Chapters

The Necropolis: “Are either of you a mage?”
One of Eight: “The only thing we got out of the first tower was a pounding”
Three of Eight: “We might lose Eearwaxx but it will be worth it”
Four of Eight: “I don’t suppose you have ten-thousand gold of gems in there?”
Five of Eight: “I think we can handle anything now”
Six of Eight: “The word ‘foreboding’ comes to mind”
Eight of Eight: “His mind is going!”

---

The Necropolis

Morgan and Jankx led the company down the final passage. The tunnel of low-ceilinged ice cut down through the glacier for almost a mile of hard descent, getting colder and colder the further it dropped.

The natural stairway finally levelled out, opening onto a vast grotto enclosed by gleaming ice.

“Oh my gods,” Jankx whispered.

The company stood atop a causeway of frost-covered ice that stretched toward a buried city. Sculpted by ancient magic and illuminated by green and purple lights, the city was slightly tilted, its spires leaning away as though recoiling from any presence.

Ythryn awaited.

---

Eearwaxx was transfixed.

The city that lay ahead was part of the Netherese empire, the greatest spellcasting society ever known. The most powerful wizards in history. And he was about to step into it.

He was mastering the eight schools of magic at an alarming rate, relishing the control and power, but also struggling with that same control as his emotions and hormones grew at an equally alarming rate. And now there was more, much more, in Ythryn. He swore to himself that he would learn everything he could, record everything (he was already scribbling furiously in his book), bring the city back to life and to the glory it must once have been.

Eearwaxx thought of Archmage Eearl’wixx, who had nurtured him after the death of his parents, showing such great kindness and patience with a scared young boy, and of what his mentor would have made of such a wonder. He had struggled to trust anyone since Eearl’wixx’s passing, but his new companions had slowly proven themselves. Arlington may be bossy, and Octavian a little quick to judge, but they were good people. Mostly.

He rubbed his hands, ready to test his skills, bravery, and endurance.

---

“It seems I was wise to leave you in charge for a while,” Arlington said to Octavian. “I knew your subterranean skills would lead us in the right direction.” He pointed to a huge glowing sphere of energy and light that crackled under the central spire of the city, a spire that climbed hundreds of feet into the icy cavern. “It would appear that whatever caused the power source to let the city fall didn’t kill that same source.”

“It’s conceivable that the city just landed under its own steam, and that the glacier has formed around it after all this time,” Tarquin mused. “I’m surprised the city looks mostly intact, as if it hadn’t crashed after all.”

“But it did lose a tower,” Morgan said. “And there are several more that have been sheared off,” she said pointing to broken towers that lined the circumference of the city.

“Clearly the Netherese empire didn’t just suddenly end when this came down and killed everyone—because it didn’t kill everyone. It’s all in one piece. So it’s hard to tell what happened.”

“That material the tower was made of was incredibly strong. It could have killed everyone on impact, but the construction itself is fine.”

Wasn’t so sure. “We found those dead Netherese in the caves, who were obviously coming here to connect. So this was here for a period and Netherese were coming here as visitors, it seems.”

“Could they have been fleeing?” Eearwaxx speculated.

“Or they could have been thrown clear when the city crashed,” Morgan said.

“But the list they had was mundane—a to-do list.”

“It was. But that is probably because they were just living in the city, going about their day-to-day, before it unexpectedly fell and they crashed separately.”

“Morad’s Razor,” Tarquin said thinking of a recent but increasingly popular philosophy that had risen out of the mysterious Jakkari people, “Morad’s Razor would say that the most likely story is that this was here, and that the Netherese empire was declining, but it hadn’t yet declined. So they were coming here in that time.”

“No-one knows how the empire fell, or exactly when,” Eearwaxx said. “Some say it was a slow decline like you say, Tarquin, and maybe it was. But most believe the cities fell and the Empire collapsed rapidly, a great unravelling, when they started to toy with the Weave, disturbing the essence of magic. What we find here may answer that question at long last.”

“I have a question that might be more pertinent to our here-and-now,” Arlington said. “We have heard that Auril might be down there somewhere seeking that power source. For whatever reason, that individual has not got that power source—yet I can see it from here.”

“The mythallar,” Morgan nodded.

“So between us and that thing is someone else who is trying to unlock it. Someone who is insanely more powerful than us.”

“A god, yes.”

“So that’s what we should be worrying about. Not how quickly the Empire fell thousands of years ago,” Arlington said conclusively. “There is barely anything alive down there. No dragons, celestials, fey, elementals. There are undead, perhaps a fiend or two, and maybe some aberrations. But not many, and I apologise that gods are not on my list.”

Octavian scratched his head. “It is strange that everywhere else we’ve been monsters and fauna have colonised—but it seems there’s near nothing living—or dead—here.”

“It’s almost as if even they don’t want to live here,” Morgan said.

“I’d call it…a Necropolis,” Octavian winked.

“I say it’s our new base,” Arlington said. “Let’s get this thing airborne,” he added, only half-joking.

“Well I must admit, I have heard stories of how these fly,” Tarquin smirked. He pulled out the map Eearwaxx had found in the caves and held it up to the city. “It’s a clear match. The ovals and circles match what we can see from up here—and the symbols of magic on this map seem to align with those zones or the larger towers scattered throughout. Abjuration just ahead, Conjuration to the right, Abjuration right, and in the distance—”

“—Necromancy,” Eearwaxx grinned, causing everyone to draw a sharp breath. He agreed with Tarquin, it seemed the map gave some clues to the layout of the buildings below.

Arlington had heard enough. He turned to Eearwaxx, having decided that, despite his tender age, the young wizard was likely to have the most insight. But he needed some…directing. “Before we go anywhere, Eearwaxx, what is the game plan? We could spend a lifetime looking through this city.”

“I’ve got a lifetime,” Eearwaxx said earnestly. “Let’s look through the city.”

Jankx laughed. “You are younger than us, so I guess that is true.”

“This is a city of magic. Why would we leave?”

“Be my guest young man,” Arlington said with a smile, watching as Eearwaxx almost sprinted down the causeway.

---

Arlington turned to hurry after the young rapscallion.

Or tried to.

He found himself unable to move, paralysed as if encased in ice. Octavian and Tarquin suddenly appeared by his side and with a sinking feeling he knew what was coming next.

A rasping voice of pure ice that all had hoped never to hear again spoke through the paralysis.

“Well, well, well. You promised much and it would seem you have found a way where all my other supplicants have failed. ‘The Greatest Kobold’ and his two minions. I am all astonishment!” the voice chuckled.

“So our deal is done?” Tarquin asked hopefully.

“Unfortunately for you—no.”

“Do you have a copy of the Contract?”

“Would you like me to step through the Terms? If you recall, Clause 3 seals your mortal souls to me, and only I—or the Marut in case of breach—hold the power to release you from that same Contract.”

“But I did insert one Codicil,” Octavian jumped in, “Which you did agree to.”

“‘The greatest kobold’, I believe?”

“Yes.”

“I am sorry to say—for your sakes—that I have checked with The Marut, who deems you not there yet,” the voice said with a smile.

“Oh. Well Vlagomir thought I was,” Octavian said, feeling the Frost Giant’s spark still working through his body.

“Yes but I do not, nor does the Marut, and that is the important thing.”

“So what is left for us to do?” Arlington asked.

“I am glad you ask! As I mentioned during our initial negotiations, I would occasionally take the opportunity to assign you tasks, and if you were to fulfil the tasks to a level that exceeded my expectations I might make the decision to free you.”

“You just said we have done which no other supplicant has been able to.”

“Indeed I did. Finding your way into Yhtyrn fulfils my first request. And I am suitably impressed, but that is not enough—not nearly enough. Here is the task that just might be: Ythryn conceals a device that I have come to understand has the power to free me from my temporarily frozen predicament. I think you can imagine what comes next? Obtain that device, deliver it to me, and you shall likely be free. You have my word on that!”

“Likely?” Octavian scoffed.

“Not good enough!” Tarquin declared immediately. “Sign it away that we will be free. That our souls will be returned. And that your axe is taken away from our necks.”

“There is every chance that that would be true. But until you deliver the device to me I cannot guarantee it.”

“Sign it away.”

“How much does this device mean to you?” Arlington probed. “You’ve been locked away for a long time.”

“That is true. And it is true that if the device is everything I believe it to be I would be free.”

“Then it seems a fair exchange that we would be guaranteed our freedom, just as you would yours, and the loss of this burden on our soul,” Tarquin said convincingly. He pointed to Octavian. “All he has to be is the greatest Kobold ever! We just ask that you release us from your grip.”

The voice chuckled. “I recall now that you had a particular way with words.” There was a pause, then the voice continued. “I am going to surprise myself and agree. It is not in my nature to do this, but you make a fair point and I am a fair man. So: bring me the device, and you shall be released.”

“All three of us?” Arlington asked cautiously.

“Those that deliver it shall be free.”

Arlington frowned. “If we are all three still standing when we deliver it, we are all three free?”

“That is my agreement with you.”

“I doubt I will need it,” Octavian said.

Tarquin met Arlington and Octavian’s eyes. “Are we agreed?”

“Yes,” Arlington said resignedly.

“I agree that you two really need that,” Octavian nodded.

“Now that is an interesting observation!” the voice said. “You know what? You are right! If you aren’t the greatest Kobold when you deliver the device, you are still beholden to me. The other two? They go free.”

“Fair enough,” Octavian said immediately, “I’ll take that wager.” He had no doubt he would emerge victorious.

Tarquin grinned at Octavian’s purity of purpose. “I accept,” Tarquin said looking to Octavian. “You’ve got some work to do!”

“Wonderful. Good luck, gentlemen!”

---

Morgan stood with arms crossed, stopping Arlington, Tarquin, and Octavian from stepping down the causeway. She had seen all three freeze for what was only a second before moving again, but one second was enough. “What happened?”

Arlington looked to Tarquin, hoping his silver tongue would conjure a suitable excuse. Tarquin looked in turn to Octavian, knowing he had a different answer.

Octavian sighed. “Look, Morgan, you know the situation with we three. The person or thing who did this to us,” he said patting his frozen hand, “He told us back then to find this city. And implicit in that was there was going to be something in there. And he mentioned again about me being the greatest of my race,” Octavian added nonchalantly. Tarquin couldn’t help laughing.

Morgan held Octavian’s gaze for a moment, then nodded, trusting his words. “I don’t know if you have all worked this out yet, but everyone in this company wants the mythallar.”

“Not just the party, everyone wants it,” Jankx said.

“Auril wants it. Hedrun wants it and wants us to get it. And whoever is pulling your threads wants it.”

“I totally agree,” Octavian said.

“I think that’s not unlikely,” Arlington said.

“I know what my answer is going to be,” Morgan said firmly, “Give it to none of them. In any case we need to catch Eearwaxx. We should probably just go straight to the mythallar because that’s where Auril is going to be, or thereabouts.”

“We’ll probably be diverted away,” Jankx said, “Knowing Eearwaxx’s predilection for getting side-tracked.”

“Are we sure meeting her is a good idea?” Arlington asked.

“It’s the whole reason we are here.”

“Are we prepared for this?”

“Is there any way to prepare to combat a god?” Morgan turned and followed the dwindling figure of Eearwaxx down the massive ice bridge.

---

As the company approached the foot of the causeway the destruction wrought upon the city became clear.

From a distance it had looked a place of shining wonders, still intact and waiting to be discovered. But now the city was revealed for what it was: dishevelled and worn threadbare by the ravages of time, a dead frost-ridden city—and above all an ancient place.

---

“It crashed,” Morgan said, and even Tarquin found himself agreeing.

Those in the company sensitive to the arcane could feel the air was thick with magic, ancient magic. Arcane energy seeped through everything. But there was something wrong with it, like it was out of alignment with the Weave. Even Octavian who’s magic did not tap the weave could sense something was off.

Eearwaxx let the disjointed magic flow through him, trying to understand the scale of the wrongness—and whether he could mend it. He quickly realised it covered the entire city, not just this quarter, and that the fault ran deep. Given time, he thought perhaps this could be undone, but it was no something that could be healed quickly.

“Can you feel that?” he said to nods. “I have heard of a magical corruption like this—an Arcane Blight where magic has gone wrong. Exposure to the blight would cause those that wielded magic to go insane, or lose their powers, or their magic would be warped. The longer the exposure the worse the effect would be.”

“I’m the only member of this party who doesn’t wield magic in any capacity, so I’m not worried,” Morgan said. Everyone else was less sure. “Let’s get to the mythallar.”

“I agree,” Octavian said, “But be careful—the nearby arena seems to contain electricity.” He floated toward the rim, observing there were no bodies or signs of life.

Everyone looked to where Octavian indicated. One-hundred foot masts sparked with light, rising out of a sunken amphitheatre lined with rows of bench-seats. A low hum of supressed energy filled the air.

“It looks like spectator seating for gladiator fights,” Arlington said, being very familiar with the genre. His father had won copious gold ‘gambling’ on definitely-not-rigged events. “Does anyone have any clue what the masts are for?”

“Be wary less we be drawn into the game,” Tarquin agreed. “That’s Abjuration magic.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means if we go to close we may evoke some sort of protection.”

“It is necessarily that literal?” Morgan asked.

“We don’t know,” Jankx shrugged.

“That shade we fought in the caves was an exiled Transmuter,” Morgan said. “Maybe the symbols just represent the different colleges of magic that maintain influence over different areas of the city.” She pointed to the amphitheatre. “That may not have anything to do with Abjuration magic at all. It might simply be part of the city’s functioning.”

“Yet the tips of the masts are very similar to the Abjuration symbol,” Arlington observed. “Morgan—what if it’s a gauntlet? Posts at the front end and back, both leading ahead toward the tower. Those that approach might have to traverse the gauntlet much to the amusement of the onlookers?”

“Maybe,” Morgan shrugged, none too sure. “I’m not versed in the depths of arcane lore and hypothesis. I was just going to try walking toward the mythallar and seeing what happens.”

“Think! These are places for the practicing of magic,” Tarquin said, “To watch a spectacle in the Abjuration school is to watch a manifestation of the spell. Surely!”

“Abjuration is defence, so we need to go there first,” Eearwaxx agreed. “If the city is defended by Abjuration magic it needs to be disabled.”

Morgan moved ahead, skirting the arena on his right and an oval of decrepit buildings on her left. She rounded a slab of fallen stone and saw a fallen statue lay ahead. At least twenty-feet tall, lying face-down with arms sprawled toward a large tower in the centre of the concourse ahead. She walked carefully toward it and crouched. The stomach of the statue had a mouth. “It’s a dead creature like the one we fought outside the fallen spire. We didn’t have a name for it.”

“Yes we do—we call them Mouth–Bellies,” Eearwaxx said with authority.

“As the first white man to discover it, I am calling it a ‘Stomach–Mouth’,” Arlington declared trying to take the upper-hand. “Colloquially called ‘Mouth–Bellies’ by the locals.”

“What killed it?” Tarquin asked.

There were no marks on the creatures back, but it was covered with hoar-frost and there was a chunk of rock missing from one side. It wasn’t obvious what had killed it, but it was dead. Morgan kicked it for good measure.

“It fell toward the city,” Arlington noted, “And it’s hammer lies in that direction too. So it either fell away from its attackers, or toward them. Or sideways…”

Tarquin traced the path of the statue and the weapon. Both pointed to the looming tower. “Gentlemen the straight path is closed. If we pass this creature, we will suffer the same fate,” he nodded toward the tower.

“What are you suggesting then?” Jankx asked.

“Don’t walk pass the Abjuration focus. I was wrong about the arena,” Tarquin pointed again to the tower. “That is the problem. Every surface of that tower is covered with runes of Abjuration magic. There were other similar towers throughout the city. This is the Abjuration defence. That is the Necromantic defence,” he pointed to a barely visible tower in the distance. “This is where out barrier stands. This is why the mythallar remains safely ensconced in the centre—because we can’t get past the defences. We need to get through somehow.” Tarquin adjusted his headwear of disguise, currently shaped like a tin-foil-hat.

Arlington was equal parts impressed and exhausted by Tarquin’s onset of theorising. He looked to the window atop the tower ahead. “There is light glowing in there. The Tower itself might be sort of magical emitter of death?” he looked at Eearwaxx who nodded. The young wizard He muttered a few words and then spoke to something unseen.

“Hello friend. Would you mind walking up toward that tower—stop about half way.” Eearwaxx watched as his unseen servant obeyed. No-one could see it but they were used to Eearwaxx’s summoning by this time, and the footsteps were visible in the frost. No beams of energy shot down from the tower. “Thank you! Can you walk up to the tower door and touch it please?”

The servant did as commanded and wasn’t vaporised. “Would you mind knocking please?” No-one answered the knocks. “Open the door please, my friend.” Everyone held their breath as the door pushed silently open. Inside a blueish light glowed softly. Eearwaxx cast light on a chunk of stone and gave it to the servant. “Carry this to the top of the tower if you wouldn’t mind, and wave it to me from the window.”

The light bounced toward the tower, disappearing as it stepped inside. Jankx assumed something would emerge a moment later, but all remained still and silent. A few minutes later Eearwaxx frowned. “It’s gone, out of range. The tower is too tall for me to maintain contact.” He started climbing the steps to the doorway of the tower.

“Eearwaxx! We need to keep our eye on the prize,” Morgan called, “And it’s not at the top of this tower.”

“We are!” Eearwaxx called over his shoulder.

“No, we’re not. You want to investigate the tower, but we need to go to the mythallar. We all agreed.”

“It’s not the tower I’m investigating,” Eearwaxx said patiently. “It’s the fact that the tower could have destroyed that statue. That’s all. I’m trying to make sure we’re safe to walk toward the mythallar.”

Eearwaxx glanced inside the doorway but didn’t step over the threshold. It was very similar to the fallen spire, oval in shape with a central corridor and rooms leading off either side. A spiral staircase rose at the end of the short passage. He summoned another servant and sent it upstairs with the same order. A few minutes later he sensed the servant had reached the top of the tower, but no-light shone from the window above. He called it back and pulled the door closed. “Friend, do you mind staying here and guarding the door—try and stop anything that tries to enter or exit.” He turned to the company. “It’s not dangerous. This is probably not what killed it.”

“So we’re jumping at shadows,” Arlington said wearily. “Let’s press on.”

---

The Mythallar

Tarquin studied the oval zone to the right of the tower as Morgan walked ahead, sword drawn and ready. There were two building of note. One was a narrow cylindrical tower, like a lighthouse, more than one-hundred-feet tall with a rotating glass chamber hovering thirty-feet above its ruined summit, like a colossal floating crown. The other was a palatial hexagonal building crowned with a glittering domed roof.

Morgan was fully expecting to be attacked at any moment, and even Octavian hankered for something concrete. Tarquin glanced at them and smiled. “It all seems too easy, does it not?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever felt more out of my depth,” Jankx said walking beside Morgan.

“Well…we’re here to stop a god,” Morgan said. Jankx nodded wryly.

“Don’t worry about the things you can’t change,” Morgan said, reflecting on his encounter with the Dark Power. “We’re either going to succeed or we won’t. It’s not like we have a choice,” he said pointing to the ice-ring around his neck. “Like you, I don’t know how these mythallar things work. Maybe that energy field is just a field and the thing itself is only the size of a crystal ball—everyone seems to act like it’s portable. The trick is going to be getting it out.”

“That’s true.”

Morgan and Jankx rounded the sprawling structural claws that held the central spire and were stopped in their tracks.

---

Beneath the great spire the mythallar hung in a vast chamber. A luminous fifty-foot diameter rotating sphere glowed sun-yellow, pulsing with barely contained surges of energy and enchantment. Tendrils of crackling energy licked and tracked slowly over the floor of the chamber, reaching into the frozen ground below.

The power contained within the mythallar was obvious. It was no wonder so many sought it.

There was a threshold that would need to be crossed to access the chamber, and there were similar viewing zones on other sides of the chamber. It was on display for the citizenry of Ythryn to admire—and no doubt for the leadership to use a display of might over visiting dignitaries.

Tarquin was instantly inspired to compose a rhyme that he intoned softly as he watched the mythallar in wonder.

“There’s no obvious way inside,” Tarquin said as he finished, stepping back and staring up at the towering spire. “Perhaps we have to climb those structural claws,” he suggested, “Though it is not very elegant.”

“There was a ramp or slide from the western ring that connected the ground to the spire,” Eearwaxx said. “That seems more likely.”

“I think we can probably walk either on or in that aerial buttress,” Morgan said.

“You think there might be some controls?” Jankx asked.

“To what end?” Arlington asked.

“Because anything that we’re going to find surely is going to be in the giant spire of hubris,” Morgan deadpanned. “Or do you think the key to everything is going to be in some outbuilding in the Transmutation area?”

Tarquin’s tin-hat was firing. “I wonder. I wonder about the towers, your scepticism notwithstanding. Each represents a school of magic. There might be a relationship between this power and those towers. And if I was a city with different schools of magic, I would make sure they all had to agree if they were going to go get the mythallar.”

Octavian was struck by a sudden thought. “Eight towers, eight schools, eight markings on that map. The letter from Iriolarthas in the caves, Drakareth’s shade, the one-eyed creatures: all talked of an Octad. It can’t be a coincidence.”

It all made some sense, starting to form a coherent theory of Ythryn’s magic.

But Eearwaxx found himself distracted by the hexagonal building Tarquin had seen earlier. “Why don’t we go there,” he said indicating. “And see if there’s any relationship with the spire. It’s the closest to the mythallar, see if there’s anything to shut it down or switch it off.”

“Very well,” Arlington said. “It has the most obvious overlook of the mythallar, if there is anything to see through that impressive roof. But then I think we should explore Morgan’s idea of getting up that long branch to the left.”

“The whole place is so creepy but that does look like the likely way,” Jankx agreed. “But I’m happy to follow Eearwaxx’s instincts.”

“But what about the towers?” Tarquin insisted. “We stood on the doorstep of the Abjuration tower and walked away.”

“If there are eight that just means the Octad thing is correct,” Morgan shrugged.

“And we don’t know how it all integrates,” Octavian said, undoing in an instant the good work he’d done supporting Tarquin’s theory.

“I give up!” Tarquin cried, tearing off his hat. He found himself reaching for Drakareth’s staff before realising what he was doing and jerking his hand away.

“What do you want us to do?” Morgan said, exasperated.

“Can we see anything that can help us with the mythallar in there?”

“I think Eearwaxx’s idea is good,” Octavian said. “This seems like a building that might have information, which overlooks the mythallar, it’s not one of the eight Octad towers. Let’s just go in there and see what we see. We’ll probably make a fatal error, but so be it.”

“That seems quite likely,” Jankx said. “It feels so out of control.”

“The problem is we don’t know the right way!”

“Listen to me!” Tarquin cried, eyes crazed. “I will follow you, but believe me: turning those eight towers off releases the mythallar!”

There was silence for a moment at Tarquin’s outburst, then Arlington coughed. “Tarquin when have you ever been right?”

“It’s not the worst idea,” Jankx said trying to calm things. “But we’ve got to start with something, right?”

“It’s going to take either four minutes, or we’re all going to die. It’s that simple. So let’s just have a look,” Octavian repeated.

“I’ve said it out loud now,” Tarquin sulked. “I am a servant of the story and this is a classic trope from dramas of old.”

“We hear what you are saying,” Arlington softened, “And you may be completely correct. But we’re going to look in the white-domed building.”

---

The Museum

It was a very attractive building, or was. A double door stood slightly ajar on the western side, which Jankx listened at. He was somewhat surprised to hear a faint rustling, and something falling with a soft crash. He signalled a warning and everyone took up positions, Arlington with his crossbow trained on the back of Jankx’s head as per tradition.

Morgan kicked the doors open to reveal what was obviously a museum. Broken statues and shattered ornaments littered the floor, and centuries of exposure had ruined most of the paintings that hung on the walls in elaborate frames. More importantly six of the one-eyed creatures stood bolt upright at the doors opened and stared with naked desire.

“Hungry…Hungry!”

There was no mind-probing this time, just raw aggression. Moments later all six were dead, though Octavian, Morgan, and Jankx all sported fresh wounds from the ripping claws and rotting gazes.

“So there is life here, of a sort,” Octavian grunted as he strapped his wound.

Arlington scuffed around the fallen objects de art with his boots until he found a semi-intact figurine, albeit missing a head. He idly handed the worthless object to Octavian (who coveted it for a moment before dropping it and shattering it), then searched until he found a fine carving of a female that was only missing its arms.

“Just plundering some booty?” Morgan observed.

“I need something to take back from the lost city of Yhtryn,” Arlington shrugged. “I shall call her ‘Venus’.”

A flight of stairs on either side of the room led to a second floor. Suspended from the ceiling of a purpose-built, spacious, fifty-foot square antechamber was the glittering, frost-covered corpse of a thirty-foot-long aberration shaped like a funnel, resembling an anemone. A tooth-filled maw at the wider end was surrounded by rubbery cilia, and around it dangled four limp, spindly appendages, each one ending in a clawed hand. At the opposite end of the body was a tail with a stinger.

A frost-covered plaque was bolted to a nearby pedestal, which Eearwaxx translated:

Adult Phaerimm—Do Not Touch!

Dwellers of the Underdark, phaerimm are malevolent aberrations that are master spellcasters and highly resistant to magic. They use their telepathy to control the weak-minded, and their tail stingers to inject their eggs into alien hosts.

They strive to erase all other beings from existence and are known to have caused the collapse of the Sarrukh empire of Isstosseffifil.

“This thing is something completely new to me,” Octavian shuddered. “Their Underdark must have been even deadlier than what it is now.”

“Must have been a long time ago, I have never heard of that empire,” Eearwaxx agreed.

“Tens of thousands of years.”

Another central set of steps led up to the top floor. The brilliant domed ceiling shone overhead, miraculously—or more likely magically—still intact. The glass was embedded with coloured glass that told a story of Ythryn. It was a sight to behold, a marvel of architecture and triumph of empire.

The ceiling depicted a powerful mage standing on a balcony of the enclave’s central spire, addressing a sea of Netherese citizens below, who stared up at the figure, cheering. A mage at the height of his power, magically preserved in stained glass that glowed with its own arcane light.

“Iriolarthas, I presume,” Tarquin said. There was no plaque indicating as much, but it was a safe assumption.

Around the walls of the chamber hung eight large portraits—all undamaged, unlike those on the lower floors. The faces in the portraits were depicted looking up toward their master, Iriolarthas, with expressions of respect and awe. One of the portraits was painted in a slightly different style, indicating it had perhaps replaced another.

“So these are the Octet then,” Arlington muttered.

A frost-covered small plaque was fixed to the wall under each, so Eearwaxx did his duty and read them out.

High Abjurer Taruth, High Conjurer Damorith, High Diviner Apius, High Necromancer Cadavix, High Evoker Zadulus, High Illusionist Ajamar, High Enchanter Ivira, and High Transmuter Metaltra.

“The new painting is Metaltra,” Eearwaxx added. “She’s the one that replaced Drakareth.”

“We’ll need this information, no doubt,” Arlington said as Tarquin and Eearwaxx copied the names into their journals.

“There’s no obvious way to get atop the dome for sight of the mythallar,” Jankx said, disappointed.

“I was thinking we should go to that lighthouse tower next,” Eearwaxx said. “That will have a view.”

Morgan, standing at the top of the steps, sighed and turned to an invisible Ezra. “The central tower should be next. That’s what I thought too.”

Eearwaxx tarried while everyone descended, tripping over a slab of ancient wood that had fallen. He picked it up and turned it over, finding the remnants of a plaque.

Behold! Iriolarthas, master of the Wizards of the Ebon Star!

“You were right Tarquin!” Eearwaxx called as he scampered after everyone. “It was Iriolarthas—and it says he was the master of the ‘Wizards of the Ebon Star’!”

Morgan paled. Grabbing the handrail for support. Jankx looked at her with concern. “The ‘Ebon Star’ is the power that wants to be returned to Barovia. The thing in the ice. Which means that Iriolarthas was using its power to get his influence. Which means that Iriolarthas was probably irredeemably evil. Horrendously evil. Palpably evil. Insanely evil.”

“We get it,” Octavian said holding up his hands.

“It also means that piece of amber is near Iriolarthas somewhere,” she said, pointing to the looming spire.

---

The Restaurant at the End of the Universe

Eearwaxx led the party to the lighthouse tower. Arlington, walked slowly behind, finding Octavian by his side.

“I don’t normally talk tactics with you,” Arlington said.

“What do you mean? I’m the only one that you actually discuss tactics with!”

