Xujil led them back through the web-filled passageway and down towards the city. On the way, Greddark explained his plan in quiet tones.
“When I was a student at the Tower of the Twelve, I invented a planar doorway. There were already spells that could bypass physical and magical barriers, but I wanted one that could do both at once. It opens up a portal through whatever material the wall is made from—stone, wood, metal. Then it shifts you to another plane as you pass through, which circumvents any magical impediments, and returns you instantly to your starting plane once you reach the other side of the barrier. It’s ingenious, really—”
“—if you do say so yourself—” Sabira interjected under her breath, but Greddark continued on as if he hadn’t heard.
“—as long as you’re prepared for what you find on whatever plane you shift to.”
Sabira raised an eyebrow.
“I sense a story there.”
Greddark’s expression turned grim.
“The doorway is opened with a byeshk dagger. I lent it to a fellow student who wasn’t ready for what she encountered on the other side.”
His regretful tone jarred a memory from earlier in their trip.
“The Medani who died? The one ir’Dayne was talking about back in Sharn?”
“Yes.”
Sabira digested that for a moment.
“So what are we going to find on the other side?” she asked.
“A floating city in the plane of Syrania. If we’re lucky.”
“And if we’re not?”
Greddark’s grin returned, albeit somewhat more subdued.
“That’s what feather fall tokens are for.”
They continued on in tomblike silence after that, Xujil warning them that they were nearing the tunnels that led to the cavern, and the city it held. Though they had seen many people moving on the road, the passageways remained empty.
“Where is everyone?” Sabira asked, breaking Xujil’s edict because, while she was glad they hadn’t yet had to fight off any She-worshiping drow, the mere fact that they hadn’t was suspect.
“We have arrived at the beginning of the Holy of the She, a three-day ceremony that culminates in the sacrifice of the Spinner’s enemies. All those who worship Her must return to Her city by midday. At that time, the gates are barred, and Her children are let loose to roam the cavern, devouring those whose lack of faith is evidenced by a similar lack of punctuality.”
At Sabira’s disbelieving look, the drow shrugged.
“I did encourage you to hurry.”
“So how long do we have until the gates close?”
Xujil cocked his head to the side, considering.
“Perhaps as much as an hour?”
As much as that? Lovely.
“Then why are you taking us the long way around?” Greddark demanded, frowning at the drow’s revelation. To Sabira, he added, “If we’re heading for the gate we saw from above, we’re going in the wrong direction.”
Sabira looked over at the drow expectantly, certain he’d have some logical and not entirely pleasant explanation. He always did.
“We cannot approach by that road. That gate is for drow only; we would be apprehended immediately. We must use the Slave Road. If you wear your hoods up and we cover your exposed skin with mud, your size is such that you should be able to pass as my duergar slaves long enough for us to near the walls.”
Somehow, Sabira was certain the drow would enjoy that little charade.
“Why don’t we just mingle with what’s left of the crowds and go in through the gate, then?” she asked. While Greddark’s inventions had worked well so far, crossing between planes was a risky proposition and a malfunction at the wrong time would be worse than deadly. If there was an easier way in, even if it was only marginally safer, they should take it.
“The Guardians Above,” Xujil answered. It took Sabira a moment to realize he meant the giant red-eyed spiders.
“Perhaps they would not notice the dwarf—his blood is near enough that of a duergar, so they might not mark him as an enemy. But they would certainly notice a human.”
Sabira carefully kept her gaze away from Greddark. She didn’t want to see his face at being so casually likened to a gray dwarf.
“So the drow we saw them eat earlier, that was one of your people, trying to infiltrate the city?”
Xujil blinked.
“Perhaps. Or perhaps the guardian was merely hungry.”
Even lovelier.
“So we masquerade as duergar until we get near the walls, and then what?” Greddark asked, still bristling over the drow’s unintended insult. At least, Sabira thought it was unintended. With Xujil, she couldn’t really be sure. “They’ll definitely notice if we walk up to the gate and then don’t go through.”
“There are tents outside the Slave Gate for slavers and traders who are not allowed in the city. Their occupants will have fled to avoid the children of the Spinner. We can hide there until the gates are closed, then use the planar doorway to enter the city unobserved.”
“And what about those ‘children?’ ” the dwarf pressed. “What exactly are they, and how long do we have until they show up?”
“The Guardians Above are Her children,” Xujil replied, as though that should have been self-evident. “When the gates are closed, they roam free.”
“Oh, so about the time it takes to be skewered, then,” Greddark muttered. He added something under his breath in Dwarven. She recognized the saying, one that loosely translated to: “If the Host makes it easy on you, it’s because they think you’re incompetent.”
