City of the Lost

2 Evening in Mirage

Linsha, naturally at ease on horseback, leaned her weight back, relaxed her legs, and eased her seat into the rhythm of the centaur’s pace. For the sake of good manners, she would not touch his human torso unless he gave his permission.

“Have you been out with the patrols for long?” she asked.

Leonidas shook his curly head. “This was my first night,” he said. “I just came here a few days ago to join my uncle Caphiathus.”

He had been in the Missing City only a few days? Linsha pondered. That explained a great deal of his nervousness. “At least this won’t be your last,” she said with a chuckle.

The centaur brightened, and his words came tumbling out. “Oh, yes. Thank you, Lady. Another uncle once had a crossbow bolt that missed his ribs and pinned the edge of his vest to a tree.”

“How fortunate for him,” Linsha murmured.

“Yes,” Leonidas said with a perfectly innocent face. “It was the other twelve bolts that put him off his feed.”

Linsha couldn’t help but laugh. She could not decide if this centaur was simply naive or if behind that awkward, coltish exterior was a sense of humor and thoughtfulness that went deeper than his uncle gave him credit for. She played with the idea of trying to read his aura. It was a mystic ability she had that enabled her to sense a person’s true nature, good or evil. It was one of the things she had learned during her brief time with Goldmoon at the Citadel of Light and the strongest of her few mystic talents. Lately though, her ability to use even this simple magic of the heart had faltered and failed, and more often than not she ended up with a strange tickle around her neck and a foolish look on her face. She decided to keep an eye on him instead, especially whenever he had a crossbow in his hands.

Leonidas’s smooth trot quickly carried them out of the deserted fringes of the ancient ruins and into the streets of the North District. Buildings rose up around them, flowering gardens filled corners and yards, and the pale glow of lamplight began to gleam in windows. The tall, elegant figures of elves walked by carrying golden lamps that shed light on the well-tended sidewalks. A noblewoman strode past, her long, silvery hair bound in complex braids. At first glance, everything seemed normal. It wasn’t until one looked carefully at the forms filling the streets that their translucency became apparent.

Strangest of all, to Linsha’s mind, was the silence. There were no voices, no footsteps other than their own, no sound of laughter or music or stamping of horses’ hooves, no rumble of wheels or the sound of water in the fountains. Here in this part of the city where the living had not come, there were only the phantoms and the endless wind that blew from the plains.

Linsha felt a faint shudder in Leonidas’s hide. She could hardly blame him for feeling skittish. The Missing City was one of the oddest places she had ever visited. Centuries ago, before the first Cataclysm, the city had been a thriving community by the name of Gal Tra’kalas built by the Silvanesti elves on the shore of the Courrain Ocean. Some time during that first world-shifting catastrophe, something happened to the fair elven city that changed its physical existence forever. The city itself was utterly destroyed, leaving only ruins. But strangely, over these ruins lay a spectral copy of the old city, inhabited by ghostly figures who appeared to live normal lives completely unaware of the other world around them.

Several griffin riders who flew over the ruins shortly after the Cataclysm reported “…the city is haunted by fiends, who took the form of our brothers and sisters. The city, too, is reborn in an unholy mockery of life, for though rubble litters the place, the likeness of every building and barn still is visible.”

The elves thereafter shunned Gal Tra’kalas. No Silvanesti came to confirm the presence of the ghostly city. No one, save maybe a few nomads, travelers, or brigands stepped foot on the broken ground of the dead city, and it remained empty for generations, shimmering like a mirage on the edge of old memories. It wasn’t until after the Second Cataclysm that a brass dragon and a group of civilized people rediscovered the city of the lost and made it their own.

With darkness gathering quickly around them, Leonidas slowed to a careful walk. The images of the city looked real enough to the casual glance, but they often hid the reality of the ruins beneath the ghostly surface. Heaps of rubble, collapsed cellars, jagged walls, and decrepit roads still lay underfoot to trap the unwary.

The centaur made a sudden swerve that caused Linsha to clamp her knees tighter around his ribs and grab for the swath of mane on his withers. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “There was a woman there.”

There was a woman, a willowy beauty who passed completely through the centaur, taking no notice of him. Her long, pale hair blew in a breeze neither Linsha nor Leonidas could feel.

