"I'm waiting right here, damn it!"
"If you want-but you'll have a long stay." Ariakas, impatient, turned to Lyrelee. "Lef s go."
Leaving the fuming Ferros Windchisel, Ariakas and Lyrelee prodded Tale Splintersteel into the great hall. In silence they stalked through the inner corridors, past the red-coated guards at the gates of the Sanctified Cata shy;combs, and started down the long, straight stairway.
Ariakas employed a technique he had developed dur shy;ing previous forays into the darkness: he cast a light spell on a gem set in his helmet's front. Illumination spread through a wide arc before him, and naturally swiveled with his head whenever he looked around.
The Zhakar shuffled along ahead of them, head held down, hands lashed together at his back. Occasionally he stumbled, and once he fell. Ariakas then lifted him by the scruff of the neck, the man's stomach churning at the thought of the festering skin beneath the robe.
"Where are we going?" grunted Tale Splintersteel eventually. Abruptly the Zhakar stopped, and Ariakas almost tumbled into him. "At least tell me that much, if you want me to keep walking."
"We're going to the place where the Zhakar thief I told you about… the one who claimed he was your agent… was caught."
"I see." Splintersteel resumed his plodding pace, a little more firmness in his step.
Lyrelee, meanwhile, crept quietly ahead. The lithe young woman moved like a cat, thought Ariakas-and fought like one too, armed only with the weapons nature had given her. He found himself again studying the out shy;lines of her body through the filmy trousers and blouse. She darted ahead and whirled into the shadows of a side passage, vanishing for several seconds before reappear shy;ing and flitting across the corridor to the next branching hall.
His first impressions of her, as an exceedingly effective fighter, had become softened by a haze of allure. Now as she scouted these tunnels, the warrior's mind focused instead on the slim curve of her breast, or the tight sinew of her leg. His awakening desire burned low, but with a steady heat that must eventually consume. Ariakas fully accepted his growing passion, feeling it move him toward an imminent plan of action. As soon as they had finished with the Zhakar, he resolved, he would take her in his arms and declare his feelings. He had little doubt as to the affirmation of her reply.
Only then did it occur to him that Lyrelee was acting rather strangely, considering that they moved through the inviolate reaches of their own temple. She scouted the next passage ahead of them before striding back in long, silent steps.
"What is it?" Ariakas asked, seeing the concern etched on her narrow face.
"I don't know," she replied, glancing quickly behind her. "It's just-something feels wrong."
"What threat could be down here?" pressed the warrior, disappointed in her reply. "What do you mean: 'feels wrong'?"
She confronted Ariakas frankly, while Tale Splinter steel's hood followed the back-and-forth of conversation "I've noticed it a few times before… a sensation of being watched, spied on."
"You've never seen anything suspicious down here- signs of an intruder?"
"None of us has," replied the priestess. "But even the high priest has had the same feeling-that there are eyes in the darkness, watching … waiting."
The warrior was irritated. The high priest had cer shy;tainly not indicated any such disquiet in his presence. Ariakas certainly didn't feel any strange sensation, and his acute sense of danger had saved his life many times.
"Let's go," he commanded. "If there is a threat, the worst thing we can do is stand still and gape at our sur roundings."
She flashed him a look of surprise and, perhaps, hurt. But Lyrelee turned unquestioningly toward the deep tunnels, leading them on through the maze that Ariakas only vaguely remembered from earlier treks with Par-kane. Lyrelee turned into another passage while the war shy;rior and prisoner, about ten paces behind, continued forward. Ariakas watched the intersection expectantly, but the priestess did not emerge.
Tale Splintersteel halted, and Ariakas went around the Zhakar, the great sword held in both hands. The warrior cast a quick glance at the prisoner, seeing that the robed figure remained bound and still, though the hooded eyes watched his advance with interest.
Tension tingled through every nerve in the warrior's body. He silently cursed the woman, suspecting that nothing more than her unease affected him. Still, when she had not returned for a space of ten heartbeats, he began to feel real concern. Ariakas, nearly to the corridor, looked back. The dwarf hadn't moved.
