Slithering Maze 37: Fear’s Weapon

Medilus 5, 1278: Arth Prayogar’s Council Building. One hour before the Council convenes. Plans rarely survive first contact with anything…

Author’s Note: Kingdom of the Slithering Maze is a serialized fiction story that is a part of a collection called the Windtracer Tales. It follows the adventures of Tela Kioni and her crew dealing with expeditions in and around the world of Awldor. There they hunt down lost, and possibly lethal, relics of the Ancient Order, a near-mythical kingdom lost to the centuries old cataclysm, the Great Collapse.

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Previously: Dirty, tired and worn out, Tela confronts Rhen Shotho about what is really happening in the Temple of the Slithering Sun. Just why were the Trade-Wardens secretly killing themselves to try—and fail—to seal off the ancient temple? Tela and her crew got the answers but didn’t like what they were. To counter a disaster in the making, the group invents a great big plan. Brilliant? Time will tell…

Medilus 5, 1278: Arth Prayogar’s Council Building. One hour before the Council convenes. Plans rarely survive first contact with anything…

There’s a certain kind of magic that blooms from buildings meant to house a city’s lawmakers. A special kind that makes a person want to tear their hair out from boredom while waiting in line—a very slow line.

“What if I poked a guard with a stick?” I whispered to Skarri.

“Please don’t,” she whispered in a withered voice.

I felt my plan had merit to at least ease the boredom, but I decided to save it for later.

We stood in line for the Council Chamber with what felt like a third of the city. The line stretched out from the double doors of the soft-cornered building, wrapping around the side. At least that stretch was shaded by sloping sand willow trees just starting to bloom purple-white blossoms.

“There’s twice as many guards at the doors today,” I muttered.

“It’s the emergency meeting,” Liru whispered back. “That set people on edge when it was announced yesterday.”

I grunted, studying the guards at the head of the line. They checked everything with a sharp eye. Anyone—or anything—suspicious was hauled away out of sight.

Liru and I stepped forward as the line snaked closer to the door. Skarri and Liru’s other guard, Nurkes, followed close behind us in the small entourage. The rest of my crew trailed a few respectful steps behind.

Kiyosi had done a fantastic job on the disguises. Fortunately, not all tieflings are born with tails. The fake horns, blue-purple skin dye, and a few other tricks made Mikasi look remarkably like a tiefling. Atha was more or less himself. Kiyosi had used a temporary illusion that made the minotaur’s horns curl like a ram’s and tinted his fur a light, dusty blue.

I looked back at the trio and got two nods and one bright grin from Atha. The last drew a snort out of me before I fixed my attention back on the guards ahead.

“This has to work,” I sighed. “Ki said the disguises won’t survive anyone getting too curious. Except maybe Atha; he looks more like he’s being fashionable.”

“Have faith. It’ll work,” Skarri whispered. “You trust us. So now, trust yourself and your plan. If it unravels, we’ll improvise. We’re getting good at improvising.”

That drew a small, crooked smile out of me. Trust myself. Azure had told me the same thing the other evening. I inclined my head a little.

“Fair point.”

The air was crisp and dry that morning. It tore down the bricked alleys and dusty roadways of Arth Prayogar with a vengeance. Sunlight glinted off the stained glass windows of nearby buildings, turning the clay walls to the golden color of baked bread.

Around us, the air buzzed like bees with locals gossiping about the Council of Seven and the emergency meeting. The gossip ranged from speculation about trying a rogue tiefling to whispers of charges against one of the council members.

“Feels like we’re in line to see a gladiatorial fight, not a dry city council meeting,” I complained softly.

Liru sighed, nodding as he smoothed his bead-trimmed outer tunic.

“Every meeting has been like this—no exceptions. One of the Council servants said the Merchant Herds considered it more open and honest for the people.”

“Right, and I’m a delicate, dainty flower girl,” I scoffed.

Nurkes grunted. “I didn’t need that horrible idea stuck in my head today.”

I shot a feral grin at the temple guard.

The shaman stretched his neck, looking weary and aged by months.

“Yes, the Council of Seven does play to the crowd a lot.”

“Samal, it sounds more like stirring up a mob,” Nurkes growled in a low voice. “Cracking a few Council member heads could fix this.”

Liru breathed a world-weary sigh, pinching the bridge of his snake-like snout.

“Nurkes? No one is cracking anyone’s head,” the shaman replied thinly.

The guard grunted, watching the line ahead.

I swapped a glance with Skarri but said wisely nothing—neither did she.

Two steps later toward the door, I watched food vendors nearby set up their carts for the crowd. I grimaced. The locals coming to watch the spectacle were a complication we hadn’t counted on. But then I remembered my conversation with Rima in the Shackle and her comment about ‘fear being healthy’.

“People could get hurt if things go wild,” I admitted. “But I think it’s part of Rima’s larger scheme.”

“What do you mean?” Liru asked.

“Fear,” I replied in a low voice. “That’s Rima’s real weapon. This crowd, the Iraxi, the Council of Seven being picked apart… it’s all about manipulating the locals, turning fear into a weapon. Revealing or using the Iraxi? I bet that’s the kindling to start it off.”

The line advanced a little closer to the stern-faced centaur guards.

“Which reminds me,” I said, a little more perturbed than I intended. “Liru, you left out a few things when you got me to sign onto this mess back in Ishnanor. Now’s a great time to come clean, given those spectators are in serious danger.”

Liru frowned a little, a flush hitting the scales on his cheeks.

“I did…” His words stumbled as I glared at him. Then he sighed. “Before I traveled to Ishnanor, the Trade-Wardens sent a courier saying the temple wards were failing. That Toshirom Ifoon could fall.”

“Go on,” I said, words tight.

