“Damn,” said Leonis, voice shaky. “I think she’s more dangerous than Praximar. And of all the moments for her to arrive.”
“There’s a lesson there,” said Scorio, taking up his own towel. “There’s no privacy in the Fiery Shoals. Don’t forget it.”
Leonis flushed. “You’re right. No more soaking?”
“I’ve lost my appetite for just lying around. I think I’ll do some exploring before the White Queen summons us. Moira was right. We know precious little about these political waters. We need to fix that, fast.”
Leonis took up his own towel. “What do you think about what she said? About our choosing our own truths?”
Scorio frowned once more in the direction Moira had disappeared. “My heart rejects it even as my mind finds it compelling. It sounds like the kind of argument a brilliant mind might make to justify losing its way.”
“You think she’s lost?”
“She’s advocating for House Hydra.” Scorio smiled grimly up at his friend. “If anything qualifies as misplaced, its loyalty to Praximar.”
“Fair enough.” Leonis set to roughly toweling off his hair. “So where do you want to go first? Shall we collect the others?”
“Let’s do a little exploring by ourselves. Grab some food from the dining hall and then see what we find. I get the impression we don’t know the half of what’s going on in here.”
“We’re not trespassing on the forbidden levels.”
“No.” Scorio smiled. “Not with the White Queen seeing all. But there’s plenty more to learn. I’m sure of it. And just as Moira didn’t wait to take our measure, I don’t want to wait either. It’s like she said: we know almost nothing about Hell, its powers, and how things work outside of Bastion’s walls. I want to start changing that.”
“Then lead on.” Leonis set the towel aside and picked up their new black robes. “Lead, and the Golden King shall follow.”
Chapter 18
Leonis and Scorio wandered the halls of the Fiery Shoals for a good hour without seeing much of note. The layout of the fortress was confusing. The obsidian hallways were identical, many of the chambers were completely empty, and nothing indicated what lay in which direction.
Still, Scorio was content to explore and ask questions of the servants whenever they ran into a dead end. These were workers from Bastion who, it turned out, caravanned out to the Shoals for month-long stints to keep the fortress operating. Of the thousands of residents, more than half were this transient population of cleaners, cooks, laundresses, chambermaids, entertainers, sentries, and more.
Another quarter was composed of Great Souls passing into or out of the Rascor Plains. Mostly they were House affiliated and kept company with their own kind; they saw groups of Chimera explorers, Kraken financiers, and Hydra officials moving purposefully through the hallways or dining in distinct groups in the great dining hall.
But there were others who interested Scorio far more. Some were clearly members of distinct organizations of their own: Scorio saw emblems as varied as they were distinct, ranging from winged swords to flaming fists to emerald skulls. These groups were less gregarious and even more guarded; attempts to engage some of them in conversation fell completely flat.
Eventually, they emerged onto a great esplanade that was open to the fulminous air. Dark, sooty clouds roiled overhead without a single crack of blue, and the stench of sulfur and seared metal grew almost overwhelming. A waist-high balustrade edged the esplanade, and Leonis bellied up against this to gaze out over the environs.
“Not very inviting,” observed Scorio’s friend, crossing his arms over his chest. From this high vantage point, they could see the great ragged mountains that encircled not only the lake of lava but the world itself; the horizons appeared to be made of these great spear-tipped peaks, each more uninviting than the next. Here and there in the distance faint crimson glows indicated more lava; it seemed the entire area was volcanic, though none of the peaks betrayed activity.
Scorio leaned on the heavy balustrade and gazed down the length of the balcony. There was plenty of activity to draw the eye. Two regular whale ships were moored at the end of ornate piers that extended out with improbable delicacy over the void, but Scorio’s attention was drawn to a singular vehicle that dwarfed the rest.
“Will you look at that,” he breathed.
The whale ship was easily twice the size of the others and infinitely more luxurious. The whale’s aerite bones were inlaid with silver and gold, while the deck was made of a uniformly pale white wood that blended with the bones. The aftercastle was two stories tall, its side perforated by rows of square windows, with a grand steering wheel dominating its top behind the railing. Endless ranks of sails arose up the lengths of the three masts, easily a score of them ranging in size from the vast mainsails to the miniature topgallants.
Countless thick ropes affixed this ship to its own dock which was again twice the size of the others, and an entire phalanx of guards stood at attention upon the causeway, looking relaxed but eminently competent.
“Whose ship do you think that is?” asked Leonis, entranced. “Now that’s a kingly vessel.”
“The White Queen’s?” Scorio frowned at his own suggestion. “No. She can teleport. Maybe it belongs to the Fiery Shoals?”
“The coloration’s off. A Fiery Shoals ship would be all black and crimson, don’t you think? This one is white and gold.”
“It’s not a House ship. Perhaps it belongs to an Imperator’s group?”
“Hey,” called Leonis, raising a palm in greeting to a burly man who was passing by, a heavy coil of rope wrapped over one shoulder. “Can you answer a question for us?”
The man continued on for a few paces as if his feet had a mind of their own, then blinked, stopped, and returned. “Aye, Great Soul. How can I be of service.”
“That ship there. Whose is it?”
“The Celestial Coffer?” The man didn’t try to hide his surprise. “Why, it’s, well.” He frowned and sank into thought. “I suppose it ultimately belongs to the Iron Tyrant, don’t it? Out in the Fury Spires. But it’s run by the Celestial Consortium, with the White Queen on this end overseeing the loading and the… I guess the other consortium members on the receiving end unloading and distributing the mana.”
“The mana?” Scorio raised an eyebrow. “The Coffer transports… Copper mana?”
“Copper mana?” The man grinned fatuously. “Get on. No! The Gold mana. As it comes out of the Crucible, deep beneath the Shoals.” He paused, waiting for understanding and recognition. “You know about the Crucible, don’t ya?”
Scorio grimaced. “Nobody’s told us yet.”
“The Crucible!” He waved an arm as if that should explain everything. “The… I can’t pretend to understand it. But far as I know, it’s what used to channel the Gold mana when the Fiery Shoals was but a young island, circling the Plains. You know about them? The other flying islands?”
“Yes,” said Leonis dourly. “Those we know of.”
“Then you know about the, ah, provenance of the Fiery Shoals? How somebody tampered with the Gold that flowed up to keep the island floating, and it all went to the ten hells? And the whole island just crashed into the Plains and tore its way all the way here, disrupting the land, causing great destruction and whatnot?”
Scorio looked out over the lava field and at the distant peaks. “All this was formed by the falling island?”
“Aye, right mess it was, or so I’ve been told.” The man blinked and assumed a grave expression. “The Crucible, it’s what drew the Gold mana up from the ground. And it didn’t break, you see. It’s still down there, doing its thing. Drawing up Gold from the depths. It’s what keeps all of this bubbling and smoking. Elsewise it’d have all hardened into stone, wouldn’t it? Stands to reason. But no. The Crucible draws up that Gold, and, well.” He paused and frowned.