Kaja stood motionless, eyes scanning the span of tangled peaks where the Grayspurs met the Central Calthian mountain range. In the distance, glinting under the light of the setting sun, was a blue and white swath painted between two mountains, as if a mighty river once surged through and was set frozen in time. Though Kaja had never seen it from the east, she knew it wasn’t any ordinary glacier—it was Dusanek, the glacier sacred to her people, and her and her companions’ destination. If any of the people from her Skolka survived that night, they would have sought shelter and safety within Dusanek’s hallowed caverns. And even if they weren’t at Dusanek any longer, there were surely pilgrims or Great Elders there who would have news for her. Kaja felt her stomach turn at the thought of facing any survivors, of having to admit to them that she abandoned them when she could have stayed and fought; but even worse was the fear that Linnea’s letter was right, that the Skolka had been lost along with all its people, and there was no one left to scold her.
A sharp wind blew back Kaja’s cloak and whipped her long, white hair around her body, but she didn’t flinch from the cold. She hadn’t been ready before, and maybe still wasn’t, but she knew that she had to see the truth with her own eyes. She had to know if she was truly alone.
Kaja turned away from the sights and back towards her companions, who were huddled together near a miserable fire below the ridge. The unseasonable cold wasn’t as kind to them as it was to her. Even Leif’s Stjornugaardian blood chilled in the harsh, icy wind.
“I just want you all to know that this is ridiculous,” Sakrattars said, as he used a small knife to chip ice out of the spout on his water skin. He upended it, hoping for a drink, but nothing came out. “I bet they’re in the middle of celebrating Nargosia back home, drinking mulled wine with hot apple-plum pies. . .”
“Quit your belly-aching,” Leif grumbled, stoking the fire with a frost-covered stick. “You’re the one who wanted to come up here in the first place.” Wrapped in a thick, ferix-made rhinoceros fur cloak, he was decently comfortable despite the icicles growing in his beard. Nearby, Amale was completely concealed under a similar cloak, with only the tip of his nose poking out under the hood. Occasionally a discontented huff of steamy air would leave his nostrils—his only contribution to conversation in the days since they left the Snowskull Steppes and climbed the mountain pass. Koa was perched on his shoulder, fluffed into a near perfect sphere, his sour expression matching his master’s.
“Well, yes,” Sakrattars said haughtily, “and I still maintain it was the best decision. But why is it so cold? It’s only autumn.”
Leif laughed. “Fancy elf spends his entire life south of Barsicum and never experiences the real seasons. Bet your books didn’t prepare you for it, did they?”
Sakrattars pursed his lips. He didn’t want to admit that Leif was right, but he also didn’t want the smug bastard to have the last word. Before he could respond, however, Kaja rejoined them at the fire and Sakrattars ended up biting his tongue. She had been different since the siege on Forgeheart, more withdrawn and quiet, and with less light and curiosity in her eyes. Sakrattars lowered his gaze back to his water skin and continued chipping away at the frozen spout. Suddenly his argument with Leif seemed petty and inconsequential.
Kaja sat by herself just outside the ring of the fire’s light. “How are you feeling?” she asked quietly, her tone cool. No one needed clarification on who she was talking to.
Jo, propped against an icy boulder and bundled tightly in a rhino-fur cloak, opened a single eye and regarded Kaja tentatively. “Don’t worry about me,” she said, her voice strained. She stared into the wind-whipped fire, feeling very much like the weak, guttering flames struggling to stay lit. “I’m more concerned about you.”
Kaja furrowed her brow and folded her knees into her chest, looking away without response. She had barely spoken to Jo since the aftermath of the siege, except for business-like check-ins on Jo’s recovery. She didn’t talk about Linnea’s letter nor did she outwardly express her feelings about Jo keeping the letter’s contents secret from her. Jo knew that Kaja was still angry with her though, and maybe she was wrong for not trusting Kaja with the news of her own people’s fate sooner, but she also couldn’t help but notice that Linnea’s letter had had all the effects she had feared. She recognized the haunted look in Kaja’s eyes, the suffocating terror held at bay by a single spark of yearning hope. With each step they took into the mountains, Kaja took a step back in the past, resembling the tormented girl Jo found in the Goldenwoods more with every passing day.
Mistaking Jo’s expression for one of physical pain, Amale shuffled closer, his cloak shedding a soft layer of snow as he moved. He looked at her with concern, his ears laid back slightly. Jo understood his unspoken question. “I’m fine, you don’t need to check it,” she said, placing a hand over her bandaged midsection. Amale stared at her for a few moments longer, then accepted the answer reluctantly.
Another cold gust buffeted their makeshift camp, making the fire flicker and everyone but Kaja shiver in its grasp. Leif looked up at the sky. “Storm’s coming,” he mused. Sakrattars groaned. Amale exhaled in displeasure, then froze. His nose twitched and he turned his snout upwind, his hood sliding down as his ears stood at attention. The companions followed his line of sight.
