One year past Eris was a weak, scrawny, and emaciated girl. It was not so upon leaving Pyrthos, but in the months that followed she regressed to a lifestyle that expended more energy than it in took. Starvation hung over her neck like the executioner’s axe until she met Rook—until her fortunes reversed. Those were hungry, unpleasant days.

Now she might be mistaken for a woman. She had grown fatter and more vigorous. Although she still wasn’t strong she had developed a lean and healthy athleticism, yet despite her height she remained thin; her shoulders were narrow; she was svelte. Such was the manner of her natural physique.

So that even she was forced to turn to her side in the passageway that led into this vault illustrated clearly not only to her but to her companions behind how narrow narrow could be.

Most coffins were less claustrophobic.

Her shoulder blades scraped against stone. The confines were sheer, polished, smooth. The light from the torch outstretched before her did not penetrate the height of the darkness overhead. Behind her pursued the sound of leather dragging on two fronts.

The dwarf, Kauom, was too girthy to move while air was in his lungs. That made for slow going. Eris forged ahead without him.

“Hey, torchgirl!” he shouted. “Get back with that light!”

She stopped. Her heist to retrieve the Arktids’ tome had been a fantastic success. Was it a coincidence, she wondered, that she undertook that operation alone?

“Be quick, dwarf. My arm grows tired.”

Footsteps, dragging, exhale, inhale, repeat. Something short bumped into her.

“All right! Keep going!”

Not long thereafter they reached the passage’s egress into a dank cave. Kauom coughed. They stood together for a moment, stretching their muscles, when the earth shook once more.

The tunnel closed. Two halves of a severed limb pushed together, then welded back into one. No crack was visible once the rumbling underfoot stopped.

Eris checked her tome. The runes on the page once again burned with mystical light. Their magic was restored.

“Good thing it waited until we were clear,” Kauom said. He balanced his crossbow on his shoulder and snatched the torch from Eris’ grasp. “Give me that light. I’ll take the lead now.”

“By all means,” Eris said. Having another in the lead from there-onward was all part of her plan.

She glanced to the side. The boys Vlodmir and Robur, and they were boys, followed after Kauom like puppies. With Eris now behind holding their light, the shadows off her companions marked their path ahead.

How it was Eris found herself so often in caves of late she could not quite say. There was no need to crawl on her belly through crevices or negotiate cracks in stalagmites, true enough: these places were manicured, carved, sculpted for use. She was yet to become a true spelunker. All the same, the brown earthen hue of subterranean rock was growing overfamiliar. Worse than the tight confines was the stale air; the layers of stone blocked access to the aether and thinned out the mana freely available for casting spells. In such a place she had little to rely on but her own Essence, charged over time but a limited resource without amplification. She hoped this new year might find her spending more time in open air than underground.

Although, she realized as she walked, this place was different. There was mana here. Much of it. Powerful enchantments still held throughout this place. That made her practically giddy with excitement.

Meanwhile Kauom ranted:

“Feel how level the ground is? See the smoothness of the cut between the floor and the wall? The Mountain People of Kem-Karwene made this place!”

“Mount-in Peepel?” Vlodmir said.

“I believe those are the Dwarves,” Robur said.

“Of course those are the Dwarves! We sing the stone to our will, binding it with our voices; I should know, I was a stonemason.”

“If singing is what stonemasonry requires,” Eris said, “one would think that makes you a bard.”

“Don’t ever mention bards to me, witch! Or actors! The Song of Stone isn’t music like that—it’s the bond of kinsmen, a favor for a favor.”

“You were mason?” Vlodmir said.

“An apprentice.”

“Whie did you leev if you had good life?”

“Bah, that’s…why does anyone do anything?”

“Money,” Eris sighed.

Kauom's voice smiled. “That I can agree with.”

The shadows before them parted sideways. The light of a miniature sun appeared in the distance, hanging just above eye level, and with each step it grew brighter, its rays focusing. Only later did Eris realize it was not the sun, or any light source at all, except her own torch: for standing before them, they saw themselves reflected.

It was a mirror. From one side of the cave to the next, blocking their path forward. A perfect sheen. No blemishes. A flawless mold against the walls.

