“We will make a peculiar company,” said Tazemazar. “What will we say to explain our presence?”
“Nothing,” said Ridmark. “This is the sort of place where questions earn a quick knife in the back. When the guards approach us, we’ll say our business is with Zuglacht. Perhaps if we bribe him enough, we can learn something useful from. Otherwise, we’ll take a quick look around and see what we can find.”
“One thing,” said Caius. “Do not wander off on your own. The dvargir have an insatiable appetite for slaves, and many of the rogues that frequent places like this think nothing of kidnapping travelers and selling them to the dvargir.”
“If they attack us,” said Third, “they will regret it presently.”
“Let us hope so,” said Ridmark. “Ready?”
No one had any questions, and Ridmark led the way towards Shakaboth. The little town had no walls or gates, but several of the larger houses looked like small fortresses. Likely the wealthier residents withdrew to safety when raiders attacked, leaving the poorer merchants and shoppers at the mercy of any attackers. Ridmark and the others drew cautious, veiled looks as they entered the market, but none of the merchants or the shoppers approached, probably because eight of the kobold guards drew near.
Calliande drew in a hissing breath, and Ridmark stepped in front of the others, raising his hands, though he kept a firm grasp upon his staff. The kobolds’ bows shifted to aim at him, their yellow, black-slit eyes staring at him. They looked a bit like gray-skinned lizards that had learned to walk on two legs.
“I wish to trade,” said Ridmark in the orcish tongue, which usually served as the common language of the Deeps.
One of the kobolds tilted its head to the side, nostrils flaring, the crest of red scales on its head quivering. “Humans, an orc, a dwarf, and manetaurs traveling together. Strange, very strange.”
“I imagine strange people come to Shakaboth to trade often,” said Ridmark.
“Mmm,” said the kobold. “This is so.” Its eyes turned to Third. “What is she? I do not think she is a human.”
“A witch, a wielder of dark magic,” said Ridmark. “She fled from the Magistri in the High Kingdom, and made her way here to learn from the dvargir.”
“Foolish of her,” said the kobold. “She shall clean the tables of the dvargir Rzarns and Dzarks as a slave. Or the dvargir shall give her to their favorite human gladiators as a brood mare.”
The right side of Third’s mouth curled a little. The kobold must have found that a disturbing sight because its crest flared and its yellow eyes turned back to Ridmark.
“We have come to trade,” said Ridmark. “We wish to buy secrets from Zuglacht, not to banter with his guards. Where is he?”
He waited. Their bows did not waver, but they carried out a brief consultation in their rasping, scratching language. At last, the lead kobold looked back at Ridmark.
“You may speak with Lord Zuglacht,” said the kobold. Curzonar let out a harsh laugh at the honorific, but the kobold didn’t care. “He is in the tavern. Tread lightly, all of you. Those who violate the peace of Shakaboth are slain…and Lord Zuglacht pays us in food.”
“That means,” said Ridmark, “if we make trouble, you get to eat us?”
The kobold’s long snout didn’t quite allow it to smile, but it showed all its needle-like fangs, and Calliande shuddered again.
“Thank you,” said Ridmark, and he led the way forward into the market of Shakaboth. Strange smells assailed his nostrils, the odors of cooking meat, roasting mushrooms, exotic poisons, and the constant dry, snaky odor of the kobolds. A dvargir merchant called out to Ridmark, claiming that his weapons carried deadly spells that would strike down even the most powerful opponents. Another offered orcish slaves with strong backs and arms for sale, while another called out that he had poisons and venoms of the highest quality, extracted and refined from the deadliest creatures of the Deeps. Still another dvargir merchant stood outside a pen of murrags, the truculent, bone-masked lizards scowling at everything around them.
Ridmark ignored them all and made his way to the tavern, a ramshackle building with walls of loose stone and a roof made from planks. The tavern had no proper door, but a rough arch instead, and firelight and smoke streamed out, accompanied by the smell of cooking meat and beer.
He stepped into the tavern, his boots rasping against the rocky floor. Curzonar and Tazemazar had to duck to fit inside, and a silence fell over the tavern as they entered. Kobolds and orcs sat at stone benches, eating and drinking. A dais stood at the far end of the tavern, supporting a cushioned stone chair.
