Arc 3: Chapter 16: Into the Low City

Arc 3: Chapter 16: Into the Low City

A long moment of silence followed my pronouncement. I felt barely aware of anything in that time. I still reeled from the vision, my mind attempting to reconcile the room as it was in the real with the spiritual malice I knew hid beneath.

“A demon?” Ingram looked skeptical, leaning heavily on his cane as he cleared phlegm from his throat. “How can you be certain?”

Emma cast a withering look at the old servant and muttered, “Just look around you.”

I put a hand on her shoulder, feeling more steady, then addressed Lady Faisa. She’d been staring off into the distance, a pensive look on her face. “I’ve been trained in augury and exorcism,” I said. “And I’ve encountered Abyssal malison before. I’m as certain as I can be, though I can’t offer you proof.”

“I believe you,” Faisa said, sighing. “I have made some study of the occult myself, Master Alken. All the signs support your claim, only…”

She shrugged and smiled sadly. “I did not wish to believe it, that my Yessa could meet such a terrible end.”

“It explains her troubled sleep, her mania.” I looked around at the macabre collection in the room. “Why her own art became more…” I didn’t want to say depraved in front of the deceased artist’s former lover. “Unsettling.”

I glanced at the painting of the winged woman with the human heart cupped in her hands. “I can’t be certain,” I lied, “but I’d be willing to bet that more than a few pieces in here are depicting known demons recorded in the Church’s archives. Visions of the Abyss are a common precursor to possession. I’m also seeing signs of infestation and altered aura.”

I hesitated before adding, “Honestly, lady, much of this should be cleansed or locked away. Did you know Yselda was an adept?”

Faisa blinked, giving me my answer. “I did not,” she admitted. “I awakened my own aura in my thirties, after secluding myself in study at a convent for several years. Yselda, however, never showed any awareness of such powers.”

I frowned, chewing on that. It meant the troubled artist had likely stirred her abilities more recently. “You can’t ever really predict when it will happen,” I said. “But it happens most often in particularly passionate craftsmen or soldiers — high emotion, dedication, traumatic events — these are the most consistent ways to awaken the soul.”

I met her eyes, letting her see the aura in them. “It can also happen when someone is exposed to powerful supernatural beings. This might explain why she only became Awakened more recently.”

“Yselda did not lack passion,” Faisa said, frowning. “I always believed it was her ambivalence that held her back. She could never settle her mind.”

“This talk of esotera is all well and good,” Ingram cut in, “but are you saying this gallery is still haunted? Corrupted?” He cast a troubled look around the room. “Should we not destroy it?”

“We will not!” Faisa snapped, showing her anger for the first time since I’d met her. Ingram quailed, bowing and taking a step back.

“Destroying any of this is a bad idea,” I said, hoping to diffuse the situation. “Troubled aura, especially from an untrained adept, can be volatile. Destroy the vessels for that power, and it could evolve into curses once released.”

Ingram’s face went very pale.

“What is the next step?” Lady Faisa asked me.

“Surely it is to tell the Church?” Ingram put in.

An uncomfortable silence followed his statement. I imagined Lady Faisa had already guessed — that I wasn’t a sanctioned magus or ordained, and my involvement would be questioned at best.

More than that, demonic infestation among members of the cities renaissance movement would, if publicly revealed, be a disaster. There would be a witch hunt the likes of which the realms hadn’t seen in generations.

Did the Church already know? Was this part of the reason the Inquisition was in the streets? Why the city gates had been closed?

But the city hadn’t been fully quarantined, I realized. Dignitaries and warriors of the Accord were still being allowed in for the upcoming summit.

Something else was going on, and I didn’t have all the pieces yet.

“What Master Alken has said shall not leave this room,” Faisa Dance proclaimed, the authority in her tone brooking no argument. “You shall not speak of it without my leave, Ingram.”

The old steward hesitated, then bowed. “As you will, my lady.”

The noblewoman drew in a deep breath, then turned to me once she’d mastered herself. “You say there is no evidence you can provide. I will not cry of demons in the city on your word alone.”