Eris tried to spend only a brief moment looking at herself, but it was hard—her pallid skin in the darkness, with the light so nearby, possessed a ghostly quality she found quite striking. Framed against her dark hair, and she stood out very fetchingly from her companions, so much taller than they…

“What the shit is this?” Kauom said. His voice echoed. Eris’ attention was called away from herself and toward the dwarf; she watched his reflection instead of her own.

“It’s a mirror,” Robur said, sincerely, as if Kauom might not have known.

“I know that! Why’s it here? Witch! Torchgirl! What’s this doing here?”

“If you enjoy living you would do well to use my name, dwarf,” Eris said.

“Is that a threat, human?” Kauom’s voice always held a certain edge.

“A warning, not a threat.”

“Eris,” Robur said, “what is the purpose of this?”

She frowned. She grabbed a spare bolt from Kauom’s quiver and tapped the mirror’s surface. There came a slight elastic give, like the surface tension on water, before all hardened to steel.

“Maybe we took wrong turn,” Vlodmir said.

“There was no other turn to take!” Kauom said. “Stand back, I’m going to shoot it open.”

“I do not well advise that,” Eris said.

“Why not?” Kauom said.

“Because this is clearly a spell, that is why, and the power of the Magisters cannot be shaken even by a ‘genuine Dwarven arbalest.’”

“Not even a whole volley?”

“When you have gathered twenty Kerwenian Rangers with you, I shall grant you permission to try.”

He thought this over for a moment. “I don’t need your permission! Take this torch, kid.”

With that he handed the light to Vlodmir, leveled his crossbow at the mirror, and pulled its trigger. A bolt shot forward, hit the glass, and disappeared—swallowed whole.

Moments later it reappeared head-first. The glass itself gave birth to a bolthead, metal slowly expelled from whatever lied behind. Kauom dodged just in time as it came spitting back outward, zipping straight past his shoulder.

The bolt broke to pieces down the cave toward the entrance. The echo lingered for a long time.

Kauom stroked his beard. “Hmph. So you were right after all, eh…” He spoke as though this were some great surprise.

Eris sighed. “Could you not have done us the favor and stood in place?” Eris said.

“At least I’m doing something! What’s your plan, witch?”

“What does it say of this in the tome?” Robur said. He spoke tentatively, like it was a suggestion, like he would be slapped if this had already been considered. The boy’s presence was such that he was forgotten the moment he finished saying anything; it was always a surprising reminder that he existed when he next spoke again.

So it was then. Even Vlodmir, hardly a remarkable character, whose lifespan Eris pegged at less than these next thirty minutes (if her understanding of the vault’s defenses were accurate), glanced up in shock to be reminded that there was another in their company.

But his suggestion held. She opened the tome, motioned with her fingers, flipped through the pages.

There were many pages.

She would need to cast the Wisdom of the Sages again if she wished to read from them. She did so, quickly, and it was easy enough with such energy around her. Pre-translated notes were in her backpack but this topic had not come up; only the primary source would be of use here.

“There was no reference to mirrors,” she said. She scanned the pages toward the tome’s end, where there were particular detailings of defensive structures. She found a great deal of poetic jabbering but little else of apparent value; and, frustrated, occasioned a glance up at Robur.

His eyes glowed. Blue, only faintly, but the magic was unmistakable. Eris recognized the spell: Supernal Vision. A tool for reading auras. She recalled an old adage among magicians: those who cannot cast, detect. Being taught Supernal Vision at a young age did not bode well for a career as a magician. Would one rather know powerful magic, or know how to find it?

Eris knew her answer. Thus she scoffed to see Robur’s attempt to use the spell here. It would come to nothing.

Brief silence as he studied the surface.

“A mirror asks you to look upon yourself and reflect upon who you are,” he said. “Who would have had access to such a place?”

“None but the Magisters themselves who built it,” Eris said. “I do not think it was their intention to lose their tome to bears.”

“Bers?” Vlodmir said.

“’Tis a long story. Are you done with your spell?” She was growing irritated by the presence of another magician.

“Does the book say anything about who might be worthy?” Robur said.

