Jigme closed the door and strode into the hall. He walked among the columns at a dignified pace, but his clattering bone apron spoiled the intense silence of the chamber. He turned once and beckoned that they should follow him.
Lorel marched after the priest, but Viper hung back for a moment. He could feel power in this hall. Astonishing power, but completely unfocused. Where did it come from?
“Come on, kid.”
Viper sighed and followed her.
Jigme led them to a gold door with the outline of a dragon traced in diamonds and obsidian. “This is the innermost sanctuary, the holiest place in Padue. There are priests worshiping within. I ask you to remain quiet so that you will not disturb the ritual. Do exactly as I tell you. Understood?”
“I hear you.” Lorel frowned and studied the door.
Viper nodded apprehensively. The magic was much stronger at the door. A particularly strong wizard must have cast the spell for him to even feel it. Trevor had mentioned feeling magic, but he never had before.
The priest lit a twig from the torch beside the door. He thrust the twig through the eye of the inverted skull and held it patiently until the candle within burned strongly. He burnt the remainder of the twig upon the torch.
Holding the skull before him in both hands, the priest bowed once to Lorel, once to Viper, and twice before the closed door.
The golden door opened slowly. Heavily, as if it really were made of solid gold. The sense of power grew stronger.
“Magic stuff.” Lorel planted her fists on her hips. “You never said we had to put up with magic tricks.”
Viper poked her in the ribs and hoped that Jigme hadn’t heard her.
Lorel stepped into the doorway, gasped, and reached for her missing sword.
Now what? He peeked around her elbow.
His heart skipped several beats.
A crouching scarlet dragon dominated the inner room. The enormous creature snarled and stretched in the weak torchlight. Its head glowered above three semicircles of priests, waiting. Watching.
Red paint had blistered on the side of one immense paw. That was such a relief his head spun. Not even his turybird could defeat a dragon.
He nudged her forward. “It’s made of wood,” he whispered.
“Shuttle crack the Loom,” Lorel swore softly. “It don’t look like wood. Could’ve sworn it moved.”
His impression of powerful magic stopped at the doorway. Could it be a containment spell? But what was it trying to confine? Certainly not a wooden dragon. He didn’t sense any magic in it.
Jigme beckoned them to join him on a dais under the dragon’s wing. “Wait here. You are rare witnesses to our most important ritual, the feeding of the Dragon. If you are very lucky, the High Priest will allow you to participate. I feel that this is an especially lucky day for you, so be prepared to follow instructions. Now, wait and watch.”
The priest strutted down from the dais to join the others. They all wore strands of tiny bones and leather, almost identical to Jigme’s outfit.
The bones were taken from human fingers. He’d wager the leather was human skin. What kind of religion skinned people?
He suppressed a shudder. He unbuttoned his coat, touched the tiny knife, and offered earnest prayers to both the Thunderer and the Wind Dancer that he wouldn’t need to use it. His crutch might be a more useful weapon.
A waist-high, black-lava slab under the dragon’s nose seemed to drink in all the light in the room. He couldn’t feel the magic, but Viper suspected a spell lingered inside the porous lava.
Lorel shifted her weight. In the incredibly silent room, he heard her clothing creak.
He shouldn’t have brought her here. He’d never forgive himself if his curiosity got both of them killed.
Three priests dragged a young man into the chamber. His black hair and exotic features marked him as Dureme-Lor, and his gaunt body looked even thinner compared to the round bodies of the priests.
The young man’s head lifted wearily. His glazed eyes fixed on the wooden dragon and widened in horror. His chest began to heave with deep sobs.
“What’s wrong with him?” Lorel whispered. “What’s he doing here?”
“He’s drugged.” Viper glanced into the theater. None of the priests seemed to hear them. “He’s a slave, I think. I saw Paduans buying slaves in Sedra-Kei.”
“What they gonna do to him?”
“I don’t know. If he’s a slave, it’s none of our business.” Considering how badly they were outnumbered, they couldn’t make it their business, no matter how much he wanted to.