It didn’t take them much longer to reach the end of the tunnel. Before exiting into the cavern, they removed their goggles and mixed the last of their water with gray dirt from the tunnel floor, forming a thick paste. Then Sabira and Greddark spread the mixture over their hands and faces, stepping back when they were done to regard one another critically. At first glance, as long as their heads were covered, they might look like gray dwarves, especially if that’s what you were expecting to see. The illusion was completed when they grudgingly handed their weapons over to Xujil and let him bind their arms loosely with ropes.
Putting herself willingly in another person’s power galled Sabira, but she supposed there was no better test of loyalty. She could only pray that the drow passed.
Xujil led them out into the cavern, and Sabira risked a glance up at the city. They were much nearer the wall here and Sabira could see a cluster of drab, torchlit tents huddled outside the gates. Beyond them, red firelight gleamed off the bladelike appendages of the guardians, each one easily the length of a greatsword. She didn’t need Xujil’s urging to look back down again.
The road beneath them was smooth from centuries of use and they moved swiftly along it, soon reaching the tents farthest from the wall. As they passed through the vacant camp, a deep tone sounded from somewhere within the city.
“I misjudged! The gates are closing! Come!”
Xujil pulled the ropes that bound them and the knots loosened and fell away. He returned their weapons and then he led them on a crouching race through the hide-covered tents, choosing a path that kept them out of view of the wall. Then there were no more tents, and the metal gates were clanging shut.
“Run!”
All pretense at stealth abandoned, they raced for the sheer stone wall.
Xujil reached it first, and turned toward the gate with a look of panic. Sabira could hear the scrape of metal on metal as the guardians began to crawl down from their posts.
“Hurry!”
Greddark reached the wall and fumbled for a charm on his bracelet, this one a tiny dagger. It grew in his hand until it was over a foot long and the purple metal shone with its own light. He plunged it into the gray stone above his head and then turned to her and Xujil.
“Take my hands!”
She obeyed, grabbing his right hand with her left while the drow grasped the other. As he began to walk into the wall, his body disappearing as it came in contact with the stone, Sabira felt pain lance along the back of her thigh. Turning awkwardly, she saw one of the guardians, its bladed leg raised for another blow.
Without thinking, she dropped Greddark’s hand and whirled. She heard Xujil cry out as she brought her urgrosh down in a two-handed grip, slamming the spider’s leg away, then rotating her wrists and catching another of its segmented limbs on her backswing. The swordlike segment fell to the ground in a spray of black blood and the guardian chittered in agony, skittering backward. Sabira turned and lunged for the wall, catching the fingers of Xujil’s outstretched hand just before he, too, disappeared into the stone.
She felt a strange stretching sensation and then she was falling through an endless expanse of vibrant blue sky, clutching the drow’s hand desperately as the three of them tumbled through perfection in utter, peaceful silence.
And then her foot hit the ground on the other side of the wall and they were inside the City of Shadows. Xujil pulled them quickly into a nearby alleyway, hunkering down behind some crates as they put their goggles back on.
“Stay here, and stay hidden. I will attempt to find where the sorceress is being held.” Sabira nodded her agreement, touching her hand gingerly to the back of her leg where the guardian had scored her. Her hand came away bloody. Greddark saw and quickly produced bandages from somewhere on his person. As he began wrapping her leg, Xujil checked to make sure he could exit the alleyway without being seen. Before leaving, he looked back at the two of them. “And if you should encounter any of the Spinner’s smaller children, do not harm them. Here, inside Her city, She will know.”
“Yeah, won’t be long before She knows about the one outside the city, either, so I’d suggest you get moving,” Sabira said, wincing as Greddark cinched the bandage tight. Then the drow nodded and disappeared around the corner, leaving them alone in the darkness.
As they waited for the drow to return, it became obvious that this part of the city was all but deserted. Even in the darkest alleyways and most secluded parks of a metropolis this size, the bustle of so many people living their lives could still be heard. Children crying, drunks brawling, dogs barking, vendors wheedling, guards shouting as they chased down thieves. But in the City of Shadows, silence reigned. That, more than anything, drove home the foreignness of the Umbragen, in a way Xujil’s odd mannerisms and brutal beliefs had not yet managed to.
She heard a faint scratching sound beside her and looked over, expecting to see the spiders Xujil had warned her not to squish. Instead, she saw Greddark using a small stone to etch tally marks in the dirt.
“Counting the moments until he comes back?” she asked, keeping her voice low so it wouldn’t carry. “Didn’t think you’d miss him that much.”
“Counting the days,” Greddark replied.
Sabira frowned and felt dried mud crack and fall from her forehead.
“Why?”
He looked at her askance.
“I don’t think you want to know.”
Well, she was sure she didn’t, now.
“Tell me.”