Through the gathering gloom were three wolves standing upon a distant ridge. Their heads were low, their piercing eyes glinting in the fading light.
Sakrattars’ teeth chattered, and not just from the biting cold. “Do they. . . want to eat us?”
Jo waved off his concern. “Relax, they’re just hoping for scraps. Unlucky for them.”
“Are you certain?” Sakrattars asked nervously. “Maybe they smell blood.” His gaze darted to Jo’s bandages. She had had a miraculous recovery during their time in the ruins of Forgeheart, but her wounds still oozed and needed regular dressing changes.
“Not to say the fancy elf is right,” Leif interjected, a tinge of worry entering his voice, “but those are big wolves. Could they be wargs?”
Amale stood up slowly. “Direwolves.” He turned to his companions. “We should leave, find shelter.” It was the most he had said in days. He looked back, but the wolves had vanished behind the ridge. Sakrattars helped Amale gather their things, and Leif stamped out what was left of their pathetic campfire.
As they hit the trail once again, snow began to fall, first in flakes, then in flurries, and finally in thick, heavy curtains. Wind howled over the ridges, blowing streams of snow off the mountaintops that made it look like the peaks were flying huge pennants of frost. Sakrattars braced against the wind, shielding his eyes from the worst of the storm. “I think they’re following us!” he yelled over the roaring din.
Jo glanced back and caught a glimpse of a direwolf loping through the blizzard along their distant flank. It looked like the pack was trying to get out in front of them. “Kaja! Get behind us!” she cried. Kaja, who strode through the blizzard with little difficulty, paused for a moment but ultimately didn’t obey. Jo clenched a fist, cursing her injury for an innumerable time. If she were healthy, three direwolves wouldn’t stand a chance against her sabercat form. She had lived as a cat in the central Calthian wilderness for years and was never once accosted.
The companions increased their pace, doubtful they could outrun the wolves but also faced with no other choice. They half-jogged, half-jumped through the heavy snow, puffing frosty vapor as the temperature plunged. Amale squinted against the blizzard, desperately searching for any place that could be defensible. He whispered to Koa and launched the bird into the frigid, turbulent air. If the wolves didn’t get them, they’d freeze to death exposed to the storm. They had to find shelter.
Koa vanished into the gray clouds, only to reappear moments later, circling and shrieking above the rushing wind. “This way!” Amale cried, gesturing for the others to follow Koa’s lead. They crested the next ridge and immediately froze in place.
Speckled throughout the valley below lay the snow-covered ruins of a grand city. Here and there, peeking through the moss and ice and decay, were faint glimmers of what appeared to be orange metal. Beyond the city was a sheer cliff, too smooth to be natural. Even through the storm, the companions could make out the shadows of huge geometric designs carved up the cliff face, reaching all the way up into the foggy sky. What looked like a giant door was set at the base of the cliff, a pitch dark shadow indicating it was slightly ajar.
Sakrattars was briefly overcome by the sight. “Where—” he started.
One of the direwolves howled, snapping the companions back to reality. Though they could not see the beasts, their ears told them that they were close. Very close.
“Don’t think, just jump!” Leif said hastily. Without pausing to take a breath, he leapt from the ridge and started sliding down the icy slope on his back. Kaja was next, followed closely by Jo. Amale whined in protest before following suit. Sakrattars took one last look at the ruins from above, then jumped down after the rest. Something felt odd about this place, as if it were trying to draw him in.
At the base of the ridge, Leif rolled over in mid-slide, sinking Oxhiminn into the ice to slow his descent. He screeched to a stop amid a cloud of powdered ice, just in time to catch Kaja from her fall. She stiffened at his touch and recoiled from him the moment she regained her footing. Leif frowned. Jo was not the only one who Kaja had grown distant from in the aftermath of the siege.
The companions regrouped, shaking off the snow and dashing into the maze of ruins. The remains of the long abandoned buildings had been fully exposed to the elements; their exteriors, carved directly from the bedrock, were eroded and their ceramic roofs lay in piles of broken tiles. Twisted metal beams reached out of the debris, their dark orange surfaces blotted with blue-green rust. The wind screamed through the city, accompanied by the haunting calls of the pursuing direwolves. Amale’s ears perked and swiveled, even as he fled. There were five distinct howls now.
Once they reached the base of the cliff, the exhausted companions fell through the gaping entrance, ecstatic at finally finding an enclosed space. Koa folded his wings and dove in after them.
“Close the door!” Sakrattars wheezed, his hands on his knees. Suddenly, he sucked in a sharp breath and his eyes went wide. Jo didn’t seem to notice the change. She stared up at the door, itself as tall as the grandest Imperial building and constructed of solid metal, and shook her head in disbelief.
“You’re kidding, right?” she said, incredulous. But no response came from Sakrattars.