Arlington took a deep breath. “Out of necessity then—is Tarquin right and we are going to look at each of these towers? Or is Morgan right and we’re going to try and climb up that big arch?”

Octavian paused, surprised to find he was unsure. “I…don’t know. But I think eventually we be going into the main tower.”

“Good talk,” Arlington nodded.

“You will know within a minute whether Eearwaxx has found something,” Octavian sighed.

“Neither of my suggestions was ‘is Eearwaxx the way to go’. It was either Morgan or Tarquin.”

“Nevertheless,” Octavian said pointing at the young wizard who stood before the tall tower.

Eearwaxx was about to push the door open when he realised he was ravenous. He reached into his bag and frowned to find barely anything remained. “Does anyone have any food?” he called as he wolfed down what little he had.

Morgan pulled out the remnants of what she had, watching Eearwaxx scoff it then wipe his mouth happily. “Right, up we go!”

The door to the tower hung by a single hinge, so the first thing Eearwaxx did was mend it. Octavian put his head in his hands. “This might take longer than I thought,” he muttered to Arlington.

“I put you in charge, Octavian!”

“I got us to the city!”

Eearwaxx pulled the now repaired door open. A small antechamber with smashed furniture lay within, and a spiral staircase wound up snaking around the edge of the tower.

“What I have noticed so far is: no bodies. Not a one,” Morgan said. Jankx nodded grimly as Eearwaxx started climbing. Everyone was resigned to Eearwaxx leading now, no longer bothering on insisting on being ahead.

“Just let us know what’s up there, Eearwaxx,” Morgan called.

“I will!” Eearwaxx arrived at the top of the tower panting, but exhilarated. There was quite a view of the city below from one-hundred feet up. The mythallar glowed steadily below, but there was no further insights to be gathered. He looked up at the floating glass chamber that floated thirty-feet above the landing rotating slowly, wondering how the wizards of Ythryn had transported people up there. He knew how he would!

Those below would never forget the sight of Eearwaxx floating slowly across the gap between the tower and its crown. His hands were raised as if in supplication as he ascended toward the light.

“I did not expect that,” Octavian grinned.

Tarquin quickly captured the moment with a sketch, chuckling all the while.

---

Eearwaxx arrived safely inside the crown. Inside was the remains of a restaurant made of glass, rotating gently giving a stunning and panoramic view of the city. More interesting to Eearwaxx were the dozen skeletal bodies sprawled around the room. He immediately started searching every body and every broken bottle, table, and counter. He had ten minutes before the levitate would expire so he searched quickly.

After several minutes had passed Jankx started to worry. He signalled to Morgan and ran up the steps, grunting softly with the exertion. “Eearwaxx! Are you up there? Are you ok?”

“Yes! I’m fine—there are bodies up here!” Realising the spell was waning, Eearwaxx tied a rope off around a broken table leg and lowered it down to Jankx, who hustled up.

“Look at what I found!” Eearwaxx said, proudly displaying his treasures. The main prize was a miniature Netherese skycoach captured in find detail inside a bottle.

“That looks just like the one we found,” Jankx nodded, appreciating the artistry but concerned about the bodies—the first he had seen, just after Morgan had observed there were none.

“And there was this,” Eearwaxx added, trying not to draw too much attention to the simple chardalyn wand he held in his hand.

Jankx frowned.

He frowns?! Eearwaxx thought to himself, feeling an instantly overwhelming urge to destroy Jankx where he stood. He fought it back with some difficulty. The urge felt like the hunger he had to constantly feed, but this was a hunger for harm. Talking of hunger, he was feeling pecking again, already. For a moment he considered combining both—zapping Jankx and then eating him.

Jankx saw a shadow pass over Eearwaxx’s normally innocent face. “Are you sure you are ok?”

“I picked up this wand…but I don’t feel good. Just be careful around me…”

“Put it down!” Jankx exclaimed.

“I’m going to try something. Stand behind me just in case.” He cast a spell to remove curses on himself, and hopefully the wand. He was immediately thrilled to find the hunger in his gut was sated. It was such a relief he broke into a huge smile. He glanced over to Jankx wanting to share the good news, but immediately felt the same dark urge to cause irreparable damage to the rogue. Maybe a magic-missile?

Jankx cocked his head, confused at what he was seeing. Eearwaxx seemed to be alternating between joy and fury. “Are you sure you need that wand?”

Eearwaxx glared for a moment, then forced himself to put the wand down. He cast the same spell, but realised as he did that the wand held no magic, nor curse. Eearwaxx knelt down to study the wand closely, resisting the temptation to take it in hand.

Below, Arlington was getting toey. It had been nigh on thirty minutes since first Eearwaxx and then Janx had vanished into the floating chamber. He turned to Octavian. “Why don’t you fly up there and see what’s going on?”

“What? Are you kidding? Eearwaxx could have eaten Jankx by now,” Octavian joked, not knowing how close to the truth he was.

“That’s why a good leader would fly up there and sort that shit out.”

“Well if you knew how to fly you would…”

Arlington rolled his eyes. “Just get up there!”

“I’m not your servant!”

“Gentlemen!” Tarquin interrupted, “I remind you: keep your eye on the prize!”

“We don’t know where the prize is, Tarquin,” Octavian said scornfully.

“Well it’s not up there!” Tarquin said, pointing.

“Without their help we are not going to find the prize,” Arlington said grumpily, “We can’t get there without them.”

“Well then why do they keep running away?”

“Because our glorious leader, the greatest kobold in the world, isn’t great enough to go third into a ring. Octavian just get up and see what’s going on!” Arlington snapped.

Octavian was about to reply when Morgan interrupted with obvious frustration. “It’s fine. I’ll go.” Ezra appeared, floated rapidly up the side of the tower and into the glass restaurant. Jankx nodded to Morgan’s ghostly brother, blinked, and found himself nodding instead at Morgan herself.

Eearwaxx was hovering over a nondescript looking wand…made of chardalyn. “Don’t touch that!” Morgan yelled, kicking it out of reach. Jankx looked relieved.

“I’ve already touched it, don’t worry. I’m not picking it up. Look; are either of you a mage?” Eearwaxx snapped. He was no longer hungry or wishing harm, but he was getting angry.

“No,” Jankx admitted, glancing at Morgan.

“No. You are not. That wand is not cursed, but I want to know why it does what it does to me.”

“It’s chardalyn! Why do you now listen when I tell you this?” Morgan growled. “The material itself makes you want to do bad things—the gauntlet would not come off my hand! The king who wore the gauntlet was mad. He made a dragon our of chardalyn that was given to him by a devil! It’s evil, it’s bad.”

“Ok, ok, but—”

“—Eearwaxx! I know you’re smart about a lot of things, but this is just what it is. There is no mystery beyond that. You shouldn’t have any chardalyn on your person.”

Eearwaxx sighed deeply. He took one last look at the wand, turned his back and followed Jankx to the rope. Jankx shimmied down in an instant. Eearwaxx made it ten feet before realising he had no idea how to climb down a loosely dangling rope. He fell with a crunch to the top of the tower, bruising both his limbs and his ego. “Fuck!” he said under his breath as he climbed painfully to his feet.

After a slow descent, everyone was finally regrouped at the foot of the tower. Arlington, doing his best to look as nonchalant as possible, reached down to put a hand on Octavian’s shoulder to suggest he lead the way forward. His hand hit the spiny shoulder-blade much sooner than it should have. “Ouch,” he muttered.

Octavian was taller. Much taller.

One of Eight

Morgan found herself meeting Octavian’s gaze eyeline-to-eyeline. She hid her surprise as she described the scene in the floating chamber atop the tower. “There were bodies, the first we’ve seen. Maybe the reason there are no bodies anywhere else is because they turned into those one-eyed creatures in the caves. And the ones up there couldn’t or didn’t because they were separated by the tower.”

“Maybe,” Eearwaxx shrugged.

Morgan was struck by a sudden insight. “And…I’m not saying it’s the same thing, but a lot of the citizens in Dougan’s Hole—those children we met and the ones hiding in their houses—looked like they were in the process of changing into something else too. Remember the girl had one puckered eye and the other was bulbous?”

“That’s true!” Eearwaxx said.

“That’s a little disturbing,” Tarquin muttered. “But don’t those creatures swallow the story of others? So they may say that they were once wizards because they have taken that story from someone else.”

“And we got the impression that when they fed on our story they started to wake and re-energise,” Octavian reminded everyone.

“Lucky you didn’t go down there Tarquin,” Arlington teased. “They would have had a feast—one would have just become you and we would have accepted them as our companion.”

“Might have been an improvement,” Jankx quipped as Tarquin suddenly transformed into the spitting image of one of the creatures, before doffing his hat.

“That’s not funny!” Octavian scowled.

“Is there any reason to think the people of Ythryn changed into these things,” Arlington asked, returning order. “Instead of just looking like them all the time?”

“The skeletons and the portraits tell us otherwise,” Octavian said shaking his head. Eearwaxx pulled a Netherese skull from his bag to illustrate Octavian’s point.

“So maybe it’s something else over time that causes the metamorphosis,” Morgan said.

Arlington nodded. “Like the deranged out of sync magic in the air down here.”

“If we’re right, that would make those one-eyed things thousands of years old.”

“Does that make them more important or are we going to keep killing them?” Tarquin smirked.

“You mean more valuable?” Arlington winked.

“Let’s go,” Octavian said pointing. “Abjuration tower first.”

“Follow the big guy!” Tarquin grinned as Octavian led ahead.

---

The Tower of Abjuration

“Octavian—are we going to do this one properly?” Arlington asked, thinking back to the lack of discipline at the lighthouse tower.

Octavian turned to Eearwaxx as he studied the sigils on the outside of the tower. “These are not going to be glyphs of warding, are they?”

“They are—Abjuration is defence.” That wasn’t enough to stop Eearwaxx from stepping to the door and pushing it open.

“Eearwaxx stop!” Arlington cried before turning on Octavian. “Octavian I said do this one properly! You’re not going to be the greatest kobold until you can organise these people.”

“I organise you, and that organises everyone else,” Octavian snapped before spinning to Eearwaxx. “Let Jankx have a look first!”

Eearwaxx sighed and started tracing every glyph he could see into his notebook as Jankx checked the entrance for traps and locks, finding nothing. “It’s safe—”

“—it’s trapped!” Eearwaxx interrupted. He pointed up to a glyph a third of the way up the tower. “A glyph of Symbol—that’s a very powerful spell!”

Octavian side-eyed Arlington with a smug look, drawing a nod and weak smile. “Dear boy what does this spell do?” Arlington asked.

“It’s a warding spell. If we step over the threshold it will trigger something.”

“Triggers what?”

“Something bad. Though my servant didn’t set it off,” Eearwaxx said thoughtfully. “Maybe it’s to prevent other mages from going in there, mages from other schools. If you’re that powerful, do you care about peasants, servants, underlings, regular citizens?”

“If this is like any regular town,” Tarquin said, “All of these areas are in tension with each other, but they are working together at the same time. They are one but they are many, and they are secretive and competitive.”

“The rivalry between the schools would be a reason not to enter another school’s tower,” Eearwaxx agreed.

“Why don’t you stay outside then?” Arlington said wisely.

Eearwaxx was horrified. “I want to go in!”

“Can you dispel the glyph?” Octavian asked.

“It might be too powerful…”

Jankx frowned. “This tower sound scary, looks scare, is trapped, and doesn’t go anywhere near where we want to go. Maybe we should leave it?”

Octavian disagreed. “We wanted to investigate one tower.”

“And I still think it’s part of the path,” Tarquin nodded. “I think these towers are important.”

“Let’s move on,” Eearwaxx said, not feeling confident about the glyph.

“Wait—you sent your servant in safely, but you couldn’t see what it saw. But we do know someone who can…” Tarquin said, turning to Morgan. A moment later Ezra appeared.

“Should we take cover?” Arlington asked Octavian.

“Yes obviously you have to get out of the way, because we don’t know—an Archmage might have cast that glyph,” Octavian began koboldsplaining.

“It was a rhetorical question,” Arlington smirked. “Take cover everyone!”

“You don’t know the meaning of the word ‘rhetorical’,” Octavian scowled as he dived behind some nearby rubble.

Morgan walked to foot of the stairs in front of the tower. She nodded at Ezra who vanished and reappeared inside the doorway. No-one was turned to stone, and Ezra appeared safely inside.

“I don’t see how this has told us anything,” Octavian sighed. “It’s Ezra, he’s not corporeal.”

“Watch over me,” Morgan said as her eyes glazed over. She narrated what she was seeing, but was otherwise unresponsive.

Inside the Tower Morgan followed as Ezra stepped through the first door in the corridor. The room beyond was a small study room, full of smashed furniture. The second door led to a similar chamber, whilst the third opened to a small library. Books were strewn about the floor, mostly ruined though some were still intact. Of more interested to Morgan was a huge hole in the floor of the room, with a matching one overhead. It looked just like the one created by the mouth-bellied creature from the fallen spire.

“Does that mean the Stomach–Mouth that was in the dislodged tower we found was there to disable that school of magic’s warding?” Arlington theorised. “And it’s since come here and disabled this tower’s warding as well? It might have done all the others.”

“I think the mouth–bellies devour magic,” Eearwaxx guessed.

“Stomach–Mouths,” Arlington coughed.

“Arlington I think the jury is still out on whether that ward has been disabled,” Tarquin said. “No-one has crossed the threshold yet.”

“Then why was the creature coincidentally in both the towers we have found?”

Ezra moved back to the corridor and climbed the stairs to the second level. Inside the room above the library was a more formal study, perhaps for the master of the tower—who’s skeletal body lay smashed against the far wall. Ezra crouched to see that the bones appeared to have been stoved inward, likely by the creature’s hammer.

The final set of stairs led to a landing with a large stone-metal door embedded tightly in the wall that closed off the top of the chamber. It was flush with the wall and had only a single pull ring to open it.

Morgan returned to her body and described the scene. “Ezra can’t open the door, so we would need to venture inside. I could swap places and see what happens?”

“Before we do that can I just make an observation,” Arlington said, then continued without waiting for an answer. “Remember the upside down tower in the ice and how it had a protection to prevent us getting in? But it was more-or-less an intellectual puzzle rather than murdering us with lasers. Maybe the same thing applies to this tower: maybe we just need to undo the puzzle to get in. Like some sort of ritual behaviour.”

“Perhaps,” Tarquin nodded. “How did we figure it out last time?”

“Trial and error, then Morgan walked in backwards and it worked.”

“Well it was something in the language—who watches the watches—that made me try it,” Morgan said trying to claim at least some credit.

“It strikes me that we’ve been looking at these runes in isolation. We’ve got one rune this is clearly something that triggers another spell. But maybe we need to work out what other spell might be cast, how this works.”

“Maybe. But barring there being any information in the few preserved books in there it looks empty. So I should swap places and see if I can open the door?”

“The only problem with anything you’re saying, Morgan, bless your heart,” Arlington said kindly, “Is that you might open that door upstairs and there might be a Stomach–Mouth inside, and the best we’ll be able to do is hear your screams.”

“Well no—I can get away quickly, the same way I get in there. Worst case it might get to beat on me one time. I’m quite nimble.” She looked to Jankx for confirmation.

Jankx shook his head, but felt there was no other choice. “This whole place is mad. We have to try stuff.”

Ezra replaced Morgan and Morgan was standing in front of the door. It was plain, no symbols, no hinges, and no lock. She reached gingerly for the handle and pulled it gently. It didn’t budge and there was no sound of a reaction from within. She gave it a stronger pull with the same result. Morgan resettled her shoulders and braced against the door to give it an almighty heave. For a moment she thought she had it, but despite using every ounce of strength the door refused to budge.

Morgan shrugged and walked back downstairs. She crouched by the body and noticed a simple ring on one of the fingers. She snapped the finger off and palmed it, then walked back upstairs. She touched the ring to the door and gave a gentle tug, but still nothing changed. She wandered back down to the entrance hall.

“I couldn’t open the door, it’s either jammed or magic. The only other thing I found was this ring,” Morgan called to the assembled group outside. “But it didn’t help with the door.”

Eearwaxx needed to get in there. He banged his staff on the ground and a moment later had misty–stepped inside the tower. He too wasn’t lasered to death.

“Eearwaxx!” Octavian and Arlington cried, too late.

“I’ll keep an eye on him!” Morgan called as Eearwaxx bounded up the stairs two at a time. A loud knock noise echoed through the tower and out onto the streets below. Tarquin spun to Ezra who stood impassively nearby. “Let us know if we need to go!”

Morgan arrived at the top of the tower to find Eearwaxx pulling the door open as easy as you like. “It’s open!”

The circular chamber beyond glowed with an eerie blue light from four braziers. A huge anvil chiselled with vivid blue runes rested in the centre of the room, and sitting atop was a hammer adorned with matching runes. Small sparks of electricity arced around the anvil and hammer. Three armoured figures with translucent, rubbery green-blue skin stood impassively around the anvil, staring at the floor.

---

“Gentlemen!” Eearwaxx said cheerily, to no response. He took a step inside and immediately stopped. The aura of unsettled magic had vanished—and he realised with a start that he also felt his connection to the weave had also disappeared. He felt deeply unsettled but also fascinated. He shook off the discomfort and watched the guards as he took another step, noting that they weren’t breathing but also didn’t look dead.

Outside, Ezra lifted three fingers and pointed up to the top of the tower. Then he held his sword to indicate what was up there. He also held his hands up to say: wait.

Arlington wasn’t convinced that was a good idea if there were three sword-wielding foes up there. “Tarquin—do you have a way of getting through the door?”

“I can step through the mists, and I’m ready.”

“What about you Octavian?”

“If that trap is set I haven’t got a way of avoiding it.”

“Maybe you do,” Jankx said pointing to the window atop the tower.

“Ezra says wait, so not yet,” Arlington said leading but not leading. “But Tarquin, regardless of Ezra, if Octavian says you go through, you go through.”

Morgan watched carefully from the threshold of the room, not stepping inside. “What’s the plan?” she asked Eearwaxx who was inching his way inside. “Looks like those are magical guardians trying to prevent anyone except the person who’s supposed to be in here from approaching the anvil. We either leave it, or…” she reached into her pocket and pulled out the ring.

Eearwaxx took the ring and peered closely. A simple script of Abjuration runes was traced around the inside. “Shall I put it on?”

“No. I think we should leave—but what I think hasn’t mattered much lately,” Morgan said slightly sulkily.

“But then we’ll never know what the hammer does.”

“It looks like a smithing hammer, not one for hurting people.”

“You’re right—my father was a blacksmith,” Eearwaxx said to Morgan’s surprise. “I would guess magical smithing. Though the size makes me think it’s more for blunt force than precision.”

“If you’re going to try I would put the ring on first. And if those things move at all you need to run, and I will cover the retreat.”

Eearwaxx slipped the ring on, not feeling anything change though he did feel slightly more protected, whether imagined or real. He took a few more steps into the room. The guards didn’t move so he stepped closer to the anvil. Suddenly all three lifted their heads and turned their gaze to follow Eearwaxx, who froze. He held his newly ringed hand up. “Friends…”

Eearwaxx took another step. The guards heads followed. He walked forward again. The moment he was in reach of the anvil all three guards drew their weapons, longswords of pale blue metal. Morgan held her breath

Eearwaxx took another few steps, into reaching distance of the hammer. The guards moved for the first time, stepping forward to surround the young wizard. Morgan drew her blade but didn’t move. Eearwaxx was meant to have run by now! But she trusted he knew what he was doing.

Eearwaxx was surrounded…but the hammer was just there. He looked around the guards, their impassive gaze boring into him as their weapons glinted off the crackling energy from the anvil. He looked back at the hammer. Maybe if it wasn’t him that picked it up? He tried to summon a servant, but once it was cast he realised the feeling of disconnection to the weave wasn’t imagined: he could cast but there was no power: he had no magic. He swallowed hard.

There as nothing for it. Eearwaxx took a deep breath and reached for the glowing hammer, closing his hand around the shaft.

“At last!” a deep voice pounded inside his head.

All three guards swung instantly.

Outside Ezra drew a knife over his throat and vanished. “Tarquin!” Arlington yelled pointing to the tower. Tarquin was already gone, appearing inside and sprinting upstairs. Octavian shot up into the air to the window and smashed it hard with the blunt of his staff, but it only bounced off harmlessly. He cursed, realising it was magically protected, and raced back down toward the door.

Arlington glanced at Jankx who shrugged and ran through the door. And nothing happened. Arlington grinned and followed. For a moment he felt a wobble of magic, but he convinced himself it was fake news and stepped through safely. Octavian, who had been intending to dispel the rune, saw his companions safely through so changed course and whistled through the door in their wake. “So much for the glyph!” he cried as the three bounded up the stairs.

The first guard swung his sword at Eearwaxx who ducked out of the path of the blade. He swung the hammer wildly as he tried to retreat to the door, missing completely. As Eearwaxx ran a second guard swung but only grabbed air, allowing the young wizard to reach the doorway.

The guards followed close behind, emotionless but intent, and this time the retreating back of Eearwaxx made for an easy target. The first blow rent Eearwaxx’s back, tearing a long cut from shoulder to waist. Morgan cried out and tried to intercept the swing from the following guard. It parried easily, ignoring Morgan and completely focussing its attack on Eearwaxx. A huge swing caught him flush.

Eearwaxx fell to the floor, his body crumpling. The guard reached down and pulled the hammer free of Eearwaxx’s unresponsive hand, then turned and walked slowly back to the anvil. It placed the hammer atop, then all three guards resumed their impassive stances, staring once again at the floor.

Morgan cursed and grabbed Eearwaxx, tossing the dead weight over her shoulder and hustling down the stairs. It had all happened so quickly. Half way down he ran into the upward charge of his companions. “Eearwaxx is down!”

“Gods damnit!!” Arlington cried with anguish.

Octavian instantly raised his hands and filled Eearwaxx with a surge of healing magic. He was terrified the young wizard was gone for good, not knowing if his magic would even work here. He breathed a sigh of relief when Eearwaxx came to a moment later, sucking in a huge breath of life giving air.

Eearwaxx was in shock. He had felt he had reached a level of power that would protect him. But they had taken him down faster than he could react.

Morgan rapidly described what happened as Eearwaxx recovered. “They ignored me completely. As soon as Eearwaxx went down they grabbed the hammer and returned it,” she explained.

“Eearwaxx why did you want the hammer? You must have known what would happen?” Octavian asked.

“I didn’t know they would get me before I got to the doorway,” Eearwaxx sighed. “I was going to teleport away with the hammer.”

“It was a good plan,” Morgan nodded, surprised at Eearwaxx’s strategic acumen. “But why did you have to get to the door? Why not do it at the anvil?”

“There was no magic in that room.”

Octavian paled, but before he could say anything Arlington thumped the wall in a fury. “Eearwaxx, shut up! Why?! What the hell were you thinking?!”

Eearwaxx turned his gaze to Arlington, uncowed. “If you want to get the mythallar you are going to need some weapons like that hammer. That’s what I’m thinking.”

“Where does that information come from? That we need this hammer?” Arlington said incredulously.

Eearwaxx paused before answering. “What do you think we’re doing here?”

“Here’s the problem Eearwaxx,” Arlington snapped. “I think you’re an idiot, and you think I’m an idiot. One of us is wrong.”

“But which one,” Octavian whispered to Jankx.

“They could both be idiots,” Jankx side mouthed.

Tarquin stepped between the wizard and great hunter, holding his hands up for a truce. “Eearwaxx is definitely an idiot…but he may be right.”

“It was a reasonable thing to think,” Morgan said to Eearwaxx, “But you’ve paid a heavy price. We know it’s there now, and what is protecting it. If we need to come back and get it we can be prepared next time. But I don’t think we should go for the hammer until we’ve got a firm reason to need it.” She was still shocked by what had happened to Eearwaxx, and on her watch.

“When you picked up the hammer did you get any read on what it is?” Octavian asked.

“It’s powerful, very powerful. And very intelligent.”

“What do you mean ‘intelligent’?” Octavian said with surprise.

“It’s sentient—it spoke to me.”

If Octavian was worried before he was even more so now. “What did it say to you, exactly?”

“‘At last’.”

Tarquin choked down a laugh. “Great! So we now know how to access the powerful thing that will bend us to its will…but might help us!”

“I don’t know who’s side that thing is on, but I bet it’s not ours,” Jankx said.

“There are powerful things at play, and we are but pawns on a board. We may have to invoke it—but not now. I agree with you Morgan.”

“Given this place is for warding, the hammer might be what we need to break down barriers,” Eearwaxx explained, glaring at Arlington.

Despite his concern about the sentient hammer, Jankx moved upstairs to search the anvil room. The guards were in place and unmoving. He stepped into the room and moved slowly around the edge of the chamber, watching the guards with every step. On the opposite side of the chamber there was another skeleton. He toed it and it crumbled.

A dead forge stood just beyond, and nearby he saw a shattered breastplate. It appeared to have been absolutely flattened, pounded out of shape and cracked. Nearer the anvil he spotted a broken sword that had been shattered mid blade. Both the sword and the breastplate were very finely crafted, and still appeared polished despite their damage. Jankx guessed they may once have been imbued with magic, though he knew first-hand just how hard it was to break a magic weapon or armour. He looked at the glowering anvil and hammer and wondered.

He described what he had found to the company. “Could the skeleton have been a fourth guard, and the armour and sword belonged to it?” Octavian guessed.

“I thought so too, but it was a different style of armour,” Jankx explained. “Maybe they were making it on the forge and it broke, or didn’t work? It’s so far beyond my ken…I don’t know. But they didn’t attack me. As long as we keep our distance we seem to be safe.”

“All I know gentlemen,” Tarquin announced, “Is that if we want to go get that hammer we need to have a rest. Eearwaxx is, quite literally, dead on his feet.” He conjured his igloo and everyone stepped wearily inside. Octavian hustled to collect any of the books from the library that were still readable, then joined his companions.

“How did you all get inside without triggering the rune?” Tarquin asked Jankx as everyone settled.

“There as nothing there—I think it was a trick,” Jankx shrugged.

---

Octavian woke, surprised at how deeply he had slept, and stretched—kicking Jankx in the bicep. He frowned, surprised at his misjudgement, and climbed to his feet. Something was wrong. He reached up and found he could touch the ceiling of the igloo. Had everything shrunk while he slept?

He glanced over at Jankx who was staring at him incredulously. As was the sleepless Morgan, whose jaw was dropped. “You’re…you’re very tall,” the young warrior said.

Octavian realised Morgan was right. He stood at least two feet taller than he had before sleeping. He flexed his arms and realised it wasn’t just his height that had grown: his muscles felt taut and his shoulders strong.

“Frost giant tall,” Jankx nodded blearily. He wasn’t feeling the best, slightly irritable, and sticky-skinned.

Octavian laughed with a mixture of surprise and inevitability, noting his clothes and weapons had all grown with him. Seven foot tall and, he suspected, with more to come.

Everyone roused themselves slowly, glancing occasionally at Octavian for confirmation that what they were seeing was real. Eearwaxx was the last to rise, being the most in need of rest, and when he did he knew something (other than Octavian) was akilter. The arcane blight was stronger now, pressing in on the edges of his magic, wanting to corrupt it. He surveyed his companions, nothing everyone seemed out of sorts, with the exception of Tarquin who was happily strumming a peaceful melody on his lute.

“Can you stop that,” Arlington snapped at Tarquin. He wasn’t in the mood for peace. He had woken feeling out of sorts, and his newly clammy skin wasn’t helping.

Tarquin finished with a flourish, sighed, and pulled out the last of the books he hadn’t finished skimming. One in particular had caught his eye, a volume entitled Abjuration Lore (Volume I). He paged through it quickly, not expecting much, then stopped suddenly. A chapter toward the end of the tome described a powerful spell that could create a protective wall of force to protect artefacts, buildings, and most particularly: mythallars. It detailed how the Archmage of the a Netherese city would raise the field in times of great danger. Being no fools, the Netherese also realised the inherent danger in vesting such power in one person, so they created a means for the eight High Mages of the city, acting in unison, to dispel the barrier: The Rite of the Arcane Octad.

Tarquin beamed and turned to his companions holding his book-trophy aloft: “I was right! We are on the right path!” Arlington looked at the small fire he had set using one of the books and frowned. “Why should we believe you, Tarquin?”

Tarquin blinked. “It’s right here—read it yourself!” He read the passages again. Everyone but Eearwaxx rolled their eyes and continued preparing to leave. Morgan was angrily sharpening a hand-axe and only mumbled disinterestedly when Tarquin finished. “So what’s the Rite, Tarquin?”