She flipped toward the tome’s rear once again. “Yes, as I said, he writes clearly that none but the Magisters shall be permitted inside. I presumed this to be exaggeration, for when the text was written, it was indeed true that none but the Magisters had its secrets at their disposal.”

“Then maybe it opens only to them. There may be no way through for us,” Robur said.

“So you’re telling me we’re stuck?” Kauom said.

“There is no way we—” Eris started, when a sudden thought struck her. She read from the only passage that suggested anything of this kind to her: “‘We left all so that only us four, long may we live, could ever pass through the vault’s great portals.’” She flipped to an earlier chapter. She found it quickly—she knew the tome well. There on the page were illuminations of four old men in fine clothes.

Everything clicked into place.

Well, she thought. Even the most useless of spells was still magic, and magic was never completely useless. Robur had his utility after all. It was a shame she did not intend to see him collect his share of the loot.

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“Be still, this will take some time,” she said.

She used Arcane Semblance. Working carefully from the page and using the mirror as her vanity, she sculpted her flesh into that of one of the long-dead Magisters depicted in the illumination. Once the spell was finished, the resemblance was perfect. It was only an illusion, but with luck it would fool this portal.

She touched the glass. It parted at her fingers like water, bubbling around them but presenting no resistance. Cool, like a river in early spring. That satisfied her.

She was less satisfied to see her new appearance. But it would not hold for long.

She looked back at her companions. They were stunned. She smiled.

“Now what about the rest of us?” Kauom said.

An important question. Arcane Semblance could be used on others, if they were willing and patient enough to let the magic take hold. “Now you stand still, and allow me to do the same to you.”

One-by-one, working from each illumination, Eris cast Arcane Semblance. Soon all four of them bore the appearance of some ancient, long-dead man, so that they looked a party of geriatric brothers reunited after three thousand years apart. It was a surreal sight, to gaze upon that in the mirror.

Yet one by one they stepped through, Eris last.

She relaxed her Essence. The spell faded. As the seconds passed, each adventurer morphed back into his own self. Eris’ held for longer, waning more slowly over time.

Behind them the way appeared clear—the enchantment was one-way. Cunning. A shortcut to reduce the magic needed to sustain the spell. That their magic still held who-knew how many millennia after their deaths was a testament to the skill of the Old Kingdom’s magicians; Eris could learn much from them.

Their artifacts would be hers.

Kauom shivered. “Never touch me again, witch! A thousand gold pieces aren’t worth the dread of seeing myself as a human.” He shook his head. “What’s next?”

She glanced ahead.

They stood in a huge cavern. Always it was caverns. She was reminded at once of the underground amphitheater where they found Aletheia last summer, where unrefined Manastone hung like a chandelier across the roof. No such ornamentation was present here—yet still there was light, dim thought it was, from blue bulbs affixed to posts anchored into the cave’s floor. They lined the path through a rocky canyon that formed a path and funneled the party toward the cavern proper, where Eris saw a bridge.

Each gave off a blue glow. Enough to see the ground underfoot.

“Manalights,” Eris said. “Lanterns that burn magic.”

It was a waste of energy, to burn mana for nothing but light. To have so many that they might be used as lampposts was a sign that this place was a site of immense power. She breathed deeply.

She smelled it. Not just the sweet, invisible scent of mana spent, like oil being consumed, but redolent aether. More intoxicating than an eruption of mead.

She almost charged first. She almost went off ahead. She almost forgot.

Almost. Her heart raced as the recollection came.

“Vlodmir,” she said. “You have the light. Proceed?”

He looked back at her. Uncertainty in his eyes. She smiled at him, and, him being a boy, he obeyed. The power a beautiful woman could wield over morale with nothing but her lips never ceased to delight. She wondered how he might have responded to see her roll her eyes once he was turned back down the path. Poorly, no doubt. Eris did not count many advantages to being female, but this was challenging to beat—and to be immune to such charms from men, for no such charms existed, was itself a great power.

Those thoughts helped calm her off the cliff of her terrible near-mistake.

She followed very far behind.

