41

City of the Gods

The climb up the Lugjen Stair took a full and exhausting day, all the more exhausting to Caelith, who was sorrowful thinking of Anji left behind somewhere in that darkness below. He could see he was not alone in his contemplation; everyone was quiet during the long ascent. He was grateful in an odd way that the cavern was so terribly dark and his own light so very feeble; it meant he did not have to acknowledge the chasm that fell to terrible depths just off the edge of the stone stairs. But it left him to reflect on the chasm of his own doubt, as he advanced step by step into the unending darkness. That he had led them to the stairs was no less amazing to the others in their group than to himself. He heard, or perhaps he felt, a voice calling him, but it was unlike any voice in the dream; a whisper through his soul.

It was such a new and wondrous experience, but he was not sure how he could explain it to the others—especially Eryn. There was a time when he could go to her whenever new mysteries presented themselves. She would listen intently as he described the knot of thoughts that troubled him and then, somehow, always unravel it into clarity and order. It was one of the things he missed most about her; and he longed for her to help him make sense of this voice that led them through the darkness.

He thought again of her as they continued the laborious climb. There was so much he wanted to say to her, so much he had left unsaid; and just when he thought he found the words, the world would flip on its head and another crisis would threaten them all. Perhaps after they got back on the Dwarven Road, when things quieted down again, he could find the words once more, explain that he knew how badly he had treated her and ask her forgiveness. Then she could help him understand this quiet prompting that urged them on, when there was a little peace.

As their silent climb finally came to its end, the stairs led them to the dwarven port of Lugjen. The abandoned harbor lay just inside the lip of an immense tunnel that bored out of the cliff wall. The wide stonework of the aqueduct protruded from the tunnel out into the dark space over the Starless Sea. The level of the water was considerably lower in the channel than it had been before their fall, but there was water in it—water that was rippling.

“Well, we’ve made it up here,” Lucian observed dryly. “Now where do we go?”

“Listen!” Caelith said quietly. “Do you hear it?”

“Hear what?” Jorgan snapped.

Caelith nodded his head with a grim smile. “The Continuance Falls—down the tunnel. Come on!”

“Wait a moment,” Lucian countered. “You mean you want to get back on this underground water trap?”

“Look, Cephas said that the dwarves built the Continuance Falls to take care of just this sort of problem, right?” Caelith prodded the dwarf.

“Aye”—Cephas pushed his chest out proudly—“said that I did.”

“We passed several ports like this one,” Caelith continued. “Each of them had several barges down the side quays. Most of them were ruins, but there were still a few that were afloat. That rumble down the channel is another Continuance Falls. All we need to do is find another workable barge past the falls and we’re back on the road.”

“Back on that river?” Lucian scoffed. “You’ve got a death wish, lad! It’s not enough that we should nearly fall to our deaths once, you want this Dwarven Road to have another chance at our blood? Not me!”

“Where did you think we were going?”

“Up! Out! Light and sunshine!”

Caelith turned to the dwarf. “And how far is it to the nearest exit from here, Cephas?”

“The Starless Sea be direct under Mount Shandar,” the old dwarf grumbled. “Nearest exit south er is. One hundred nineteen miles yon exit be.”

“So,” Caelith said as he looked around, “anyone here want to walk the distance?”

“Caelith, please,” Eryn said, gazing uncertainly at the building on either side of the Dwarven Road. “Isn’t there some other way out?”

“Nay, lass.” Cephas shook his head, reaching up and taking the woman’s smooth hand in his own rough, hardened palm, patting it gently with his other. “No be another way. Don’t look to close er yon doors ye pass. Don’t stop in doorways and safe be ye as er is.”

Caelith moved down the quay bordering the channel, his own light leading them on. It swung from side to side as he walked, causing the shadows it cast to shift and dance with his steps. The shadows of the buildings lining the sides of the great canal danced about the ancient columns, steps, windows, and doorways. Within, Caelith thought he could see things moving, awakened by their passing, but he could not be sure if they were real or just a figment of his light.

Lithbet, the general of the Grand Subjugation Army, felt a thrill course up her spine as she stood atop her titan and gazed about at her command. A rather excitable young goblin, she was prone to throwing fits when she thought it would get her way—and it almost always did—but there were few things that brought her genuine joy. Crushing a village under the feet of her titan; marching victoriously over the bodies of her foes; beating a stubborn enemy into groveling submission—ah, she thought, those were the moments that made everything worthwhile.

