The beast froze, then twisted its head aside.
It took a single step forward with one of its entirely too numerous
legs.
“Don’t come any closer.”
Now the thing twisted its head the other way.
The curious puppy quality of the creature grew stronger with each
movement. Aside from its nightmarish appearance, it hadn’t made any
motions that suggested it was dangerous. Indeed, as she watched, it
set the crystal down and reached its head forward, sniffing at her
feet. She held the club high enough to strike if she needed to, but
something inside Ivy couldn’t bring her to attack the creature.
“What are you?” she said.
It stepped forward again, more slowly now, as
though it understood that her tone was no longer one of threat.
When it was near enough to do so, it extended its neck enough to
nearly touch its nose to her leg and sniffed her up and down, then
twisted aside and rubbed its head affectionately across her
thigh.
“Okay… okay, you’re friendly…” Ivy said,
though she was not entirely convinced of it yet. “I can’t say I was
expecting to find something friendly in Demont’s fort.”
The thing perked up at the mention of the
general’s name.
“Uh oh… I don’t like that you know that name.
Let’s see how much you understand. Did he make you?” she asked,
crouching down.
Her jackal-headed friend shook its head.
“And you understand Varden. That’s certainly
new,” she said, brow furrowed in confusion as it rubbed its head
against her neck.
She reluctantly patted the side of its long
neck, mildly repulsed by the hairs that poked up between the
serpent scales. As affectionate as the beast appeared, she was
still coiled like a spring, ready for that to change at a moment’s
notice. After all, Demont had been more than capable of creating
creatures that seemed quite friendly. She herself was evidence of
that. Of course, she was also evidence that just because the touch
of D’Karon magic had created something, that didn’t mean it had to
be evil.
Ivy cupped the beast’s chin in one hand to
keep its sweeping head still and leaned down to draw in a strong
whiff of its aroma.
“No…” she said. “You aren’t a D’Karon
creature. There’s too much nature in you. I don’t know who made
you, but it wasn’t them. But what are you? And what are you doing
here?”
The creature didn’t respond. Ivy wasn’t
certain if that meant it was unwilling or unable to speak, but at
this point there was little doubt it was at least somewhat
intelligent and there was no reason not to suppose it might be
smart enough to answer if it could. Instead, it skittered back to
the dropped gem and picked it up in its teeth. It took a few steps
toward the center of the floor, then turned back to her.
“What do you—
wah!
” Ivy yelped.
Her bizarre new friend had lashed out with
its tail and coiled it around her free hand, tugging it lightly
like a toddler who wanted to explore. Ivy forced away a flash of
blue aura and gently pulled the coiled tail from her wrist.
“Easy, whatever you are. I’m nervous enough
in this place without you moving about so suddenly.” Ivy released
an unsteady sigh and paced forward. “Have you found anything else
alive in here? I came because there might be something dangerous
here, and it doesn’t seem like
you
are the sort of thing
that I’d be sent to find.”
It shook its head and hung it down briefly,
its disappointment apparent. Ivy knelt down to inspect an almost
intact example of the dragoyle-like creature. Up close, it had a
number of features that at first struck her as more dragon-like
than the rockier, simpler dragoyles she’d fought in the past.
“Maybe this was a new version? Demont
did
always like to improve his toys.” She leaned forward a
bit and grimaced as she picked up its limp claw. “Wait… no, this
isn’t like a normal dragon. This is more like a fish. I wonder
if—”
Her thought was quickly cut short as the
hairs on her neck stood on end. Something awful, something cold and
supernatural, was happening deep inside the fort. Ivy had never
learned much of magic, but she’d been its target often enough to
recognize when it was at work. Even if such was not the case, every
fragment of shattered crystal flared intensely bright for a few
moments before fading again.
Whatever had happened, it thrilled the
creature by her side. It sprang up and practically pranced about,
zipping and darting around Ivy and nudging her to stand. She
clutched her weapon tight and set her eyes on the next
stairwell.
“That’s what I’m after. I’m sure of it.”
She set off for the stairs, the creature
weaving ecstatic rings about her and lighting the way with its gem.
