by C. L. Scheel
"Aerik, when did this happen?"
"Yesterday morning. I saw them from my hiding place. It were the scarred one who betrayed him."
"Kuurus?" Kitarisa asked, astounded, looking up at Mar'Kess and Achad.
"Aye, lady, it were, but he did not want to do it. She made him."
"What happened, boy?" Achad asked quietly from the other side of the room.
"He fought their captain, master. Fought good, but they were too many. Then, they tied him up and she hurt him."
"How so?"
"She made the blood come, like with the others. And...and then they took him away, but they killed the warriors. I saw it! They took their swords and...and...!"
The boy began sobbing uncontrollably, his thin shoulders shook and his hands tried to wipe at his tears.
Kitarisa took Aerik into her arms fighting her own tears. She rocked him gently, kissing the top of this head and murmuring soft words of comfort. She looked at the frowning men and nodded her head, indicating they should leave.
"Hush now. You were such a brave boy. To come all this way, alone. How did you get here?"
"I rode the great lord's horse." Aerik sniffed.
"Prince Assur's big gray horse, Adzra? My, what a feat. Did you know, no one can ride him but the Ter-Rey? Adzra must have known you were very special to allow that."
She rocked Aerik for a while until his crying stopped. His skin was warm now and there was some color back in his cheeks. She set him back into the bed and tucked the soft covers under his chin.
"You go to sleep now, Aerik. You deserve it. You did the right thing, but it was a very dangerous." She patted his arm. "My, the Talesians will probably make you an honorary warrior--they will sing songs in your honor!"
Aerik grinned. "Do you think so?"
"Of course. Do you remember that tall Talesian, the older one? Well, that was the Ter-Rey's own father. He has only the greatest respect for brave warriors like you."
She leaned over and kissed his brow.
"Now go to sleep. I'll be close by; you are quite safe."
The boy closed his eyes and in moments he was asleep.
The men waited outside the room and all their quiet muttering ceased the moment she emerged.
"My Lord Achad, that boy has seen more horror than any adult could bear. Both his parents were murdered by the Wrathmen and now his entire village is gone."
"You believe him?" De'Tai asked.
"I have no reason not to, Councilor De'Tai. Mar'Kess can confirm this."
Mar'Kess nodded. "I saw the village and those women. The Wrathmen had been quite thorough. However, now the question is, what happens with Kazan? Couriers have been arriving hourly with reports that Kazan's legions have passed the Rift Cut."
"Then we must assume Kazan also knows about Assur's abduction and will press his advantage. Without Assur to lead the Talesians or his leadership here in Riehl, there will be chaos," De'Tai added grimly.
"The Talesians will fight; there will be no difficulty in that," said Achad. "I will see to it."
"And what about Assur? Do we just leave him to his fate?" Kitarisa asked.
"Assur is a warrior. He knows how to take care of himself, my lady," Achad went on.
"Your Highness, we cannot leave him. I have seen Malgora's handiwork. She is mad beyond all reason. What she did to the Lady Falla was unspeakable--there are no limits to her atrocities once she gets him into the Catacombs," Mar'Kess said heatedly. "I'll go. Give me three days; I'll get him out."
"There is Kuurus," Kitarisa reminded him.
"All the more reason for me to go." He looked at Achad. "I leave at first light. Watch Kazan's right flank--he'll use it to pin you under the Cut, the escarpment."
Achad nodded and turned abruptly to leave for the Talesian camp.
"What else needs to be done, Captain Mar'Kess?" De'Tai asked.
"Bring the livestock inside the city walls. It isn't necessary yet, but prepare to bring the women and children inside the walls of the keep at any moment. How much fodder has been stored for the animals."
"Enough for the horses, but only through the winter."
"Then find as many men as you can while there is still time and get as much grain and hay into the city. This may be a long siege and I'm not ready to eat the rats!"
KITARISA DID NOT even ask Mar'Kess if she could accompany him, but simply had a horse saddled and waited for him in the courtyard. The captain looked at her and nodded. Mar'Kess did not question her motives either, nor did he try and stop her, but merely warned her that he would not stop until they reached the Catacombs.
