Chapter 139 – Tail of Two Cities
Mirzayael is seething. “Of course. Of course she’d return today.”
“I doubt it was intentional,” I say, Jetting beside Mirzayael as she races for the city wall. She grumbles something under her breath that might involve the words “my ass.”
I pull out Dizzi’s telestone as I fly. “Dizzi? Are you there? We have a bit of a situation.”
Guards are already lining up along the inside of the dome, confronting the handful of unregistered champions who have managed to slip through. I scope out the rest of the city as well through the Map Interface, keeping an eye out for any individuals who appear to have just entered through the dome.
The telestone lights up as Dizzi speaks. “What, did I miss dessert? I can come grab some later, can’t I? I’m in the middle of transcribing these runes and—”
Mirzayael grabs the telestone from me. “Lorata’s here.”
“What?” There’s a pause. “Oh crap! Can you, uh, tell her to come back tomorrow?”
I hold out my hand, and Mirzayael passes it back. “Unlikely. We’re heading to meet her now. What’s the status on the spell?”
“Uh, I mean, it’s in progress? It’s a good thing we set up so much of this in advance because otherwise there’s no way I’d have time to—”
“Can you complete it?” I interrupt. “How much time?”
Dizzi splutters. “This isn’t just a water filter circle, you know? It’s the most complex network I’ve ever seen! One error could collapse the whole spell. I need time to double check everything, do a trail run—”
“There’s not going to be a trial run,” I say. “Can you activate it?”
“I mean, yes, but whether it will work or not is an entirely different question!”
Mirzayael and I exchange a look. This isn’t ideal. We’d been counting on this spell to be functional when she returned. Shirasil had even warned us that she’d be back early, but we thought we had at least another couple days, first. I guess Lorata got tired of waiting.
We do, of course, have contingencies. The dome is still functional. Most of the gods and champions have been locked out of the city. And we have Blair on our side, which certainly isn’t nothing. But that means it will come to blows, and that means there will almost certainly be casualties.
“Give me your best guess,” I tell Dizzi. “Time until completion. Percent chance of success.”
She lets out a long sigh, and I think I detect a note of anxiety that isn’t usually present. Getting frustrated is common for Dizzi, but it’s the sort of scientific frustration of trying an experiment and not getting the expected results; not true frustration, but something tempered by excitement to keep trying. Fear, however, is something I’m not sure I’ve ever heard in her voice. Not until now.
“Send Chert up to me to help,” Dizzi says. “And any other mages you can spare. With their help, I can rush something functional in the next fifteen minutes.”
Mirzayael has already whistled for a guard. A harpy swoops down, and Mir passes on Dizzi’s request.
“And the likelihood of success?” I press.
This time the pause is longer. “Seventy-five percent.”
Mirzayael and I exchange a look. I don’t need a Psionic Link to tell that’s a lie.
“Copy that. Do your best, Dizzi,” I say. “We’re counting on you.”
She grumbles below her breath. “No pressure.”
I tuck the telestone away and let out a controlled breath. Anxiety is threatening to bubble up within me as well, but I try to stifle the instinct. I’ll need a clear head for the coming conflict. Fifteen minutes. It sounds so short until you’re counting the seconds. How can I buy her fifteen minutes?
“Steady,” Mirzayael thinks, lending me her mental stability. Her mind is as firm and unyielding as a boulder, and I lean on it to ground myself. “We’ll get through this.”
Indeed we will, though I doubt it would be helpful for me to add that getting through something doesn’t necessarily guarantee that it will happen all in one piece.
As we approach the wall, I realize Blair is already there. That teleportation ability gods seem to have access to is exceptionally handy. I’ll have to ask her about it later and see if Dizzi can reverse engineer it for our own needs. Assuming, of course, there is a later.
Blair and Lorata appear to be locked in some exchange of barbed words, but Lorata stops once she notices me, and Blair also glances back at our arrival. I deactivate my Jets and fold my wings, dropping onto the wall beside Blair. Mirzayael stands on my other side.
“Lorata,” I greet. “We weren’t expecting you to return so soon.”
“Indeed,” the god agrees. “Blair was just expressing similar sentiments.”
