Nicco waited until the other guard walked four of his five yards, then stood and strode out of the undergrowth in one smooth motion, holding a thickly wadded cloth in one hand. The guard was startled, momentarily shocked by the sudden appearance of a man at such close quarters, and for that moment he hesitated.
It was all Nicco needed. He extended his free hand round the back of the sentry’s head and pulled him forward, simultaneously pushing the wadded cloth over the man’s nose and mouth. The strong, fast-acting anesthetic did its work: the sentry was asleep in less than a second. He fell like a stone, his body completely relaxed, and Nicco didn’t bother to catch him. He was already stepping over the sentry and reaching inside the shoulder bag for one last item. He took it out, threw it next to the sentry and quickly dived behind the nearest plant.
The other sentry turned to walk back, right on time, and gauging from his puzzled shout, noticed his companion’s absence right away. Nicco waited a few more seconds until he heard the man cry out again, this time in fear.
The livestock farmer in Hurrunda’s marketplace had been only too willing to sell Nicco the small, vividly coloured snake. The sign on its case was at pains to emphasise that it wasn’t venomous, but Nicco pretended he couldn’t read it. Instead, he willingly played the part of clueless foreigner to keep the farmer from asking too many questions.
Nicco had to admit, if it hadn’t been labelled he would have assumed the animal was venomous: garish yellow diamonds ran down its length, bordered in bright purple, and the whole topped off with a scarlet stripe from tip to tail. In fact, it was a harmless grass snake—the markings were camouflage for its natural habitat—but only someone versed in the animals would be able to tell, and by the sound of it the sentry was no expert. He yelped, turned and ran to his nearest colleague in the other direction, shouting for help.
Nicco smiled and emerged from his hiding place. The sentry would be out for at least an hour, and everyone would assume he was simply careless and allowed himself to be bitten by a jungle snake. By the time he woke up and told them what really happened Nicco would be long gone.
He pulled the robe’s hood tighter and began walking through the camp, keeping to the shadows and carefully making his way toward the centre. If he’d judged Ven Dazarus correctly, the rebel leader would want to be as far from the perimeter and its dangers as possible. His assumption was confirmed a minute later when he saw the thinman being led toward a large tent in a clearing under a tree. The golem’s escorts stopped while one of the rebels talked to the guards at the tent entrance, then went inside. He re-emerged and Ven Dazarus followed soon after.
That was Nicco’s cue. Normally he would worry about being seen, but it was clear that all eyes in the camp were on Ven Dazarus and Nicco’s doppelganger as they conversed. This was the thinman’s final task, to keep Ven Dazarus talking for as long as possible. Every minute the rebel leader kept talking to it was a minute more the real Nicco had to find the necklace.
Hoping that Ven Dazarus didn’t have concubines or worse, Nicco slashed a hole in the back of the tent and slipped through in one smooth motion.
There was no-one else inside. In fact, there was very little of anything inside. The tent was sparse, a marked contrast to the basement Ven Dazarus had used for his lair as Xandus. There was a rollaway bed, a wooden dressing cabinet of perfumes and toiletries, canvas chairs, a rack of clothes and a large table covered in old books and writing instruments. There was also a kind of natural rug, made of tightly knotted vines and leaves, that covered the entire ground area. It was surprisingly soft, and much to Nicco’s delight completely deadened any sound his feet would have otherwise made.
But that didn’t help him find the necklace. It had to be here somewhere. Ven Dazarus seemed too cautious, too paranoid to entrust the necklace to anyone else. Nicco was sure he’d insist on keeping it with him, to make sure it couldn’t find its way back to Werrdun before the old man died.
He walked to the wooden dresser and pulled open the drawers one by one. Many Turithian women kept jewellery in their dressers, and if Ven Dazarus did have a woman, it might be the same here. But there was very little in the dresser at all, and certainly no necklace. Nicco pulled the bottom drawer out and checked for a hidden compartment in the body, but he felt nothing unusual. Next he checked the dressers’s surface for the same thing, perhaps a recessed compartment under the wooden top, but drew another blank.
