Pages of Pain p-1

by Troy Denning

  Silverwind shook his head in disappointment, at the same time eyeing the Thrasson. "Why do I always do this to myself? I almost have the conjunction in mind, and now I lose my concentration."

  "Too… tired," the Amnesian Hero croaked. "Worried… about… the monster."

  The bariaur peered into the hail, then snorted and shook his head. "Don't start imagining that again." Silverwind was speaking to himself, not the Thrasson. "The thing is out of mind."

  "Stop… it!" The Amnesian Hero's patience was as exhausted as his body. "You are not imagining this! It's really happening to you – to us!"

  Silverwind's bushy eyebrows came together. "Of course it's really happening. It's really happening because I'm really imagining it."

  "No! Do you feel this?" The Amnesian Hero slapped the bariaur's leg with the flat of his blade. "I did it-not your imagination."

  Silverwind's eyes grew watery. "It's happening to me again!" He dropped Tessali into the fog, drawing a howl of pain, then started beating himself about the head. "Why can't I control my own thoughts?"

  "Because we are not your thoughts!"

  The Amnesian Hero sheathed his sword, then reached down and helped Tessali stand. Silverwind continued to pummel himself.

  Tessali leaned close to the Thrasson's ear. "Don't… confuse… issue." The elf winced with each rasping word. "You must… accept what… Silverwind says."

  The Amnesian Hero's jaw dropped. "You believe we're phantoms of his imagination?"

  The elf's eyes grew stem. "His delus-ah-theory… is as sensible… as anything. If it… gets us out, I will accept… anything."

  The Amnesian Hero rolled his eyes and looked back down the corridor. When he saw no shaggy silhouette skulking through the hail, he shrugged and looked back to Silverwind – and saw Jayk's limp form slipping from the bariaur's back. The tiefling hit the ground with no sound but a dull thud.

  "Jayk?"

  There was no answer. The Amnesian Hero slipped Tessali onto Silverwind's back, then stooped over and, rather awkwardly, scooped Jayk up in the crook of his arm. The tiefling's breath came slow and shallow. There was no sign of fresh injury, but the murky hair on the back of her head felt sticky with old blood.

  The Amnesian Hero stepped closer to the bariaur, who was still pummeling himself about the head. "As you wish, Silverwind."

  The bariaur stopped hitting himself. "What?"

  "Don't be difficult. You have regained control of your mind." The Thrasson shoved Jayk toward the bariaur. "Now tend to your thoughts. I fear Jayk is in danger of fading."

  Silverwind sighed and reached toward Jayk. Instead of taking her into his arms, he thumbed open her eyelids. Even the Thrasson could see that she was in poor shape. Her pupils were mere pinpricks, one a square and the other a triangle. An astonished blat slipped the bariaur's lips, then he reached around the back of her head and began muttering to himself as he worked his fingers through her blood-matted hair.

  "How does she fare?" The Amnesian Hero's voice was sounding increasingly rough. "What happened to her?"

  Silverwind continued muttering and did not answer.

  Tessali, who was peering over the bariaur's shoulder, whispered, "Cracked skull… If Silverwind cannot save her… I might… but need… quiet. Try… not-" The elf scowled, his gaze shifting past the Amnesian Hero's shoulder.

  Before Tessali could say more, the Thrasson thrust Jayk into Silverwind's arms. Yanking his sword from its scabbard as he moved, he spun around and saw nothing but gray hail.

  "Where is it, Tessali?"

  "Behind you… now," gasped the elf. "But don't worry… I saw something flapping… It's a black… ribbon."

  "A ribbon?" The Amnesian Hero craned his neck and glimpsed a black tatter flapping in the hail. "What is it doing there?"

  "Working… out of the amphora," said Tessali. "There's a crack-"

  "In the neck of the jar. I know." The Amnesian Hero stepped to Silverwind's side, then turned around to present the amphora to Tessali. "Push the cloth back. I fear what might happen if that ribbon gets loose."

  "Why?" Tessali grunted in pain, then the Thrasson felt him pushing against the amphora. "This looks like… common flax."

  "Whatever it is, it is-" The words caught in the Thrasson's aching throat. He had to pause to work up enough saliva to coat his parched gullet, then continued, "It is Poseidon's gift to the Lady of Pain. I doubt there is anything common about it."

