Session 38

“Holy shit!” Xalen gasped from the stands. “She’s… she’s fucking dead.”

Ebyn’s mouth hung open, all colour drained from his face.

Secondus looked equally stunned as a team of devils dragged Brabara’s limp body from the arena, leaving a thick trail of dark blood in the sand behind her.

Only Seknafret moved.

She shoved her way through the crowd, many of whom were already lining up to collect their winnings and sprinted toward a stairway leading down into the fighters’ area.

A pit fiend stepped into her path, wings flaring slightly. “Only challengers beyond this point,” its voice thundered inside her mind.

“My companion is down there,” Seknafret said, breathless and shaking. “I must reach her. I can’t bring her back if you don’t let me through. I need to get to her now!”

The pit fiend shrugged, utterly unmoved, and did not step aside

---

Brabara awoke on the cot she’d been resting on between bouts. Khai loomed over her, one of the red devil’s palms lifting away from her chest. Warmth still radiated through her body from where he’d touched her.

“You gave us some excellent entertainment, Succula,” Khai rumbled in his deep, gravelly voice. “A shame I cannot hand out two victor’s prizes.”

“He cheated,” Brabara croaked through clenched teeth.

Her entire body hurt. Not the clean ache of bruises or cuts, this was a crawling, stinging pain, as though a swarm of insects had burrowed beneath her skin and were biting her from the inside.

“What did you say?” Khai asked.

“Casimor. He was healing.”

Khai’s eyes narrowed. “And you have proof of this?”

“I saw it,” she said.

Khai snorted. “Seeing a thing is not proof, Succula.”

“Go find him,” she said, forcing strength into her voice. “I bet his wounds are all healed by now.”

“Which would also be the case after a healing draught or two,” Khai countered. “If you have proof, show it to me. Otherwise, there is nothing I can do.”

Brabara struggled to rise. The effort nearly defeated her, but she managed to prop herself up on the wooden bed. “What if I start telling others that your rules mean nothing?”

Khai straightened, inhaling slowly. “I will not have the sanctity of my arena questioned. Nor will I tolerate accusations of dishonesty.” He leaned down until their faces were inches apart. “I promised to bring you back if you fell. I have done this. Choose your next words very carefully, Succula. I am under no obligation to bring you back a second time.”

Brabara froze. Her life hung on the edge of her next sentence.

“I meant no disrespect, Khai,” she said softly. “But I know what I saw. Casimor was healing. That means he broke the sanctity of your arena, not me.”

Khai stepped back, studying her. His expression was unreadable, and for a moment Brabara wondered if she was about to die again.

“How about this,” the red devil said at last. “As champion, Casimor was rewarded with access to the Dragon’s Pride. I will grant you the same, so you may pursue this claim of yours. But until, and unless, you find definitive proof, you are not to speak a word of this alleged cheating to anyone.”

Brabara nodded, unable to trust her voice.

“Do you agree to these terms?” Khai pressed.

She nodded again.

“I need you to say it aloud, Succula.”

“I agree,” she managed.

“Good.” Khai stepped toward the door. “I will give you a few minutes to collect your things.”

He left, and Brabara slumped back onto the cot, breathing hard.

She had died. Killed in single combat. Yes, Casimor had been healing, but even without that advantage, she doubted she could have beaten him alone.

Her hands drifted to her belly.

A sudden cold washed through her.

Her babies.

Brabara sat up, adrenaline pushing the pain aside. She gathered her things and stepped out of the chamber. Hopefully the others had seen the fight, Seknafret especially. She needed to know if her unborn children had survived what happened in the arena.

She staggered up the stairs into the stands, where Seknafret stood motionless, tears streaming down her face.

Seknafret’s jaw dropped when Brabara stepped out from behind the massive pit fiend guard. “You’re alive?”

Brabara nodded. “Bringing me back was part of the deal to get me to fight.”

“Thank the gods,” Seknafret breathed. “The others are over there. They’ll be so happy to see you.”

“That’s great,” Brabara said. “But before that… there’s something I need to tell you. And then ask you.”

Seknafret frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m pregnant.”

“You’re what?” Seknafret squeaked.

“It’s early days. I only found out a couple of weeks ago,” Brabara said. “But I need you to tell me if my babies are okay after…” she gestured weakly toward the arena “…all that.”