I nodded. “I wouldn’t expect you to.”

“What is next?” She repeated her earlier question.

I realized then that I liked this woman. She was intelligent, decisive, and got straight to the point.

“I need to consult with my employer.” I said, thinking of Lias. The wizard would help me confirm my notion — strong as my intuition was, I wasn’t absolutely certain a demon had been at work here. It could have been a diabolist wielding dark magics, or any number of things my powers might read as fiendish.

Wishful thinking. I knew well enough what I faced. I felt it in my bones, in my soul.

“I also need to do some research,” I added. “If my hunch is correct, then I should be able to put together some clues and find out what we’re dealing with.”

Once I knew what I faced, I could hunt it. I could slay it.

“How are you so certain you can uncover this creature’s identity?” Ingram asked, furrowing his brow.

“Most of the demons in Urn have been identified,” I said. “There are only a few older spirits in the further reaches of the Wend with uncertain identities, and I doubt one found its way into the largest city in the subcontinent. We have clues to go on — these insects that appear at every killing, these scarlbeetles, they might be a Demon Mark. Most of the named ones have them. I’d also like to know if my hunch about Yselda’s art is correct.”

I looked to Faisa. “I’d also like to investigate the scenes of the other murders. I need to make sure the same imprint I felt here is on them as well.”

“And who are you, sir, to know so much of demons and the occult?” Ingram clutched his cane with both hands, suspicion writ on his face.

“Enough, old friend.” Faisa sighed and nodded to me. “Lord Yuri promised an expert, and it seems one has been provided. I will not look a gift unicorn in the mouth. Make your inquiries. I will send your employer addresses for the other murders, and make certain you are not impeded in your investigation by either my own people or the local watch. I would still tread cautiously, Master Alken — I have no power over the Priory or its agents.”

She dismissed me then, but lingered in the room. I left her there, knowing what I’d revealed had been painful for the highborn lady to grapple with.

Wounds left by demons rarely heal, and do so crooked if at all. Those slain by them have an even worse fate. There would be no peaceful rest in Draubard for Yselda of Mirrebel, or even an uncertain wandering beneath the pale moons.

The scars on my face still burned like lines of dull fire on my skin. That, more than anything, had confirmed the truth of my vision in the bedroom. That, and…

No. I needed to focus. What I faced would be deceptive, and even its shadow couldn’t be trusted.

“What now?” Emma asked, once we’d gone into the hallway, drawing me from my thoughts.

I shook my head, more to clear it than as an answer. “We talk to Lias.”

***

Lias turned out to be easier to track down than I’d expected. The wizard had always been clever, and proud of his cleverness, but he was also a man of stubborn habit.

Emma and I navigated to a lower portion of the city, where the streets grew more narrow and the runoff of rain poured down into canals and sewers just below. Tenements, shops, and brothels had been built into the sides of high walls or built from wood in packed hives, rickety and water logged. The inhabitants here wore poorer cloth, and ragged shapes flitted between half flooded alleys, watching us with too-bright eyes.

“You’re certain this friend of yours will be here?” Emma asked, as we made our way down a nearly abandoned street.

Some mongrel chimera, resembling something between a rat and a dog with a long hairless tail and evidence of tumors along its patch fur, snarled at us before darting into a drain tunnel. It left a half-finished meal behind — there was just enough left for me to tell it had once been human.

“He’ll be here,” I said, turning my eyes away from the damp carcass. “Nearby, I think.” I placed a hand on my axe where I’d stowed it under my cloak, on its belt-ring. It quivered slightly.

Emma didn’t speak as we walked, but I could feel her amber eyes boring into the back of my skull. I sighed.

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“I hid a shard of my axe’s handle in his carriage,” I said. I pulled back my cloak to show her the weapon. “Along with a cant of bonding. I’ve been tracking it.”

Emma’s lips parted slightly, and she made an impressed sound. “Clever. The same technique you taught me?”

I nodded. “The same. Not every use of sorcery needs to be flashy and dramatic, eh?”