  "By my curled horns!" Without warning, Silverwind turned to leave. "How feeble my mind has grown!"

  The Amnesian Hero glimpsed a shaggy figure ambling through the hail, pulling up the golden thread and wadding it into a great tangled ball.

  "Cut the thread!" Tessali's command came as Silverwind began to gallop away.

  "I'd sooner cut you!" The Amnesian Hero clumped after his companions, wondering why, after staying to battle the monster earlier, Silverwind had suddenly decided to abandon him.

  "This thread is magical."

  "Dead men have no use for magic!"

  Already, Silverwind and his passengers were a silhouette in the hail. The Amnesian Hero looked back and saw the monster of the labyrinth following at a cautious distance. It was drawing the line up hand-over-hand, using both arms with equal ease. The Thrasson saw no hint of weakness, or even of lingering stiffness, in the limb that had been cut off. To his disappointment, the only sign of its earlier injury lay in its wariness; the creature was trailing him at the edge of visibility, discernible only because of the golden brightness of the thread ball in its hands.

  As the Amnesian Hero turned to look forward again, he ran headlong into Silverwind's bulky saddlebags.

  "This way."

  The bariaur trotted around a salient of iron wall, leading the way into a section of narrow, zigzagging corridors with two branches at every turn. The Amnesian Hero's throat grew so dry that it seemed to stick shut between breaths. In the cramped passages, the hail echoed off the hot iron walls louder than ever, but it seemed that fewer of the icy balls could find their way down into the bottom of the tight confines. The storm waned to little more than a tempest. Visibility stretched to more than an arrow's flight, and the Thrasson saw that the walls were speckled both high and low with the same window-shaped squares he had noticed in the broader sections of the labyrinth.

  Several times, gouts of flame spewed from one of dark openings to fill the narrow passage with roiling balls of fire. Silverwind seemed to have a sixth sense about these occurrences and never failed to stop or scurry ahead just in time to keep the company from being charred. Hoping to learn the old bariaur's secret, the Amnesian Hero often tried to peer into the depths of the black squares. He never saw anything except a barrier of inky blackness.

  The monster of the labyrinth lagged far behind, lingering at the edge of visibility, often vanishing entirely as the Amnesian Hero and his companions rounded a comer. Whenever their pace slowed even slightly, however, the beast rushed them, bellowing its wall-shaking roar and driving the weary companions forward at a sprint The thing was trying to run them to ground, the Thrasson knew, and it was succeeding. His tongue felt so swollen he could hardly draw breath. He had long ago sweated away the last of his water; now his blood was growing thick and gummy, and his heart had to pump like a forge bellows to force it through his veins.

  The Amnesian Hero waited until they rounded the next corner, then caught Silverwind by the tail.

  The bariaur danced around, his eyes flashing with irritation. "What now?"

  The Thrasson tried to answer, but his tongue was too swollen to shape the words – or to let pass the air that would give them voice. He managed only a gurgled rasp, then pointed at his sword and gestured back down the way they had come.

  "No, that won't do." Silverwind shook his head resolutely. "Slaying the dark self is impossible. It only comes back stronger than before."

  The Thrasson wanted to retort that they had no choice, but could force no more than an angry croak from his throat


  Silverwind looked the Amnesian Hero up and down. "Well, I can't cany you, too. Not with the load I've already got." He hefted Jayk as though to illustrate, and the Thrasson saw that her complexion had faded to an alarming blue. "I suppose we'll have to hide."

  The bariaur galloped a dozen paces down a branch corridor, then turned toward one of the windowlike squares on the wall. The Amnesian Hero half-expected Silverwind and his passengers to smash headlong into the inky blackness, but they simply passed through, as though they had stepped across the threshold of Rivergate's dark door. The Thrasson started to follow, then barely escaped being charred to cinder as a gout of flame shot from the square.

  The Amnesian Hero first croaked in shock, then gurgled in anguish, despairing at how quickly death could come in the mazes.

  In the next instant, Silverwind reappeared, still holding Tessali and Jayk. The bariaur and his passengers had not emerged from the black square so much as appeared beside it.

