IGS #4, Chapter 25

Scorio

The Red Keep hove into view.

It was like nothing Scorio had imagined. Cradled by huge banks of slowly roiling fog, its sanguine walls rose in stark defiance to the rough mountains around it, their faces roughened by the centuries but still bleak and stark, towering like slabs of petrified blood and clustered together so as to form an irregularly shaped fortress several hundred yards in height.

No windows. A single vast archway perforated the base at the top of a hundred broad steps.

And embedded perhaps a hundred yards above the archway was a great glass hemisphere which glimmered with golden light and caused concentric circles of coronas to ripple outward for a few yards from its surface.

Power.

The Red Keep spoke of defiance and obdurate pride. It was a blade stabbed deep into the fabric of the Unfathom, a construct of defiance and resistance. Huge and powerful, unnatural and alien, the very sight of it caused consternation in Scorio’s heart. What manner of person would build such a monolithic monstrosity?

Figures flew around and around above its high flat roof. Silverines, hundreds of them, trilling and piping and laughing as they formed an endless whirlpool, some clad in voluminous robes, others naked. Antlers, wings, great eyes, eyeless faces, some elongated and attenuated, others short and powerful. But all silver-skinned, all alike despite their differences in their playful attempts at aping Great Souls.

Scorio drew closer. He wasn’t sure for how long he’d been flying, but it must have been days. His muscles ached with a dull burn, and Nyrix had yet to stir in his arms. The Dread Blaze’s face had grown waxen and pale, his eyes sunken, and the cold winds had clearly taken a toll.

Damn it. Scorio had flown as fast as he could, but it clearly hadn’t been fast enough.

The Keep’s ghastly red form was almost luminous amidst the swirling fog banks. The great whirlpool of fiends lost coherency and began to fall apart as the hundreds of Silverines caught sight of their approach and scores flew out toward them.

They approached as a horde, some with golden eyes blazing in blackened sockets, others appearing to wear goggles of black glass. Some had alabaster features, their eyes seeming ornamental, while others were almost human, their eyelids lashed, their irises crimson or virulent blue or green. Feathered, fluted, decorated with horns or elaborate dresses, the approached, a dozen at the fore.

“Welcome to the Red Keep.” The speaker was feminine, her hair a wreathe of platinum leaves, the skin of her youthful, beautiful face cracked like sun-dried mud. She hovered in the center of overlapping fronds of diaphanous, pearlescent silks, her body a shadowed silhouette in their center. “I see you lack an escort. May I ask if you have forged an official contract?”

“One that has it been solemnized?” cried another, their face a skull from whose back grew a mess of ivory white branches, his body without clothing but formed of a mess of interweaving tree-roots. “Are you bound by the sacred rite?”

A susurrus passed through the hundreds of other Silverines, eager and pressing in nature.

“I haven’t,” Scorio called back, pressing on to the Keep. “Nor want to. Let us pass.”

The young woman in nacreous silks flew alongside but at a remove. “You sound definitive in your declaration. I am Bathywillow the Foresighted. When the time comes for you to seek a guide, seek me out. I am but aching inches from Abstraction and will serve you well.”

“I’m going to land,” Scorio shouted back. “Excuse me.”

Other Silverines cried out their introductions as Scorio slid into a downward glide. The Silverines swirled about and followed as Scorio alighted on the broad landing before the huge archway. Most settled on the Red Keep’s face, clinging to it easily like flies, while others hovered overhead. Some descended to crowd in on both sides of the archway, while others, laughing as if with supercilious indifference, flew back to renew their great circling over the roof.

The skull-faced branch-headed fiend lowered to hover above the archway’s keystone. “I am Musgrave the All-Consuming. Answer my simple question: do you desire success in your ventures? If so, beseech my services, as I wield clout and can open the doors to the chambers in which are hidden your desires.”

Being in draconic form gave him comfort when surrounded by so many fiends. But this was the Red Keep, was it not, where the Twilight Lady had dominion? Did he need to fear for his safety?

Two Great Souls emerged from the archway. The sepia-skinned woman he recognized instantly, his breath catching, while the paler man by her side was only passingly familiar.