“One. . . two. . . four. . . there’s seven of them out there now,” Leif said grimly, his grip tightening around Oxhiminn’s handle as he peered around the door. Amale drew his bow and Kaja narrowed her eyes, the distinct crackle of dragon magic coursing down her arms. “Wait. . .” Leif continued, squinting out into the storm. “Something’s not right.”
Outside, the wolves wove through the ruins: searching buildings, digging frantically in snow drifts, nosing through dense patches of brush. They wandered as if lost, their ears turning this way and that in confusion. They often glanced at the cliff face, but never approached. Apparently accepting that they lost their quarry, the pack melted back into the blizzard and did not reappear.
Leif breathed a sigh of relief and stepped away from the door. “I think we’re good,” he said.
But Amale and Kaja lingered a moment longer, watching through the darkness that Leif could not. As the rest of the pack dispersed, two of the wolves approached one another, growing taller as they came together. When they met, they were both standing on two legs instead of four. They paused, looking back at the cliff briefly while seeming to converse. Then, they followed their packmates, shifting back to four legs as they strode out of sight.
Amale and Kaja slowly turned to each other as if to ask, did you see that, too?
“What?” Leif asked tentatively, his gaze bouncing between them. “What’s wrong?” Amale’s ears lowered as they related what they had seen. A heavy silence hung in the room, punctuated by the whistle of the wind against the door frame. “Are you sure?” Leif asked at last, his tone uncharacteristically grave. Amale and Kaja nodded. “Alright then,” he said. “We need to get out of here. We need to leave now.”
“And freeze to death?” Jo grunted, mirroring everyone else’s thoughts. She winced, clutching her side as she slid to the floor to rest.
Amale knelt beside her. Seeing the fresh blood staining the bandages, he untied his medical kit from his belt. “We can’t,” he said simply. And it wasn’t just Jo’s condition that had him worried. Now that the direwolves had shown such. . . unnatural tendencies, he was no longer willing to assume he could predict their behaviour. They could be waiting for them, hidden somewhere within the ruined city.
“You don’t understand!” Leif urged. “Those weren’t wolves, they were ulfhednar.” Seeing the blank expressions on his companion’s faces, he sighed. “They’re spirits, servants of some ancient god. And in Stjornugaard, we all know they exist to keep us idiot mortals away from very bad places. . . places even the spirits fear.” He stared around the chamber with wide eyes, like he was expecting something to jump out at him at any moment. “So you see why we have to go! Whatever is in here is going to be way worse than anything out there.” He jerked a thumb towards the gaping door.
“Now hold on, that sounds like a children’s story,” Jo said with a groan.
“It’s not! The ulfhednar are as real as anything!”
As his companions argued, Sakrattars blinked, suddenly aware of where he was. His body felt heavy and the voices of the others sounded like a dull drone as his gaze shifted slowly around the room. They were in some kind of antechamber, the ceiling lost in the darkness high above. Towering waterfalls of ice extended down from unseen cracks in the stone, the result of decades, perhaps even centuries of melt and freeze. He paused, transfixed by the carvings on the walls. The intricate geometric patterns were second to none in their artistry and hypnotizing in their complexity. As he stared, a series of visions and clouded emotions rushed into his mind.
A rumbling army, shouted commands and flashes of magic. A wave of despair then crushing, all-consuming horror. There was something else too—something familiar. Not a dragon, but distinctly draconic. It was—
“Hey, fancy elf!” Leif called, jarring Sakrattars from his trance. “Back me up, will you? I know you don’t want to stay in this creepy place.”
Sakrattars looked at his companions as if he didn’t recognize them. “No,” he said quietly. Slowly, surely, he returned to the present but his demeanor was changed. “We can’t leave.”
“What do you mean—”
“There were zmaj here.”
Everyone turned towards Sakrattars in disbelief, none more shocked than Kaja herself. Leif scoffed. “How could you possibly know that?” But now he sounded a bit unsure. Why would the ulfhednar try to keep a zmaj from her own kin?
Sakrattars began to walk, staring up at the architecture in wonder. “I can feel it. This place is brimming with ethereal energy. Something significant happened here, and the zmaj were involved.” With his eyes focused above, Sakrattars unexpectedly tripped on debris spread across the floor. He gazed down and was instantly snapped from his reverie as an old skeleton, surrounded by adventuring gear, scattered beneath his feet. A small sphere of orange metal rolled out of the unfortunate explorer’s worm-eaten backpack, clinking softly across the stone.
Leif pointed at the skeleton, vindicated. “Look! That’s going to be us if we don’t listen to the ulfhednar!”
Ignoring him, Sakrattars picked up the metal sphere and turned it around curiously. It was the size of a grapefruit, with beautiful, circular patterns delicately etched onto its surface. As he examined it, he felt a tug on his sleeve. It was Kaja, staring anxiously up at him.
“Do you really think there are zmaj here?” she asked softly.
“At some point, yes,” he replied. “Whether they still are, I don’t know. But something still is.”