The gods are garbed differently from before. They are still wearing impressive and ornate clothing, but this time there is armor and weapons mixed into their attire. Lorata is all in white, as usual, but her robes are replaced with chainmail. A breastplate in the shape of an eye is spread across her chest.
Although, not all the gods appear to be dressed for battle. Shirasil, notably, is wearing his typical black robes, and Yua Tin also appears to be wearing… something. Honestly I can’t tell if it’s a robe or a dress or just one long sheet of cloth draped randomly about their limbs. Despite the confusion, it manages to appear intentional.
“It seems I’ve interrupted something,” Lorata says, glancing over my and Mirzayael’s attire. She raises a skeptical eyebrow. “A celebration?”
“Our union,” Mirzayael spits.
Lorata raises both eyebrows, yet her expression of surprise is plastically artificial. “You two? That seems counter productive, given our agreement that you would turn yourself over to me.”
Blair begins to say something, but I stay her with a light touch to her arm. “Fyrethians believe in celebrating the present regardless of what the future may bring. We also expected we’d have more time to enjoy our union before you’d return. We haven’t finished extracting the Dungeon Core from the city’s infrastructure yet.”
Which is technically true, as we haven’t even started.
“Unfortunate,” Lorata says, sounding entirely unapologetic. “But I did warn we would be taking the remnant upon our return, regardless as to how prepared your city was for its departure.”
“You did,” I agree, pausing as if in thought.
How long has it been? Two minutes, maybe? I’m abruptly tossed back into a childhood memory, staring at the clock on the wall, waiting for the school bell to ring as I watched the hands slow to a crawl.
“In that case,” Lorata starts.
I cut her off. “Before you wage your war, I’d like to invite you to experience our city.”
“What?” Lorata and Mirzayael say at the same time.
“Stalling,” I mentally tell Mirzayael, but she doesn’t feel any less tense from the reassurance.
“I’ll allow you inside the dome if it avoids bloodshed," I explain. “And I’d like to show you around our city. Perhaps if you see what we’ve been able to achieve, so much in so little time, you will reconsider your position.”
Lorata barks out a laugh. “You must be delusional if you think you can convince me to leave a dangerous remnant at large simply by offering a tour.”
“I accept!” Shirasil cries, stepping forward as Lorata shoots him a dark look. “A tour sounds lovely. And I am dying of curiosity to explore such an ancient city. What have your refurbishing efforts looked like?”
He steps forward, appearing to tap at the dome, then steps through it without the slightest ripple. “You’ve already given me access? Delightful!”
As Yua Tin curiously steps toward the barrier, I scramble to give them access as well. They pass a curious hand over the surface just as I manage to remove them from the restricted access list.
“Fascinating,” they say. “I would very much like to explore this city as well.”
Lorata lets out a sigh, glancing at the other gods assembled behind her. They all appear uncertain about this turn of events—except Widengra, who appears as blood thirsty as ever. I’m more reluctant to give him access to the city than Lorata, to be honest.
I wait for her to take the bait. It must be too good to pass up. Once inside she could easily incapacitate me—and it’s that certainty I’m counting on that will ensure she won’t immediately do so. If she feels confident she can take me at any moment, then there will be no hurry to do so. She needs to feel as if she’s in control.
As Lorata is still watching me with narrowed eyes, Shirasil walks up to Blair and claps her shoulders. “Blair, my dear! Happy to see you well. How has the mortal realm been treating you? What’s your favorite thing you’ve seen within the city so far? Have you had much time to explore? Yua Tin, what are you doing over there? Come say hello to your favorite! No offense, Zetaru. Oh my! Would you look at that.”
As the god is rambling, Ollie arrives, alighting behind us. Despite him landing in the street, his head easily reaches the top of the wall. He rumbles in a faint growl.
“Ollie,” I quickly tell him, “you must pretend you don’t know Shirasil. And that we haven’t spent so much time with Blair. They are on our side, but Lorata doesn’t know of our past with them.”
“LIKE A DOUBLE AGENT?” Ollie asks.
“Yes,” I think, relieved I don’t have to explain further. “Exactly.”
I can feel Ollie light up in delight at this. “SPIES ARE COOL!”
When Yua Tin crosses the threshold as well, I catch a flash of something cold in Lorata’s eyes. She clearly doesn’t like that there are gods acting without her say. She’s losing control of the situation, and to her, appearances are everything.