Something about being certain that she would find something ahead
took the edge from the fear. Ivy moved with purpose, running
through the next two levels and turning a blind eye to the
devastation Ether had left during her visit. After a third
stairwell, the dampness in the air began to gather into pools on
the floor. She splashed through a channel that could only have been
designed to route the water toward a carefully placed drain, and
through that drain she saw a brighter glow slipping through the
corroded brass grating. Along with the light was a voice.
“No… no, no, no… Broken… All of it broken…
How could this
happen
? Who would
do
this?” muttered a
woman’s voice, bordering on tears.
Ivy slowed when she reached the final
staircase. Partially it was because these stairs were pouring with
water and would be treacherous even at a walking pace. Mostly it
was because if she was going to come face to face with this woman,
she would do it with some degree of stealth. Her companion,
however, saw no wisdom in either precaution. It streaked down the
stairs ahead of her, clawed feet and spindly legs holding firm
despite the slick surface. A moment after it disappeared around the
bend of the stairs, its scrabbling footsteps were replaced with
sloshing ones. The splashing steps drew the attention of the woman.
She spoke, joy and relief mixing with the sorrow in her voice.
“Mott! My dear Motley, look what has
happened! Thank heavens you are safe! I was afraid what had done
this might have done something to you as well.”
The malthrope crept carefully around the bend
and took in the baffling sight. This floor of the fort was entirely
flooded. The center was a walkway with only a few inches of water
on it, but on either side the walkway descended in steps into the
murky, sloshing water. From the scent, and the fact it was not
frozen solid, Ivy could tell it was seawater. This portion of the
facility must have been at sea level. What she could see of the
submerged walls and walkways indicated that the room had been
separated into a dozen or so pools. Each one held what was left of
an aquatic or semiaquatic monstrosity. Like most of Demont’s
creations, there was some indication in each that it was at least
based on a creature nature had intended, but in all cases he had
taken horrid liberties with the forms. One monster looked like an
armor-plated seal with undersized wings on its back. Another was
some manner of nightmarish fish the size of a large dog and
equipped with row after row of insectile legs.
At the center of the room, kneeling in the
icy water with her arms wrapped tightly about the neck of the
jackal-headed beast Ivy now knew was called Mott, was a woman.
Based on her appearance she was not quite young enough to be
Myranda’s mother, but she might have been close, and tears were
running freely down her face. A staff was submerged just below the
water beside her, its gem glowing bright enough to paint dancing
marbled patterns on the ceiling and walls.
Ivy faltered somewhat. This woman was a
wizard, that much was clear, but she was no D’Karon. She was
crying, and she showed genuine joy at seeing Mott. True, heartfelt
sorrow and happiness were two things Ivy had never dreamed a
D’Karon might show. Her mind mired in uncertainty, Ivy let her
concentration lapse and mindlessly sloshed a foot down into the
water. The splash echoed through the room and drew the eyes of both
Mott and the grief-stricken newcomer.
The woman’s lips peeled back in a snarl, and
she snatched her staff from the water, brandishing it as the glow
flared viciously. Ivy planted both feet and bared her own teeth,
club held ready.
“Who are you, and what are you doing here!”
Ivy barked.
“Who did this? And how dare you enter this
place,” the woman countered.
Her staff crackled with the beginnings of a
dark spell, but Mott dashed out between Ivy and the woman and
fluttered awkwardly up to block any possible attack.
“Mott, get down. What has gotten into you?”
the woman growled.
It chittered excitedly at her.
“What are you…” she began, but she paused and
looked up at Ivy again. Her face brightened with joy and relief and
she dropped her staff once more, clutching her hands to her mouth.
“Oh… oh thank
heavens
. They
weren’t
all
destroyed.”
The woman began to rush toward Ivy, arms held
wide, but the fox raised her club.
“Stay back!” Ivy growled.
“Oh! Oh, of course. Of course you are
frightened. Why wouldn’t you be? After what happened here, that is
only right. My apologies. Greetings to you. I’ve come a long way to
find you.”
“Who are you? Why have you come?” Ivy
demanded.
