tried to explain. I don’t know how coherent it was. But everyone stopped staring at me and the night went on.

The feast itself was wonderful. Music, dancing, food I’d never tasted before, and a series of friendly competitions that seemed to spring up whenever someone got brave enough to challenge one of us to something.

Nketiah, Jahsi’s half-human, half-elven daughter, recruited us into a conspiracy of sorts. According to her, her father and his oldest friend Akosa had spent the better part of a decade in love with one another, but couldn’t bring themselves to act on their feelings. She asked us to help nudge the evening in the right direction. Music seemed as good a way as any. While I played, my friends subtly manipulated the dance pairings, and the two finally found themselves partnered together. Judging by Nketiah’s grin afterward, we’d managed to help.

The evening concluded with stories. Nketiah is the clan’s linguist, and called us all into a circle. She went first.

And we learned the story of why they’ve guarded Huntergate for thousands of years. 

She spoke of a Great Darkness that emerged into a world already suffering and sought to reduce everything to ash. The Ekujae stood against it, sacrificing their greatest heroes to wound it before finally imprisoning it somewhere between worlds, where they swore to stand watch so that it could never escape.

What stuck with me, though, was the ending. She asked, “Could the people imprison the Darkness forever, when even the best among them could not defeat it? Was it foolish to expect them to try?”

 

Her story over, Nketiah invited us to answer with stories of our own. It struck me that the point wasn’t entertainment. This was simply what came next. They had shared the story they had been given. Now they wanted to know the stories that shaped us.

Gath told of leading goblin hunters against marauding boars. Liberte transformed a tale of reclaiming Citadel Altaerein into an academic lecture. Marcus spoke of ancient dragons and the visions that brought him to Breachill. Tarsius spoke of defending a caravan and realizing Nethys had placed him exactly where he was needed.

And I told the story of the Five Kings Minstrels.

I didn’t think about it until much later.

I’d never actually told anyone that story before.

Not even Iskaryn.

 

When the feast had wound down, Nketiah asked to speak with us privately.

We learned the Cinderclaws fled east after their attack on Huntergate. The Ekujae tracked them, but reached a point in the jungle where they could go no further. Whenever they tried to enter, they were struck blind.

“The Darkness has a grudge against us,” she said. “The Cinderclaws are using the power of that grudge to keep the Ekujae from striking them at the seat of their power.”

The Cinderclaws had tried to raise a pillar outside Huntergate before going through, but the Ekujae destroyed it before they could finish. We examined the remains before leaving for the village. It had been a wooden pillar topped with a carved dragon’s head. On the ground next to it was a leather bag that held a single gold bar.

Qantrip took the time to study it and concluded it was one of many such devices. They were designed to harm the Ekujae. And defend themselves.

“So what would you say if I asked you to investigate the jungle to the east?” Nketiah asked.

We said we’d start in the morning.