The next logical place would be under the bed. Nicco got down on his hands and knees and peered under the rollaway. There wasn’t much room between the bed’s base and the floor, but it would be enough space to fit a bag, or small box, with the necklace inside. All Nicco found, though, was a pair of boots that smelt awful. He braved the sweaty odour and shoved a hand inside each boot, just on the off chance, but they were empty.
Nicco’s palm suddenly itched, the one with the ruby gem embedded in it, and he scratched it absent-mindedly. Then he remembered: the last time he’d felt that sensation was when he entered Hullorik’s tent for the first time. There was no smoke, no incense burning, in this tent, but all the same, it doubled Nicco’s resolve to be out of there as soon as possible.
He turned to the writing table, again checking for hidden compartments, but felt nothing. There were some ornaments on the desk, and they may even have been magical, but none was a necklace. He rapped against each of the desk’s wooden legs—hollowed out, they would easily be wide enough to hide the necklace—but they were all solid.
The chairs were made of canvas sheets and tubular steel, both much too narrow to hide the necklace in. That just left the rack of clothes, but that seemed too insecure to Nicco’s mind—certainly if he were in Ven Dazarus’ shoes, Nicco wouldn’t leave something as valuable as Werrdun’s necklace in a coat pocket where anyone could reach in and find it.
But there was nowhere else. The tent was nothing if not spartan, a soldier’s digs to be sure, and there just wasn’t anywhere else that a necklace could be hidden. Nicco’s heart sank. He was wrong, plain and simple. Ven Dazarus didn’t keep the necklace with him, after all. Perhaps he entrusted it to one of his officers, or had it buried in the jungle somewhere. Or maybe he’d just dropped it in the Demirvan Sea on his way back to Hurrunda.
Bang!
A gunshot from outside the tent startled Nicco from his gloom. So the game was up. Whether or not he’d discovered the thinman deception, Ven Dazarus had decided it was time to end the trouble Nicco had caused him. He heard the golem’s body hit the ground. Time for Nicco to...
The ground!
Nicco stared down at the thick, soft flooring. Vines and leaves, wrapped in a tight latticework that covered the mud and dirt of the jungle floor—or something more valuable. He crouched for a closer look, scanning the floor for a crack, a break, anything to indicate a section that had been removed or replaced. He didn’t have much time; if Ven Dazarus had shot the man he thought was Nicco, he’d probably be on his way back to the tent right now. Although Nicco was dead anyway if he couldn’t get the necklace back.
He heard another three shots. Either the rebel leader had figured out it was a thinman, or felt disproportionately sadistic toward Nicco. He swept his eyes back and forth across the floor, running his hands over the tightly woven surface...
There. Right there, a groove in the latticework that ran straight as a die, too straight to be a natural line. Nicco worked his fingers under the leaves on one side and pulled, holding his breath and trying to stay silent. It started to give, slowly bending back.
“It’s a thinman!” Ven Dazarus shouted in disgust out in the camp. Nicco heard people gasp and shout, and a crowd begin to murmur and move. All or nothing. He heaved back on the bending leaf.
It came loose, and Nicco fell back on his arse. He might only have seconds before Ven Dazarus stormed inside the tent. He might even suspect the real Nicco was here, looking for the necklace.
And so he should, thought Nicco. Underneath the makeshift flooring panel was th
ick, black jungle mud, but resting atop the mud was a gaudy necklace of gold and jewels, glinting in the firelight. Nicco suppressed a laugh as he finally beheld his quarry.
Werrdun’s necklace.
VEN DAZARUS TURNED to one of his tent guards. “You! Shoot it!” The guard stared at him dumbly, so he grabbed the entropy blaster from the guard’s hand and fired at the thinman as it tried to stand again. The golem shrieked and crumbled to dust.
The rebel leader handed the blaster back to the amazed guard and flung back the entrance flap to his tent. The thinman had been dealt with, but a following gem in the camp? Just as an imposter of Salarum just happened to turn up?
Ven Dazarus didn’t believe in coincidence.
He half-expected to see Salarum himself in the tent as he strode inside, but it was empty. He walked to his desk and pulled a smooth pebble from among the ornaments. It was enchanted, a tracker of sorts that could be attuned to a following gem by a good wizard. Gorrd wasn’t a very good wizard, but he was good enough to manage this.