Tarquin shrugged. “We have to find the other book. But we’re in the right place, the choices we have made are the right choices.”

“Well we only have a whole city to search for one book,” Octavian said heavy with sarcasm. He was feeling like a teenage version of himself, full of growing pains and annoyance.

“The towers are the answer. The Rite that protects the mythallor—”

“It’s pronounced mythallar,” Morgan grunted.

Tarquin sat back with a gentle smile realising any further attempts to convince were futile.

“I feel a bit sick,” Octavian said quietly.

“You don’t look good,” Morgan confirmed.

“Well I’m growing fast! You don’t get what that is like.”

“And you’re not concerned at doubling your height in less than a day?”

“I am concerned about a lot of things.”

“Like growing giant big? That’s not really going to work out at a practical level, is it,” Morgan said smugly.

“At what point do you stop being a kobold and start being a dragon?” Arlington mused.

“You should see if you can still fly,” Morgan teased.

“I’m in a room! Look—where are we going, Tarquin?”

“I think part of the solutions is upstairs—”

“Upstairs where the guys that nearly killed Eearwaxx are?” Octavian snapped.

“—But I think we might be best served by seeing one of the other towers,” Tarquin finished.

Arlington groaned. “Oh I see—is this how you lead, Octavian?”

“I don’t! Tarquin is in charge—he’s Mr Book!”

“Tarquin is in charge?” Arlington mocked.

Tarquin bowed. “Far be it from me to stand back and aside when danger calls. I am willing to lead us on this next step of our quest.”

Morgan shrugged her backpack on and strapped down her weapons. “I am getting really tired of this conversation.”

“Well you never were a team player,” Arlington mumbled.

Morgan glared. “None of you are in charge! The fact that you still talk about is frankly ludicrous. I’ll see you out the front,” she said and stalked out of the room.

“It’s not ludicrous but another fucking poem is,” Octavian called after her, frowning at Tarquin and following Morgan.

Tarquin sighed. “This reminds me of the second night in a show—everyone has the jitters. We just need to pull together!”

“For the love of the gods,” Morgan cried from downstairs. Octavian was close behind her, so Morgan stopped at the door and held a hand out to invite the ever-growing kobold to go first. Octavian was so annoyed that he didn’t even think of the implications until after he stepped, safely, through the door. He spun to Morgan. “You’re welcome,” he growled.

Eearwaxx and Tarquin wandered outside deep in conversation, finding each other the only two who seemed somewhat sane.

“I think you were on the right track,” Tarquin said with a hand on Eearwaxx’s shoulder, “Now we just need to see if we can find another tower, one that perhaps is not as deadly as this one. One that’s not about protection.”

“We didn’t get the hammer,” Eearwaxx said with regret.

“But we know it’s here! All we have to do is break the Rite. All eight have to work in unison—if one of them breaks, it all breaks.”

Morgan turned to Octavian as the two natterers emerged. “Don’t you ever wish he would just shut up?”

“Every day,” Octavian said wryly. Eearwaxx walked over and seemed a little embarrassed. He stared down at the ground, not meeting Octavian’s eye. “Thankyouforhealingme,” he suddenly blurted out in a whisper. The words pierced Octavian’s shell of simmering grump. He nodded acknowledgement.

Only Arlington and Jankx remained upstairs. Jankx was even more silent than usual, Arlington reflected. He didn’t trust the silence. “You go first, I prefer to have my crossbow pointed at the back of someone’s head.”

“I’m used to that,” Jankx snarled and walked away.

---

“Do we go for another tower or straight for the centre spire?” Octavian asked.

Arlington rolled his eyes. “Am I right that everything we have discussed previously is now for naught? Is that what you’re saying?”

“No! Obviously not! We investigated a tower—”

“We talked about going to a tower and then going to the buttress!”

“Please be quiet! We found a tower, we found a hammer, Eearwaxx died, I raised him, and now we are either going to another tower or going to the middle tower,” Octavian snarled. “This is pretty simple stuff!”

“Excuse me? We have already tried a tower so now, as discussed, we go up the buttress!”

“Arlington! Tarquin just told you has worked out the Octad!!”

“Tarquin?! We’re taking his word now??”

Tarquin shook his head. This was worse than he thought. He regretted not learning the enchanted melody that could bind a company together, but there were other means. He sat atop some fallen rubble and pulled out his flute. He started playing a melody specifically designed to sooth nerves and fears.

Morgan couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “We’re about to leave and Bard-boy pulls out a flute?” Despite her insouciance, everyone did feel somewhat calmed by the absurdity of the situation. Standing in a ancient citadel surrounded by death listening to a flute sing a song of summer. Tarquin felt the tension ease, though he could also sense it hadn’t worked quite as well as he had hoped. He finished with a small flourish. “So. Which school of magic first?”

“The closest one,” Octavian said patiently.

“Well technically there are two closest…” Arlington started angrily before trailing off and raising his hands in grudging apology.

“No, there isn’t, Arlington! Sorry. Because we have explored one, so the next one if the closest.”

“Next to the left or right?”

“We’ve done the one to the left, so now we go to the right. It’s very close.”

“Well there is also one left of the left,” Arlington sulked.

“A wizard would know which one to go to, but no,” Eearwaxx said a little sulkily. He was feeling fine but felt he should join in the general mood.

Octavian looked down at him. “Ok. Of the towers, which one is the most dangerous?”

“They’re all dangerous.”

“Gods Eearwaxx!”

Tarquin waved his flute warningly, then set off toward the tower marked as Conjuration. “At least it’s near the base of the Spire,” he called over his shoulder.

---

The Tower of Conjuration

The company walked huffily toward the tower, passing under the buttress on the way. Arlington kept his mouth shut and studied it from below, assessing that it might be possible to climb though it looked extremely difficult. It also looked hollow which would be far easier to traverse. In the near distance eight tusk-like towers angled over a monumental building, their spires arching over its shattered roof.

Directly ahead the next tower loomed. It was engraved with interlocking v’s of stone that remind those that knew of the sigil for Conjuration. Yellow light spilt from its topmost window.

“Eearwaxx is there a glyph?” Octavian ordered.

Eearwaxx tried his best to find any sign of one. “I can’t see any. There are no sigils or runes, just the pattern.”

“What sort of protections will Conjuration present?” Arlington asked the young wizard.

“Varying—summoning and other things, I suspect.”

“Alright. We’ve probably got this one covered then. Let’s go—Octavian you’re the biggest of us, let’s go.”

Jankx checked the entrance and confirmed there were no physical traps or hidden scripts. “It looks safe. But remember that with magic I’m not so great.”

“Before we go inside,” Morgan frowned at Eearwaxx, “Can you just let me know now if you have no intention of me covering or protecting you? Because if not, from a tactical standpoint, I will do something else. I’m not going to try and stop you killing yourself and dropping like a sack of potatoes every time if you won’t stand back in the line like you are supposed to. Pick which you are going to do and stick to it.” Tarquin’s flute had definitely worn off and she was feeling skittish again.

“Ok,” Eearwaxx said, which annoyed Morgan even further.

“Is that an ‘ok I’m going first’ or an ‘ok you’re going first’?” Morgan snapped. Eearwaxx ignored her, standing at the foot of the steps leading to the tower.

“I must admit at the last tower we didn’t do too bad in avoiding traps. Perhaps we should follow a similar protocol?” Tarquin said.

Jankx ignored Tarquin and shoved the door open—he was tired of Tarquin’s good mood. Inside was a small anteroom with hangers for coats and an array of empty shoe racks. Everyone followed close behind (Eearwaxx mending the door lock on the way in) stopping when Jankx held up a hand. From behind the inner door he heard the faint sound of brooms sweeping over stone. He hushed his colleagues then peeked his head around the door.

A magnificent chamber lay beyond, beautifully decorated with tasteful furnishings and exquisite tilework, with half a dozen brooms industriously sweeping the spotless floor. Jankx pushed the door fully open and the nearest broom stopped. It moved toward him and spoke. “Sir! May I take your coat, may I take your hat?”

Jankx quickly figured out what was going on, recalling Eearwaxx’s unseen servants. “No thank you, I’m fine for now.”

“Very well,” the servant said and moved back to sweeping. Everyone followed Jankx into the chamber, Octavian finding for the first time in his life he had check a doorway was large enough for him to step through. He rather enjoyed the novelty, though was starting to get concerned about what would happen if he grew too much more—which seemed inevitable.

The servants repeated their offer to all (“No god damn it!” Arlington snapped) but only Eearwaxx accepted—he felt right at home. “Won’t you freeze?” Arlington growled.

“Not inside here, it looks beautiful.”

Arlington held a finger up to test the air, finding it just as cold as it had always been. “Why won’t you?”

Eearwaxx waved Arlington away and wandered into the room. Four doors led out of the room, each marked with a glowing animal symbol: a cat, owl, rat, and snake. In the centre of the room was a cage affixed to a fine metal stand, and inside the cage a cat padded softly around. Eearwaxx hustled over to the cage, the cat purring as it rubbed its neck along the cage wires. There seemed to be no way to lift or open the cage. Eearwaxx was about to reach out to pet the cat when it suddenly transformed into a rat, scuttling away from the young wizard’s outstretched hand.

Octavian immediately knew what this meant. “Ah ok. Whatever it turns into, we go to that door,” he explained simply.

Eearwaxx nodded, calling Horseradish forth and waiting until the creature changed to an owl. “Is it real or an illusion? A spirit like you?” Horseradish thought the latter, real but also a familiar, so existing in a netherworld.

“Can a magician be separated from their familiar?” Jankx asked.

“Hm. They can go some distance, but it’s a spirit creature, not a real one, conjured,” Eearwaxx said, thinking aloud as the owl turned into a snake.

Octavian had predicted this would be the next change, standing ready by the door marked with a snake. He pushed it open the moment the caged familiar changed.

He found himself teleported to an open atrium. A small colonnade surrounded an open court under a sunlit sky, which made Octavian reel slightly. A small pool was stocked with carp and other fish that were being conjured into existence and out of it just as quickly. Four more doors led from the atrium: a cat, owl, rat, and snake. Octavian sat on the edge of the pool, starting up at the sunlight which sadly was not emitting heat, and waited.

“Octavian is gone!” Jankx exclaimed, running to the door which was now closed.

“Don’t open it!” Tarquin cried, seeing the familiar had returned to it’s original form of a cat. In his head he started counting, waiting for the next change. After a sixty count the rat was back. Another sixty the owl, and finally the snake.

“Conjuration also includes teleportation,” Eearwaxx murmured.

“You didn’t bother telling us that before, did you now,” Arlington grunted.

“I assumed you knew.”

“Let’s wait for the snake again and then follow—let’s not make the same mistake as yesterday,” Tarquin said.

“So instead we’re all going to make the same mistake as Octavian?” Arlington said.

“Or do we wait for him to come back?” Jankx shrugged.

“He’s been teleported somewhere, I’m sure,” Eearwaxx said. He bowed before Morgan. “Do you want to go first, Morgan?” he asked teasingly.

“Are we going?” Morgan said flatly.

“Who are you asking?” Arlington smirked.

Morgan looked at Jankx.

“Let’s wait for it to come back to snake and make sure nothing bad happens,” Jankx said. Nothing bad happened. “Ok that didn’t work. Let’s go through at the same time, when the snake is back.”

Everyone waited by the door, then pushed through at the right moment. Everyone but Arlington who was tired of this game.

“Finally,” Octavian sighed as everyone stepped through. “Let me guess—Arlington was too scared.”

Tarquin looked around with wonder, but quickly realised he could still feel the tendrils of the blight. " Remember where we are people, you’re in a conjuration—we’re still in the same plane and place."

Eearwaxx was fascinated by what he saw. He followed the blinking fish with his gaze, and sheltered his eyes from the sunlight beaming above. He pulled a piece of chalk from his pocket and hurled it into the sky. It vanished when it reached ceiling height.

Arlington stepped through a few moments later, yawning. “Anyone have any insights?” Tarquin started his count again.

“Snake,” Eearwaxx said, “Let’s go back to the original room.” Tarquin held his hand aloft, fairly confident his count was right due to his musical background, and at four minutes he pushed the snake door open.

He stepped into a solar with a pair of cosy armchairs sitting next to a hearth with a roaring fire—and four doors. He was disappointed, but not surprised, to find no heat coming from the fire. As he stepped closer he noticed a translucent phantom hound curled up by the fire, chest rising and falling softly in slumber. Tarquin kept counting in his head as he pointed to the large dog.

Octavian walked over. “Hey boy,” he said softly with his hand out.

“No wait…” Eearwaxx tried to warn as the dog leapt up and growled. Octavian hastily used his animal handling skills to try and qualm the beast, but he very quickly realised this was no animal. It leapt toward him with a howl.

Afterwards he was never sure why or even how he did what he did, but Octavian found himself planting his feet and bracing the spear into the stone floor. The beast landed flush on the spear, impaling itself on the snow tipped blade. It howled and swiped with its massive claw, catching Octavian flush, but he merely grunted and shoved the spear further into the beast just as a bolt from Arlington’s crossbow buried into its forehead. It died quickly. Octavian whipped the spear free and smiled with the hitherto unexperienced satisfaction of a warrior. He nodded at Arlington.

Arlington was grudgingly impressed. “Lucky,” he said grumpily as he yanked his bolt free.

“Seven, eight, nine…any ideas on which door…thirteen, fourteen,” Tarquin counted, using a four-four beat from one of the classic ballads to keep time. Octavian walked to the snake door as Tarquin started to get carried away, morphing to a five-eights bridge, before hastily pulling the beat back. “Now!”

Octavian pushed through the snake door….

…Into a study lined with bookshelves and an ornate writing desk: but no doors. Tarquin continued to count. “We need to find Volume II,” he muttered. Everyone joined the hunt, other than Eearwaxx who ran straight to the desk and started rummaging through the papers and draws. He found various magical supplies and papers, and the second draw contained a number of scrolls. The first was a roster of acolytes, the second a list of requested conjurations. The third made him cry out in surprise. “I’ve found something!”

Everyone turned to Eearwaxx who read carefully from the unfurled parchment:

Second, summon a flame in the palm of your hand.

As he spoke a door appeared between the two bookshelves.

“Maybe that is the second of the eight things we need to do?” Morgan said. “Assuming the Octad is a ceremony?”

Eearwaxx nodded enthusiastically.

“The problem is we don’t know what number one was,” Arlington squinted. “The only thing we got out of the first tower was a pounding.”

Three of Eight

With the discovery of the line from the Octad, everyone felt the tension they had been feeling back off some. Maybe their companions weren’t so mistrustful after all—though Octavian couldn’t help but scowl as he watched Eearwaxx selfishly pocketing the goods he found in the desk.

Eearwaxx was indeed scooping up a small trove of treasures from the desk: charcoal, incense and herbs, rare chalks and inks, and a silver necklace with a peridot pendant. There was also a pair of tickets to an event no doubt cancelled with the fall of the city: “High Illusionist Ajamar invites you to The Final Performance of the classic drama: A Blasphemy of Kings. Come one, come all!”

“Anyone heard of that drama?” Eearwaxx asked.

“There are plenty of plays called something like that,” Tarquin shrugged. “Unfortunately Abjuration Volume II does not appear to be here, so we only have the one line for now.”

Morgan rolled the Octad phrase around her head. “If the secret to the Octad was simply in the desk here, it might be worth going back and having a proper tossing of the Abjurer’s study.”

“We got all the books we could from there, and that study with the body was smashed to pieces,” Tarquin said. “We won’t find anything there.”

“But we should go back for the hammer,” Eearwaxx said quietly.

“Right. The first clue might be ‘get killed by the hammer guardians’,” Arlington said, “And then summon a flame in your hand. So we might be on the right track.”

“It’s clear that what we need to do is collect all eight, and only then go and get that hammer,” Tarquin said. “We have to go to all those towers and think about the people that inhabited those towers. And it is the libraries that we are looking for—it isn’t the hammers.”

“I think we can all agree that it’s not yet…hammer time,” Arlington tried, to a smirk from Tarquin.

“We should move on,” Octavian said.

“Are you asking or telling?” Arlington frowned.

“I’m telling you, Arlington, that we should move on.”

“I agree.”

Octavian rolled his eyes and pulled the sole door open. He appeared back in the atrium, followed shortly by the rest of the company. “Do we wait for the familiars to phase through again to make sure we haven’t missed anything?”

“I think we’ve done all the doors,” Eearwaxx said.

“Gentlemen is there’s a gap in our knowledge we’ll come back here,” Tarquin said, “But what we do know is that we have to visit the other towers.”

Octavian led everyone outside to the streets of Ythryn. The closest buildings were the large building with the eight tusk-like appendages, and a colossal building with five lofty turrets. Beyond that was the wooded area seen from the top of the ice-ramp.

Eearwaxx pulled out the sketched map he had found in the Caves. “Why don’t we ignore all the things that aren’t mentioned on this map.”

Tarquin glanced at the map and pointed to a tower beyond the grove. “The Divination tower.”

The causeway took the company past the building with the crumbling turrets, and Octavian couldn’t resist poking his head inside the grand doors, one of which hung open on its damaged hinges. He gasped at what he saw: books, thousands upon thousands of books. He trotted over at Eearwaxx who was idling over and bodily turned him away. “Don’t look! Don’t, really don’t —it’s full of books!”

To his surprise Eearwaxx didn’t argue. “I want to look at the grove—it’s a graveyard,” he predicted confidently.

“Given I’ve already been charmed in a grove, I’m a little wary,” Tarquin said as Octavian led the way.

A canopy of healthy golden leaves crowned the trees inside a sunken basin, the trees growing in stark contrast to their bleak surroundings, branches swaying even though the air was deathly still. “This is no graveyard—it’s an Arboretum,” Octavian said with some reverence. Everything in the grove looked alive in a way he hadn’t seen since arriving in the frozen north. It had even started to rain lightly inside the basin.

“This is the only place we’ve seen so far where it’s original purpose is being maintained,” Tarquin said softly.

“Oak trees,” Octavian nodded. “And in the middle—an ancient.” Everyone stared in wonder at the massive old oak that stood at the centre, red leafed canopy standing in contrast to its golden companions. Octavian knew this grove went beyond simple science, it held a sacred or philosophical meaning to the people that had built it. “Normally I would check this out—but I know you are all scared of everything,” he added.

“Let’s go to the tower, Octavian,” Arlington scowled. “If we get distracted by every shiny bauble along the way…”

“I’m with you, Arlington,” Tarquin said. “Quite frankly, all this other stuff will still be here when we’re done.”

“Ok!” Octavian said. “But when you get stuck…that’s just the greatest library in the world over there. And a living oak which has been there for ten thousand years. But sure, let’s head away!”

“Octavian, stop. How many books would you say were in the library?”

“Thousands.”

“Right. So how long have you got?”

“Well. Long enough to see if there is a book about this city,” Octavian said defensively. He spun on his heel and headed for the tower.

---

The Tower of Divination?

The tower looked far more nondescript than both the Abjuration and Conjuration towers. There was nothing to distinguish it from other similar structures, particularly the spires that sat on the circumference of the city. Octavian stood at the entrance tapping his foot impatiently, staring at Tarquin and Arlington.

“This is the tower of High Diviner Apius,” Tarquin announced, referencing the names copied from the museum plaques.

“Doesn’t look it,” Octavian snapped.

“There’s only one way to find out…” Tarquin said as Octavian stepped aside.

“Leading from the rear, Octavian?” Arlington said.

“I’m telling you, Arlington, to check this out.”

“Oh gods.” Arlington stepped up to the door and shoved it open, deciding to ignore safety protocol to show Octavian up. Luckily enough nothing happened. Inside was a very ordinary looking building. Tall, narrow, ruined furniture in small sitting rooms. He climbed the stairway to find more detritus and nothing of interest.

“This isn’t one of these towers,” he muttered as he exited trying not to catch Octavian’s eye.

Surprisingly Octavian didn’t storm off. “Maybe Divination is kind of weird, because Divination is weird?”

“Does this feel like Divination magic to you, Eearwaxx?” Arlington asked.

“Divination is knowledge,” Eearwaxx shrugged, obviously not confident with his own to say for sure.

“Why does it have to be a tower?” Morgan said. “Why can’t the grove be the divination area?”

“It may well be,” Tarquin nodded. “But on the map the symbol is here, there’s a tower, and we’ve been in two towers so far and they seem to be pointing us in the right direction.”

Morgan frowned. “I’m no cartographer, but that map looks more like a rough sketch than a map.” She reached into her satchel and pulled out the map of the Ten Towns purchased what seemed like decades ago. “This is a map.”

“Oh no,” Jankx said. “You’re saying that we might need to search the whole city?”

“What I’m saying is maybe the symbols are accurate but it’s next to the grove not on top of the tower.”

Jankx nodded. “I still think we should make double sure of this tower, because that will tell us something.”

Some thirty minutes later nothing had been found other than wreckage. “I fear Morgan is right,” Jankx sighed.

Morgan looked slightly pleased. “I did see what looked like a market bazaar from the top of the tower, and a much smaller sunken basin toward the edge of the city. I’m just going to go take a look.”

“On your own?” Jankx scoffed.

“It’s only a short walk, and it’s in the same area as the divination symbol. Maybe it’s a pit or a pool”

Octavian put his head in his hands and sunk down with his back to the tower. “When you know what you’re doing, let me know!” he called sarcastically.

The Wellspring of Answers

Morgan and Eearwaxx wandered away, oblivious. They navigated through rubble from a toppled monument until they were close. A deep well plunged through the city floor into darkness, surrounded by a low metal fence. Four crystal benches encircled it, facing the hole and glinting under the purple glow of a nearby street lamp.

---

“Does it look like its been…blown up by magic? Is it scorched?” Morgan asked. She had seen a fireball close enough to wonder.

“I don’t think it’s a spell that caused it,” Eearwaxx mused. “It might have been something striking the city, but it looks more like it was created purposefully.” He moved to step into the sunken basin before Morgan stopped him. “We shouldn’t go down there without everyone being here.”

“Call them over and we’ll get this out of the way.”

“Is there anything here that indicates to you, overtly, that this is in any way related to divination?”

“It could be. The seats could be the key—if we each sit in a seat we could commune.”

“But it doesn’t look like a repository of knowledge to me,” Morgan frowned.

“It doesn’t have to be,” Eearwaxx said patiently. “Remember not everything is a library—a ritual might just be a circle of people. It can be anything. Let’s get the other to take a seat here and contemplate what this place is, what it could be, what it might reveal to us.”

Morgan signalled for everyone to head to the pit. Octavian stood with a sigh and walked reluctantly behind. Tarquin joined him. “I’ve taken my turn of trying to lead this merry troupe. I’m over it for the moment,” he muttered.

Eearwaxx described his thoughts. “I don’t know for sure, but these seats are placed in a way that suggests more.”

Octavian tried his best not to show any interest, but he recalled the history of oracular magic was that people would congregate on a concentrated area of magic to divine visions. Maybe Eearwaxx was right, but he would be damned if he was going to acknowledge it.

Tarquin too was suddenly interested. He had an inkling that Ythryn contained a lot of mythos that had been carried down in the form of narrative. Stories that resonated with the rituals of history. He peered closer at the dark pit and noticed something was written in script on the lip of the well. He grinned and turned to Octavian. “What does that say?”

Octavian crouched and cleared away the frost and read the Netherese script aloud: ““Herein lie the immortal remains of the Telepathic Pentacle. Sit, meditate, and learn.

“Oh great,” Jankx said. “So we’re all going to go mad.” He plonked down on a bench ready for whatever came next.

“Only five of us,” Octavian corrected as he too sat, followed by Tarquin and Eearwaxx. Morgan and Arlington stood carefully above as the four closed their eyes and focussed their thoughts on the black hole.

After a few minutes a presence started to push against the minds of the meditators, something black and amorphous. Octavian swallowed and opened his mind to the pressure, welcoming it. It flashed into his mind in an instant and Octavian felt forbidden knowledge flood through his thoughts: An ancient obelisk stands in the shadow of the Spire of Iriolarthas…which is said to have power…power to manipulate time.

Octavian’s metaphorical eyebrows shot up as directed his thoughts in response. “Are you telling me this for a reason?”

A new thought entered his mind: You, the greatest to have lived, can undo what has been done

“Done to the city, or the Netherese empire?”

There was a pause, then: Everything…

“Is that good, or bad?” Octavian said quickly, but the presence was withdrawing, having given all it was willing.

Eearwaxx felt the probe into his mind and tried to push back immediately: “Name thyself,” he demanded. Only gibbering madness replied, overwhelming his thoughts with aberrant thickness and cloying insanity. He felt his self-awareness teetering on the edge of dissolution as the telepathic force of melded minds bored into his own.

Tarquin struggled as the creature tried to open his mind to the truths within, but he found he couldn’t accept the gift, couldn’t drop his mental fortress to give something so unknown free reign to his hidden stories.

Jankx’s mind was being torn asunder by a monstrosity from beyond the stars, beyond the horizon of madness. He started writhing, eyes open wide but sightless, screaming silently, until he forced his consciousness back and sprung out of the seat with a cry of anguish and dark terror. The bond broke instantly but the panic remained. “There’s something in there!” Jankx cried as he unslung his crossbow.

Arlington waved his crossbow between the pit and Eearwaxx, ignoring Octavian (who looked at perfectly at peace) and Tarquin (who as usual seemed to be striving for something poetic).

Eearwaxx refused to break the bond. He wanted to know, he needed to know. Morgan, watching closely, saw Eearwaxx start to thrash as if held, incoherent aberrant language from the beyond streaming out of his open mouth. Morgan sprinted toward the young wizard as a black tentacle started to slither from the pit. Arlington fired immediately, causing the writhing arm to whip back into the pit, only to be replaced by four more.

Octavian’s eyes snapped open. “Don’t! The thing is not malevolent! It’s just—” Bolts from Jankx and Arlington interrupted that thought as they screamed through the air and sunk into the reaching arms. Something huge was coming up from below, slithering and slathering in anticipation.

Morgan smiled grimly at Octavian’s defence of the giant tentacles. She didn’t hesitate, scooping up Eearwaxx in one smooth motion and continuing out of the sunken arena. Everyone turned and followed, terrified of whatever was about to emerge. Arlington slapped Tarquin out of his trance and hauled him toward the exit.

Octavian stood on the threshold of the basin and tried to re-establish contact, knowing there was something more, something urgent, to be learned from the monstrosity. For a moment the connection held, but then a wall of darkness came down and severed everything. “Get out of here!” he yelled to his companions as he turned and ran. The tentacles continued to writhe and search, but withdrew quickly once everyone was out of mental range.

The last thing Octavian felt before it shut off was pure insanity. Powerful minds fused together into a single terrible monstrosity. He shook his head to clear the lingering horror, but couldn’t help but regret that it was gone. It had been coherent, if only briefly. He glanced around at wild-eyed Jankx and shivering Eearwaxx and sighed. Never send a lesser mind to do great works. “It told me something,” he announced, explaining the obelisk. “It said that I could undo everything with that power. I wanted to know more but then everything went wrong.”

“There was an obelisk on the other side of the city,” Morgan recalled.

“Octavian this is obviously not something we need now,” Tarquin said dismissively. “But I have noted it in my journal.”

“I assume that this thing required four great mages to sit around and probe it,” Arlington said.

“I didn’t like that chair. I have no memory of what happened,” Eearwaxx said shakily.

“Bad chair,” Morgan said meeting the young wizard’s gaze. “Grove?” he added.

“Or library?” Tarquin said.

Jankx nodded. “Or both, probably. It seems we are going to have to explore everywhere, as opposed to just the towers.”

“Grove,” Octavian said.

---

The Arboretum

Arlington sat with his crossbow out on the steps at the fringe of the grove, joined by Tarquin, both deferring to their druid.

---

Octavian stepped down into the lush woodland, revelling in the soft mossy ground underfoot. The leaves of the trees fluttered gently in the non-existent breeze. The rain had stopped and Octavian glanced up to see an illusory hemisphere above the arboretum that projected a false sky; now malfunctioning, the vista flickered between a wild storm and a vast field of stars.

“Aren’t stars to do with divining?” Morgan said quietly.

“I think we’ve found the divining place already,” Octavian said thinking of the aberrant mind. “And missed our opportunity. I think this sky is simply to make this place pleasant. They have somehow controlled nature to make rain and let these trees thrive. We’ll know more when we get to that,” he said pointing to the great oak.