He was a good as his word, never letting up the pace and only stopping long enough for a hasty meal or to let the horses rest. Even during their brief rests, he spoke little, but seemed preoccupied with his own thoughts.
"Do you think she will do the same to him as with Lady Falla?" Kitarisa asked.
"Most certainly, only it will take longer."
"What if she kills him?"
"I do not think she will kill him right away. Remember what the old woman said. And, I know what I heard from those two witches in the keep--Malgora needs Assur for his Will. Perhaps it is the way she becomes more powerful."
Kitarisa studied him for a moment, weighing his words.
"Like a leach," she whispered.
"Very likely," he agreed.
"Raldan, if this is so, then why did she let those farmers go and those men we found by the river?"
"I don't think she let them go. I think they escaped and her hounds caught up with them."
They rode on heading closer and closer to the massive mountains to the east, the Soldrat Mountains where the Catacombs lay. There appeared to be only one pathway twisting and turning through the tortuous maze of solid granite--no trees to soften its stark beauty and no gentle mountain meadows for them to stop and rest.
Kitarisa glanced upward at the rocky ledges and deep crevices where someone might hide. "What if there are Wrathmen in those rocks?"
"There could be. If Malgora knew we were coming, she would have caught us long ago."
"She could be waiting for us with another trap."
"True," he admitted. "But we must take that risk. I'll tell you what I think, my lady. I think she is buying time with the battle between Kazan and Riehl." He held out his gauntleted hands to her and made a fist with one. "She has Kazan and Alor in her grasp and they will rule the east." He closed his other hand. "Now she has Assur. If he breaks, she will have control over the west. Malgora will have everything."
Even with the sun still high in the sky, the path became a narrow trail, cutting deep into the interior of the mountain making it seem as if they were traveling at dusk. The granite turned to slate-blue and the shadows deepened against the dark rock.
The walls narrowed as they rode along, until Kitarisa felt as if the chasm walls would brush against her shoulders. There was barely room for a single horse to pass and on occasion she had the urge to draw in her elbows to her sides to avoid scraping the rock. The sky above them narrowed to a thin blue slash between the cavernous walls.
Mar'Kess held up his hand, signaling her to stop. They had come the end of the pathway and close to the entrance to the Catacombs.
"We'll wait here until it is dark," he said softly.
There was scant room to dismount, but both managed to get off their horses and stand close by their sides to wait until the sun disappeared.
"Look at this," Mar'Kess whispered and beckoned her to come next to him near the opening in the chasm.
Kitarisa barely restrained a gasp of wonder. The black granite had abruptly given way to red sandstone just beyond the opening. Rising above the bedrock for a hundred and fifty feet, and carved into the face of the mountain wall, was the facade to a temple. Five arches supported by massive columns designated its entrance; each archway carved and etched with strange beings and unknown creatures. The deep red of the sandstone had turned bloody-colored in the late afternoon sun.
"The Sisters did not build this, I am certain, but who did?" she asked.
"I don't know. Some ancient people from before the old empire perhaps," he offered. "Kitarisa, it is almost dark. Are you ready?"
"Yes."
Cautiously, the two of them crept toward the opening of the massive red temple. They could see a faint light coming from the interior. Once inside, Kitarisa stared in amazement. They had entered into be a massive audience chamber extending deep into the interior of the mountain. The side walls were supported by huge columns, carved like the ones on the outside of the temple. The vaulted ceiling soared above Kitarisa and Mar'Kess--each of the cornices decorated with gargoyles and hideous creatures, writhing things with scales and talons and grotesque wings that flapped over their ugly heads. Their mouths had been carved open, revealing long split tongues and rows of vicious teeth. They crouched over their heads as if ready to spring down upon them at any moment.
At the end of the great hall was a high dais, but no throne, only a simple altar stone upon it. In the center of the hall a circular depression had been cut into the floor and from this, there flickered a low fire that cast shadows into weird and fantastic shapes across the walls.
