by Scott Rhine
The actor winced. “Agreed.” They shook hands and Nigel leaned in close to hiss, “I dropped it in your sash, an old, street-magician’s trick. That way they won’t find it when they search you.”
“Who?” began Tashi. Just then three armed guards came out of the bushes. The sheriff held up his hands in surrender.
“I told you he’d come after me,” the actor shouted.
The senior guard scratched his head. “Well damn me. I’ve never seen anyone get away from Zariah’s handmaidens. I guess they’ll have to up the dosage and use leather cords.”
Tashi’s master taught him to use the strength of the river instead of fighting against it. The sheriff submitted to the binding and allowed himself to be led back to the wagon, for they would take him to the heart of the great city faster than he could walk himself. He could then use the time to ponder the question he would ask.
Chapter 44 – Stone Monkeys
Tashi was tossed into a large, underground cell. The cell had begun as a natural cave and had been converted into a dungeon with a minimum of effort. The dirt floor against his face smelled cool and da
nk, like the bottom of a well. The association took him elsewhere for a moment, but he shook his head to clear it.
As he started to rise, a simian-like scream ripped the air. Tashi jumped to his feet and smacked his head against the rough-hewn, stone ceiling. The pain helped give him clarity of focus. An educated, male voice in the dark recesses below him and to his right said, “Yes, we seem to have a visitor.”
The educated, male voice sounded obscurely familiar, but he refused to chase it. “I was just in the great underground kingdom looking for the Stair,” Tashi babbled.
What he had thought to be a stalagmite crawled closer, rattling a chain behind it. The prisoner greeting him looked like a stylized sculpture of a thin-bearded, pot-bellied monkey in a loincloth. It had black, jagged teeth, and gnarled claws. Oddly, the only features the sheriff found out of place were the tiny horns on the side of its head.
“Gargoyle,” muttered Tashi, dropping into a defensive stance.
The screaming ape to his left howled in panic, and others began to close in from the sides, but the horned one waved them back. “Everybody calm down. Unless I miss my guess, he’s less welcome here than we are, which means we should help him just to spite Sandarac the Usurper.”
Tashi blinked and shook his head, but the image of the gnarled cave monster remained. He recognized the voice as belonging to a man he’d met in the last few days. “You’re the members of the Forge? Human?”
“Aye. The four of us are members: I’m Bjorn, this is Sven, Olaf, and of course Ekvar.”
They all looked the same to Tashi, but he waved hello anyway. “The actor turned you in. He turned me in as well. I’ve no quarrel with you. Truce?”
“Truce.” The howling gargoyle grunted an objection, but the horned one confided to Tashi, “Don’t worry about Ekvar; he hasn’t been the same since you broke his jaw. You’re just stuck half in the dream state right now because of the drugs they gave you. Do you remember eating anything lately?”
“Plums. The juice ran down my chin.”
The gargoyle nodded. “Our drugs were in the bread. We give it to the injured to ease their pain, but the rest of us want to remain sharp. It’s not easy getting by on just the soup broth. Your perceptions will be a little skewed for a few days. I’m shocked you can even stand right now. Out of curiosity, what do we look like?”
“Stone monkeys.”
Hoots of approval and chest-pounding ensued. “As apt a name as any for our motley band.”
“Why drugs?” Tashi asked, sitting down with his head spinning.
“Important interrogations are handled by that cursed Temple of Sleep.”
“It’s been rebuilt?”
The gargoyle talked with his hands, drawing attention to its formidable, blackened claws. “Zariah the Seeress arose from those ruins to stand at the right hand of the Usurper. The old keep was shattered, but they’ve managed to put up a crude amphitheater over the original site. A village sprouted up there, if you can dignify it with that title. The huts are lucky to have a grass roof. Crops won’t grow on the ground because of the salt. Animals shun the place because of the unclean magic. So they have to import almost all their food.”
Tashi remembered his former mission. “The Door to Eternity is still there and open just a crack. This Zariah has learned to use the mana that leaks though.”