Kaja nodded. “I. . . feel it too.” Then she grew quiet. She did sense something, that much was true, but it wasn’t the same feeling she remembered from her past, when she was surrounded by her friends and family in the Skolka. This was different, like a primal fear crawling up her spine. It was a dark dread that she had come to associate with evil.
Before Sakrattars could respond, a startling vibration shocked his palm and a burst of speech from an unfamiliar voice echoed throughout the antechamber. He dropped the sphere in alarm, eyes scanning the room for the unknown intruder. Leif and Kaja closed in around him, forming a defensive position around Amale and Jo. Jo tried to shuffle to her feet but was gently forced back down by Amale. She muttered a curse in natiuhan. “What in the Abyss was—”
The mysterious voice interrupted her thought, speaking a different language but still unintelligible. Sakrattars thought he recognized the language’s sound, though he couldn’t understand the words. It didn’t help that the voice was slightly warped, unnaturally hollow and metallic like the speaker was wearing an iron bucket on their head.
The voice spoke again, in yet another language. Sakrattars and Kaja immediately looked at each other. This time, it was speaking in Draconic.
“Greetings, new user. Please state your name.”
Sakrattars swallowed, still trying to locate where the voice was coming from. “Uhh. . .”
“Your user name will be ‘Uhh. . .’” the speaker replied, mimicking Sakrattars’ voice perfectly. “If you are satisfied with your username, please say ‘yes’. Or please state a different username.”
“No—um, Sakrattars. My name is Sakrattars?”
“Who are you talking to?” Leif hissed. Sakrattars ignored him.
“User: Sakrattars? Please specify your preferred language. I am currently speaking to you in: Draconic.” The voice’s words were stilted and the pronunciation strangely precise. Sakrattars chewed his lip. Who was he talking to? The voice continued, “if you are satisfied with this selection, please say ‘yes’. Or, please specify a different language.”
“Um. . . can you speak in Imperial Common? Please.”
There was an audible click and a whir. When the voice spoke again, everyone could understand. “You have selected: Imperial Common. If you are satisfied with this selection, please say ‘yes’. Or, please specify a different language.”
“Yes,” Sakrattars said. For as silly as he felt talking to the odd, disembodied voice, he figured he should just go along with its demands. It didn’t seem threatening and his companions, though still guarded, had visibly relaxed. Kaja, having tiptoed away in secret during the bizarre conversation, emerged from a shadowy corner, the metal sphere in her hand.
Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
“I think this is him,” she said, holding up the sphere.
“Greetings, Sakrattars,” the orb said in the now-familiar hollow, stilted voice. “I am Codex. You may also refer to me as ‘he’ or ‘him’. Welcome to the grand city of Ainchalez, it is my pleasure to be your key and guide. I was forged here by the mighty Orodmai; the advanced machining and spellcraft of my wonderful and brilliant creators allows magic to be integrated seamlessly with my mechanical workings. I use rudimentary spells in my functions, such as the voice spell I am using to communicate with you now. If you please, I can show you to our main marketplace—”
“Hold on, hold on. She’s not Sakrattars, I am,” Sakrattars said, taking the sphere after a brief hesitation. His head was spinning trying to process everything he just heard. The sphere, this “Codex”, must be some sort of construct. His mind went to the ones Saara and her mother, Feriel, had built to guard their estate. Though constructs could act semi-autonomously, they still required a puppet-master of sorts and someone to maintain the memory crystals that powered them. If Codex was acting independently, as he appeared to be, then he was operating on technology far exceeding known laws. Leif and Kaja gathered to stare at the talking orb. Amale and Jo, having finished the bandage change and been administered a pain poultice respectively, joined them.
“Apologies,” Codex said. “If you would allow me to scan your ethereal signatures, I will be able to recognize whom I am speaking with in future interactions.”
The companions exchanged looks. Leif shrugged.
“Okay, permission granted,” Sakrattars said. He didn’t know what he was expecting to happen, but was surprised when the orb just shifted and buzzed, a faint blue glow rippling through its etchings.
“Scan complete,” Codex said. “Five individuals and two animals detected. Individual signature one: elf-hybrid, male”—Sakrattars raised an eyebrow but Codex continued rattling on—“Individual signature two: human, male. Individual signature three: natiuhan, female, sabercat embodiment”—Jo’s eyes went wide—“Individual signature four: unknown species. Individual signature five: zmaj, female. Animal signature one—”
“Wait, wait, wait,” Sakrattars interrupted. “Did you say ‘zmaj’? What do you know about zmaj?” Next to him, Amale’s ears pinned as he realized he was the “unknown species”.
Codex clicked. “Zmaj: humble folk, brilliant with magic, beloved of dragons. Zmaj occasionally come to the grand city of Ainchalez to trade in our markets and visit our residents: my wonderful creators.” Codex whirred and Kaja felt a tingling on her skin as scrying magic scanned her body. “This zmaj shows several physical anomalies. Updating my crystal lattice.” Kaja looked at Sakrattars with worry, unsure of what Codex meant by “anomalies”. Truthfully, Sakrattars had no idea.
