Alas, my mind was not like water, as the Dragon Temple acolytes had encouraged. Almost as soon as the illusion had been drawn away, it fell over my eyes again, and the filthy, smoke-filled room became clean and bright again, and its occupants were once more dressed in fine white silk and showed no evidence of their long starvation.
I had seen enough in my brief moment of clarity. This place—the whole of Svilsara, as Fenin had acquired health and beauty upon entering the city—was under the sway of a powerful magic-worker, for whom the whole city was a ritual chamber. Such a feat was beyond my experience of magic, but I did not doubt it could be done. It had been done, one way or another, and here were four wizened men ruling Svilsara from their secret throne room underground. I looked around, searching for sigils on the walls, but there were none to be seen.
“Please, wise elders,” Fenin said. “Help me to understand. I saw the serpent, but it vanished. I swear I did only as I was instructed.”
She knelt at the feet of the men, upon the rich rug that I now knew was only a faded, moth-eaten scrap. If the stone beneath it hurt her knees, she made no indication. Her rich hair fell over her shoulder, catching the torchlight like volcanic glass, and it looked perfectly real.
Continue reading “Journey to the Water Chapter XXXIV: The Garden House”
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