The gargoyle nodded. “Aye. She’s become more skilled and more greedy of late. In the Village of Dreams, people buy their favorite pleasures and illusions. Once they have spent all they possess, the worst addicts agree to work two days so that they can sleep one. Most of the dregs do house chores, street cleaning, and supply hauling. But these are the outer circle under the weakest influence of her power. They sleep on mats in the street. The closer one gets to the center, the stronger the magical effects become. Inside the rickety amphitheater, with its racks of beds smaller than slave-ship berths, one can get temporary relief from pain. What was once a blessing for the sick has been perverted.”
The stone monkey spat. “Her soldiers are garrisoned at the outskirts of the large building. The somnambulists feel no injury, no matter how deep or crippling; they know no fear, and never rest when on duty. They do her bidding absolutely. Her slaves chew a mixture of bark and bitter herbs to stay in their semi-wakeful state. You can recognize them at a distance because they are all gaunt with dark circles under their eyes. There is no sleeping in the Village except on her mats, and for those you pay.”
Tashi was puzzled. “You seem to hate the high priestess. Why? I could think of many positive aspects of Sleep.”
One of the other gargoyles from the shadows crept forward to the limit of his chains, emboldened by the discussion. “The work the dregs do is slip-shod and half-hearted,” he announced as if this were the greatest sin possible for a smith from Kiateros.
The spokes-gargoyle chuckled at the analysis. “This is indeed an insidious threat, but there are worse dangers that Zariah presents. Her priestesses are all lazy prostitutes. It is a village of utter decadence with no children. If her influence spreads, whole kingdoms might die out. Men who sleep there, guided by the merest suggestions by these painted women, no longer want real women or have the energy to.”
Tashi wondered at the possibility of ki siphoning during the victim’s sleep, or the potential for more sinister forces feeding on the sheep. But on one point he had to ask, “Why do you call the harlots lazy?”
Embarrassed, the second gargoyle explained, “Even prostitutes can be said to earn their wages for an honest return on money paid, but those who become priestesses wait for the man to cross the threshold to sleep and whisper leading suggestions in his ear. His own memories or imagination fill in most of the rest. They do little but talk.”
A third gargoyle whispered from the darkness. “Not always. When jaded, rich people visit for a thrill, these clients receive special attention. Anything they want to experience can be provided.”
“It’s not all sex,” said another. “Sometimes they visit different lands or visit with dead relatives.”
“It’s not real, though,” complained the third gargoyle. “Then after they depart, they often feel compelled to return or perform strange tasks for Zariah.”
The sheriff nodded. “I had heard rumors of something like this technique used to aid memory in the bards and secret messengers. Does she recruit spies this way?”
The gargoyle grunted, scratching an armpit. “Perhaps, but more often she sends the useful addicts back into the world to steal for her, watch the powerful in secret, and to otherwise do her bidding. The most frightening thing for all of us is that the number and identities of her servants are kept hidden beneath a veil of the utmost secrecy. She keeps the strictest confidentiality regarding her clients and expects the same in return. If a former visitor breathes a word about her web, the informant will punish
himself in some spectacular way the next time he sleeps. In the great City, they are called the gray men. Even the Keepers detest and fear the cult members.”
Tashi replied like a politician addressing a crowd. “You’re right; Zariah corrupts the old ways and must be stopped. As soon as I’ve completed my quest through the world maze, I’ll bring down her temple. Would you be allies?”
Most of the stone monkeys laughed at this boast, thinking him still captive of some wayward dream. Tashi held up a finger. “What I say, I do. Aid me and I shall free you all, on the provision that you never rob travelers again.”
The spokes-gargoyle said, “Allies we be. I’d shake, but I’m a bit tied up at the moment.”
The others chuckled at the pun.
Having exchanged informal oaths, Tashi intoned the official words, “I extend to you the protection of the Traveler and pledge to guard your side as a brother against injustice.” The gargoyle smirked at the pronouncement, but accepted it with a bow. “First, I need your help to learn more about this City of the Gods.”