“I think I’ve figured out the Anvil part of the Prophecy.” More mud fell, from around her mouth this time.
“And?”
“I think the word that was translated as ‘silent’ actually meant ‘at rest.’ It’s a subtle difference, but an important one, considering what today is.”
Sabira felt her heart moving into her throat.
“And what’s today, besides the beginning of some spider goddess’s three-day Festival of Quietude?”
“It’s the second of Rhaan. Onatar’s Rest, the one day of the year the forges go quiet in the Holds.”
Sabira’s heart was joined by her stomach. Onatar was the Sovereign God of Fire and Forge, but he had another colloquial name.
The Anvil.
“It’s just a coincidence,” she said after a moment, but even she could hear the uncertainty in her voice.
They didn’t speak again after that, each of them lost in their own thoughts. Sabira refused to believe that forces beyond her ken had engineered events so that she and Greddark would be here, in this unlikely place on this unlikely date, to fulfill the conditions of some bit of mediocre poetry. Greddark must be mistaken about the translation—Breven had been adamant that the “three dark moons” interpretation was the correct one, and multiple scholars with far more knowledge and experience than the dwarf had agreed.
Then again, Sabira knew from personal experience that being certain didn’t always mean being right.
Something tickled her wrist, and she went to slap at it without thinking. Greddark grabbed her hand before the blow could connect and she looked down to see a swarm of tiny spiders crawling across her forearm. The multi-legged horde migrated over her arm, across her open palm and down her leg, congregating around the bandage on her thigh, where blood was beginning to seep through. It seemed for a moment as if the creatures were tasting her, and Sabira had to suppress a shudder of revulsion. She suddenly understood people who hated spiders much, much better.
The last stragglers were just disembarking from her boot when Xujil appeared at the mouth of the alleyway and quickly made his way to them.
“Come. I have found her.”
Tilde was being held in a small chapel away from the main temple complex where the majority of the city’s population had gathered for their observance of the Holy. Here, Xujil told them, she would undergo a cleansing ritual so that on the appointed day, she would be an acceptable offering for the Spinner. The sorceress would be attended by priestesses at designated times during the three days leading up to her sacrifice, but for the most part, she would be left alone. They had a chance to free her, if they moved quickly enough.
Two drow in ceremonial armor guarded the door, the crest on their black breastplates depicting a red-eyed, blade-footed guardian. Greddark took them out with two crossbow bolts to the forehead and they collapsed with a clatter.
Sabira hurried across the open courtyard and up the stairs, eyes alert for movement from the surrounding buildings, but all was still. She stepped over the body of one of the drow, noting the scars on his cheeks. Not so different from their Vulkoorim brethren after all, it seemed.
She pushed one of the doors open slightly and squeezed through, stepping quickly to the side to let her eyes adjust to the deeper gloom here and to avoid making herself a target. Greddark followed suit, moving to the other side of the door. Xujil came in last, and Greddark had to pull him out of the meager light coming through the open door.
Though she listened for long moments, she heard nothing but her own breathing and that of her companions. The chapel was deserted.
Except for the sanctuary.
Lit by torches that burned red, what appeared to be an altar carved from some black, iridescent metal and fashioned in the shape of a spider sat upon a raised dais. And on that altar lay a blonde, pale-skinned woman.
Tilde.
There was something wrong about the way the sorceress’s body lay, and Sabira approached cautiously, wondering if they were too late and Ned’s sister was already dead. She eschewed the main aisle, opting to walk along the church’s wall, beneath the overhanging balcony. Greddark again followed her lead, walking up the other side, his crossbow trained on Tilde while his eyes scanned the balcony above Sabira for movement. Xujil hesitated, then followed Sabira’s path as he, too, searched the balcony for any errant guards.
As she neared, reaching the chancel, Sabira realized abruptly what was wrong with Tilde, and she felt a moment of horror mixed with profound pity.
The sorceress had no legs.
Oh, Tilde. I’m so sorry I didn’t get here sooner.
Even as she thought it, Tilde reared up from the altar, its metal legs bucking with her movement.
And then Sabira realized she hadn’t even begun to comprehend the true horror for the situation, because Tilde wasn’t on the altar, she was the altar. Where her hips and legs had been before, the metal spider’s body now grew, melding with her flesh as if she had burst from her mother’s womb thus made.
Or her mother’s egg sac.
The sorceress wore a halter of black silk. A golden chain hung about her neck, the half of Ned’s medallion twinkling in the light, framed now by the bones of a tiny winged mammal. And in her abdomen, where her navel should be, a sphere carved from a large, flawless Khyber shard pulsed with blue-black light.
“Hello, Saba,” she said, smiling.
Welcome, Daughter of Stone and Sentinel.
“I’ve been waiting for you.”