“I really didn’t know what was inside the temple.” He waved a hand in the rough direction of Toshirom Ifoon outside the city. “Not many records survived. But I’d read enough to know it was lethal to anyone who tried to use it—no exceptions.”

Massive black bells, stored in small towers atop the corners of the Council building, rang. They chimed seven times—a musical announcement that the Council of Seven was about to begin. A trio of centaur guards walked past with a scowl hinting they’d not seen a good day in years.

“Samal, how does the Iraxi actually work?” Skarri asked her shaman. “Did the records explain that?”

He slightly inclined his head.

“Some. The Sun-Bonded seemed fine at first, drawing down magic threads and other spells through the Iraxi. It didn’t last long. The power twisted them physically, much the way a magic storm can change people from birth into tieflings, nightmarked, and worse.” Liru pursed his lips. “It was horrible. They became twisted. Misshapen. Craving the power like a drug, even as it melted them from the inside out.”

I swapped an uneasy look with Skarri.

“That giant skeleton in the temple.”

She nodded. “The Iraxi did that.”

“Some of the Sun-Bonded did turn into giants,” Liru replied. “But they all quickly went power-mad. If Gregori Elkerton uses it, the horror will start again.”

“Liru, you should have led with that back in Ishnanor,” I said with a hard look.

To his credit, he winced.

“I know I saved your friend, Kiyosi, but still—would you have helped? Knowing everything, would you?”

It was a good question, but—for me—the answer was obvious.

“Oh yeah,” I replied with a slight smile. “Absolutely.”

Liru smiled back. “Thank you for that.”

My smile faded. “So it seems your people were duped by the Gatekeeper liches centuries ago. Fooled into this mess by fear until they weren’t any better than a cult.” I shrugged, gesturing around us. “Like what’s happening with the centaurs.”

“Yes,” Skarri whispered. “There’s a lot of dishonesty lately.”

Liru’s expression landed somewhere between sad and worried.

“It’s why the Iraxi bracers need to be anywhere but here. Hopefully destroyed, but I’m just not sure it’s possible.”

I stared at the line ahead of us as it grew shorter.

“Don’t bet on that. I’ve a few ideas…”

It was another few slow moments before we reached the Council building doors. We were checked twice for weapons or anything that seemed a threat. I tried to look innocent, but the guards didn’t seem to believe me.

“Don’t try anything inside, Windtracer,” a broad-shouldered centaur growled. “We’ve heard stories about you.”

“I’ll be on my best behavior,” I lied with a sweet smile.

He grunted, waving us inside.

We gathered in the building’s cathedral-like foyer, our group one of many in attendance. It was full of those waiting either to speak to the Council of Seven or to be allowed up to the audience gallery.

“Best behavior?” Mikasi asked suspiciously.

“Yep. About like a greedy kobold loose in a pastry shop.” I glanced around the building’s foyer.

It was wide, tall, but not very deep.

The floor was a colorful mosaic of stylized trade caravans crossing rolling hills. Similar scenes played out along the walls, but the subjects were all depicted as if moving toward the main council chambers. Which was about as subtle as a hammer in a trade-obsessed kingdom.

The important part was the army of serving staff. They moved nimbly in and around the crowd, offering water or slipping quietly through the room unnoticed. Some were centaurs or humans, but many were tieflings. I nodded to a pair that exited through a near-concealed door in one of the wall murals.

“Ki? You, Mikasi, and Atha go get lost among the serving staff.”

I paused when the crowd shifted, and I caught sight of the target of my overall discontent. On the other side of the room stood Auditor Gregori Elkerton, resplendent in a stylish tunic, a purple robe, and a white-gold auditor’s scarf of office. He already wore the Iraxi bracer on his right arm—the gemstone on it shone a dull, lurid red.

The man smiled as if he didn’t have a care in the world while he chatted up another richly dressed centaur.

“There’s Elkerton,” I told the trio. “Got the slime?”

Mikasi tapped a belt pouch with a grin. “Fresh-baked this morning.”

“There was… baking?” I blinked.

“He made me help,” Kiyosi told me with a long-suffering sigh. “No, you really don’t want to know the details.”

“Fair,” I grinned. “Get moving. Distract Elkerton with food, his ego, just something—then slime him.”

Atha chuckled. “Hyu no worry. We take care of his new toy.”

“No severing arms,” Skarri hissed in a low voice.

The minotaur rolled his eyes. “Fine. We do it slow way.”

I let out a long breath as they merged with the serving staff and drifted through the crowd like ghosts. Outside, I heard the massive black metal bells toll again. Conversation rolled around me like a hum of insects. Deeper in the foyer, someone laughed.

“Tela…” Liru murmured.

That was a warning if I’d ever heard one. Slowly, I turned around, tense and ready for someone to take a swing at me. Maybe dart aside if they tried to stab me.

Instead, I locked eyes with Rima Nimad on the far side of the room. The woman’s smile was all sharp edges as she strolled toward us.

“By the Lady Deep and her Nine Misbegotten Children,” I swore under my breath.

It turned out there was more than one trap in motion. We’d walked right into one of them.

Damn it.

“Get an audience with the Council,” I murmured to Liru.

I squared my shoulders. If Rima wanted a conversation, I’d give her one. Right between the eyes, if needed.

Then I walked away from the others to meet the lich halfway across the room.

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Windtracer Tales is a work of pure, unashamed fiction. In fact, it considers itself rather fancy and quite proud of itself. Names of characters, places, events, organizations and locations are all creations of the author’s imagination for this fictitious setting. Any resemblance to persons living, dead, or reanimated is coincidental. The opinions expressed are those of the characters and should not be confused with the author’s, since the characters and the author tend to disagree a lot.

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