Mar'Kess plucked at her elbow and motioned for her to follow him. He slipped into the side of the hall and between the great pillars--he had discovered another doorway toward the back.
Kitarisa longed to escape to the outside and stay with the friendly companionship of the horses, but made herself follow Mar'Kess.
The interior corridor was longer and darker, there being only a handful of torches bracketed in the wall that stretched further back into the mountain and it smelled old and damp, of something else--like sulphur and a faint odor of animals. From a distance, they heard the soft sound of chanting.
At the end of the corridor, the hall turned to a wide staircase, spiraling downward to the right. The chanting had grown louder. Kitarisa pressed close to Mar'Kess and whispered directly into his ear.
"We are going to be seen, I know it."
"There is no other entrance, my lady," he whispered back.
They continued to make their slow descent into the temple, the chanting becoming louder and the light getting brighter. Still, there were no Wrathmen in sight and no other guards.
At the base of the wide staircase, both of them shrank back into the flickering shadows.
It was another enormous chamber, twice the width of the upper one and nearly three times as high. It looked more like a town square than a room. Three balconies flanked each side of the chamber where they saw dozens of women in white robes. Some were walking sedately in twos or threes and others, younger girls, moved around them as if hurrying to fulfill some important task. The younger girls, novitiates Kitarisa presumed, wore the same white gowns, simpler and shorter, but each of them wore a long white veil, bound to their heads by a flat, white band that tied at the back in an intricate knot.
The older Sisters' hair had pure white hair which fell nearly to their knees. On a few, she noticed, their hair almost touched the floor.
At the uppermost tiers they saw more of the Sisters lining the railing, shoulder to shoulder and chanting in high, soft voices. Every few minutes one of the Sisters would leave and another would replace her to continue the singing in an endless vigil.
The floor of the vast chamber was cobbled in red stones and in the very center was a enormous dais and catafalque. On that rested a glass coffin. Four candlesticks of silver, as high as Kitarisa's head, stood at the four corners of the dais--their flickering light picked up the features of the body within the coffin.
It was the shriveled, dried-up corpse of a woman. The skeletal hands were crossed at her breast and the long, once-white hair was now yellowed with age. It sprang from the ancient, withered skull like a mass of aged spiders' webs.
"It must be Medruth," she said faintly. She saw Mar'Kess nod and heard his soft oath of disgust.
None of the Sisters crossed directly in front of the bier, but skirted well along the edges of the great chamber.
Mar'Kess grabbed her elbow and tugged her deeper into the shadows under the first balcony.
"We need to get deeper into the temple. Do you think you could pretend to be one of them?"
"I think so."
Mar'Kess watched the moving Sisters, some coming to within arms length of their hiding place. A very young girl, the sweetness of her youth and memories of her life before the Catacombs still on her pretty face, moved toward them. Swiftly, Mar'Kess grabbed her and before she could cry out, dragged her into their dark corner and lightly rapped the pommel of his sword against her temple. The girl sank quietly to the stones.
"Quick, get into her robes."
Kitarisa obeyed as fast as her trembling hands would allow. The white gown fitted comfortably over own, but the veil would not stay over her bound up hair. Frantically, she tugged the pins free and fastened the veil firmly over her head.
"How do I look?" she whispered to him.
"Like a witch," he whispered back with a grin on his face.
Mar'Kess nodded toward the back of the chamber where they saw another opening that went deeper into other areas of the temple.
"My guess is they keep their prisoners in a level lower than this. See if you can find it. I'll stay here. If I'm careful, I won't be seen. Kitarisa, if Assur is dead then you must get out as fast as you can, even if they kill me, too. You must get to Achad and tell him."
"But what if they decide to kill me?"
"Then they will know someone else has gotten in and they'll probably look for me. I'll wait a long time. If you do not get back, I'll assume you were discovered. You must be brave, my lady."
Kitarisa nodded and turned away from him. With a bowed head and hands modestly clasped in front of her, she eased into the chamber.
She slipped into the stream of murmuring Sisters, keeping her head down. She had no idea what they were saying, but kept up a constant, fervent whispering of Medruth's name in case someone might spot her.