“Babies?”

“Yes. Twins.” Brabara couldn’t meet her eyes.

Seknafret blinked several times before answering. “I can look you over, sure, but not here. Let’s find the others and go somewhere private.”

Brabara placed a hand on her shoulder. “Thank you. And please… don’t say anything to the others. I haven’t told Tiny yet, and I don’t want him to be the last to know.”

Seknafret nodded and led her to the rest of the group.

Ebyn ran forward and wrapped her in a fierce hug. “We thought we’d lost you.”

“Glad you’re alive,” Xalen said. “Do you have any idea how much money we lost betting on you?” he added with a grin.

“Ha ha, very funny,” Brabara said. “Then I guess you’ll be happy to see this.”

She opened her backpack, revealing her winnings from the first two bouts. “Sorry I couldn’t go all the way… there were extenuating circumstances.”

“We should take that to the Cerulean Hall,” Secondus said. “Try to earn the pit master’s favour.”

“Why?” Brabara asked, showing them the mark on her forearm. “I’ve already got my invitation.”

Ebyn raised an eyebrow. “You got it? But we saw you lose.”

“As I said, extenuating circumstances.”

Seknafret cleared her throat. “I’d like to assess your injuries, Brabara. The path to the Stygian Maze is quiet. I can examine you there.”

The group left the Scarlet Coliseum and returned to the central fountain. Ebyn, Secondus, and Xalen continued toward the foyer while Seknafret and Brabara took the walkway toward the Maze. Halfway down the little‑used path, they stepped off into a secluded alcove where Seknafret could work.

Seknafret poked, prodded, and listened for several minutes while Brabara waited, her heart hammering inside her chest.

“Well?” Brabara asked, as she started strapping on her armour. “Say something.”

Seknafret took a deep breath. “I don’t know what to say, really.”

“That’s not good,” Brabara said, voice trembling.

“No, it’s not that,” Seknafret said quickly. “I couldn’t hear anything, but it may simply be too early. The best I can say is that you don’t appear to have suffered any wounds that would put them at risk.”

“Not even this one?” Brabara pointed to the spot above her thigh where Casimor’s blade had impaled her.

Seknafret shook her head. “That appears to be too low. If you want to be absolutely certain, a divination wizard is your best option. You could ask Ebyn…”

“No!” Brabara cut her off. “Not until I’ve told Tiny.”

“Why haven’t you told him?” Seknafret asked gently.

Brabara sighed. “Because once I do, he’ll want me to stay with him in Sigil. And I won’t be able to say no.”

Seknafret gave her a flat look. “Maybe that would be for the best. You’re pregnant, Brabara. What we’re doing is dangerous. It’s madness for you to be with us now. Why put yourself, and your future children, at risk?”

Brabara considered that for a long moment. “I know. Everything you’re saying is true. But it’s not just my future children at risk. If we fail, all future children will suffer. I don’t want mine growing up in a world where their mother didn’t do everything she could to save it.

“The wish chose us,” she continued. “That makes us important. If I stay behind, I risk undoing everything we’ve worked for. Everything we’ve bled for. No. The four of us started this together, and we’re going to finish it together. We have to.”

Seknafret nodded. “Fair enough. I won’t say anything, but I want to be clear that I do not approve of this. Not one bit.”

They rejoined the others in the foyer of The Red Belvedere. The place buzzed with conversation. Servers wove through the crowd offering food and drink. Windfall, the colourful proprietor, flitted above the throng, greeting newcomers and chatting with patrons.

For Ebyn, Xalen, and Brabara, the statue of Tiamat looked different now. Where before it had appeared solid stone, it now shimmered with a translucent quality, revealing a floating platform within.

“I guess that’s the way to the Dragon’s Pride,” Xalen said, pointing.

“The statue?” Secondus asked.

Ebyn placed a hand on his shoulder, shifting his vision. “Ah. I see it now. Ingenious. Shall we?”

“No sense waiting,” Brabara said. “But… if Casimor is down there, we need to be careful.”

“The warrior who defeated you?” Xalen asked.

“Yes, the cheater,” Brabara said. “He was healing during the fight. That’s forbidden.”

“He cast no spells,” Ebyn said. “Which suggests regeneration, magical or natural. Lycanthrope, vampire, something similar. But I fail to see why that matters.”

