by Larry Niven
He tossed himself back and forth, heaving against the shackles, until his wrists bled with the effort and his lips were frothed.
Aros was simultaneously fascinated and horrified. Lights began to dance around the sacrificial platform, and, as Aros watched, the victim’s skin began to glow … and then bubble. Aros watched him evaporate, skin and muscle and then organs, until there was nothing left but the skeleton.
But, hideously, the skeleton was still alive, the bones still moved on their own accord, thrashing as if in pain, still somehow sensate.
Aros and the general slid back from the edge.
“What is that?” Aros said.
“It’s the power that shapes the time tunnels,” the general said.
How long have you known about this? he wondered but asked instead, “Who are those people?”
“They are the ones who tried to kill me. Again.” His eyes burned. “I swore never to reveal this secret, but everything has changed now. Everything.” He looked at Aros directly. “What happens next depends on you, young man.”
“Me?”
“Yes. I am about to go against everything I have committed to for the last decade. When my son was taken from me, I swore revenge. I was filled with hatred for everything in the world except my good lady wife. I never thought anything could fill that void.”
“I think I understand.”
“I think you do. But you more than understand. Suddenly, you are here. And you have saved my life, twice. And saved the life of my wife and my friends.”
“General…,” Aros said. “I have never claimed to be your son.”
“My wife thinks you are, and Mijista is falling in love with you. You never claimed to be my son. But that doesn’t mean we weren’t intended to think so.” He gripped Aros’s arm. “I ask you one question, and one question only, man to man. No lies, no games. I think you owe me that much.”
“And more,” Aros said.
The general nodded. For a moment there was no general and lieutenant. There was no elder and younger. Not even false father and faux son.
There were just two men, knowing that some things could not be known and prepared to settle for those that could be, as men have done since the beginning of time.
“Did you know about the attack on my family?” he asked, urgently.
Without hesitation, Aros replied, “On my life and honor, I did not.”
The general stared into him, holding his wrist as if taking his pulse, as if some force within him was trying to crawl into Aros to see the world through his eyes. The intensity of the gaze so strong it had an impact like a physical blow. He barely wanted to blink.
Then … the focus receded, and there in the dim light from below, Aros saw an old man, a man who had made too many mistakes, and one whose judgment of himself was almost too heavy to bear.
“You … would have died for me.”
“I saw a trick,” Aros said. “Something I might get away with. I wanted you and your family to live and saw a way to make it happen.”
The general shook his head. “I see in you what Jade sees,” he said. “The rest doesn’t matter.”
He smiled. “And that means that nothing that has happened until now matters. But what happens now matters very much indeed.” His smile grew broader and colder. “I think Flaygod has work to do.”
THIRTY-THREE
The Tower
The night had grown cold, and as Neoloth walked the deserted streets with Shyena the Red Nun, he was very aware of every sound, every sight. Not just because these were things that might influence their plan’s successful outcome, but because things could go very wrong indeed. This might be the very last night of his life.
In that case … perhaps it was time to appreciate the stars and the moon. The faint salt-ocean tang. The sounds of carts and tradesmen in the early morning, preparing for the day.
So many things, so little time. And he wondered if he had given them enough time and emphasis. Whether his striving for power, at all costs, had been the actions of a foolish man.
Here he was, rescuing a princess. The woman at his side was strong and useful and sensual, and she would take him as a mate.
Together, they would make quite a pair, capable of achieving … things undreamed.
But not for a moment had he seriously considered changing his path. Princess Tahlia ruled his heart, and he could only wonder about that. He had played a role, until the role had become him.
Shyena took him through the trade section of the city. “As you know, the royal family has secret escape tunnels built into the residence. There are also secret tunnels connecting the Tower to the outside, in case the family was ever captured and jailed there in war.”
“Stranger things have happened.”
She pulled them into shadow and watched a tavern across the road. It was dark. “I was fairly certain that it would be abandoned at this hour.”
Neoloth recognized the Happy Orc. He’d eaten there. “I know this place.”
“You think so?” She grinned at him and then hurried them across the street.
The front door was locked, but she produced a key and solved that problem swiftly. Neoloth slipped in.
The room had a smell of tallow and sour fat, with a trace of dried vomit and beer. The previous evening’s revels must have been riotous. She led him through the dark room to the kitchen, where a single kitchen boy was curled in the corner on a makeshift bed, asleep.
She studied the boy for a moment and then they continued on. In the back of the shop, she tapped on the floor in a variety of spots until rewarded by a hollow “thump.”
The Red Nun bent and pressed the tip of a stiletto into a seam between two stones and levered one up. A loop of leather thong was anchored to a wooden panel beneath. When she pulled that, a ladder was exposed, leading down into darkness.
Neoloth felt the hair on the back of his neck burning. This was a hidden pathway to his princess? He had eaten in this tavern! He had been so close, had actually had an intuitive sense that something about this place was important … but had not followed his hunch. Anger boiled his blood.