The woman stared at him, momentarily taken aback, the recognition stark on her narrow, saturnine face. Her thick, striking eyebrows rose reflexively in surprise, then dropped as she frowned and crossed her arms.

Asha.

The young woman who’d died with him, Leonis, and Lianshi during their very first Gauntlet run.

She was now clad in heavy cobalt blue robes, tied off at the waist with a black sash, and her long black hair was coiled into a crown braid atop her head.

The fair skinned youth by her side stood apart. He wore black, his dark hair shaved down nearly to the skin, which served only to emphasize the roundness of his head, his jug-like ears. A wicked scar smeared its way down from above his right eye, over the bridge of his nose, and splayed out like a river tributary across his left cheek, and several more scars carved white grooves across his shorn scalp. One eye was cushioned by old bruises, gone to yellow and purple, and he held himself with a calm stillness.

“Asha.” Scorio projected his voice as they approached. “My friend here needs healing. Is there anyone in the Keep who can help?”

“Scorio.” Her tone was reserved, her stare piercing. “Welcome to the Red Keep. You here to kill the Twilight Lady?”

“What? No.” Scorio hefted Nyrix higher up his chest. From anyone else that might have been a jest, but Asha’s tone was frigid. “Unless you think she deserves it?”

Her expression curdled.

The young man chose that moment to cut in. “It’s good to see you again, sir.” His voice was surprisingly strong and deep for his youthful frame. “Flame Vault Mickel. We never officially met, back on the Plains of Bone. I was part of Charnel Duke Plassus’s contingent, though I’m now serving Blood Baroness Aezryna. I’ll let her know you’ve arrived.”

Mickel. The name wasn’t familiar, but the face. Yes. He’d spotted the kid in Plassus’ suite back in the Fury Spires. Noted him in passing for the scar.

“Sounds good,” said Scorio, moving forward. “But first, healing?”

“I’ll let Charnel Duchess know that you’re here,” said Asha. “She can stabilize your friend, if nothing else.”

“That would be most appreciated.”

“Well.” Asha sniffed. “Follow me, then. I’m sure she’ll be thrilled to have you as her guest.”

Scorio stared thoughtfully at Asha’s back as he followed her into the Keep. After all these years she still held him in disdain. Somewhere right after their Gauntlet run he’d missed something crucial. If only old Leonis and Lianshi were here to explain it to him.

The entrance hall within was  familiar, cavernous and dark but for the mana-light torches burning dimly down the length of the walls. Others in the entrance hall had turned to study them. A huge table ran down the first half of the great hall to end at a central firepit, on whose far side a second table then continued to the back of the hall. A dozen or so Great Souls were seated in groups along this table, some eating, others smoking pipes, others nursing clay cups. Some faces were familiar, but Scorio strode after Asha, intent on keeping up.

“Scorio!” A rich, feminine voice sounded from the depths of the hall, welcome and familiar, and Druanna rose from the table to beam at him. Tall, handsome, her skin golden and her black hair bound back in a rough ponytail, she wore faded green robes and approached with long steps.

“You know Pyre Lady Druanna?” asked Mickel, mostly to himself and clearly impressed. “I’ll be off, then, to let the Blood Baroness know.”

“Druanna.” Scorio couldn’t help but return her smile even as he kept walking. “It’s good to see you again.”

She studied Nyrix with a frown, then him in turn, gaze speculative. “You’re alive. Somehow. Against all the odds. Come find me when you’ve taken care of your friend.”

“You bet I will.”

Asha hadn’t glanced back once, but instead cut through the sparse crowd to stride to the back of the hall, body radiating tension. Druanna fell away, and though others watched him pass down the length of the hall, he kept his gaze on Asha’s stiff back.

She and led him through and archway into the hall beyond in whose corner a spiral staircase was housed.

“Asha. How’ve you been?” A poor attempt, but better than nothing.

“Fine. Thanks for asking.”

She led him briskly up the staircase, her steps light and agile.