“Fine,” she says, flicking a hand over her shoulder. “I accept your invitation. Though this does not change my intentions; it will merely make it easier to carry out once your attempt at persuasion fails.”
“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Mirzayael thinks to me, tensing as the other gods step forward and I rapidly remove their names from the dome’s list. On the bright side, I should be able to add them back to the list just as quickly and expel them from the city. As could any of the other councilors who happened to be using the Throne.
With a lurch of my heart, I realize no one is probably there; Dizzi is working the spell circle, and I didn’t have a chance to tell Torim or Nek to take the throne in our absence. If nothing else, at least, Mirzayael has direct access to the Dungeon Core via our Psionic Link. If Lorata does manage to get the drop on me, everything will rely on Mirzayael’s quick thinking.
And I’d trust no one more with that responsibility.
Instead of speaking to Blair, Yua Tin comes over to me, first. “Lord Fyre.” They clasp my hands. “You look lovely. I am sorry we should meet on such terms.”
“Oh,” I stammer. “I am, too.”
Yua Tin turns to Mirzayael next, but she folds her arms across her chest in clear rejection of a hand shake. Yua Tin simply bows their head to her instead. “Lord Mirzayael.”
She grunts in acknowledgement.
Then Lorata is standing before me. My heart picks up speed as I try to remain calm. Here she is, nothing between us, nothing protecting me from her wrath. She watches me cooly, and Widengra enters the barrier next, shadowing Lorata like a rumbling storm cloud.
My mouth feels dry, and I make myself swallow, attempting to ignore the orc. “Lorata. Welcome to our city.”
She scoffs out a laugh. “That is a lie.”
I smile tightly. “I think I can be forgiven, given the circumstances.”
She doesn’t reply to this, so I gesture for her to join Mirzayael and I. She slots herself in between us, both preventing us from protecting one another, and voicelessly displaying how unthreatened she feels surrounded by enemies. I bite my tongue and walk alongside her.
Salvia, posted at Mirzayael’s side almost since her arrival, gestures to the other guards, and they filter in among the gods’ ranks. At least one soldier shadows each of our visitors, for all the good they might do. The gods also seem to be unperturbed by their new escorts, and largely ignore them.
Ollie growls as we descend the steps to the street. “I DON’T LIKE YOU,” he tells Lorata as we stop before him, his massive body blocking the road.
“I don’t have any feelings about you,” Lorata replies as if she were speaking to an ant. “Move, or I will make you do so.”
Ollie’s temper flares, but I attempt to mentally soothe him. “It’s okay, Ollie. This is just temporary. Please let us through.”
He dips his head. “But Echo says you’re in danger.”
“I know.” I grimace. “I’m sorry. You can keep close to us if it helps.”
Ollie growls again, frustrated this time, but slides out of the way, allowing the gods and champions to pass. Many look up at him with various degrees of awe, and I wonder if any of them have even seen a living dragon in their various long lives.
As the gods trail into the city, the Dungeon Core perks up and takes note. It can sense the remnants in all of them and desperately wants a bite. Luckily for me—or unluckily, depending on the perspective—I’ve already learned from my encounter with Kanin that the Core can’t simply snatch the refiners outside of the gods. Probably the fact that they’re alive also prevents it from trying, as it can’t eat living things. Though, the same can’t be said for the items they carry on their persons.
New things, the Dungeon Core notes, getting excited. Many new things on the tasty smelling people! Rare metals it’s only managed to lick up grains of before. New types of magic infused in wood and glass and cloth. Can it eat them?
No, I think firmly. Then I have an idea. But you can lick them. Very carefully.
The Core gets exceptionally excited about this and quickly begins sorting through the ranks of the gods.
In a way, the Core’s bad habit of “licking” any new things it finds interesting is my fault. When I forbade it from eating any new thing that passed within its range, it began to get bored and frustrated, like a clever dog with too little stimulation. Instead of outright eating things it began to sample them, dissolving and digesting only the thinnest specks of material it knew it wasn’t supposed to have, hoping I wouldn’t notice. I once caught it nibbling at metals on Captain Marlow’s airship, in fact.