“I hate that,” the young stallion grumbled. “They’re just like ghosts.”

“But they’re not ghosts.”

“I know. I’ve heard the stories.”

So had Linsha. The city of Gal Tra'kalas was not dead; these elves were not undead. They just existed in a different world that somehow overlapped the world in which Linsha and everyone else lived.

Leonidas’s tone said he’d heard all the words and didn’t believe any of them. Linsha resisted the impulse to pat his shoulder.

“Once you get used to it, the place is rather interesting and very complex. If you pay attention, you’ll start to recognize people and see the passage of their lives.”

Leonidas sighed and stepped carefully around a child running along the street. “I suppose so. I don’t know that I’ll have time to get used to it any day soon. Uncle Caphiathus says we are to go on a long patrol tomorrow for three weeks.”

Linsha straightened. “Three weeks. That’s a little unusual.”

“That’s what I’ve heard from others. Before the patrols went out for only seven days at a time then took three days off. Now their range has been expanded, too. Uncle didn’t say why.” He twisted at the waist so he could look at Linsha over his shoulder. “I’ve heard that Iyesta is growing nervous, that there are rumors of invasion. Maybe even Malys is coming.”

It was Linsha’s turn to feel a cold shudder slide through her bones. The very name Malys was enough to send even the most normal-thinking folk looking for a deep cellar with a strong, fireproof door. But Malys, she knew, was not Iyesta’s biggest worry. There were three other dragons closer to the brass’s realm that were more likely to cause trouble—Thunder, a conniving blue dragon to the west, and black Sable to the north. Farther west, just beyond Thunder’s domain, the great evil green Beryl brooded over her vast realm. How Iyesta had managed to hold her thriving realm for this long was a marvel to Linsha. It was a constant struggle, she knew, for Iyesta to protect the populace that had grown under her care, to defend her borders, and to keep her enemies constantly off guard. The brass had to bully, cajole, charm, beguile, outwit, outtalk, and outmaneuver every dragon that looked her way. She had the most efficient spy system on Ansalon and a loyal army of centaurs, humans, and elves who patrolled her borders and guarded her lair and city. Her only allies were a few metallic dragons who sought refuge in her realm and the mysterious bronze dragon, Crucible, who had a lair somewhere near Sanction and who, with the help of Lord Governor Bight, did what he could to keep Sable distracted.

Iyesta had kept her lands free of tyranny, desolation, and terror, and she had worked tirelessly to help her people survive. For twenty years, she had been successful, but lately Linsha had sensed something change. A faint hint of a new danger edged the air like the smoke of a distant grassfire. There was nothing Linsha could identify, only a taint in the background that set off a small but persistent alarm in her head. She wished she could put a form to her unease, so she could convince others to pay attention.

“Keep your eyes open,” she said to Leonidas. “I don’t think Malys will be our problem.”

He nodded and said nothing more for the moment. Sounds of traffic, voices, and busy footsteps began to intrude into the silence. Interspersed with the phantom buildings, solid buildings began to appear, built in the identical elven fashion. The rubble and ruinous remains had been cleared away here, and the streets were smoothed and paved with new stone, making movement easier. Leonidas broke into a slow jog. More people, different races this time—solid and very much alive—bustled about real taverns and shops among the ghostly elves, paying little attention to the images of the older city around them. It was, as Leonidas pointed out, very disconcerting.

Yet Linsha found it all fascinating. She had heard of the Missing City years ago when she lived in Solace with her parents and grandparents. The Legion of Steel, which had its base in Solace for years, had been looking for a site to set up a base of operations in the southern continent away from the attentions of the two Knightly orders. The abandoned ruins of the Missing City had been chosen not only for its location on the sea, but for the symbolism of its identity. For an order that wished to remain invisible, to work quietly and unseen among the people, the irony of building a site in the Missing City was too good to pass off. The Legionnaires who constructed the outpost deliberately crafted their solid buildings to match exactly the translucent buildings of Gal Tra’kalas, forming a site that blended like a mirage into the spectral city.

Shortly after the original outpost was founded, the dragon Iyesta arrived and made her lair in the old city.

Under her protection, other people found the peace and quiet of the city to be a haven. The population grew and spread into the other quarters of old Gal Tra’kalas and moved beyond the ghostly walls. A thriving port lined the harbor and the citizens did a small but brisk trade with other cities along the Silvanesti coast and into the Bay of Balifor.