Brabara’s expression darkened. “He also knew Tiny.”

Ebyn gasped. “What?”

“You’re sure?” Seknafret asked.

Brabara nodded. “Just before the final blow, he said, ‘Say hi to Tiny for me.’”

“That complicates things,” Ebyn said. “Agents of Vecna, the false Mordenkainen… now this.”

“Couldn’t they be the same person?” Brabara asked.

“It’s possible,” Ebyn admitted.

“Did he say anything else?” Xalen asked.

“Not really,” Brabara said. “We exchanged a little small talk before the fight. Mostly threats. He did say he was waiting for something, but that could have been a lie.”

“Casimor aside,” Ebyn said, “our priority is the rod. Six stolen pieces, and the seventh is here. Everything points to the Dragon’s Pride. If Casimor is there, I doubt he’ll start anything for the same reasons we won’t.”

The group approached the statue. Ebyn placed a hand on Secondus’s shoulder, Xalen on Seknafret’s, and together they stepped through the dragon’s body onto the floating platform.

A heartbeat later, the heavy stone block began to descend. As soon as they cleared the lip, a second block slid into place above them, sealing the shaft. They descended in semi‑darkness, lit only by evenly spaced motes of coloured light – red, green, white, and blue.

They descended perhaps a hundred feet before the platform slowed and came to a stop, opening into an expansive yet intimate chamber. Lavish couches surrounded low tables scattered throughout the dimly lit lounge. At the centre stood a circular bar, its shelves lined with liquor bottles that flashed shifting colours in time with faint jazz. A frost‑blue devil tended the counter, pouring drinks with elegant precision.

Two open archways were cut into the wall beyond the bar, opposite the entrance. To the right, an ornate set of double doors stood closed, flanked by two pit fiends who watched the newcomers with impassive interest.

The novelty of mortals entering this private sanctum did not go unnoticed. Patrons nearest the door turned to stare, and the blue‑skinned barman called out in a voice like cracking ice.

“Welcome, valued guests. I am Oganath, your host while in the Dragon’s Pride.”

Despite the size of the lounge, most tables sat empty. Only a handful of guests enjoyed the comforts here. The group scanned the faces present, neither Casimor nor the false Mordenkainen were among them.

Xalen approached the bar while the others slipped into a shadowed corner booth.

“Can I interest you in refreshment?” Oganath asked as Xalen approached. “Perhaps one of our signature cocktails? If you prefer to shop, we have a merchant in residence today. Or, if relaxation is your desire, Vitia and Vertu stand ready to ease your tired muscles.”

“What are these cocktails?” Xalen asked.

“We have three,” Oganath said, warming to his pitch. “All crafted with the finest ingredients. Expensive, yes, but unmatched in flavour and effect.”

“Go on,” Xalen said.

“The first is the Blazing Bloody Jack, named for a champion of the Scarlet Coliseum. Sweet and spicy, red juice suspended in amber. Guaranteed to bring out the hero in anyone. The second is Joker’s Sky, in honour of our illustrious proprietor, Windfall. A blue drink topped with fluffy cream – utterly delicious, and it will sweep you off your feet. The third, and my personal favourite, is the Salubra Slinger. Fizzy, fruity, and perfect if you’re not feeling your best.”

“You said they were expensive?” Xalen asked.

“Expense is relative, my mortal friend,” Oganath replied smoothly. “The Blazing Bloody Jack is one hundred talons. Joker’s Sky is one twenty‑five. The Slinger is only fifty.”

Xalen shook his head. “Too rich for me. I’ll just have a glass of red wine.”

“Of course. Three talons.”

Xalen slid the coins across. Oganath placed a glass of wine before him.

“You mentioned a merchant?” Xalen asked.

“Indeed. Through that door,” Oganath said, pointing to one of the archways behind him. “And Virtuous Vices, our spa, is through the other.”

Xalen nodded, picked up his drink, and headed toward the merchant’s room. He poked his head inside.

A sleek rakshasa in shimmering teal robes stood behind a counter displaying elegant, bejewelled accessories. A large transportable cupboard stood upright against the back wall.

“Welcome to Enchanting Arcana, mortal,” the rakshasa said. “I am Krysocol. How may I assist you? My finest items are displayed here, with additional curiosities in my cupboard.”