The unexpected upside to this is that it’s allowed me to catalogue the material of every new object it sampled, with their owners being none the wiser.
There are a handful of things the Core finds it’s unable to sample, these being weapons or elements that have been Attuned to the wielder. But the things it is able to nibble on are surprisingly mundane. Swords and spears made of steel, shields made from alder, clothing of satin and silk. Many of these are imbued with spell circles, though only a handful are currently active. I start mentally cataloguing every weapon and spell circle the Core can find.
Mirzayael notices my distraction—I’ve probably been conspicuously quiet—so she lets out a heavy sigh, drawing Lorata’s attention away from me.
“In truth, I find this endeavor to be as pointless as you do,” Mirzayael says without looking at Lorata.
The god narrows her eyes, somehow managing not to look up at Mirzayael despite the arachnoid standing two feet taller. “At least one of the rulers seems to be rational.”
Mirzayael exhales through her nose in an ironic laugh. “I am far from being the more rational half of our partnership, but I am the most cynical. I understand your type of cruelty. You’ve spent so long building a narrative to justify your actions that nothing will ever change your mind. So long as these remnants are the embodiment of evil within your mind, no lengths are too far in pursuit of your goal.”
“They are evil,” Lorata simply says, unperturbed by Mirzayael’s words. “And if that makes you believe I am evil, so be it. It does not change what must be done for peace to persist.”
“I do not believe you are evil,” Mirzayael says, and this time Lorata does appear mildly surprised, raising an eyebrow at her. “Because unlike you, I do not believe individuals can be evil. But one’s actions can be kind or cruel.” Mirzayael turns a lip up at Lorata. “And your actions have caused centuries of suffering.”
Lorata’s look goes stoney and impassive, and I worry Mirzayael may be pushing things too far. “As you said; you’ve spent so long building narratives to justify your beliefs that nothing will ever change your mind.”
“In that, you’re very much wrong,” Mirzayael says, her gaze lifting over Lorata’s head to fall on me. “I’ve surprised even myself with my capacity for change.”
Lorata snorts. “Pity that change hasn’t been for the better.”
Mirzayael’s anger is simmering just beneath the surface. She may loathe Lorata with every fibre of her being, but she’s carefully keeping the lid on the pot of her emotions. Biding her time for the right moment to strike is something she’s always been exceptionally good at.
We begin to ascend the levels of the city, wandering gradually closer to the palace. I suspect Lorata is still playing along because she can sense I’m taking her in the direction of the Dungeon Core. She does seem to prefer the path of least resistance.
Shirasil, meanwhile, attempts to chat with everyone at once, excitedly pointing things out and admiring the city’s architecture, as if he hasn’t been here a hundred times before. Widengra keeps trying to get closer to Lorata and myself, but Shirasil somehow manages to be in his way every time.
“Salvia,” a voice calls as we crest a level of the city. Gardi is jogging toward us, though their head is turned away as an accompanying guard says something to them. “Salvia, I heard—”
Gardi skids to a stop as they notice the group they’re about to run into. Their gaze lands on Salvia. Then myself. And finally, Lorata.
The fur across their body stands on end.
“Oh, Gardi,” I say. “This is—”
Gardi drops to their knees, bowing their head. Their ears are flat against their skull, their tail twitching in distress. “Lord Lorata.”
Her mouth twitches with a shadow of a smile. “At least someone here seems to understand proper etiquette.”
“This is Gardi,” I inform Lorata. “They recently joined us. From Jorria.”
“Jorria?” Lorata pauses, and Gardi’s head dips lower. “Now this is a surprise.”
I watch Gardi, unsure how they’re going to respond. They’ve said where they stand on this matter before, but encountering their god face to face must be overwhelming no matter how much you’ve prepared yourself for the possibility.
A god they think they’ve betrayed.
“Gardi of Jorria,” Lorata says, and their ears twitch. “Stand.”
Their tail snaps from side to side, and then they slowly rise, keeping their head bowed.
“My Lord,” they say, their voice quavering. When they do risk a glance up, it’s not to look at Lorata, but rather Salvia, still posted at Mirzayael’s side. “I would prefer Gardi of Fyreneth’s Fortress, if it pleases you.”
Lorata’s smile sours. “No. It does not.”