Behind the great catafalque she found another archway leading into a central juncture where six other corridors met, and those corridors branching off into the deeper recesses of the temple. Sisters moved about her without hurrying, but purposefully toward their various duties. Kitarisa stopped and looked from one corridor to the next, trying to decide which one to take.
"Sister!" a firm voice spoke to her from behind. Kitarisa turned to face the tall, commanding figure of an older woman. Her snow white hair touched her ankles and the clear eyes seemed to pick at her bones. "You have no duties to attend to?" she asked sharply.
"Holy Sister, I am quite new," Kitarisa dropped a timid curtsey, "And I have lost my way."
"What is your name?" she demanded.
"Falanna, Holy Sister."
"Falanna, Falanna," the tall woman muttered. "I do not recall that name on the roster of novitiates. I shall speak to Sister Narenne. However, in the meantime, the Divine Lady does not tolerate idlers. As a novitiate your tasks include feeding the prisoners. Go to the kitchens at once. Speak to Sister Corianna. You will hurry, but with measured paces. Remember, we do not run about, but approach our tasks with dignity and respect. Go now." She pointed to the corridor to the far right.
Kitarisa made another hasty curtsey and hurried off into the corridor.
The darkness and the feeling of being trapped was nearly claustrophobic as she scurried along the long corridor. Few of the Sisters were heading back to the great chamber, but more, like herself, dressed in the robes of a novitiate were making their way to the bright light coming from the end of the corridor.
She entered another cavern, the stone walls caraved into an enormous kitchen. At the far wall, three bright, hot fires burned within their great hearths. Younger girls were set to turning the spits laden with roasting hens and pheasants, suckling pigs, or sides of breok. In front of the hearths were two rows of long tables with a small army of women in white robes, chopping and dicing, or knea
ding and shaping endless loaves of bread. Aside from the roar of the fires and the sounds of their work, the Sisters labored in absolute silence. Occasionally, she heard one of the older ones giving firm orders and to the right of the kitchen, a line of novitiates were carrying away baskets full of food, heading for the far door toward the back.
Kitarisa slipped into the line still keeping her head down.
"Are you new?" a sweet voice asked from behind her. She turned to see the owner of the voice and found herself looking into the face of a girl who could not be more than thirteen. A few stray auburn hairs had escaped the confines of her veil and fluttered against her fair cheeks. She smiled at Kitarisa. The corruption and cruelty had not yet changed her dancing light blue eyes.
"Yes, I am new, very new. I am Sister Falanna."
"I am Sister Ramelet, I am an Odun. Of what tribe are you?" she whispered.
"I am a Gorendt. Do you know what to do?" she asked softly.
"Oh, yes. We are to feed the prisoners. Stay with me, I'll show you."
When it came her turn, a round basket laden with bread and cheese was shoved into her hands by a harried-looking Sister.
"Don't spill any of it," the older woman ordered crossly.
Kitarisa followed Ramelet out of the kitchen and into an endless series of rooms and chambers.
To her horror every room was filled with cages, and in each cage were the prisoners. They were soldiers and warriors from every tribe she knew of and others she did not recognize. There was no noise, no cage rattling, no demand for food--just a dreadful, mindless silence. They looked out from the cages with lifeless eyes, their faces blank as they stared at nothing.
Although the cages themselves were locked, the Sisters moved freely in and without fear and passed out food into docile hands.
There were no beds or any other sort of furniture in the cages, only thick, clean straw, and in the corner of each cage was a relief urn--they too appeared clean and emptied often.
"Come on," Ramelet whispered. "They can't hurt you; these are the good ones."
Kitarisa eased into the nearest cage and began passing out the bread and cheese to the nearest man--a hulking Qualani dressed in hides, with a necklace of black onyx beads and bear claws around his neck. The next two were dark-faced Huons who accepted the food as meekly as timid children; the fourth was a herdsman and the last warrior almost made her weep. He was a Chaliset Talesian and handsome like Assur. No fire lit his boldly-marked eyes as he quietly reached up to take the food. His back and chest were riddled with scars from some recent beating.