“Do you have any armour? Or a shield?” Xalen asked, thinking of Brabara’s constant complaints about being hit.

“I have both,” Krysocol said. “A shield crafted from a dragon scale, meticulously made, offering protection from blows and resistance to that dragon’s breath.”

“And the cost?” Xalen asked.

“Twelve hundred and fifty talons,” Krysocol replied. “I also have an exquisite set of plate armour, forged by the finest smiths in the Nine Hells. You will not see its like anywhere else. Three thousand talons.”

“Wow,” Xalen said. “A little outside my budget.”

“Perhaps these will interest you,” the rakshasa said smoothly. “Two black jade pendants that protect against unwanted observation, only three hundred talons each. This brass necklace with five citrine pearls. Tear one off and throw it to create a fireball sure to devastate your foes. Twelve hundred and fifty talons. And for two thousand, this exquisite ring of diamonds set in rare purple metal. Wear it, and you command lightning and light.”

“I see,” Xalen said. “I’ll have to discuss this with my companions.”

Krysocol inclined his head. “I also carry a vast collection of mundane gems and jewellery, should your spellcasters require components.”

Xalen turned to leave, then paused. “One more thing. What type of dragon scale is the shield made from?”

“A black dragon,” Krysocol said.

Xalen nodded and moved to the other doorway.

Inside, warm clouds of steam curled lazily from a circular pool, half‑hidden behind a gauzy curtain that swayed with the rising heat. The air smelled of ginger and citrus – bright, intoxicating, almost dizzying. Two, winged devils lounged against a lacquered counter, one draped in a white robe, the other in black. Both were stunning in a way that felt engineered to disarm mortals.

The devil in black straightened with a slow, liquid grace as Xalen entered. “Look, Vitia,” she purred, her voice a velvet promise. “A mortal. How delicious.”

“Hello,” Xalen managed. He’d dealt with devils like this before – the entire crew of the Venatrix had been cut from similar cloth – but he’d never seen a pair quite this breathtaking.

“I am Vertu,” she said, gliding a step closer. “How may my sister and I serve you today?”

“Um… ah… what services do you provide?” he stammered.

Vertu’s smile deepened, warm and wicked. “We offer two treatments,” she said. “The Brimstone Springs is our entry‑level indulgence – a thirty‑minute massage followed by a soothing dip in our pool. One hundred talons.”

She leaned in just slightly, enough for Xalen to feel the heat radiating from her skin.

“But,” she continued, “I truly recommend our Luxe Reawakening. Three hours of sheer bliss. Four hundred and fifty talons. When we’re finished with you, you’ll feel reborn.”

Xalen swallowed hard, his imagination sprinting ahead of him. “That… sounds amazing. Is there any kind of group discount?”

Vertu’s smile faltered, not in annoyance, but in amused disappointment. “How many are in your party?”

“Four,” Xalen said, holding up three fingers.

Vitia let out a delighted laugh, musical and teasing. Xalen flushed and corrected himself.

“We can entertain you and your three companions for twelve hundred talons,” Vertu said after a thoughtful pause. Then she glanced at her sister, and something unspoken passed between them. “Though,” she added, her voice dropping to a sultry murmur, “I would recommend you come alone… so we can give you our full attention.”

The way she lingered on the word full turned Xalen’s mouth dry.

“I… yes… right. Thank you. I’ll… talk to my friends.”

Vertu’s smile returned, slow and knowing. “You know where to find us.”

Xalen returned to the others, who sat around one of the low tables. Brabara looked decidedly uncomfortable, wedged into a lounge chair far too small for her bulk.

“You seem flushed,” Seknafret observed as Xalen sat down.

“What? Oh. Yes. It’s… not important.”

“We were discussing next steps,” Ebyn said. “It seems obvious the final rod piece is behind those doors, unless your quick scout suggests otherwise.”

Xalen shook his head. “No. I doubt the rod piece is in either of those rooms.”

“None of us think it wise to try fighting our way past those two guards,” Ebyn continued. “Seknafret has a way to get us inside, but it’ll take several spells, and we’ll need somewhere private to cast them.”

“One of the rooms is a merchant’s,” Xalen said. “He’s selling a few magic items, including a dragon‑scale shield and some magical plate armour.”

Brabara jerked upright. “Armour, you say?”