The warrior whirled around the corner, sword raised for battle. The light from his helmet-gem spilled down a winding, narrow passage. He saw no sign of Lyrelee. Then, something moved at the limit of his vision, a shad shy;owy flicker partially concealed by the curving walls of the naturally eroded cavern. Ariakas leapt forward, feet pounding along the floor as he raced to investigate.
He didn't see the net until it had fallen from the ceil shy;ing, wrapping him from the tip of his sword to the soles of his boots. Ariakas tumbled to the floor, and then something jerked on a line, contracting the strands around him. His helmet toppled off of his head, tipping in the net so that the gleaming gem shone directly in his eyes. Everything beyond the tight enclosure was pure blackness.
And silence.
His attackers moved with uncanny stealth, passing through the darkness like a soft breeze. After an initial second of thrashing, Ariakas lay still, trying to ascertain something, anything, about the ambushers. He caught a scent of pungent, wet fur, like a hound's after the dog has run through a brackish fen. Strong hands tugged on the ropes securing the net, and Ariakas felt it constrict even more tightly. Trying to move, he found that he could barely even kick his feet.
"What?"
He heard the word, spat indignantly by the voice of Tale Splintersteel. In the next instant the Zhakar cursed, and then his voice was muffled. Mutely Ariakas raged- so close to success, and now to be thwarted!
Straining to penetrate the silence, he heard a pattern of low, deliberate breaths, and recognized the cadence of one of his training exercises from the temple. Lyrelee! Judging from the sound, the priestess was nearby, though she was obviously reluctant to call out. He heard scraping on the floor, and deduced that she, too, had been ensnared in the folds of a net.
Gradually he twisted his helmet around, casting the illumination of the gem. away from himself. True to his deduction, the gleaming light revealed Lyrelee, trussed like a rolled roast of meat in folds and coils of netting. Her own eyes met his for a moment before she turned away from the light and resumed her silent, deliberate struggle to escape.
Ariakas no longer heard anything from Tale Splinter-steel or their captors. They were gone. Judging from the captive's exclamation of surprise, the Zhakar hadn't exactly been rescued. But if not, why had he and Lyrelee not been taken? Or harmed, for that matter? The two had simply been trussed up, with embarrassing ease, and left to squirm to freedom-long after Tale Splintersteel had been spirited away.
Ariakas seized the hilt of his sword and began to saw the blade back and forth over several of the cords in the net. The material proved surprisingly tough, resisting the razor-sharp blade for the better part of a minute before Ariakas severed the first strand. Cursing silently at the time-consuming task, he started on the second strand, and then the third, and the fourth.
By this time his muscles had begun to cramp up, and sharp pain racked his spine because of the uncomfort shy;able position in which he found himself. He paused in his struggles, leaning around to get a look at Lyrelee- and was surprised to see that the priestess had almost broken free. Somehow, by flexing her arms around to her back, she squirmed through the coils. Ariakas gave up his own nearly fruitless struggles in the hopes that soon she could help him.
Her hands emerged from the top of the net, and then the collar of coils slipped down her forearms, past her elbows, and tangled around her head. With a few twists of her neck, the priestess drove her forehead out of the narrow apert
ure. The rest of her supple body followed quickly.
As soon as she was free, she sprang to her feet and then dropped into a crouch, looking back and forth through the corridor. Seeing nothing, she darted to Aria-kas's side and began working at the net with deft fingers. Within a few minutes she had loosened the knots, and he was able to pull slack line through the constricted mouth. Careful not to scrape the edge of his sword on the floor, Ariakas crawled forth and stood, his body creaking in pain and stiffness.
"Well done, priestess," he said, impressed.
"Did you see who attacked us?" she asked.
He shook his head. "Just some movement in the shad shy;ows-and a smell. Something like wet fur."
"I saw even less," Lyrelee admitted ruefully. "Though I, too, remember the smell." The priestess fell silent for a moment, obviously reflecting. "Have you ever heard of the shadowpeople?" she asked, finally.
