"I feel giddy," saidjadira after a few minutes. "These vapors have lightened my head!"
"There is magic afoot here," Tamakh replied in a loud whisper. " Very old and very strong."
They reached bottom after more than iwo hundred steps. The exit at the foot of the steps was blocked by a fine curtain of sheer cloth, still pliant after twenty centuries. Tamakh thrust through the veil.
They found themselves in the greatest room yet, a vast vault the size of a city square. Four stone columns were giant lamps, with something burning at their tops. By the light the columns provided, it was easy to see the central feature of the vault: a black sphere as wide as ten men, resting on a low, cup-shaped base carved from black marble. The base was incised with Hankaran hieroglyphs inlaid with gold.
"What is this place?" saidjadira in awe.
"A tomb. The resting place for the one named Kaur-ous," replied Tamakh. "Not royalty or of the priestly order; perhaps a sorcerer." He bent way back to take in the enormity of the black sphere. "A very powerful sorcerer."
jadira noticed that the floor was deeply grooved and worn around the base. Many feet had walked around the stone for untold years to wear such ruts. She went to the bottom of one of the fire pillars. A sticky black residue had trickled down the side. It smelled strongly of sulfur.
"That's how they kept the fires burning untended all these centuries," said Tamakh. "The flames must be fed by some reservoir of pitch."
The rim of the vault was a gallery of doors, some to stairwells, others to corridors and antechambers of various depths. Jadira went to each opening and shouted, "Hai, hai! Marix! Uramettu! Nabul! Can you hear me?" She tried more than a dozen doors before a faint voice replied.
"Here, here, down here!"
"Tamakh, I found them!" The priest ran, puffing, to her, and they plunged into a passage that was cluttered with pottery shards, fragments of desiccated wood, and scrolls of stiff cloth that disintegrated at the slightest touch.
The passage finally opened into a room containing a pit of tar. Uramettu was still piling sand on the surface of the tar, trying to firm it enough to rescue Marix and Nabul.
A chorus of happy shouts erupted when the separated companions caught sight of each other. Uramettu quickly apprised jadira and Tamakh of the situation.
"We passed a hall full of rubbish we could use," jadira suggested. She and Tamakh returned to the passage and gathered armfuls of trash. Wood and clay stiffened the layer of sand. Finally, Uramettu, moving on her hands and knees like some giant insect, went out onto the surface of the treacherous pool.
"My friend," she said to Marix, "I am going to toss you the end of my sash. Hold to it tightly, and I will pull you to safety."
The Fedushite backed up, and Marix slid on his back to the rim. He rolled over the wall and threw his arms around jadira. He broke the ardent embrace and, looking embarrassed, clapped Tamakh on the shoulder.
"You look hale, holy man," he said. "Now, let's get Nabul."
The thief was in a more difficult position. He didn' t dare lift his arms to grasp Uramettu's sash, and she couldn't cast a loop over his head. "You're going to have to move some," she advised. "Try to (urn over."
Nabul slowly lifted his right shoulder and turned. He was on his side before his left arm pushed through the sand into the tar.
"Yah, ha! Help!" he cried. "It has me, ii has me!"
"Take the end and hold on!" Uramettu urged. Nabul, trying to keep from panicking, grasped the sash and wrapped it around his free arm. The black syrup was already to his chest.
"Don't thrash about—you'll only sink faster," Marix called from the edge. Uramettu braced her knees wide apart on two shards and pulled. Nabul rose a bit from the mire, then sank back as Uramettu ceased pulling; her own position was becoming precarious.
"The grip is too strong," she said. "1 need help!"
Jadira climbed over the wall onto the bridge of rubbish. The surface gave under her feet and hands. She crept forward as fast as she could. Marix followed.
"Take hold of Uramettu's feet," he said. "I'll hold
your feet, and Tamakh can seize mine."
This they did. "Now pull!" said Uramettu.
Nabul, half under the tar, was praying to the entire Faziri pantheon for a merciful death. Suddenly the grip of the bitumen eased, and he slid up onto a raft of old lathing. He wept and thanked his companions for his deliverance.
When everyone was safe on solid stone again, all the torches in the room dimmed in unison.
"I don't think we're alone," whispered Tamakh.
"You mean the one in the tomb?" said jadira. "Surely he is dead."
"Death is not always the end. I want to return to the vault and read the inscription."
Nabul rubbed the sticky black gum from his arm and neck. His robe clinked as he rubbed. Dipping a hand in, he came out with a fistful of jewels. Well! He hadn't lost all his loot.