“I didn’t see it myself, but that’s what he told me.”

“I don’t think it’s wise to buy magical items in literal Hell,” Ebyn said. “Who knows what surprises might be baked into them. Better to wait and buy such things in Sigil.”

“I’ve tried buying armour there,” Brabara said. “Nothing that fits me. I reckon it’s worth at least looking at what he has.”

“He’s asking three thousand talons,” Xalen said.

Brabara whistled. “And we have…?”

“About twelve hundred,” Xalen said. “We’d have had way more, but someone didn’t win their final fight, did they?”

Brabara shot him a withering glare. “There. Were. Extenuating. Circumstances.”

“This squabbling is pointless,” Seknafret said. “What matters is getting the final rod piece and finding the other six. How do we plan to do that?”

“There is one option,” Ebyn said. “I’ve resisted it because I wanted to save spells in case of trouble, but we’ve searched this entire casino and found nothing.”

“What option?” Xalen asked.

“I could try scrying the false Mordenkainen,” Ebyn said. “We searched his room after the theft, and I took a few strands of hair from his desk.”

“Strands of hair?” Brabara scoffed. “The man was bald.”

“Bald with a beard,” Ebyn said. “And I’m sure a woman of your experience knows, beards have hair.”

“Go on,” Brabara said.

“The hair should be enough to let me see where he is. Then we teleport there and…”

“And fuck him up,” Brabara finished, punctuating the sentence with a fist on the table.

The loud crack made one of the pit fiends turn and stare at them.

“Right,” Ebyn said after a few seconds. “But I shouldn’t cast the spell here. The ritual takes several minutes, and I doubt the guards will appreciate it.”

“The place where I checked Brabara after the fight is secluded,” Seknafret said. “We can go there.”

The group left the Dragon’s Pride and made their way back to the quiet clearing between the central fountain and the Stygian Maze.

Ebyn set himself up and began the ritual while the others waited, taking turns to stand watch by leaning casually against the columns along the walkway. Only a handful of patrons passed during the ten minutes it took him to finish the incantation, and none paid any real attention to whoever happened to be “on guard” at the time.

When the spell completed, Ebyn plucked at the threads of the Weave, guiding them with the wiry tufts of hair he’d collected. But this time, the magic found nothing.

He frowned. He knew he’d cast the spell correctly, yet he’d never experienced a result like this.

“Is something wrong?” Seknafret asked, noticing his bewildered expression.

“I don’t understand,” Ebyn said. “I’m getting… nothing.”

“Maybe they resisted the spell,” Secondus offered.

“No,” Ebyn said slowly. “This is something else. It’s as if the person I’m trying to scry… no longer exists.”

“How is that possible?” Seknafret asked.

“I have no idea.”

“What if they’re polymorphed?” Brabara suggested.

“Scrying overcomes such magic,” Ebyn said. “Unless they were polymorphed into an inanimate object, their appearance shouldn’t matter.”

“Can you cast it again?” Brabara asked.

“To what end?”

“To find Casimor,” she said. “I might still have some of his blood wedged in the spike of my hammer. Will that work?”

Ebyn considered. “It might, if the sample is accurate.”

Brabara scraped a bit of dried gore from her weapon with a knife, collecting a pinch onto a folded scrap of paper. “There you go.”

Ebyn centred himself and began the ritual again. The others resumed their casual rotation of “lookouts.”

When the spell completed, Ebyn received a vision. Brief, but clear.

Casimor stood in a nondescript room, donning a brightly coloured jacket identical to the one worn by Windfall. His black armour lay neatly stacked beside him, along with his heavy sword. A thin rapier rested nearby, and a well‑made lute leaned against the wall.

Ebyn scanned the surroundings for clues, but before he could identify anything useful, Casimor’s body began to shift. His height shrank. His frame narrowed. Horns curled from his brow, and wings unfurled from his back.

The vision ended with Windfall standing where Casimor had been seconds before.

“It can’t be,” Ebyn murmured. “The sensor should have stayed on him even after the change.”

“Change?” Secondus asked. “What change?”

“I just saw Casimor transform into Windfall.”

“That means Windfall is working for Vecna?” Brabara said.

“Or,” Xalen countered, “Windfall is Casimor’s next target.”

Ebyn sucked in a breath. “Give me ten minutes. I’ll cast again, this time targeting Windfall.”