“Are there any other zmaj in the city now?” he asked, remembering his visions. He was thoroughly confused, but he felt a thrill knowing that he had read the ethereal energy correctly and zmaj had been here.
“Unknown. I do not have updated visitor information to this, the grand city of Ainchalez. It has been approximately five thousand, five hundred, and twenty-two solar cycles since I was last interfaced and updated. I apologize for the inconvenience.”
Sakrattars frowned. “Solar cycles. . . you mean years?”
“Yes. Five thousand, five hundred, and twenty-two years.”
His brow wrinkled. The world itself was believed to be less than three thousand years old. The device was clearly malfunctioning. Sakrattars decided to leave that part alone for now. “Alright. And who was that?” he asked, gesturing at the unfortunate adventurer’s frosty bones.
“That is user Helaena,” Codex replied. “According to her, she acquired me from a collector in Aurea, where I had been kept in an inactive state for an unknown amount of time. I do not believe she exchanged currency for me.” Sakrattars pursed his lips. So Helaena was a thief. Codex continued, “she managed to awaken me and helped add the language: Imperial Common, to my crystal lattice. Then, when I requested she return me to my city, where I can be of most use, she accepted. I believe she wished to acquire more items of value from this, the grand city of Ainchalez.”
“I don’t think she planned to shop at the market here,” Leif grumbled.
“User Helaena became damaged after a fall,” Codex said. “I advised her to enter here so our skilled and kindhearted healers could repair her. Afterwards, she would be free to acquire the items she desired. She was very weak when we entered, so I sent out an emergency request for aid to our healing staff. They are now: one hundred eighty-nine solar cycles, behind schedule.”
Sakrattars stared at the skeleton. Rimed over with hoarfrost, it had been sitting there, preserved by freezing temperatures, for nearly two centuries. Only now did he notice that one of its leg bones had been badly fractured. He didn’t need Amale to tell him that internal bleeding or infection probably took the thief's life.
“I apologize for the delay in their response,” Codex said, his tone unchanging. “Please be assured that assisting guests is still our top priority. We will endeavor to do better in the future.”
“I’m sorry to tell you, but I think your former user is dead,” Leif said.
“I regretfully agree, Honored Guest. I attempted to ask after her status each day for the first ten solar cycles. She did not respond after the third day. I entered a low-activity state and awaited the healers, who have yet to appear.”
Sakrattars turned toward the yawning, shadowy interior of Ainchalez. The antechamber opened up into a vast, cavernous expanse somewhere beyond. “What happened here?” he murmured.
Codex whirred for a moment, trying to process the question. “We have many yearly and seasonal festivals. You might be interested in—”
“No, I mean, where is everyone?”
Codex clicked softly. “Unknown. I have not interfaced with our central curatoria in approximately five thousand, five hundred—”
“Yes, yes, quite a long time,” Sakrattars said irritably. “Well, let’s get you interfaced. How do we do that?”
Leif extended a hand. “Now, hang on—”
“Honored guests, please proceed into the grand city of Ainchalez!” Codex said, switching back to his regular programming. “I will guide you to the nearest interface, and make recommendations of our most popular stops along the way.”
“No way, we are not going in there,” Leif protested. “The ulfhednar were guarding this place for a reason.”
Sakrattars whispered a few words of magic and a floating ball of light winked into existence, illuminating the path ahead. “Then you’re welcome to leave,” he said dismissively.
Kaja stepped forward to take a place by Sakrattars’ side. “I need to know if they were here,” she said. No one needed to ask who she meant by ‘they’. “And even if they aren’t any more, maybe Codex can tell me who they were and where they went.”
“But—” Leif faltered, his tone significantly more subdued.
Jo brushed past him, feeling better now that her wound was rebound. “You going to make her go alone?” she quipped. “Or worse: just with the elf?”
Leif swore, drew his axe and shield, and followed. Close behind was Amale, Koa perched discontentedly on his shoulder. Their footsteps echoed hollowly on the stone floor. For all the world it looked like they were in a black void, where only they and the stone they walked upon existed. Everything else was lost to the darkness beyond the tiny radius of light from Sakrattars’ spell. As they ventured further, Jo’s expression darkened. She knew better than to try to stop Kaja now—she had already lost that argument before they even entered the mountains.
After asking for the rest of the companions’ names, Codex began his tour. “We are now in the central plaza of this, the grand city of Ainchalez.” His repetitive and dramatic statements were starting to grate on the party’s nerves, but Sakrattars held onto Codex jealously, insisting that they should just let the little orb speak. “During your stay, please visit the Orodmai cultural center, which is the large building to your left.” They all looked left and saw only darkness. “Hungry from your long journey? Be sure to visit Mama Yalitha’s Inn and Grill, proudly serving the best elk stew in the world for eight-hundred years. Just follow the delicious smell!” Kaja sniffed but could only smell frost and stale must.