“You’re weird, kid. Well, since it’s religious stuff, it’s gotta be all right.”
“One would think so.” He fingered his hidden knife.
The priests dragged the man closer and closer. They paused only thirty feet away, directly under the dragon’s chin. All three pushed the man onto his back on the waist-high slab. Four others stretched his limbs across the stone and tied him down.
“I don’t like this.” Lorel shifted her weight again. “None of this looks holy to me.”
Viper didn’t like it either, but he couldn’t think of anything they could do. They were outnumbered twenty seven to two.
A white-haired priest stalked around the altar, inspecting the young man. He walked under the dragon’s jowls and turned to face the priests.
The old man began to sing.
It was an eerily beautiful sound, a magical sound. Several notes seemed to pour out of the old man’s throat together, harmonious, unearthly. The song trilled, undulating, utterly magical.
How could any human could produce that mesmerizing song?
A murky power stirred, something distant yet in the chamber with them. Something separate from the power he’d felt at the doorway.
The young man on the altar twitched and squirmed, weeping silently.
Viper tensed. Tears clogged his throat. The music was truly beautiful, and absolutely terrifying.
Something awful was about to happen.
The old man finished the song and stepped into the crowd.
A taller man took his place behind the altar. His ornate headdress declared his status as High Priest.
“The sacrifice is sung,” the High Priest intoned. “The Dragon is hungry. Shall She be fed?”
“So be it,” the priests responded.
“Bring us Her bowl.” The High Priest stepped closer to the altar.
A young woman wearing the priestly loincloth and leather cape stepped out of the crowd. She strutted forward, bearing a wide silver bowl bigger than her encircling arms. She climbed the dais steps and reverently placed the bowl on the altar above the young man’s head.
“Bring us Her knife.”
A middle-aged man stalked to the altar, carrying a long blade with wide serrated edges. He placed the knife between the young man’s knees.
“She shall be fed.” The High Priest snatched up the knife and slashed hard at the victim’s neck. Metal screeched against rock.
The slave’s head lurched away from his body. Blood spewed into the silver bowl. A metallic scent filled the room.
Roiling power surged through the room. The air vibrated with madness, anger, despair.
Viper’s stomach hurtled through the cold stone floor. Now he knew how outsiders felt when Setoyans fed slaves to the bahtdor. Had he gotten soft, living with the Zedisti so long?
A different magic chased the churning madness, encircling it. Chaining it. Silent wails echoed through the theatre.
He flinched when Lorel’s fingers dug into his shoulder.
The young woman grabbed the bloody head by the hair and held it high. Other priests knelt on the thrashing body, directing heart’s blood into the silver bowl.
The High Priest smiled. “Bring us Her cup.”
A tiny girl ran to him, cradling a silver chalice.
The High Priest took the chalice and dipped it into the rapidly filling bowl. Slowly, as though he were savoring a fine
wine, the High Priest swallowed the blood.
He refilled the chalice and offered it to the ranks of priests. One by one they filed to the altar to sip the blood.
Other priests flayed the body.
“Disgusting,” Lorel hissed when she recovered her breath.
“Take this. Just in case.” Viper stealthily handed her the little knife.
“I thought you had one. You’re such a lousy liar I wasn’t sure. But this ain’t gonna do much good.”
“I know,” he whispered. “Improvise.”
Lorel snorted. “I wish we could’ve saved that one.” She gestured at the corpse.
“We couldn’t have guessed what they were up to,” he lied.
She glared down at him. “You knew, didn’t you.”
“I knew something was wrong, that’s all.” His guts withered into a putrid shade of green. “They’re butchering him! She just ate his – ugh!”
“If they drink his blood, why not eat him?” She shrugged. “Now we know where they get all them bones.”
Viper nodded, still battling nausea. “Do you think we can sneak out while they’re at it?”