In the vault, the fire pillars had dimmed to fitful glimmers. Tamakh had to feel with his fingers to make out the exact shape of some of the gold-filled hieroglyphs.
"I don't understand," he said.
"Can you not read it?" Jadira asked.
"Yes, but the meaning evades me. It says: 'Any man may set him free.' Is that a request or a warning?"
"This is a sepulcher?" said Nabul breathlessly. He had forgotten his near brush with death when confronted with the mighty black sphere.
"So it seems," said Marix.
"Think of it! Think of the treasure that must lay buried within so magnificent a tomb!"
"Let it stay buried," said Tamakh sharply. "There is power at work here, even after two thousand years.
Such power should remain entombed."
"Rot! The dead are dead. They have no use for gold"
"The dead in this place are not idle," Jadira said. She told them how mummies had chased her and the priest.
"There are no mummies here." The thief stepped up to the sphere and touched his fingers lightly to its surface. It was cold and smooth.
"What's it made of?" asked Marix. The thief took out his dagger to scratch the flawless material. With a loud click, his blade stuck to the sphere.
"Lodestone!" said Uramettu. Nabul tugged at his dagger. It slid across the surface but would not come free.
"Leave it, man!" Tamakh said. Nabul planted his foot on the magnetic stone and dragged at the hilt of his weapon.
"Don't—"Jadira began.
The giant globe, balanced on the narrow base, shifted under the thiefs pressure. The dagger hilt popped free, but the blade remained. Nabul put both hands on the pommel and yanked with all his might.
The tip came away, and Nabul fell back. The black sphere shifted ponderously off its base. It crashed down the three wide, shallow steps and rolled into one of the flaming pillars. The tower of small fitted stones collapsed. Thick streams of bitumen spewed out of the shattered column, drenching the sphere. The giant black globe stuck fast and stopped.
Nabul leaped up and ran to the rim of the hole revealed by the movement of the sphere. He stared into the pit, hoping to see the first gleam of a wonderful hoard. One by one the others joined him. Instead of the glitter of gold and jewels, however, the pit was filled with a glowing pink mist that appeared to be welling up toward them.
"Now what?" Marix said. The level of the fog rose rapidly, overspilling the rim. Its color deepened to red. It flowed over Uramettu's bare feet, and she hopped aside.
"It's cold!" she said. "So cold it feels hot."
They all stepped back. In the center of the mist, a spindle-shaped mass coalesced. It began to pulse and rotate. Faster and faster, it built into a whirling column of blood-colored smoke. Lightning cracked from the head of the spinning mass, scoring burned furrows into the walls. The whirlwind sucked the air inward, whipping at the companions' hair and clothing. Jadira lost her footing. Marix caught and held her. The wind shrieked around them in a deafening cacophony. Just as it seemed they would all be sucked into the i
cy, hot cloud, the cyclone solidified into a giant muscled figure, ten paces high. Only the waist-up portion of the giant resembled solid flesh; below that it was still mist.
"I, KAUROUS, LIVE AGAIN!" boomed the behemoth.
"Mercy! Mercy!" Nabul cried.
A bald head as wide as a wagon swiveled down. Green tusks as long as a man protruded from the apparition's mouth, and his earlobes hung down to his shoulders. Kaurous was red all over, even his barrel-sized eyes.
"WHO HAS FREED ME FROM THE PIT?" he roared. Nabul cringed and said nothing. The others were transfixed with wonder. "WHO FREED ME?"
"We did, Mighty One," said Tamakh at last.
"HOW LONG HAS IT BEEN SINCE I LAST SAW THE SUN?"
"We think—I would say, almost two thousand years."
"TWO THOUSAND? IT SEEMED MUCH LONGER."
"Pardon me, sir, but what are you?" asked Marix.
"HAS THE WORLD SO SOON FORGOTTEN THE GREAT KAUROUS, PRINCE OF THE EFREETI?"
Tamakh seized Marix's arm and dragged him close. "Beware, my friend! The efreeti are dangerous, untrustworthy creatures of great power. Pass that on." Marix whispered to Jadira, who spoke in Uramettu's ear, who mumbled a warning to Nabul.
"FOR FREEING ME, LITTLE ONES, I SHALL GRANT YOU TWO WISHES."
"Only two? I thought three was the customary number," said Marix. Kaurous exhaled lire from his nostrils.