He tried to focus on her Heart. What rank was she? But his control, as ever, was clumsy; he caught glimpses of it, rough-hewn and dark, heavy and dense, but didn’t know what to make of it. “Hey, what rank are you?”

“Just a Flame Vault.” She didn’t even look back. “It’s not been—never mind.”

They stepped out into a narrow hallway whose length was lit by mana-light torches every handful of paces. A thick, dusty carpet led down the center of the hall, its burgundy and gold patterning abstract and hard to discern. Doorways and archways opened up on both sides of the hall, but Asha swept past them all.

He wanted to ask her what had happened. Why she held this grudge against him. After all he’d been through, all he’d suffered and lost, her animosity felt petty, and his tiptoeing around it unnecessary.

But with Nyrix in his arms, this wasn’t the time.

Soon, he promised himself. Before he left the Red Keep. He’d sound out the cause of Asha’s hatred.

They turned into a broader hallway, the continuous rug of deeper pile and woven from a deep blue and green. The mana-lights were Silver, filling the air with a crisp, haunting radiance, and the air had a faint scent of something herbal that Scorio couldn’t place, a hint of berries, perhaps, or something that made him think of dark fir trees in winter.

So you’re working for the Twilight Lady? He almost asked, but then caught himself. She’d relish giving him a contemptuous stare for such an inane question.

Instead, she reached a heavy wooden door and knocked three rapidly three times upon it. “My lady? Scorio’s here. He’s brought a wounded companion.”

“Come in,” came the muffled response.

Asha opened the door and stepped inside, turning as she did so to face them both.

He entered. Scorio tried not to appear overtly wary. The chamber was broad and deep, and partitioned expertly into different areas by artfully placed planters and screens. The herbal scent was slightly stronger here, and not unpleasant, and the illumination softer, the mana-lights a mixture of Copper and Silver that resulted in a pleasant soft amber glow.

Lady Krula had risen from an armchair placed by a broad hearth in which crackled a large fire. Three other Great Souls sat with her, none of them familiar, though the expression of one was heated, his lips pursed.

She was taller than he was, her dark brown hair straight and falling down about her bony shoulders. Her skin was so pale as to give her a bloodless look, veins blue and visible against the back of her hands. Her features were long, almost equine, her nose striking, her lips broad and lightly rouged, but even that faint splash of color was vivid against her pale skin and black robes. Her gaze was blue and piercing, framed by elegant dark brows, and as with all higher ranked Great Souls, she seemed subtly more real than the rest of the room, more vividly present, more imposing.

Scorio inhaled and bowed his head. “Lady Krula. Great Souls.”

The other three had risen to their feet, but hung back.

“Scorio.” Her voice was deep, strong, and resonant. “Your reputation precedes you. Please. Lay your friend on setee. What happened to him? And thank you, Asha.”

Scorio glimpsed Asha bowing low and closing the door behind her as she departed. Still wary, he moved to the long couch and carefully lowered Nyrix onto the upholstered red surface. His arms ached from days of holding his friend, and he shook them out as he stepped back.

Was Nyrix even alive? Yes—his chest yet rose and fell, but barely.

“A fall. We were escaping Instinctuals. Nyrix was almost crushed.”

“As is ever the case.”

Lady Krula regarded the Dread Blaze. “I am no medic, nor gifted with powers of healing. What I can do, however, is slow the passage of time for him so that he remains in this state until Eric returns from patrol.”

“Eric can heal him?”

Lady Krula nodded, expression distracted. “In a manner of speaking. He’s your best hope, at any rate. Do I have your permission to work on your friend?”

“I—yes. Please.”

“Then step back.” Lady Krula extended her hand to touch Nyrix’s wrist, raised her chin, eyes narrowing as she focused on Nyrix. Her Heart Ignited, and such was her power that Scorio almost took a step back, for it felt as if a silver bonfire had blazed to life by his side.

But nothing happened.

No, that wasn’t quite right. Nyrix ceased to breathe.

“There,’ said Lady Krula. “A day for us shall be as a minute for him. It should preserve him until Eric returns. He always reports to me after patrol, so I’ll have him work his powers on your friend the moment he presents himself.”