“I’ll answer any questions you have, and I
hope you’ll answer some of mine, but would you perhaps do me the
hospitality of continuing this discussion away from this horrid
water? I’m afraid I’m a bit emotional. I’m having trouble shrugging
off its icy sting.”
Ivy glanced down. Now that the shock of the
first meeting had passed, she was becoming aware of the biting pain
in her feet from the sub-freezing seawater. The woman should have
been in agony, as her feet were completely bare beneath the surface
of the water. She backed up and climbed a stair or two. “Yes. I
think that’s a good idea. But move slowly.”
“I don’t think I could manage anything else.
Mott, be a dear and carry my staff. I wouldn’t want our host to
feel uncomfortable.”
The group tromped up to the next level, and
at Ivy’s behest, another level to the first marginally dry floor.
All the while she kept an eye on the woman, but the only thing the
stranger did was look over the remnants of the broken creations
with the sort of heartbreaking expression one would imagine on the
face of a recent widow.
“This is far enough,” Ivy said.
Mott took this as its signal to trot up to a
groove in the floor and twist its head aside, driving the staff
upright. It then scrambled up to coil and perch precariously about
the staff.
“Now what are you—” Ivy began.
“One moment… just one moment please,” the
woman interrupted. “Let me look at you.”
She gazed upon Ivy with nothing short of
wonder, reaching out with one hand as if to stroke the fox’s face.
Ivy pulled back. The woman continued to look over her face and
hands.
“Beautiful,” she uttered reverently. “Simply
gorgeous. There is no other word for it.”
Ivy looked at the woman askance. “Most people
don’t feel that way when they look at me.”
“I’m not surprised… err… What is your name,
dear?”
“Ivy,” she said.
“Ivy? Ivy… Heavens, I just heard that name
recently. Blast it, I suppose I haven’t quite smoothed the wrinkles
of the portal spell. No matter. You say most people don’t see
beauty in you. I say most people haven’t got my eye for such
matters, Ivy. Ah! And speaking of such.
Pink!
Pink eyes,
Mott.
Unfinished
, and yet with such a magnificent hue. I’d
never even considered it.” She turned to the beast, which to all
appearances was her pet, looking him over critically. “No… no I
don’t think pink would have suited you.” She turned back to Ivy.
“We had a terrible time finding the right eyes for him. The poor
devil was getting impatient.”
“What do you…” Ivy began to ask, thoroughly
confused. Suddenly she shook herself, remembering the severity of
the situation. “Tell me who you are and what you are doing
here!”
“Yes, yes, my stars, yes. I’d forgotten my
manners,” she said. “My name is Turiel. And I came here looking for
your father. I was a student of his, in a way.”
“My… my father?” Ivy said quietly.
“Of course. Demont. His workmanship in you is
unmistakable. A malthrope, too. Such a fine choice…”
Ivy’s expression hardened, and she squeezed
the grip of her club tightly. A flare of red washed over her, but
she willed it away.
“Oh! That is an unexpected twist of magic. Is
that some manner of connection with your emotions? Inspired! That
is quite unusual for Demont, isn’t it?”
She shut her eyes and fought to control her
emotions. “You worked with Demont?”
Turiel rolled her eyes wistfully. “If only I
had. I’m afraid I only met him briefly. Most of my interactions
came by way of lessons from a young woman named Teht. Brilliant in
her own way of course, but I don’t believe she had the same insight
and dedication as the others…”
Ivy’s heart was pounding and her mind was
aflame with fear and anger. It was all she could do to keep it
beneath the surface. She wanted to put her weapon to work, to
eliminate this woman who brazenly and gleefully embraced the horrid
monsters who had held their world hostage. But there was something
wrong, something different. The woman’s eyes weren’t the eyes of a
D’Karon. They were wild, perhaps not sane, but they were sincere.
She didn’t smell of the D’Karon, didn’t act as they did. She truly
meant what she said. Her admiration of Ivy, or at least of her
form, was honest and heartfelt, and she seemed to have a real
affection for the creature beside her. There had to be more to
this. If she could find the truth without bloodshed, then that is
what she would do.