"HAD YOU COME A THOUSAND YEARS AGO, I MIGHT HAVE GRANTED THREE. A THOUSAND YEARS HENCE, YOU WOULD GET BUT ONE."
Tamakh nudged Marix and said humbly, "Thank you, Mighty One. We are deeply grateful."
"AS YOU SHOULD BE. WELL, MAKE HASTE WITH YOUR PUNY REQUESTS. MY SUBJECTS AWAIT ME."
Nabul sat up. "1 want—" Uramettu clapped a hand over his mouth.
"This calls for discretion," said Jadira. "My people have a saying: 'Ask an efreet for a knife, and you'll get it point first'."
"Why not wish for more wishes?" suggested Marix.
"No! Mortals do not bandy words with demigods! He would slay us all in the blink of an eye," interjected Tamakh.
"What do we need most?" asked Uramettu.
"The seal of Lydon," said Marix.
"No," Jadira answered. "The seal is safe enough hidden where it is. If we had it with us now, we would risk losing it before we reached Tantuffa."
"What then?" asked Marix.
"I AM WAITING, INSECTS."
"What arc the two most essential requirements for a dangerous journey?"
"Food," said Tamakh.
"Money," offered Nabul.
"Weapons," said Marix. Jadira nodded.
"Yes, food and weapons. That's what we'll ask for." She turned to the towering efreet and missed Nabul's disgusted grimace.
Tamakh caught Jadira's elbow. "Be careful how you ask," he said. "The efreeti love to trick mortals."
"O Great Kaurous," she began. "We five travel across the Red Sands to the sea. We ask two things to make our journey easier."
"DO YOU DESIRE A FLYING CONVEYANCE?"
Jadira looked startled. "I hadn't thought of that."
Tamakh shook his head frantically. "No, no, keep it simple."
"Of course. O Kaurous: provide us with a provision bag that is easily carried, yet can never be emptied of food."
"IT IS DONE."
A pannier of red leather appeared at Jadira's feet. Marix picked it up and looked inside. "Bread, dates, olives, and honey," he said.
"Dump it out," advised Tamakh. Marix poured the food on the floor. The bag refilled instantly.
"All right. Next, we want a weapon that slays at a distance and never misses—"
"Sized for a mortal," inserted Tamakh.
"—and which is sized for a mortal," Jadira added.
A bow of dark wood, inlaid with ivory and silver, materialized in Marix's hands. A quiver of black-fletched arrows appeared on his hip.
"THIS EFREET BOW WILL NEVER FAIL TO HIT AND WILL ALWAYS SLAY. NOW MY DEBT TO YOU IS DISCHARGED. I SHALL QUIT THIS CURSED PLACE."
"Prince of Efreeti, may I humbly beg one last indulgence from you?" asked Tamakh.
The enormous creature scratched his chin. His nails were like sabers, but then his hide was thicker than an elephant's. "WHAT INDULGENCE?" said Kautous.
The priest remembered Agma's warning and wanted to further it. "With your power to sec far beyond the horizon, can you tell us if we are being pursued?"
Kaurous inflated his massive crimson chest. "1 SEE WO SCORE AND TEN LITTLE BEETLES WITH BLOOD ON THEIR HANDS. THEY FOLLOW IN YOUR TRACKS LIKE GREEDY HOUNDS ON THE SCENT. WHERE EARTH AND SKY JOIN TOGETHER THEY HAVE REAPED A HARVEST."
"Why don't these powerful beings ever speak plainly?" complained Marix.
"Shhh!" hissed Jadira.
"Is there anything else you can tell us, O Great Kaurous?" Tamakh asked.
"HEAR THIS WISDOM, INSECTS: NEVER TRUST A CRUEL CAMEL SELLER OR A BAKER OF THIN
LOAVES, FOR ONE ABUSES HIS BEASTS AND THE OTHER ABUSES HIS YEASTS."
"Now he's telling us bad jokes," Marix muttered.
"Well, he hasn't heard any good ones in two thousand years," said Nabul.
"FAREWELL!"
The efreet ignited into a whirlwind of flame again and rose out of his pit. The whirlwind touched the peaked ceiling and bored ihrough, melting solid rock as if it were soft i heesc. Sparks and drops of liquid rock rained down, and the five took hasty shelter in an antechamber off the main vault.
Gradually the fierce red glow faded. In its place came a soft, steady light, shining down the wide shaft bored by Kaurous. Jadira stepped out into the cone of white light.
"The sun!" she said. "The storm is over!"