We passed through the slum into a wider street, though it still showed signs of wear and poverty. Scum clung to the ancient stone, which hadn’t been tended to by a mason’s hand in generations. A square further down contained an old statue of a regal warrior in scale armor, lifting up a spear shaped like a lightning bolt. Rain had weathered the figure down into a melted uncertainty, and snaprats — the cities chief pest — lapped at the scum collecting in the basin below.

“I’d think one of the magi would dwell somewhere less…” Emma pursed her lips, searching for the right word. “Aromatic.”

She had a point. The street reeked of sewage and mold, and the drainage system so cleverly wrought into the very architecture of the city had fallen into disuse here, causing rampant flooding.

“Li always enjoyed his privacy,” I said. I nodded down one alley. “Here.”

We found the ostentatious carriage in a narrow backstreet further on. How it had gotten here, I had no idea. It would have needed a crane lift to get it down from the upper districts of the city.

Not an impossibility. Garihelm is a great fortress of Urn, and the entire city is interwoven with a sprawling complex of curtain walls which link the various castles, forts, and watchtowers scattered across its districts. All of these feed into the mighty citadel in the bay, the famous redoubt of House Forger known as the Fulgurkeep.

The whole city was functionally a spider’s web, its populace enclosed between the lines, with King Forger and his court the waiting spider at its center.

All that verticality necessitates the engines needed to transport siege engines about, much as heavy cargo is shifted from dock to ship and back. I’d seen signs of that sort of thing during our long march through the city throughout the day.

However it had happened, the rich carriage looked grotesquely out of place with the moldering surrounds. I paced by it with barely enough space to walk between one big wheel and the filth-coated wall. I saw no sign of the beasts who’d been pulling it.

Above, the narrow strip of sky I could make out from those depths had grown darker. Night wasn’t far off.

Past the carriage, we found a bulwark jutting out from the base of a high wall enclosing the slum. The wall rose up high above us, mountainous, lifting a district enjoying more sunlight up from the forsaken murk below. The bulwark seemed little more than a supporting structure for that great wall, but a small, innocuous door sat at its base.

I approached the door, then paused. I reached out with my aura, looking for unseen traps. Lias had always been paranoid.

I sensed nothing but disquiet stone. All the mold and neglect had trapped enough od down here in the roots of the city to altar it in unseen but very real ways. Not unlike the most forbidden depths of a haunted wood, where rot and other forms of putrid life dominate.

I didn’t wonder why so many of these lower districts seemed abandoned. No doubt people had continued to move upward as the atmosphere in the lower city became more hostile, the bloated spirits more numerous.

Ghosts haunted the alleys of those moldering streets. They watched me from every shadow, just as they did in the wilds, whispering to one another. Even in the heart of civilization, I couldn’t escape them.

I saw no sign of any elf wraiths, the ruined seydii who dogged my steps in the wild. I imagined they wouldn’t be far, however.

Sensing nothing immediately dangerous, I knocked on the door. I waited three heartbeats, then pounded my fist against it, hard. The door jumped in its frame.

Emma shifted her stance behind me, placed a hand on her sword hilt, and cast a nervous look back down the street. More snaprats, as well as those big naked-tailed dogs, had started to gather along with the scratchy faces of the Dead. I couldn’t shake the feeling they watched us just as intently as the shades did.

I was halfway to deciding to kick the door down when I heard movement on the other side, then a section of wood slid away to reveal two glaring black eyes. They were set well below my own, and I suspected I knew who they belonged to.

“The master is not seeing visitors! Begone.” Gregori slammed the peephole closed again.

I glanced at Emma, who shrugged. I nodded, brushed my cloak back off one shoulder, and drew my axe. I tapped it against my shoulder once, judging the door, then took it in both hands and swung.

My axe sunk into the wood with a solid crack of impact. I’d ripped a good chunk of wood out with that first swing, pulling the axe back for another blow, when the slide opened again to reveal the manservant’s dark eyes.