Then Ven Dazarus noticed the tear at the back of the tent.
On closer inspection he saw it wasn’t a tear—it was a cut, made by a knife of some kind... He took two steps toward the centre of the room and fell to his knees, scrabbling at the removable panel in the floor covering. He found the edge and pulled.
It was still there. The necklace lay in the mud, just as it had since he returned from Azbatha. No-one knew its location, not even his most trusted Kurrethi officers. It was safe.
Very clever, Salarum, he thought. The thief had sent the thinman as a decoy, distracting Ven Dazarus while he snooped around for the necklace. But he hadn’t found it, and now the deceit was exposed.
He replaced the panel and shouted for Gorrd. He’d enjoyed killing Salarum, even if it was just a fake. By Ekklorn’s hairy hooves, he’d enjoy killing the real man even more.
NICCO HELD ONTO his hood, keeping it well over his face to hide his features, and walked through the camp at a brisk pace. The alarm had been sounded, much earlier than he’d hoped, and now his only option was to make his escape as quickly as possible. He had no doubt that if he was found, Ven Dazarus wouldn’t hesitate to have him killed.
All around him, the Kurrethi were shouting to one another and mobilising, but it was chaotic. Most of them seemed to have no idea of what they were supposed to be looking for besides ‘an intruder,’ and Nicco was able to hurry unnoticed toward the edge of the camp. Soon the perimeter was in sight, but to Nicco’s dismay the sentries were still standing at their posts, now turned to face into the camp. He’d hoped they might join in the search, but evidently their task was to stay put and keep people in as well as out. He hadn’t planned on this; he’d hoped to leave while the thinman was still distracting Ven Dazarus. What on earth could Nicco tell the guards that wouldn’t give him away?
“Har, lok!” someone shouted from behind him. “Farrdum lok dokoshok?”
Where are you going? Where indeed? Nicco ignored the man and kept walking, turning over scenarios and conversations with the sentries in his mind. If he could just get a few feet past the boundary into the jungle, he could get away. He may not know the area, but he’d seen enough of it on the way up here to know that finding a lone man at night would be almost impossible.
“Shazomon hulluda lok!”
A hand clamped down on Nicco’s shoulder. He spun round, pulling on the strap of his shoulder bag and following through. Even with the robe and snake removed, it was still hard, heavy tallus hide. The corner of the bag struck his accuser on the side of the face. The Kurrethi grunted and reeled backward.
And now the game was up. Nicco glanced over at the sentries and saw two of them running toward him, shouting for him to stop. They’d left a gap in the perimeter, but to make it through Nicco would have to get past them.
He heard a deep roar to his side. The groak handler, who’d taken the beasts from his thinman’s captors when they returned, was struggling to keep order in the groak pen. The animals were growing restless, probably unused to the commotion in the camp.
Nicco saw his chance. He sprinted toward the groaks, away from the approaching sentries. One of the beasts reared up on its back four legs as he approached. The handler pulled at its reins and hummed urgently, trying to calm it down, but the beast was beyond calming.
The handler screamed, calling for someone called Gorrd.
It was the last word he spoke.
The groak slammed its front legs back down, one of them directly on the handler. Nicco froze in shock, unable to look away as the handler’s chest burst open. The groak opened its mouth and roared, a deep bellow that Nicco felt vibrating in his chest. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all.
The sentries were closing in. They too paused at the sight of the handler’s death. But these were military men, and they’d probably seen far worse on the battlefield. They recovered quickly.
More groaks were humming, now. Nicco could sense the unease growing among them. If they stampeded, the herd would trample them all, Kurrethi, Turithian and tents alike, and nothing would be able to stop them.
Nothing at all…
Nicco hauled himself up on the back of the groak that had killed its handler. If any beast was going to lead the charge, it was this one. It bucked and turned, trying to throw Nicco off, but he hung on to the harness, struggling to get his feet in the stirrups on either side of the beast’s flanks. Holding on to the Astra ten thousand feet above Azbatha had been easier.