At the end of the canyon the rows of manalights ended. The true cavern began. It was an enormous pocket of empty air within the mountain: a thousand feet above them, nothing but darkness; a thousand feet below, the same. The only thing within the whole of the cavern’s circumference was at the party’s level—a solitary island jutting forth from the darkness on a thin monopod of rock, a plate balanced on a stalagmite.

A bridge extended outward from the path underfoot, held in place by no supports.

Vlodmir reached the bridge. He glanced down at its construction. It looked, from a safe distance, something like a collection of large black tiles, thin, placed together edge-to-edge. There was no railing. The distance it covered was vast; no mundane bridge of such construction could ever hold significant weight.

“Is safe?” he said.

Eris tried hard not to stand too far off, for fear of causing suspicion. “The other enchantments have withstood the test of time, I see no reason why this one would not as well.” She added quickly, “Of course, ‘tis always possible some other unforeseen trial awaits us, unmentioned by the tome.”

“Go on. Be brave!” Kauom said.

“Perhaps I should examine it for enchantments first, to be safe,” Robur said.

“We know what enchantments it holds!” Eris snapped. “You would be wasting your time. Do we intend to dawdle forever in this cave, until we are so old we may pass through that mirror without need for magic? The writing is clear. You may proceed, Vlodmir.”

But her words were not true. She felt prickling in her blood. A powerful spell vibrated nearby, and it was not the bridge’s levitation.

It was time for Vlodmir to serve the purpose of his enlistment. Not a moment too soon.

He swallowed. He stepped onto the first of the black tiles. Nothing happened. Another step—

All of Eris’ vision flared with fire. From the floor to the ceiling, reaching the absolute height of the cavern, stretching in walls around either side of the canyon from which they emerged, a field of electricity crackled into existence. A flash of heat overcame them, a blast like the immolation of a stash of alcohol. There might have been a scream but it was silent next to the roaring echo of the activation of a Lightning Wall.

When her vision returned, Vlodmir was gone, his torch with him. Darkness held where he once stood. He had sublimated in a millisecond to go sit by his Lioness’ side.

She wasted no time. The tome spelled this all out clearly: the only countermeasure to the Lightning Wall was an obsidian keystone kept on the person. Any living creature who passed through without such a key would be vaporized. But once the trap was triggered it would need hours to recharge to full strength. The keystones were long-lost, and even Eris the Great Sorceress had no expectation that she could mechanically outwit a Lightning Wall; her entire expedition was planned around this loophole, and one further challenge, when they came to the vault proper.

She conjured a light in her hand with a snap of her fingers and sprinted across the bridge. No lightning jumped forth at her.

“What the hell are you doing!” Kauom shouted. For a moment he waited behind, but then he followed after. “Get back here, witch!”

She had no intention of stopping. But as she ran, she glanced over the side of the bridge, and then she saw. Darkness was not the only thing at the bottom of this cavern. So far below it seemed ten thousand miles down slithered a stream of aether: blue and red and gold and green, just like the aurora visible in the night’s sky, only flowing slowly like lava, not zipping through the atmosphere as magic should.

A ley line ran beneath this place—beneath all of Kem-Karwene.

There were so many questions in need of answer. Any river for mana so far beneath the earth needed a funnel from the heavens, it could not get here on its own—and yet she knew of no such thing in Nanos, although ley lines were well-known amongst magicians as a plausible notion for the motion of mana. Could it be that this was how the Dwarves powered their Manaforges even so long after the Fall of the Old Kingdom—

Kauom sprinted toward her. She would have to think on it later.

She reached the far side of the bridge. Her feet found stone ground once more. All about the island glittered gold.

Finally the dwarf caught up to her.

“You knew! This was all part of your sneaky plan!”

She turned to him. “We are across, are we not?”

“The boy’s dead!”

“Such is an adventurer’s life.”

“But he was my friend!”

“Then he should be grateful he died for his friend’s enrichment. See?”

Kauom saw. His crossbow had been hastily pointed in Eris’ direction; now he lowered it again, his attention turned toward the riches around them.

Suits of chainmail covered in gilt decoration. Helmets topped with jewels. Jewelry of silver and gold. Busts carved of marble. All were arranged on solid tables of stone connected to the island in full, as if the rock had been raised through magic. The goods were layered with eons’ worth of dust.