“It’s the Dawn Race’s last and greatest city. It’s the only site with active magic. We’re now in the dungeons of the Keepers. Infidels like us aren’t allowed to set foot on the Holy Mountain for religious reasons, so they keep us in a pit they carved below the first flight of stairs. They claim that the trespass of one of the fallen, or even servants of the horned one such as ourselves, would mean the end of the City. In reality, I think this is to help them retain some measure of control. They’ve looked after these ruins for centuries. Now, between the Usurper, the Viper, and Zariah, they don’t have much of it left except the City at the very peak. They even claim that people left there after dark die without a mark.”
“That part is true enough,” muttered a fifth monkey, a stout one without horns.
“You’re one of the Keepers?” asked Tashi.
“Once,” agreed the sad monkey. Upon inspection, this one seemed more mud than stone. He explained the Mystery of Nightfall and his order’s sacred duty to protect the City.
“Then what are you doing here?”
The sad monkey looked at the dirt. “I accused Sandarac of violating the old ways in order to gain power. He uses a system of cars to ferry men to the top so that he can mine for artifacts deeper in the ruins. The law was explicit. A seeker must walk the Stair starting from the bottom. The path leaves its mark on him as much as he leaves his mark on the path. One cannot cheat the gods. But I’m a fool.”
“You sound wise,” said the sheriff. “Surely you’re not the only one who feels this way.”
The monkey sighed. “Many resent him, but I should’ve been more careful who I voiced my opinion to. The old who walk the true path die out faster than the riders because the quotas are the same, and walkers cannot always clear the zone in time. The young men, who want recognition and glory, bend to the foul wind of the new empire.”
“Explain this zone,” demanded Tashi.
The sad monkey looked around, ashamed to reveal the secrets of his order. He settled on saying, “Sandarac has experimented a lot to find the limits of the Nightfall effect. Many people have died in this effort. The killing zone varies by season and sometimes the weather. The palace is the structure highest on the mountain because it goes to the very limits of the zone.”
The spokes-gargoyle was curious. “What causes it?”
The fallen Keeper shrugged. “I’m not a thinker, or I wouldn’t be in this mess. But there were rumors about one man who was on the very fringe when the sun vanished. He survived for several days, but had gone deaf. I think Nightfall is a sound, the screaming of the dead, or a single word from the lips of a god. Maybe people just aren’t built to hear them.”
Ignoring the speculation, Tashi asked, “Where are the Stairs of Petition?”
The spokes-gargoyle pointed up. “Just over our heads; you can’t miss it.”
Satisfied, Tashi announced. “Now that you’ve helped me, I’ll free you.” Unbound, he staggered over to the first gargoyle.
“Easy there,” laughed the spokesman as Tashi steadied himself on the chain that was mounted to an anchor in the ceiling.
The sheriff examined the links. “Is this steel from Kiateros?”
“The finest,” bragged the horned monkey.
“Good, then this won’t hurt. You may even be able to use the chains as weapons.” Tashi didn’t explain his comment to the befuddled Forge members. Instead, he placed the manacle under his foot and pulled the chain taut. Entering a light trance, he used the “boulder in the field” technique to increase his weight while pulling down on the chain. Eventually, the ceiling anchor bolt yielded and tore out of its rock mooring.
Moments later, they were all free except the former Keeper, who elected to wait until keys were obtained. Between them, the smiths made short work of the door, sheering off the knob and squeezing deft fingers through the hole to move the bar on the other side. Lengths of chain hung behind them like tails, twitching with pent-up emotion.
As they stood on the threshold, Tashi cautioned them. “Wreak any mischief you wish on the mountain, but meet me in three days at the Temple of Sleep.” He then told them where to rendezvous.
“If we still breathe, you’ll find us there, great sir,” said the spokes-gargoyle. prisoners began by opening the doors to other cells. Ekvar loved to swing from the ceiling. When a turnkey arrived to investigate, Ekvar pounced on him from above, howling. Chaos ensued, entangling all the guards on duty.