All was quiet as he continued toward the central oak, followed closely by Morgan, Jankx, and Eearwaxx. Morgan scanned beneath the trees for movement, but all appeared peaceful. Octavian also closely for anything awry, but it appeared to be just as it presented: a natural and wild growth in the middle of a wholly unnatural place. He felt a sense of peace, as if he had a connection to the druidic leys though he knew that impossible.

Everyone felt a moment of calm and serenity despite the cold and alien city. Tarquin felt a strong resonance with the dryad grove, the memory of the fruit and Hathowyn drawing a shiver of regret. He stood and stepped into the grove proper, soaking in the moment.

Octavian and Morgan moved into the clearing at the centre of the grove. The enormous elder oak towered over them, its branches encompassing the grove in a leafy embrace. Morgan put her hand on Octavian’s arm and pointed: an ancient face seemed to be slumbering in the gnarls and sworls of the massive trunk.

Octavian nodded. “I’ll just give it a try,” he said softly. He walked toward the face and dropped to one knee and bowed his head: “Respectfully, old father tree, do you have any wisdom to impart.” He spoke once in Common, once in Druidic, and once in stumbling Netherese. He felt the connection of Other for the second time in short succession and sat back to patiently wait. There was no way to hurry this.

For many moments nothing changed. Morgan shuffled her feet, but trusted in Octavian who was maintaining a steady focus on the great tree. And slowly the overhanging branches started to creak gently as if stretching. The trunk crackled like the sound of bones being resettled after a long sleep, and the leaves shook softly as a deep sleeper would their head when waking. Octavian found he was holding his breath as he felt a deep intelligence rising. He turned his head to Morgan. “Tell the others not to do anything, but the tree is waking,” he whispered.

Morgan passed the message along. “Octavian is going to talk to the tree. It has a face, and he said it’s waking up.” Tarquin took two steps back toward the entrance.

A deep, ancient voice, older than time, spoke in a mixture of Elvish and Druidic. “Why…do you awaken me…from my slumber?”

“We seek answers, old father,” Octavian said reverently.

“What answers…are worth disturbing…my rest?” The voice rumbled around the grove like a distant roll of thunder.

Octavian swallowed. “What was your purpose here in this great city?”

“My purpose…was to provide…”

“And what did you provide? Wisdoms? Or fruits?”

The great oak stretched again, branches swaying and dropping a shower of fresh leaves. “Those that so deserved could use my strength to craft what they needed. I ask again: why do you wake me?”

Octavian’s brow was damp with sweat as he continued. “I have woken you because I am a visitor to this city and wish to do good—”

A large branch overhead cracked loudly, interrupting Octavian’s words. He looked up to see smaller branches overhead had twisted around to reach toward him.

The great tree’s voice had an darker edge as it spoke. “You wish…to do good? You wake me…to do good?”

Octavian’s stomach dropped. This tree was a malevolent presence. He glanced at Morgan who looked just as concerned, hand on hilt. “We need to leave,” Morgan hissed.

“You wake me for nothing!”

Octavian jumped to his feet and started backing away, then turned and sprinted. “Run!”

Jankx and Eearwaxx saw the smaller trees around them start to bend their branches inward, their trunks leaning. They turned and ran toward the exit as the ground below their feet started to erupt with tangled roots that grasped wildly. Octavian and Jankx made it to safety as Arlington shot a bolt into a root that was reaching for Eearwaxx. Eearwaxx had tumbled as grabbing root started to overwhelm him, but he took inspiration from Arlington’s help and forced his way free. Morgan had a root wrap around his ankle that pulled her to the ground. She kicked wildly at it and it unravelled, allowing her to scramble to safety.

Everyone retreated to the safety of the outer edge of the grove as the trees swayed as if in the throes of a great storm. “So that tree was evil,” Octavian panted, “But it did say something interesting before it turned on us. It thought we had come to wish or ask for something it—or we—could craft from it. But when I said we were here to do ‘good’, it got really angry.”

“It wasn’t a fruit tree, so it wouldn’t be giving that. Perhaps the wood?” Jankx guessed.

“Well that’s not the first evil tree we’ve met, is it?” Morgan said, thinking back to the Gulthias tree in Meepo’s home. “In fact one hundred percent of sentient trees we’ve encountered have been evil.”

“In the stories trees were one thing or the other,” Tarquin grinned. “Great old father trees, as Octavian assumed, or rampaging evil grandfathers.”

“Oaks actually are known as one of the wisest trees,” Octavian said defensively.

“There is always two sides to that coin, isn’t there.”

“So we keep finding.”

Morgan frowned. “Maybe the asshole wizards that lived here used the asshole tree to make asshole wizard staves or asshole wands.”

Tarquin smirked at Morgan’s choice of words. “You fashion things from nature, and nature is neither good nor bad.”

“Except that nature, which is bad,” Morgan said nodding to the grove.

“It can be led in either direction,” Octavian said.

“Can I ask a question,” Arlington yawned. “What are we to make of the populace of this city given the nature of that grove?”

“That they’re all evil?” Jankx shrugged. It seemed self evident to him.

“It seems likely—do you think we’re going to come across a great benevolent force in that tower up there,” Morgan said pointing to the enormous central spire. “Because there’s certainly no indication here that anything like that is going to happen. We’ve all read stories, and the simple fact is that powerful people, particularly mages, in all of our histories, have a reputation for starting out good but they certainly almost never end up that way.”

Everyone involuntarily turned to look at Eearwaxx who shrugged innocently.

“The only good wizard I’ve heard of, present company included,” Morgan continued with a small eye roll, “Is Elminster.”

“I read a golden book about him,” Arlington recalled fondly.

“There are good wizards!” Eearwaxx protested, “What are you people talking about? How many wizards do you know?!”

“Master Zandeyr was good-ish,” Morgan conceded.

“I remind you that we’ve just been in two towers that have defences so that they can’t all work independently,” Tarquin said, “And they have to work together if they’re going to get anything done. This is a city filled with people with power and they all have self interest. Let’s head to the library and put this darkness behind us!”

Ever the optimist, Tarquin led the way back to the grand old building.

---

The Library

Tarquin stepped inside the library and his jaw dropped.

---

Shelves lined every wall and every square inch of the labyrinthine building, each crammed with books in pristine condition. The floor too was covered with books that had fallen from the shelving. Octavian was right, this was incredible. Also incredible was a six-foot tall penguin with long pink eyebrows that shuffled alongside one stack, attached to a leather harness that dragged a small cart laden with books.

---

The penguin looked up and its eyes widened in surprise. It shook its head slowly.

“Hello!” Eearwaxx called, delighted. The penguin started to wave its wings in warning but it was too late. A moment later a jackal-headed fox like creature waistcoat and glasses stepped from the shadow of a stack.

“Ah, some help at last!” the jackal glared. “Come, come, Scrivenscry has need of you. Move aside, Kingsport, now we have real brains here now!” The penguin shifted uneasily as its master spoke.

---

“Right!” Eearwaxx said. “What’s your name? My name is Eearwaxx.”

“I am Scrivenscry. Scrivenscry is on the verge of great discoveries and I need your assistance.” The jackal beckoned everyone closer. “Now if you can look in this row, top shelf. And you—the middle rows just behind. Someone get over to that wall and use the step ladder, quickly now.”

Arlington recognised the arrogant creature as an Arcanaloth, highly intelligent hunters of knowledge and quite the threat once they got going. He knew they lived long, and wondered why there had been no sign of its tracks in the city outside. He held his crossbow aloft and glanced at everyone: Show time? To his disappointment only Octavian responded.

“I could charm it,” Octavian whispered. He had read of Arcanaloths, fiends not to be trusted and sly as…a fox.

“I don’t like your chances,” Arlington sighed. “I think this is going to be another pantomime,” he sighed.

Eearwaxx idly ran his hand along a few spines. “We’re looking for a book too—maybe you’ve seen it?”

“I have seen many books, obviously, and to be quite frank I do not have time for digressions like this,” Scrivenscry huffed.

“Well this is an important book too,” Eearwaxx said. “We’ll look for your book too, and if you may have seen ours? This is who I am, my friend,” Eearwaxx passed one of his mending flyers.

Scrivenscry grabbed the proffered sheet, scowled and tossed it aside. “You misunderstand. Scrivenscry is on the verge of knowledge that will change the course of history and you hand me frippery!”

Eearwaxx took a deep breath. “We too are on the verge of discovery—that’s why we’re here. Tell me: what is the name of your book? My friends don’t read so well.”

“Of course! Scrivenscry assumes people are as quick as Scrivenscry which is very rarely the case. I am seeking The Books of Keeping,” Scrivenscry said with a reverential tone. “I am convinced one will be found, and it will be found here.”

“What is it about?” Octavian muttered, intrigued but not wanting to show it.

“You have not heard of it? Scrivenscry does wonder why Scrivenscry bothers.”

Tarquin had once had a bit part in a theatrical performance which plot revolved around a book of the same name. In the play the book said to contain the name of every ‘yugoloth’ ever created, a creature which Tarquin had always ascribed to a flight of fancy on the part of the author of the play. “As it happens I have,” Tarquin grinned. “Tell me, what exactly is a ‘yugoloth’?”

Scrivenscry scowled. “Scrivenscry is a yugoloth you fool. Now search if you wish to have what you seek!”

“How long have you been looking?” Tarquin the fool pressed.

“Scrivenscry has searched for these last months. Kingsport has some valuable tomes, but they have nothing on what the Book will reveal. Scrivenscry dares to dream there may even be more than one! Just look around you—look! This library is a treasure of all times, of all planes, unique in the netherverse. It is only through chance that Scrivenscry found it, but now that Scrivenscry has it will reveal all its secrets! Now search!”

Everyone started to idly look, far more intent on finding Volume II than Scrivenscry’s mythical tome. Arlington climbed wearily to a higher vantage point on the side walls, whispering to Morgan as he passed: “This guy might not be good.” Morgan nodded and drew Iceblink, ostensibly to help his search, but keeping close to the jackal who looked more than slightly annoyed at the extra light.

Finding the books covered every conceivable subject, from history to lore to fiction to law, Jankx started searching in more earnest. He had instantly ignored what Scrivenscry was after, instead turning his attention to what might be helpful. He quickly realised that trying to find something here would be harder that finding the veritable needle in a haystack. One that did catch his eye described the physical endeavours of the citizens of Ythryn. It included an alamanac that listed the past winners of the city’s Chain Lightning Tournament—and a summary of the games rules. Which were frankly insane: running around the stadium, dodging lightning while trying to get a metal ball across an arbitrary line.

Tarquin had moved toward the back of the room, overwhelmed by the sheer volume of volumes. He found himself in a section that appeared to contain journals and autobiographies. In amongst the weighty tomes he spied a slimmer booklet with a plain cover. He pulled it out and was surprised to see it was handwritten—and not catalogued. As he scanned it he quickly realised this must have been an unofficial addition to the library. He slowed his reading and quickly understood the value what he had found: a journal written after the fall of Ythryn by one of the few who must have survived the crash. He turned instinctively to the last entry and gasped at what he read.

“Iriolarthas is convinced that aid will come in time from Netheril. I am not so sure. He has locked himself and the mythallar away using the Rite. Our only hope is that those that discover our tomb can undo his protections and raise Ythryn once more. Thus, though it is forbidden, I inscribe here knowledge that should never be recorded so plainly: The Rite of Transmutation: “Eighth, stand firm in thy circle of death and consume poison.” May you use this knowledge to save yourselves where we could not.”

The entry was signed: High Transmuter Metaltra. Tarquin tried to hide his excitement, slipping the thing volume into his breast pocket and high-tailing it back toward his companions.

Octavian was hovering near the penguin and cart, waiting for Scrivenscry to be absorbed elsewhere. As soon as he was he hustled over to Kingsport. “Do you know where the Book of Keeping is?” Octavian whispered in Netherese, then repeated in Common when he got no response. The penguin shook its head shortly. “Are you ok?” It shook its head more vehemently. “Would you like me to remove that harness?” Kingsport shuddered then shook its head. “Would you get in trouble?” Nod. “Is that guy good, does he treat you badly?” The penguin let out a long sigh and dropped its head sadly. “Do you want me to kill it?” Kingsport took a fearful waddle backwards and shook its head again. Octavian nodded, then: “Show me the best book you have in the library.” Kingsport looked toward Scrivenscry who was about to be engaged by Eearwaxx, waddled back to the cart and flapped a flipper toward the bottom row of books. Octavian nodded his thanks.

Eearwaxx had meanwhile approached Scrivenscry again. “We are seeking books describing the Rite of the Arcane Octad. You haven’t by chance found something about that?”

Scrivenscry lowered his glasses and crouched to meet Eearwaxx’s innocent gaze. “A spell? That is all you seek? Why are you here if not for knowledge? What could be more valuable than words on a page?”

“I agree,” Eearwaxx said solemnly, revealing the two great spell tomes he carried on his waist.

For the first time Scrivenscry seemed impressed. Slightly. “I see.”

“I am well learned, and a wizard.”

Scrivenscry sighed. “And what is it you seek?”

“Information about The Rite of the Arcane Octad.”

“Volume II!” Tarquin called.

Scrivenscry scanned the library, noting everyone searching somewhat diligently—other than the irritating kobold who was talking to Kingsport. He sighed and turned to the penguin. “Kingsport! Come here.”

“He’s helping me find the Book of Keeping!” Octavian said forcefully, his hand inches away from the book Kingsport had indicated.

“Are you stupid?” Scrivenscry mocked, “Do you think I am stupid?”

“What did you say?” Octavian growled.

“Do you think if Kingsport had the Book that Scrivenscry wouldn’t know?”

Octavian walked up to the arrogant yugoloth and poked a finger toward its chest. “You said to me ‘help me’ so I walked up to your assistant and asked him a question about it, and now you’re angry? And then you call me stupid?”

Scrivenscry laughed. “You think Kingsport, a moronic penguin only conscious thanks to Scrivenscry’s grace, could have Scrivenscry’s book on the cart that Scrivenscry has put the books on? You are stupid! You may be tall but you are stupid!”

Octavian wavered between fury at the slight and unavoidable pride at his height. He decided to give the creature another chance. “What I asked is where I might start looking to help you! And then you have called me stupid and that is not the way to get help!”

Scrivenscry pointed to the far corner of the room. “Look there.” He turned to Kingsport. “And you—stay exactly where you are until he finds a book!” Scrivenscry reached into the pile and picked up the tome Octavian so nearly recovered. “Now. Let me repeat myself: Help Scrivenscry and Scrivenscry will help you. Scrivenscry thinks you will be very interested in this book,” he said holding it aloft before slotting in back on the cart. “But first you search.”

Eearwaxx nodded and started searching. After some time he uncovered something fascinating: a beautifully illustrated, gilt-edged atlas of the skies which included a map of the stars depicting a sky radically different to what lay above Faerûn now. He slid the book into his pack and continued looking.

Arlington found it very difficult to hold his fire from his overwatch position. He glanced at Morgan who was melee-clocking Scrivenscry. Morgan met his gaze, side-nodded to the fox and gripped her sword. Arlington sighed and shook his head slightly, watching Octavian get up to further mischief.

Octavian had somehow managed to drag Kingsport away out of sight of Scrivenscry. Kingsport was quivering with fear as Octavian calmed it slowly but surely, then crouched. “Which book was it,” he whispered. “First? Second? Third?” He continued until Kingsport ducked slightly, and Octavian grabbed for the book under his finger. He pulled it free of the stack and checked the worn spine: Volume II. Octavian couldn’t help but let out a snort, which unfortunately drew the attention of Scrivenscry who arrived just as Octavian stuffed the book in his pack.

“You continue to think you can outsmart me, kobold,” Scrivenscry said disparagingly. “It is quite obvious that you have taken a book. Return it.”

Octavian held his hand up in surrender. “I will now look for your book.”

“You will—but first you will put that book back,” Scrivenscry said staring at Octavian’s open pack.

“You are getting very, very, very (this last said in Netherese), tiresome,” Octavian scowled. Arlington watched closely, lifting his crossbow, causing Morgan to also slip a little closer to the scene. “Is ‘tiresome’ a code-word?” Arlington muttered to himself.

Octavian pulled the book out and placed it carefully on the ground, then kicked it away ‘accidentally’. Scrivenscry gave him a look that even made Octavian feel slightly sheepish, then walked over, picked up the book and slipped it inside his jacket. He turned to Morgan. “Turn that thing down,” he grumbled glaring at the sword. Morgan didn’t move.

Scrivenscry sighed. “Frankly Scrivenscry tires of the lot of you. Why Scrivenscry expected minds quicker than Kingsport Scrivenscry will never know. You are noisy, slow, bothersome, and a distraction from important work.”

Octavian had heard enough. He glared up at Arlington to try and catch his eye, but the great hunter seemed to be nodding off out of sheer boredom.

The jackal meanwhile sighed deeply before continuing his monologue. “Scrivenscry in inclined to reward you just to get you to leave. One more hour of searching and you may have your precious book, but you must also depart. Just give Scrivenscry some peace.”

Octavian narrowed his eyes. He didn’t trust the creature, but an hour in this great library would not be time wasted. The killing could wait. He nodded at Morgan, who sheathed Iceblink, and everyone went to work to find what they could in the time remaining. Octavian didn’t take long to find things of interest, though seemingly nothing of great import: descriptions of magics such as an abracadabrus which was a magic box that can create food and drink, among other things, and notes on how many of the city’s residents owned strange chimeric pets, with winged hares and venomous baboons being particularly popular. Unnatural creations of an over-confident society, Octavian mused.

Morgan, not much of a reader, found a city guide written for children that explained some of the things a visitor might find. Of particular note he stumbled on an explanation for the blue-skinned guardians that had almost finished Eearwaxx: The wizards used humanlike constructs called magen as guards, workers, and valets. These constructs were created using a very powerful spell. There was even a nice picture accompanying the text.

Arlington in his overwhelming boredom he had started to pull tomes from the shelves, discarding them on the floor as he rejected each one. Everything was as dull as batshit. He eventually found a tourist guide to Ythryn which was also dull, but one item caught his eye. Apparently by law, every mage was taught the prestidigitation cantrip and was obliged to use it to keep the city clean. On second thought that wasn’t at all interesting. He tossed the book the floor.

Nearby, Tarquin, bursting to tell someone of his discovery but knowing better, had found a tranche of books that covered the artistic endeavours of the Netherese, boasting of the members of Ythryn’s orchestra who were known across the world of Toril as masters of their art.

Eearwaxx took advantage of the extra time to cast a locate spell, hoping it would tell him if Scrivenscry’s book was anywhere to be found. He did his best to visualise the tome based on what he knew and what he had seen so far, but the result of his spell was negative. He couldn’t be sure if that was because the book wasn’t here, or because his description wasn’t precise enough. He shrugged and continued idly looking and absorbing what he could. His attention was drawn to a passage describing how the city’s elite wore robes of silk that displayed shifting, illusory patterns. He recalled the writer of the to-do list from the Caves had planned a visit to a Hall of Silk and wondered if that was where these robes were sourced. Flipping through medical tomes in the hope of finding a cure for Winter Fever, he instead discovered something that confirmed his earlier suspicions: allegedly Ythryn’s mages could extend their lives indefinitely by preserving their brains inside jars!

Jankx had been searching longest and hardest, and was finally rewarded. A book on the practices of the mages of the city detailed how every wizard in the enclave was obliged to carve their own wand from the Nether Oak at the heart of the Arboretum. Octavian’s question about the great tree’s purpose was solved.

After an our or so, Scrivenscry summoned everyone, pacing impatiently up and down the central aisle. “Has anyone found anything useful? Anyone?”

“I have this!” Tarquin said, presenting the jackal with The Book of Orchestral Grandeur. “Personally I think this is very illuminating!”

“The find of the century,” Jankx nodded whilst keeping a straight face.

In one continuous motion Scrivenscry took the proffered book and flung it away. “So you have found nothing.”

Octavian rapped the floor with his staff. “We have looked for the Book of Keeping, as promised. That we have not found it does not negate the fact that you made a deal with us.”

“Scrivenscry did and believe you me Scrivenscry is more than happy to fulfil it. Scrivenscry is tired of that man’s incessant pacing along the raised platform, pretending not to train a crossbow on Scrivenscry, and Scrivenscry is tired of this young woman hovering nearby like she isn’t champing to strike Scrivenscry with that ridiculous glowing sword. Scrivenscry is utterly tired of these shenanigans and it is clear that the rest of you have spent your time on your own pursuits with only a token effort for Scrivenscry’s. Being rid of you will be one of the great pleasures of these last decades.”

“Just give us our book and we will go,” Octavian said.

“This book?” Scrivenscry said flourishing the very one. “Scrivenscry won’t give it to you. You have been useless. But what Scrivenscry will tell you is what it says.”

Silence met this declaration.

“Yes? No?”

“You can keep the book,” Tarquin said warily, “But show us what is written.” He was worried about just how powerful this creature might be given it’s lack of concern about the forces potentially marshalled against it.

“Very good. Amongst other things, the book describes an Arcand Octad which the wizards in the city would use to protect the central spire, but also to unprotect that same spire. There are eight steps to it, they must be performed in order, and once that is completed the wall of force is risen, or dispelled. Simple.” Scrivenscry tore a page from the book and fluttered it over to Octavian. “Take this, it is all you need.”

“Very good,” Tarquin nodded. “Of course it’s not exactly what we were looking for—but we’ll take it, thank you!” He tried to mislead Scrivenscry with his words, hoping the jackal wouldn’t latch onto the fact that that was precisely what the company had been looking for. It seemed to work when Scrivenscry responded with a curt nod.

“Now leave, and as I said, do not come back—I will have no time for you,” Scrivenscry scowled, turning his back. “Come Kingsport! It turns out your mind is better than these after all!”

Octavian crouched down next to Kingsport. “Will you be ok?” The penguin lowered its head and shrugged. “Can I do anything?” Kingsport raised a flipper and pointed toward the doors to the city. “You want to leave?” It nodded. Octavian sighed. “You do know there’s nothing out there? It’s all destroyed, the city is dead. Could you go home?” Kingsport slumped lower and lower as Octavian spoke, shaking its head sadly at the last.

Octavian turned to Scrivenscry. “What would you trade me for this creature?”

Scrivenscry spun, eyes aflame with anger. “You are still here? Leave! I don’t know why I have tolerated you this long!”

Octavian felt his anger rising, but when he glanced around he could see his companions had all made their way back outside. He sighed deeply knowing there were bigger fish to fry. He turned back to Kingsport. “Goodbye, and I’m sorry.”

Kingsport hung its head and slowly waddled around to follow Scrivenscry. Octavian was crushed.

---

Tarquin was hopping on both feet outside. “That might have seemed a waste of time but it wasn’t! Cross of the Transmutation tower boys! And girl!” He pulled out the journal to show off his find. “The information about the Octad confirmed what we already suspected, and I have further confirmation from this journal—the Transmutation incantation: Eighth, stand firm in thy circle of death and consume poison.”

“Good work Tarquin!” Octavian exclaimed.

Morgan showed Eearwaxx the book describing the Magen. “You might be able to do something with this.” Eearwaxx nodded gratefully. “And what’s on the page that creature gave us?” Morgan added.

Octavian unruffled the folded page. It was a overly florid description of the wonder of the Rite and the power it had to protect, but there was a notable lack of detail. “Nothing new,” Octavian said with disappointment. But as Octavian held the page up to the light he noticed something scrawled in the margins. Faded text in a spidery hand next to a paragraph regarding Evocation. “Wait! There’s something here: Fifth, quench the flame in thy palm with ice.”

“Yes! That’s three lines we have—two, five, and eight!” Tarquin cried. “Conjuration, Evocation, and now Transmutation—this is all going far too well!”

“The only problem with this it means that our methodology is less sure. The clues could be anywhere, not just the towers,” Octavian cautioned.

“Anywhere, but they are in books.”

“The clues are in books,” Jankx corrected, “But there’s also the ritual itself to be solved or done. ‘Consuming poison’ and ‘quenching flame’, but what poison, and which flame?”

Tarquin nodded. “You’re right, Jankx. But at the end of the day, the first step is to find the eight steps. Then we solve the rite itself. And it appears from what we have found that they have to be done in order. We now know that there is a flame that is summoned, and a flame that is quenched with ice. So second and fifth have a relationship.”

“That creature in the hole, which may be Divination, did tell me about the obelisk—maybe there is a clue to be found there?” Octavian ventured. “But which tower next?”

“If we can avoid the Necromantic tower for as long as possible that works for me,” Morgan shrugged.

“But it just there,” Tarquin said poking the map. “If we keep going clockwise we have Necromancy.”

“We might lose Eearwaxx but it will be worth it,” Jankx laughed.

---

Four of Eight

The Hall of Silk

Before reaching the ostensible location of the Necromantic tower, a large open plaza presented itself. The tower should have been just beyond toward the centre of the city, but it appeared that it may have collapsed—huge slabs of fallen stone lay scattered across the plaza and the ruined base of the tower was barely visible.

The plaza was obviously once a bazaar. The central space was surrounded by low, flat-roofed buildings with tattered and faded banners hanging limply from the storefronts. As everyone made their way carefully through the rubble a loud, clattering crash echoed from a larger building to the east.

“Do we need to investigate that?” Morgan sighed. She was all for moving on.

“We have to check everything, right?” Jankx shrugged. “There’s no guarantee what we seek is in towers or not in towers.”

“Anything which has animus, we have to go there,” Octavian agreed.

“Clanking, Octavian,” Arlington nodded.

Octavian went to move to the doors but Morgan held up a hand. “I think we should let Jankx do what Jankx does.”

Jankx crept silently up to the shattered doors of the building, thankful for his Sunblight boots that made his steps inaudible. He poked his head around the door and stifled a laugh. Inside the huge hall was a warren of mangled shop fronts crushed by chunks of ice and stone, and everything was been systematically destroyed by a headless iron golem that was rampaging around inside the building.

“Eearwaxx,” Jankx turned with a grin, “Your friend is in here.”

Everyone peeked inside. “I think you’re bringing the head to the body, not the other way around,” Morgan said.

Eearwaxx turned to his guardian. “Friend, can you go back to the caves and bring back the head?” The massive sentry nodded. “How long will it take you?” Eearwaxx said, counting up on his fingers. When he reached eight the guardian nodded.

“Why don’t you wait until we next rest,” Morgan said, “In case we need its help in the meantime.” Eearwaxx nodded, it was a good plan.

“And just to explore,” Jankx said warily, “What do people think would happen if this headless golem could now see? Wouldn’t that be bad? I’m the first to say I have no fucking idea what’s happening and I feel totally lost, but I would say that could be a bad thing.”

“Good point, Jankx,” Arlington nodded. “And well made.”

“If you got the head you’d maybe be able to control the construct,” Octavian shrugged.

“That would be the dice you were rolling,” Jankx nodded.

“I’m prepared to take that risk,” Tarquin grinned. The idea of Eearwaxx with two constructs was just too tempting.

After some discussion, the idea was parked pending further exploration of the next tower.

At the near side of the plaza a smaller building stood out. Brilliant silken drapes hung over the entrance, their surfaces swirling with illusory images of dragon’s fire and twinkling star fields. Six of the blue-skinned magen stood impassively outside the double doors.

“How does this work again?” Tarquin said to Eearwaxx, pointing at the guards.

“It depends what they’ve been charged to do.”

“Last time as long as we didn’t try to take something they were safe,” Jankx said.

“Is this really something we need to investigate?” Arlington asked.

“So if we go inside and find something, we can’t take it away because that would be theft,” Tarquin said, ignoring Arlington’s protest.

Morgan stepped forward. “Wait here.” He kept his weapon sheathed, and walked carefully between the guards as if he was walking into the store as if a customer. They didn’t react. Morgan pushed the drapes aside and swung the doors open.

An emporium lay inside, with more of the magic silk hanging in long drapes throughout the interior. Three great looms lay in the centre of the room, and crystal mannequins draped in web-covered finery were set in alcoves around the edge. In the centre an empty pedestal was encircled by workbenches and bundles of materials.

Morgan heard a scuttling from the ceiling. She glanced up to see four huge phasing spiders weaving silken thread from their swollen abdomens.

“Spiders. Large spiders, phasing in and out of this reality,” Morgan reported. “Other than that it’s a silk workshop.”

“Is it currently being worked?” Arlington asked.

“No. But the spiders are still weaving webs on the ceiling.”

Octavian ducked inside to see the spiders, then hurried back. “Those are phase spiders, and those cloaks…I have heard of artefacts—that I would never have known came from actual spiders—artefacts that when you wear them you become hard to strike because you phase in and out of reality. But I can only assume everything in the world will attack us if we even touch one.”

“Putting one on might help against these magen, but I’m not sure it will help against the spiders,” Tarquin said.