“Well. Sometimes friends don’t last too long,” he said. His tone changed entirely. “Heh. That was clever thinking, tricking him to walk into that trap…” He picked up a necklace. “Very clever…”

“You didn’t know it was trapped, did you?” Robur said. His sudden materialization made Eris jump.

She dismissed him. “Of course not. The book made no mention of it.”

“Sure it didn’t,” Kauom said. He withdrew a knife and began prying jewels from helmets.

Eris’ attention turned toward the premises. Any valuables would be welcome, and they would be hers, but that was not why she came to this place. More manalight lampposts covered the island, one by each table. Enough light to see. Eris extinguished the fire from her fingers.

She spun in circles.

There was no altar. No shrine. No special throne. Most importantly, there was no Regal Avatar clutching the Archon’s Orb, the last trial described in the tome, the other reason she needed adventuring company for this expedition.

This was not the Archon’s Vault.

“That cannot be,” she swore.

“What? That we’re damn rich?” Kauom said.

“This is no vault of an Archon’s secrets—this is a—a bank, a jeweler’s shop, not what is described in the tome.”

“Who cares?”

“Be quiet!”

She lowered herself to the ground and retrieved her notes from her pack. On this she kept many notes. The Archon’s Vault was described in detail. She had carefully transcribed every thought. It was supposed to contain riches, yes, but also spellbooks, scrolls, and the Archon’s Orb, along with a golem that would pummel anyone who attempted to steal it—nothing of the sort was here. And it was not an island exposed in a cave, but a true vault, a secure box.

“Perhaps what you seek has been plundered already?” Robur suggested.

“That is impossible!”

“Why?”

“Why? Because—because I will not be thwarted after so many months of preparation, after dragging the rotting carcasses of you and the dwarf across Nanos. And this island does not match the tome’s description: there should be a statue, too large to move from a place like this. Do you see such a thing? No—we are missing something.”

They were missing something. Not the party, but the Magisters—what was missing? Everything that might be of true value to an Archon. Items of arcane significance. Relics which could not be replaced. Riches were fungible; an Archon’s Orb was not. The items set out for them here, therefore, were those things the creators of this place were not bothered overmuch at the prospect of losing. Of course they were well-guarded; it had taken millennia for anyone to breach their defenses, they served their purpose. But this was one last line. A psychological trick.

Send the raider contentedly on his way home with pockets filled with gold—if he manages to make it to the vault. But hide the true wealth where he will not think to look.

“There is an illusion here,” Eris said, “I am sure of it.”

“Whatever you say,” Kauom said. He packed a diadem into his satchel.

She took her dinner knife from her pack and pricked her finger. With her hand outstretched she walked about the island, watching the reaction of the blood closely; any illusion concealing a large vault would require powerful sustaining magic. The mana in her blood would react to it in kind. A gentle lurch away if she drew too close, or a change in hue—red fading into blue or quickening into green. Mere mana from the aether, as from the ley line, would not be enough—it had to be given shape and form through a spell by a magician to be magnetized so. It was a crude way to detect magic, but it was also reliable—even in a place like this, where her natural senses of magic were thrown off.

A spell like Supernal Vision would also work. She glanced back at Robur. He stood over a table, investigating a bronze sword that bore no particular embellishment.

She did not need his magic. It was beneath her. Her method was more than adequate.

She traversed the perimeter of the island. When she came to the bridge her blood recoiled only slightly around her fingertip, inching up her skin, fighting against gravity and sending a sanguine teardrop sliding toward her hand.

“Say,” Kauom said. Five different necklaces were draped about his throat. “How do you plan on getting us back across that bridge?”

“Solve one problem at a time,” she replied. Frustration was mounting. If he didn’t stop dwarfhandling her treasure sooner before later, he and it both might be lost forever down the nearby abyss. All it would take was a shove…

No. She needed him yet. In-fighting would do no good. Fuming, more at their circumstances than anyone in particular, she stumbled toward the island’s center. She thought hard. Tried to place herself in the mind of a Magister. Tried to remember all she ever knew about the magical artifacts of the Old Kingdom…

She felt it before she saw it. Wetness smearing across her hand, just like a tear down a dry cheek. On its flight from the bridge the drop of blood from her finger had made it to her wrist; now it flattened and split into four separate trails, fleeing back toward her palm.