  "Come along, Thrasson!" barked the bariaur. "If we let the dark self chase us through this conjunction, we'll be running for the next epoch."

  Still in shock, the Amnesian Hero began to clump forward. He tried to ask about the gout of flame he had seen, but could not force the words from his throat.

  "Cut… thread." Having ridden on Silverwind's back for the entire chase, Tessali had not yet lost his voice to thirst. "If beast follows… doomed."

  Reluctantly, the Thrasson nodded and stopped beside another of the black squares. Intending to throw the thread through the conjunction and misdirect the monster, he wrapped a loop around the hilt of his dagger, then cut the golden filament with his star-forged sword.

  The strand had hardly separated before the entire length of thread vanished, including the coil wrapped around his arm and the wooden spool in his hand. His stomach went hollow with loss, but he had no time to dwell on the feeling. A deafening bellow echoed through the labyrinth, followed by the distant, heavy thuds of the monster's pounding feet.

  The Amnesian Hero rushed to Silverwind's side, then together they all leapt through the window of darkness.

  There is a great roaring, and at first the Amnesian Hero thinks he is falling: the wind whips his hair, roars in his ears, nettles his scorched chest. Now the ash begins to scour his eyes; he sucks it in through his nose, he tastes it coating his swollen tongue, and he believes he has been incinerated by one of those flame gouts that spew from the black squares. Then his feet find purchase on something powdery but solid. He sees Silverwind standing before him, almost glowing in the strange, pearly light. Slowly the Thrasson's eyes begin to discern between the cloud of ash howling through the air and the river of ash swirling about his legs and the ramparts of ash flanking his shoulders, and he is delighted to realize he is still in the mazes.

  The fool.

  Yes, I am still watching. Even in the mazes, the Lady of Pain is always watching, as I am watching that scrap of black cloth that flutters from the Thrasson's cracked amphora. The ash wind has caught it, and soon the ash wind will pull it free, and what then?

  Will it flutter through the mazes forever, always searching for what it can never find? Or will it rise up through that void in my chest where I once had a heart? I have not decided.

  I have not decided.

  I have not decided whether that strand of Poseidon's net caught me for good or ill, whether that one scrap of dream (I dare not call it memory) makes me weaker or stronger: better to know the source of the Pains, perhaps; better to know the reason for this emptiness in my chest, certainly – but what I know, I know only the half of.

  And there lies the danger, does it not?

  If ignorance is bliss and knowledge power, what has the King of Seas sent me? Half a truth, at best; half a memory, at worst; there is no help for it. I have seen what I have seen; a crack has opened, and I could not stop that black tatter from tearing free if I wanted to – and forgive me everyone everywhere – I do not want to!

  "Do you want to mark our trail?" Silverwind grabbed the Amnesian Hero's arm and started to tug him down the passage, toward the dark mouth of a distant intersection. "Get away from that conjunction! Didn't you see how they torch up?"

  The Thrasson, still unable to speak, scowled and peered over his shoulder. The conjunction appeared almost the same on this side as on the other: a black square, so flat and featureless it looked more like a painting than a doorway. Without any visible support, it hung motionless in the ash cloud, the only thing in the labyrinth that the howling wind seemed incapable of swaying. The iron-walled passages beyond the window remained cloaked beneath a veil of inky darkness; the monster of the labyrinth – or the Lady of Pain herself – could have been standing on the other side, and the Amnesian Hero would not have known it.

  As the Thrasson studied the conjunction, the black ribbon flapping from the amphora's cracked neck finally came loose. He snatched at the scrap and missed, then tried again when the swirling ash wind changed direction and whipped the rag around his head. The tatter dodged his fingers as though it were alive, circling him two more times before it finally sailed past Silverwind. It floated about half the distance to the intersection and became caught in another whirlwind.

  Hoping to catch the ribbon before it vanished altogether, the Amnesian Hero squeezed past his companions and went after it. He had no idea what to do even if he caught the scrap, but he knew miserly Poseidon would seize any excuse to withhold the promised payment. When the Thrasson returned to Arborea, he was determined that he would be able to report that the Lady of Pain had received the entire contents of the amphora.