The wizard followed her down into darkness. The tunnels beneath were dank and night-cold, the walls marked with bits of glowing fungus.
The Red Nun had brought with her one of the odd, small torches that seemed to make light without heat. She had shuttered its opening lens to make a narrower beam, and this was what carried them through the darkness.
He could do little save follow. She seemed to have a sense of where she was going, turning this way and that in the semidark until the tunnel began to rise. They followed the incline for perhaps a quarter of an hour, and then the tunnel came to an end.
“Shhh,” she said, and very cautiously opened the door. The room beyond was a weapons’ repository. Coals glowed dully in a fireplace. The room was deserted.
“Come,” she said. She led them to a narrow staircase that wound up the wall a level, then to another stair leading into the Tower. Before they exited on that level, she stopped them and flattened against the wall.
“Now,” she said.
Neoloth opened a vial he had spent the last days preparing. It was filled with a yellow powder, and when he spilled it on the floor, he was careful not to inhale. He stroked a long tube against his talisman and then blew into the powder.
It puffed into the air in a little cloud, but neither dispersed nor settled back down. It was almost invisible in the darkness, but his eyes, darkness-adjusted, could see it slip around the corner like a large, vague caterpillar.
And now he heard the snoring sound. Near. The snores were interrupted by a strangled sound and then stopped. No sound at all.
The Red Nun peeked around the corner and nodded with satisfaction.
When Neoloth joined her, the guard was very dead, yellowish powder clotted under his nose. She slipped his keys off their ring. They tiptoed down the hall. Several cells on that floor, and Shyena peered into each before coming to t
he one she sought.
She opened the door. “Princess?” Shyena called. There was a single figure on the straw, asleep, and it stirred …
And was revealed as a young woman Neoloth had never seen. “Who are you?”
“Why, Drasilljah. You’re with her?” The woman suddenly remembered something and concentrated. For an instant, her face flickered and became older, riven with wrinkles, and Neoloth was gob-smacked.
“That … is impressive,” he admitted once he managed to untangle his tongue. “We’ll discuss spells later. Where is the princess?”
Drasilljah clutched his forearms. “Oh, sir! The princess was right. You did come for her. For us. I’m so sorry: you’re too late. But you’re with her?”
He felt an icy hand on his neck. “No, she’s with me. Too late?”
“Yes. They took her away at dusk. There was nothing I could do.”
He looked at the Red Nun. “It could be true,” she said. “But she may still be alive. If they wish to use her royal blood in a ceremony, they will wait for dawn.”
“We have time, then,” he said. “We can get to her.”
“It is behind the wall,” Shyena said. “And in the tunnels. We will need help. Where is your barbarian?”
“I would guess him abed with his new paramour,” he said. “We can find him, I think. A simple locator spell should suffice. I tagged him.”
Neoloth sank to the floor and held the talisman. It glowed a bit, and then the glow diminished, its power nearly drained. But when he came out of the spell, his eyes were wide.
“He’s already in the tunnels,” he said.
“How is that possible?” Drasilljah asked, astonished.
“Because he’s Aros. If ever there was a spoiler, that is the man.”
Something had happened outside, something like a lightning strike. It momentarily shook the ground and lit up the sky outside the little window. Brass horns and screams, and suddenly the floor beneath them vibrated. The Tower was coming to life.
“What in the world?”
Shyena was staring out the window at the end of the corridor. Neoloth and Drasilljah were confused. “What? Who?” A fireball rose high, crested over the enormous wall in back of the capital.
“Aros,” he said.
THIRTY-FOUR
Escape
Aros and the general descended upon the guards like avenging demons. There were five of the unfortunates, and they stood no chance at all. The suddenness, violence, and efficiency of the two warriors were part of the problem, and the shock of seeing the general attacking them did the rest.
By the time the guards fully appreciated what was happening, swords were in their gullets and guts, and the uneven rock floor was slippery with their blood.
As his second man dropped, Aros spun to help the general, just in time to see two men attack him from opposite sides. With dazzling footwork, Silith eased between the two and sliced like a man peeling an apple, a long continuous cut that somehow wound between the two men, killing them both with a single stroke.
Aros wiped Flaygod on the gashed body of his second victim. A sense of satisfaction in a job well done and a sense of relief in surviving warred with an odd curiosity. “General,” he asked, an ugly thought stirring in his mind, “weren’t these your men?”
“No,” he said. “Once they were, but they volunteered to work with the Hundred.”
“Didn’t they think they were…,” he started to say, working for you? But he saw the haunted expression on Silith’s face and thought that silence might be his best option.
“Get the others,” the general said, voice flat. Aros didn’t argue. He seemed to be getting better at following orders these days.
Aros sprinted up the steep incline of the narrow path carved into the rock face of the cave leading up to the narrow tunnel, crawled back through, and rejoined the others. Jade and Mijista smothered him with kisses and hugs when he told them all was well, and on hands and knees led them through the low passage until they emerged in the cavern.