“You are too kind,” said Scorio, and relief flooded him. Days of strain and flight and Nyrix wasting away in his arms had been an overwhelming weight on his heart. “Thank you.”

Lady Krula bowed her head with grave dignity. “You are of course most welcome. I wish that I could invite you to sit and talk, but you have caught me in the midst of important deliberations. May I send for you when the time is right?”

Scorio glanced at the other three Great Souls, and inclined his head in return. “Of course. Thank you. My apologies for the interruption.”

“Apologies are not necessary. I look forward to speaking with you soon.”

Scorio moved to her door, cast one last gaze at where Nyrix lay entombed in a casement of frozen time, then managed a grimace of a smile and stepped back outside into the hall.

Instinct bid him insist he stay by Nyrix’s side even as he closed Lady Krula’s door. To watch over his friend, to not let him leave his sight. But that wasn’t tenable. Was it? Should he have insisted on interrupting Lady Krula’s meeting, made it overt that he didn’t trust her, and shown rank ingratitude for her swift aid?

For a long moment he hesitated by the door, and then turned away to make his way back down. His stomach was cramping from hunger. He felt parched and light headed from thirst.

Everyone had seen him carry Nyrix into the Red Keep. Moira had spoken well, if guardedly, of Lady Krula.

Nyrix would be safe.

And what a terrifying power Lady Krula had. To slow time with but a touch? Incredible. She’d reduced Nyrix to a minute for every day that passed without—could she do more? A minute for every year? Every century?

Fascinating and terrifying both.

Exhausted, distracted, and concerned, he retraced his steps and descended to the ground floor. The large hall was a before, voices echoing off the high ceiling, Great Souls gathered in knots over their meals, but at his emergence the conversation died back down as wary glances were cast his way.

Druanna had been waiting; she rose smoothly to her feet, her smile confident, and stepped away from her table to meet him.

“Your friend?” she asked.

“Just about frozen in time. Lady Krula said an Eric would be able to heal him.”

Druanna inclined her head. “Eric is Lady Krula’s pale shadow. He can reverse time with a touch; your friend will awaken in the moment before he sustained the injury.”

“Reverse time?” Scorio chuckled in disbelief. “Now that’s an incredible power.”

“It has a cost. For every moment Eric reverses, his own life accelerates.”

“Ah.” Scorio winced. “That’s… yeah.” Scorio resisted the urge to scratch at the back of his head. It felt surreal to be on equal footing with her. With Druanna.

“We’ve much to catch up on,” said Druanna, crossing her arms over her chest and leaning back on her heels. “But your timing couldn’t be better. Or worse. Dameon’s here.”

“Yeah.” A wave of turbulent emotion arose within him. “I mean to have a word.”

“A ‘word’.” Druanna’s amusement was dry. “Well, I’ll caution you. He’s become the Twilight Lady’s right-hand man. They’re thick as thieves. She won’t let you touch him.”

Scorio nodded slowly. “All right. I’ll leave Dameon completely alone.”

“I’m serious.” Druanna eyed him carefully. “If the Charnel Duchess didn’t forbid all violence inside her halls, I’d have killed the man myself.”

Other Great Souls were approaching, more faces from Scorio’s past. To his surprise he recognized Instructor Rex, his face as battered and gnarled as ever, along with Massamach, the student who’d placed just behind Ravenna and Jova during their initial Gauntlet run. A third approached with them, but though familiar, Scorio couldn’t place him.

“Well look who it is,” drawled Rex as he came to a stop. Lean, hard-bitten, with ruddy skin and cauliflower ears, he looked indestructible. “The darling of Class 873. No offense, Massamach.”

Massamach stepped in, hand extended. As big as Leonis, square jawed, with rich black skin and hair shorn close to the scalp like Mickel, Massamach appeared at once indomitable yet reserved. “Good to see you again, Scorio.”

Scorio’s hand was lost inside the other man’s huge clasp. “Massamach. How have you been?”

“I’ve just recently made Dread Blaze. Looks like I’ve been slacking.”

“You’re gonna make me look bad,” grinned Rex. “Seeing as I’ve been a Dread Blaze going on now for seven years. Guess I’m just plain unmotivated.”