While many still called the new city the Missing City, the more pragmatic inhabitants—usually those who lived on the outside of the phantom town—thought the name was silly. Everyone knew how to find the place, only Gal Tra'kalas was sort of missing, so why not give it a new name to reflect its new image? People started calling it Mirage, and the name stayed. Now, the name Missing City referred to the sites within the ruins, while Mirage named the sections outside the gates. Newcomers often found this confusing, but the residents enjoyed their dual city and its odd history.

“Lady,” Leonidas said politely. “Where do you wish to go?”

They had reached the area of small shops and businesses called Little Three Points where the Northern District, the Artisans’ District, and the Port District met in a triangle of tree-lined streets. Sounds normal to the night life of a busy city drove away the silence. The scents of olive trees, sage, and blooming jasmine perfumed the night air and competed with the smells of cooking food, dung fires, animals, and, in the summer heat, public latrines.

Linsha drew a deep breath of appreciation. She was and always would be a city girl. Although she enjoyed rambles in the country on a sunny day and would tolerate a trek through the wild lands, she loved a populous city and all its wondrous varieties of buildings, peoples, foods, streets, and landmarks—including the numerous inns and taverns. Her stomach rumbled, reminding her she had not eaten since late morning. As much as she would like to invite Leonidas to her favorite outdoor tavern for a pint of ale and a meat roll, she knew he was anxious to return to his uncle, and she should return to the citadel. Knight Commander Remmik was in charge of the watch this day, and he had no patience with her. She was already several hours late reporting for duty. If only Sir Morrec had not left on a brief journey to the Silvanesti Shield. His absence tended to turn Sir Remmik into a martinet.

“Please take me to the Solamnic Citadel,” she said to Leonidas.

The centaur turned east and trotted into the Port District, the most populated and busiest section of the Missing City. It was here where the Legion had built most of their original buildings in the old Silvanesti style, and here where most of the city’s commerce took root. Open-air markets filled empty lots. Shops of all varieties, warehouses, and offices grew into the spaces where the ancient businesses stood. In fact the new bustle of the city so nearly matched that of Gal Tra’kalas that a person had to be careful not to mistake real people or buildings for the phantom ones and walk headlong into one.

This very real problem eventually convinced the Legion—and later the Solamnics—to move their headquarters outside the Missing City into the newer district of Mirage. The Legionnaires appreciated a place where they could rest and relax without phantoms, while Sir Remmik wanted the Solamnics to be more visible.

The last vestiges of twilight lingered in the western sky when Leonidas and Linsha reached the old city wall. Long ago the wall had enclosed all of Gal Tra’kalas, until the event that destroyed the fair city. In the past few years the Legion and the Knights had slowly rebuilt large sections of the wall in strategic places, but there was not enough material or labor or time to complete the massive project in the near future. All they could do was keep rebuilding and hope for peace.

Linsha spoke a few words to the guards at the city gate, called the Legion’s Gate in honor of its builders, and the centaur carried her through into the streets of Mirage. As they passed the new piers of the city’s harbor, Linsha ran a hurried eye over the quiet waters. Several freighters lay at anchor, their sails tightly furled and their lamps lit for the night. Not far away, the small fleet of fishing vessels that called Mirage home were settling down for the night and preparing for a well-earned rest. Linsha looked past the boats and beyond the small breakwater to see if Iyesta or even Crucible was there to enjoy a bath in the warm summer evening, but the brass was nowhere to be seen and the secretive bronze had not visited the Missing City in weeks. Linsha’s hand strayed to the bronze dragon scale that hung from a fine chain around her neck—a gift from a friend she had not seen since Yule a year and a half ago.

Oh, well. It was worth a hope, she thought. A word from one of the metallics would have freed her from the tongue-lashing she knew she was going to receive. She sighed. Her hand dropped from the dragon scale, and her attention returned to the city around her.

Leonidas had relaxed even more. Now that he did not have to be constantly alert for ghostly buildings and people, his gait smoothed to a fluid motion that was a pleasure to ride, and the knots of muscle in his back, neck, and shoulders eased away beneath his golden-brown skin. His face lost its look of intense concentration, making him look even younger.

