Where Raffan and Captain Galifar were, Daryus didn’t care. It would be up to them to find him. Only Shiera was of any concern, since she was the one who had hired him.
Daryus circled the Southgate Market, looking for someone who might have been in the area a few minutes ago and seen where she’d gone. He spotted a bearded old man sweeping in front of one of the better inns.
Daryus headed toward the sweeper—
Strong hands seized Daryus’s arms from behind. He was brought down to his knees before he could react.
That, however, did not mean they had actually captured him. He let their momentum push him beyond his knees. Daryus knew they would expect him to resist, and his sudden cooperation sent them leaning forward and off balance.
Twisting around, Daryus tore his arms free. He locked a foot around the leg of each man and continued twisting.
Both men fell backward. Daryus pulled his feet free before he could become too entangled, then spun to the side and rolled to a crouching position.
A noose fell over his neck. It instantly pulled tight, cutting off his air.
Choking, Daryus grabbed for the rope.
More hands seized his wrists.
The tip of a sword touched his throat. “That’ll be enough of that, Gaunt!”
The sharp, female voice cut through his thoughts. He knew that voice well. Much too well.
With the noose still tight, his captors dragged him to his feet. Around him, the area cleared as the rest of the crowd drank in the sight.
The two brawny crusaders held his wrists behind his back while the unseen third pulled back on the noose. Yet, at that moment, Daryus cared not a whit for their efforts. All that mattered was the ponytailed figure wielding the sword, the same handsome woman he’d seen earlier. Her icy-blue eyes warned Daryus that she would be perfectly happy to run the sword through his throat.
“Harricka,” he said calmly. “You’re looking well.”
“That’s Captain Harricka Morn to you.” To emphasize her point, she let the sword leave a slight red trail across his throat. “And you’ve got either a lot of nerve or a tremendous death wish. Maybe both, considering it’s you. What would ever make you think it was safe to return to here of all places?”
Daryus did not respond.
Harricka shrugged. “Doesn’t really matter, does it, Daryus? All that does is that you’ll finally face judgment for your treachery. Bind his arms tight! You’ve no idea just how dangerous he is.”
They heeded her words well, tightening the bonds enough to make them painful. Daryus did not utter a sound, but merely kept his gaze on Harricka’s. Of the four crusaders, only she truly knew him. They had served together for many years, including during the very incident for which Daryus had committed a crime against the order.
“I’d thought you dead for a time,” she went on, once she was certain that he was secure. “For the sake of both your honor and ours, you should’ve followed through on that.”
“I almost did,” Daryus said. “Instead, I prayed for us—not that it appears to have done any good.”
“How very noble.” To his other captors, she asked, “You’re certain you have him? That was the mistake last time. I will not have a repeat!”
“He won’t get free.”
“If he does, it’ll be on your heads.” Harricka withdrew the sword, then sheathed it. “Let’s get him back to headquarters. The sooner this one is delivered to them, the better.”
“I did what had to be done,” Daryus suddenly found himself blurting.
“Not your decision or mine. Especially not then.” With that, Harricka signaled for the other crusaders to drag Daryus on. It mattered not that they made a spectacle of the prisoner; the crowd naturally assumed anyone taken into custody by the crusaders had committed some heinous crime.
And as far as Daryus was concerned, they were correct.
He did not resist as they led him off. If there was a chance of escape, it would not be here, not now. A part of Daryus had always wondered what he would do if captured—or if he would do anything at all—but at least he knew that to attempt anything at this juncture would only end in failure and possible innocent blood being shed.
Captain Morn marched ahead, her gaze enough to separate the crowds. She was everything a crusader was meant to be—everything he had once thought he was as well. Harricka would not have done as he had, would not have shown the weakness that he had. She would never have betrayed the order.
“It was supposed to be a dull day,” the captain went on with a shake of her head. “A routine patrol. Then I see a dead man, just riding around the city!”
Daryus wisely kept silent now. When last he had seen Harricka, she had been lying on the ground, stunned by his unexpected punch. She no doubt still seethed about that punch after all these years.
“But then, the Daryus Gaunt I remember abandoned all sense, all honor! Small wonder he would also be mad enough to return to mock those he had betrayed.” She leaned close. “Nothing to say? Perhaps planning your confession? Some elegant last words?”
She grew quiet then, but each movement, each breath, continued to hint at her pent-up emotions. Daryus understood that after his flight she had likely taken the blame for his failure.
When last he had been here, the Order of the Flaming Lance had utilized an old inn to the northeast, near the legendary Librarium of the Broken Black Wing for their headquarters. However, now Harricka led them directly north, toward the wall leading to the New Kenabres District.
“The order gets tired of being so near Orlun’s collection of demon bits?” Daryus finally quipped, referring to the old wizard who had created and still oversaw the macabre collection of the librarium.
“We now utilize the former guard barracks near the New Kenabres wall. It serves us well for training, for living, and, not coincidentally, for execution of criminals and heretics.”
Hearing that, Daryus gave silent thanks that he had already begun testing his bonds. He had managed to retain a hint of looseness that the crusader who had tied him up had failed to notice. Daryus had already managed to loosen it a bit more, but still not enough. Not nearly enough.