Zuglacht, the self-proclaimed lord of Shakaboth, sprawled in the chair, eating a roasted murrag leg.
To Ridmark’s surprise, Zuglacht was a deep orc.
The orcish kindred was susceptible to magical mutations over the generations, and the dark elves had bred different kinds of orcs for different purposes. The deep orcs had been bred to serve as slaves and soldiers in the dark caverns of the Deeps. Instead of eyes, Zuglacht had a band of veined flesh that encircled his head, allowing him to see heat the way humans and normal orcs saw normal light. His ears were huge, the size of his palms, pressing close against his head, giving him hearing of superhuman sensitivity. The normal green skin of the orcish kindred was yellowed and sallow on the deep orcs, and as Ridmark approached, the veined flesh over Zuglacht’s face turned in his direction.
It was a disquieting sensation.
“Well,” said Zuglacht, in a watering, rasping voice. “When my mercenaries told me they saw humans, a dwarf, an orc, and two manetaurs traveling together, I could hardly believe my ears. Yet here you stand in the flesh. A most unusual company, indeed.”
“We greet you, Lord Zuglacht,” said Ridmark, bowing to the deep orc, “and wish to trade with you.”
“How very polite,” said Zuglacht. “What do you wish to buy? I have many rare and exotic items gathered from the darkest depths of the Deeps, lightless places where none save the dvargir and the deep orcs tread.”
“Information,” said Ridmark.
“What manner of information?” said Zuglacht, gesturing with the half-eaten murrag leg. Bits of the creature’s stringy meat had been caught in Zuglacht’s tusks. “Secrets are costlier than gems.”
“Specifically,” said Ridmark, “we wish to know how Prince Kurdulkar hired dvargir mercenaries.”
Zuglacht sat in silence for a moment.
“Out,” he said. “All of you.” He raised his voice, brandishing the murrag leg like a scepter. “Out!”
For a moment Ridmark thought Zuglacht meant him, but the orcs and kobolds rose to their feet, vanishing through the door. Gavin and Antenora and Third watched them go with wary eyes, but none of the orcs or kobolds offered any threat.
“A sensitive topic?” said Ridmark.
“It’s very dangerous,” said Zuglacht.
“The Deeps?” said Ridmark. “I know. I’ve been here before.”
“Obviously. But taking sides in the internal quarrels of the manetaurs is just as dangerous,” said Zuglacht. “They hate it, they absolutely hate it, when other kindreds take sides in their disputes.” He let out a wet, gurgling laugh. “And you have a Prince of the Range and an arbiter with you, haven’t you? Oh, yes! We deep orcs may not have eyes as you sunlanders do, but we are not blind. Prince Kurdulkar wishes to do one thing, and the Prince with you wishes to do another, I assume. Likely you are his hirelings.” Zuglacht gestured with the murrag leg. “I take no sides in the disputes of the Princes. It is not a healthy way to live.”
“By aiding Kurdulkar,” growled Curzonar, “you have already taken sides.”
“My dear Prince,” said Zuglacht. “I do not take sides. I simply sell to those with money to pay. If one Prince approaches me, I do business with him, and if another arrives, I shall do business with him as well.”
“Then a Prince asks you to do business,” said Curzonar. “Has Kurdulkar been hiring dvargir mercenaries to attack the Reac
h?”
Zuglacht sighed. “I shall have to move. Shakaboth was a lucrative place…but I fear I will have to move to safer lands. Perhaps the galleries of the Deeps near Khaldurmar. The dvargir are good customers, so long as they don’t stab you in the back.”
“You refuse to answer my question?” said Curzonar, his voice deepening with a threat.
“He already has, my lord Prince,” said Tazemazar.
“The arbiter is right,” said Zuglacht. He tossed the murrag bone to the floor of the cavern, smacking his lips. “For the past year, Kurdulkar and his warriors have made regular visits to Shakaboth, often meeting with the agents of the Great Houses of Khaldurmar. He has hired large numbers of dvargir mercenaries, and often the contracts have been negotiated here, in this very tavern.”
“Why are you telling us this now?” said Curzonar.
Zuglacht shrugged. “Why not? No one would believe me. The manetaurs are quite proud. Who among them would believe the word of a deep orc over the word of a manetaur Prince?”
“No one will believe it,” said Ridmark, “without proof. Where can such proof be found?”