"Only the word itself. Wryllish Parkane seems to think they don't exist. I assume they have something to do with this attack?"
"Only speculation," she said. "They're said to lurk in caverns and caves throughout the Khalkists. Very reclu shy;sive folk, though reputedly harmless. They'll go to great lengths to avoid being seen."
"What makes you think of them now?" he inquired.
"Only this," she responded. "They're supposed to be covered with fur."
Ariakas reflected on that news for a moment. "Do you know of anyone who fights with nets?" He was still amazed at how effectively they had both been neutral shy;ized by the meshwork ambush.
"That's new to me," she admitted. She looked at one of the tightly webbed objects. "I don't even know what it's made out of-look, it's not hemp."
Ariakas saw long fibers woven into a tight spiral. The material was smoother than either hempen rope or wool. When he pulled at one of the narrow strands, the mater shy;ial dug into the flesh of his hands, but absolutely refused to break. "It's plenty strong, whatever it is. I'll take this one back with us as a sample. But first, to business."
"Which way do you think they went?" asked the priestess.
"Splintersteel squirmed when they hit him, and then the sounds ceased. I don't think it's likely they carried him past us. Lef s try checking out our back-trail."
They started along the corridor, walking as quietly as possible. Ariakas held his sword ready before him, while Lyrelee frequently whirled and scrutinized the shadows behind them. After a few minutes they came to the first branching corridor, and here they paused. Turning his face toward the floor, Ariakas brought the gem to bear on the blank stone. If there was any clue as to the direc shy;tion of their quarry, it was beyond their skills to find.
"I have an idea," Lyrelee said, indicating the main pas shy;sage. "Let's go a little farther."
Ariakas agreed and followed the priestess for another hundred paces. They came to a three-way branch, with corridors leading forward, to the right, and left. Once again there was no visible spoor to tell them which path to follow.
"Down there are the water warrens," Lyrelee announced, pointing left. "They're surplus overflow, mostly, for the temple's cisterns. But they go quite a long way, and both of us smelled something wet."
"I can't argue with your logic," replied the warrior. "We're reduced to guesswork any way you shake it!"
The passage proved to be more finished than many of the other tunnels in the catacomb network. Ariakas saw evidence of bricklaying to reinforce many walls, and soon they came to a well-chiseled flight of stairs, leading downward. As soon as they began the descent the war shy;rior noticed the air growing damp around him, and he felt the dank mustiness of the walls. His light spell cast illu shy;mination about two dozen steps down, and for a long time it seemed as though this stairway must descend into the very heart of the world. He lost count of the individ shy;ual stairs, though the number certainly passed a hundred.
Then, finally, the light reflected against a smooth, dark surface-liquid. Soon he saw the stairs end at a subter shy;ranean wharf. The stone pier, sprouting from a narrow landing, extended onto a surface of still water. The light spell swept over several tall posts placed, presumably, for the hitching of boats.
When they reached the bottom Ariakas saw that one long-hulled craft did in fact bob at a mooring, far out at the end of the pier.
"Is the boat usually here?" he asked.
"In the past there've always been two of them," Lyre-lee replied. "The priests use the boats for fishing, for patrols … but not very often."
Ariakas stalked onto the pier. The light reflected from dark and still waters stretching beyond-far beyond its illumination.
"Where does it lead?" he asked, gesturing to the placid lake.
"Well, nowhere in particular, I guess," the priestess replied tentatively. "I've only been this far-but Wryllish Parkane indicated that it's just a watery portion of the Sanctified Catacombs. I assume that some of the pas shy;sages go pretty far."
In the space between their words, the silence yawned around them, wider and darker than any quietude of the upper world. It was a silence that brought things like heartbeats into the audible range, made a gasp of breath seem like a shriek of alarm.
In this background of stillness, they heard a noise, a brief splashing of water. They waited breathlessly, but the sound was not repeated.
"That way." Ariakas pointed into the darkness to the left of the pier, utterly certain of his bearing across the black water.
