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Want to sample before you buy? Read on:
“I’m telling you it was right here,” says Igibala, slamming a massive ledger down on the empty spot where the false dragon scale had, until recently, rested on the shelf in the relic shop’s back office.
“Well, it’s very much not so now,” says Hulngal, putting a calming hand on Igibala’s shoulder. “When did you last see it?”
“Couple hours ago, at most?”
“Then either it walked away on its own, which…” Hulngal angles her head, considering.
“Seriously?” says Igibala, crossing her arms.
“All right, unlikely,” concedes Hulngal, putting out her hands palms forward in apology. “The alternative is that someone walked out with it. Someone powerful enough to get through our wards and not be eaten by the more powerful relics back here.”
“Not a comfortable thought,” mutters Igibala.
“No, indeed,” says Hulngal as she smiles at her lover. “Rather a narrow field, even here in a city of so many divinities and greater powers.”
“The Maidens wouldn’t—”
Hulngal shakes her head. “If they desired it, they would simply ask. No, this—”
Both women’s attention is drawn toward the front of the store as a roar like the screams of dying stars ripped apart along event horizon lines to spin gold and luminous around spiralling dark tears through the city. Followed by a moment of absolute silence. Before Marrowmont shakes down to its bones as a chime like a brass bell as big as a mountain follows the unearthly cry. Echoed immediately after by the ringing of alarm bells city-wide.
“Dear gods,” whispers Igibala, the barest edge of it audible over the klaxons. “Is that—?” she asks louder, looking to Hulngal.
“It would appear the beast is free,” says Hulngal, tamping down a sudden twinge of fear, keeping her face as still as possible as she glances at Igibala in return. “Our timetable just changed,” she says as she turns to head deeper into the back office, skirting with practiced ease around shelves, tables, and stacks of spreadsheet printouts higher than even her own tall, willowy frame. Her flowing mystic’s robe billows behind her as the shadows of the back office swallow her.
“You can’t be serious,” Igibala calls after her, voice raised over the caterwauling of the ethereal alarm system as she follows. Coming to a halt as Hulngal does, the two women standing before a glowing pillar. Its base built of metals not native to the reality in which they stand, shining oddly in physical light, wavering in and out of sight; the bowl of its apex crowned by a three-foot wide globe of energy and swirling spirits. “You’re going to try this now?”
