“Given a little time, yes,” Ehrl said, already tracing the worn hieroglyphs with a forefinger, brushing away sand and dirt to get a better look. “It says something about a scarab—”
“Not ‘a scarab’,” Alaric corrected gently. “That’s a definitive mark there, you see? It’s ‘the scarab’, a specific one rather than the generic item.”
“Yes, yes,” the stooped scholar agreed. “I see that now, and here, this mark, the dog or wolf?”
“Jackal,” Alaric supplied. “It’s a jackal head, for Djaf, their god of the dead.” Dietz repressed a shiver. Any talk of the gods made him nervous. “It says ‘the Death Scarab’.”
“The Death Scarab!” Ehrl exclaimed, his eyes like saucers, “Karitamen!”
“Of course!” Alaric was so excited he looked as if he would explode. “Karitamen, the Death Scarab! It fits!”
Woldred exchanged a look with his other men and even with Dietz, a puzzled and slightly annoyed look that Dietz knew he had made himself many times. It was the look of someone wondering what all the fuss was about, and why these two men were so excited about a simple name, even an odd one like that.
“Carrot-who?” Dietz asked, knowing he’d regret it but also knowing it probably wasn’t a good idea to walk around a tomb without at least knowing who was buried there.
“Karitamen. He was said to be a Nehekharan general under Amenemhetum the Great,” Alaric explained to Dietz. “Amenemhetum was both a king and a sea captain, and scholars believe his fleets conquered all these lands,” he added when Dietz still had no idea what he was talking about. “According to legend, Karitamen was one of his greatest generals and helped him defeat the natives. Amenemhetum gave him his own kingdom, as a reward.”
Alaric looked around, as if seeing the valley for the first time. “We’re near the western edge of the mountains,” he mentioned absently. “I’ve heard the Nehekharan kings often built their tombs and pyramids where they would still be able to look out upon their subjects and their lands, to symbolically protect them even after death. If Karitamen’s lands were the eastern half of the Border Princes, which is what we suspect from the few mentions we’ve found in scrolls and histories over the years, this location would let him see his entire domain.”
“Your grasp of Nehekharan is impressive,” Ehrl admitted to Alaric, standing and brushing the sand from his legs.
“I’ve always been good at languages and histories,” Alaric replied modestly. “Although I admit, I remember more than I had hoped.” Then he stopped and turned back to Woldred. “You didn’t know this was here, did you?” he asked.
“That cartouche? No.” But that wasn’t what Alaric meant and Woldred obviously knew it. After a minute of silence, with Alaric watching him pointedly, the other man shrugged and looked slightly embarrassed. “No, we did not know it was here. We suspected a tomb might lie somewhere in these mountains and felt it worth the risk to explore. We happened across this place by sheer chance.”
Alaric nodded. “Luck led you here; impressive, but now you need an expert to get you inside. I can do that.”
Woldred looked at Ehrl, who nodded reluctantly. “My knowledge of Nehekhara is sketchy at best,” the scholar admitted. “He would be an asset.”
“Well,” Woldred said, sheathing his sword and gesturing for the others to do the same. “That casts things in a different light, hey?” They all visibly relaxed and so did Dietz, although he kept an eye on the big fighter and the grumbling dwarf. Either could still be trouble. “A third of whatever we find,” he suggested to Alaric.
“Done.” Dietz wasn’t surprised at Alaric’s ready agreement. They weren’t looking for riches, exactly, just for whatever linked the runes on the map to this place. Besides, a third was fair, given their smaller numbers, and the others clearly thought so as well. Even the dwarf loosened the grip on his pickaxe.
“What is she doing?” Alaric asked as he moved back over towards Woldred, gesturing to where Therese still mumbled and chanted.
“Checking for magic,” the other man replied. “Some of these tombs are guarded by fierce spells.”
Alaric shook his head. “The Nehekharans apparently did not hold with that,” he said. “There will be traps aplenty inside, but they would not put spells on this tomb. It would be sacrilege.” Dietz was watching his friend and employer but a sound distracted him and he glanced around. He noticed Goran and Johann glancing around as well.