He repeated the ritual a third time. He’d hoped to avoid casting it even once, yet here he was burning through more magic and gaining only more questions.

When the spell completed, he saw Windfall circling above the Alabaster Racetrack, looping, spinning, performing graceful aerial pirouettes for the crowd.

Was this the same figure he’d seen transform from Casimor? Impossible to tell. Ten minutes had passed since the previous vision; they could be the same… but something in his gut said otherwise.

“Damn it!” Ebyn snapped. “Why is nothing ever easy.”

“What happened?” Seknafret asked.

“I saw Windfall flying above the racetrack.”

“So, you were able to scry her,” Secondus said. “Interesting.”

“How so?” Brabara asked.

“It means the earlier scry on Casimor wasn’t cut off because of any non‑detection magic on Windfall,” Secondus explained. “Which all but confirms the Windfall which Casimor turned into is another imposter.”

Xalen scratched his chin. “Maybe now that they look like Windfall, they plan to use the disguise to get past the guards in the Dragon’s Pride.”

“Impossible,” Secondus said. “The pit fiends’ true sight would pierce any disguise.”

“As impossible as a scry spell being cancelled mid‑vision?” Ebyn countered. “There’s a power at work here we don’t understand. We should find the real Windfall and warn her.”

They gathered their gear and headed toward the Alabaster Racetrack.

---

The group spilled into the foyer on their way to the racetrack, catching sight of Windfall just as she stepped onto the floating platform descending toward the Dragon’s Pride.

They sprinted to the central statue, but the next platform took its time. By the time they finally reached the bottom, Windfall had vanished.

“Argh!” Ebyn spat, striding toward the two pit fiends guarding the door. “I have urgent business with your master.”

One pit fiend turned its horned head toward him, expression unreadable.

“Do you have an appointment?” the voice boomed in Ebyn’s mind.

Ebyn’s hands curled into fists. “I do not. But the matter is important, and extremely time‑sensitive.”

The pit fiend turned, rapped loudly on the door, then resumed its watchful stance as the group formed a tense half‑circle behind Ebyn.

A minute passed. No response.

“Perhaps knock again,” Ebyn said. “Your master could be in danger.”

The pit fiend complied. Still nothing.

With a low growl, the guard produced a key, unlocked the door, and stepped inside. The second pit fiend moved forward, blocking the entrance with a single menacing step.

Half a minute later, the first guard returned.

“Detain them,” it said to its companion, then strode toward the entrance shaft.

The remaining guard pointed at a nearby table. “Sit.” Its glowing red eyes swept over each of them with unmistakable threat.

The group obeyed.

Fifteen long minutes passed before the first guard returned, with Windfall gliding behind him. She went straight to their table.

“What is this about?” she demanded.

“We believe an imposter is attempting to steal an artifact in your possession,” Seknafret said.

“And how do you know this?” Windfall asked sharply.

“Because the same thief stole a similar item from us,” Ebyn said. “We’ve been tracking him ever since.”

One of Windfall’s eyebrows arched. “And you only mention this now? You had ample opportunity to warn me when you first arrived at the Red Belvedere. Yet you did not. Why?”

Ebyn swallowed. “We didn’t want to cause alarm until we were certain the thief was here.”

“And now you are certain?” she pressed.

“We are,” Seknafret said. “We saw the thief assume your form and descend to the Dragon’s Pride while you were performing at the Alabaster Racetrack.”

“Impossible,” Windfall snapped. “My guards can see through any such deception.”

Ebyn shrugged. “And yet they admitted the thief through those doors not two minutes before we arrived.”

Windfall turned a hard glare toward the pit fiend. The fiend bowed its head in apology.

Without another word, Windfall produced a key, strode to the guarded door, unlocked it, and pushed it open. “Come with me,” she said. To the guards: “See that we are not disturbed.”

The group followed her into a well‑appointed chamber. Bookshelves lined the walls. A plush bed rested in an alcove to the right, and a desk cluttered with papers occupied the opposite corner. The far wall was dominated by an exquisitely carved statue of Tiamat, all five heads raised toward a domed ceiling painted with a breathtaking mural.

