XI. THE PYRAMID

The four discussed their plans for the next day at an inn called the Breakwater. They were curious about the region–and their new companion–so Cuatala had the unusual distinction of being the center of attention. She did not like attention, but she warmed to her subject: Graddick wanted to know the hideout’s layout and what to expect as they approached it. It was, she said, nestled in a basin surrounded by cliffs, a divot in the ridge that ran between the Moonsea and the Phlan Path. The basin was deep but did not reach sea level. A freshwater pond and several caves made it attractive to the bandits and pirates who used it, and there was a discreet watchtower planted by the pathway down.

It was the most they had ever heard her say. “Very exact,” said Ystrien. “I can’t describe places at all, no matter how familiar they are to me.”

This was true. Ystrien tended to be impressionistic and vague where Cuatala was earthy and precise. If you put each of them in front of  a landscape and asked them to talk about it, Ystrien would say how it made him feel; she would talk about the things she saw and the distances between them. For the land’s variety, she had many words the cleric didn’t even know–scree, dale, coomb, cwm.

“I’m eager to explore Thar,” remarked Vahaera. “I haven’t been on the shores of the Moonsea in many years.”

“You’ve been here before?” asked Cuatala, surprised. Graddick rolled his eyes. 

“Oh yes. Not far from here, in Phlan, so-called ‘Jewel of the Moonsea’–I suppose because it has many sides; there’s nothing lovely about it. The streets are very monotonous. My father adventured there when the city was half dungeon. That was the Year of the Lion. There was a great pyramid on the River Stojanow, north of town–maybe it’s still there, Cuatala, maybe you’ve even seen it–No?–Well, it was a treacherous place, full of portals, magical traps, lizardfolk, and who knows what else. He told me quite a story about it. One day, he was exploring the third level of the pyramid. He opened a door and saw, directly opposite him, another door open. Through it stepped a Drow, just like him. Then he saw that it was him. A mirror, he decided, or an illusion that functioned like a mirror. He and his reflection walked toward each other, as reflections do. He put his hand out to touch glass. He touched his reflection’s hand instead.”

“Then what?” asked Ystrien, fascinated.

“He ran away! And so did his reflection. But after I heard the story I never trusted my father. I was convinced he was just his reflection. I still think so, in fact.”

“We were making plans,” Graddick put in gruffly.

“We did make a plan,” declared Vahaera. “We leave tomorrow morning and walk west a few miles. I don’t know what else we could possibly say about it.”