CHAPTER 7: The Dark of It

Merla shouted in surprise as she landed on a beach, and cried out again as the surf crashed over her feet. She felt a mixture of relief and resentment as she saw Sylvie holding Faelar and her father float gently down. "Where'd the carpet go?"

"Good question," answered Sylvie as she landed.

"You don't realize what it is you took from me, are you?" asked Panwyr.

"Pike it!" said an aggravated Merla. "Sylvie is more of a well-lanned blood than a leatherheaded spiv like you could ever be!"

"Merla!" shouted Sylvie. "That's enough!" When Merla crossed her arms and raised her brows, she added, "If you must insult him, at least be more creative." She breathed a sigh of relief as she saw Merla trying not to smile. "First thing," she said, "is to find out where we are." She looked around, putting up a hand to shield her eyes from the bright sun which was especially painful on the eyes given that they'd just left an area where it was night, and seeing the coconut palm trees that formed a light canopy on one side that had replaced the prism palms of White Sands, while ocean waves crashed vigorously on the beach on the other side. In both directions, the beach curved away about a mile or so in the distance. On one side she saw a ship sailing away in the distance. The portal here was obviously the odd stone archway that looked as if it had formed naturally, but probably had been made by magic some time in the past.

"Merratet, the Cat Lands," said Panwyr casually.

"Oooh, I LOVE the dreams here!" said Faelar.

Merla gasped and whispered, "This is where the weretigers hunt, isn't it?"

"No, not in this region" said Panwyr, "and good thing, since your shrill cries would've drawn the lot of them."

"Enough, both of you!" shouted Sylvie. "We better move in case the Hardheads find out how to use the portal to come after us. I suggest following the beach that way since I see a ship sailing away. There's probably a settlement there." Turning to Panwyr, she asked, "Do you know specifically where we're at?"

"I think so," said Panwyr. "I've stumbled to this realm enough accidentally from the Rapture Quarter of Brightwater and this looks familiar. I agree with your suggestion, and if it's the place I think it is, I can get us back to Brightwater."

As they began walking, Sylvie asked, "So how were you able to see us? After all, we were, and are, invisible."

Panwyr shrugged. "I'm enough of a bard to be able to cast a See Invisible spell, and since they were after you, I figured I'd need it to find you." He didn't seem to mind that anyone who saw him talking would think he was barmy talking to himself. Or maybe they'd see the footprints in the sand beside him.

Sylvie then asked, "So what is this portal key anyway?"

"It's a magic stealer," answered Panwyr. "Eurid Caxi commissioned my party to get it for him."

Sylvie blinked. "Magic stealer?"

"The device we used to escape. When it's taken through a portal, it alters the gate key so that for it to work, there has to be either a magic item or a spellslinger with a spell in her. It will take the most powerful item or available spell automatically and transfer it to the lair of an Incantifier."

"Magic eaters," muttered Sylvie darkly.

Merla didn't seem troubled by this. "I'm glad I left my magic behind then, I'm clean! Hey, can that key be altered so that it picks the pockets and purses of anyone using them and dumps them in a specifically prepared vault?" When Panwyr and Sylvie glared at her, she added, "I was just curious." Then she blinked as she added, "Gods, plane hopping could get a lot more complicated. But a nice way to get rid of an enemy's most powerful magic once you tumble to the dark of it."

Without looking at her, Panwyr added, "But you'd realize the folly of that once you tried using the corrupted portal later, or any of the other corrupted portals, or a cleric you needed with that Heal spell loses the needed spell as he uses a corrupted portal to get to you."

"Oh," said Merla. "Not good."

Sylvie hugged Faelar close. "I'm glad it didn't take Faelar. I guess that makes sense as Incantifiers aren't able to eat magic from familiars."

Merla asked, "Hey, why not steal ALL the magic items and spells a person has?"

Sylvie made a guess. "I'd say risk of magical overload. They need plenty of magic to feed, so they go for the most powerful to make it worth it, but at the same time if it took ALL a body's magic, then it might burn itself out, or even cause a magical catastrophe in the lair or other such problems."

Panwyr shrugged. "I'm not a wizard, but I know a thing about portals that I bet even you haven't picked up on. One thing is that most portals require a key. A SINGLE key. The device there negates the need for that one key and replaces it with the most powerful magic, but still a SINGLE key. To take ALL magic would require a much greater corruption of the portal, probably not even something an archmage could accomplish. But I do know that the Incantifier has a spell crystal of some kind that absorbs spells gained by corrupted portals, and many magic items that also absorb spells have been known to overload and explode."

"So why were you the one to carry it?" asked Merla. "Surely you're not the most responsible one."

"No, but I am the only one who can cast spells, making me necessary to use it at all unless they wanted to sacrifice what magic they had. Besides, I've learned how to use portals without keys, so when I'm successful, it doesn't take any magic, though it still corrupts it. But we didn't have time with the Hardheads about to scrag us or worse, and so it cost us a carpet."

"You don't sound too upset," noted Merla. "My guess is that it wasn't yours."

"Borrowed," answered Panwyr with an air of lightness that he didn't fully succeed in pulling off. "From a Taker. And you know what they believe, if you have it, then it's because you deserve it. Belief is power on the planes, and I guess I deserved his carpet more than him."

"Were you spotted?" asked Merla.

"No. My party distracted him while I cast a sleep on his minders guarding his score."

Merla whistled. "Your dad isn't all bad, Sylvie. Notice how he effectively used magic. You would do well to learn some initiative like that."