“They had mystical guardians,” Ehrl protested, “I’ve read of such.”
“Guardians, yes,” Alaric agreed, “and those may bear enchantments, but not the tomb as a whole.” He started to say more but Dietz cut him off.
“Company,” he said softly, his hand tightening on his mace. The sound had been footfalls, more than a few, and they were close by. The wiry man had noticed them as well and had tapped Woldred to whisper in his ear just as Dietz spoke.
“Friends of yours?” Woldred asked, drawing his sword again.
“No, we came alone,” Alaric replied honestly. “We’ve no more desire for company than you have.” He glanced at Dietz, one eyebrow raised slightly, and Dietz shook his head quickly. The sounds were boots on stone, not bone Whoever approached was alive or at least not skeletal.
They saw them a moment later, as a large group of men topped the rise and started down towards them. They came from further south than the path Alaric and Dietz had taken and were forced to pick their way down the cliff, but several men stayed up top with loaded crossbows while the first handful made the ascent, and then climbed down while their fellows provided defence Alaric counted twenty-two in all.
The men were clearly soldiers, all but one dressed in similar mail and all working as a single unit. As they reached the valley floor Dietz saw that they wore tabards over their armour, red with a stylised black “L”. He groaned and so did Alaric.
“You know them?” Woldred asked quietly, turning so he could see both Alaric and Dietz, and the newcomers. His sword tip wavered between the many targets before him.
“Unfortunately yes,” Alaric answered. “It looks as if we may have competition after all.”
“There is no competition,” one of the newcomers called out, striding forwards. He moved boldly, clearly in control, and his tabard was black with the “L” in red upon it. Tall and broad-shouldered, with a broken nose and sharp blue eyes, the man’s scarred face and hands told Dietz that he had seen many battles and survived them all. A longsword, a dagger and a pistol hung at his side, but he did not bother to draw them.
“I claim this tomb and its contents in the name of Prince Levrellian,” he announced in a gravelly voice. Behind him his men levelled their crossbows at Alaric, Dietz, and the others. “You will stand aside or you will die.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Alaric could see at once there was no reasoning with the newcomer. He took two steps back, putting him further from the opening, and raised his empty hands, letting the sword fall to the sand behind him. Dietz also moved aside although he did not drop his new mace, and after a moment’s hesitation Woldred motioned for his small troupe to back away as well.
“I’ve seen you before,” Alaric said to the newcomer, who nodded brusquely. “At the prince’s court in Zenres?” he guessed.
“Correct,” the man replied. “I am Paulus Gunther, the prince’s lieutenant.” He glanced at Alaric with a visible mixture of contempt and amusement. “And you were the criminals my lord let live.”
“That was merely a misunderstanding,” Alaric protested, more for Woldred’s benefit than anything else. He was still hoping the two groups could explore the tomb together, although with Gunther present the chances had lessened significantly. Alaric considered staying quiet but his curiosity got the better of him. “How did you find this place?” he finally asked.
Gunther laughed and held up a piece of worn parchment that Alaric recognised instantly. “We have your map, remember?” The map! He had forgotten that his copy was not the original. Alaric
was surprised, however, to see that it held less detail than he remembered. Where were the marks for the rivers, or for the mountain path? Where were the lines that had drawn them here?
“There’s not much to follow there,” Alaric pointed out. “Believe me, I tried.”
That earned him a tight grin from Gunther. “This,” he said, tapping a mark in the lower right corner. It looked like a dog’s head and Alaric had assumed it was a crude copy of the Djaf hieroglyph. “It’s a dog,” Gunther explained when Alaric clearly didn’t understand, “for the Mad Dog Pass.”
Ah, Alaric had heard of that. Mad Dog Pass cut through the World’s Edge Mountains. In fact, thinking back to the area map in his journal, the pass was probably not far south of this valley.
“So the map led you to the pass,” Alaric guessed, “but how did you get here from there?”