“True. But just generally it helps: you’re not there.”

“If it would be feasible we could take on the role of consumers and peruse the goods,” Tarquin said before grinning. “But unfortunately we have Eearwaxx with us, so I don’t think that would be prudent.”

“It sounds to me like we could just put these cloaks on and just leg it,” Arlington said, “As my brother used to say.”

“How is your brother?”

“What happened to your brother?”

“He’s very well thank you—how’s yours?”

Tarquin merely smiled.

“None of this helps us at all,” Morgan said, “We’re just wasting time.” Octavian nodded his agreement.

“If you would permit me,” Tarquin started, “I would like to—”

“Talk? Continuously?” Arlington interrupted.

“—I would like to peruse the goods, but like I said, I fear for Eearwaxx.”

“I’m completely with Morgan and Octavian,” Arlington said. “I asked you all whether this was germane to our current research and you all seemed to want to run inside before answering.”

“You think there’s no clue here?” Jankx said. “How and why are we ruling this out as a place that might have a further clue? I’m open to the idea that it doesn’t, but why do people think that?”

“Because all the other places were places of books,” Octavian explained.

“Let’s just do a quick turn around inside, not touch anything, and not take anything,” Tarquin said. “Unless we all agree there is a compelling reason to do so.”

“Are you listening, Eearwaxx?” Arlington said, drawing a nod.

Jankx shrugged. “A quick look then.”

“If we all go in doesn’t that up the odds of a spider disaster?” Octavian said.

“Fireball!” Eearwaxx said simply, causing Octavian to pale.

“Silk and web burns very fast. A fireball would make sure of that workshop,” Morgan warned.

“It might make short work of us too,” Jankx grimaced.

“I’ll watch the magen,” Morgan shrugged. He leant against the wall watching and lit up her black ebony pipe, making tiny smoke skulls that danced over the bazaar.

---

Octavian found he had to stoop to step through the door. This could become a problem, he thought to himself. Then again being near nine-foot tall was…interesting. He moved around the circumference of the room, noting the crushed display cabinets, many of which looked to have been looted.

“Whatever you do don’t pick up the stuff on the mannequins,” Tarquin said, standing in front of a statuesque elven figure with sporting a dust-covered cape. “The cases have been stripped but the dummies all still wear their cloaks.”

“Eyes on the prize,” Jankx reminded everyone. “This is about finding clues, not loot.”

Other than the dusty clothing, the only thing in the room of interest was the three-stepped central pedestal. Eearwaxx immediately started studying the pedestal. The marble was etched with runes that he quickly realised were faux-magic: nicely sculpted but utterly meaningless, designed only to impress the clientele. And yet when he checked for actual magic, the pedestal was a source. He scratched his head.

“I’ve worked it out!” Octavian suddenly declared, stepping over to Eearwaxx. “The pedestal is where the spiders lay their eggs. Then they get imbued with magic. Simple really. Nothing to see here, let’s go.”

“Octavian I hear what you are saying,” Arlington called, “But Tarquin is in charge.”

“I’m very tempted to touch the pedestal,” Tarquin admitted. Arlington nodded slowly, catching a whiff of Morgan’s pipe. What a good idea! He lit his own pipe and settled back to enjoy the impending pedestal disaster.

Jankx joined the pedestal gang and instantly knew what he was seeing. “I don’t understand most of what we’ve seen down here, but this just looks like the thing you stand on while a tailor measures and dresses you. Nothing more.”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” Octavian cried pointing to the rafters. “The spiders!”

“And there is magic on it,” Eearwaxx frowned.

“Yes it will take years off your life, just ask the tailor,” Jankx scoffed.

“Do you want me to get on it?”

“I think we need to move on,” Tarquin said, hand on the young wizard’s shoulder.

“If we did step on it do you think the spiders might weave a magical cloak for whoever is standing on it?” Eearwaxx said with sudden insight.

“Exactly,” Jankx said.

“So why don’t I get up there and try it?”

“I agree!” Octavian called.

Eearwaxx didn’t hesitate. As he stepped onto the stop step an a magnificently dressed human flickered to life. “Welcome to the Hall of Silk! I am Silksmith Mixyll, at your service!” Mixyll bowed deeply.

“Thank you! This is a wonderous place,” Eearwaxx said enthusiastically. “Good smith, what do you have to offer?”

“I will not waste your time: I have no doubt you know why you are here for only those of immaculate taste visit our emporium,” Mixyll simpered as Jankx rolled his eyes. “We shall craft you the finest robe in all civilisation, using secrets passed down from generation to generation.”

As the tailor spoke, the four spiders were making their way to the centre of the ceiling until they hung directly above the pedestal.

Sucking deeply on his pipe, Arlington called from the periphery. “And what will this cost?”

“Eearwaxx’s life,” Octavian muttered looking up and the flickering spiders.

Mixyll raised his hands in protest. “Before we talk such crudities as price, let me first describe what you are buying—”

Arlington interrupted. “Wait. I have a different idea: why don’t we talk such crudities as price?”

“Sir! If you wish to jump straight to the chase, we can of course,” Mixyll said with barely contained annoyance.

“I do. As the customer.”

“Well. Shall we say, as a starting position, the price for these robes which are of such amazing quality you will not believe you very eyes—indeed I urge you to imagine any image your heart desires and we shall make it so! Dragons! Starfields! The only limit is your own imagination. But I digress,” Mixyll said hastily as Arlington slowly lifted his crossbow.

“I am beginning to tire,” Arlington frowned. “The price.”

“Good sir, please tell us the price,” Eearwaxx said apologetically, “Help my friend understand.”

Mixyll put a hand to his chin as the spiders slowly started to descend on threads toward Eearwaxx. “I can see—and sense—you are men of means and import, and as such I will make you an offer that is reserved only for those of your stature. I am not mistaken in my assumption, am I?”

“No sir, but please, please, get to the price. Please!”

“Very well. You should know that there are two prices. One for those that walk the streets of Ythryn in a robe that, whilst spectacular in their own right, are mere shadows of what men like you would wear. “And then,” Mixyll smiled winningly as he glanced around, “There is the special cloaks. Fortuitously you have found yourself at the only atelier in Ythryn who can enchant our fashion with magic.” Mixyll met everyone’s eye with a promise. “Now these magics may be mere baubles to great men such as yourselves—but imagine the admiration, the looks of envy and wonder, as you walk the grand halls and great library!”

“I’m imagining the looks you will draw without a head,” Arlington huffed.

Mixyll drew himself up. “You are right, sir. We must come to an agreement post haste. These special robes do not come cheap. But as men of means I am sure the price is of no consequence. So, crude though it is to discuss cold hard currency without design and measurement, and to expedite proceedings: shall we say a value of…ten thousand gold pieces in gems?”

“No. No we shan’t,” Arlington said immediately as Morgan burst out laughing.

“Do we have that?” Eearwaxx said as he started digging into his pockets for loose gems.

“The answer is no!” Arlington cried.

Tarquin walked over to the pedestal and put his hand out to help Eearwaxx down.

Mixyll lent in to whisper to Eearwaxx, but still loudly enough for everyone to hear. “Sir your companions are leaving—they clearly do not understand. But I see that you sir—you, sir, do. You see the true worth of what I am offering, and you should pay. An item unique in the multiverse!”

“I would, and I do, but I lack the funds today,” Eearwaxx said sadly.

“Well, you know where to find us when those funds materialise!”

“I will! I appreciate your service and I will be back when I have ten thousand gold!”

“In gems,” Myxyll emphasised.

Eearwaxx nodded and stepped off the pedestal, causing the obsequious vendor to vanish.

“We could have gamed that,” Jankx mused walking away. “He said imagine anything. We could have said we wanted a cloak with the next clue embroidered into the pattern.”

---

Arlington drew Tarquin to the side. “Can we just agree that there are many places here that will lead us astray,” he said frowning toward Octavian. “The sign of a good leader at this point will be someone who can navigate these complex labyrinths and pick the plot from amongst the red herrings.”

“I was thinking just that,” Tarquin said. “So when you lead I shall be standing by your shoulder.”

“Oh no, my son! This is on you now: this is your time.”

Tarquin looked seriously into Arlington’s gaze: “I shall take this upon my shoulder.”

Arlington pulled a puff of his pipe and nodded. He turned to inform the party of the change, but everyone had already left.

---

The Tower of Necromancy

Morgan patted Octavian on the butt, she wasn’t sure why but the kobold was so huge now it was easier than the shoulder. “Let’s go, they’re working out who the leader is.”

“It’s Eearwaxx,” Octavian shrugged.

“I’ve given up on that one—he’s a powerful wizard, he can handle it.”

The wizard in question was approaching the bulk of the ruins of the tower that had fallen. There was no doubt it was the Necromantic tower: the symbol was etched into chunks of rubble, as were skulls and the whole Necromantic canon. Eearwaxx was excited. As he drew closer to the sheared base of the tower he saw movement on the great stone blocks ahead.

“Spiders!” he called as he lifted a flaming finger. “A lot of spiders.”

“Those aren’t spiders,” Tarquin muttered, “Those are severed hands. The dead hands of the Netherese perhaps?”

There were hundreds of human hands trying to dislodge, carry and push the debris around. Neat little stacks of broken masonry and splintered wood were piled around a portion of the mid-section where most of the excavation has been done. It didn’t talk long to realise the hands were only doing busy work, moving items from one pile to another without making any true progress.

“It’s like their organising force has been lost,” Jankx observed.

“Following the last command of something,” Eearwaxx agreed. “But that is not ten thousand years of effective work.” He stepped forward, careful not to step on any of the hands. They worked around him, not stopping their chore. He recalled a necromantic spell that could animate limbs, but there were a lot—whoever did this was very powerful.

Morgan reached down and picked up a hand, which squirmed hard to try and free itself. Other hands started to poke and tear at Morgan’s feet, so she put it down and it scuttled away and got back to work.

“This looks like the work of High Necromancer Cadavix,” Tarquin said, referring to his notes from the Museum. As he spoke the name a ghostly figure in flowing robes materialised above the rubble, floating down to hover five feet above the ground.

“Look at these worthless things. They move debris from one pile to another and back again. No brains! At this rate it will be only a couple more centuries. Now—you spoke my name?”

Tarquin smiled. “Yes: I thought that is anyone might manifest it would be the Necromancer.”

“At your service!” the ghost said bowing its head slightly. “Though looking at this disaster I perhaps hope that you will be at mine.”

“I believe we serve the greater good,” Tarquin nodded.

“Or bad,” Arlington muttered.

“He used the ‘g’ word again,” Morgan hissed.

Cadavix seemed undisturbed, unlike the nether oak. “I lie beneath those ruins, if you would believe it. Crushed and smashed—all the magic in the world at my fingertips, and I was killed by bricks and stone. A pity it is!” he sighed.

“It would be a pity…if we didn’t have the power to turn things back,” Tarquin teased.

“Turn things back? Not that is quite the boast—tell me more!”

“Well we are not sure, but we are looking for clues so that we can find a way of speaking the rite that gives us access to that power.”

Cadavix smiled. “Ahh, the Octad. You come seeking the Octad.”

Tarquin thought quickly. He didn’t want to make the same mistake as in the grove. “No—we come because others are seeking the Octad, and we seek to stop them from misusing the power.”

“Pah. It is no concern of mine,” Cadavix said, annulling Tarquin’s concerns. “My conern is me. I am buried here somewhere and as you can see these hands…”

“Not doing very much good work,” Jankx agreed.

“If we were to find…you…perhaps we could ask you about the rite of the Octad?” Tarquin suggested. “After all you only know one part of eight.”

“Indeed you are correct—and learned! You would ask me to tell you my line from the Octad—and in return?”

“We would do our best to find your body.”

“Very good young sir. Go ahead! I have waited patiently this long, I can wait a little longer. And if you should succeed you will have your line!”

Tarquin smiled and nodded. “Perhaps you could point us in the right direction? Can you remember where you were when the tower fell?”

“This close to the door,” Cadavix indicated. “I am somewhere here, my body crushed and soul captured.”

“Sir!” Octavian piped up. “Do these hands know where you are?”

“A rather silly question, given it has been thousands of years.”

“You can’t draw one of them to you which would then mean we could follow one of them to you?” Octavian said, ignoring the slight.

“You really aren’t the smart one are you. If that were possible do you not think I would have tried that a millennia ago?” Cadavix turned back to Tarquin. “Now you sir are obviously the brains of this outfit. What can you do for me?”

Tarquin grinned at Octavian who was fuming. “We can find you. And can your hands help us?”

“Of course! Find me, release me and of course I will tell you everything you want to know.”

“Of course we will find you!” Eearwaxx cried. “My name is Eearwaxx!” He was hopping with anticipation.

Cadavix froze as if deep in thought. “Did you say…‘Eearwaxx’?”

“Yes! That is I.”

“Ahhhh. You are not like the others are you? I sense a protégé.”

Eearwaxx’s face fell as he remembered his great teacher and he found himself at a loss for words.

Cadavix continued. “Perhaps when I return you shall become my first apprentice—I sense great power in you!”

Tarquin jumped in, seeing Eearwaxx’s discomfort. “We would hate to leave him with you, we have had such times together. But if that should be the case it would be up to him.”

“Well then why are you talking?” Cadavix said. “What do you say, young Mr Eearwaxx?”

“I am interested,” Eearwaxx said softly, “But I did have a master, and he died.”

“Ah yes. Archmage Eearl’wixx.”

Octavian gasped. Archmage?? Eearwaxx was mentored by an archmage?

Morgan stepped forward to stand beside Eearwaxx. “How does he know who you master was?”

Eearwaxx frowned. “He was a lovely man. But can you answer my friend’s question? How did you know him?”

“Oh he too sought this city,” Cadavix explained. “I felt his attempts to send his consciousness here and tried to help, but I am afraid his mind was not ready for my power. I may have been a touch too…” he glanced at Eearwaxx and hesitated. “Anyway. Let’s just say I am sorry he is dead.”

“My god,” Jankx whispered tightening his grip on his weapon. Arlington glanced over and did the same. Octavian was furious. Cadavix had just more or less admitted to murdering Eearl’wixx, and Eearwaxx looked devastated. “Well since we need the line I guess we’ll help you,” he said through gritted teeth. “Despite your insults.”

Cadavix ignored Octavian again, having dismissed him as a fool. He floated over atop the broken base of the tower and pointed down. “I would start here. Dig, kobold, dig!”

“Octavian this shouldn’t be too much of a task for you at this point, given your new stature,” Arlington said.

Octavian clenched his fists and stood deathly still. Jankx sighed and walked over to start digging. Eearwaxx ordered his guardian to help, and before long Morgan was hard at work too.

Octavian watched with boiling blood. The hands were causing more trouble than they were worth, enthusiastically redistributing rubble back to where the others were clearing. He stomped over and glared up at Cadavix. “As stupid as I am, great sir, could you not help us and get the hands away?”

“But you asked for them to help?” He turned to Tarquin. “This kobold—a very tall kobold I might say—seems confused. One moment he says no, the next yes.”

“The hands aren’t helping!” Octavian growled.

“It does appear that somewhere along the line the message is getting garbled,” Tarquin said soothingly. “Because your wonderful servants appear to be getting things a little bit…wrong. So perhaps leave it for us?”

“Dead guy,” Morgan said trying to draw Cadavix’s attention.

“High Necromancer,” the ghost corrected.

“Dead guy—the hands are bring the rubble back. We need them to stop doing that otherwise we’re never going to be able to dig your body out.”

For the first time Cadavix seemed to lose his imperiousness. “I…I must admit that over time, I seem to have—”

“You lost control of the hands,” Morgan said bluntly.

“Well…yes. I can no longer control them. But that is why you must find me!”

Morgan grunted and shook his head. He picked up a large chunk of stone and tossed it to land atop a squirming hand, ‘accidentally.’ The other hands immediately started to try and dig it out. Morgan shrugged and joined Jankx with the digging. Eearwaxx had a thought, and before long a giant earthen hand was also assisting, causing Arlington to shudder slightly as he briefly relived the incident in the caves.

Arlington turned to Octavian as he watched Eearwaxx. “You may be the greatest kobold ever but you are nothing compared to him.” Octavian unfurled his wings and walked away.

Despite the scurrying hands, progress was made with all the mechanical, magical, and physical help. Several very small potion vials were uncovered during the dig: one thick white (later found by Jankx to be three doses of torpor poison), one swamp green (four doses of carrion crawler mucus), and one red (two doses of wyvern venom).

Three hours of hard digging later Cadavix was finally revealed: a crushed corpse clutching a jewellery box to its chest.

The ghost was astonished. “At last! There I am! I look…well, I have looked better! But it is me!”

“Give us the Octad,” Octavian demanded instantly.

“Not yet, not yet! You need to open the chest!”

“No. We—” Octavian scowled.

“I don’t suppose you have ten-thousand gold of gems in there?” Eearwaxx interrupted. Everyone burst out laughing, except Octavian who rolled his eyes and stalked away.

Jankx leant down to the corpse. A necklace adorned with six spheres hung around the broken corpse. Three of the spheres were dull, but three glowed with barely contained flame. He lifted it carefully free and slipped it into his pocket, then turned his attention to the chest.

“Quickly now! Open the chest, I am inside!”

Jankx did nothing quickly. He checked it carefully for traps, finding nothing. He looked around for approval to open it.

“Don’t open that until he tells us the Octad!” Octavian called from his perch, grinning with satisfaction at Cadavix.

The ghost seemed to pale, if that was possible. “No no no, open it and then I will tell you!”

Tarquin saw Octavian’s strategy. “I think we are tired—this has been hard work after all. We might retire and perhaps go somewhere else in the city. What do you think, gentlemen?”

“I would be up for retiring,” Arlington agreed.

“Enough, enough,” Cadavix sighed. “This is all very amusing I am sure.”

“It is,” Octavian said with satisfaction.

“You have me in a bind,” Cadavix continued, “And I have been waiting these thousands of years.” He paused for a moment, then came to a decision: “Seventh: Seventh, trace a circle with the ashes of the dead,” he said suddenly.

“Funny you should say that,” Morgan said toeing the broken corpse.

Cadavix rolled his eyes. “There. You have it—now open the chest.”

“Wait—do we know that he speaks true?” Octavian said.

“Of course I speak true! You think I would risk it all for a petty lie now that I am so close to being free!” Cadavix spat.

Jankx thought this argument very sound. He opened the chest despite Octavian’s protests. The coffer held three diamonds (worth 100 gold each) and one diamond worth at least 500. There was also a single large emerald that swirled with captured lifeforce.

“Yes! Yes!” Cadavix exclaimed with joy. “I shall be free and Ythryn shall be mine!”

Jankx made very sure not to touch the emerald, but before he react Eearwaxx had reached down and grabbed it.

Cadavix smiled warmly at the young wizard. “Perhaps you can free me, young Eearwaxx, young necromancer, and together we shall rebuild the great necromantic tradition of Netheril.”

“Just hold on,” Arlington warned. “Eearwaxx I will shoot you myself if you do anything of the sort.”

Eearwaxx spun to Arlington and his hand glowed with flame, as did the earthen hand. “Don’t speak to me like that,” he growled. “Do not say that.”

Morgan rushed to Eearwaxx’s side. “Calm down—ignore Arlington,” he whispered. “The ghost wants you to free him from the gem…” She trailed off as she realised Cadavix was suddenly standing right next to Eearwaxx. She shrugged and continued. “I don’t think that is a good idea right now.”

“It’s a very good idea,” Cadavix insisted, “Because you shall become my apprentice. I am the greatest necromancer that Netheril has ever produced!”

“Remember everyone here is evil,” Arlington called as he glanced nervously at the giant hand.

Morgan turned Eearwaxx’s chin to look earnestly into his eye. “Do you think it’s a good idea to let this guy have free reign given that he’s the ‘greatest necromancer that Ythryn ever produced’?”

“Not Ythryn—Netheril!” Cadavix corrected.

Eearwaxx was tired of everyone telling him what to do. He turned back to Cadavix and held the gem aloft. “Could you tell me more about my master’s journey here, sir?”

Cadavix shifted his eyes nervously. “Well your master…did not journey here physically. He travelled here with his mind.”

“Yes.” Eearwaxx’s eyes were tearing up. He pocketed the gem.

“Ah. Now. You need to free me from the gem, not pocket it.”

“We’ve got other things to look at,” Eearwaxx said bluntly, turning his back and walking away. Morgan grinned at Eearwaxx and winked, following.

“Eearwaxx! The things we could do! I could teach you so much!”

Tarquin caught Cadavix’s attention. “You have kept your part of the bargain, and we have not breached yours. Perhaps one day he will free you, perhaps not. It is just a question of when.”

Cadavix looked panicked. “So he…uh…so you will…what if I…sweetened the deal?”

This stopped everyone (except Eearwaxx and Morgan who were long gone). Tarquin raised an eyebrow.

“Ha! I have piqued your interest now haven’t it,” Cadavix said, his confidence returning. “No one is teasing now!”

“What’s the sweetener?” Arlington said with narrowed eyes.

Cadavix pointed to the western edge of the city, indicating a zone with a tower and glass topped dome. “Seek the Observatory. For there you will find another of your ‘secrets’. Say hello High Diviner Apius while you’re at it and tell her it serves her right!””

“Tell us how that sweetens the deal for you—because you have now just told us where to go,” Arlington scoffed.

Cadavix paused as he realised his mistake. “Well I assume you will now free me. I have told you this and you will in turn do me this service. You are men of honour?”

Octavian laughed.

“Can I ask you one final question,” Arlington said. “You are the greatest necromancer of the entire Netherese empire?”

“That is precisely what I said,” Cadavix huffed.

“But you are not exactly a brains trust though, are you.” Arlington spun on his heel and walked away, Jankx close behind.

“Eearwaaaaaaax!” Cadavix cried forlornly into the frozen air.

“You have to stay with your corpse, if I’m not mistaken,” Tarquin said. He grinned, saluted the ghost, and joined Arlington.

Only Octavian remained. He jumped into the pit where Cadavix’s body rested and started to wail into it with all his newfound strength. He hauled rubble atop it and covered it with stone.

Cadavix protests became weaker and more pathetic as Octavian worked, until he eventually slumped down atop a pile of rubble and watched sadly.

Octavian finished his desecration and turned to the ghostly necromancer. “Fuck off,” he said and walked away.

“I’m closer to free than I was ten thousand years ago,” Cadavix said softly, “Thanks to you.”

Octavian spun around. “You insulted the one guy who has your soul, you fucking idiot.”

“He will free me. I am sure of it.”

---

The Menagerie

Eearwaxx had hurried ahead, distancing Morgan until he reached a small building near the crystalline dome. Morgan jogged to catch up, finding the young wizard sobbing. Eearwaxx quickly wiped his tears away as Morgan drew near.

“What’s up?” Morgan said quietly.

“Nothing! Let’s go,” Eaarwaxx said, turning away to meet the rest of the company as they approached. Morgan watched with concern but realised now was not the time to probe further.

“As far as I know all he was concerned about was getting his body back,” Tarquin said as everyone was regathered. “So there was no reason for him to worry about hiding the truth of the Octad because he is far more powerful than we are.”

“Or was,” Octavian scowled.

“So I think he was telling the truth about the Observatory and the Octad. But there is not symbol on the map over here,” Tarquin finished.

Morgan shrugged. “Why is the map suddenly the oracle of all truth?”

“It’s a good point about the map,” Tarquin conceded. “Cadavix said ‘High Diviner Apius’ was at the Observatory. We didn’t get anything but tentacles from where we thought Divination was so maybe it is here somewhere.”

“There is a tower in the direction he pointed,” Jankx said, indicating a conical tower that stood on the outskirts of the city. It was held relatively upright by a ring of arched buttresses.

“And the dome looks like it could be an observatory,” Octavian added. An immense dome loomed ahead, its crystal roof marred by a web of cracks.

“Dome first,” Tarquin ordered.

Through the gaps in the building’s shell was a strange landscape of miniaturised natural features—mountain ranges, deserts, forested streams, all now draped in ice. At the heart of this mixture of landscapes stood a machine. The scale seemed to be made for cats or dogs.

Tarquin glanced at Octavian. “This looks like it was size for you—not as you are now, but as you were.”

“Imagine a world built for kobolds, eh Octavian,” Arlington smirked.

“Are you trying to use the world ‘children’” Octavian said, still smarting from the encounter with Cadavix.

“We can use kobolds or children, whatever you like.”

“They’re all the same,” Tarquin said, piling on.

“Can anyone spin how this is an observatory?” Jankx said, not seeing any sign that it was. “There is no planetarium overhead. Maybe it’s a zoo or a playpen or a park?”

“But once it could have had that made the crystal display something?” Octavian said. “We have seen that before in the Arboretum.”

“I think it is just as Jankx said—a diversion,” Tarquin said, thinking of the theatre. “Made to entertain the masses.”

Eearwaxx tried to visualise if this was a map of the world from which Ythryn came, but it wasn’t obviously any real place. He walked to the machine in the centre. The device was a 10-foot-diameter iron wheel on its side, held above the ground by a metal brace, with eight barrel-sized, egg-shaped open containers attached to the outer ends of its spokes. A bronze control panel with a lever stood next to it.

Tarquin moved over to the lever and put his hand on it, then turned around and looked at his companions.

Jankx shook his head.

Octavian nodded.

Arlington pointed his crossbow at Tarquin’s head and shrugged.

Tarquin held his hand.

Jankx moved inside the circle to take a closer look into the eggs. Dried blood coated the inside surface of each one. “I don’t like the look of this,” he said reporting his findings. Eearwaxx walked over and studied one in detail, drawing on his necromantic knowledge. He stepped back and stared at the entire contraption. “I think…if we were to fill each with enough blood, distributed evenly, then sealed them and turned it….something would happen?”

“I am not going to fill those with my blood,” Arlington said definitively.

“It would definitely summon something bad, surely,” Jankx shuddered.

“And maybe populate these landscapes?” Arlington suggested.

“With hideous creatures.”

“Or whatever comes out of our blood.”

“I’m struggling to see the part blood plays in Divination,” Tarquin said. “The tower seems more likely our destination.”

“Maybe this place just divines the weather?” Arlington suggested.

“I don’t think we need that,” Tarquin said.

“I agree! But you’re the boss, so…”

“This makes something bad,” Jankx said, walking to the door.

“For a completely freaky monster you are very paranoid, Jankx,” Arlington said, despite tending to agree.

“Let’s check the tower before we shed blood,” Tarquin said, leading everyone toward the tower.

Five of Eight

The Observatory

Four expressionless magen stood in silence around the entrance to the presumed Observatory—two armoured like those in the tower of Abjuration, and two in flowing blue robes. A wide set of steps led from the street to the tower, the walls of which were etched with intricate designs of hands and eyes.

Tarquin didn’t wait, starting up the stairs as Arlington tried futilely to call him back. “We seek High Diviner Apius,” Tarquin called to the guards, to no response.

“Before they get any closer,” Arlington said to Eearwaxx, “What is the surface area of your fireball?”

“Thirty, forty feet?”

“It would be good to know thirty or forty,” Octavian muttered, “Since I’m standing right in between.”

Arlington noted Eearwaxx was still red-eyed and raw with emotion. He slapped the wizard on the shoulder and said exactly the wrong thing. “Don’t worry, we’ll get to kill something soon!”

Octavian joined Tarquin on the top step. “They’re obviously guarding the door. Perhaps we can walk around, maybe there’s another entrance.” He stepped atop the landing and started to squeeze past the guards, but when he drew nearer to the main entrance they all simultaneously drew their weapons, standing ready to defend. Octavian stepped back and the weapons were sheathed. “Do you want me to fly over instead?” he whispered to Tarquin.

“I think we’ve got to go through that door,” Tarquin said, not bothering to lower his voice. The guards were obviously proximity activated, not voice.

“But there might be another door, Tarquin.”

“I’m thinking there is only one key, and that is these four.”

Octavian continued to whisper. “You don’t know that!”

Tarquin putting his hand on Octavian’s arm, surprised at the muscle he found. “Come on, big guy,” he said squeezing the pectoral muscle, “Sometimes the front door is the best door.” Octavian rolled his eyes and stepped back.

“I’d like to gather people to me,” Arlington said loudly from the foot of the steps. “Can we have a talk please?” He was somewhat surprised when everyone did as he asked.

“Now listen to me, and listen to me carefully. I know my standing amongst this party has…waned. I acknowledge that some of you have grown in expertise and power, and you know what?” Arlington wiped a hand across his eyes. “It brings a tear in my eye to see my children advancing in such a way. Wanting to be so proactive.” He looked around at the group, ignoring the raised eyebrows and embarrassed coughs. “But this, here—” he pointed to the magen, “—is a martial situation only. There is no pantomime. This is a fight.”

