The Spires of Kaur-Koram

A wail of such profound anguish erupted from Lady Zovira that the very stones of her throne room seemed to resonate with its despair. With a savage, sweeping gesture, she sent the heavy scrying bowl spinning from its pedestal. The air was pierced by the harsh, ringing clang of steel striking stone, followed by an explosive cascade of water that deluged the flagstones. Her fury now a raging inferno, Zovira whirled to face Muscaria, who was already prostrate on the floor, a portrait of abject terror.

"You were given a single, solitary task," Zovira hissed, her voice a venomous serpent coiling through the chamber. "A simple assignment I considered well beneath your abilities, and yet you managed to fail. Utterly and completely! Have you forgotten why I appointed you general of my armies, Muscaria?"

"Most respectfully, my Lady," Muscaria stammered, the words catching in her throat like burrs. She pressed her head low, clutching the bandaged stub where her hand used to be against her chest. "We were certain the demon would abandon her. He was on the very verge of it when one of my soldiers deployed the magic. The man’s timing was simply… misjudged. He has already been punished in the most severe manner imaginable."

"That is irrelevant!" Zovira snarled, a stray lock of fiery red hair falling across her face, partially veiling her narrowed, predatory gaze. "They are already within sight of Kaur-Koram. My own power is useless while they are shielded by its wards, and not even my swiftest Aelvin scouts can intercept them before they reach the city."

"My Lady," the dark enchanter interjected, his voice a smooth balm on Zovira’s frayed nerves. "To fulfill the Foresight, they must eventually leave the city, must they not?"

In an instant, Zovira’s rage was extinguished, replaced by a slow, merciless smile that stretched across her lips. "Yes," she purred, her tone now far more sinister than her earlier tirade. "Indeed, they will have to depart. And when they do, I will be waiting to kill them myself. Thank you, my pet." Her smile softened almost imperceptibly as she addressed the enchanter.

He bowed his head once more, his own eyes inscrutable behind a curtain of jet-black hair. "I live only to serve you, my Lady. Gratitude is never necessary."

Composed once more, Zovira raised a single, elegant hand. The dented steel bowl lifted from the floor and hovered in midair as its pedestal righted itself. With another graceful gesture, the spilled water slithered back from the cracks in the stone, coalescing and refilling the bowl until its surface was again a smooth, glistening mirror. Peering into its depths, Zovira saw only roiling, opalescent smoke. Just as she had anticipated, the potent, ancient magic protecting Kaur-Koram blinded her scrying, shielding her targets from her sight.

"You are both dismissed," Zovira declared, her back turned to them. "Oh, and Muscaria," she added, her tone deceptively light, "there is no need for you to return."

Muscaria’s mouth, which had opened in protest, clicked shut. To argue would be folly. In her own cruel way, Zovira was granting her the mercy of keeping her life.

Heart hammering against her ribs, Muscaria turned and fled the throne room, her pace as swift as any human’s despite her turmoil. A black-clad blur materialized at her side, and she found herself keeping pace with Zovira’s personal enchanter.

"Leave me be," she snarled, her voice thick with shame and fury. "I have no desire for your company right now."

A low chuckle emanated from the shadowed figure. "On the contrary. I should think you might desire one last conversation with an old friend."

"You were never my friend," she shot back. "Neither of us has ‘friends.’ They are attachments, weights that anchor us when we must remain unburdened."

"On that point, you are correct," he conceded easily. They walked for some time in an uncomfortable silence before he spoke again, his tone conversational. "Why do you serve Zovira?"

Muscaria cast him a sharp, questioning glance. "You mean, why did I?" At his faint nod, she continued, her gaze fixed on the long corridor ahead. "All my people serve Zovira," she said finally, though even to her own ears, the words rang hollow. "Why would I be any different?"

"And yet, you do not share their fanaticism," he observed, the remark striking far too close to home.

"With such insight, are you certain you are not a Seer?" Muscaria growled, her good hand instinctively dropping to the hilt of her sword.

