"We've-we've been going in circles."
Lidia turned. She knew that Aerie only looked like an ogre to her, but the sweet voice coming from the monstrous body was still odd, even now. "You think so?"
"Look." Aerie pointed to their left.
Lidia had been marking their path through the hedge maze by cutting into the leafy walls with her sword. Every so often, she'd looked behind her to see whether the marks had persisted. They had, and the two of them could decide where to turn when they'd found the marks again.
At least, until now.
She slashed an X into the hedge. The marks lingered, then shivered for a moment, then disappeared.
"Maybe we're getting close," Lidia said. Or maybe, she thought, whatever was responsible for the illusion had now focused upon them. "How long has this been going on?"
"I-I don't know."
That complicated things. "Next time something unexpected happens, please tell me right away."
"I shouldn't tell you what to do; you're an adventurer," Aerie said, stuttering and wringing her massive, green-tinged hands.
"Sure, but that doesn't mean I have all the good ideas."
They continued on their way down a long passage. Neither said anything. Lidia, for her part, tried to recall and parse each turn they'd taken, to determine where and how far from their starting position they'd gone.
It was a while before Lidia noticed the footfalls behind her slowing. She turned around again.
Aerie stumbled forward, clasping her hands to her head. "The chains...they're too heavy…"
"Aerie!"
"Too heavy!" She screamed in agony and curled upon the ground, holding her head and rocking back and forth.
Lidia rushed to her, kneeling down. "Aerie? Are you all right?"
The ogre leaned its head back and howled.
The Crooked Crane Inn was a worn, blue-trimmed place nestled against the Meirtyn Gate. One of the few trees in the district, a fine old aspen, stood next to it. Its leaves were only beginning to grow again, but the bare branches cast a lengthening shadow as the day grew older. The inn's only other calling card was a hanging wooden sign painted with a white crane.
Jaheira went in straightaway. She had no idea how much time she had to act, and that had worried her the most.
At this time of day, most of the inn's normal patrons - petty merchants and tradespeople - were still about their business, so the only occupant was a Calimshite man, wiping down the bar and restocking the small rack of spirits behind him. He turned and greeted her, bowing low.
"A pleasure to meet you, rifa. I'm afraid my place won't open for another hour."
"I am visiting Jafir."
"Ah. Up the stairs, then," he said. He gestured with a golden brown hand towards the end of the dark common room.
Jaheira felt the man's stare as she ascended. Clearly Jafir's visitors weren't just anyone, and she sensed danger on the other end.
She palmed the lamp, and for a moment regretted that her staff was still somewhere inside that blasted tent. She pushed such thoughts aside. Whatever trouble awaited, let it come.
A small lounge immediately greeted Jaheira at the top of the stairs. Several long purple couches were arranged in a square around a massive blue carpet, each of them draped with a warm and beautifully red scarlet throw. On one of these couches a man laid, dressed lavishly even for an Athkatlan, down to the gold embroidery on his slippers. He drew a long breath from the etched ivory pipe he held, gold rings shining on every finger. Behind him, presumably, was his shop; it was a small display of shelves carved out of teak from the deepest reaches of Maztica. The shelves held an array of curious jars and artifacts: ceramic, bone, bronze, silver, and gold, each more lovely and cunningly carved than the next.
To find a man like this here was unexpected, to say the least, or at least as likely as finding a star sapphire deep in some forest mud.
The man blew a concentric series of smoke rings, then lazily opened his eyes towards where Jaheira was waiting expectantly. A slow smile spread across his face.
"That lamp you have...there are still wishes to be granted," his voice purred. "Intriguing. I wonder what became of that foolish Prime?"
He blew out his pipe and rose from his seat, suddenly sharp and sizing her up. His eyes were deep-set, ringed with black makeup, and golden.
"You are Jafir?" Jaheira asked.
"There is no point continuing this ruse, mortal. I sold Kalah the lamp knowing the destruction his petty little mind would cause when given access to its power." He gestured with his pipe towards the small bronze lamp in her hand. "Now you bring it to me, and why? You do not know how to unlock its secrets. There is a command word, Prime, and that is the key to the lamp." He spread his arms wide. "And in case you are foolish enough to try and harm me for it, behold this: my true form!"
A swirl of gold motes enveloped the man for a moment, then settled. In the man's place was a man-shaped thing, but with the head and paws of a fierce tiger. Its tail swished back and forth underneath its robe; beneath his turban, furred pointed ears turned backwards.
"So, worm, do you have any questions?" The rakshasa's voice boomed with a trace of an echo. "For the same price I offered Kalah, I shall reveal to you the command word. I could, of course, just slay you, but I think I'd prefer to watch the havoc a mis-worded wish could cause in such a populated area."
As he talked, Jaheira wandered over to the small shelf, studying it carefully. "What is your price?"
"Five hundred gold pieces. I do not need this money, of course. It will be satisfying to have hampered you."
Jaheira slipped her hand behind one of the shelves, giving it a slight push. The items it held gave a nerve-jangling rattle. "Interesting. This is not bolted down."
"You think to toy with me?" Jafir cast aside his pipe and raised his orange, clawed paw, ready to cast a spell.
"Not one move." Some of the jars inched forward as the shelf listed. "The command word. Now."
They locked eyes for a moment, each tensing their muscles to strike.
The rakshasa blinked first.
He spread his paws in resignation. "Stupid Prime! It is 'Markesh', the true name of the djinn bound to the lamp."
"Much appreciated."
With one jerk of her arm, Jaheira tipped the shelf over. It fell to the ground with a crash. Many of the jars survived, but nonetheless a few ceramic pieces smashed into a million upon the floor.
The rakshasa gave a throaty, voiceless roar as he went straight for his broken treasures, stumbling over the couch.
Jaheira bounded down the steps, two at a time. A wave of heat rushed over her head, singing the back of her neck. She ran out into the street, lamp in hand, not stopping until she reached the bridge.