“Only if we need to go in,” Morgan said immediately.

“I think we do need to go in,” Octavian countered.

Arlington slapped his forehead. Even a simple motivating speech was derailed instantly by opinion and ego! He waved a hand toward the door. “If there’s one thing I hate in this life it’s a fucking pantomime,” he muttered. Then a voice piped up that gave him some slim hope.

“What’s the radius of this space?” Eearwaxx questioned. Tarquin stepped away.

“That’s the big question! That’s the only question!” Arlington exclaimed.

“Aim for the wall and let it splash off,” Morgan advised.

Eearwaxx started his spell (inspired by Tarquin mid-cast) and a moment later the door exploded in flame. The magen near melted as they were thrown back into the tower wall, though none dropped and all remained silent. The two warriors drew their weapons and the robe-wearers started casting their own spells.

Eearwaxx sent his guardian into the fight, feeling some guilt at the fireball but knowing it needed to be done. It pounded a robed magen, who reached forward to grasp the guardian’s metallic frame. Lightning crackled through the construct, causing Eearwaxx to gasp in shared shock.

The lightning concerned Octavian—if it could do that to the guardian, what could it do to a living body? He targeted an injured caster with a guiding bolt causing it to rock back a few steps. It turned impassively to face Octavian and a bolt of lightning streaked across the courtyard catching both Octavian and Arlington. A second warrior magen bound down the steps and swung its blade at Octavian, hitting once.

Tarquin stepped next to Octavian and skewered it with his blade, badly damaging it. His second strike finished the job. The magen, instead of falling to the ground, disintegrated in a burst of fire and smoke. “There we are—one down, gentlemen!”

Morgan added one more to that tally, exploding the other warrior. Jankx’s crossbow came close to finishing the next, and Arlington sealed it. His second shot cleaned up the last mage, and just like that the fight was over.

“Proud of you boys,” Arlington said appreciatively, patting Octavian on the lower thigh. He had been imagining what the huge kobold would be like mounted. Either on the wall, or as a mount. Or…

Octavian wondered at the amount of touching that was going on—first Morgan, then Tarquin, now Arlington. He added this to the tally of ‘not so good’ things about being very, very tall.

Morgan and Ezra flanked the door as Jankx checked it. “Not locked but it’s barricaded—from the inside.” Which was odd given there were guards outside.

“Give me a second and I’ll check the circumference,” Octavian said, flying up to the midpoint of the tower (“So he can still fly,” Arlington muttered). Octavian found a statue, then two more spaced equally around the tower. They depicted strange, unpleasant, extradimensional beings that reminded Octavian of the Phaerimm from the museum. As he rounded the far side of the tower an anomaly in the stonework above drew his eye. He flew up to see that the domed adamantine roof had been damaged by falling boulders, creating a opening into the upper floor.

He returned to the company. “No other doors, but there is a hole in the roof that might be a way in. And I think this is definitely the observatory,” he said, describing the otherworldly statues.

“Do you think you could fly me to the top?” Morgan asked, “Or you could take Jankx.”

“Of course I can’t,” Octavian snapped habitually. Morgan raised an eyebrow as she looked up at the giant kobold. “Ohhh,” Octavian said, remembering. “Let me check first, make sure it really is an entrance.”

“Don’t touch anything, Octavian!” Arlington called, knowing his words were said in vain. “Just tell us what you see!”

The first thing Octavian saw was unexpected.

---

The top floor was dominated by a huge astronomer’s telescope, and gazing into the telescope’s eyepiece was a hulking, green-skinned, frog-like biped, in wizard’s robes. It was muttering to itself as it adjusted various dials on the telescope. A great many specialised tools, books, and gadgets were gathered on workbenches around the circular room.

“17 degrees east, 45 west. Yes? Yes? No. Alas.” The creature scribbled something in a notepad and winched a small cog. “Now let me see. Any better?” It cleared a very phlemgmy throat in obvious frustration.

Octavian flew directly down and scooped up Tarquin before anyone could react. “I think I found who you were looking for,” Octavian said as he carted Tarquin to the roof. Tarquin gasped in surprise when he was lifted aloft, and with even more surprise when he saw the creature.

“No time, no time, I must find a way,” the frog mumbled. “The only hope is to reverse the flow…yes!” It tinkered some more.

“What’s his name?” Octavian whispered.

“I think that’s going to be High Diviner Apius.”

Octavian loudly cleared his own, less phlemgmy throat. “High Diviner Apius!”

The creature didn’t turn around, just waved a webbed hand dismissively. “Not now! There is no time!”

“I might be able to reverse time, if you have help for us,” Octavian said.

The creature spun to face the new arrivals and spoke almost to fast too follow. “How? I have tried time and again to reverse the process so instead of summoning we send ourselves free. I have tried and tried but I cannot make head nor tail of it. There is something wrong with the lenses. I cannot make it work I can’t make it work!”

Octavian held his hands up. “I have friends who are very, very, very, very…well sometimes they’re smart, I probably oversold it…but they have their moments.”

“There is no time…yet there is endless time,” Apius mumbled, covering its face.

“What is your name?”

“I am High Diviner Apius.”

“The High Necromancer says hello.”

“Ohhh, Cadavix? That man is disgusting and despicable!”

“Well fortunately he remains in his grave,” Tarquin said.

“He’s all broken up—someone’s done a number on him,” Octavian smiled with satisfaction.

Apius had lost focus again almost immediately, turning around and polishing the telescope. “Now if I just repeat…”

“High Diviner,” Tarquin said politely, “Perhaps, if it is no trouble, we can come into the lower reaches of the tower and avail ourselves of your library?”

“There is no library here, I have no time to maintain such a thing. There is work to be done. I only have time for the stars. But of course come inside but do not bother me I am busy!”

“Ah, yes—the doors appear to be locked?”

“Well we have to keep it in.”

“What is it we are…keeping in?”

“The thing. It wanders.”

Tarquin swallowed. “You mentioned ‘summoning’?”

“Yes well we summon—I am trying to reverse it I tell you! The only way to escape this place is to reverse it: not to summon, to send!”

“What is it exactly that you summoned?”

“Creatures from beyond! You have seen the statues surely? Have you seen the museum? Perhaps you should—it holds one such creature we captured.”

“We did see a horror in the museum. A very large one.”

“Not a horror—a wonder! One of our greatest accomplishments.” For a moment Apius appeared to be contemplating that triumph, then she started muttering again. “The centre…changing the focus…”

Octavian nudged Tarquin and pointed to a spiral staircase in the centre of the room. “Why don’t go an dget everyone and bring them up here?” Tarquin nodded and Octavian went to work. The only tricky one was Arlington who was smoking his pipe and struggled against the very idea of being flown before wrapping his arms around Octavian like a baby. Octavian flew hard and fast which knocked the breath out of Arlington’s smoke filled lungs. “Youarethegreatestkobold” the great hunter prayed in a desperate whisper.

Tarquin put a finger to his lips as everyone arrived one by one. He indicated everyone should check the workbenches, which included various books. But they were only full of mathematical equations and distant star charts. Occasionally Apius would shove past to grab a tool or cog, but she seemed otherwise unfussed by the suddenly busy room.

Eearwaxx shadowed Apius, trying to understand and absorb everything it did. It was a fascinating creature, obviously highly intelligent, and very busy.

“Don’t go downstairs,” Octavian warned, “She said there’s a ‘thing’ down there.”

“Good advice,” Jankx nodded, “I don’t know what a ‘thing’ is but I don’t want to go near it.”

“In that case Jankx, you should go first,” Arlington countered to a frown.

“High Diviner,” Tarquin called. “You seek to turn back the summoning—it this just a singular act or is this something that will have a greater effect?”

“Well I hope I can send us back.”

“Back in time?”

“No no! Back! Out! To freedom—we are stuck here.”

“Where is freedom?”

“Not here! The Netherese empire!”

Tarquin frowned. Did she not know the empire was gone?

“There’s none other of you left, is there?” Arlington said.

“Of me?”

“Of the eight.”

“I have no idea. I am busy, working, always working, there is no time not to work.”

“This is a dangerous siloisation really isn’t it,” Arlington said to Jankx. “This one doesn’t know the others have all been dead for thousands of years.”

Octavian turned to Tarquin. “Why don’t you just go up and ask her about the Octad?” he whispered.

“Very kindly,” Morgan added.

Tarquin agreed, though he didn’t think the direct route was the best approach. He had another idea. He settled his shoulders and approached Apius. “High Diviner: I understand your urgency, but may I have a moment of your time?”

“A moment. Just one.”

“Thank you. You seek to rid your lower floors of that which you have summoned?” Tarquin said, playing his card.

“Oh I don’t care if it’s there. It leaves me alone,” Apius said, trumping Tarquin.

“Very good. Uh. If you’re not concerned, we’re not concerned,” Tarquin fumbled. “However if we were to…do something along the lines of the Octad? Would that help you?”

“The Octad? I do not recall. But you will find your answer when the heavens are aligned—they know all!”

“Of course, of course!” Tarquin said with false confidence. “But that alignment is bringing together eight? And you have only one, yes?”

“Do I? I…I just need several small adjustments…tiny ones…a little longer and I am sure…”

Tarquin realised he was losing her again. “Where are the heavens?” he said quickly.

Apius pointed a distracted finger directly to the floor.

“The heavens are below us?”

“Yes yes.”

“One final thing: what step in the ritual is Divination?” Arlington added.

“Third! And the third…no, the angles are all wrong…” Apius lent down to the telescope again. “Nothing! Nothing is there!”

Jankx sidled over to the strange device. It didn’t point through any opening in the roof so he didn’t understand how it could possibly function. “Can I have a look through the telescope?” he asked.

“Of course but there is nothing to see.” Jankx quickly found the truth in her words. The telescope displayed nothing, the lens blurred and out of focus. “You see? It can no longer pierce the veil—the far-realms are hidden. All I need is…” Apius trailed off, muttering numbers and formula that passed far over Jankx’s head.

Tarquin signalled to everyone, pointing toward the circular stairs and standing aside for Morgan to lead the descent. Eearwaxx dallied behind, still watching Apius and feeling sorry that she could not find the answers she sought. He realised she was likely mad. “Why couldn’t you see the future?” he whispered.

“Time is not my concern. Divination is my concern. Why are you confused?” Apius muttered as she flipped furiously through a tome of charts.

“Past, present, and future?”

“Stop! Stop! You are confusing me, I…I don’t understand…”

Eearwaxx nodded sadly, then turned and followed downstairs.

---

Morgan stepped onto the middle floor. Immediately ahead of her on the floor were two arcane circles etched with runes—real ones this time. As she stepped further into the room she heard something she would rather not have: a slurpling, gargling warble from behind a pair of smashed doors. A moment later a much larger, much slimier, much bluer, much angrier version of Apius sloughed into the room.

---

The beast opened it’s slavering jaws and tried to rip Morgan’s head off. She ducked out of the way, but a follow-up swinging claw caught her clean across the chest. Morgan prepared to defend the second claw, but was surprised to see it being aimed at Octavian instead. Octavian grunted as the slice ripped through his shoulder. The wound stung more than it should. The creature immediately turned its attention to its next victim, snarling at Jankx.

Despite the pain Octavian realised the beast—a slaad he suddenly realised—was trying to strike a victim once then move on. Placing an infection? “It’s a slaad, and I don’t like the idea that it has a plan!” he cried to warn his companions.

Tarquin, perched on the stairway, sent magical aid to the frontliners. Octavian used the boost to direct a guiding bolt into the creature. It snarled and tried to press forward, glowing with radiance which made it that much easier for Arlington’s two bolts to bury themselves into the slimy gut of the blue horror. He didn’t bother to tell Morgan to move, simply firing one either side of her head.

Morgan plunged her weapon into the creature’s belly, joining the bolts in the gore. The slaad howled and shunted Morgan backwards, its brute strength overpowering even Morgan’s might. It bit, clawed, and clawed again at Jankx, but he managed to shimmy and shift out of each attack, emerging scot-free. Jankx grinned and shoved his dagger into the slaad, ripping its chest open further. Morgan invoked her sentinel power to plunge her blade into the back of the beast whilst its frustrated attention was on Jankx.

Tarquin saw it was fast running out of life, leaping down the stairs and drawing his rapier. Unfortunately he tripped, thinking there was an extra step where there wasn’t. He glanced around to check no-one noticed, then turned his stumble into a controlled fall and flourish that left his rapier pierced deeply inside the creatures sticky flesh. Not enjoying being quite so close to the beast, he ripped the rapier (glowing with green flame that offset the blue of the slaad’s skin beautifully) up and out, bringing with it a spray of unidentified innards that covered him in gore. The beast dropped into a flaccid heap on the stone floor.

Tarquin turned to Arlington and grinned. Arlington raised an eyebrow—was Tarquin really claiming that was intentional? Ezra gave a slow clap before vanishing.

“My main concern now is that that thing is the level of antagonist we are dealing with,” Arlington said, “And we completely pulled that out of our arse. We should not take that as any kind of indication of our capacity to meet the next one.”

“Whereas I think we can handle anything now,” Tarquin smiled, wiping his face clean of the disgusting fluids. Morgan nodded her agreement.

Arlington frowned. “The glass is half full, gentlemen. Of poison.”

That reminded Octavian. He looked closely at his wound, studying it closely to see if the creature had laid eggs or worse into the wound. He couldn’t see or feel anything moving, but his druidic senses told him there was something wrong. “It’s not necrotic, nor poison—Morgan, how is your wound?”

“I felt the it tried to infect me but fought it off,” Morgan reported, and Octavian’s quick study confirmed it was merely surface deep on Morgan. “I don’t understand what’s happening, I thought the slaad must infect with each blow, but it’s just me.” He was concerned enough to cast a healing spell despite being low on resources.

It didn’t work: he felt no better and the claw slash still festered.

“Something is badly wrong. I think it’s injected a disease, an infection, but I have no way to heal that.” Nor did anyone else. Octavian frowned. “I need to rest, soon. I’m running out of spells, my arm is hurting, and I need to relearn a spell that can remove infection. Can we do that? Soon?”

“Not until we clear this tower,” Arlington said sternly. “We clear this floor first, then reassess.”

---

The two chambers that opened off the main landing led to surgical suites. The operating table in the north-western chamber contained a pair of odd tentacles, the other room specimen jars containing nightmarish vivisected organs. Arlington lent in to look at the tentacles, judging them old, but preserved either magically or through Netherese taxidermy. Morgan noted the unfastened chains by each table, obviously for restraining the subjects.

Octavian attention was drawn to a book that lay open on a plinth in front of the preserved limbs. It was a medical textbook, full of diagrams of dissected otherworldly creatures. He flicked through looking for clues to the Octad, but found only scrawled notes relating to the various operations.

Arlington was a little concerned about the goings on in these rooms. “Octavian, is that a medical textbook in terms of ailments that may befall the creatures—and therefore how to heal them—or is about dissecting them?”

“The latter,” Octavian muttered, “For example there’s a diagram of that creature from the museum,” he said shoving the volume in his pack.

“Good. I worried they might be putting these things back together.”

Morgan walked back to the landing and noticed again the two inlaid circles in the stone, each containing arcane symbols. She turned to Tarquin and Eearwaxx. “What do the symbols on the floor denote?”

Tarquin was too busy scribbling in his notebook to answer ("The Ballad of the Slaad,” he wrote. “Arrayed against this mighty foe…")

“They’re summoning circles,” Eearwaxx explained. He thought back to what High Diviner Apius had been saying upstairs. “I think I know what is going on here. Apius was saying she wanted to ‘reverse the flow’ to save Ythryn. I think they would summon creatures here for study using the magic of the telescope, and she wanted to reverse that process, to instead send survivors back to wherever they came from. But it has obviously sent her mad,” he concluded sadly.

“Do we think there is something more summoned downstairs?” Tarquin asked. “She was concerned about something, though it left her alone she said.”

“I think that was this,” Morgan said toeing the mound of dead blue slaad.

“Let’s get down there, then rest,” Octavian said. He was exhausted and the pain in his arm was worsening.

“Wait a minute. You’re the one who can’t heal, and you’re looking worse. Are you sure you can survive whatever might be down there?” Arlington asked.

“Look I have some capacity, and we need to know what’s down there before we can rest.”

Arlington shrugged and nodded at Morgan, who stepped quietly step down the stairway.

---

The ground floor was a planetarium. Models of Toril and its celestial neighbours hung limply from the ceiling, dangling on torn rope and a orrery of concentric metal rings, some smashed on the floor. There were thirteen total, and each sphere was marked with abstract, fragmentary symbols. Two pairs of closed doors led to the north, and the main entrance was blocked by a high stack of broken furniture and timber.

“Nothing alive down here,” she reported as everyone descended.

“We will find our answer ‘when the heavens are aligned’,” Tarquin grinned pointing to the ruined planetarium. “The next Octad line is here, somewhere. We just have to align this.”

“There are twelve planets in our sky,” Morgan said, “But thirteen here.”

“There is some conjecture about a thirteenth planet,” Octavian recalled. “Presumably this is the heavens as they were before the city fell.”

Tarquin nodded, studying the mechanism of the orrery. Like stagecraft, there must be a way this structure works mechanically. A series of cogs and gears, some in place, some disconnected, seemed to be the workings. He summoned a mage hand and started trying to re-engage the cogs in a way that made sense.

Arlington picked up a fallen sphere, trying to recognise what it was. “The symbols make no sense, but some of the shapes seen vaguely like ours?”

“I think I can identify nine fairly confidently,” Octavian said, pointing. “The writing identifies them closely enough to our names for the planetary spheres. We need to solve the other four somehow. And maybe the thirteenth holds the secret?”

“They may have had different names to what we did,” Morgan shrugged. She tried to decipher the Netherese script, and more importantly look for words that were out of synch with the rest. She thought perhaps if she could find the odd words or letters, it might reveal the line from the Octad. But the scripts seemed contiguous, and the symbols meaningless.

“This might seem stupid,” Octavian said watching Tarquin’s struggles, “But can Eearwaxx mend this?”

Arlington grinned at Octavian’s wisdom, slapping Tarquin in the back of the head before he could do any damage. “Eearwaxx, can you mend this?” Arlington said as if he’d thought of this himself.

Eearwaxx nodded firmly. This was going to be a challenge, one of the hardest mends he had ever attempted. These were Netherese workings, as complex as the intricate Duergar mechanics from Sunblight Fortress. Sweat broke out on his brow as he attempted to fix that which was broken. The ropes and chains rewound themselves, the gears glinted as centuries of disrepair lifted, and the dented planets were returned to their rotund glory. But the mechanics of the orrery were a step too far—they did not need mending, they needed understanding.

“Close boy, close,” Arlington said encouragingly.

Tarquin’s mage hand shoved the orrery gently, and the planets started to move before the gears jammed again. “We need to go behind the curtain,” he said, nodding to the doors.

Jankx cleared the way. The back half was a workshop full of intricate machinery and cogs, tools, polished glass and crystal. Some of the glasswork was shaped like lenses. Octavian spotted another tome of knowledge, full of detailed explanations and diagrams about the mechanics of telescopes, the refraction of light, and more. He searched again, fruitlessly, for the Octad.

Jankx meanwhile was studying the cogs, screws, and springs. It was all very familiar—just like a lock that had been disassembled. He realised that if he thought of the orrery as a lock, he could visualise a way to rebuild the faulty mechanisms. “I can fix this,” he announced, collecting a selection of parts and tools.

Morgan shunted crates and tables to allow Jankx to climb into the orrery, and he set about aligning, greasing, and freeing the multitudinous components. His first attempt almost destroyed the entire array—he felt the contained springs about the explode. He closed his eyes and focussed, drawing on Tarquin’s earlier aid to concentrate. And in the darkness he reached clarity, letting his instincts take over. Before long he was in a zone of repair that was a wonder to behold to those below. His hands moved fast, his fingers tweaking impossibly small parts into a seamless whole.

Jankx opened his eyes. Arlington sucked his pipe and nodded. Jankx gave the nearest planet a tiny push and the planets started to move in their heavenly orbit. He grinned widely. “Now we just need the final four planets put in place.”

“That is going to be difficult,” Octavian said. “Even if we know what some of them are, we have little way of knowing the correct alignment given the heavens could have been vastly different back then.”

Trial and error seemed to be the only way…until Eearwaxx suddenly remembered something. He dropped his sack and shuffled through the contents before drawing a glit-edged atlas free. “I found this in the library,” he said sheepishly. He opened the book to a beautifully illustrated diagram of the Netherese Heavens.

“Thirteen planets! The twelve-planeters were wrong,” Octavian grinned. He realised this was valuable knowledge.

“You go down to Waterdeep and start talking about thirteen planets they’ll put you on a stake and burn you,” Morgan smirked.

Tarquin resummoned his mage hand and set about replacing the fallen planets using Eearwaxx’s diagram. “Done. In each of these towers we have needed to trigger something. This is High Diviner Apius’s contribution. Ready?” he asked and restarted the planets' eternal journey.

Everyone marvelled at the display as the hanging globes floated in their endless heavenly dance. They were perfectly balanced by Jankx’s repairs and the motion was mesmerising and calming.

“This is all very nice,” Arlington said after a few rotations. “But alignment means ‘in-line’, correct?”

“Like our planets,” Octavian nodded.

“So just being in the right order isn’t enough—we get them to the right alignment.”

“How hard could it be?” Tarquin smiled as his magic hand continued the motion.

Arlington puffed his pipe and settled in. “Do you know how many rotation this might take to get thirteen planets aligned?” he asked sceptically.

“One more?” Tarquin grinned. He pointed to the planet at the furthest reach which was glowing gently. Then the next started to pulse with light. One-by-one each planet lit up as they reached their fated divine alignment. On the floor of the chamber a script was illuminated that shone briefly as the third line of the Octad was revealed:

Divination: Third, a burnt palm loosens the tongue. Shed a secret about yourself for all to hear.

A moment later the script vanished as the planets continued their journey.

“Oh oh, embarrassing times for someone,” Arlington said.

“We have five now,” Tarquin said as he copied the line into his journal:

Conjuration “Second, summon a flame in the palm of your hand.”
Divination “Third, a burnt palm loosens the tongue. Shed a secret about yourself for all to hear.”
Evocation “Fifth, quench the flame in thy palm with ice.”
Necromancy “Seventh, trace a circle with the ashes of the dead.”
Transmutation “Eighth, stand firm in thy circle of death and consume poison.”

“So the three missing are…?” Octavian asked.

“Abjuration, Enchantment, and Illusion. We know where Abjuration is, so really it’s just two.”

“Good. We rest, then we find them,” Arlington announced.

---

Octavian woke, feeling stiff. He hadn’t slept well, feverish and sweating from his infection. A cramp shot up his lower leg which was crammed in too small a space. He realised he had grown again. And not just in height—his body was now heavily muscled and strength rippled through his limbs. He almost stumbled as he stood, now over eleven foot tall, the newfound strength offset by a fall in his coordination. He had memorised the required spell to finally rid his body of the plague the slaad had infected him with. The relief was immediate.

“Is there a point that you think you’ll get to where you put the spear down? Or are we just going with huge?” Morgan said, looking up at Octavian. She was sure the spear was what was causing Octavian’s change. Octavian merely smirked and secured the spear to his back.

Morgan and Octavian were pleased to find their minds cleared of the paranoia and suspicion that had been hounding them. Their heads were clear, though they still felt discomforted by the disjointed Ythryn magic. Tarquin and Eearwaxx meanwhile were completely unaffected.

Arlington on the other hand woke groggily, slicking his hair out of his face. He frowned when he felt a handful come loose in his hand, glaring at it with surprise. Glaring at it…with one half-closed eye. He tried to rub it open, feeling his skin clammy and slick, but the eye was determined not to open. Strangely his other eye was twice the size it had been. He blinked and squinted at Morgan and Tarquin, inexplicably angry at them. Why were they looking so smug. What secrets did they hide? And how can I learn them.

Jankx shook himself awake, then froze. His skin was slick with mucous and patchy like fungus. He reached for his face and felt the same slimy grime. He worried for a moment that the slaad had infected him, before realising his eyes were misshapen. He glanced nervously at Arlington who was clearly in a similar way, fiddling with his face. In a panic Jankx changed his form so the other wouldn’t see what was happening. He realised he was hungry—but not for food. He scowled as he looked at his healthy companions. I want to know what Eearwaxx knows, the power he wields, the secret of his magic. And Octavian too—the dragon knowledge he hoards. I need to know.

When Arlington emerged, Morgan stared with concern. Her mind went back to the children from Dougan’s Hole, particularly the girl with the huge eye. Whatever was happening to those kids was happening to Arlington too. “What’s with the big eye?” she asked warily.

“You’ve got big eyes you fucking little shit,” Arlington snapped and stepped toward Morgan.

Morgan stared impassively. Octavian walked over and shoved Arlington back with a single finger. “You need to calm down,” he warned.

Tarquin met Morgan’s gaze and shook his head. “I don’t know if Arlington is going to divulge a secret about himself,” he muttered, thinking of the recently learnt Divination Octad. “I think it will be the other way ‘round.” He turned to Octavian and nodded toward the blocked entranceway.

Everyone watched with a combination of awe and worry Octavian as he moved to the doorways and effortlessly tossed aside the makeshift barricade. The kobold was a giant.

Everyone shivered involuntarily when they stepped out onto the landing. The temperature was noticeably colder, easily ten degrees lower than it had been. And where the air had been stagnant and still, now there was a frozen chill drifting through the streets. Octavian glanced up toward the Caves of Hunger from which a breath of frigid air whispered down.

“The remorhaz?” Octavian guessed.

“No, no,” Morgan whispered. “The Frostmaiden has decided to pay a visit…”

---

Six of Eight

“What’s coming down and how long is it going to take to get down here?” Arlington muttered squinting up toward the Caves. “That’s the real question.”

“What’s the closest tower?” Octavian asked Tarquin who was poring over the map.

“I’m increasingly astounded that we get these things right, given that even after I point out obvious things people don’t fall into line,” Tarquin complained. “But then again—this is an obstreperous crew! So I say again: three left people. Three more lines and we have what we need.” He stabbed his finger on his map. “There, there, and there.”

Morgan glared as she sharpened her blade. Who was Tarquin to act all high and mighty? He’d made his fair share of mistakes.

“Tarquin! Which is closest?” Arlington snapped.

““Uh…Illusion? The nearest so far as I can see…yes, Illusion. Or Enchantment? We’ve got to keep moving around the back of the tower. We may well find ourselves out in the tawny grounds. Possibly "

“I can’t work out if you are directing us or asking us at this point. And this is not the first time this has come up.”

“I’m trying to get us to Enchantment after Illusion and—”

“Is there a reason you want to do that?” Arlington interrupted.

“Distance. Distance and time, my son.”

“So there’s no agenda, you don’t have a plan. You’re just talking out loud.”

“Let’s just get on with it,” Jankx muttered grumpily, heading off. Morgan followed, thankful for Jankx’s practical approach. Arlington staggered behind, skin slick with sweat, one eye squinting to find the path, the other glancing hungrily at his companions.

“No more rests,” Tarquin declared, watching Arlington. The more time spent in Ythryn, the more problems were emerging. Octavian was growing impractically large—rippling with new muscle to be sure, but soon he would be too tall to get through doors. And, more worryingly, Arlington was mutating rapidly into one of the creatures from the Caves. Tarquin wasn’t sure how permanent this was, but being without Arlington’s eagle-eye (and occasional insight) was not an appealing idea.

The cold pressed hard in the shadow of the massive central spire, and soon a likely tower loomed ahead, topped by a sharp, axe-blade shaped edifice. Red light shone from a slender window. The pathway also branched north toward a much larger structure: a sixty-foot tall black obelisk.

Tarquin pondered his map and started to once again explain his theories over what was what. Morgan rolled her eyes and herded everyone toward the obelisk. Tarquin lingered behind, watching Jankx carefully. The thief’s outward appearance was clean and tidy—maybe too tidy?—but there was something wrong with his gait. He dragged one foot slightly, and his arms occasionally jerked with an uncontrolled twitch. Arlington was carrying himself in a similar uncomfortable way, raising Tarquin’s suspicions.

The Obelisk

A large open square surrounded the matt black obelisk, which was carved with arcane runes that the magic wielders recognised as all eight schools of magic. A foot-wide crack had formed from the base of the structure, thinning to a point about half way up. There were no doors or entrances, and Octavian’s exploration found the crack revealed only solid granite. Each side was thirty-feet wide.

