Pages of Pain p-1

by Troy Denning

  As the barrow creaked to a stop, Jayk cursed softly and began to fumble through her pockets. The Amnesian Hero pushed his hand through the tangle of slimy bodies to clutch her arm, then squeezed until she stopped moving. Unless the unpredictable tiefling did something to attract attention, they would avoid detection. They were buried under several layers of corpses and had already escaped notice many times as the Dustmen clambered over the pile above.

  The wagon rocked, and through the jumble of bodies, the Amnesian Hero glimpsed a stem-jawed man peering over the side slats. His helmet was orange instead of crimson, but his brown eyes were every bit as stony as those of the Mercykillers who had escorted the Thrasson to the Gatehouse. Jayk must have been able to see the man also, for she tried to twist her arm free. The Amnesian Hero held her fast. The guard could not see them buried so deeply in the shadowy tangle of bodies, and the Thrasson would not let the tiefling cause another bloodletting.

  From the front of the wagon came a familiar voice. "We had an escape at the Gatehouse today." It was the elf, Tessali. "I assume you know Jayk the Snake?"

  "Of course." The driver's tone was flat and uninterested. "Everyone in the Mortuary knows her."

  "We think she'll come back for her spellbook."

  The Amnesian Hero's stomach turned, and he found himself gagging on the rancid closeness of the corpses. The skin of the cadavers felt cold and slimy against his own, the fly drone grew dizzying in its volume, and he found himself considering the possibility that Jayk had brought him here solely to recover her lost property.

  Tessali continued, "She'll be with another barmy, a Menace in bronze armor." As the elf spoke, die guard peering over the side slats probed the pile of corpses with a steel-tipped spear. "Her companion is tall and swarthy, and more dangerous than she."

  "Danger is an illusion." It was the assistant Dustman who answered, and he sounded as apathetic as the driver. "But we haven't seen them."

  "That so?" growled another voice. "Look at me and say that"

  "That won't be necessary, Raq," said Tessali. "He has no reason to lie."

  "Everyone has reason to lie," growled the Mercykiller.

  "Not about this. Secretary Trevant had her committed in the first place."

  A burning feeling welled up inside the Amnesian Hero, and he found himself squeezing Jayk's willowy arm so hard he thought it would break. Any doubt about the tiefling's motives vanished; given her thirst for blood, it seemed clear enough that she was more interested in taking vengeance on Secretary Trevant than helping him find the Lady of Pain. Had it not been for the likelihood of landing in the Gatehouse alongside her, the Thrasson would have reported Jayk himself.

  The orange-helmeted guard used his spear to push a githyanki off the pile over their heads, then thrust the tip down through the tangle of bodies. The point struck the Amnesian Hero's forearm and chipped against his vambrace. The guard stirred his weapon around, catching some of Jayk's shadowy hair and twining it about the shaft.

  "Have you found anything, Mateus?" called Tessali.

  The guard shook his head. "Worms and stink." He withdrew his weapon, ripping a tress of hair from Jayk's head. The Amnesian Hero felt her arm tense, but the tiefling did not ciy out "If your barmies are in there, they're as dead as everyone else."

  "We'll let this one go, then." To the Dustmen, Tessali said, "I apologize for wasting your time."

  "The dead need no apologies." The driver cracked his whip, and the wheels began to creak. "And time is an illusion."

  Mateus jumped off the wagon, a lock of shadowy hair waving from the head of his spear. The Amnesian Hero released the tiefling's arm and quietly straggled toward the surface, kicking and pushing to free himself of the bodies. He could not be certain Tessali would recognize the tress as Jayk's, but he wanted to be ready.

  "What are you doing, Zoombee?" Jayk hissed. "They hear you!"

  The Amnesian Hero ignored the tiefling and pushed past a decomposing bariaur, smearing his bronze armor with some sort of brown ichor that might once have been skin. He came up amidst a cloud of whirring flies, then craned his neck toward the wagon's tailgate. Through the droning black haze, he saw Tessali's slender figure standing in the middle street, pulling a strand of shadow off the head of Mateus's spear. The elf was surrounded by two more of the orange-helmeted guards, another pair of men armored in Mercykiller crimson, and a spangle-robed Bleaker with a bucket of sand in her hands.