Gunther pointed to a scribbled note along the parchment’s right edge. “It says ‘’tween canine eyes’,” he said, and Alaric nodded again. He’d read that cryptic missive and taken it for a warning about something in the tomb, perhaps a trapped statue of Djaf. “The pass is the dog’s mouth,” Gunther went on. “That puts the eyes right about here.” He scowled. “Although even with those directions we have been searching for the past two weeks.” He grinned. “Fortunately one of my men spotted the two of you as you entered the valley. Your help is certainly appreciated.”
Alaric hated to admit it but he was both impressed and embarrassed. The map had told them the tomb’s location all along, and he had never guessed it because he’d been too busy being clever. He could feel Dietz glaring at him and couldn’t meet his friend’s eyes.
“What will you do with us?” Woldred asked quietly. If he was worried about being surrounded by armed guards it didn’t show.
Gunther considered the situation. “Killing you would be easiest,” he said bluntly. “That way you couldn’t cause trouble later.”
“Murder,” Dietz commented, and Gunther glanced at him.
“What’s your point?” he asked.
“Killing us in battle is one thing,” Dietz explained. “Killing us where we stand is murder. You’re a soldier, not an assassin.”
One of the guards stepped forwards, crossbow pulled back to smash Dietz across the face, but a gesture from Gunther stopped him.
“You’re right,” he agreed. “I won’t kill you in cold blood.” He nodded. “Drop your weapons and you will live.”
Dietz immediately released his mace. Woldred was next, letting his sword fall and removing the axe from his belt so it could join the sword on the sand. Alaric had already dropped his bronze sword but he undid his belt as well, leaving both rapier and dagger sheathed on it. The rest of Woldred’s crew also disarmed, although Goran scowled before surrendering his blades.
“What’s she doing?” Gunther asked, having apparently noticed Therese for the first time. She was still chanting, apparently oblivious to the drama unfolding behind her.
“She’s checking the tomb for curses and other magics,” Woldred replied. “She’s a mage.”
“A mage!” Gunther turned to Woldred. “She’s with you?” The explorer nodded. “Get her out of the way, and if she casts a spell she dies instantly.” He indicated a guard, who immediately trained his crossbow on the woman. Woldred motioned to Johann, who stepped forwards and tapped Therese on the shoulder. She glanced up, her chant dying mid-stream, and he said something too softly for the rest of them to hear. Whatever it was it caused her to glance over her shoulder, and her eyes widened as she saw the armed strangers for the first time. Alaric noticed that she had pretty eyes, although her features were plain. Johann led her back over to the others and she added her dagger to the pile.
“Tie them up,” Gunther instructed. Two of his guards moved to obey and within minutes Alaric found himself sitting in the sand halfway across the valley, his hands bound behind him and his feet tied securely as well. The others were treated the same way.
When that was done Gunther motioned two guards into position on either side of the group, each with their crossbows trained upon them. “Sit quietly,” he told his prisoners, “and when I return I’ll release you. Fair?”
“More than fair,” Alaric said calmly. The others nodded.
Gunther turned away from them and pointed to two guards. “You two go first, no more than ten feet in, then stop and report.” They nodded and moved towards the crack in the wall.
“This could get ugly,” Alaric muttered as the men marched towards the tomb entrance. Fortunately he spoke too softly for the guards to hear him.
To distract himself, Alaric studied the sand around him. It was strange to find sand in the mountains. Had the Nehekharans imported it to remind them of home? He dredged up what he remembered about Nehekharan tombs—which was considerably less than he had led Woldred to believe, since few had entered such crypts and survived—and remembered a lecture about their general layout. According to that professor and to the scrolls he had deciphered there should be a—
He sank his bound feet into the sand before him and grinned when his heels hit something solid. Yes!
Meanwhile one of the guards pushed against the cliff wall next to the gap and it slid back with a loud creak and a shower of rock dust, revealing a dark space beyond. Alaric was pleased to see he’d been right about the doors. Wouldn’t Professor Brecht be thrilled to know at least one of his former students was putting his lectures on Nehekhara to good use? Alaric craned his neck to make out additional details. All he could see from here, however, was darkness.