The group moved to the end of the table where chairs were claimed and drinks poured.

“Welcome to one of the weirdest places in Hell,” said Rex, setting the jug aside. “You know about the Twilight Lady, don’t you?”

“Pyre Lady Moira told me a little,” said Scorio hesitantly. “And I now know she can slow time. Anything else in particular I should know?”

Rex’s battered face split into a grin. “The secret to immortality’s hidden in these halls. Want to live forever?”

“Immortality?”

“He’s being droll,” said Druanna, rocking back onto the rear two legs of her chair. “But, yes, in a sense. The longer you remain at the Red Keep, the longer you’ll live. Lady Krula’s power causes time to pass slowly in the Keep. A day spent here is several days in the rest of Hell. Or the parts that follow Bastion’s time stream.”

Scorio sipped his ale. “So not exactly immortality.”

“Call it what you will,” smiled Rex. “But it’s a fact. Best you know it before you lose a month enjoying the Lady’s hospitality.”

“Moira mentioned she was long lived. But it’s more a case that she’s simply lived more slowly?”

“Correct,” said Druanna. “I think it’s been twenty years for her, a century for the rest of us.” She glanced at Rex. “She’s from which Class…?”

“777,” said Massamach quietly. “Easy enough to remember.”

“Damn,” said Scorio. “That’s… that’s some power. Can she control it?”

“Supposedly.” Druanna sipped her drink. “But while her ability to slow time is impressive, especially in combat, you need to know about her other, more dangerous ability.”

“It’s messed up,” said Rex, brows rising as he examined the contents of his cup.

“It’s why she’s lasted so long as the lady of the Red Keep,” agreed Massamach. “She can destroy her importance to you. Literally make it so that you stop caring about her role in your life.”

“And she can change your memories,” said Druanna. “That’s the most insidious one. Or so it’s said. I heard it from someone who heard it from someone, but as far as I know she only uses the power on her consort, Artur.”

“On her consort?” Scorio paused, fork raised to his lips. “Wait. What? She changes his memories? Is he her prisoner?”

“Lucky guy,” said Rex, waggling his eyebrows.

Druanna frowned at him.

“What?” Rex grinned. “You don’t like tall glasses of water?”

Massamach leaned forward on both elbows, looming massively on the other side of the table. “Artur’s a good man. Strange, but I like him. A Pyre Lord. But he got a bad power. I’ve heard it said his touch can bring your worst memories to life, and he can transform into them, even.”

“I heard it was your worst nightmare,” said Rex. “Which, given some of mine?” He shivered exaggeratedly. “Scary.”

“Wait,” said Scorio, trying to keep up. “Can she change your memories at will? Can she read your mind?”

“No, I don’t think so,” said Druanna. “Though I don’t know what the trigger is, so to be honest, perhaps it’s just that she’s very diplomatic about using it.”

“Or subtle,” said Massamach quietly.

Scorio nodded slowly, considering. It was… strange. Surreal. To be sitting with Rex and speaking like equals. The same Instructor who’d once directed their tactics class and seemed so formidable, so powerful, so indestructible. And seeing Druanna now as a fellow Pyre Lord was surreal as well. Everything was changing too fast.

Druanna must have picked up on his train of thoughts. “A lot has happened since the Iron Weald.”

“Yeah,” said Scorio. She had to be referring to Naomi’s fate. “We should properly catch up properly some time soon.”

“Yes. Are you all planning on staying at the Keep for a spell, or just passing through?”

“The rest of my companions should be arriving soon. I left them behind to bring Nyrix. But we can’t stay here long. Not if doing so costs twice as much time on the outside.”

“Are you passing through?” asked Massamach. “Or staying in the Unfathom?”

“Staying for a bit,” allowed Scorio.

“Then you’ll need yourself a Silverine guide,” said Rex, wincing sympathetically. “Unless you already got yourself one?”

“No,” said Scorio, thinking of Sybelleo burning before him. “For that matter, how are we supposed to handle the Silverines? We had to fight our way free of a warren of Instinctuals, and the Philosophers worry me almost even more.”