And now I know. All this time wanting in part to be caught … only to find out I really don’t.
Halfway to the barracks, Harricka suddenly stopped them, dropping back to study him. “Hold up his hands a bit.”
Daryus gritted his teeth. He might fool the others, but Harricka would know just what he had done with the ropes. He held his breath as she tugged at the area near the wrists.
“Just as I thought. Not enough honor left in you to even accept your captivity. Look here, you fools! He managed to keep his forearms tensed enough while you were tying them that when he relaxes, there’s slack. I’ll hold the sword on him while you do it right this time.”
The captain stepped back and drew her weapon as one of the men began to untie Daryus’s hands. If not for Harricka’s sword, Daryus knew that now would have been the best opportunity for him to escape—
“You there!” snapped a familiar voice. “What the blazes are you doing? What trouble have you gotten yourself into?”
The speaker was none other than Raffan, who glared down at Daryus from his horse. He looked from Daryus to Harricka. “What’s he done? Gotten himself drunk already?”
The captain turned ever so slightly to the young man, her sword shifting at the same time.
Daryus moved.
He threw himself back into one man, then shoved the other pair into Harricka. He then spun around, seized the third man, and tossed him at the tangle of bodies.
Fortunately for Daryus, Raffan’s mount panicked and reared, forcing the crusaders to move or be trampled. The uncontrolled horse darted in front of the furious captain, who grabbed for the bit.
By that time, Daryus had slipped deep into the moving throngs. He darted around startled onlookers, seeking a side street leading not toward the southern gate, but rather deeper into Kenabres. He
hoped that Harricka and the others would assume he would try for the nearest exit from the city—which meant he’d head for the farthest. Once free, he’d hide just outside the walls and keep an eye on Shiera and Raffan’s most likely route north, and hopefully meet up with them again.
Thinking of Raffan, the former crusader silently thanked the young fool for his timely appearance. Raffan was still probably trying to make sense of what had happened. Harricka would give him trouble for a few moments, but her major concern would be Daryus.
As he moved, Daryus gradually slowed his pace. He let his breathing become more relaxed. Fewer and fewer people took note of him. Soon, he was just one among many.
Or maybe not. Daryus stepped inside a cloth merchant’s stall as a pair of riders shot past—both part of Harricka’s patrol.
Daryus cursed. He had underestimated his former comrade. But then, she had known him better than most.
Shifting course again, Daryus made his way northwest, into the Waller slum near the western walls, just above the river.
The dank area was a contrast to the bright bustle of other districts. Daryus slipped into the nearest shadowy alley, praying he’d at last given Harricka the slip.
The alley went on much farther than Daryus desired, but he had no choice. Each step took him farther and farther from both his intended goal and any convenient exit from the city. He could feel the time slipping away. How long would it take for Harricka to alert the rest of the Flaming Lance and get his description to all the gate guards? Once that happened, leaving the city would become significantly harder.
A sudden sense of foreboding overtook him. Someone was still following him, but not directly down the alley. Still moving, Daryus glanced up, but saw nothing. Yet, he could not shake the feeling that whoever gave chase did so from the roofs above.
Finally reaching the end of the alley, Daryus paused. The street beyond was sparsely populated. Another alley beckoned ahead. Daryus took a step forward—
He had his sword out even as he turned. A fortunate thing, too, for the blade coming at him nearly skewered his skull. Even though Daryus managed to push the tip to the side, it still nicked his ear.
At first, all he could see behind the other sword was the darkness of the alley. A darkness that moved with the sword.
Pitborn.
He had no doubt this was one of the pair left from Nerosyan. That raised the question of whether Daryus’s foe had followed him here or had merely come to the great city for other reasons. Certainly, the fact that the demonspawn had immediately begun to hunt him down made the first suggestion more probable. Whichever the case, Daryus knew he had to deal with this adversary swiftly if he hoped to evade capture.
The pitborn moved with much more craftiness than the other had shown during the previous encounter. Three times Daryus sought to break through the shadowed figure’s defenses, only to have his attack deflected. Once, his failure nearly ended with him being skewered in turn. Daryus gritted his teeth in growing frustration as he imagined Harricka and her men closing in on him.
From nearby, a warning horn blared. Although Daryus had no idea whether the warning concerned him, he had to assume that it did. There was no more time for this duel.
He lunged. As expected, the pitborn shifted to counter that maneuver.
Daryus released his grip on the sword, letting the force of his lunge send the weapon flying at his foe. Naturally, the pitborn instinctively reacted by bringing his own weapon up, just as Daryus had hoped.
He let his full body weight help him take down the demonspawn. Daryus and his adversary crashed to the ground.
Before the shadowy figure could react, Daryus located the throat and squeezed. The pitborn grabbed for Daryus’s face, trying to push him away.
The demonspawn’s strength surprised Daryus. It was all he could do to maintain his grip. His fingers fumbled around the throat, two from his left hand finally snagging something invisible.
The pitborn shoved hard. Daryus fell back. His fingers, still tangled, pulled hard on the invisible item.