“Given this has all eight schools, perhaps this is where we are supposed to do the deed at the end of the day,” Arlington guessed.

“Possibly,” Tarquin said as he hopped up on a waist-high plinth to study the obelisk up close. It loomed overhead, the black surface absorbing light. He cast a spell to detect what magic may lie within. “Nothing…” he said with some surprise.

“I don’t think this is a ‘tower’,” Morgan said, “It’s just an obelisk.”

“Yes…but there is something more. See these unusual runes, interspersed amongst the others?”

“A ninth symbol,” Jankx nodded.

“Exactly. And it is a rune representing Chronomancy,” Tarquin emphasised, “The magic of manipulating time.”

“That sounds…dangerous.”

“It does,” Eearwaxx agreed. “Very bad.”

Tarquin shook his head. “I think where we are now is the focus. When we activate all of this—we gain power over time.” He thought Arlington’s theory was right, but wasn’t about to admit it.

“How do you know all this?” Arlington huffed, hungry for knowledge. “What is it you’re not telling us, Tarquin?”

“I’m not sure. I just have a feeling. Look, I must admit that perhaps I do not come across as a scholar. And perhaps I run adjacent to scholarship. But at some stage, somewhere in my story, I have come across that iconography before…”

“Yeah. I bet you have,” Jankx scowled.

“Just what I was thinking,” Arlington squinted. “You’ve got stuff you’re not telling us, Tarquin. It’s time you spat it out.”

“But he just told you?” Octavian protested.

“Pah. Have you heard of this stuff, Morgan?” Arlington asked.

“No I haven’t,” Morgan said, walking over to Arlington. “And just so you know,” she said showing Arlington his rather hideous reflection in a pocket mirror.

“What’s your point, girl?” Arlington said gruffly.

“We just need to keep an eye on you. No pun intended.” Octavian stifled a chuckle.

“On me? I’m going to be keeping an eye on you!” Arlington countered.

“It’s the singular eye that’s the concern.”

“Why?” Jankx challenged defensively. “What are you concerned about?” He knew the others couldn’t see his ailment, but he felt the critique all the same.

“Well it’s worrying when one of us looks like they’re starting to transform in the same way the people in Dougan’s Hole were. The end of the road of which seems to be the things up in the Caves of Hunger,” Morgan said.

“Not just one of us,” Tarquin said, turning to Jankx. “I was grappling to understand why Arlington and Jankx are moving in the same unnatural way. I understand stagecraft, and it is as if they have both been given a direction to be…wrong.”

Jankx backed away. “What? What do you know? What are you saying?” he muttered.

Morgan’s eyes widened. Tarquin was right. “You too?” she said quietly. Jankx being sick hit her hard, the wily rogue having become something of an ally through these last months.

Jankx blinked fast but didn’t answer, turning his face away. He quickly dropped the disguise and lifted his own mirror and started, shuddering before shifting shape again to a semblance of health. He looked up to find himself staring directly at one of the creatures he was turning into.

“That doesn’t help,” Morgan growled. The creature shrugged and changed back into Tarquin. Morgan turned to Jankx. “It’s ok. We’ll work it out. Find a way to stop it,” she said softly.

“Oh it’s ok for him?” Arlington snapped. Morgan rolled her eyes.

Morgan’s articulation of exactly what was happening caused a flood of concern in Octavian. She was right, and she was also right about it being deeply worrying. If Arlington and Jankx weren’t treated, and soon, there may be no turning back. “This is no regular disease. Eearwaxx mentioned something when we arrived, an Arcane Blight corrupting magic down here.”

“It seems to build up over time—the toxicity in the magic that is transforming them,” Eearwaxx said. “I have fought it off, maybe because I’m a mighty wizard and extra sensitive to it?”

Octavian nodded. “We’ve all suffered some semblance of it, but you two have it bad. We need to do something about it, sooner rather than later. If Eearwaxx is right, and this is a magical sickness, by logic only a magical solution will cure it.”

“I have fought it off too,” Tarquin said. “If we think about sickness, it doesn’t progress in an even pace. So it may be that we have had a moment of clarity before we dive back into the abyss. But I see a different solution: It may be, at the end of all this, if we do indeed gain power over time, we can simply undo these changes.” He was thinking also of Octavian, but recognised his kobold friend may not want to return to normal.

“Why isn’t it affecting you, Tarquin?” Arlington said with suspicion.

Tarquin shrugged. “I do not know. But one thing I do know: we need to keep moving! Three more, people, three more.”

---

The Tower of Evocation

The exterior of the axe-topped tower was heavily battered, as if it had borne the brunt of an assault. “Check the door, Jankx,” Octavian pointed.

Jankx struggled with his warped eye, finding the door difficult. The scorch marks and scars on the tower shook his nerve too. He wasn’t at all sure this was safe. He turned to Octavian. “Looks good to me.” Serves him right if he ends up getting hurt, hoarding all that knowledge about his size.

“Wait!” Tarquin urged. “Evocation is the magic of destroying things and this tower reeks of it. We already have the Evocation line from the octet—the fifth was ‘Quench the flame in the palm with ice’. We don’t need to go in here.”

“Are you sure it’s not the Illusion tower pretending to be the Evocation tower?” Arlington asked.

“No! The Illusion tower is that illusionary tower there,” Tarquin said pointing to a tower wreathed in mist lying further south.

“The one that is obviously the Illusion tower is the Illusion tower? That’s what you’re saying to me?”

“The illusionary tower appears to be, from here, the Illusion tower,” Tarquin nodded. “And that over there,” he added, poking the far reaches of the map, “Is Enchantment.”

Arlington lent in close, his huge eye challenging Tarquin to look away. “I know you have secrets, Tarquin, and the one secret I want to know is how you get such confidence,” he hissed.

Tarquin backed away and bowed. “That I was born with,” he grinned.

Arlington and Jankx both frowned at this entirely unsatisfactory answer. They both wanted to know the secret, not just hear it. “How can I be born with it,” Arlington murmured.

“Well let’s get control over time and we can take you back there,” Tarquin quipped, somewhat disturbed to see both ‘men’ nodding as if that made perfect sense. Indeed Arlington felt this idea filled a hole he didn’t know he had.

---

The Tower of Illusion

The party moved on to the next tower, a obsidian building shrouded in gossamer mists which made it hard to discern the markings beyond. When the mists occasionally swirled clear they revealed the tower was covered in carvings of eyes that seemed to fixate on Jankx and Morgan as they approached the door.

“After you,” Jankx said. Morgan hesitated—had Jankx ever invited anyone to go first? She shrugged and pushed the door open. If it was trapped Jankx would taste her displeasure.

It wasn’t trapped.

Morgan stepped into a darkened room from which came the soft murmuring of people waiting expectantly. Her eyes rapidly adjusted to reveal a seated amphitheatre leading to an empty stage.

“It’s looks like a theatre,” Morgan called, which acted like a teleportation spell for Tarquin who appeared in a flash by her side. He grinned widely. “Home!” he whispered, before changing his appearance to that of a King dressed in grand finery.

Octavian crouched and squeezed through the door, shaking his head at the new King. “Tarquin, time is of the essence. We can’t afford any of your shenanigans.”

“Those people can’t be real,” Morgan said nodding to the audience. But despite trying their best, she and Octavian couldn’t penetrate the illusion—it all seemed real.

Once everyone was inside a spot lit figure in arcane robes appeared on the stage, holding his hands up for silence. “Welcome one and all to Ajamar’s Tower!” His gaze trained on the arrivals as he continued. “Here you will discover truth hidden by truth, lies by lies, and you will learn that trusting your eyes may not always be wise!”

The audience clapped enthusiastically and Tarquin beamed—how he had missed the thespian life! Jankx turned to Arlington. “He said we’re going to learn some secrets. I think this is good,” he whispered. Arlington nodded in agreement, though also tapped his crossbow in readiness just in case.

“Eearwaxx,” Octavian said quietly, “That name—‘Ajamar’—I recognise it but can’t place why?”

“I do too but I can’t think where,” Eearwaxx said. “Wait! The museum—Ajamar was the High Illusionist on the mural!” Octavian nodded. It was good to confirm this was the expected Tower.

“Secrets will be revealed! Answers answered!” Ajamar continued from the stage. “But I get ahead of myself; I have one wish before all shall be revealed. A performance where you will come to believe that these six men—”, he said as Tarquin led the company down the aisle, “—that these six men are not simply men, but legends, gods…and Kings!” he emphasised, pointing to Tarquin.

As each of the company clambered to the stage Ajamar provided an introduction. Tarquin was first. “The King, of course, for whom blasphemy is no stranger. His Lordship is followed closely by The Hunter, who sees all as prey through the murderous sights of his crossbow. And here now comes the shadowy figure of The Rogue, quick with the blade and quicker with his fingers, whom none can trust but all must pay.” Jankx glanced around before realising he was in the spotlight.

Ajamar grinned as Eearwaxx climbed up next. “Of course…The Jester! Who none take seriously but who holds all the wisdom of the kingdom. And we dare not forget The Warrior, stern of visage, strong of arm and steel, meting out cold justice be you beggar or King.”

Ajamar turned finally to Octavian who jumped onto the stage to tower over his fellows. “And finally…The Beast!” The crowd gasped with anticipation.

Octavian’s face twisted into a growl, before realising this was exactly what Ajamar must want. Tarquin turned to face the darkened audience (being sure to stand ahead of Octavian), proud and noble with chest thrust out. He did not bow, for Kings do not. Everyone else sheepishly nodded their heads, feeling distinctly ridiculous.

“Before we begin,” Ajamar said, gathering everyone close, “Please take a few moments to prepare. You may wish to…break a leg!?” he chuckled, rather too pleased with himself. When no-one responded Ajamar clapped and a script appeared in each performer’s hands, written in native language: A Blasphemy of Kings. Tarquin bowed to his fellows with a flourish. “Follow my lead!”

Ajamar turned to the audience, holding his hands up for quiet. “Hush now…hush now as our story begins. In a forgotten corner of fair Netheril where a Jester stands before a King…” The stage plunged into darkness as a spotlight highlighted each player and the tale commenced.

Tarquin was a natural, dominating the stage with his presence, overacting with impunity. “We walk along a peril’s path,” he started. Surprisingly Morgan too slipped into her role with ease, joining Tarquin in the scene-setting start with aplomb.

Arlington, having spent several seasons with the local village dramatic society, was confident he could pull this off. Too confident it turned out as he found his tongue tied within the first few lines. Eearwaxx stumbled too, full of youthful nerves, and Octavian folded his arms almost refusing to go along with this entire charade. Jankx changed his shape to best match Ajamar’s description, but was so busy with his costume that he missed his entrance entirely.

As the performance fell apart before their eyes, the audience started to grumble and toss rotting vegetables to the stage. The worse it got the more boisterous the crowd became, reaching a peak that caused Jankx, Eearwaxx, Octavian, and Arlington to clutch their heads in agony as they were blasted with a lash of psychic disapproval. All suddenly realised this was no joke—they had to perform or bad things were going to happen.

Tarquin could see what was happening: stage fright, but lethal stage fright. He quickly ran between those that were reeling whispering a word of heroism to inspire each, as if he were knighting them (staying in character as best he could). “Remember you are a monster!” he hissed to Octavian, encouragingly.

The giant kobold scowled and bowed his head before lifting it and roaring with the unbridled fury of a dragon. His newly muscular figure rippled and he spread his now enormous wings to loom over the suitably terrified audience…who loved every moment, for what audience doesn’t like feeling the tendrils of terror as they sit in the safety of the darkened theatre!

Arlington reached deep within himself to recall his toxic father who belittled him as a child, leaving him running to his mother’s arms as the family patriarch lectured with endless verbosity about his deeds. He channelled the arrogance and cruelty causing the audience to gasp at the powerful figure revealed. First the Beast had gripped them, now he who hunted that Beast stole the stage. Things were on the up!

Eearwaxx stood frozen to the spot feeling lost and hopeless. He pulled an emerald gem from his pocket and focussed his attention on it, desperately hoping Eearl’wixx would provide some inspiration. And, somewhat to his amazement, he did! Eearwaxx found his mind back in his home of Termalaine when, with Marta’s encouraging words, he had first donned the wizard’s hat and fastened his majestic beard to become the Mighty Wizard. For that was who he was, and if he now needed to be a Jester then that was who he would become! With a shy smile he spun to face the audience

Morgan brooded, waiting for her moment. A fight scene developed and she went to work, waiting for the exact moment to summon Ezra and turn the tide of battle! The audience was thrilled, and Ajamar smiled widely from the wings.

Tarquin watched with joy as his fellows took up the reins, seeming to grow in the spotlight as he wove the tale of the king who dared blaspheme. The crowd was won over, so much so that they ignored Jankx, who was frustrated and still groping for his role, and turned away from Octavian who, whilst scary, seemed to offer little else. Both felt embarrassed but relieved that their companions were carrying the performance.

The performance was reaching it’s denouement with the audience lapping up every moment. Octavian, annoyed at the typical anti-monster sentiment from the audience, responded with a brilliant dual with Morgan that had the crowd ducking their heads and rocking back in their seats. Arlington slid over to Jankx, who was sulking in the wings, and hissed in a very hoarse stage-whisper: “You will ambush me!”

Jankx was angry, more angry than he should be. Arlington’s invitation was the perfect opportunity to unleash that fury. That it was on Arlington was only a bonus. He came hard from the shadows and nailed Arlington, who was stalking around in a ridiculous manner. Both went down in a tangle of arms, legs, and eyes, to cheers from the audience.

Tarquin watched with joy as his companions worked together, operating like the perfect clockwork of the repaired orrery. He was enjoying their performance so much that he accidentally turned his back on the audience—a theatrical crime! But, natural performer that he was, he turned it around with a rousing final soliloquy that had the crowd spellbound and breathless. He knighted Jankx and Morgan for saving the realm, springing his green-flame blade to glee from the cheap seats.

And Eearwaxx, the court jester, finished with the audience in the palm of his hand. He closed proceedings by singing the fulsome tale of a godless King Tarquin, almost assassinated by the betrayer Arlington, who was saved by the unlikely antihero Jankx. Of the tragic romance of Morgan, forced to kill the one she loved, Octavian disguised as a dragon but revealed to be the Prince, her lover, on death. A tragedy of such proportion that King Tarquin was forced to admit to the divinity of Love itself.

Tarquin gathered his companions and stood them in a line at the front of the stage. “On three,” he said…bowing on two.

The applause was thunderous.

Ajamar stepped to the centre of the stage, tears rolling down his face. “My performers, my friends, I thank you. The Blasphemy has never seen such a performance, and never will again. It is done, it is complete. I know what you seek, and it is yours: go to my quarters and reflect upon my words.”

The High Illusionist vanished, and as he did so too did the audience and the trappings of the theatre. All that remained was a dusty stage with the skeletal remains of Ajamar, and the bodies of several long-dead apprentices in the seats below. A staircase was revealed at the back of the stage, leading up.

“Well done gentlemen, and lady,” Tarquin nodded, keeping his Kingly disguise in place. He was glowing.

“You first?” Morgan said to Jankx, who nodded and walked upstairs. The staircase led to Ajamar’s chambers, which doubled as a dressing room. Wrecked furniture littered the room, with the exception of a dressing table in front of a large, ornate mirror. The table held a stack of real scripts for A Blasphemy of Kings.

Eearwaxx sidled toward the scripts, wary of the mirror until Morgan put a hand on his shoulder. “Remember what he said? ‘Reflect on my words’?” Eearwaxx nodded and peered at the mirror, but he was intent on looking at the mirror rather than through it.

Morgan had no such trouble. She cast her mind back to an earlier life, a memory of being in the arms of a studious bookkeeper in the lofts of Castle Ravenloft. She had always understood those memories to have been from some ‘other’, but now she was starting to accept that maybe, just maybe, they were her own. As she reflected on this, she quickly saw that while the mirror echoed the dressing room, there was a large armoire in the mirror that was not in the chamber in which she stood. “Jankx—that armoire?” Jankx followed the reflection and went to check in the chamber where the missing wardrobe should be, but there was nothing there.

“Morgan, perhaps your brother should step through the mirror?” Tarquin said.

Morgan shrugged and stepped through herself. She found herself in a mirror of the chamber. She stepped to the beautifully crafted armoire and opened the door carefully. Inside hung a shimmering cloak, and a mouth suddenly materialised on the inner wall of the dresser. It spoke softly:

“Sixth, hide thyself behind a mask.”

Morgan smiled as she memorised the line and grabbed the cloak. She stepped back through the mirror, handing the cloak to Eearwaxx and repeating the revealed octad.

“We’re close, but I’m not sure what this mask is. These illusionists are tricksy,” Tarquin said as he copied the line. “Onward people!”

Conjuration “Second, summon a flame in the palm of your hand.”
Divination “Third, a burnt palm loosens the tongue. Shed a secret about yourself for all to hear.”
Evocation “Fifth, quench the flame in thy palm with ice.”
Illusion “Sixth, hide thyself behind a mask.”
Necromancy “Seventh, trace a circle with the ashes of the dead.”
Transmutation “Eighth, stand firm in thy circle of death and consume poison.”

---

Stepping outside, something drew everyone’s attention to the enormous central spire. In the near distance something was bobbing through the air, hundreds of feet aloft. Despite being tiny it was somehow sharply visible: a floating skull with wisps of magic drifting above it. It stopped to stare, a pair of empty sockets piercing the souls of those it watched. Despite the distance, everyone felt a shudder of dark fear as the creature held the company in its deathly gaze. A moment later it vanished.

“The word ‘foreboding’ comes to mind,” Jankx said quietly. He felt a tickle in his mind—someone or something had mentioned…no, he couldn’t recall.

“I think the game is afoot,” Tarquin agreed. “Two more.”

---

The Tower of Enchantment

Ice had engulfed the lower floors of the crumbling tower at the far edge of the platform. Pink light poured out of the highest window—a single point of illumination in a dark and out-of-the-way region of the city.

“And Tarquin, this is…remind me?” Arlington said tiredly.

“Enchantment.”

“How do you know that?”

“We’ve been everywhere else.”

“Just checking.”

The door to the tower was splintered and broken in. Jankx declared it was exactly as it appeared: broken, not a deathly spike trap. He stepped inside.

The room was bathed in a soft red light that illuminated hundreds of lines of text handwritten on every surface of the walls. A spiral staircase wound to a floor above.

“'They fear me. Doubt me. Who am I?’,” Eearwaxx translated warily. ‘Repeated over and over. And over. It’s Ivira, if Tarquin is right.”

As he spoke a soft giggle sounded through the room. Everyone glanced around but the room was empty. The giggle quickly escalated to chorus of guffaws, and moments later the lower floor echoed with deranged laughter. Octavian backed against the wall, on edge and trying to find the source, but it was everywhere.

As the laughter reached a peak everyone’s mind reeled as vivid fears and doubts manifested before them, almost real. The peace and unity of the recent performance was quickly shattered.

Octavian looked in horror as a twisted crown of jagged iron began to form on his companion’s heads and his thoughts raced. What if I am just that…a kobold? Inconsequential fodder? That’s what everyone here thinks! He smirked. “Wrong insult, lady,” he laughed shaking the enchantment off, “You have woken the dragon!”. Despite his strong words he wasn’t sure what to attack, so he drew his spear and moved to a defensive stance, knowing his companions might not be so strong of mind.

Eearwaxx stared in terror at himself as a boy. What happened to the boy full of innocent good will? How could I abandon Marta? Now it is only the dead that matter—and no-one here believes I am the greatest wizard! He blinked and shook his head. No. “This is an enchantment,” he yelled, “Do not believe it, Ivira is trying to capture us!”

Tarquin quickly cast another round of heroism, touching Jankx and Arlington and reaching for Eearwaxx when his mind was suddenly thrown into chaos. There will be no tales sung of me, nor will any listen to those I spin. None of these men will tell them! A bard without a story? I am nothing! He clutched the crown as Eearwaxx put a firm hand on his shoulder. “It will be alright,” he whispered. But it was not alright: Tarquin drew his weapon and fixed his sights on Jankx.

I am Strahd’s daughter? Morgan reeled. The one creature I hate the most?? It cannot be true, yet these men believe it so! She yanked her blade free and charged toward Octavian. Octavian thought he was ready to meet all comers, but he wasn’t ready for Morgan. No-one could be ready for Morgan. She leapt off the stairs and flew through the air, easily avoiding Octavian’s parrying swing. The first blow drove Octavian into the wall, and the second nearly gutted him. Octavian collapsed to the ground, barely alive.

Arlington meanwhile was stupefied. I once led these men and woman, and now? No-one follows me, no-one believes in me…no-one cares. He huffed and drew his sword and charged toward Morgan. She didn’t deserve the bolt (and always moved her head)—he wanted to watch her die up close.

At the foot of the stair Jankx stared blankly. My family trusted me, sent me here for a purpose. Instead? I have found nothing, sought nothing. I have betrayed the only ones that know me. For these fools! He shook his head and fought the insanity away. I have followed my path, he thought to himself, As my people do. He saw that Arlington was about to lunge at Morgan, so he shoved the great hunter to the ground, wrapping his arms and ending up rolling on the floor with him for the second time in short succession. People were going to talk!

Tarquin saw Jankx leap at Arlington and grinned—the fool didn’t know I was waiting for him! He lashed out with his rapier but it caught on the falling figure of Arlington and was ripped from his grasp. He cursed and ran to retrieve the weapon.

Eearwaxx watched in horror at the chaos. His friends were attacking each other! Morgan had killed Octavian!! He growled and jumped into the centre of the room, raising his hands above his head and bringing down an antimagic field with as much strength as he could muster. It was the most powerful spell he had ever cast—removing any doubt that this was anything but a group of the greatest friends and companions, loyal to each other even unto death. He shook as the power surged through him and into the room.

The insane laughter cut instantly and the crowns on the attackers heads vanished with it. In the sudden silence everyone froze.

Morgan’s eyes widened in disbelief and shock, stepping back and dropping her sword. At her feet Octavian groaned, clutching his chest. He was bleeding out. “Help!” Morgan cried.

Octavian took a breath, raising his head to stare at Morgan. Morgan saw the look in his eyes: despite his wounds Octavian would have fought back, and fought back hard. The fury roiled in Octavian’s eyes as he screamed a dragon’s roar, unfurling his wings. His great form rippled with rage, but he managed to control it as Morgan backed away with sorrow in her eyes. Octavian healed himself then squatted to catch his breath.

Jankx and Arlington untangled themselves, Arlington smarting from the bruises Jankx kept applying. Jankx decided against healing him, applying his medicine kit to Octavian instead.

Eearwaxx walked to Octavian and gently patted his wings, similar to how he had with Calcryx so long ago. “Are you alright?”

“No,” Octavian said, “But I will be.” His eyes still promised murder, but he was slowly cooling.

“This enchantment is evil. Ivira is at fault here—we need to be careful.” The young wizard looked pale and drained, the spell having taken a lot out of him.

Arlington brushed himself off. “We are on the edge of our capacity here. We need to be more cautious.”

“One more,” Tarquin said firmly.

“No! You need to be more cautious, not ‘one more’. ‘One more’ will kill us!”

“My friend I am not leading this…”

“Oh but you are,” Arlington grimaced.

Tarquin shrugged and turned to Jankx. “You look injured—are you ok? Do you need healing?”

“I’m good,” Jankx snapped. He sulkily applied some bandages to himself, drawing a shrug from Tarquin.

Morgan saw Octavian had reached a low simmer. She reached into her bag and pulled out one of the healing potions, sliding it across the floor to Octavian and stepping back. Octavian glanced at it, then used the butt of the spear to push it back. “Thank you for the offer. But you might need this. I’m staying here, you go upstairs.”

Eearwaxx led up the stairs. “The writing has changed on the stairway. Now it says ‘The crown…the crown knows!’ repeatedly.”

“We all had crowns down below,” Jankx said warily.

As the stairs reached the upper floor the script changed again: “'I am Ivira. Ivira is my name.’,” Eearwaxx whispered nervously.

He stepped out into another near empty room bathed in red light. An ancient woman wreathed in black sat rigidly on a dark throne shrouded in ice. She wore a crown of entwined iron tentacles, her forehead bruised where the band sat tightly against her skull. A thick, embroidered carpet lay on the floor before the throne.

The woman’s head hung limply, her voice muttering. “Madness…only madness! Ha ha ha haaahaha.”

Morgan didn’t like the look of what she saw, so she whistled down the stairs to summon Octavian, who appeared moments later and frowned. “This does not look safe,” he whispered.

Jankx moved closer to the shrivelled figure. Ivira looked old, very old, older than life, aged beyond age. Her cheekbones were drawn and face deeply wrinkled. Suddenly the woman’s head lifted and her ancient eyes latched into Jankx’s. “Trapped! I am trapped here, never to leave! Ha ha ha haa.”

Jankx recoiled. “That crown must be doing something pretty bad.”

“I think it need to come off,” Morgan said softly.

Eearwaxx walked confidently forward, feeling he could help her, his earlier fears and warnings forgotten. She was trapped, it was not her fault. Ivira looked up again. “Madness! Trapped, never to die! It holds me!!” Eearwaxx reached toward her.

“Don’t touch it!” Jankx warned.

Eearwaxx ignored him. He placed a hand on her hand and cast a curse removal as he did. Ivira’s other hand shot out and grabbed his wrist. “Free me…destroy the crown…release my memories…!” she hissed, then started laughing hysterically. “Release my memories!” she cried between gasps.

Eearwaxx realised with dismay that his spell hadn’t worked. “Take the crown off,” he urged.

Ivira grabbed his hand again and pulled Eearwaxx inches away. “I cannot! I cannnootttt!” she shrieked.

Jankx decided if she couldn’t, he would. He summoned a mage hand and started moving it toward her. Tarquin nodded—it was a good plan—and summoned his own hand, and suddenly there were two hovering above Ivira’s head, one either side.

At a nod from Jankx, both hands lowered and grasped it either side. “One…two…three!” Tarquin counted. On three the crown lifted free—far more easily than expected.

Ivira threw her head back and gasped, her body rigid. She was free at last, free after centuries, free for but a moment. With the crown gone, High Enchanter Ivira rapidly deteriorated into dust as time finally took its toll. “Releasssseeeee….”

There as a moment of silence. The crown hovered in mid air. “We probably should have asked her for the line?” Arlington muttered. “Tarquin if you put the crown on you will know the answer.”

“This is surely the most cursed item ever created,” Jankx said shaking his head and removing his mage hand.

Tarquin floated the crown down to his eyeline and rotated it, looking for inscriptions or symbols. It was very simple, very similar to the one that had appeared downstairs, and there was nothing engraved or otherwise marked.

“What about the throne?” Octavian asked. Jankx checked carefully, but there was nothing. Nor did moving the rug at Morgan’s suggestion reveal anything. Arlington pored over the writing on the walls and ceiling but could find no undiscovered scrawls.

“Eearwaxx, can you do speak with dead?” Octavian said, pointing to the mound of dust that once was Ivira.

“Is there anything left to speak with?” Jankx said doubtfully.

“I can’t, so the point is moot,” Eearwaxx said. “Though I think the dust would have been enough.”

“Did we do this in the wrong order?” Tarquin worried.

“There’s nothing left in this room except the crown,” Arlington said. “I’m willing to find out what it has to say.”

Jankx was shaken. “But you saw what it did to her.”

“Put it on my head and bind my hands,” Eearwaxx suddenly said. He hoped he could unravel the crown’s secrets with his magic, but worried what it might do with that same magic.

“No, no! Put it on my head,” Arlington screeched. He wasn’t going to have Eearwaxx cursed on his watch.

“I agree with that,” Tarquin said, as Jankx shook his head. “She died of age, not of the result of taking it off.”

Eearwaxx nodded. “I don’t think it will kill him but I do think it will control him. We need to bind his hands and remove his weapons.”

Everyone agreed, even Arlington. He perched on the throne—surprisingly comfortable once Ivira’s dust was removed—and settled himself. Jankx roped him down as Eearwaxx removed the weapons.

“Is that all of them? Dagger in the boot,” Tarquin pointed.

“Tighter, Jankx,” Arlington muttered. He and Jankx were rapidly falling into a…symbiotic relationship.

When all was ready, Tarquin and Jankx lowered the crown slowly. “I hate this,” Jankx grumbled.

The crown fit perfectly.

The moment it settled onto his head, Arlington felt it grip his skin and his mind. Tendrils reached inside seeking his earliest memories, memories long buried, siphoning them away into the crown. The great hunter reeled back in the throne, barely able to move but struggling none-the-less. Those are mine!! he cried inside, MINE!