Lyrelee untied the boat swiftly, and Ariakas stepped into the low hull. The seats were narrow, six of them lined across the beam at four-foot intervals from bow to stern. The craft bobbed slightly as the priestess also entered. She sat at a middle bench, hoisted the oars, and propelled them cleanly out across the lake. Ariakas stepped to the bow, allowed his glowing gem to sweep the water before him like a beacon.
And then he saw them: ripples, almost imperceptible, rolling toward the starboard bow in an arc so broad it was almost a straight line. Only the utter placidity of the water allowed him to discern the effect, and that just for an instant, before the ripples were cleanly split by the gentle bow-wave of the boat.
"Bear to my right," Ariakas hissed, and Lyrelee smoothly swung the bow through a gentle curve.
She rowed for several minutes, steady strokes of the oars propelling the sleek boat through the water. Then, with shocking suddenness, a solid surface jutted into the scope of the warrior's light.
"Stop!" he hissed, dropping to the seat just before the priestess dug the oars into the water. The lake swirled and churned, but Lyrelee slowed the boat to a gentle bump by the time they reached the barrier.
The wall seemed to be the shore of the lake. Since the lake was contained by a cavern, however, this shore rose in a vertical barrier of moisture-streaked stone, extend shy;ing upward and then, perhaps twice the height of Aria-kas's head, leaning above their heads to begin its vast dome over the water. Turning to each direction, Ariakas couldn't see any clue as to how someone or something could have left the lake.
"Bear right," he commanded again, guided by a name shy;less instinct.
Dipping the oars with silent power, Lyrelee started them slowly along the shore. She hadn't taken more than five strokes when his intuition was rewarded. Breaking the solid wall of the lake shore was a narrow crack. At first glance, Ariakas thought the opening too small to allow the passage of a boat.
Then his eyes fastened on an irregularity in the sur shy;face, just outside of the crack. He stared, and in a moment made an identification-it was an oar.
"There-into the crack," he ordered, and the priestess turned the prow toward the gap.
The boat slipped between two slick walls of rock. They found the route tight, but passable, and in another moment it opened around them.
"Here's a landing," announced Ariakas, satisfied to see a platform of rock that sloped right down to the water's edge. Beyond the platform a dark hole promised at least the beginning of a passageway. Even more signif shy;icant, drifting several feet away from
the slab was a boat that was the twin of their own.
Lyrelee cast a look over her shoulder and glided the craft on a perfect course toward the landing. Ariakas looked around, and several facts confirmed his convic shy;tion. First, he saw streaks of water on the sloping stone floor, some of which still trickled back to the lake. What shy;ever had dripped onto the stone, he guessed, had done so not terribly long ago.
As the bow nudged the ramp, Ariakas stepped onto the shore, his sword held one-handed, pointed up the passageway beyond, the bowline grasped by his other hand. With a solid tug, he brought the first third of the boat up the ramp-enough, he felt certain, to prevent their transportation from drifting away.
Lyrelee stepped lightly beside him as they started up the passage. He winced inwardly at the thought of his bright light, which clearly revealed their position to any shy;one who lay in wait for them. Still, without it they would be handicapped even more.
Abruptly the priestess halted. "Let me walk behind you," she whispered, her voice barely audible.
He agreed with a nod, realizing that Lyrelee would at least be able to conceal herself from any observers in the shadows. Now Ariakas made a point of checking the ceiling, remembering the net that had swooped down, unobserved, costing him his prisoner. The warrior saw no threat above, nor did he see anything amiss in the shadows to the front. The passageway twisted and climbed, narrower and more roughly hewn than any of the catacombs Ariakas had seen before.
One wall, in particular, struck him as unusual. The stonework was natural, ancient limestone that had been buried for ages, but a curious grid pattern had somehow been scored into the rock. As they walked they were forced close to the strange wall by a tight passageway.
Then the grid flew outward, muffling the curse explod shy;ing from Ariakas's throat. This time the net struck him with such force that it knocked his sword from his hands before tightly rolling Ariakas and Lyrelee into a compact, completely immobile bundle.
Chapter 16
Vallenswade
Emperor of Ansalon (d-3) Page 16
