Dragon's Maze

“Superiority.”

“Now you’re on to something.”

“I have to feel superior to this wall?”

The viashino shrugged. “Or you could remain strictly inferior to it.”

Jace turned back to the wall. From the bent shape of his nose, he knew he didn’t feel any superiority over this nemesis of brick.

He walked toward it again, belittling the magic of this wall with all his thoughts, scoffing internally at whatever mage bothered to try to keep him out, conjuring up a derisive one-syllable laugh toward the very idea of attempting to negate his will to pass.

He passed.

On the other side of the wall, Jace was somehow much deeper under the ground than his senses told him he should be. The dank echoes of the undercity were becoming familiar music to him, but these tunnels carried unpleasant, whispering voices, half-heard and incomprehensible in meaning, like the stuttered ravings of faraway madmen. These passages were maintained by House Dimir, meant to hide the missions of Dimir agents; Jace traveled where assassins and thieves made their routes under the district. Patterns on Jace’s cloak flared to life. His boots splashed down a flight of stairs.

Jace took turn after twisting turn. The tunnel constricted to a crawlspace for a time, and widened again into a rubble-strewn chamber, then became unfinished cavern drowned with a bone-chilling river, then rejoined a masonry-lined tunnel again. Jace heard nonsensical voices that often sounded as close as his ear, and tried not to think about whether it was the acoustics of the undercity or the nearness of haunting denizens.

When he emerged, he let the subtle gloom of the undercity cling to him. He had several more gates to go to catch up, and he would need all the stealth he could muster.

***

The plaza around the Orzhov gate looked like it had been hit by a tornado. Stained glass crunched under his feet. Bodies of diminutive, gray-skinned creatures, which Jace knew to be thrulls, littered the streets. Larger-than-life statues of saints or tycoons—Jace had a hard time telling the difference when it came to the Orzhov Syndicate, a guild that was part crime family and part religion—lay toppled and broken.

When he heard the arguing voices, including Emmara’s, Jace approached quickly but quietly, dodging around the rubble and staying hidden.

The Orzhov delegation accosted Emmara. Tall, masked knights, gold-laden priests, and more of the gray-skinned thrulls surrounded her, blocking her exits. The thrulls licked their chops, and Jace could see their vicious little teeth.

“You don’t have to agree to our little business arrangement,” said a woman in an elegant, high-collared dress. She was Teysa Karlov, the maze-runner for the Orzhov guild, a high-ranking aristocrat who spoke for their council of ruling ghosts. “But my servants don’t understand the civilized world of business transactions. They only understand a more primitive form of debt. They’ll take payment in toes, fingers … anything with knuckles.” Around her crawled her thrulls, the gray-skinned servitors, whose upper faces were covered with hammered brass masks, their scowls frozen in metal. The thrulls made clicking noises and licked their teeth. “So. Shall we discuss terms?”

There were too many of them to confront directly. Jace kept the advantage of stealth for the time being.

“Emmara,” he thought into Emmara’s mind.

“You!” she thought back to him. “I’d begun to wonder. How did you slip out?”

“I was sentenced. Slap on the wrist.”

“Really?

”

“In a manner of speaking. I’m here now. I’m going to try something to get you out of this. Try to keep them talking.”

Emmara cleared her throat. “If you think I’d help the Orzhov win the maze,” she said aloud, “then you don’t know me, or think much of me, either.”

One of the masked knights took a huge axe from his back and began testing its weight in his hands. The thrulls jeered and snapped at Emmara’s ankles.

Teysa Karlov leaned on a cane as she paced back and forth, rapping it against the pavement. She studied Emmara. “I understand,” she said. “You’re not one of the rabble. Those like us do not respond well to the stick. Very well. Let us discuss rewards instead. The Orzhov Syndicate is prepared to offer a very handsome compensation to you, should you aid us. You would be assured a quite envious place among the Syndicate hierarchy, complete with a chance at a very long and lucrative afterlife.”

“Not interested.”

“Gaggle of thrull servants? Fawning attendants? What about a favor from one of our cartels? One word from me, and you could have anything you desired.”