Rex snorted. “They’re crazier than horny Okoz’s. They’ve this real fixation on eating each other.”

“And the situation in the Unfathom is more dangerous than anyone told me,” said Druanna quietly. “So if you’re feeling overwhelmed, know that it’s normal. The Silverines… I mean, where to begin?”

Massamach hesitated then gave it a shot. “They operate on a completely different life cycle than anything I’ve seen before. They begin as mindless eels, and then if they get enough mana, evolve into a variety of, what?” He glanced at Druanna as if checking for her opinion. “Animals? Fiendish beasts?”

Druanna nodded. “The Instinctuals you dealt with. They’re hard to categorize, as they take on varied forms, but yes. They operate more by cunning than intelligence. A pack attacked me on my approach. They weren’t difficult to dispatch, but they were definitely bestial. More mindlessly hungry than anything else.”

“Right, Instinctuals,” agreed Massamach. “Though apparently their numbers have gone down.”

“Massamach is turning into a regular fiendologist,” grinned Rex, crossing his arms and rocking his chair back onto its rear legs. “Aren’t ya, Massamach? You shoulda stayed back in the Academy and become a librarian.”

“Right.” Massamach gave the subtlest eye roll Scorio had ever seen. “Nothing wrong with learning what you’re dealing with. I’ve had some conversations with the Twilight Lady. She’s obviously had to deal with them plenty over the past century. Apparently their society was once pyramid-shaped. Eels everywhere, then Instinctuals next in terms of the most numbers, then the Philosophers, then the Abstractions.”

“There was this Silverine, Sybelleo, who tried tagging along with us,” said Scorio. “He said the eels are part of a giant mana-catching net on the southern border.” He considered the notion again. “That sounds absurd.”

“They were telling the truth of it,” agreed Massamach. “The Silverines get smarter the higher they evolve. The Abstractions operate on another level. I’ve never seen one, but the Twilight Lady said they’re almost impossible to understand.”

“And she’s wicked smart,” said Rex. “So I reckon I’m not going to bother attending if they invite me to a party.”

“Good for you, Rex,” said Druanna. “Anyway. The strangest aspect is that they look forward to being eaten by their own kind. Their own bloodline, or family-type, or whatever. They pass on their memories and power to those who eat them.”

Scorio frowned. “They look forward to it? They want to be eaten?”

“But only by the right Silverines,” agreed Druanna. “They’re protective of their evolutions. Or something. It’s puts me in mind of trade secrets. They’re terrified of another bloodline eating them and gaining their hard-won adaptations.”

“So all the ones outside?” asked Scorio. “They’re all part of the same family?”

“Correct,” said Massamach. “All part of the bloodline that’s most invested with working with Great Souls.”

“That’s eaten the most of us,” said Rex. “Don’t sugar coat it. They’re shaped and look like us because they’ve eaten enough Great Souls over the years to change into humanoid types.”

“Fair.” Massamach’s smile grew grim. “Best not to be caught alone with a bunch of them. They’re liable to try and eat you.”

Scorio thought of the warren crawling with Instinctuals. “So they’re always just looking for their next meal?”

Massamach shook his head. “Not quite. They’re just always looking for high quality mana. Especially if it’s been processed through a Great Soul reservoir. But their ecology’s more complex than I think we give credit. And all of it geared to their eventually merging with one of the Silverine Suns.”

“One of their gods, you mean,” said Rex. “The crazy bastards worship those moons—why they call them suns, anyway? They don’t light anything up. Think about it. They look like moons.”

“I don’t know why they call them that,” said Massamach after a moment.

“Regardless.” Druanna placed her palm on the table. “Low-ranked Philosophers can come across as children, mindless and spewing words they barely understand. But don’t underestimate them. They’re ferocious predators, all of them, in every life cycle. And the more intelligent they become, the more dangerous.”

“But if they’re so predatory and dangerous, and there’s so many of them, why are they allowed to gather around the Red Keep like that? Shouldn’t the Twilight Lady be keeping them away?”