  The Thrasson reached down and pulled Jayk up through the heap of bodies. "Prepare your magic-but don't kill anyone, or I'll throw you to the elf!"

  "If you do that, how will you find-"

  "I know why you brought me to the Mortuary, tiefling!" The Amnesian Hero worked his arms to the top of the pile. "Don't insult me further, or I'll throw you out now!"

  Jayk pushed out her dark lip. "You misjudge me, Zoombee. Just because I get what I want-"

  The tiefling was interrupted by Tessali's cry. "Wait! Stop the wagon!"

  The Amnesian Hero pulled himself free and spun toward the front of the barrow. The assistant Dustman was peering over the mound of bodies toward Tessali, but his gaze quickly fell on the Thrasson. The fellow's drab eyes lit with surprise, then he dropped out of sight and began to jabber about what was rising from the dead.

  The Amnesian Hero jumped to his feet and clambered up the body heap, slipping and sliding on the glairy flesh underfoot. With each step, the flies rose around him in geysers.

  They felt like chiffon against his face and tickled his eyes with the beating of their tiny wings. He cringed and breathed through clenched teeth to avoid swallowing any of the gruesome creatures, and he suffered one of those vague sensations of familiarity that sometimes troubled him. The Thrasson shuddered to think of where he might have done this before; short of Hades's realm, he could not imagine another place where he might have climbed a mountain of-decaying corpses.

  The wagon lurched to a stop. Behind the Amnesian Hero, a growing clamor heralded the pursuit of Tessali and his guards. Whatever Jayk was doing, she was not casting a spell. The Thrasson could hear a muffled thumping as she kicked at a side slat somewhere back near the tailgate.

  The Amnesian Hero crested the pile to find the two Dustmen waiting in the driver's box. The assistant held a simple wooden club, while the driver was armed with a long, coiled whip.

  "S-stand fast, you barmy." The driver raised his whip toward the Thrasson. "We are n-not afraid of you."

  Deciding that the Dustman was lying, the Amnesian Hero sprang into the driver's box. The assistant leapt off the wagon without bothering to raise his club. The driver was a little more courageous, at once sidestepping the attack and striking at his foe's unarmored face. The Thrasson caught the blow on his forearm. He hooked a hand over the whip handle and jerked it free, then shoved the Dustman off the high barrow.

  A loud crunch sounded from the rear of the wagon. Jayk cursed and hissed a wicked-sounding incantation. Several men shrieked in fear, and Tessali barked, "Don't stand in the street dancing! Cut their heads off!"

  Taking no time to look back and see what Jayk had done, the Amnesian Hero cracked his newfound whip over the four haggard dray horses. The beasts leaned into their harnesses and raised their hooves as though to step forward, but the barrow did not budge. They snorted in irritation and calmly placed their feet back on the street.

  "Hey, Zoombee! Do you think a few snakes will stop these sods for long?" The muffled thumping resumed at the back of the wagon. "If you don't want me to hurt them, then we go, yes?"

  The Thrasson took a moment to examine the driver's box and found the reins wrapped around a tall wooden lever rising alongside the footboard. He pulled the straps free, then jerked the shaft back. Something clunked down near the wheels. The horses snorted wearily and started to pull without being urged.

  The Amnesian Hero cracked the whip over their heads, then cracked it again. The startled beasts whinnied in surprise and broke into a fall walk.

  "Run, you poor be
asts!" The Thrasson snapped the rump of a horse in front, then did the same to the animal's partner. "Run as though across the Elysian Fields!"

  The horses broke into a ragged trot The Amnesian Hero continued to pop the whip frantically, urging them into an awkward canter. Knowing better than to think the haggard beasts could pull the heavy barrow any faster, or for very long, he tossed the whip aside. He took up the reins and, shouting for the pedestrians ahead to clear the way, did what he could to guide the rumbling wagon down the center of the street.

  The avenue ahead was broad but crowded, with a long row of somber stone monuments standing along each side. Behind each rank of memorials ran a narrow gallery crowded with shabby stalls selling dried flowers, small flasks of inebriants, boiled rats, and other offerings for the dead. These markets were bordered by the district's drab, onion-domed tenements, most with thick growths of razorvine covering their roofs. A hundred paces down the lane, the street ran under a high arch of ragged stone, then ended in the courtyard of a low, menacing dome surrounded by a cluster of windowless towers. Despite the lack of a sign, the gloomy aura of the place left no doubt that it was the Mortuary.