But to command a fierce army into battle; there was nothing better in Lithbet’s eyes. The titans were drawn up in a line that stretched across the ogre home plain to either side of her in a long, shallow arc nearly two miles in length. She commanded no fewer than seventeen of the great machines, if you counted the one without legs as she invariably did. While none of the titans were entirely whole—each great machine missing some major component like an arm or head—they were nevertheless things of powerful beauty that stood at her command.

Directly behind the titans were the grumps of the GSA—the foot soldiers. Arrayed in whatever clothing they brought, they were marked with a single strip of red cloth around their heads to distinguish them from any enemy. They were largely a volunteer army, which, in Mimic’s reign, meant that they were on their own for food and arms and often only showed up when they thought there was something in it for them. They were without much training and came to the battle primarily to help pillage whatever the titans “liberated” in their conquest. Just counting an army of this size presented a challenge to the goblins. It took one hundred and fourteen goblins called hunneds, each representing one hundred and fourteen grumps, just to tally the number of troops at her command. Each hunned was commanded by a hunned leader and six sergeants whose jobs were to keep everyone in reasonable line and make sure that none of the grumps carried off anything more valuable than their pay, which was generally calculated at one tenth of whatever they showed their hunned leader. Despite being volunteers, they were a remarkably effective fighting force; especially if the prize was obviously a rich one. This campaign was so full of promise that nearly every volunteer in Mimic’s kingdom who could walk had come and everyone was anxious to kill anything between them and the glorious treasure of the ogre city of Cyderdel.

Finally came the Technomancers at the rear of the formation, all flying their banners and keeping their precious books in special carts just in case one of the titans faltered during battle and needed more of the magic by which they were animated. The long list of recent conquests had, however, left them woefully short of books, the mysterious power in them waning with repeated use. It was part of what made this particular engagement so exciting for Lithbet—the slight edge of desperation. They were short on the very thing that kept their army supreme, and she knew now that the ogre city Cyderdel held the promise of practically unlimited power.

If the little imp was right.

“Tell me again about this building filled with books, Istoe,” Lithbet said as she surveyed her warriors far below. “Tell me of my triumph to come.”

“Your Majesty.” Istoe stood grinning next to the goblin warrior princess. “The building is filled with them, intact and undisturbed by time. You shall break through the city gates, crush the ogres beneath the feet of your mighty titans, and make your way to the center of the city.”

“There I will find Thux,” Lithbet said, her eyes staring to the southwest as though she were trying to see into the future.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Istoe replied. “No doubt waiting for you in the House of Books.”

“Glorious victory, unprecedented wealth, and a consort that will ensure my reign—ah, what a fine day!” Lithbet murmured. Then she leaned down, screaming through the empty head of the titan to the pilot below. “Get this thing moving, Funj! It’s time to kill us some ogre!”

The sphere around Aislynn and her companions began to brighten as the leviathan pushed them into the more shallow waters.

“Wake up,” Aislynn said hoarsely, her throat dry. “We are nearly there.”

Obadon roused himself more slowly than on previous days. Valthesh lay where she was, though her eyes were open. Gosrivar only moaned.

“We’ll have to walk soon,” Aislynn said roughly. “The leviathan can push us only so close.”

“I don’t think I can,” Gosrivar muttered.

“Of course you can,” Aislynn spoke with a certainty she did not feel.

“It—it’s so dark above,” Obadon said, looking up through the orb.

A drop of water fell lightly on the back of Aislynn’s hand. She looked down on the wet spot in some confusion.

“Aislynn?” Obadon said with rising urgency.

Several more drops fell through the top of the globe, landing on the faeries.

Gosrivar’s eyes widened in fear. “Aislynn! Water! Water’s coming in! The globe is failing!”

“Wait, I don’t think—”

Suddenly, torrents of water began pouring down through the globe.

“We’re going to drown!” Gosrivar cried, standing quickly up and pushing himself higher against the side of the globe.

“We are not going to drown!” Aislynn asserted, pointing downward. “Look; the water is falling out the bottom just as quickly as it’s coming in from the top. Besides,” she said, tasting water that she collected in her upturned hand, “it’s not seawater . . . see, no salt! It’s—”

“Rainwater!” Valthesh smiled, cupping her hands in front of her. “Don’t put it to waste! Drink while you can!”