“This is not knowledge!” he shrieked. “This is the opposite!!”

Jankx started to wrench the crown away but Tarquin stopped him with a steely glare. “Ask it Arlington! Ask it what is the rite!”

“Take it off take it off take it off!” Arlington cried, but in his horror he had a revelation: the crown must have taken Ivira’s memories too.

He tried to follow his consciousness from his mind and into the crown but he had absolutely no control over what was happening. And, too late, too late, he recalled what Ivira had cried: ‘Destroy the crown…release my memories!’

---

Eight of Eight

“Get it off! Now!” Morgan yelled.

Tarquin and Jankx summonsed their hands again and pulled at the crown. Arlington howled as it felt like his forehead was being ripped off. The hands stopped.

Morgan frowned. “Eearwaxx—can you do the anti-magic thing again?”

“Not with the same power, but let me go to my books.”

“Your books?!” Arlington yelled. He didn’t have time for that—he was literally losing his mind. In a panic he used all his strength to snap the bond on his right arm. “Some thief,” he muttered, glaring at a sheepish Jankx as he tried next to free his left arm. No-one stepped forward to assist, but Tarquin did crouch and meet Arlington’s frenzied gaze. “Push back! Find the answer!!” Arlington merely snarled—Tarquin still wanted him to find the Octad!?

Eearwaxx finally found what he was after. He cast a spell to plant a firm suggestion in Arlington’s tortured head: Please remove the crown. Arlington immediately stopped fiddling with his bonds and tried to rip the crown from his head. His skin started to tear as he wrenched—it was clear the crown wasn’t coming off. “Stop!” Eearwaxx stressed, quickly changing his order. “There’s one more thing I can try,” Eearwaxx mumbled. “It’s cursed, so I will try and remove that curse.” He cast his spell then nodded to Jankx and Tarquin, but it was just as hopeless. It was as if the crown was now part of Arlington, who continued to groan.

“Try and relax,” Tarquin said hopelessly. He could see Arlington wasn’t physically hurt, but the mental stress was obvious. “Let it go, find the answer!”

Arlington screwed his eyes shut. Maybe Tarquin was right, maybe if he chased the dragon down the rabbit hole and tried to follow the memories as they were being drained, find the Octad, maybe, maybe then the curse that affixed the crown would be removed. He tried to push across the barrier, ride the river of memory into the crown, but it was hopeless: his mind was too sundered, it was terrifying to even consider. If he crossed over, he may never find his way back. “That’s enough from you, Tarquin,” he snarled.

“We need to get him back to the Abjuration tower,” Morgan decided. “Now. I remember something happening when we went in there which meant that Eearwaxx couldn’t cast spells. That may have an effect on the crown.”

Octavian didn’t hesitate. He wrenched free the ropes holding Arlington and tossed the twitching hunter over his massive shoulder, setting off at a jog down the stairs and out into Ythryn.

“You are the greatest kobold,” Arlington whispered gratefully.

“His mind is going!” Octavian cried in response.

---

“Just to be clear, we don’t have the answer from this tower yet,” Tarquin said as the company exited. “I know you’ll all ignore that, but for future reference: I told you so!”

Crossing the thoroughfares was difficult now as the icy breeze from the Caves of Hunger had developed into a howling wind, bringing with it stinging ice and snow. Jankx and Eearwaxx reached the Abjuration tower first thanks to a dimension door, Jankx wrenching the doors open and checking the path upstairs was clear.

As Octavian drew close he felt Arlington go limp, the great hunter submitting finally to the struggle. “Good,” Octavian muttered, hoping it gave Arlington some relief. He powered inside, followed closely by Morgan. “We’re going to have to kill the magen first as they’re not going to let us near the anvil,” Morgan said to a nod from Octavian. Morgan thought it was a good bet the hammer and anvil could destroy the crown, it was only a question of whether Arlington’s head would be in the middle.

Everyone stepped into the upper chamber, all in the mood to finish this. Those with magic-sensitivity felt the weave’s corruption vanish, bringing a wave of relief. Tarquin’s glowing green sword spluttered out, and Iceblink faded. As Eearwaxx went to step over the threshold Tarquin reached out to stop him. “Are you sure? There is no magic here.” He tried and failed to summon a mage hand to demonstrate.

Eearwaxx was having nothing of it. “There is now!” he said with determination.

Octavian lay Arlington down and turned to face the magen. As before, all three stood impassive, face down, waiting. Morgan gathered everyone in a huddle. “Walk around, behind each, and then we are just going to start attacking. At least this time we might get the jump on them, unlike last time,” she whispered.

In his tortured dreams, a tear came to Arlington’s eyes as he sensed Morgan was just going to straight up kill people rather than dancing yet another pantomime. Another tear was drawn as he wondered why no-one had tried to remove the crown now they were in the fabled anti-magic room.

“Fireball?” Eearwaxx said as the company took their positions.

“There’s no magic,” Jankx stressed.

“That’s what you think!” the mighty wizard grinned.

It was quickly clear surprise wasn’t going to be an option. All three magen lifted their heads with hands on their weapons, turning to face their lurking foes. Tarquin sung a song of inspiration—and that worked, the stirring words filling the void where magic feared to tread. “That’ll teach you to mock my rhymes,” he grinned causing Arlington to roll his unconscious eyes. At a nod from Morgan Tarquin fired his crossbow and the battle for the anvil commenced.

Eearwaxx surprised everyone by throwing his dagger, which flew wildly off the mark, only just missing the unconscious Arlington. Jankx was slashed by one of the magen, then stepped easily out of the way of the next swing as the magen tripped and fell over the skeletal body in the room. Jankx grinned as he loomed over the fallen figure, shunting his weapon into his defenceless victim.

Octavian crashed his quarterstaff into the nearest blue figure, old style, taking two vicious slashes in return. Morgan hit twice, hard, with her blade, and she too was wounded in reply. Tarquin sprinted forward and dug his Dirgeblade into the nearest magen with two sharp strikes. Eearwaxx yanked his second dagger free, this time determined to make his mark. He stood over the fallen magen and drove his dagger into it with all his might. He felt the thrill of the melee for a moment, then the terror when the magen rolled over and lunged with the sword. But it missed badly, only ripping a halving slice through the false beard.

Morgan finished off her attacker, dodging under Octavian’s wild swing before deftly hitting the kobold’s attacker from behind—the attack looking rather better than the actual damage done. Octavian was pierced again, allowing Morgan to land an extra blow as her reactions heightened. The magen spun to face Morgan and whipped its blade across her upper arm. Morgan looked as impassive as the magen, as if nothing had happened. Jankx finished the badly hurt magen off with ease.

Eearwaxx, blood rushing, let out a cry as he plunged his dagger into the magen again, hoping but failing to kill it. His victim retaliated, but only hit with a weak and glancing blow. Morgan jumped over and completed what Eearwaxx had started, dropping the final magen.

Octavian sprinted over to Arlington and tried to wrench the crown free. This time it came off with ease. He flung the crown away.

Arlington woke suddenly. Despite a splitting headache the elation was almost as overwhelming as the crown had been. He squinted with his one good eye. “How did you do it?”

“Morgan figured this room would negate it,” Octavian shrugged. “She was right.”

Morgan sheathed Iceblink and stepped to the anvil. “Toss the crown up here.”

“It’s my crown,” Arlington said weakly, crawling toward it.

Octavian raised an eyebrow. “It’s my precious crown!” Arlington reiterated. Octavian shook his head, straight-armed Arlington (causing Arlington to inadvertently bite down and crack a tooth on Octavian’s armour-like scales) and hurled the crow to Morgan.

Morgan plucked the crown out of the air and slammed it down on the anvil that was crackling with latent energy. She hefted the hammer above her head. Just before bringing it down a voice whispered in her head: Feed me…it has been too long. Feed me!

Morgan snorted. She didn’t make it wait, bringing the hammer down with a massive slamming blow. The crown shattered into thousands of tiny shards as the hammer and anvil were finally sated by Morgan’s might.

As the crown shattered the room was flooded with the insane memories of Ivira. Everyone reeled under the sudden mental overload, reliving vivid moments from Ivira’s life of thousands of years, from visions of Ythryn flying free to the glory and majesty of the Netherese empire, of creatures from beyond imagination to magics beyond comprehension. Trying to retain the flashing memories was nigh impossible, particularly as the madness of the last millennia that had turned Ivira into a shrunken husk took hold.

Just as it became almost too much to bear, a sudden clarity struck as a single overwhelming memory dominated all others: Fourth, coax a secret from another. It rested in everyone’s minds for a moment, then Ivira was gone.

Before the fog of memories cleared one final scene lingered: a tiny boy being yelled at by a bear of a father, running in tears to his mother begging for a cuddle.

Arlington blushed.

Tarquin grinned and scribbled the line down. “Enchantment, gentlemen!”

“I guess now we know how to destroy magic,” Jankx said, reminding everyone of a long-forgotten debate about how to destroy the cursed vampiric blade back in Easthaven.

Morgan bathed in the sated power of the hammer. The Hammer and Anvil of Disjunction had been waiting thousands of years to resume their duties, and they did so with relish. Thank you. For your service we will give you what you seek: First, shield thy heart with a wand from the Nether Oak.

Morgan nodded, repeating the final Octad to Tarquin. “And with that we have all eight!” he exclaimed.

Before Morgan placed the hammer down, Eearwaxx climbed up next to her and pulled Cadavix’s emerald from his pocket. “Destroy this, please.”

“What’s that?” Morgan asked. “Where’s it from?”

“From my pocket,” Eearwaxx said softly. “Smash it.”

Morgan paused, seeing the deadly serious look in Eearwaxx’s eye. She shrugged and hefted the hammer again. “Okay.” She brought the hammer down.

The gem seemed to resist for a microsecond as the anvil and hammer met, before it too exploded into dust. As it did, the necropolis of Ythryn echoed with the agonised, surprised, horrified howl of Cadavix dying—for good this time. An ancient undead soul being condemned to eternal damnation.

Eearwaxx felt his shoulders relax as the tension of avenging Eearl’wixx’s murder was released. He sighed deeply. It was done. He knelt down and started sweeping the remnants of dust into a small vial as Morgan placed the hammer down onto the anvil with a quiet Thanks.

Arlington, thankful that Eearwaxx had distracted everyone from the last of the crowns' memories, lit his pipe and glanced at Octavian. “I guess there’s hope for the boy yet,” he murmured.

---

“So, are we done?” Arlington said, trying to catch up on events as everyone settled to catch their breath.

Tarquin nodded and recited the completed Octad:

Abjuration “First, shield thy heart with a wand from the Nether Oak.”
Conjuration “Second, summon a flame in the palm of your hand.”
Divination “Third, a burnt palm loosens the tongue. Shed a secret about yourself for all to hear.”
Enchantment “Fourth, coax a secret from another.”
Evocation “Fifth, quench the flame in thy palm with ice.”
Illusion “Sixth, hide thyself behind a mask.”
Necromancy “Seventh, trace a circle with the ashes of the dead.”
Transmutation “Eighth, stand firm in thy circle of death and consume poison.”

“And ninth, perhaps, there is rune of Chronomancy on the obelisk,” Tarquin finished.

“So we have the steps, but what do we need? What do we have and what do we still need to get?” Octavian asked. “For the first one we need to defeat the oak to get a wand. But for some of the others perhaps we just need dust from a cemetary?””

“Ashes of the dead,” Arlington nodded.

“And do we all need to do this?” Morgan added.

“No,” Tarquin said firmly. “This is knowledge that is designed to be held by each High Wizard, and then they do it together.”

“It also depends if these things are physical actions or if they require magic by default,” Morgan said. “Because everything in that list could be done non-magically. ‘A flame in the palm of your hand’ could just be some lamp oil set alight.”

“Regardless we have to go and parlay with that Nether Oak,” Octavian said. “I’m not looking forward to it after last time, but let’s go.” He was keenly aware of the time pressure with Arlington and Jankx’s transformation.

“This is a city of dead mages,” Morgan said. “If the wands maintain their magic then we might not need to fight the Nether Oak at all. We just need find a body, probably one of the High Wizards, and we’ll find their wand.”

Octavian nodded slowly. “We did find the lore saying wands were crafted from the Oak for graduating acolytes. But we would have to identify that the wand was from the Nether Oak.”

“I’m sure you can do that because you would understand wood better than any of us,” Morgan smiled. “Then the next step is everyone has to have two secrets they’re willing to pony up: One that you’re going to reveal, and one that we need to coax out of you.”

“Not everyone,” Tarquin said. “This is designed so that when the schools all come together they share their knowledge.”

“He’s right,” Octavian nodded. “One Abjuration master, one Enchantment, etcetera. It’s a failsafe.”

“And so it’s all about them holding onto that knowledge so they can all work in unison, or it won’t work at all.”

Morgan frowned. “But if they all come together with their eight parts—”

“One part,” Tarquin interrupted. “We don’t each of us need to have eight lies…uh, truths….to sell.”

“I think that’s a long bow to draw that you’re assuming you understand how this magic words.”

“It’s a classic trope!”

“Morgan you may be good with the sword,” Arlington smirked, “But I think you should leave the thinking to the others.”

“Sure,” Morgan glared at Arlington. “And how’s your head?”

“I think Tarquin’s right,” Octavian said trying to calm Morgan, causing Tarquin to look mock shocked. “Don’t look like that—we’ve agreed on occasion.”

“There’s been a long period here where it’s been tough to get agreement from anybody,” Tarquin shrugged.

“Three out of six is about as best we’ve done so far,” Arlington muttered.

“But we don’t have eight people,” Octavian added, “Which does worry me.”

“Someone’s going to have to double up,” Arlington said. “I vote Tarquin.”

“It’s just the knowedge,” Tarquin repeated. “We don’t need eight flames, we don’t need eight truths. We just need to do one of all of these things.”

“If you’re working on that assuption then it’s probably safest that one person does all of it,” Morgan said.

“It’s safest that only one drinks poison,” Arlington said, phrasing the obvious as an amazing insight.

“I’ll do it,” Eearwaxx said putting his hand up, and beard on.

“No you won’t, boy. Tarquin—this is you.”

“Why would it be Tarquin?”

“He loves poison,” Morgan said with a smirk as she stepped down off the dias.

“I can’t help but feel this is a bit loose,” Octavian sighed, “The whole of our lives depending on a guess. But first things first: we need a wand.”

“Sorry for thinking for a second,” Morgan ‘apologised’ to Arlington, “But if anyone would have a Nether Wand it would be one of the masters of the towers. The Illusion tower is closest, and we saw the body of Ajamar on stage.”

Arlington squinted for a moment at Morgan, then turned to Eearwaxx. “Eearwaxx, would there be a wand anywhere amongst any of the great wizards of this city?”

“They should all have wands,” Eearwaxx said.

“Right. So where would be the closest one, Eearwaxx?”

“Morgan just told you!” Octavian protested, entirely missing the subtext.

“I’m asking Eearwaxx!”

Octavian slapped his forehead. “Morgan just told you!!” he said loudly, assuming Arlington was going deaf as well as blind.

“Well Illusion would be closest, as Morgan said?”

“Good boy,” Arlington said, studiously ignoring Morgan who rolled her eyes. The grudge holding was immense.

“Before we leave we should check the study here—maybe a wand is even closer than we think,” Tarquin shrugged.

Jankx hustled down and rifled the study. He forced open every broken draw and collapsed container. There was no wand, but he did find something under the rubble: a rolled scroll traced with arcane runes. He knew better than to read it, so passed it to Eearwaxx. “Greater Restoration,” the great wizard reported, “An Abjuration spell appropriately. I can’t learn it, but Octavian might?”

“Sounds like something that might get rid of whatever the fuck I’ve got,” Jankx muttered, admitting aloud for the first time that he was in as bad shape as Arlington.

Octavian scanned the scroll and nodded. “It could. I feel on the verge of understanding it already. I could risk casting it now but it might fail. And the other problem is there are two people affected.”

“Yes but one of them is into it,” Jankx said tilting his head at Arlington.

---

At the Illusion tower Octavian immediately found a plain wooden wand near the remains of the High Illusionist. He peered at it closely. “It’s oak, and I can all but guarantee it’s from the Nether Father.”

“Excellent. Now we need some ash from a body—the Enchantress crumbled to dust if I remember?” Morgan said.

“Dust is not ash,” Arlington scolded Morgan.

“But if we burn these bodies we will have ash,” Jankx said pointing to the remains of the audience. With help he gathered several ex-students and incinerated them, under the expert direction of a pipe-huffing Arlington. Eearwaxx swept the ash into a vial.

Arlington and Jankx were feeling worse than ever. Both knew they were losing a hold not just of their physical selves, but mental too. Arlington’s brief respite after the crown had been removed was gone, and both were worried.

So was Octavian. “We need to rest. Properly rest. I might be able to learn that Restoration knowledge, and these two look like they are going to need it. Soon.”

“We all felt better in the hammer room,” Jankx said, conceding Octavian was right.

“It might stave off the worst of it,” Morgan agreed. “And we don’t all need to be in the anti-magic, some of us are still well enough.”

“You’ll all be out there talking about us, whispering your secrets,” Arlington protested.

“We should all rest in there,” Tarquin declared. “I’ve been watching you fall one by one and the last thing we want to happen is to be afflicted just when we’re about to cure everyone.”

“Whatever we do we need to arrest their change for long enough to cure them,” Octavian said. “Wait! What about the chronomancy obelisk? Can we stop time?”

“Oh dear god,” Morgan groaned. “Eerwaaxx said, and I quote, that it’s ‘very bad’!”

“No one is saying it’s not without downside, but we’re in a bit of a pickle,” Octavian said, doubling down on the understatements.

“No, no, that comes after,” Tarquin said, “After we gain control.”

“How do you know that?” Arlington asked.

“I’m sure I read that…my understanding is the only way we’re going to beat a god is by changing time.”

“How about we just take it a day at a time?” Morgan said.

“The problem is we don’t have a day because Arlington is going to turn into a cyclops,” Octavian said. “I need to rest, learn that scroll, and save the day.”

“I’ll be ok tomorrow!” Arlington assured everyone confidently.

“You’re not ok now,” Octavian glared. “In the hammer room we sensed the Arcane blight was gone. It might buy us enough time.”

Eearwaxx agreed. “It’s exposure over time, but if they aren’t exposed in that room maybe they won’t change further.”

“The negative impacts of this place are held back in there,” Tarquin nodded.

“You just want to stop to keep your secrets from me!” Arlington protested.

“You need a rest Arlington!” Octavian snapped.

“You need a wife,” Arlington said sulkily.

“…What?”

Morgan sighed. “When it comes down to it, I can’t think of a safer place than that particular room, in the Tower of Abjuration, which is protective. There literally isn’t a safer place in all of Ythryn whether the blight is affecting us or not. The simple fact is we cannot continue without rest and recovery, so it’s just a gamble and it’s the safest place to place a bet.”

“I don’t think we’ve got many choices,” Jankx nodded.

“I’m willing to roll the die on that one,” Tarquin agreed.

---

Octavian woke three feet taller, fourteen total, which was no longer a surprise to anyone. He was stronger, clumsier, and would now have to duck his entire torso to get through anything other than a grand doorway.

“You’re going to have to hunch down like one of those freaky cave troglodytes,” Arlington yawned as he wiped a prodigious amount of sleep from his one glued shut eye.

“Hey! I wouldn’t be throwing the word ‘freaky’ around with those eyes. I’m magnificent!”

“You are,” Morgan smirked, “I’m just…are you sure hanging onto the spear is a—”

“No ‘just!'” Octavian tsked. In his mind there was no longer any question: it could not be denied that he was now the greatest kobold—he looked forward to the Marut’s judgement. He unrolled the scroll and found it made perfect sense, so much so that he realised he could learn it natively. Which meant: two casts.

“It’s your lucky day,” he nodded to the peering eye of Jankx and Arlington. “I have more power now, and can do both of you. I don’t know if this is going to work, but I feel confident.” Arlington and Jankx weren’t any worse, much to their relief, but they were still in the dampening zone.

Morgan glanced at the doorway. “Don’t forget we need to be out there before you cast.”

“Let’s not rush,” Tarquin piped up.

“No, let’s rush,” Morgan countered.

“Did you say you can do something more powerful?” Tarquin pressed Octavian.

“Yes. But I chose the one that can save Arlington and Jankx.” Octavian did have some regret that the extra power available to him was to be used before he had a chance to flex it, but he had no choice. Tarquin shrugged, knowing it too.

Morgan hauled the doors open and Arlington and Jankx stepped through. The moment they reached the landing both collapsed, a slavering mess as their skin started to ooze and hands stretch into claws. Their tiny eye began to vanish as the huge one took over their faces.

Octavian reacted fast, leaping out of the room and laying both hands on Arlington. It felt to Arlington like Octavian was physically extracting the infection from his every pore, sucking the blight out into his hands like the memories into the crown. But this felt good, oh so good.

Octavian gathered the blight into a pulsing ball between his hands and flung it free. He pulled out the scroll and raced through the incantation as Jankx was writhing on the floor, and soon enough Jankx too felt the sweet relief of the infection being drawn free of his shuddering body. He gasped as Octavian removed every trace, hurling the remnants into the nether.

Arlington and Jankx breathed in their first uninfected breaths and it was like drinking water from a mountain stream, or ale from a fresh tapped keg. The sense of just being themselves again was near overwhelming. Arlington found the memory of what he had been was still fresh, and he had a fleeting moment of regret at losing having an urgent drive for something for the first time in his life—and now it was gone. But even he knew it was better this way. Mostly.

Octavian placed a huge hand against a wall to stabilise himself—he had felt the depth of the blight and just how close his companions had been to being forever corrupted. It was a very near thing, he realised, offering a silent prayer of thanks to the druidic powers.

Everyone else also felt that the blight had lifted, perhaps bathing in the remnants of Octavian’s impressive display. Everyone…except Eearwaxx. He had missed the drama, busy studying his books, and when he finally stepped outside the room he coughed and spluttered. Why is everyone staring at me? Why don’t they mind their own business? He walked back into the room, feeling the corruption fade, but still unsettled.

Morgan put a hand on Eearwaxx’s shoulder. “Whatever it is you’re feeling right now—it’s not real.”

“I know, it’s hard to shake though,” Eearwaxx sighed.

“I know even as your saying that you don’t believe it, but we’re all looking after you.”

That’s just what he would say, Eearwaxx thought grumpily to himself.

---

“What’s next? Are we going to the obelisk? If not, why not?” Arlington demanded. His voice was back to normal, full of vim and vigour. Time to lead this rag-tag bunch to glory.

“We don’t need to do anything at the obelisk,” Morgan protested.

Arlington was perplexed. “But that’s where we do this ‘Octad’, right?”

Jankx pointed to the massive strut that led to the centre of the central spire. “We have to walk up that weird tentacle thing, surely? Or inside it, more likely.”

“That’s nowhere near the mythallar,” Morgan said. “Harken back: everybody in this company is being blackmailed to get a power source for their respective ‘owners’. And the mythallar is the power source.”

“But don’t we need to get rid of the current owner before we can grab it?”

“We can’t do shit if we can’t get through the shield.”

“Isn’t the Octad about getting that thing out?” Arlington said.

“Yes! The Octad is about the shield,” Tarquin nodded.

Arlington was getting ever more confused. “So the chrono-tower, isn’t that how we do it?”

“I want to go to the strut,” Jankx said firmly, to no reaction.

“We either go and try and get to the mythaller now, or…” Morgan trailed off. She could see only one sensible option.

Arlington looked back to the Caves of Hunger where a gale force wind was now blowing. Something was coming, and time was of the essence. “I agree with Morgan,” he declared. “Let’s go to this mythallar, get it out…” he ran out of ideas.

Morgan looked to Tarquin. “We need to sort out who’s going to do it, and what’s going to be done, before we start. Precisely.”

Eearwaxx put his hat and beard on. “Now I’m behind a mask,” he muttered, “And I have the wand,” he flourished. “And in my hand I can summon flame,” he added.

Arlington nodded slowly. “Right. If one person has to do it all then it has to be him.”

“And you have to tell us something about yourself that no-one knows,” Morgan said, “And get someone else to tell you something.”

“I would suggest we have to be somewhere particular to make this work,” Tarquin said. “It all has to converge.”

“Near the barrier that stops us getting to the mythaller,” Morgan said, “Isn’t that the idea?”

“In a circle surrounded by ashes of bodies,” Eearwaxx said.

“In which you consume poison,” Tarquin added.

“That part I am a little worried about,” Eearwaxx confessed.

“I have a poison kit, plus the vials we found in the Necromancy Tower,” Jankx said. “I can make something weak.”

“And I have a protection from poison spell,” Tarquin added. “And one other thing: All the people who take part in the ritual have to be inside that circle when it is formed,” Tarquin suggested to a nod of agreement from Eearwaxx. “So it doesn’t need to be the one person, but all of those that participate must be inside.”

“That is a big supposition,” Arlington said sceptically, “You have no idea if this is true or not!”

“I do. I know exactly how the stories would tell it. The stories would tell it that each of these high wizards would own that lore, and not give it to anyone else.”

“But there are not eight of us so we can’t use that method!” Morgan stressed.

“The point is everyone who’s involved has to be inside that circle. It’s a ritual of knowledge.”

“They could have all been standing around a ninth person telling them what to do,” Arlington shrugged.

“Let’s get back to the steps,” Eearwaxx said. “The ice one I’m not sure how to do?”

“There’s literally snow everywhere,” Morgan pointed.

“I can do that,” Tarquin offered, ignoring Morgan. “Ray of Frost! A gift we were given,” he said glancing at Arlington and Octavian.

“We can quench a flame with ice without casting Ray of fucking Frost!” Arlington scoffed. “Tarquin, Tarquin, Tarquin, let’s not sacrifice the boy.”

“Stop calling me a boy,” Eearwaxx growled. “Or I’ll…uh….just stop it!” Arlington took a puff of his pipe as Eearwaxx calmed and continued. “So between us all, as long as we’re all in the circle, I think we’ll be fine.”

“Is there a place you think this needs to be done?” Arlington asked.

“Yes. At the mythallar.” He glanced at Jankx who looked unsure. “All those pipes are just power conduits, powering the various schools.”

“But that big one looks different,” Jankx said. “Can I be indulged? Can we just check it?”

Eearwaxx wasn’t convinced. “They distribute power from the mythallar to the places that need it. That’s all.”

“We’ve got the key, we just don’t know where the door is,” Tarquin said glancing at the causeway to the Caves and weighing up the impending arrival of a god. “I think we need to go into the tower.”

“That’s what I feel too. There must be something in that tower,” Jankx said. “It has that quality.”

Arlington had heard enough debate. It was time for action. “Are we going to try and do it out here, or do we think there is a place to do it?” he said, accidentally reopening the debate.

“There has to be a place to do it,” Octavian said. “These people are into rituals—”

“I wasn’t asking you, big guy, I was asking the wizard.”

Eearwaxx settled his beard and pointed to the mythallar. “Let’s go there.”

“If Eearwaxx is correct and it is there, the circle will have ritual points—eight cardinal points,” Octavian declared. “It will be very evident where the Octad should be cast. We lower the shield and the mythallar will be exposed.”

---

Morgan led the way to the viewing platform before the mythallar. The energy barrier that prevented access hummed with power, but there was no obvious ritual space for casting.

“This is not the right place,” Octavian said. “Our next best guess it the huge tower right in the middle of the city.”

“The point of course is what happens when we do the ritual and the barrier does come down?” Tarquin added. “We’ve got a fifty foot globe of energy—we need to know how to control it before we unleash it.” He pointed to the central spire knowingly.

Morgan turned and led everyone through the ruins toward the base of the strut. There was no wandering, only moving with purpose. Around the causeway approaching the strut were a dozen skeletal bodies, variously broken, burnt, shrunken, and one body lying nearby was clutching a simple wooden wand that had broken in two.

Jankx stepped up onto the platform before the arching strut of dark stone that rose to a junction high up on the central spire. At the base of the strut was exactly what he had suspected: an empty gateway shimmering with invisible force, encircled by eight engraved arcane sigils. Set in the ornate stonework in front of the gate was a second arcane circle, also engraved with the eight sigils of magic. All the symbols were dark.

Jankx turned and bowed with a grin, presenting the scene to his companions.

“Here we are, people,” Tarquin said rubbing his hands.

Octavian stared at the sigils. “Let’s light ‘em up.”

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Sessions played: November 13, 20, 27, December 4 2023, February 5, 12, 19 2024

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