As Tashi placed his foot on the first Stair unchallenged, he took out the magic coin and continued his quest through the dream maze.
Chapter 45 – Sieges
Guildmaster Dhagmurna was on a routine patrol with his Executioners outside the city walls of Innisport when the assault came. The truth was, he had grown bored and complacent, hunting with his hawk to pass the h
ours. The armies of Zanzibos had been biding their time, gathering strength until, without warning, over a hundred men swooped down from the hills toward his patrol. “Somebody picked a bad time to grow some balls,” muttered the dark man. Running hard for the gates, the guildmaster’s patrol was cut off by a second unit of Zanzibosian regulars coming from the opposite direction.
Just as their men drew weapons and prepared for a last stand, trumpets sounded from the walls. Defying all standing orders, someone opened the gates. This caught the attackers by surprise. Most of the Zanzibosian regulars broke contact with the tiny patrol and charged for the opening in the city wall. Dhagmurna ordered his men to attack the smaller group of Zanzibosians from behind, but too many soldiers would reach the breach. Trumpets blared a second time, and Kragen swordsmen poured out of the port city, followed by their support crews. Seeing the battle lines form, the Zanzibosian general held back the rearmost half of his men in reserve. The defenders held back nothing.
Clay pots of oil flew from the wall, followed by torches. This did little damage to the Zanzibosians, but forced the attackers to move cautiously. With the assault blunted, the mercenaries and Kragen soldiers hit them from both sides like a hammer and anvil. It was shaping up to be a mighty battle. But as soon as the two friendly forces joined up, the trumpets sounded a third time. The defenders retreated under a hail of arrows, stones, and spirit frogs falling from the city walls. Once Dhagmurna reached the gates, one of the wizards raised an enormous dust devil. Choking on sand and dirt, enemy soldiers ran from its destructive path. As it gained momentum, the dust storm obscured all sight in the area and threatened to blast the skin from their bones.
As the city gates thundered closed, Dhagmurna collapsed panting against the wall alongside his rescuer, Morlan. Lady Kragen’s bodyguard offered him a wineskin, which he accepted with gratitude.
“How did they surprise us?” asked the guildmaster, panting.
Morlan pointed to his eyes and then made a sleeping gesture with his hands. Dhagmurna nodded. “Even the Shadow of Death sleeps. I got lazy relying on magic, and they hit us in broad
daylight. I deserved to get my ass-hair singed. I owe you for pulling me out of the fire. That was no small thing.”
Morlan performed the ceremonial bow and downward-spiral hand gesture that meant, “I live to serve.”
“Let’s go drink in private,” announced Dhagmurna, limping off to his quarters.
When the gate captain asked for orders, Dhagmurna said, “Transfer half our forces to this wall. Let them harass us all they want; no one will get through. When the messenger arrives with an ultimatum, then you can send for me. Damn, I’m getting too old for ”
When they were alone, the guildmaster said to Morlan, “We’re a lot alike, you and I—professional soldiers at the top of our families, both in love with strong-headed women.”
At first the bodyguard looked shocked at the deduction. Then he relaxed, nodded, and shared the wineskin.
Morlan took a piece of coal out of his pouch and scrawled a message on the flat hearthstone. “Sheriff?”
Dhagmurna said, “Tashi was a good executioner, loyal and dependable. It tore me up inside to order him killed. So far it’s cost me over twenty-five men. I’m considered a dangerous man; there’s no word for what he is.”
Morlan shook his head and added the words, “Killed her first love?”
The guildmaster snorted at this. “No, he was the love, the poor fool.” When Morlan raised an eyebrow, Dhagmurna explained. “They grew up in the same house together. After the coup, the new guildmaster claimed the richest of the new widows in Tamarind as part of his spoils. I can’t blame him; Nerissa’s mother, Alana, was a damn-fine-looking woman and still fairly young. He further consolidated his power by adopting the heir of the dead High Sheriff, Tashi. So the brother and sister thing was just a legal fiction.