The parched faeries gathered the rainwater, satisfying their thirst even as they became soaked. They were so busy in their relief that they did not notice the leviathan give them one last gentle push over the sea ledge before it turned with haste back toward the open sea. The bubble settled slowly and in moments Aislynn was surprised to find her feet settling into the sand.

“We’re here,” Aislynn stated with hesitancy.

They stood for a moment on the seabed, water pouring down on them and pooling in the sand at their feet. A chill wind whipped through their globe.

“I never thought I’d be rained on under the ocean,” Valthesh observed, her soaked hair matting down around her face.

“It’s the Sharaj,” Aislynn observed, looking overhead. “The bubble displaced the air from an identical sphere above us. It’s obviously raining there—so it’s raining in here as well. Everyone ready?”

“Wet, but ready.” Obadon nodded.

“I’d do about anything to get out of this bubble!” Gosrivar exclaimed. “No offense intended to you good friends, but there have been some aspects of our close quarters that I have not enjoyed.”

“Then let’s see this wretched city of Tjugun Mai and find out what terrible thing happened here,” she said, walking up the inclining sand. Her companions followed, the bubble moving with them. The waves overhead tumbled in the storm, opaquing any view of the world above. They passed the shattered hulls of ships lolling restlessly against the bottom of what must have been the harbor. They skirted the pilings of the docks, climbing a sharp incline to a shallow shelf. The rain continued to pour down on them through the bubble, a torrential storm whipping around them though they were beneath the waves.

“It’s not much drier in here than out there,” Valthesh shouted.

“We’re nearly there,” Aislynn said over the wind howling through their bubble. Waves were already breaking just over the crest of the globe. “Be ready!”

“For what?” Gosrivar asked.

“For—I don’t know what for; just be ready!” Aislynn turned and led them up out of the water. As their mystical bubble cleared the last of the waves, it burst, dissolving into nothing as it freed them.

The faeries stood there, their feet in the sand with the storm-surged waves crashing around their legs. The curve of the harbor lay to their left, a twisted apparition whose wooden piers were curled and deformed. The row of buildings facing the waterfront was ruined as well, most of the roofs having collapsed or having been torn off as though by some giant hand. The torrential rain obscured their view, graying out the buildings farther down the wharf. Aislynn stepped across the short beach toward the deformed wood of the boardwalk.

A heavy pylon rose from the sands at the edge of the beach. The upper part of the column resembled the closed eye and forehead of one of the Kyree. Yellow straw resembling hair whipped through the wind from the top of the pylon while a single carved wing stuck out of one side. Aislynn thought it more hideous with every step she took toward it.

She shook her head, reaching out toward the monstrosity as she approached. “Why would anyone carve such a deformed—”

The eye of the carving blinked open, its expression filled with horror and pain. The carved wing began to flap frantically.

Aislynn screamed once, stepping suddenly back against her companions.

In that instant, lightning flashed over the city, illuminating in silhouette tall domed towers in the distance. The wind howled about her, pressing against her back, urging her forward toward the distant towers.

“That’s where we will find our answers.” She shivered, her tears mixing unnoticed with the rain pouring down her face. “There, in that nightmare!”

The Shandar Peaks lived. The lives of mountains are measured only by the dwarves, who have the patience and inclination for such things. They pace their breaths in eons and they shift in their slumber over millennia. But shift they do. Their formations tumble and shift the course of rivers—even those rivers engineered by dwarves.

Caelith stared blinking into the light of day. The Dwarven Road emerged from under the Shandar Range, by Cephas’s calculation, some thirty miles short of their expected destination, the Paulis Plateau. An earthquake, perhaps, or some other event had broken open the Dwarven Road and now its path wound into a long mountain valley.

“By the gods,” Lucian murmured. “Look!”

Caelith, his eyes still adjusting to the light, blinked in the direction his friend pointed. “Can it be?”

“The tower, the impossible buttresses extending upward from the bounding wall, the climbing circles to the center,” Margrave said as he, too, peered to the southwest. “Yes, Caelith, I believe you have found the City of the Gods.”

“Er good hammer knock is dwarf sure,” Cephas intoned.

“The dwarf is right,” Jorgan said huskily. “We have to be sure.”

“Wait! There in the valley beyond!” Eryn reached out, her hand pointing into the distance.

Beyond the towers of the temple, beside a huge lake, shone the towers of a city.

“Calsandria,” Caelith whispered. “It’s our past and our destiny all at once. It’s a dream made real.”

“Now we shall see, brother,” Jorgan said confidently, “to which of us the dream truly belongs.”