Codex rattled off more information as they walked. According to him, there were toy shops, inns and taverns, performance spaces, clothing shops—everything one could expect to find in a major city. He appeared to be reciting it all by rote, unaware that the things he was describing didn’t exist anymore. “Should we tell him?” Leif muttered wryly, only to be cowed back into silence by a fierce look from Sakrattars.
After what seemed like forever, a wall at the far side of the plaza emerged into the light. There were a pair of doors forged from the same orange metal as Codex, and a much more reasonable size than the grand entrance, open inward as if beckoning them deeper into the shadows beyond.
“Do not mind the guards, they are here for your safety,” Codex chirped. “I assure you, you are most welcome within inner Ainchalez.” There were no guards, of course, though there were alcoves carved into the rock face that could have once been guard posts. “Please wait and our staff will open the doors for you,” Codex continued. Just as there were no guards, there was clearly no need to wait for staff to open the doors. The companions looked to each other for reassurance, then stepped through the gaping threshold.
“By all the gods. . .” Leif whispered, placing a hand on the metal doors. They had been nearly torn off their hinges, dented inwards and partially twisted by some powerful force. He frowned, reinforced in his suspicion that they shouldn’t be here.
Sakrattars’ light illuminated the room: a smaller antechamber, with a lower ceiling than the plaza, and with another door on the far side. The party ominously noted that that door, too, was smashed and destroyed. Tall, orange metal statues stood in all four corners of the room, vaguely humanoid in appearance, but with simplified and incomplete features. Each one held a large weapon—one had a greatsword, another, a staff, the third, a warhammer, and the last, a greataxe. Erected on stone plinths, the statues stood head and shoulders above Jo.
Codex clicked. “We have arrived at the interface. At your convenience, please place me in the circular slot on the wall to your left.” For once, something that he referred to still existed. A raised bar of relief ran from the floor up to the low ceiling, with a circular depression in its surface at about shoulder-height. Sakrattars placed Codex into this depression, noticing as he did so that it was a perfect fit. Codex adhered to the stone, though either magnetism or a spell, Sakrattars didn’t know. As the minutes ticked by, his whirring and clicking became louder and faster, but nothing else seemed to be happening.
Unnerved by the lull, Leif was growing more and more agitated. “Should not be here, should not be here. . .” he repeated under his breath, looking between the inner and outer doors, unsure which was more threatening.
Growing impatient, Sakrattars spoke up. “Any luck, Codex? Are there zmaj here?”
“Please stand by.”
“We’ve been standing by.”
“My apologies. The grand city of Ainchalez has been locked down.” Everyone started at the news, with Jo and Amale immediately assuming defensive stances. “A security lockdown has gone into effect, following a general alarm and a call for the outer doors to be shut. All visitors and citizens are ordered to the inner chambers. Please proceed—”
Sakrattars felt a chill in his spine. “Codex, what caused the lockdown?” he asked hurriedly.
“I do not have access to that information from here but the lockdown began a few months after my last interface, approximately five thousand, five hundred—”
“We know how long it’s been!” Sakrattars snapped. “What else do you know?”
“One of my colleagues, Syntax, is currently installed in the curatoria, the central logic matrix of the city, which is in the Cryptaevium. From there, she would have access to all the city’s functions and archives. I have been awaiting a response from her, but she has not answered my message spells.”
“Okay, that’s it,” Leif said. “Something bad happened here and I truly don’t care what it was. You’re leading us back out.” He grabbed Codex and tried to wrest him from the wall.
“Please do not remove me from the interface while the lockdown—”
“Leif, don’t—!”
With a metallic thunk, Leif pulled Codex free. The whole room began to vibrate and rumble, dust falling from the ceiling like drifting snow. A set of horrible, high-pitched screeches reverberated through the chamber, as if ancient, rusted machinery had come to life. Then all was quiet again.
“Please return me to the interface,” Codex said calmly. Leif didn’t move. He was looking at the ceiling, petrified, as if expecting it to descend and crush them at any moment. “Removing me violently has resulted in a local security alert,” Codex went on. “Please return me to the interface to cancel the alert.” When Leif still didn’t act, Codex began repeating, “please return me to the interface” over and over.
“Leif!” Sakrattars, Jo, and Amale shouted in unison, Codex’s voice grating on their already frayed nerves.
Leif started. “Oh, uh, right,” he said, heading back to the interface.
It was then that Sakrattars felt a tug on his sleeve. “The statues moved,” Kaja whispered. He glanced up in alarm and noticed that she was right: all four statues’ heads had turned to face them, their featureless faceplates eerie and unreadable.
Sakrattars gasped. “Leif—!”
