Sandstorm

sand, but our friend never came back. You believe this means she did not survive whatever spells were laid on her.”

The Ilmatari priest spoke for the first time. “Or they killed her when her resistances proved too expensive to overcome. They would have measured her value in the arena against the cost of forcing her to fight. I am sorry, kenku. The Hammer That Falls has spoken of your friend at great length, and it is clear that hers was a rare and gentle soul.”

Corvus nodded. “Rare and gentle and possessed of a greater strength of will than all of us in this room combined. You believe she set a precedent in resisting them until she died. I tell you the precedent is something more than that. She resists them still. El Arhapan is a sadist and an obsessive, and probably the finest judge of fighters in all Faerun. He will go to any length to break Cynda’s will, and she will go to any length to resist. And survive. She lives. I assure you, she lives.”

The maskmaker spread his hands. He asked, “What do you want us to do?”

Cephas and Ariella quickly established the boundaries of their luxurious prison. They were confined to one wing of the el Arhapan manor, but they soon learned that left a lot of room to cover.

“Four suites of private rooms, including our two,” said Cephas. “The dining chamber, two or three rooms full of couches and cushions, a half-dozen verandas and balconies. And whatever this place is.”

Ariella did not turn from her careful study of the map that made up the floor in the final room they had explored. It showed the city and its environs as far east as the Plain of Stone Spiders and as far west as a wavering line running from the Marching Mountains in the North all the way to the sea in the South. “The disputed boundary between Calimien and Memnonar influence,” she said.

At least they were no longer troubled by the slaves and servants who had initially followed their every step, offering refreshments, baths, or intimate companionship. These men and women greeted Cephas’s attempt to recruit them in an escape attempt with confusion that turned to anger when he persisted. Finally, he himself grew angry enough to chase the staff through a door he and Ariella were denied passage through by an implacable djinni sorcerer who, Ariella advised, was better ignored than engaged.

Now, once again wearing their armor over the simplest clothes they could find, they studied the contents of el Arhapan’s map room.

“I see where Manshaka is meant to be,” said Ariella. “And I suppose this glyph indicates the ruins of Schamedar. But what are these numbers in the deep desert east of the Calim River, beyond the Crying God’s Redoubt at Kelter?”

“I believe I know,” said Cephas. “Corvus said el Arhapan leaves the city only to travel to Manshaka or to training camps in the desert. And see, the glyphs for that city are the only ones besides the numbers picked out in gemstones. They look like the symbols around Corvus’s platform.”

“Of course!” said Ariella. “This is not a map. It’s a teleportation circle. An ornate one, designed for just a few locative combinations. That is, if we’re to believe what the kenku said about those camps.”

Before Cephas could answer, a windsouled courtier flew through the open window. Cephas brought his flail up into a ready position, but, to his shock, the man appeared to catch fire.

“He’s transitioning to firesouled!” said Ariella.

“Cephas Earthsouled,” the man said. “Listen. If you are your mother’s son and not your father’s, the house of el Arhapan must fall. Find the foundation stone, and remember the fire at Argentor.”

The man’s skin shifted from silver to burnished copper, and his crystalline hair burned away in flames that persisted around his scalp. “Ariella Kulmina. I am not the only firesouled hidden in this house.”

Those were his last words before Shahrokh flew into the room on a cyclone that flashed lightning. He gestured and the stranger rose into the air, struggling against unseen attackers.

“The kenku’s last words puzzled me,” the djinni said to the trapped man, ignoring Cephas and Ariella. “But the message they hid is now found out. You will show me where your pathetic conspiracy has hidden him in the sewers.” With that, the djinni swept the firesouled genasi back through the window.

Unable to intercede, Ariella and Cephas watched Shahrokh and his captive vanish into the distance.

Cephas turned to her. “I believe the ringmaster has just cued the last act.”

Far below, Marod el Arhapan paced back and forth in the luxurious box of the master of games. He was impatient at the slow pace of the crowds filing in, but exultant to be at his rightful place behind the lectern. This was his place; this was his role. Playing Shahrokh’s political games, parrying with his hopeless son, even warring against the cursed WeavePasha … All of it paled next to the exhilaration of the arena.

An aide approached with a slate covered in chalked figures. After a quick glance, he dashed it onto the ground, the shattered pieces crunching beneath his boots. “No, fool! There will be no other matches on the card. The fight we witness tonight is a fight for the ages! No one will need to be warmed up for this!”

He took his seat, eager for the night to truly begin. He had forced twins to fight one another before, of course.

But never twins who also happened to be Arvoreeni adepts.

Inside the hidden chamber tucked away in Calimport Below, the priest raised his head. “Shahrokh comes,” he said. Then he added, “I fear our friend did not survive the task we set him.” He looked at the others, then at Corvus. “His name was Ravin. He was an excellent chess player.”

All the Jannisars said, in chorus, “His name was Ravin. We will remember.”

Corvus felt helpless. Things were going badly before they had properly begun. He paused in his furious calculations. “Ravin,” he said, committing the name to memory. “I will remember.”

The others began to file out of the chamber, making use of a hidden way on the wall opposite. The maskmaker waved them through, urging speed. He said to Corvus, “Shahrokh is a skylord of the djinn. There are none here who can stand against him.”

Corvus said, “Go, and continue your work. Live.”

The halfling nodded once, and disappeared into the passageway. Once he closed the secret opening, it was undetectable.

Beside him, Tobin said, “Those Janessar are some pretty stout fellows. Can we stand against this Shahrokh?”

“Not even for an instant,” said Corvus. “If you know a way to the Djen Arena, go there and do anything you can to delay the fight between Shan and Cynda. I will deal with the skylord.”

“I know a way to the arena, Corvus, but you should not sacrifice yourself. You just said we cannot stand against him!”

“Good friend,” Corvus said, “there are sacrifices I have not told you of yet. But you must go now. I will not try to stand against Shahrokh. As I said, I will deal with him.”

“They’re still out there,” said Ariella. “At least a dozen as far as I can tell.”

Djinn swarmed the el Arhapan manor in numbers allowing no possibility for the windsouled pair to escape by air. Below, the Djen Arena was lit by enormous floating lamps, the stands nearly full. Cephas did not know what to expect, but he feared that the match his father had planned would mean death for some or all of his missing companions.

“If only the firesouled had told us what this foundation stone was!” he said. “And whether I’m meant to set it afire or throw it over the side, or something else.”

“I wish we hadn’t chased all the servants away,” Ariella said. “Perhaps they’d know what he meant by his message.”

“The servants have all fled the manor, windsouled.” The voice came from the far end of the hall. “I do not know what thorn you have thrust in Shahrokh’s side, but he has made this house a prison, and now only we remain on this ridiculous floating hovel.” Other words were murmured below these, in another’s voice.

Ariella did not hesitate. She drew her sword and released it with a whispered word of power. It spun past Cephas, down the long hallway, and into the neck of Lavacre, the tall, fat firesouled ambassador from Akanul. He was still translating when it struck, and Cephas saw the man’s lips moving even as blood poured from between