The animal roared and spun round, trying to dislodge its burden, and one of Nicco’s flailing legs caught a sentry on the jaw. The other sentry backed away, circling, unsure how to approach Nicco without the groak striking him.
Nicco pulled himself upright, slotted his feet into the stirrups and pulled hard on the reins.
The groak bellowed, a deep, throaty sound that made the remaining sentry back away further. Nicco looked across the camp and saw dozens of Kurrethi running toward him, including Ven Dazarus. Out the corner of his eye, he noticed a guard raising his entropy blaster. One of his colleagues noticed and shouted to him to stop, but it was too late. The shot rang out loud and clear. Nicco sat frozen to the spot on the groak’s back.
The blast shot past him, missing his shoulder by inches. A gurgling screech filled the air as one of the groaks behind Nicco reared up on its back legs. The shot had struck the beast in its thick, muscle-bound neck. The beast thrashed as the magical weapon’s effect took hold. The thick brown hairs on its head and back turned grey. Its leathery scales shrivelled and dried, darkening to black. It collapsed, snapping at the air as it went down, and caught his mount on the backside—a bite that would ordinarily have ripped out a chunk of the beast’s flank, but in its wizened state was nothing more than a nip.
It was enough. Nicco was thrown back as his groak suddenly bolted forward, charging out of the pen and into the jungle.
With a combined roar that made the ground shake, a dozen more followed. The groaks galloped out of the camp, their powerful legs pounding the undergrowth into mud. Kurrethi everywhere cried out and leapt aside as the herd began to stampede. Blasters and pistols rang out, but none of the shots struck Nicco or his mount.
At the head of the stampede, Nicco hung on to the groak’s back for dear life.
CHAPTER THIRTY
HIS TEETH FELT like they were going to rattle free of his gums. The groak herd hurtled down the side of the mountain, heedless of everything in their path. Vines, vegetation, small furry animals—the creatures barely noticed them, much less slowed down for them. They thundered through the thick jungle, their multiple legs giving them an agility Nicco wouldn’t have expected from such a large animal. At this speed he could be back at the city’s edge before daybreak, much sooner than he’d expected and far quicker than the journey up the mountain.
Nicco was almost beginning to enjoy himself when the first shot screamed past his ear and blew chunks out of a nearby tree.
Nicco looke
d back and saw lights moving through the jungle, following the herd of groaks down the mountain. Following him. Shouts and more gunfire rang out as a rapid strobe of muzzle flashes lit up the jungle. The mountain was alive with gunfire and the roar of groaks. Nicco counted three Kurrethi, riding groaks—apparently some hadn’t joined the stampede—and carrying solid ammunition rifles. Entropy blasts would be unable to pierce the foliage, and have little effect on the trees and jungle flora anyway. Evidently, Ven Dazarus was keen to kill him a second time.
Nicco ducked to avoid another barrage of shots. One of the groaks behind him shrieked, lost its footing and crashed to the ground, flattening a thorny bush as it fell. The rebel rider directly behind it pulled his mount up and leapt over the injured animal, still in pursuit.
Nicco had no idea how to control his own groak. It had been so spooked back at the camp, he wasn’t even sure if it could be controlled. The groak handler had seemed to control the beasts by humming, of all things, but it hadn’t prevented his death. Nevertheless, if Nicco wanted to make it back to Hurrunda alive he needed to learn how to ride this thing.
He leant forward and hummed a tuneless drone near where he imagined the beast’s ear to be. If it heard him, it gave no sign. The air was filled with the sound of gunfire, galloping and splintering tree bark. Nicco hummed again, louder this time, and the groak cocked its head to one side and slowed, almost to a stop. It was a result, but not exactly what Nicco had in mind.
The rebel riders were gaining on him. If leaning forward with a low hum made it stop... He sat upright and pulled hard on the reins, humming at a higher pitch this time.
The groak snapped its head forward and launched into the jungle. Now he was getting somewhere. But that pause had cost him, and now the Kurrethi were hot on his rear. He heard one of them shout to the others above the gunfire, but all he could make out was Ven Dazarus’ name. Whatever it was the rider had said, the gunfire stopped.
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