"No Seer," he replied with a humorless laugh. "Merely the musings of one who has had too much time on his hands of late, and not enough to occupy them. Now, answer the question with honesty. Why do you serve Zovira?"

Muscaria raked a hand through her disheveled hair, letting out a ragged, weary sigh. "I respect the traditions of my people, so I follow their path. But I suppose my loyalty never extended to a desire to please my ‘Lady.’ I never made the same foolish, sycophantic mistakes as others in a desperate bid for her favor."

"You are a very strange Aelvin," the man murmured, his tone one of genuine curiosity.

Muscaria squared her shoulders. "That I may be," she conceded with an air of finality. "But I have never subscribed to Zovira's insane dreams of domination. And when the time comes for her to fall, I intend to be there to watch."

The proprietor of the inn gave no sign that he noticed the party of three that had entered his establishment had departed as a group of four, with a child inexplicably replaced by a full-grown Feyan.

A profound and oppressive silence enveloped the small band as they journeyed along the path to Kaur-Koram. Malakor strode at the head of the group, his posture rigid, demanding a wide berth from the others. Jianna trailed a few paces behind him, with Flitterwing protectively alternating between walking at her side and falling in behind her. Blynn brought up the rear, his unease around the demon still palpable. No one possessed the audacity—or the foolishness—to demand an apology from Malakor for his morning’s volatile behavior, and he certainly offered none. The chasm between them and their demonic guide crackled with a tension that seemed to be the only thing holding the fractured group together.

Jianna still could not fathom the demon’s problem. She knew only that he had awakened in a foul temper, but that simple irritability had quickly metastasized into something far more combustible, poisoning the entire day. A dull ache throbbed in her stomach, a hollow reminder of the breakfast she never had a chance to eat. They had not paused, save for one brief moment when she’d unearthed some dried meat from her pack and passed it around—an offer Malakor had disdainfully refused.

At the very least, Jianna was grateful Malakor had chosen the main road this time. The constant trekking across rugged, untamed wilderness had taxed her legs to their limit. A good workout was one thing, but this was beyond endurance.

The pressure had been steadily mounting until it felt as though the very air might shatter. Just as it seemed to reach its breaking point, the road took a sharp turn, revealing their destination through a wide gap in the trees.

Simultaneously, Jianna, Flitterwing, and Blynn stopped, their weary footsteps forgotten as they stared, utterly spellbound. It was a sight unlike anything any of them had ever witnessed. Even Malakor paused, granting them a moment to absorb the magnificent vista of Kaur-Koram.

A tall, formidable wall of pale stone encircled the city, a bastion against the encroaching wilds. Through its enormous gates, they could see a steady stream of carts, piled high with provisions, flowing into the city to sell their wares, passing a line of empty carts left from the previous day's commerce. Above the wall, the buttery morning sun glinted off a sea of slated rooftops, a mosaic of muted grays and browns. But it was the castle that commanded their attention, drawing their eyes skyward. Its tall, slender towers thrust deep into the azure expanse, their tops adorned with flags and banners that snapped and fluttered in the gentle breeze. The entire effect was one of impossible, fairytale grandeur.

"Wow…" Jianna breathed, her voice scarcely a whisper. "It’s so… immense."

Flitterwing nodded in silent, wide-eyed agreement. "I never imagined Kaur-Koram would look like this."

Blynn simply stared, lost in quiet awe.

Malakor offered the sight a sardonic glance and a characteristically dismissive shrug. "It’s alright, I suppose. Not that great once you’re inside. Far too many people for my liking."

Sensing the others had drunk their fill of the view, Malakor gestured for them to continue down the path that led toward the nearest gate.

Weaving and pushing their way past carts laden with textiles, grains, and who-knew-what-else, the group slipped through the bustling gateway and into Kaur-Koram proper. Once they were securely inside and away from the main thoroughfare, Malakor led them into a quieter alcove and turned to face the other two males of the party.

Crossing his formidable arms, he eyed the Satyri and the Feyan. "Alright, we’re here. You two can go now. Do whatever it is you planned on doing." When they didn’t move, Malakor arched a skeptical brow. "Well? Go on! I need to get Jianna to the Council, and they won't want you two tagging along."