Seknafret recognized the scene instantly. It depicted the moment Tiamat and Bahamut created the First World, a perfect unity of creation before the cataclysm that shattered it into the multiverse.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Windfall said, noticing Seknafret’s gaze. “My goddess takes great pride in all she created and…” Her expression dimmed. “Great pain in all she lost.”

Seknafret nodded. “My compliments to the artist. They captured the majesty of creation perfectly.”

Windfall gave a small bow. “My thanks.”

Seknafret blinked. “You did this?”

“I did,” Windfall said. Her expression shifted from cordial to firm. “Now, tell me what this is really about.”

Ebyn took a steadying breath. “I understand you are in possession of a piece of the so‑called Rod of Seven Parts.”

“That is correct,” Windfall said. “I am using it to return something that was lost long ago. Something precious to my god. Follow me.”

She approached the statue and touched the eyes of one of Tiamat’s five carved heads. The wall slid open, revealing a vast natural cavern beyond, its walls formed of translucent red crystal.

Stalactites and stalagmites dotted the chamber, and in the centre a pair nearly touched. Windfall let out a wail of anguish at the empty space between them. She spun on the group, her face twisted with fury.

“If I find out you had anything to do with this, I will kill you all,” she screamed. She inhaled sharply, held it, then exhaled in a slow, controlled breath. “Now tell me everything. And be warned – lie to me, and your lives are forfeit.”

Seknafret’s eyes caught movement in the darkness beyond the crystal. Something enormous loomed there. Watching. Listening.

“Have you heard of Vecna?” Brabara blurted.

Windfall’s gaze snapped to her. “Of course. Few here haven’t.”

“Well,” Brabara said, “he’s been plotting, gaining enormous power in the shadows.”

Windfall shrugged. “And how do the lich‑god’s latest machinations concern me?”

“We believe he is on the verge of enacting a ritual that will reshape creation,” Ebyn said. “And we are tasked with stopping him.”

“Tell me more about this ritual,” a deep, multi‑throated voice boomed from all around them.

Windfall dropped prostrate to the floor.

The group turned, and through the red crystal walls, lit by internal fire, they saw the immense silhouette of a five‑headed dragon. Tiamat, god‑queen of chromatic dragons.

Brabara’s mouth fell open. The crystal walls were thick, but she knew they would offer no protection if Tiamat chose to strike.

Silence pressed in around them.

“Vecna and his cults have siphoned incredible amounts of power from individuals across the multiverse,” Ebyn said. “We believe he intends to use that power to unravel the multiverse itself, elevating himself and subjugating all others.”

“Such arrogance,” Tiamat thundered. “For this upstart god to seek to undo my creation is an outrage I will not allow. Tell me, mortals, how will you defeat Vecna and end this threat?”

“The Rod of Seven Parts,” Ebyn said. “Once reassembled into the Rod of Law, it can trap Vecna in a Cocoon of Law, cutting him off from the power of secrets – and from existence – just as Miska the Wolf‑Spider was cut off eons ago.”

“And the imposter who was here earlier works against you?” the dragon queen asked.

“That is correct,” Ebyn said. “We’ve been chasing them for days, but they only revealed themselves recently, and we weren’t fast enough to stop them.”

“I saw the thief,” Tiamat said. “I saw where he went. But it is not a place you can follow.”

“I can plane shift,” Ebyn said.

“Not there,” Tiamat hissed. A glow flared in the nostril of her red head, and smoke curled from bared fangs. “Not to Tovag, nor any of the Dread Realms. The Dark Powers have sealed them off from the multiverse. Only a Dark Lord can open a portal to such places.”

“Then how did the thief get there?” Seknafret asked.

“Oh no,” Ebyn whispered.

“I see your mage has pieced it together,” Tiamat said. “The Dark Lord of Tovag is Kas the Betrayer. Only he has the power to open such a gate.”

“Kas?” Ebyn said. “Kas has been posing as Mordenkainen… then Casimor… then Windfall? Why? What is he playing at?”

“We can worry about that later,” Brabara said. “We need to find Kas, kill him, get the rod back, and then use it to kill Vecna.”

Tiamat emitted a low growl that vibrated through the floor. “I approve of this plan. Windfall, provide these mortals with whatever aid they request.”

Windfall lifted her head. “Yes, my queen.”

A final snort lit the cavern, revealing Tiamat’s full, terrifying majesty before the glow faded and darkness reclaimed the space. The dragon queen was gone.