“No.” She seemed to stare at the gruesome scene, but her glance roamed the chamber. “Don’t look, but old Jigme is watching us. He’ll tattle if we move.”
“Well, think of a way out, quick.”
“You’re the brains of this operation, kid. You’ll think up something.”
What did she think he was trying to do? But his mind was blank. Shock, he suspected. He’d never be able to attend another bahtdor-feeding ceremony at home. If he ever went home.
“Maybe they don’t plan on cutting on us, kid.”
“Eternal optimist.”
“You and your big words.” Lorel grinned at him. “I‘ve been waiting a long time for a good fight.”
“This is not my idea of ‘a good fight’.” He searched the room for inspiration. “Not with us outnumbered and unarmed.”
“True.” Lorel looked thoughtful for a moment. “So arm us.”
Viper scowled at her. Slowly, he grinned and nodded. Maybe he could arm them. Or tell her how to find weapons.
“You look like a snake when you smile like that,” Lorel whispered. “Or like a dragon. You got a plan, or you wouldn’t be grinning like a death mask.”
“The wood of this statue is old.” He glanced at the dragon wing above them. “Very old, and probably rotten.”
“Sure.” She squinted up at the dragon. “So what?”
“There is a paw over our heads about three steps to your right. Don’t look! The claws on it are made of stone and they’re shaped like curved swords.”
“Yeah.” Lorel bounced on her toes. “I’ll grab one.”
“Wait. We need the element of surprise. Wait until they come for us. I need time to create an illusion to cover you. Grab one and pull as hard as you can. If there’s time, snatch a second one so we’ll both be armed. Then we’ll show them what a good fight is all about. I’m not going to die on some wooden god’s altar.”
“Me neither, kid,” Lorel said cheerfully. “You tell me when.”
The turybird trusted him too much. But he certainly couldn’t let her down now. He stared at the dragon and mentally prepared an image.
The High Priest stroked the little girl, leaving crimson smears on her cheek. The child stared up at him trustingly. With a gentle pat, the priest sent the girl back into the crowd. “My children,” he intoned.
The ranks of priests reassembled into semicircles around the altar.
“Brother Jigme has brought us willing sacrifices.” The High Priest gestured toward the dragon statue. “Shall they join us on our holy journey?”
“Let them join us,” the priests answered.
“Bring the female.” The High Priest gestured to the outer rank of priests. “Bind the male. Symmetry must be preserved.”
Lorel glanced down at him.
Seven priests parted from the crowd and marched toward them.
Viper gasped in a deep breath and bowed his head. He created an illusion of Lorel standing still and frightened, her face frozen in shock. He masked the real Lorel from the sight of the crowd under flickering shadows.
Forcing the image to hold steady, he spread the illusion over reality. “Now.”
Lorel turned and leapt at the dragon’s wooden paw. She grabbed a claw at the rounded base and tugged. It broke free under her weight. She yanked down a second weapon.
Sweat broke out on his forehead. Tingles ran upward from his ghost foot to his tight throat. Hiding a moving person was far harder than creating the illusion of one over a static background. Much harder than he’d expected.
The priests climbed the dais and reached for them.
He leaned heavily on his crutch. “I’m in trouble,” he whispered.
“I’m ready.” Lorel stepped back to her place at his side. “Take this.” She handed him the shorter claw.
He dropped the illusions.
Seven stunned priests froze in their tracks when swords magically appeared in their victims’ hands.
“This is for that dead boy.” Lorel slashed a ragged hole in the throat of the nearest priest.
Power wailed inside Viper’s mind.
The survivors backed away. One stumbled and collapsed to the floor, but the rest fled into the crowd.
Lorel scooped Viper up and dashed along the wall to the door.
A group of priests rushed in to block the way.
She set him on his foot and pushed him behind her, against the wall. “Stand clear. And gimme that.” She snatched his claw out of his hand, spun, and swung the improvised swords like scythes.
He tried to build a shield to protect her.
Gore splashed across the floor.