  As the Amnesian Hero clumped forward, he was relieved to see a black stripe flashing amidst the gray ash of the whirlwind. Then the stripe became a solid band, the band began to widen both up and down, and soon the entire swirling ash cloud had turned as black as shadow.

  The whirlwind began to slow, shaping itself into the silhouette of a huge, barrel-chested giant. The Amnesian Hero's brick foot dropped like an anchor and brought him to a gape-mouthed stop. He felt as if the howling ash winds had stirred his thoughts into a muddle. He could not quite comprehend what had happened to the black tatter, or how he was going to recapture a shadow and feed it back into the amphora.

  "Who wishes to pass this way?" So loud was the question that it shook tiny avalanches of ash off the passage walls.

  "Aigggh!" cried Silverwind. "What has risen from the depths of your foul mind now, old fool?"

  The giant took a single step forward, leaving his shadow behind and bringing himself belt-to-nose with the Amnesian Hero. The brute was as broad as the passage, with a pair of lice-ridden lion skins girding his loins and an iron club the size of a galley oar in his hand. His legs were big as trees, his skin as coarse as pumice stone, and his hairy belly so huge it bulged over the Thrasson's head like a billowing sail.

  "Who wishes to travel the road of Periphetes?"

  Coated as it was with ash, the Amnesian Hero's throat was much too dry to shape an answer-but he knew better than to think any answer would satisfy the giant. He had fought enough of the brutes to realize that Periphetes was about to demand a toll, and that the toll would be one they would not care to pay.

  The Thrasson slammed the hilt of his sword into Periphetes's kneecap, then deftly leaned aside as the giant brought down a great palm to slap the irritation. Before the hand could rise again, the Amnesian Hero touched his blade to the middle knuckle, using just enough strength to inflict an admonishing prick and pin the great appendage in placemen of renown did not fell even the greediest of giants without first warning them to behave.

  Periphetes lowered his head to peer over his enormous belly, showing a huge moon-shaped face with a grimy thatch of beard and a cavernous pug-nose. When the giant found his hand pinned to his own kneecap, he poised his great club over the Thrasson's head.

  "Don't make me smash you, little man."

  The Thrasson wagged a free finger at Periphetes, then gently pushed his sword forwar
d. The star-forged blade sliced through the giant's thick hide until it drew blood, illustrating just how easily it could pierce hand and knee alike. The giant bellowed, but wisely refrained from bringing his club down.

  "Stand… aside." Tessali's voice betrayed his pain, but somehow he found the strength to speak loudly enough to attract the giant's attention. "That sword… slices… steel."

  "Is that so?"

  Periphetes's face was too huge to conceal the flash of cunning that shot across it. His eyes darted from Tessali, who still sat astride Silverwind's back, to the Amnesian Hero and back again. When the giant's huge club began to move in the elf's direction, the Thrasson knew instantly that his adversary was hoping to make hostages of his three companions. He ducked between Periphetes's legs and rocked his sword across the back of the giant's hand. An index finger as thick as a lance shaft popped free and, trailing a cascade of dark blood, dropped into the ash.

  Periphetes roared, and the club reversed direction.

  The Amnesian Hero darted behind the giant's thigh, at the same time drawing his blade along inside his foe's huge knee. The star-forged steel sliced deep through tendon and sinew. Had the Thrasson not been crippled by a brick foot, he would have continued to dance around Periphetes, reducing the giant's leg to little more than a bloody post of bone. As it was, however, the Amnesian Hero had to settle for a single, vicious strike to the back of the knee.

  The blade bit deep, then was nearly torn from the Thrasson's hands as Periphetes's leg jerked away. Knowing the giant would have to pivot backward to counterattack, the Thrasson ducked under the brute and assaulted the other leg with a vicious spinning slash. He heard the telltale pop of a separating tendon, then dived away before his foe's iron club could arc down to smash his skull.

  The Amnesian Hero did not land upon the ground so much as he sank into a powdery bed of ash. His mouth filled with a sharp, metallic taste, then he found himself choking and sucking more dross into his swollen throat with each convulsion. Half-swimming and half-pushing, he raised himself out of the bitter stuff and spun toward Periphetes – or at least toward the place where he assumed the giant to be. So thickly did ash fill the air that no longer could the Thrasson see his foe.