Leif, who had just been about to place Codex, looked back irritably. “Oh, what is it now—” His breath caught and his eyes went wide as a gleaming, orange greatsword crashed down with a shriek of metal, slicing the air where his arm had just been. He jumped back instinctively, dropping Codex as he fumbled with his gear. Codex rolled away, still repeating “please return me to the interface”, as the statues stepped off their plinths, rusted metal whining and moaning with every movement. They raised their weapons, thousands of years of dust falling from their metallic bodies, and surrounded the party, blocking off their escape. As the statues approached, they clicked and growled—a verbal warning produced by a spell so ancient and degraded that no intelligible words could come out.
“Kaja! Behind me!” was all Jo managed to get out before the constructs charged. Shedding plumes of rust from their joints, the statues grew more nimble and fluid until they could move as quickly as any organic fighter. Taken by surprise, Amale only just managed to duck a wide swing from the metal staff. Koa took to the air and Amale loosed an arrow at the construct’s faceplace; then let out a plaintive whine as it ricocheted uselessly off the orange metal. He dodged the counterblow, rolling across the floor to get away. Koa shrieked and swooped heroically at the metal warrior, his talons raking across its face with a similar lack of effect.
Still recovering from his shock, Leif was knocked flying by a single blow from the greatsword guardian, a deep dent pounded into his ferix-metal shield. The construct grasped the shield with a three-fingered, jointed hand and gave it a sharp, powerful yank. Leif cried out in pain as his arm held fast in the shield straps, his shoulder nearly pulled from its socket.
Jo dodged a mighty swing from the warhammer construct, the pain of her wound escalating from a throbbing ache to a searing, burning agony. As she moved, the hammer slammed recklessly after her, leaving huge cracks and impact craters in the ancient stone. There was no room for mistakes: a single blow would end any of their lives instantly. Then, a burst of hoarfrost exploded against the construct’s back, drawing its attention away from Jo and towards Kaja. Jo’s heart stopped as she watched Kaja leap gracefully away from a thundering counter strike that carved a deep divot into the floor.
Amid the swirling melee, Codex rolled between the feet of the fighters, calmly repeating his request to be placed back in the interface. Sakrattars, discouraged and dismayed by the fact that his firebolt spell only managed to make the axe construct glow white-hot, felt Codex gently bump against his boot. He stooped quickly, grasping desperately at the metal sphere, but Jo, reeling from a vicious punch by a metal fist, staggered backwards and kicked Codex out of reach. Breathing heavily and scared out of his wits, Sakrattars crawled through the chaos on all fours as weapons struck the floor around him, the blows pulling sparks and opening up deep cracks in the living rock. He frantically reached for Codex as the little orb ricocheted off the walls, kicked about by companions and guardians alike.
Finally, Sakrattars made a desperate dive, grabbing for Codex with both hands only for the cold metal to slip from his fingers, sending the sphere rolling out of reach. At that moment he noticed the metal guardian standing above him. With a growling, wordless challenge, it swung its warhammer down. Squeaking in terror, Sakrattars tumbled to the side. The warhammer struck the ground where he had been, punching a hole clean through the rock. The guardian reeled as the damaged floor gave way and swallowed up one of its legs. It took another swing at Sakrattars as he scrambled to his feet, but it was out of range and stuck in place.
Behind him, Sakrattars could hear the whirring, screeching advance of another guardian. It raised its axe high above its head, readying to strike him down. Sakrattars stared at the floor beneath his feet, at the small chunks of stone that were already crumbling and falling into the shadowy void. Death could either come from above or from below. . . It was time to risk it all.
With a flash of orange light and a blast of ashy heat, Sakrattars directed a fireball spell down at the floor. He felt a surge of pride as a shockwave passed through the shattered stone and molten-red cracks fanned out from the impact point like burning rivers. An instant later the entire floor collapsed, bringing down all of the combatants with it. Even as they fell, one of the guardians took an ill-aimed slash at the party, but the large, heavy constructs soon plummeted past them and down into depths.
Sakrattars’ mind raced. He had just cast the most powerful spell he had ever attempted, but it was going to be for nothing. He had heard of spells to slow falls, to reverse gravity, or even just to shield oneself from an impact, but he knew none of them. And it wouldn’t even matter if he did—he could not possibly reach his spellbook before they hit the ground.
Suddenly a cold, white glow filled the room. A light, frosty snowfall twinkled around the panicked companions, as an ethereal aura enveloped Kaja. A moment before the ground came into view, ghostly dragon’s wings extended from her back and gave a single, mighty flap. The resulting updraft momentarily suspended the party in mid-air. They watched in wonder as rubble from the ceiling fell past them, smashing onto the ground below, and then the magical moment was over. The group fell the remaining distance, landing hard but somehow alive.