He couldn’t focus on his shield. He could barely see blood or battle. Whirling power shrilled in his mind, babbling with madness. A wordless, soundless voice roared in agony, whimpered with despair.
The crowd pressed toward them. The priests in front held up chunks of the dead boy’s corpse as shields against Lorel’s claws. More priests poured into the room. One pushed open the heavy gold doors and shouted for help.
Viper ignored them all and concentrated on the screams battering his mind.
It was alive, trapped in this room by the containment spell. It didn’t beg. It didn’t promise. It didn’t even seem aware of him. It simply shrieked in mindless misery.
He had to help it, free it. Or he’d go mad himself.
“Lorel, beware!” He reached out to the screeching power and–
Was consumed.
Rainbows of sparkling dragons swarmed his mind. Hot desert sand roasted his tongue. Cold red skies stung his nostrils.
He was burning lava and frozen stone. He was the moist west wind and the ice-bound ocean.
They were pulsing life and singing blood. They were together.
They … were … free.
Free of the temple, free of the blood, free of the binding deaths.
Power shot through them and blasted the priests with a hurricane gust of frigid wind.
As a gentle afterthought, they blasted the wooden dragon to splinters.
Too much. Too much anger. Too much power. Viper tried to pull away from the endless soul encompassing him.
Cool blackness closed over him.
***
Lorel dropped the claws, tossed the kid’s sagging body over her shoulder, crutch and all, snatched up the claws again, and dashed through the miswoven doorway, past the blood-woven gold doors.
Loom-warping magic stuff. At least the thread-snipping priests were out of her way at the moment. All covered in frost, but they didn’t look dead. She gotta get the kid out of there in a hurry.
She raced down the endless hall. Roaring ice-cold wind fought to knock her off her feet. What was wind doing inside a building?
Finally she reached the fraying gate. She battled to force it open without putting down her claws, or the kid. His
fraying crutch clattered to the floor like it was announcing to the miswoven priests exactly where they were. Like they didn’t already know. She had to calm down and get the blood-woven door open. It looked so easy when old Jigme pushed on it.
But no matter how hard she pushed, the door wouldn’t open.
So pull on it, noodle brain.
The instant the door swung open, the icy wind vanished.
“Weird.” She swatted the kid’s butt. “You awake?”
She felt him shake his head, hard. “Sshort uvv.”
Yeah, right. “Try to wake up. We ain’t out yet.”
“I hear you, sturyverd.”
Silly kid. She loved it when he called her turybird to her face. Lorel grinned and hoisted him higher on her shoulder. She dashed down the pathway lined with serdil statues.
Could she get herself a serdil hide to make a cloak? If it was good enough for a statue, it was good enough for her. Besides, it looked like good warm fur. And they’d be heading in that direction soon.
Fighting a serdil would be fun. More fun than fighting with wimpy priests, even when she was outnumbered. They couldn’t hardly defend themselves at all. But they must have real guards here someplace. Defending the kid against real fighters might be a problem.
She stopped at the inner gate of the courtyard and studied it briefly. One kick and it bounced open, toward her. She gotta pay more attention to the way doors opened. She might’ve got the kid killed, being so slow to open the first one.
She eased him down to sit on the floor inside the gate room. He was so fraying cold, but all sweaty at the same time, like he’d caught a fever. Miswoven magic stuff. She didn’t know what he’d done to knock out them priests, but he’d finally managed something useful.
The children guarding her weapons leapt to their feet.
“Scat, you two,” she told the round-eyed babies. “Go hide. The dragon eater went and ate your god.”
The children fled. They gotta be the most obedient kids she ever met.
Lorel strapped on her sword belt and sheathed her other weapons. She pulled the little knife out of her coat pocket and handed it back to the kid. “We didn’t need it after all.”
“I prayed to the Thunderer we wouldn’t.” He slurred the words like a drunk after a three-day binge. She could barely understand him. “You’re bleeding.”
Serpent's Child (The Mindbender's Rise Book 3) Page 14