The Hand of the Sultan
Captain Fu'ad pouted a gourd full of water over his hot, dusty head. The coolness of the liquid trickling behind his ears refreshed him far more than drinking it would have.
The Invincibles had crossed the desert from Rehajid to Julli oasis—a journey half again as long as the route the fugitives had taken. Nine horses perished from the heat, and two lancers went off their heads. Now at Julli, Fu'ad encountered a stone wall. None of the nomads or caravaners would say anything about Marix and company.
Marad returned to his commander empty-handed. "No one will speak, my brother," he said. "The nomads regard the Sudiin woman as a sister, and neither gold nor threats will loosen their tongues."
"Then perhaps we should carry out our threats," said Fu'ad.
"I would not advise it, sir. These are proud people, and a harsh act against one will turn them all against us."
Fu'ad scowled. He wiped the slim blade of his scimitar with a clean cloth and returned it to its scabbard. "Are the men reprovisioned?" he said.
"The horses have been watered, and the Phoenix Troop is refilling its food and water bags."
"Very well. Hurry them along. The scum have an eight-day lead that we must overcome."
Fu'ad strapped on his sword belt and adjusted the drape of his surcoat. When all was in place, he set out on foot to cross the oasis from end to end. It could be that some clue to the destination of the fugitives was waiting to be discovered.
He found a tent set up among the pillars. A mixed line of people—nomads, Faziris, Zimorans, and others—waited to enter. Fu'ad accosted the rearmost man.
"Hail, fellow. What is in the tent that generates such a long line?"
"Have you not heard? This was the scene of a divine manifestation, not half a moonturn ago. A fire god of the East, Agma, saved a man from hanging."
Mention of the heretical sect brought Fu'ad's attention to sharp focus. "Agma, you say? I thought the sultan—may he live forever—had forbidden worship of that deity."
The stranger looked Fu'ad up and down. "Your pardon, Captain. Speaking for myself, I deplore superstition, but Julli lacks the diversions of a real town. I was curious to see the relic left behind by the, ah, false god."
"Relic, you say? I shall see about this."
Fu'ad cut to the head of the
line. Two Aqiri guarded the flap of the tent. When they saw Fu'ad, they crossed their arms in a gesture of peace and let him enter unopposed.
A wooden trestle stood in the center of the small tent.
On it burned a brass brazier. In front of this votive fire lay the iron bar from which the Yali Mit'ai had tried to hang Nabul. The deep bend was still in it. An Aqiri deverman told Fu'ad how the rod came to be bent Fu'ad listened keenly.
"Who were the companions of this thief?" he finally asked. "Did you see them?"
"Oh, as closely as I see Your Mightiness. There was the holy man of stout figure. It was he who blessed us and promised—"
"And who else?" Fu'ad said sharply.
The Aqiri blinked and recalled to whom he spoke. "A foreign man with pale skin and hair. A very tall black woman who walked like a prowling cat. And a nomad woman. She was ma/am."
"Was this woman of the Sudiin?"
"Ai, yes; she was Sudiin of Sudiin."
"And where did these people go after the 'miracle'?"
"Who can say, my lord? Off to do the god's business."
Fu'ad grabbed the Aqiri by the throat and thrust the point of his dagger into the tight skin of the man's neck. A single drop of blood oozed out. The Aqiri gasped and went pale.
"Now harken to me, nomad; I want to know where the four who saved this thief went, and exactly how long ago, or I'll push this little blade into your throat up to the hilt." The dagger was a handspan long.
"S-s-sir! They returned to the Red Sands! N-north by west, they went. I swear!"
Fu'ad wiggled the tip of the dagger. "And how long ago?"
"S-six days, Merciful One. Six days!"
The dagger went back to its sheath. "For your most helpful cooperation, I will not trample this false shrine into the oasis grass; I have not the time to waste. But you, my unworthy friend, had best not be here when I return," Fu'ad said.
He strode outside. The line of hopefuls wanting to see Agma's sacred relic had vanished. Word of Fu'ad's identity had spread fast.
Marad trotted up. "My captain! The men are ready to depart."
"Very good, my brother. We leave at once."
"lo go where, sir?"
"Back into the desert. North by west."
The Invincibles loped across the high desert in two long lines. There was no need for outriders or pickets; visibility was to the horizon. Fu'ad could feel the sweat saturating the quilted tunic under his armor. Dampness spread down his chest and back until he squelched with each forward swing in the saddle.
D & D - Red Sands Page 11