While everyone was coughing and sputtering in the dust, Jo rose to her feet, clutching her side with one hand, her other raised and ready. But there was no need, as no guardians attacked. Sakrattars’ light orb lazily floated down to them from the room above, revealing the huge shards of stone surrounding the battered companions. Some stones had badly damaged metal limbs sticking out from under them. The axe guardian was skewered by a jagged chunk, its fire-softened body crushed and torn from the impact. Some distance away, a severed metal arm still clutched its greatsword. Koa swept down after the light spell and landed near Amale with a rustle of feathers. He took two hops toward his companion, uttering a concerned squeak. Amale scratched the bird’s neck in reassurance.
Jo turned to Kaja, who sat amid the rubble a bit rattled but unhurt. “Kaja. . . how did you do that?” she asked.
Kaja shook her head and looked up toward the ceiling. “I don’t know. . .”
Leif was not interested in the ‘hows’. “You damned elf,” he growled, “you nearly got us killed!”
“Me?” Sakrattars choked back his surprise, and maybe a little dust. “You yanked Codex out of the wall and woke up those constructs! At least I did something about it!”
“Dropping us into a void is not ‘doing something’!”
“You’re alive to whine about it, thanks to me!”
“Alive and trapped! And don’t you mean thanks to Kaja? Without her, you would have killed us!” Leif craned his neck to look up at the hole in the ceiling, nearly a hundred feet above their heads. “How are we supposed to get out now?”
“Will you two shut your mouths?” Jo snapped. “I can hear Codex.”
From somewhere beneath the rubble pile, came a muffled voice: “the grand city of Ai-ai-Ainchalez boasts a marvelous gate system.” Kaja started to dig after it, rolling away the big rocks and pushing aside the dust and gravel. “Using these, you may travel with speed and per-per-perfect safety to our most popular locations, including scenic overlooks out-outside!” As Kaja searched, the voice became clearer. At last, she lifted the sphere from a pile of crushed rock and dusted him off. “Greetings again, use-use-user Kaja,” Codex stammered. Kaja noticed a large dent in his gleaming metal shell. Was that why he was having trouble talking now?
She hopped down to rejoin her companions, but the rubble pile burst open behind her. Dropping Codex and falling back with a shriek, she cast a panicked frost spell into the face of the revealed guardian, but it made no difference. Using its one functional arm, it pulled what was left of its body from the rubble, dragging behind it a tangled mass of gears and broken pipes dribbling alchemical fluids. Kaja retreated, kicking the broken construct in the face, but it kept pulling itself towards her. Then her back hit stone—she could go no further. The construct extended a grasping, three-fingered hand, reaching for her throat—
—when Jo stomped on its back, pinning it to the ground. She grabbed its faceless head with both hands and, with a savage twist, broke the badly damaged hinges holding the head to its body. It tore free with a spray of fluids and a flash of magical discharge, and the guardian ceased all movement. Jo threw the head away into the darkness and offered a hand to Kaja. After a moment’s hesitation, Kaja accepted it.
With the danger passed, Sakrattars picked up Codex and examined the dent in his shell. “Codex. . . are you all right?”
“Yes, user Sakrattars. I am full-full-fully functional.”
“. . .alright,” Sakrattars said, unconvinced. “So what was that about gates?”
“My primary function is as a guide and interpreter. Vis-visitors are loaned gatekeepers like myself to translate for them, help them find their way around, and as a k-key to operate the gate system in this, the grand city of—”
“Are these magical gates? Portals?”
“Yes-yes-yes. Though with the city in lockdown, all gate use has been suspended.”
Leif moaned. “So we’re still trapped. Perfect.”
“I may be able to lift the lock-lockdown, but only from the Cryptaevium,” Codex continued. “It is the central control hub for the city, and houses the main curatoria. That is where my coll-coll-colleague is currently installed.”
“How far?” Amale asked quietly. He waved over his companions, gesturing to an apparent way out of the collapsed chamber. Koa, perched on his shoulder, had keen eyes fixed on the darkness ahead.
“It is a short walk to the nearest gate! We will arrive—” Codex whirred for a moment, then clicked. “Apologies. I for-for-forgot the gates are inaccessible. It is a long journey to the Cryptaevium. I apologize for the in-in-inconvenience.”
“I said we shouldn’t have come here,” Leif said to no one in particular. “Sometimes, it’s really tough being right, eh?” He sighed, shouldering his shield, and followed Amale out.
Sakrattars took a place at the rear of the group. He cradled Codex gingerly in his hands. “Are you sure you’re okay? We need you.”
Codex turned down the volume of his voice, perhaps to match Sakrattars’ own. “Your concern is appreciated, user Sakrattars. Admittedly, I have received dam-dam-damage that is affecting my fun-functions. I have sent out a repair re-re-request and am awaiting reply.” Their steps echoed on the cold, stone floor, consumed by the suffocating silence.
Sakrattars swallowed. “Well. . . let me know if you get one,” he said.
Codex raised his volume again. “User Amale. At the door, you will take a left-left-right-left-right.” Codex clicked softly. “My apologies. Take a lef-left.”
Amale lowered his ears, and turned left.