The first guard stepped in and reached to one side, apparently plucking an unlit torch from a wall sconce. Then the man shrieked and collapsed. The other guard skirted his fallen fellow. Alaric could not see what happened next but after a second he heard the second guard screaming and flailing about. After a few seconds he too collapsed, falling backwards across the first guard.
“Hold your weapons!” Gunther shouted too late, as one of his guards fired a crossbow bolt into the darkness past his fallen comrades. Several of the other guards had drawn their blades and looked ready to attack despite the absence of any obvious foe. Some of them were shaking and a few had turned pale.
“It is cursed!” One of the guards whispered, but Alaric laughed at him. So did Woldred and several of the others. Dietz did not, but Alaric recognised the calculating look in his eyes and knew what his friend was thinking: two less soldiers meant better odds for them. It was a depressing thought but a practical one.
“It’s not cursed,” Alaric corrected, “just well-defended.”
“What in Myrmidia’s—?” Gunther started, and then turned and glared at Alaric. “You!” He bellowed. “You knew this would happen!”
Alaric shrugged. “I know this type of tomb,” he admitted, “which means I knew there had to be certain traps at certain places spread throughout.” He grinned up at the lieutenant. “I can help you navigate it safely, or at least with fewer deaths.”
Gunther eyed him warily, “And in return?”
Alaric considered for a moment. He debated explaining why they were really here but decided against it. No sense borrowing more trouble when they already had plenty. “We get a share of the treasure,” he said finally, “a small share, and it’s up to you to decide how much, but we get something for our time and effort.”
“I have a better idea,” Gunther replied. He reached down and hauled the woman, Therese, to her feet. He held her in front of him, one arm across her neck, preventing her from crying out. Through the mane of hair covering her face Alaric could see that her eyes were wide with fear. “She goes first,” Gunther announced. “You tell me how to get past the traps or she’s the one who suffers.”
“It doesn’t work that way!” Woldred said. He glared at Alaric. “Tell him!”
“He’s right,” Alaric agreed. “I can’t tell you what to do because I haven’t been inside. It’s not like drawing a map. I know some of the signs, that’s all. I’d have to go wit
h you to get you past them.”
“Fine.” Gunther gestured and one of his men pulled Alaric up. “You and her.”
“You’ll need me,” Dietz spoke up. “I’m his hands and his eyes. We work together.”
Gunther glared at him. “I decide who goes,” he said quietly.
“Then you and your men will die,” Woldred replied. He met the lieutenant’s glare with one of his own. “Therese is a mage and her magic has aided us many times, whatever you think of such things,” he explained, “but she’ll need her hands free to cast her spells. Ehrl is a scholar and good at finding and disarming traps. Goran is protection against any creatures that might be lurking down there. I know my way around a tomb. And Thorgrek,” he grinned. “Thorgrek is a miner, and a dwarf to boot. There’s little he doesn’t know about stone.”
Gunther mulled that over, frowning. Finally he looked up. “Fine,” he decided, “we all go.” His men began pulling Dietz and the others to their feet and cutting their bonds.
“Sir,” one of the guards protested. He was a short, solidly built man and his dusky skin and dark hair and eyes suggested Araby heritage. He wore leathers rather than mail, carried a short sword instead of a longer blade, and had a short bow and a quiver of arrows instead of the usual crossbow. Everything about him screamed scout. “They could turn on us,” he pointed out.
“I know that, Hammlich,” Gunther snapped, “but with them we stand a better chance of getting out of this trap alive!” He glared at each of his men. “Nobody lets them out of their sight and nobody hurts them unless they try anything. Clear?” They all nodded and mumbled agreement and Alaric was impressed. This was a man who knew how to control his troops. Alaric’s father would have approved.
“Right,” Gunther said, turning back towards Alaric and Woldred and severing each of their bonds in turn. “Attack me or my men and we cut you down.” He waited for a response and both of them nodded. “Good,” he said. “Get moving.”
02 - Night of the Daemon Page 9