Sylvie gave an exasperated sigh before asking, "So what happens if your friends are connected to you?"

"They won't be. And if they are, then they can deal with it. We all agree that getting the magic stealer to Eurid is top priority. That's the ride that pays."

Sylvie asked, "So who is this Eurid, and what does he want with it?"

"He's a wizard and a member of the Sensates," answered Panwyr. "Being a wizard, the device is already a threat to him, but as a Sensate, he fears that gaining experience across the planes would become much harder as a result of this corruption."

After walking down the beach a ways, Sylvie asked, "Are you a Gate Crasher?"

Panwyr smiled weakly. "I've picked up a few tricks. I can even suppress a fiend's ability to call in reinforcements."

Merla blinked in surprise. "A modest bard?"

Panwyr answered, "More of a burned out bard." He shrugged. "Other bards rarely give me any respect, dismissing me as a fool. And maybe they're right. I'm more of a rogue than a bard, I just had a love for the panpipes and a love for magic without the talent or willingness to study or serve a god for it. I picked up some basic bardcraft, along with a few minor bard spells, from another at a Midnight Gambol that me and my mother went to. And he was considered a fool by other bards, and he never learned how to inspire others with his music the way most other bards do, and neither have I."

Sylvie smiled. "Ah, yes, you, Mom, and Granny took me to one of those shortly before we left Silverymoon. The best part was where those invisible pixies kept tickling me until I was almost out of breath and then pouring that flying potion down my throat. They turned visible and we went flying together."

"Mother loved that," answered Panwyr, smiling nostalgically. "And the pixies love her. Though she doesn't have that much in the way of divine magic or wander as much as she used to, she's still a revered Mischiefmaker. They loved your mother Topknot, too. And you."

Sylvie was touched by the sad fondness in his voice. It was obvious that he remembered those days as happy times, but didn't feel so happy today. "So how did you become a Gate Crasher?"

"To get away from the Zhents, I finally took a portal to the outer planes. I stayed in Sigil awhile but like your mother I've always hated that place. I tried to lose myself in pleasure and joined the Children of the Vine for awhile and somehow—I'm not sure how—I came to be in the Den of Olidammara in Ysgard."

"A power of Oerth," said Sylvie. "I've been there, and while I prefer other deities, I don't hesitate to lift a cup of wine in his honor. Is he your patron deity now?"

Panwyr shook his head. "I still claim the Fey Jester as my patron deity, though it's rare that I pray to any god." He shrugged as he added, "Luckily, Erevan appreciates those that do for themselves. And Olidammara is about the same and his followers aren't known to be zealous. Like you, I'm willing to lift a cup in his honor. So I was welcome there, but after I started to get bored, and saw that others were finding me less interesting in turn, I left with a Gate Crasher, and he taught me the ropes. We mainly burgled dangerous places, and spent or gambled away our score back at the Den, or other places we were fond of, like Brightwater. I've had so many flings and one night stands before plane hopping away that more than one past flame that I could barely recall accosted me, which is why I reacted the way I did when you started casting vile insults at me."

"You speak of that in the past tense," noted Sylvie. "What happened?"

"We were caught breaking into Dis. It turned out to be one of many tests that Dispater had arranged to test some new defenses put up. But that wasn't the worst of it, we were routed from the flaming city into the icy wastes of the 8th Pit, where we witnessed a tanar'ri turning stag on his kind by working with the baatezu. As I found out later, the tanar'ri was promised safe passage in Baator as long as he did them no harm. The baatezu got all they wanted from him, so they arranged to have us witness their meeting together. Since I was a bard and it was assumed I would share what I've seen of such an unusual sight few other bards could boast—especially when asked why my friend who was not a bard did not make it back with me—that would damage their infernal reputations, which meant the tanar'ri stag had caused them harm, which meant they could kill him without breaking their word."

"Baatezu are some twisted fiends all right," agreed Sylvie. "They may be the only fiends that keep their word, but somehow they turn even that virtue into an act of nightmarish horrors."

"So he didn't escape the 8th Pit, he was let go," observed Faelar.

Sylvie didn't share her familiar's observations with the rest. She could see the pain and guilt this caused in her father, no doubt a bonus in the view of the devils that had played him in their own infernal designs. She noticed then that while Panwyr showed only a little sign of having aged since she'd last saw him almost 2 decades ago, he still seemed much older as if the years he lived were a burden upon his shoulders. The carefree spark she remembered in him was gone.

Merla asked, "So how did you find the ride you're on now?"

Panwyr winced. "I gambled and lost more than I could afford to pay. Knowing that I was a Gate Crasher, he geased me into paying him back, which this ride will come a long way in doing." He didn't have to say that if he failed to pay his debt that he'd face an agonizing death. Sylvie no longer blamed him for his desperation to fulfill the obligations of his geas, though he was the one who got himself in that mess in the first place.

As they rounded the bend, they could see a port town that looked to be a good hour's walk. Panwyr said he recognized it and knew it had a portal to Brightwater. Faelar took to walking awhile to stretch his legs as well as giving Sylvie a chance to rest her arms. The cat reminisced about dreams of hunting that all felines shared here in Merratet, the realm of the cat goddess Bast. Those not feline also shared those dreams, but as the prey rather than the hunter, so Sylvie didn't bother to share Faelar's fondness for the dreams here with the others as she knew they would not appreciate being reminded of the unnerving experience.