The False Welcome

Maeril found stone beneath her boots and kept hold of Rishi until her injured leg accepted her weight.

Glass enclosed three sides of the arrival circle. Beyond it, purple mist folded through a void without a horizon. Across that emptiness, a window shone in another alabaster wall. A bald woman stood behind it, scars crossing her scalp.

Her voice entered Maeril’s mind without passing through the glass.

Your gracious host is coming. He looks forward to meeting you.

Maeril’s fingers tightened around Rishi’s.

“What is it?” he asked.

“The woman in the window. We are expected.”

Grim looked from the window to the locked iron door in the chamber’s remaining wall. “I have reconsidered coming.”

The lock turned before Maeril could answer.

Long black hair framed the visitor’s smiling steel mask. His left hand was metal too, its fingers resting against the door as he surveyed them. Duhlark’s fire pressed against the bars of his cage.

“The Green Witch of the Crossing,” the man said. “You have brought an unusual company.”

Rishi released her hand. “Where is Lysaerra Harlowe?”

“Alive. Come inside, and we can discuss what happens to her.”

Beyond him lay a square foyer. A passage opened in its far wall; closed doors faced one another across the room’s width. A high-backed chair stood against the left wall, beneath a row of metal masks. Black marble formed a winged serpent across the floor; its mouth held a coin.

Maeril looked toward the window again. The scarred woman had gone.

She leaned close to Rishi. “Someone is waiting behind those doors.”

“Then we stay together. We need the way to her.”

He entered first, keeping clear of the coin. Maeril followed him past the chair, with Gondafrey close behind. Grim stopped near the center of the room.

Their host came through last and remained in front of the arrival door. “Your concern for her is touching. Has anyone explained what she carries?”

“You may discuss that with her after you release her,” Maeril said.

His metal fingers moved. The coin sank into the marble.

A gong struck through the walls.

Both side doors opened. Three masked men came from the right with blades forming in their empty hands. The scarred mage stood in the left doorway. A man stepped in front of her, drawing a rapier; a lyre hung at his hip. From the passage ahead, a woman ran toward Maeril with a knife in each hand.

Rishi dropped the cage beside Grim and threw back its lid. He pulled a throwing knife from his belt, thrust it into the orc’s hand, and turned into the path of the three monks.

“You stupid—” Grim began.

The woman’s first knife struck his raised blade. He caught her other wrist and shoved her away from Maeril.

Gondafrey crossed toward the left doorway. The rapier met her stone forearm with a shriek. Behind its owner, the mage spread both hands.

Cold burst across the foyer.

Maeril drove her staff against the floor. Pale wards flared around her shoulders as the blast pushed her backward into the chair. Ice stung her cheek. Grim and his attacker went down together on the frosted marble, still struggling over the knives.

At the right wall, Rishi’s staff knocked one monk into the path of another. The third reached around them and opened his robe along the flank. Rishi turned with the cut and backed toward the far corner, keeping all three beyond the shaft.

Maeril started to lift a hand toward him.

The mage was already speaking again.

Maeril braced her staff against the chair and drew Duhlark’s wand. Across the room, green fire flashed above the open cage. Their host raised his metal hand, catching the skull’s first ray on a bright plane of force.

The scarred woman saw the wand level at her chest. Her spell changed. A hard pressure closed around Maeril’s working, crushing it before the binding could reach her.

Maeril opened her free hand into that pressure and tore it apart.

The wand’s magic closed over the woman. Her next word stopped between her teeth. She remained upright in the doorway, fingers crooked around a spell she could no longer finish.

Beside her, Gondafrey caught the rapier’s guard. The man reached for his lyre. Her free hand closed over his wrist and drove it against the wall.

Grim had regained one knee. He looked toward the trapped swordsman. “Agorn! She will break that,” he shouted.

The woman with the knives twisted beneath him, dragging his warning into a grunt as her elbow struck his ribs. He lost his hold on her wrist. A knife rose toward his face.

Maeril could not get a clear line past his shoulder.

Behind her, another impact shook the arrival door. Duhlark had risen above the cage and was firing straight at their host. The man’s shield flared, then buckled at one edge. The next ray caught his mask and tore it sideways.

For a moment, the whole young face was bare. Rishi looked toward it as he drove one monk back with his staff. Then a blade flashed at his leg, and he staggered against the wall.

White grains scattered from the host’s damaged cheek.

Maeril felt the working beneath his skin when he gathered himself to answer Duhlark. Magic ran through the shape of his mouth, the bend of his fingers, the false metal at his wrist. She had been looking for a defense to strip away. It went much deeper than that.

She kept the wand steady on the bound mage and reached for the spell that held the other body together.

The young man turned toward her. “You will regret—”

Maeril pulled.

A crack split his face. Frost raced down his throat and through the hand rising toward her. The body broke against the floor in a fall of ice, scattering beneath the arrival door.

Duhlark’s next ray struck empty stone. He stopped, fire boiling around his teeth.

A mask rang against the opposite wall. Rishi had driven one monk into it; the man fell and lay still. A second caught Rishi’s staff near its middle. Rishi stepped inside the grip, struck him beneath the jaw with his free hand, and swept his feet away. The pale blade went out as its owner hit the floor.

Grim wrenched his attacker’s knife hand across her body and pinned it beneath his knee. Her other blade skittered away. He struck her temple with the pommel of Rishi’s knife. She sagged against the marble, and he dragged both weapons out of reach.

At the left-hand doorway, Agorn opened the hand around his rapier. “I surrender. Take the sword.”

Gondafrey took it. She eased her grip on his wrist without releasing him.

The last monk stood between Rishi and the open right-hand door. Blood ran down Rishi’s leg. He held his staff across his body and waited.

The monk looked toward the ice beneath the arrival door.

His blade vanished. He sank to his knees with both hands open.

“Keep them where I can see them,” Rishi said.

Maeril drew her staff back from the chair. Her cheek burned as feeling returned to it. Grim was breathing in short, painful pulls, but he kept his opponent’s wrists pinned against the marble. Gondafrey had Agorn against the wall. The scarred woman’s eyes followed the wand.

Maeril kept it trained on her as Rishi crossed the room.

“What happened to him?” he asked.

“A simulacrum,” she said.

He looked from the ice to her. “What is a simulacrum?”

“A copy made from snow and magic. It wears his face and can use some of his power.”

Rishi turned toward Agorn.

The bard stopped looking at the broken ice.

“Where is the man?” Rishi asked.