A Pact in a Poison Garden I

A Pact in a Poison Garden I

The enclave of the City of Glass rose as an ominous jewel over the surrounding temples.

An obsidian wall - so lofty that a mastodon would shrink beneath it - protected its grounds with a sinister resilience. The rampart gleamed as a colossal gemstone - eternally polished by things most dared not name - and its sides held an unnatural smoothness that proved too slick for a fly, let alone any human interloper to cling to. Death rose at its top: a forest of jagged ebon glass that would split stone if one were to bear down upon it.

Yet, beyond the outer barrier, stood a vision of beauty.

A flowing tower of fluted glass held the sheen of fine crystal. In the light of the clouded day, it shone with a majesty akin to diamonds among the stars. Its structure appeared so delicate that it would shatter in an errant gust, but in truth, even a band of enraged giants would break their fists before marring its walls.

I had often wished to visit this place under happier circumstance, St. Cristabel remarked, gazing up as they approached the grounds. I would rather have enjoyed singing of its beauty to Amitiyah.

They would never allow it. Kyembe eyed the tower, tensely toying with his ring. The glass city does not trust outsiders. Especially ones as dangerous as The Solidblade Knight.

St. Cristabel frowned. Then I pray they trust us now. She stopped at the foot of the wall and pressed her knuckles to her hips. A line of footprints lead through the snow but abruptly disappeared into the embankment before her. Her eye discerned neither gate nor door. Where may we gain entrance? She frowned. Do wizards magic their guests over the wall?

In a manner of speaking. Watch, Kyembe stepped forward, pressing his palm to the volcanic glass. His crimson eyes peered into the black surface, and he drew in a breath.

I bid greetings to the City of Glass! he projected in clear voice. May it eternally shine above the sands! Kyembe of Sengezi has come to speak with the wizard Ku-Hassandra!

His words sank into the blackness.New novel chapters are published on

Silence followed.

The wall shuddered.

Amitiyahs Tears! St. Cristabel jumped back, her hand falling to her dagger.

The rampart rippled, as though eels swam beneath its surface, and began to swell. Obsidian writhed and twisted, bulging out before Kyembes face and - gradually - the protrusion sculpted itself until a womans beautiful countenance formed in its ebon surface.

Obsidian eyes slowly opened to peer at the Sengezian. Though no pupils or irises were apparent, they seemed to have no trouble with sight.

Greetings to you, Spirit Killer. We meet again, the clear voice of Ku-Hassandra streamed from the image.

Crnk. Crnk.

The ring of glass gliding upon glass accompanied her every word.

Greetings to you as well, Ku-HassandraI come for a favour. Kyembe grimaced, his worry heavy upon his brow. My companion was taken by devils: Wurhi of Zabyalla. She was the little one at my side in Avernixs camp.

She stepped onto the path, reaching down to touch one of the flowers.

A dark hand grasped her shoulder.

Stop! Kyembe pulled the knight back. The strength hidden in his lean limbs caught her by surprise. It is poison!

What? She whirled in alarm. Poison?

He looked to the trees. Oh yes, the clever bastards. Stepping through the portal, the frigidity of Laexondael vanished around him. In its place burned the simmering heat of the deserts of Saba-Aful, drawing forth sweat beneath his heavy furs.

Yet, he knew what smothered his skin was a mere lie. His mind - sharpened by years under the Archwizard Kmarks tutelage - discerned the holes in the sensation.

He glided along the stone tiles, carefully staying clear of the tantalizing branches. It is near perfect. Near. He gestured around himself. But, there are flaws. Notice the flowers fragrance. It is thin, is it not? He sniffed. The air bears the scent of honey, but I hear no hives. Trust me, I have only seen so many bees once before: in a nymphs bower in the Olubrian wetlands. A disdainful chuckle poured from his lips. Their droning might have woken a world-serpent.

St. Cristabel blinked. Woken a what?

He waved her off. That is of no concern: the one in our seas is long dead.

I do believe that is of great concern!

Another time. He waved her off again. Listen to the sound of the wind on the branches. It seems as though they are farther than they appear. And the heat on our skinit burns but it is only the pain of cold turned about in our minds.

St. Cristabel scrutinized the Sengezian. One day she would have him explain just what in Amitiyahs name a world-serpent was. She turned back to the greenery. Strangeto me the trees look as real as you or I.

Give it time: now that you know, your mind will begin to find the gaps.

But what of the poison? How might a trick of light and sound be venomous?

Kyembe gave a bitter smile. The City of Glass is home to some of the most complex minds ever to grace or curse the world: their perversions are profound. He peered at the illusion carefully, opening his eldritch channels and drinking with his senses. Yes, as I thought. It is just the same as the protective gardens in the city itself. How can I explain it

He frowned. Have you witnessed sunlight shatter as it passes through glass or crystal?

I have. The temple of the Weeping God in Laexondael has such crystals. It also has coloured glass that stains the light when it passes through.

Even better. He gestured all about. What you see, hear and feel is born of a hundred mirages captured in a prism of dream-glass. No doubt it sits at the towers summit.

She frowned. And what is dream-glass?

Kyembe pointed to the white sand. Crystal formed from melting the sand of dreams in an Ifrits morning flame. It is able to capture light, sound, breath and thoughtit could even catch a soul if one knows the right incantations.