“Wait!” He said, near panic. “Stop, this is most—”

I swung, and the little man yelped as I nearly slammed the faerie bronze into his face. I’d ripped the axe out again and was adjusting for a third swing when the voice came again.

“Blast it, you fool, stop that! Fine, fine, you can come in! Your servant waits outside, though.”

“Servant?” Emma muttered in a dangerous tone.

I glanced at her and spoke in a quiet voice, so only she could hear. “Follow me. Keep close, and keep your sword stowed.”

The door swung open, one of its hinges squealing where the metal had deformed from my blows. I considered the opening thoughtfully, then walked through without putting my axe away, instead keeping it rested on one shoulder.

The door had been unobtrusive, dull even, notable only by its odd position at the base of the enormous bulwark. The interior of the disguised mage tower, however, looked anything but drab.

A room as lavish as Yselda of Mirrebel’s foyer, though less brightly lit, greeted us. A spiral stair ascended up into the bastion’s depths, and side passages lined the walls. The stone flickered with the light of iron sconces, and a chandelier hung from the high ceiling.

There were few other furnishings, save for a pair of empty suits of armor by the foot of the stair, twin knights with shield and poleaxe guarding hearth and home.

Gregori waited for us, still in his bell-tailed coat and frilly collar, his powdered black wig looking slightly askew. He glared at me, then quailed as he noted the axe. “This is quite uncouth, sir.” His voice sounded higher than before.

I ignored him, scanning the stairs. I saw a dark figure at the top looking down over a balcony. A hooded shape, anonymous and almost liquid, with loose sleeves and a trailing robe to obscure all features. Even the fingers resting on the railing had been concealed by black gloves.

I pointed my axe at the shadow. “You and I need to have a chat, Lias.”

Gregori hissed. “How dare you speak the master’s name!” He pointed a trembling finger at Emma. “And she was ordered to remain outside!”

“She goes where I go, and doesn’t take orders from you.” I turned my golden eyes on the little man for the first time. “Piss off.”

Gregori huffed, the white shirt beneath his coat puffing out in a good imitation of a balloon. “How dare—”

But the figure atop the stairs only sighed. “Peace, Gregori. We will talk, Alken, but the girl remains here in my foyer.” He turned then and vanished deeper into the tower.

I glanced at Emma and raised an eyebrow.

Shrugging, she cast the bored eyes of a cat which hadn’t yet decided if it were hungry on the servant. “I’m certain I can find some way to entertain myself. Perhaps Gregori and I can have a little talk, servant to servant.”

Gregori swallowed, the bump in his neck bobbing.

I ascended the stair after Lias. I found a hall at the top, and through it another chamber. This one was far busier than the one below, full of tables and material, and strange apparati I had no name for. Glassware full of bubbling liquid glowed ominously within complex frames, papers and tomes lay scattered everywhere in a scholarly chaos, and the taxidermy remains of rare chimera snarled in silent fury at me, their limbs supported by strong wire.

I heard the scratching of a quill, and followed the noise expecting to find Lias. Instead, I found the feathered tool flitting across a page of its own accord, copying the contents of another tome set nearby.

A wizard’s sanctum, in all its glory.

Movement caught my eye, and I saw the black-robed figure I’d spotted on the stair appear from behind one towering array of alchemy. The shape paced around the apparatus until they stood amid all that arcana, watching me from within the deep shadow of their cowl’s interior.

I still hadn’t put the axe away. “Lias?” I asked, suddenly uncertain.

The hood, and the overall shape of the figure, was very similar to how I imagined I looked with my cowl up, my features obscured by my blood-red cloak and aura.

The anonymous cowl tilted toward my axe. “Are you here to kill me, old friend?”

The voice was Lias’s, and the words were the same I’d said to him during our last meeting. I breathed a sigh of relief and slung the weapon back through the iron ring on my belt.

“I might,” I growled. “I’m not happy about today. You could have talked to me first, rather than just throwing me into an investigation with no prep time.”