Windfall rose slowly, smoothing her coat as though reassembling her composure piece by piece. When she inclined her head to each of them, the gesture carried genuine respect – and a hint of exhaustion.

“It seems,” she said, “that you have earned my queen’s favour. And that is no small thing. So… how may I assist you?”

“The merchant outside,” Xalen said eagerly. “Maybe you can negotiate a better price? He has items that might help us.”

Windfall let out a soft, musical laugh, the first real laugh they’d heard from her. “Negotiate? With Krysocol? My dear mortal, if I attempted to haggle with him, he would double his prices out of spite. I have no influence over his stock.”

Her expression softened, almost conspiratorial.

“But I can purchase whatever you desire on your behalf. Devils respect hierarchy, and I outrank him by several orders of magnitude.”

“Are you crazy?” Ebyn screeched. “Have you forgotten where we are?”

Xalen shrugged. “Not at all.”

Ebyn threw up his hands. “At least let me ask the fates if the items are safe.”

Windfall folded her arms, watching with interest. “By all means. I enjoy seeing how mortals try to out‑manoeuvre devils. It’s adorable.”

Xalen muttered, “Whatever makes you feel better. We may never get a better chance to equip ourselves.”

Ebyn fixed him with a glare, then withdrew a pinch of incense. He murmured arcane words, and the incense vanished in a scented puff, leaving a shimmer around his head.

“Will it be safe to use the items purchased from Krysocol in the Dragon’s Pride?” he asked.

“Yes,” a disembodied voice replied. “But every deal with a devil comes with strings.”

Windfall smiled faintly. “See? Perfectly safe. Mostly.”

“Did you hear that?” Ebyn snapped. “Who knows what the cost will be? My advice is to leave it.”

“The question is whether the benefits outweigh the costs,” Seknafret said. “It might be worth it.”

Windfall stepped closer, lowering her voice. “Let me be clear. I am offering this because my queen commanded it, and because Kas has made a fool of me in my own domain. I want him found. I want him stopped. And if arming you helps achieve that, then I will pay whatever price Krysocol demands.”

There was a flicker of something raw in her expression – pride wounded, anger simmering, and beneath it all a fierce loyalty to her goddess.

“In the end,” she said, “the only strings that matter are the ones you choose to pull.”

That settled it.

The group purchased everything – the two pendants, the necklace, the ring, the shield, and the armour. Windfall paid full price without blinking, much to Krysocol’s delight and suspiciously theatrical bowing.

When the transaction was complete, Windfall placed a hand over her heart and bowed once more.

“Go,” she said. “And may Tiamat’s wrath be with you.”

Ebyn gathered the group and teleported them back to the portal Alustriel had opened. Several fiendish bodies littered the ground outside, evidence of recent violence, but now the area was clear. They stepped through the gateway and returned to the Sanctum in Sigil.

---

Malaina was waiting in the portal chamber when they arrived.

“Thank the gods you’re back,” she said, looking more exhausted than any of them had ever seen her.

“Is everything alright?” Brabara asked immediately. “Has anything happened to Tiny?”

Malaina managed a weary smile. “Everything’s fine. Tiny is fine. We just had a few… uninvited guests come through the portal while you were away.”

“So that’s what those bodies outside were about,” Xalen said.

“Yes. It turns out leaving a portal to Hell open for any length of time attracts a great deal of unwanted attention,” Malaina said. “And we couldn’t close it because reopening it would have placed the exit somewhere else entirely.”

“Are you hurt?” Seknafret asked, giving her a quick once‑over.

“No. Just tired,” Malaina said. “It’s been an enlightening few days. Wait here, I’ll fetch Alustriel.”

“And Tiny!” Brabara called after her.

Malaina returned a few minutes later with the others in tow. Tiny barrelled forward and swept Brabara into a crushing embrace, lifting her off her feet. Alustriel followed, greeting each of them with a warm hug.

“I am so glad to see you all safely returned,” she said. “How did you go? Were you able to find the thief and the final rod piece?”

“No, on both counts,” Ebyn said. “But we now know the thief was Kas, Vecna’s former lieutenant.”

“You’re certain?” Alustriel asked.

“Tiamat confirmed it,” Xalen said.

“Tiamat?” Alustriel gasped. “I see you have a great deal to tell me.”