Alias, intent on watching the barbarian deal with the monster, did not reply. The barbarian passed his sword through the mist, but his blow did no more damage than it would to smoke. The kalmari gave a rattling laugh, then distended its jaws so its mouth made up more than half its body. The creature fell forward over the man and swallowed him in a single gulp, broadsword and all.
For a moment there was silence while the inn’s occupants struggled to comprehend what had happened. Then the room erupted with a clatter of toppled chairs and tables and shuffling feet as the inhabitants sought escape.
Clerics and mages intoned the words of half a dozen spells and wardings as they backed away from the beast.
The kalmari tilted its head back and spit out the barbarian’s sword, its blade propelled upward in a twisting ribbon of flame. The sword flew into the upper rafters and stuck there, imbedded to the hilt. The flames spread across the ceiling, engulfing the rafters in a white heat.
The kalmari smiled, a wide grin that stretched three-quarters of the way around its body. The smile lasted only a moment before a battery of offensive spells struck—bolts of lightning and flame and radiant blue daggers of magic missile. Alias felt her right arm ache and, looking down, saw that her own runes glowed.
She tried to rise, intent on aiding in the battle any way she could, but the youth beside her placed his hand over the sigils on her forearm and, with the lightest of pressure, held her trapped against the table.
“You’ll get your chance,” he grinned mysteriously. “What’s your hurry?”
The fires spread with unnatural speed, and soon the entire area, save for where Alias and her companion sat, was engulfed in flame. Through the dancing flames Alias could see the kalmari swallowing a mage whole, then belching up another burst of burning ichor.
Yet Alias felt no heat. A moment later, the flames, the kalmari, and its opponents diminished to shadows against the walls of the common room. Then, even the shadows vanished. The inn around her was whole and sturdy, unaffected by the fire, but nearly barren of inhabitants.
Still seated beside the youth, Alias spotted a solitary figure at a table across the room. The figure’s features were completely concealed by a cloak and a hood. This is the one I’ve been waiting for, she told herself with certainty. But now she was reluctant to make the meeting.
The young man drained the last of his wine and rose to leave.
“Wait!” Alias insisted, grabbing his arm. She wanted to say, “Don’t leave me alone with that one,” but she knew her words would not influence him. So instead she asked, “When did this happen?”
“While you were still hunting halfling-stealing dragons west of Suzail.”
Surprised that she got him to answer so easily, she pressed her interrogation further. “Where is the kalmari?”
“Still at large, defending the area for its masters.”
“How does one ward against it?”
“It fears only the mark of its maker.”
“How is it defeated?”
“The kalmari cannot eat anything twice.”
“What does it have to do with me?”
“Enough,” a woman’s voice whispered.
Alias shivered and turned to look at the figure seated across the room. All about the inn was fog.
The woman’s voice cut sharply through the rising vapor. “You’ve gone too far, Nameless. You are dismissed.”
“But she asked a question,” the youth objected. “I want to answer all her questions.”
“You have stalled our interview long enough. I will answer this question for her. The creature is, after all, mine.”
There was something very familiar about the sharp, feminine voice, and Alias felt her right arm throb. When she stood, her senses began to spin. She cursed the wine silently and turned to accuse the youth of getting her drunk, but he was already gone, swallowed in the dream mist.
“Well?” Alias demanded, trying to appear undaunted as the figure rose and drifted, like a ghost, toward her.
“The kalmari is a meager demonstration of my power,” the woman said, making a sweeping gesture with her right hand, palm up. Her features remained concealed in the shadows of the hood, but Alias noted that her left arm was in a sling. “It’s just something I had out on loan to the Iron Throne, who wished to demonstrate their power. Many will think twice before crossing the will of the Iron Throne.”
“But what does this have to do with me?” Alias repeated. She stood only an arm’s length from the woman. Alias realized she could easily reach out and yank back the woman’s hood to reveal her face. Perhaps, Alias hoped, if I can recognize the face, it will help to explain my lost memory or the tattoo on my arm. Yet, why do my instincts hold me back, tell me to flee fast and far? Is she a lich or a medusa?
“Why, the kalmari is another of my creatures,” the woman laughed. “I was going to station it here to watch for you. The Iron Crown’s fee only sweetened the pot.”
“Another one of your creatures,” Alias repeated, certain she had gained a new insight. “Like the crystal elemental?”
The woman snorted derisively. “Please. You insult me, my dear. Such a heavy-handed, clumsy thing. My creations have always been elegant.”
“Then what other creature did you mean?” Alias asked.
“Why, I meant you, my child. You’re one of my creatures. Of course, I must share you with the others, but I will always think of you as my own.” The woman held out her good arm in a beckoning gesture, as a mother would welcome a prodigal daughter. Very slowly and sweetly she said, “Come back to Westgate, Puppet. We’re your masters. You need us, and we want you back.”
Alias’s breathing came fast and heavy. “I’m my own master,” she shouted angrily, “not anyone’s puppet.” With a sudden movement she jerked the hood from the woman’s face.
She looked into her own face.
Alias screamed in her dream and woke with a start. The camp was back to normal. She sat near a dying fire in a roofless hostel. It was only a dream, she told herself over and over. She wondered how long she’d been asleep.
Only a dream, she thought again. Though a very bad dream. When was the last time I dreamed like that?
Never, the answer came from the back of her mind. You never dream like that. Ever.
The dream had to be magically influenced, Alias decided, and the woman in the dream had to be Cassana, the Westgate sorceress who branded me with one of these sigils. Why did she look like me?
Alias closed her eyes and concentrated on the woman in the dream. She didn’t look exactly like me, Alias realized. The woman looked older. Perhaps she is a long-lost relative no one ever told me about. Who’s Nameless, then?
Alias stood and stretched by the fire’s dying embers. Her thoughts remained fuzzy, and she had a difficult time concentrating on details. Am I still sleepy, she wondered, or is it possible I’m drunk on dream wine?
Then she heard a noise that set her hackles rising, a noise from her dream—the sound of a thousand hissing snakes in a stone room. The sound of a kalmari.
She whirled about, scanning the boundaries of the campsite, but the darkness defeated her eyes. She glanced over the campsite. Dragonbait lay curled like a cat. Olive snuggled in a nest of blankets. Akabar—there was only darkness where Akabar should have been.
Something in the darkness glittered, and Alias recognized the rows of needle-sharp teeth. Only then was she able to make out the silhouette of the beast. From the tear-drop shape extended a dark, prehensile tail. The creature’s shadow shifted just enough for Alias to make out Akabar’s sleeping figure. The kalmari wrapped its tail about him and began lifting the mage to its gaping maw. Muttering in his sleep, the Turmishman struggled feebly, trying to kick off the blanket entangling his legs, but he did not awaken.