  "Turn right!" Jayk's voice was barely audible over the rumble and groan of the careening wagon. "Turn sharp!"

  The Amnesian Hero scanned the right side of the avenue, looking for a large street. He found nothing wider than an alley. Under the best of conditions, guiding the wagon into the narrow lane would have been a harrowing task. With the barrow thundering along faster than most men could sprint and the malnourished horses already beginning to stumble, his chances of wrecking seemed far greater than those of making the comer.

  "Turn now, Zoombee!" Jayk yelled. "The elf, he is too fast!"

  The Amnesian Hero scowled, but began to ease the wagon toward the alley's fast-approaching mouth. "How is turning-"

  "Do it, or I help Tessali to the next stage!"

  The Amnesian Hero cursed, then braced himself and pulled hard on the reins. The inside horses turned almost gracefully, but the outside lead could not keep up. He stumbled and would have gone down, had the others not pulled him along by his harness. The team angled toward the only possible opening, the dark-shadowed alley the Thrasson had been watching.

  The front wheels turned, then the barrow's momentum seemed to catch up all at once. The Amnesian Hero felt the bench tilting beneath him and dropped the reins to grab for the high side. A tremendous splintering sounded from the rear of the wagon, followed by the soft rumble of shifting bodies and Jayk's wild, exhilarated scream. The Thrasson found himself holding onto the edge of the seat and pulling himself upward, praying that somehow his small mass would be enough to keep the barrow from tipping. Corpses began to tumble out, lightening the high side and shifting more weight to the low.

  The wagon flashed past a gray obelisk, striking it with a wheel. There was a tremendous clunk, then the barrow rocked away. The Amnesian Hero thought they were going over, but the horses, feeling their impending doom, screamed and bolted forward. The wagon accelerated through the turn and into the narrow alley, two wheels still spinning in the air.

  A deafening crash shook the alley. The Thrasson felt his hands lose their hold on the seat, then he bounced off the footboard and tumbled down through the reins and harness lines to land on the hauling rod. The horses were shrieking in panic, their whinnies echoing off the walls like the voices of so many banshees. The wagon was trembling with their efforts to drag it forward, but it had gotten lodged between the tenement walls and would not budge.

  The Amnesian Hero disentangled his body, then pulled himself back into the driver's box. Ahead of him, the horses stood scraping at the dirt in the dark alley, forced by the hauling rod to lean against each other at a cockeyed angle. On the high side of the wagon, the wheels were braced against a tenement wall; on the low side, one of posts to which the side-slats were fastened had become lodged in a narrow doorway, preventing the barrow from moving forward. The cargo bed was two-thirds empty; most of the corpses lay scattered at the mouth of the alley behind them, piled four and five bodies deep. Tessali was in the street beyond, just starting to pick his way through the tangle, with his crew rushing up behind him.

  "You call that driving a wagon, Zoombee?" In the wagon's rear corner, near the broken side-slats she had kicked out, Jayk pushed her head up between two corpses. "I know skeletons who do better'"

  "And I wish you good luck with them – after we part." The Amnesian Hero climbed into the cargo bed and began to kick corpses about. "Where is my amphora – or did you dump that over the side as well?"

  "No, of course. I know you need it to see the Lady of Pain, yes?" Jayk rose and tugged the neck of the jar into view. "I hold it very tight for you."

  "Then I thank you for that much, at least"

  The Amnesian Hero clambered back to take the amphora, but Jayk let it slip back into the bodies.

  "Worry about your jar later, Zoombee." She pointed at the slat-post lodged in the doorway. "Now you must cut us free. I will slow our pursuers."

  Jayk plucked the finger off a decomposing corpse. She turned and casually tossed it in Tessali's direction, belting out a wicked-sounding incantation. The elf cringed and raised an arm as though to ward off a blow, but no black bolts of lightning or noxious clouds of gas appeared to strike him down. Nothing happened except that a cadaver's arm flopped across his feet.

  Tessali wiped his brow and lifted a foot to start forward again-then fell to his face as the corpse's hand clutched at his ankle. Several assistants rushed into the tangle of bodies to help him up and met the same fate when the limbs of other cadavers began to flail at their feet. Only the woman in the spangled robe was wise enough to stand her ground and avoid the gruesome mess.