Blynn cleared his throat, the sound loud in the sudden silence. "Um… Flitterwing and I were talking, and, well… we decided we’d like to come with you and Miss Jianna when you see the Council."

"Besides," Flitterwing added, shifting his weight, "we don't really have a clue what to do now that we're here, anyway."

"C’mon, Malakor, please?" Jianna implored, mustering the most effective puppy-dog expression she could manage.

Malakor hissed and spat on the cobblestones in a dramatic display of exasperation, but he ultimately relented. With a final, long-suffering sigh, he allowed the other two to follow him and Jianna through the vibrant, teeming streets of Kaur-Koram.

Even at this early hour, Jianna was captivated by the sheer diversity of the people out and about. Humans and Satyri were the most numerous, but she also saw beings she assumed were demons, like Malakor, though each was entirely unique. A few times, she spotted the powerful form of a centaur clip-clopping down the street, but she counted only a handful of Fey.

When she shared this observation, Blynn’s expression was attentive, but Flitterwing’s became noticeably troubled.

"The Fey rarely leave our homelands unless absolutely necessary," Flitterwing explained in a low voice. "I have heard stories from those who have journeyed to Kaur-Koram, and they always spoke of the near-complete absence of our kind within the city."

A cold knot tightened in his stomach. Something is wrong, he thought. Whatever is happening, it will affect all of Feykind.

After a long walk through the city’s winding streets, they began their ascent up the imposing stone steps that led to the castle itself. As they reached the upper landing, they saw a lone figure standing in the enormous, arched doorway.

Upon seeing her, Blynn’s step faltered. A single syllable escaped his lips in a breathy gust of disbelief. "Ari…"

She was a Satyri, a female who must have once possessed great beauty, but whose features were now etched by age and a hard-lived existence. A wrinkled face regarded them with unusual, luminous eyes—eyes that shone with the preternatural brightness of a fever. Her once-blond hair was heavily streaked with grey. Her lower half was more equine than Blynn’s goat-like form, her coat a pale cream with brown speckles down her powerful rump. The cream had faded almost to white in places, and her legs and sweeping tail were dusted with grey.

As they approached, Malakor offered the woman a deep, respectful bow, but her gaze was fixed solely on Blynn.

"Well," she said, her voice clear and strong, defying the frailty one might expect from her age. "In all my days, I never thought I would see you alive again, Ga—"

"I go by ‘Blynn’ now," he interrupted, his own voice quiet and strained.

The woman, Aria, gave Blynn a long, appraising look before nodding gently. "Blynn, then. As you wish." A warm, genuine smile touched her lips as her gaze moved to the others. "Hello, everyone. My name is Aria, and it is a pleasure to meet you all. Please, come in. The Council has been expecting you. All of you."

Malakor, who had kept his head bowed the entire time, snapped it up, staring at her in disbelief. "You… you knew we’d be picking up tagalongs… and the Council was expecting them… and you neglected to tell me?!"

Aria simply nodded. "Yes, we knew."

Pressing the heel of his palm to his face, Malakor sullenly followed the grinning Feyan, the bewildered human, and the two Satyri—one deeply uncomfortable, the other serene—into the castle.

The interior of the castle was, by far, the most magnificent thing Jianna had ever seen outside of a documentary or a fantasy film. The occasional guard or courtier she passed, who was clearly not human, only amplified the surreal, fantastical atmosphere. Despite the constant companionship of a Satyri, a Feyan, and a demon, and despite the trolls and Aelvin they had encountered on their journey, it was only now, in this grand hall, that the full, overwhelming reality of her situation began to truly sink in. She was in another world.

As she was admiring the soaring arches and imposing tapestries, Aria began to speak to her. "I understand you have had an arduous journey, and I can only offer my apologies that your passage here could not have been easier. Unfortunately, your point of entry was the most stable bridge between our worlds, and to dispatch an armed escort would have certainly drawn unwanted attention. Therefore, we were forced to rely on Malakor."