“I didn’t survive as long as I did in the ruins by being soft.”
He could have responded to that, but chose not to. “A lot’s going on.”
“Our kind only has a handful of years left. And the more desperate people become, the more frenzied and panicked their decisions. If we live long enough, we’ll look back to these past few years as a time of peace and quiet.”
Scorio splashed water in her direction. “Don’t sound so excited.”
She smirked. “Anyway. It sounds like we’re going to have to pick sides soon if we want to reach LastRock. Or we could avoid this war altogether and return to Nightsong. We’re Flame Vaults. We could head deeper into hell, right into the Silver Unfathom.”
Scorio subsided. “I don’t know. We don’t have any other leads on these Herdsmen. They were important enough for my past self to go to extreme lengths to warn me today. I don’t feel like I can pass up on the Lost Library.”
Naomi sighed dramatically. “Fine. I don’t want to work for either the Iron Tyrant or Plassus. That only leaves Vermina and this new element.”
“Who should be arriving soon. When they do we’ll make a decision.”
Naomi eyed him.
“What?”
“Leonis and Lianshi. Ravenna. Jova. Are you going to prioritize becoming friends with them again?”
“Not Jova.” Scorio rose from the pool, water sluicing everywhere, to pad over to the bench and take up a towel.
“She’s important, apparently.”
“That’s great. We’re done, as far as I’m concerned. Unless you harbor a soft spot for Jova?”
Naomi narrowed her gaze.
“As for the others…” Scorio toweled himself off. “We’ll see. If our paths align, great. If not…”
“Pass me a towel.”
Scorio did so, then turned as she rose from the water to wrap it around her form-hugging shift.
For a moment they did their best to dry off in the humid atmosphere. As they tied their new robes about themselves, Naomi hesitated.
“Yes?” prompted Scorio.
“I’m… I know I can be difficult.” She refused to meet his gaze. “If you want to include others in our group, if you feel like it would be better, don’t… I mean, I might act upset, but…”
Scorio grinned. “Why, Naomi. That’s the most generous and humble thing I’ve ever heard you say.”
She scowled at him. “What I meant was that you shouldn’t hesitate to bring any number of blockheads into our group, because then I can finally leave in good conscience. There. Better?”
Scorio tied his belt and draped his towel over his shoulder. “I love it when you clear the air.”
“You’re the worst,” she snapped, tying the belt of her robe with a violent cinch.
“So I’ve been told.” He threw an arm around her shoulders as they left the pool. “But if you think I’d ever let you walk away in exchange for someone else, you’re mad.”
She glowered up at him, expecting a follow-up jibe, but when he simply smiled, she flushed and ducked her head, allowing her hair to fall forth as was customary in a sodden curtain. “Well. Fine.”
“Come on,” he said, leading the way out. “Let’s find some food.”
Chapter 9
The Iron Tyrant summoned them a few hours later. Having eaten their fill in the refectory in one of the levels above the sleeping clusters, Scorio and Naomi had avoided further entanglements and retired to their quarters to rest. A polite call from the entrance roused Scorio from sleep; thick headed, he rose, darkvision outlining the common room and a new arrival at their cluster’s entrance.
“Hello? Scorio? Naomi?”
Scorio palmed a light, infused it with a modicum of Iron, and golden illumination filled the chamber to reveal a sloop-shouldered man of small stature, his rough beard hiding his lips, his skin weathered and worn as if he’d spent his life braving the elements. He wore a plain robe in the style of the Fury Spires, a mirror to Scorio and Naomi’s own new garb, and took the opportunity to study Scorio with interest as the room lit up.
“Yes?” Scorio studied the man in turn. “I know you from somewhere.”
“I played a small role in the fight against Imogen,” said the older man, stepping forward to extend his hand. “Amity, Pyre Lord in service to the Iron Tyrant.”
“Amity!” Scorio shook the man’s callused hand. “That’s right! I saw you hit Imogen so hard you threw her clear across the Basilica.”
“Would that it had made a lick of difference.” Amity smiled sheepishly. “A whole lot of flash for very little flame.”
Naomi drew close. “Can I ask what your power is? You aged the White Queen and the two other Blood Barons to the point of death, and then you…?” She shook her head, trying to recollect.
Amity rubbed at the back of his neck. “It’s a ghastly power, to be sure. But it has its uses. In short, I can drain willing companions of their power, funnel it into a single blast. The more I drain, the more I suffer, and the longer it takes me to recover.”
“But I saw you collapse into dust,” said Scorio. “You died.”
Amity grinned, showing square white teeth beneath his bristly mustache. “Did I now? Guess it didn’t stick. But I only go that far when there’s precious little else to do. Regardless. Unpleasant. But I should warn you about my Emberling power.”
Naomi raised her chin. “It’s worse than what you just described?”
“To some, to some. It’s a mental effect that I have no control over.” Amity grimaced. “It makes me seem real friendly, like. Folks take to me without much effort. Maybe it’s because I’m easy on the eyes,” and here he grinned self-deprecatingly, “but you can’t discount the power itself. Regardless, I’ve taken to warning people up front. If you find yourself thinking me a better friend than I’ve a right to be, you have my apologies.”
Naomi instantly scowled and stepped back.
“Thanks,” said Scorio. “Guess that’s good to know.”
“Make of it what you will. Now, the Iron Tyrant himself is awaiting you both up top. Ready?”
“Ready,” said Naomi, tone suspicious.
Amity grinned again. “That’s a useful attitude to have. Keep it and you’ll do well. Now, let’s not keep His Tyrantness waiting.”
Amity led them down the hall, his manner easy, his posture slouched. “So what brings you both to the Fury Spires?”
“We’re doing a tour of the Iron Weald’s best attractions,” said Naomi. “The Fury Spires were high on the list.”
“Rightfully so. Everything’s coming to a head.” Amity nodded to a couple of Great Souls who passed by, their curiosity obvious. “People couldn’t be more tense. And then you two arrive. Given your track record, I reckon it’s understandable people would be suspicious.”
Scorio exchanged a glance with Naomi but they remained quiet.
The Pyre Lord led them up a series of curling ramps that cut through the fungal garden caverns. The temperature rose and the air became humid once more and redolent with the stench of rot and wet earth. The caverns up here were large and untamed, and the fungus turned out to also include large mushrooms that rose the height of a man, their gilled awnings stretching out to block out the sight of the roof.
Blazeborn drudges moved amongst them, seemingly doing little more than keeping the room warm.
They left the fungal gardens behind. Their tunnel curved around one last rotation and then opened into a cavernous space.
The temperature immediately dropped as the sense of illimitable heights swamped them. A few golden globes were set atop tall posts, but these only illuminated a few dozen square yards - beyond that rim of light the darkness was near absolute.
“Look,” said Naomi, taking hold of Scorio’s sleeve.
Above them, faint stars crawled through the darkness.
“Drudges,” said Amity, glancing sidelong at them. “They work to keep the interior of the Fury Spires strong. Smoothing down cracks.”