  "Come on, Zoombee, cut us free!" Jayk clambered forward to take the wagon's reins. "I thought you wanted to see the Lady of Pain!"

  The Amnesian Hero had his doubts about Jayk's true intentions-he was beginning to wonder if even she knew how to find the Lady-but at least the tiefling had a plan for escaping Tessali. He drew his sword and hacked off the offending post with a single blow. As the wagon lurched forward, he took the precaution of cutting off the other slat-posts as well. Jayk turned the horses toward the barrow's low side, and the wagon began to right itself.

  The Thrasson waded forward and grabbed hold of the driver's box, but stopped short of climbing over when a female voice began to echo down the alley behind them. Jayk slapped the reins, urging the exhausted dray horses into a trot. The Amnesian Hero dropped into a crouch and spun around, expecting to find a ball of fire or bolt of lighting arcing through the air. Instead, he saw the spangle-cloaked woman, still standing outside the alley, reaching into her sand bucket. Tessali and his assistants were still struggling to crawl free of the corpse field.

  "There's no need to worry," the Amnesian Hero reported. "Tessali and his men have yet to escape the corpses, and the woman-"

  "You mustn't look, Zoombee!" Jayk cried. "She's a…"

  The tiefling's warning came too late. Tessali's sleepcaster had already pulled her hand from the sand bucket and flung it in the Thrasson's direction. Something stung his eyes. The creaking of the wagon's wheels grew distant, then his vision narrowed and became dim. He yawned and felt his legs melting beneath him. A dark fog filled his head, and, as he sank into oblivion, he found himself hoping no one would mistake him for a corpse and steal his god-forged armor. The Thrasson dreams of mazes, of the many kinds of mazes.

  Out of the darkness skips a column of soot-faced urchins, holding hands and chanting a dismal, deep-voiced dirge. As the line weaves past, it suddenly breaks, and two hands reach out to take his. He finds himself between Spider and Sally, the body robbers from the alley. Their faces have the somber, expressionless aspect of Dustmen, their hands the glairy feel of dead flesh.

  The line follows, he sees, a pattern traced in the dust The path meanders back and forth past itself, sometimes running for long stretches before reversing course an
d sometimes not, but always bending inward, following the curve of a bordering circle. The air grows thick and hot. The dirge builds to a roar; Sally's hand trembles in his, and he knows they are dancing toward a grim center of darkness and loss and despair. The Thrasson, ever the hero, rubs his foot across the boundary in the dust, then steps across and drags the children after him.

  A pair of distant, anguished wails sound behind him, then he finds himself holding hands with the stumps of two small arms. He spins in horror and discovers that he is alone, standing upon a black mirror that reflects all the stars in the heavens. The flickering pinpoints are connected by twinkling threads of silver that light the way to any place in the multiverse. He still hears the shrieking of the children, bemoaning their lost arms. He tries to follow one of the silver strands to them. With each step, their voices change position and grow more distant. He turns toward them and steps across the line.

  Now he stands between two hedges of razorvine, and he can no longer hear the urchins at all. The Thrasson calls after them. There is a long silence. After a time, a deep growl rumbles down the pathway. He has yet to meet the monster he cannot kill, so he drops the children's severed arms and draws his sword. Only then does he recognize his own voice in the rumbling thunder, calling the names of Spider and Sally.

  A riddle player and an untangler of enigmas and a man of no small wit, the Thrasson grasps at once what he has become: orphan torturer and stealer of arms. A true monster. He bellows in rage and slashes at the razorvine with that star-forged sword of his, chopping and slicing and pulling aside the severed stalks with no regard for his bloodied flesh. When at last he hacks through the hedge, he finds that he has come to a cave darkly. He stands alone in hollow gloom, with the sound of his own breath whispering down unseen passages ahead and behind and to both sides, wondering how he stumbled into this blackest of all labyrinths.

  He entered by choice. We all do. Whether we are mapping the heavens or skulking the lanes of the underworld, whether we are hunting the imprisoned fiend or have ourselves become the monster, whether we are searching for what is lost or hiding what must never be found, we all round that first comer by choice-and by then, we are lost.