As it came free, both it and the pitborn took form. The object proved to be a chain on which hung a small silver object with what looked like jewels dotting every side. The pitborn, meanwhile, did not need the murderous expression spread across his face to make him one of the ugliest demonspawn Daryus had ever seen. There was very little humanity, and the former crusader had to wonder how the pitborn had survived to adulthood.
Daryus’s adversary snarled, his sharp, yellowed teeth like those of a hungry cat. Despite his precarious condition, he did not seem at all that concerned, just angry.
That was all the warning Daryus had. Trying to keep his foe pinned with one hand, he turned—
Too late. The long, curved dagger pressed tight against his throat.
The voice of the other surviving pitborn filled his ear. “Where is he? Where is the foul little creature called Toy?”
10
THE TRAIL BENEATH
How long Shiera stared at the display, she could not say. Even though she had already divined enough to have a good idea where the lost temple-city lay, she had begun to realize that the script had more than one meaning. Several meanings, perhaps.
It had begun with the discovery that the ancients utilized a form of writing with a three-dimensional aspect. That had led her back to that moment in her room when she had read the name Tzadn as something even more ominous. That second name—or title, as it was—now burned in her thoughts. Reaper.
The name Tzadn appeared nowhere on the wall, but that wasn’t the point. Now that Shiera saw how the ancient script worked, she used her chance reading of the name and title to see if other words formed if she looked at them the same way.
The first attempt revealed nothing. No matter how she peered at it, only the one angle proved to be anything. Somewhat disappointed, Shiera decided to try the next … and to her surprise, quickly discovered the beginning of a new sentence.
The translation was not always word for word. The new reading of the first symbol brought instead a phrase. Let he sleep … Shiera grabbed her notebook and scribbled down both the old and new reading and their relationship. Then she went to the third symbol.
To her puzzlement, Shiera once again found no meaning. She tried variations, but every angle proved as useless as with the first symbol.
After several minutes, she pushed on to the fourth. Barely had she begun than the fourth symbol revealed a second meaning. This time, it was a single word. A word as ominous in its way as the title given to the lost deity, Tzadn. Shiera read over it several times, just to make certain.
Nightmare …
Shiera wasn’t concerned. Ancient tombs and lost temples always had sinister warnings. Most meant little, especially after so long. Shiera was confident that whatever traps remained functional after all this time would be ones she could easily outwit.
It did not surprise her when the fifth symbol did not reveal a second meaning. Now she understood. Only the even-numbered symbols made up this additional message. She grinned, thinking of Amadan Gwinn. Despite his reputation, she doubted he could have discovered so quickly the process by which the ancients’ written language worked. Despite being a venture-captain, Gwinn was a man of linear thinking. He might have been able to translate the initial line, but from there he would have remained stumped.
Grinning, Shiera moved on to the sixth, the eighth, and, finally, the tenth. By the time she was finished, she had a rolling, peculiar message whose meaning she could only partially understand.
Let he sleep … Nightmare to come … let he sleep … until the wolf sees both …
Stones rattled in the shadows far to her right. Shiera glanced that way, but saw nothing. A moment later, from another direction came a squeaking sound very familiar to her. A rat.
She chuckled, then dismissed both noises from her thoughts as she mulled over her translation of the second message. Shiera was not at all certain what it meant. The Pathfinder ran
her fingers over the bottom edge—
Something thudded hard in the corridor from which she had arrived.
Shiera paused to listen.
Again came the thudding, like two ponderous footsteps.
Two ponderous footsteps.
Only then did it occur to her that she was far, far under Kenabres. There were legends—no, histories—about the deep caverns and tunnels beneath the cliff city, where creatures descended from the unfortunate survivors of the First Crusade were said to dwell.
Shiera stood there for a moment, torn between trying to decipher more and doing the sensible thing.
A third thud echoed through the chamber.
Shiera retreated, away from the entrance and the footsteps. There was no sign of another passage, but she was certain there had to be some second exit. Priests always had escape routes.
Running her hand along the wall, she eyed the main entrance. She heard an intake of breath that could not have originated from anything remotely human. That encouraged her to search harder.
Then, despite the oncoming danger, Shiera suddenly backtracked. Something her hand had grazed finally registered with her. She tried to carefully but quickly retrace her steps.
Her index finger sank into an indentation that was not part of the natural rock face. She bit her lip. Even though she heard the slight click she’d hoped for, no secret passage swung open. She could only assume the door no longer worked properly—not a surprise after so many centuries, but certainly a bad omen for her.
She pressed harder.
There was another click.
Part of the wall to her right opened inward slightly. The gap was only inches wide, but it was all Shiera needed. She shoved herself against the partially open doorway just as a shadowy form entered the chamber.
Shiera wasted no time trying to make out exactly what it was. With one more powerful effort, she opened the way just enough for her to slip inside.
Dust-laden cobwebs draped over her, but she paid them little mind as she jammed her shoulder against the other side of the door. Despite her best efforts, she could not close it completely. Inhaling, she abandoned the door and stumbled down the dark passage.
Pathfinder Tales--Reaper's Eye Page 9