“What preparation do you require?” Lias said, pacing over to one of the desks and running his gloved fingers along a page of text there. It was the same one the animated quill diligently copied. “I imagined the task would be quite simple,” he said in a bored, distracted voice. “Find traces of the murderer, track them, then dispose of them. That is what you’ve traditionally been good at. Did you have to swing an axe at my door?”

I ground my teeth. “Faisa fucking Dance was there. She apparently expected me. Care to explain that?”

Lias’s hooded gaze lifted up, staring at some uncertain point. “Ah. Well, you’ve always had a certain charisma to you, not to mention a degree of luck with highborn women. You’re still here, and with your head on even, so I imagine things went quite well?”

I had forgotten, in all these years, that Lias could be very good at making me want to break his teeth.

“Faisa is a business partner and drinking acquaintance of Lord Yuri, whose guise I often take these days.” Lias had moved over to another table, this time fiddling with the position of some abstract apparatus. “She became involved in the investigation after that courtesan she favored became one of the victims.”

That courtesan. He could have at least bothered to remember the poor woman’s name. Lias had always been callous, and it didn’t comfort me to see that trait hadn’t changed.

“Are you aware there are demons in the city?” I said.

Lias paused, then straightened and turned to me. I still couldn’t read his expression beneath the concealing cowl — the shadow beneath its brim had a touch of glamour, and even my eyes couldn’t pierce it.

“You are certain?” He asked, his disinterested manner vanishing.

I nodded, folding my arms. “I found signs of a serious infestation in that house. Yselda had visions of the Abyss before she died, and her bedroom was practically boiling with curses.”

“How do you know she was having visions?” Lias asked, more curious than skeptical.

I hesitated, then admitted, “She painted one of the demons who were in Seydis. I recognized it.”

Lias considered that a moment, then nodded. “This is exactly why I wanted you here, Alken. Even with all my Art, there are none better at detecting the presence of extradimensional beings than you Alder Knights. I had suspected sorcery of some kind had been employed in these incidents, but couldn’t ascertain its true nature.”

“Is this why the Inquisition is involved?” I asked. “Do you think they know?”

Lias approached me, folding his gloved hands together. His voice had a troubled note when he spoke again. “Perhaps. I have my spies in the theocracy, but I’ve had no luck gaining an in with the Priorguard itself. I am not privy to their inner council.”

“Have all the victims been members of the Garihelm renaissance?” I asked, settling into business.

“Most,” Lias said. “A few have been dignitaries, clericons of lesser rank, or persons involved in the cities reconstruction.”

I shifted, frowning. “Just how many people have been victims of this Carmine Killer?”

“Twenty-four, with this last one.” Lias offered the number without even a moment’s hesitation.

“Bleeding Gates.” I lowered my eyes to the floor, taking that in. Twenty four, and I had no doubt Lias had verified each showed the same signs as Yselda.

Out in the countryside, that would have mobilized an entire demesne into panic. Here in the city, did it even register to most that something terrible moved among them? Certainly, some greater powers had taken note, but I imagined only because of the strangeness of the killings.

“I might be able to identify what we’re dealing with,” I said. “I’ll need your help. The Church keeps records of all the Abyssals who’ve had an influence in Urn — can you get me access to those archives?”

“Not easily,” Lias admitted.

Considering the problem I added, “Do you have any records of your own?”

I could practically hear Lias scowl, even if I couldn’t see it beneath his cowl. “There was a time the Magi were in charge of those vaults, but the priests are convinced we might use them for ill purposes.”

“Well,” I said, “to be fair, Li, some of you have—”

“I know, I know!” Lias waved me off. “I have attempted to compile my own records, from my own experiences and the findings of other scholars. It is incomplete, but perhaps we can find something of use.”

Otherwise, I’d have to try and enter Myrr Arthor, the largest and most well guarded cathedral in all the subcontinent, and somehow gain access to the Church’s own archives under the noses of their inquisitors.

I’d do it, if I had to, but it would be risky and like to get me tossed into a torture chamber.

“Let’s hit the books then,” I said. “And hope we can find something.”