They walked almost to the cavern mouth and stopped. Eyes went wide as they saw what abutted the mouth of the cave: an artificial wall, a building of some kind backing into it. At the edge of the wall was a mound of bones.
The mound was as tall as two men. Hundreds, perhaps over a thousand, corpses’ worth of bones. Aros had never seen such a thing and had been so focused on fighting that he hadn’t noticed it even though it had been in plain sight. Human bones.
And coming out of the building, led by the general, were dozens of captives, shivering and terrified, in chains. Slaves, he supposed, most of them. And captives of war—a third of them had the manner of fighting men. Even in the shadow of this horror, they still carried themselves with what he recognized as pride.
And then, coming last from the building … You had to look at her. She was calm in the midst of chaos. Bright, alert, ready. Her clothing was filthy, tattered, and hardly regal, but as he came closer he could see that they had been fashioned from excellent cloth. Her bearing was royal, and even though he could see the fear in her face, in her eyes, the set of her lips was strong and determined.
Jade Silith’s eyes went from the princess to her husband and back again. And it actually pained Aros to see the changes her face went through: from curiosity to astonishment to comprehension and then … to grief.
“What is this?” she asked her husband. “What is all of this? Where have you brought us?” Before he could answer, she turned to the princess.
“Are you Tahlia?” she asked. “I believe I saw a drawing of Your Highness once, and I have heard that you had been captured.”
“I am Tahlia, princess of Quillia. And if you can return me to my … my … country, my mother…”
“We can do that,” Jade said.
Trembling, Tahlia gathered herself to search Madam Silith’s eyes, seeking treachery.
Aros spoke. “I am with Neoloth-Pteor,” he said. “Princess Tahlia, I—”
“You?” An Azteca warrior? She wasn’t quite buying it. “But where is Neoloth? Wait. What of Drasilljah? My—”
Aros didn’t look at Silith. “Neoloth must be trying to rescue you. He’ll get Drasilljah, if she’s still in the Tower. I hope to meet him later.”
She collapsed. All of the strength that had sustained her had drained out at the first kind word or ray of hope.
“Husband,” Jade said, and there was something in her voice that Aros had never heard before, from anyone, some combination of emotions that were painful to hear. “The people who tried to kill us. The … the Hundred? They kidnapped the princess for their … sacrifices. And … you rescued her?”
There it was. She knew. Somehow, drawing on things said over the years of their marriage, she’d guessed at more deaths than an Aztec royal could face.
The others, including Mijista, were hovering around the princess or trying to succor the freed victims …
Jade knew. But she was asking him to lie to her.
And he would not. Could not. He took her hands in his and stroked her smooth skin with his thumbs. “I was part of this thing.”
Her face looked like it was about to crack or melt, and suddenly in the cold and alien light of the crystal tube, she looked old in a way she never had before. Her lip trembled.
“Our son—” he began.
She slapped him, hard.
His face did not turn away. “I was so filled with hate and anger from what happened to our son—”
She slapped him again.
He continued. “I wanted revenge.”
“You…,” she said, voice swollen with indignation and disbelief. “You would know the pain that I suffered at the loss of our child and give that exact same pain to another woman? And to other children. This is how you honor me? Honor our dead?”
Aros felt more embarrassed than anything else. This was not a discussion he wanted to be a part of, in any way.
“But Kasha made me realize what I did. Made me see. I have
been wrong.”
“Wrong? Is that how you describe the destruction of everything we’ve ever been to each other, to the world? Wrong?”
“I’m sorry,” he said, and cast his eyes down.
Jade Silith looked around them. At the mountain of bones. The wretched victims. Her anger faded, and with it her strength, and she collapsed against Mijista.
Mijista held her, glancing from the sagging woman to her husband, to the wall of bones and the stunned and newly freed victims to General Silith and back again.
“What do you plan to do now?” she asked.
Silith paused, thinking. Aros thought that he might have remained silent forever had Madam Silith not come out of her trance and looked at him. Their surviving guests. The rescued victims.
“What the hell,” he whispered. “They tried to kill me twice. I’ve slaughtered the men who guarded this tunnel.”
“Why?” Jade asked. Aros could tell that she was hoping for an answer that would let her love this man … and, more important, trust him.
“They would kill any of you who knew of this. I intended to sneak you out and let them wonder. It won’t work. They’ll know it was me once they know I survived. I have no allies there. All I have is my family, and I don’t even know if I have that.”
Princess Tahlia was trying to follow. She asked, looking first at Aros and then the general, “What was this all about?”
Silith said, “To use their magic to open a door to the future and, from that future, to bring weapons that would control the present. Destroy any army that stood against us. And … destroy magic itself.”
“That’s what we were dying for?” Tahlia demanded.
Silith tried to meet his wife’s gaze and could not, but he spoke to her. “Yes. Princess, you were a twofold target. Your mother could be controlled with threats, and your royal blood would open the aperture much further. I was insane with grief and rage, and my soul is lost.” When he looked at them, there was a pain in his eyes that Aros had rarely seen. “Then I saw you, Kasha. My son, come to life.”
