"Bastion sounds like a wondrous place," sighed Lyim. "One I'm destined never to see."
Esme smiled distantly in fond memory. "It is a wondrous place, made of the most pure and perfect red granite mined from the Kharolis Mountains." She strode to a recessed shelf and took from a triangular pedestal a palm-sized red and creamy pink-veined ball from among the bric-a-brac there. "I pocketed this from among the scraps at the site as a souvenir. A local sculptor fashioned it to look like a miniature Lunitari."
Lyim laid his hand to the cold, polished stone. "It's flawless," he breathed in wonder. Abruptly, he set it back down and stood. "I'm sorry, Esme. It appears I've disturbed you for nothing."
"Oh, I wouldn't say that," Esme said generously. "I'd forgotten how… entertaining you could be, Lyim. Please stay long enough for me to offer you some repast."
Lyim hesitated, swallowing a pleased smile. "It was a long trip."
She headed for the door and placed her hand on the knob. "Just give me a few minutes to prepare something." Lyim nodded his consent, a smile still pulling up his lips as Esme slipped from the room.
The door clicked shut, and the mage nearly swooned with delight over his good fortune. He would get everything he'd come for and a meal with the beautiful
woman he'd always desired.
He had to move quickly, though. Lyim began muttering an incantation. Wisps of dark material emerged from the air around him, which he plucked and gathered into a ball. As long as he chanted, the wisps appeared, until he had collected a lump of sufficient size. His refrain then changed, becoming less rhythmic. The ball of material hovered in the air as Lyim's hand wove around it, shaping it without touching it. Wisps separated from the ball to curl around Esme's moon globe, then dart back to their starting places. The orb pulsated as if alive as it shifted and formed itself.
And then it was done. The red globe of granite dropped into Lyim's hand, pleasantly small but weighty. He compared the two; the match was perfect. Lyim placed his creation in the triangular holder on the shelf and concealed the original among the thick folds of his robe. The facsimile would not last forever, but it would certainly endure long enough to get Lyim away from Fangoth with the real globe of granite that would help him locate Bastion, and that was all he wanted. For now, anyway.
Guerrand rubbed his eyes, which were red from staring, and glanced at the time glass on the small table behind him: only half the sand had sifted from the top to the bottom beaker. The mage let out a small sigh. He had half a shift to serve yet in the scrying sphere. Why was the time passing so slowly today?
The muscles in Guerrand's shoulders were knotted into thick cords. His stomach growled unrelentingly. The high defender's temples throbbed from the strain of concentrating on the model of Bastion and its perimeter.
Usually a patient man, Guerrand could hardly wait until Dagamier came to replace him in the sphere. He knew exactly what he would do then: pour an entire flask of restorative rosemary oil into the warmed wading pool in the seascape room. While the hot water covered him to the waist, cool air would fan his chest soothingly. Then he would open a bottle of green Ergothian wine, his own brew aptly named for both its color and flavor. Nibbling sweet biscuits, Guerrand would drink just enough wine to ease the stress from his back.
Imagining it erased one furrow from Guerrand's brow. He blinked; his sight wavered briefly before settling again upon the model on the table beneath him. It really was a marvel, this magically imbued diorama of Bastion. It resembled an architect's rendering of a city. Guerrand had seen such a diagram back in Thonvil, a rotting and dusty wood-and-stone model made by Castle DiThon's original architect.
The similarity ended there, however. Bastion's diorama was aglow with minerals and magic. In the middle of a curved table covered by clear glass, the stronghold's three wings were represented in the model by resonating crystal that continuously hummed softly. The wings were surrounded by the courtyard, whose topiaries and statues were carved of emerald. Beyond the small fence that enclosed the model's courtyard was a ring of crystalline sulfur attuned to the area patrolled by the hell hounds. Encircling the sulfur was a wide band of quicksilver, a literal representation of the vast mercury moat that was the final border of this demiplane of shadow. The outermost edges of the diorama were shrouded in ever-roiling gray mists that represented the Ethereal Plane, which abutted Bastion's demiplane.
Though the defender who watched the diorama was unable to see into the Ethereal, any disturbances in this demiplane of shadow would be evidenced on the model in the scrying room. Trouble in the courtyard would make the emerald topiaries wink light and dark; disturbances among the hell hounds would illuminate the yellow sulfur. Guerrand, Dagamier, and Ezius watched in neverending rotation for such an event.
Though time in the usual sense had no meaning at Bastion, a defender's turn in the scrying sphere was kept to a short period predetermined by a sand-filled glass. The defender sat on a hard, wooden chair, intentionally uncomfortable to discourage dozing in the column's silence. The only source of light was the diorama itself, which naturally drew the occupant's attention in the otherwise dark sphere.
As a rule, Guerrand looked slightly beyond the model, letting his gaze take in the whole image, rather than study one specific area at a time. The advantage was that any change in the replica would immediately catch his attention. The technique also lent itself to vacant staring.
A faint, popping splash sounded in the small column. Guerrand watched the model intently. He heard splashing again, and a flicker of motion caught the mage's eye. Guerrand spotted the disturbance on the farthest edge of the outer ring of mercury. A bubble formed out of the shiny liquid, growing slowly until it popped. Then a series of bubbles appeared and burst in rapid succession. Each time the rings left by the bubble receded rapidly into the Ethereal. Something was trying unsuccessfully to enter the quicksilver.
In the year Guerrand had stood watch no intruder had entered Bastion's demiplane. He could scarcely credit the bubbling mercury, but he swallowed his disbelief and set about his duty as high defender. Guerrand drew a crystal lens from a cupboard beneath the tbe COei›usA pUgue
model table and peered at the bubbles. The sole purpose of the lens was to reveal glitches in the magical diorama. The bubbling mercury was clearly seen through the lens.
There could be no question now-someone or something was trespassing upon the demiplane's boundary. The intrusion could be caused by anything, from a real attack against Bastion to a wayward xorn that had lost its direction in the interstices between the planes.
Following the established but never-used routine for such an occurrence, Guerrand consulted a schematic of the planes that bordered Bastion's demiplane. In the ether that abutted the mercury moat, a powerful magical creature known as a ki-rin watched for intruders. The Council of Three had employed the ki-rin for this purpose because of the creature's lawful nature and ability to read the mind of any living thing through telepathy.
Guerrand unstoppered a beaker of clear alcohol and poured the liquid into a very shallow bowl carved into the lower right corner of the model table. The bitter smell of the volatile liquid filled the room. As the surface ripples died away, an image of the ki-rin appeared.
Vaguely horselike in appearance though bulkier, the ki-rin's forehead was adorned with a unicorn's horn. Luminous golden scales covered its torso, though its tail and mane were hair. The ki-rin had eyes the oddest shade of violet. Despite its disturbing appearance, the ki-rin radiated an aura of beneficence.
A human wanders the Ethereal, announced the ki-rin, its melodious voice echoing inside Guerrand's head.