Druanna shrugged. “That’s her prerogative. Seems like they’re a necessary evil. Their numbers apparently are endless now. You can’t just wish them away.”

“Yeah.” Massamach nodded thoughtfully. “I feel like the Silverine situation’s been overlooked due to the Blood Ox and the Veridian Heart crisis. The way the situation is changing on the ground in the Unfathom is happening at an exponential rate.”

“Exponential?” Rex stared at him. “What are you talking about?”

“It means the change keeps happening faster and faster,” said Massamach, eyeing Rex dubiously. “I guess you didn’t take Instructor Hera’s math class? The story about doubling the grains of rice?”

“No, I didn’t take her cooking class.” Rex waved Massamach away. “You’re losing the point. The point is, Druanna’s right. The more I learn about the situation here, the worse it sounds. I feel like the Twilight Lady should’ve been ringing the alarm bells years ago.”

“But she’s not worried?” asked Scorio.

Rex and Druanna exchanged a glance, but it was the Pyre Lady that responded. “Who can say? She’s hard to read, and very much in control. Regardless. Don’t underestimate the Silverines, especially if you’ve only dealt with their low-ranked Philosophers.”

“We met a high-ranked one. At the first waystation. Went by the name of Pashamylo?”

“Oh yeah,” grinned Rex. “Talk about a twisted introduction. Those boys are messed up. Getting some of that Silverine ass on the regular and looking permanently hungover as a result.”

“Rex,” said Druanna. “This isn’t a men’s bathhouse. Mind your tongue.”

To which Rex grinned back in delight.

Now it was Druanna’s turn to roll her eyes. “I’m sorry. Scorio, you were saying?”

“Just that there was this one Silverine who was much more… self-possessed, more intelligent seeming. And as Rex said, the two Great Souls there were clearly laying with her and paying in mana.”

Druanna sighed. “Men.”

“That’s not right,” said Rex. “I’ve met some upstanding men in my time. Like Massamach here. Don’t go lumping them all in with guys like me.”

Massamach sighed. “Yes, this Pashamylo is probably an advanced type. They don’t share our morality, or sense of propriety. To her, sleeping with these two men is just an expedient way to get ahead.”

Rex lit up. “She’s not getting ahead, she’s -” Then he caught himself, glanced at Druanna, and sat back. “Nothing. Forgot this wasn’t a bathhouse.”

Despite the conversation, having a full stomach was causing a feeling of lethargy to steal over Scorio. His eyelids were growing heavy, and he felt the exertion of several continuous days in a row of flying as fast as he could catching up with him.

“Enough of that,” said Druanna, tone firm. “Our friend here needs to rest. Come on. I’ll show you where you can bunk.”

“Thanks,” said Scorio, rising to his feet. “Rex. Massamach. Good seeing you.”

“Not if I see you first,” said Rex, then scowled. “Dang it, that didn’t make sense.”

“I look forward to hearing more about your adventures,” said Massamach gravely. “When you have a moment.”

“Sure thing.” Scorio picked up his cup and plate, followed Druanna to where dirty dishes were deposited in a large tub, and set them down.

He followed Druanna up to the third floor, but exhaustion was hitting him hard. She explained that half the Keep stood empty, which made finding a place to sleep a simple matter. In short order they pushed open a door to a simple chamber.

Bed, table, chair, empty wash basin, chest.

“It really is good to see you again,” said Druanna, leaning against the doorframe. “I’ll keep an eye out for your friends. But in the meantime, you clearly need  to rest.”

Scorio cracked a huge yawn that brought tears to his eyes. “Yeah. Seeing you here? Unexpected boon.”

Druanna smiled. “We’ll have a proper catch-up when you awake. Lock the door behind me.”

“Will do.”

Druanna pushed off the frame and departed.

Scorio closed the stout door and dropped the crossbar.

Then he staggered to the bed and dropped onto it, not even bothering to kick off his boots. Yawned mightily again, and remained awake just long enough to feel a modicum of wonder: he’d had swapped the warren and its thousands of Instinctuals for the Red Keep and its Great Souls.

And to be honest, he didn’t feel much safer.