“I have never been to a place like this before,” he said. “I think I like Mirage better than the City.”

Many people did, Linsha knew. The buildings of Mirage did not copy the Silvanesti architecture of the phantom city, so more than anything else they revealed the changing character of the new city. Many newcomers moved into this district and built as they preferred, using the few natural resources from the plains and the sea. Quite a few of the new arrivals to Mirage were refugees fleeing the terrors of the dragon overlords—kender from their devastated homelands, Silvanesti elves trapped outside their beloved forest by the Shield, centaurs and men from the Plains of Dust held by Thunder and the lands drowned by Sable. They came and built with stone, mud bricks, shells, and plaster. The result, while eclectic, was pleasing. The streets were neat and orderly. The storefronts were in good repair and painted in muted colors that complimented the natural colors of the beach, rock, plain, and sea around them. Trash and debris were cleaned regularly, drunks and derelicts and gully dwarves were removed, and everything was meticulously maintained.

Part of this civic-minded responsibility was due to a zealous city council and a dutiful city watch, and a part of it was due to Iyesta herself. The big brass liked cleanliness, organization, and efficiency, and woe to anyone who tried to disregard her wishes in the capital of her realm.

Trotting quickly now, the centaur bore Linsha through the streets, past the small, unobtrusive Legion command post to the edge of Mirage where a low rise of hills lifted from the beaches and overlooked the city. On the highest point Sir Remmik had built the epitome of Solamnic fortresses, a masterpiece of smoothly crafted walls, powerful towers, and perfectly placed defenses.

Only two years old, the walled stone edifice loomed over the open hilltop, guarding both the harbor and the city like a silent, vigilant giant. Outside the high stone walls, the ground all around had been cleared for training fields, a parade ground, and pens and corrals. Within, the fortress was a self-contained citadel for a garrison of seventy-five with its own well, kitchens, smithies, stables, barracks, storerooms, brewery, jail, and a central keep with a hall large enough to seat the entire circle for a feast.

Leonidas stared up at the smooth walls of the gate tower to the glow of torches high on the ramparts above. “This is very impressive,” he remarked as he came up the sloping road to the heavily guarded gate.

“Yes,” Linsha said. “Sir Remmik is very proud of it. I believe he paid for much of it himself.”

From somewhere in the scrub trees at the base of the hill came a long, haunting cry of an owl. Linsha heard it and nodded with satisfaction. Good. Varia was back.

Leonidas paid scant attention. He continued to study the imposing building, then tilted his head and his lips curved in a slight frown. “Has he ever fought dragons?”

Linsha chuckled. The centaur saw with a keen eye. He recognized the difficulty she saw in the citadel. While the Legion of Steel kept an unobtrusive profile in the area, the newly arrived Knights of Solamnia had come barging into Mirage like a saber rattling, over-zealous lordling trying to win accolades for himself. Considering the volatile and offensive nature of the enemies around them, Linsha would have preferred a little less pomp and a great deal more circumspection.

Unfortunately, circumspection was little known to the Knight Commander. Although Sir Remmik was second in command of the Solamnic Circle in Mirage, Sir Morrec admittedly had little taste for the daily grind of organizing and supplying a garrison and building a fortress. More often than not he gave full authority to Remmik, who was not only a talented engineer, but a brilliant organizer and supplier. Because of him, the Solamnic garrison had the finest fortress on the Plains of Dust, bulging storehouses, well-crafted armor and weapons, and an attitude that said to the people of Mirage, “Now that we’re here, everything will be fine.”

Linsha wasn’t so sure.

A few steps before the main gate, Leonidas came to a stop and offered Linsha his hand. She lifted her leg carefully around his waist, took his hand, and slid to the ground. Before she let go of his fingers, she pulled him closer. “You are right that something is stirring,” she said softly. “Be careful, and if you need help or you need to get word to someone, let me know.”

The centaur’s deep brown eyes stared into hers for a long moment, and Linsha saw that her guess had been right. Young and gawky he might be, but intelligence and understanding flowed in him.

“Thank you, Lady.” He bowed to her and turned away into the night. The sound of his hoofbeats faded down the hill.

Linsha listened for a short while, then squared her shoulders, saluted the officer of the guard, and strode in to make her report to Sir Remmik.