“The surface is only a foot thick.” Yuze stepped up alongside him. “If you stand here long enough you can see it slowly move. It’s unnatural. No source. Just circles the Fury Spires over and over, I think. I’ve heard there are blazeborns swimming through it, forever submerged, but I’ve never seen them.”
“You need hobbies,” snorted Jaks, peeling away to move on.
Yuze pursed his lips and stared down at the black river. “Maybe she’s right.”
The bridge was broad and stout, functional and without ornament. Its far end terminated at the base of the archway that was gauged into the wall, a huge, gateless portal.
Faridian and Naomi stood to one side, awaiting Scorio. The other members of the expedition were picking up the pace, laughing and at ease now that they were safely home.
“You don’t look fit for an audience with Bravurn,” Faridian said. “I’ve asked Dakshina to send word that you’re here, but we should take care of you first. What would you prefer? Sleep? A hot bath? Gold mana?”
The last of Faridian’s crew passed through the archway to descend broad, shallow steps into a large room deeper within the complex.
“Gold mana?” asked Scorio, surprised. “That’s available?”
“It’s here in vast quantities, but available?” Faridian’s eyes gleamed with amusement. “That all depends. Everyone that signs up to work for the Iron Tyrant gets a stipend determined by their rank. It’s why most people do. I have some excess. I’m happy to gift you both a vial, or you could petition the Iron Tyrant for some.”
Naomi laughed darkly. “There’s no such thing as a gift.”
“True. Especially not from the Iron Tyrant. But from me?” Faridian adjusted his voluminous robe. “Think of it as a gesture of goodwill. It would take a blind man to not realize you’ve both been Whispered.” He smiled. “You’re familiar with the term?”
“Fate’s Whisper,” said Scorio. “The lucky wind from the Vale of Regrets.”
“Precisely. Where you go, thrones topple and heads roll. You bring change. I think it wise to make a gesture of goodwill.”
“A gesture of goodwill. Sure.” Scorio’s Heart yet burned, but now the flames were at their lowest ebb, mere glimmers of Iron dancing over the spherical surface. “Perhaps a room? Then a bath, to be sure.”
Naomi plucked at a thickly clotted lock of her hair then tossed it back over her shoulder. “Agreed.”
“Then come!” Faridian clapped his hands and led the way down the broad steps. “You will need your wits about you in the Fury Spires. Many interests find themselves intersecting here, and you’re no doubt aware that your presence will draw attention. The better rested you are, the better you will navigate these currents.”
“A man after my own heart,” said Scorio, following.
The staircase was broad enough for twenty to walk abreast, and globes of yellow crystal were set along the walls, providing them with a soft radiance that banished all shadows.
“The Fury Spires are an endless duplication of the same plan,” said Faridian. “The rooms and chambers lie mostly below ground, with the towers acting as chimneys for the calderas. Most of them have died since their queens were killed, but we only need the four we’ve kept going.”
“Died?” asked Naomi.
They emerged into a large, curving hallway, big enough for a cart to drive through. Its walls rose in the familiar organic manner of the exterior, but here the black obsidian sheen was replaced by warm hues of brown and clay.
“This main tunnel revolves around the core some six times,” said Faridian, gesturing to the corridor. “It encircles the main complex of rooms in the center with access to a new level down every fifty or so yards. Think of the habitable space as a sphere, buried in the ground.”
They followed Faridian as he led them down the hall. “The sphere is divided into thirds. The upper third is where we’ve turned the blazeborns’ former rustmoss gardens into fungal larders. Disgusting, but nutritious. The middle third is where the nurseries were located - that’s where we’ve carved out our own quarters. Here we go.”
The hallway continued curving down and out of sight, but a second one branched off here, smaller and spearing into the core.
It sloped down then rose, twisted and turned, golden globes set in the walls, and with new tunnels branching off it ever dozen or so yards.
“The rooms are all in clusters. Groups of five or six,” said Faridian, gesturing with two fingers at the side tunnels. “People usually group up with friends and claim quarters as they become available. The closer to the core you get, the warmer, obviously. There’s a sweet zone about halfway that’s claimed by the highest-ranking Great Souls. You’ll have to decide if you like it cooler or hotter.”
“Cooler,” said Naomi.
Voices came from the side tunnels. The room clusters. Laughter, and from one the rippling beauty of a well-played oud, the sound bringing Old Memek to mind.
Scorio’s heart suffered a twist. The sounds of living reminded him of his few halcyon weeks at the Academy before Praximar made his life hell. The sound of people relaxing, enjoying themselves, at ease.
A few Great Souls walked by, eyeing them curiously, but when Faridian raised a hand in greeting they read his expression and kept going.
“Here,” said the Dread Blaze, stopping at a dark tunnel. “I don’t think this cluster’s been claimed.”
They followed him into the side tunnel, darkvision turning everything gray and clear. Faridian placed his hand on a quiescent globe and it slowly brightened, pouring forth its golden light.
Scorio dropped his darkvision and followed Faridian into a common room, oval in shape and with a circle cut into the ground in which dusty cushions had been placed. A gathering space of sorts. Four narrow tunnels radiated out into dark rooms.
Faridian lit two other globes and soon the room was bathed in soothing gold. It was sparsely furnished, little more than a gathering space with a stone shelf along one wall on which metal cups and a large iron tank was set.
“Empty,” said Faridian, knocking on the tank with one finger. “The Fury Spires are always warm. You must drink water continuously. I’ll have a drudge come fill it for you. The dining rooms are in the upper floors next to the fungal gardens. Don’t worry. We import a lot of delicacies from both deeper in hell and the Rascor Plains.”
“Wasn’t worried,” said Scorio.
Faridian drew himself up briskly. “Pick any bedroom. Rest. And here.” He drew forth an iron tube and held it out. “The Gold mana.”
“A downpayment on our friendship,” said Naomi, taking it gingerly. “Thank you.”
Faridian inclined his head, held the pose for a moment, then straightened. “A drudge will bring water and then position itself outside your cluster entrance. When you’re ready, it will take you to the baths or the dining room. I’m sure the Iron Tyrant will send for you when he’s ready.”
“Thank you, Faridian.” Scorio stepped up and clasped the man’s hand. “Really. I appreciate this.”
“Of course. I will be seeing you around the Fury Spires.” And Faridian departed.
“The man is enchanted with the sound of his own voice,” said Naomi, prowling into one of the dark hallways.
Scorio simply stepped down into the carved-out circle, sat on one of the cushions and lay back, resting his head over the edge onto the floor. “I don’t know. He seemed a welcome combination of pragmatic and informative.”
Naomi emerged and entered the next tunnel. “No doors. No security.”
“Fortunately for us we’ve nothing worth stealing.”
“Our lives don’t count?” she called from within.
“Well, that.”
Naomi scoped out each of the rooms then stepped down into the sunken rotunda. “Identical and without any obvious means of spying on us. Still. We should assume we’re being overheard at all times.”
“Sure.” Scorio roused himself and nodded to the vial. “Shall we get to healing?”