She held her hand level, then tilted it, so that each droplet reconvened near her thumb before congealing and dripping toward the ground. She caught the larger drop with her other palm.

Gravity’s natural course. Or…

She glanced upward. She raised her open palm, watching the small red sea contained within closely—

Her blood squirmed. At first. The higher her arm went, the more frenzied the resistance became; until, with nowhere to go, the color faded into blue.

That gave her confirmation enough. The Vault was concealed overhead, made invisible through a spell. She wiped the blood away on her skirt and reported her findings to the party.

“This isn’t another trick, is it?” Kauom said. He eyed Eris with his usual suspicion.

“You may shoot another bolt in the air for confirmation,” she said. “It will bounce off.”

“All right, I—wait! That’s what you want me to do, isn’t it? Clever, witch. Very clever. I won’t fall for it.”

“Would you prefer I pulled the trigger?” she sighed.

A long moment of consideration. “That should be safer…okay. Here.” He prepared a bolt and held the crossbow outstretched, aimed at the cavern’s roof. Eris pulled the trigger with a pinky.

The Dwarven machine whirred, the bolt shot out, gliding through the air, and so quickly it happened all at once, its head struck an invisible barrier not fifteen feet over them.

Splinters rained down. Kauom frowned.

“Hmph. Could be anything. You don’t know that’s a vault.”

This posed a problem she had not prepared herself for. She clenched her eyes. She saw a solution in her party, but it was one she desperately did not wish to use. One she had sworn she would not use—and only minutes previously.

But her ambition was greater than her pride. The former fueled the latter; the latter was not warranted without the former. So she turned to Robur.

“You know the Supernal Vision, yes?”

“Yes,” Robur nodded, “why?”

“It is a spell for seeing through illusions.”

“Supernal Vision has many uses—”

“’Tis a spell for seeing through illusions.”

“Well, yes, I suppose so.”

She motioned. “We are faced with an illusion that must be seen through.”

He stared at her for a moment before he realized. “You want me to use it now? I cast it twice today already—my mentor taught me never to use magic more than twice per day, except in emergencies…”

“You indicated you would cast it before, at the bridge, did you not?”

“Yes, but I thought we might rest first.”

“Would you like us to take a nap so you might use the spell again?” she said.

“That would be lovely, my feet are very sore—”

“Cast the spell now, you imbecile!” she shouted.

He had the look of a kicked puppy. “Okay,” he said. He did as instructed: only moments later his eyes glowed blue again. “Above us! There’s a box!”

“What kind of box?” Kauom said.

“Blue.”

“A blue box…”

“He sees the mana that conceals the vault,” Eris said, “as well as the spell which keeps it suspended. Not the vault itself. Where is its entrance?”

Robur walked, somewhat awkwardly, to a spot near the center of the island. “Here. Over me. There is an opening.”

“I will levitate us through it,” Eris said. “Direct me. Come here, dwarf.”

He frowned. “Maybe I’ll stay here and keep watch…”

“You will come. You have done nothing so far to aid this expedition; if you do not come, you will not earn your share.”

A stand-off followed. Neither she nor Kauom was afraid to hold eye contact. But she got the better of him. “Fine. But I swear by the Stonemother, if you try anything, you’ll get a bolt in the back!”

“If I try anything, I will be the one standing behind you. Your bolt would at best find my stomach.”

It was a familiar ritual by now. With the aether nearby, lifting the three of them upward was trivial. Robur directed her only slightly; soon she felt her upraised arm brush against cool stone, though she saw nothing, and in that stone her fingers found a circular manhole.

She raised them through it. As her head passed through, darkness engulfed her; the illusion only applied to the outside. Each scrambled onto solid black ground. She once again used her finger for a light—

She stood face-to-face with an enormous statue. Purple runes were etched up and down its arms and legs. Its eyes burned violet. And clutched in its hand, outstretched before her, was a black orb, like a stone of pure onyx, banded around its middle by gold.

The Archon’s Orb.