Zuglacht leaned back in his chair. “Where do you think?”
“The dvargir embassy,” said Ridmark.
“You may break in there if you like,” said Zuglacht. “It will not go well. The dvargir are quite diligent with their security. Those of you who survive will be sold as slaves, and the corpses of the slain shall be raised as drudges by the necromantic spells of the dvargir shadowscribes.”
“Nevertheless,” said Ridmark, “we must attempt it.”
“Mmm,” said Zuglacht. “This will be bad for business. I disapprove of violence in the Shakaboth.”
Curzonar started to snarl out a response, but Ridmark raised his hand. The manetaur Prince subsided, though he still turned a murderous glare in Zuglacht’s direction. Ridmark suspected that Zuglacht was offering him something if he could just work out what it was.
“I wonder if there is a way we both can get what we want without violence,” said Ridmark, “and without drawing you into the quarrel between the Princes.”
“As it happens,” said Zuglacht, “I know of just such a way. Kurdulkar is here. He arrived just a few hours before you did.”
“Did he, now,” said Ridmark, keeping the surprise from his face. He had suspected that Kurdulkar had sent his warriors to kill Calliande, but maybe his suspicions had been mistaken. Perhaps Kurdulkar had gone to Shakaboth at once to hire additional dvargir mercenaries, or arrange for them to kill Calliande.
“He did,” said Zuglacht, “and in great haste. Prince Kurdulkar is not foolish enough to meet with the dvargir in their own embassy, no. If he did that, he would be taken in chains back to Khaldurmar as a trophy of the Rzarns. No, he meets with them in a neutral location about three miles to the southwest at the edge of the Labyrinth.”
“The Labyrinth?” said Ridmark.
“A noteworthy feature of the local Deeps,” said Zuglacht. “A maze of natural caverns carved by ancient flows of molten stone. Long ago a dark elven noble ruled over this section of the Deeps and reshaped the maze into the Labyrinth, a warren of tunnels and traps and deadly danger. I understand the dark elves liked to release prisoners into the Labyrinth and watch as they wandered until they died of thirst, or he unleashed deadly beasts to stalk them.”
“That sounds like the dark elves,” said Calliande.
“Kurdulkar typically meets with the ambassadors of the dvargirish Great Houses there,” said Zuglacht. “Likely he is meeting with them right now. If you hasten, you can find him there…along with all the proof you need to discredit him before the Princes and the Red King.”
“And if we come to blows,” said Ridmark in a dry voice, “it will be well away from Shakaboth?”
“Just so.” Zuglacht spread his hands. “Everyone wins, do they not? If you prevail, you receive the proof you desire. If Kurdulkar prevails, he removes one of his enemies. And regardless of who wins, I remain in business. A most satisfactory solution, I think. If you wish, I can provide you a map to the entrance of the Labyrinth.”
“Perhaps we can find it by ourselves,” said Curzonar.
“Perhaps, lord Prince,” said Zuglacht, his eyeless gaze turning towards the manetaur, “but a dozen different tunnels lead away from Shakaboth, and it is difficult to track by scent in the caverns of the Deeps. You might wander for a thousand years and never come within a mile of the Labyrinth. But in exchange for a modest price, I will be most happy to provide you with an accurate map.”
“A moment, Lord Zuglacht,” said Ridmark. “We need to discuss this proposal amongst ourselves.”
“Of course,” said Zuglacht, heaving himself to his feet. “I shall leave you to your deliberations. Once you have come to a decision, speak with one of the kobolds and they shall summon me.”
He stepped away from his chair, limping to a narrow door in the far wall, and vanished.
“I do not trust him,” said Curzonar the instant Zuglacht was out of earshot. Of course, with the sensitive hearing of the deep orcs, likely Zuglacht would hear everything they said. “He is a treacherous mercenary, and could easily be in Kurdulkar’s pay.”
“The Prince is right,” said Camorak, some contempt in his rusty voice. “I knew men like him in Durandis, double-dealers between the men of Andomhaim and the Mhorite orcs of Kothluusk. They always manage to make a profit while saving their own hides, even if they have to leave a pile of corpses in their wake.”
“Undoubtedly, Magistrius,” said Tazemazar. “He may have been telling the truth. It is not in his interest to have the Princes come to blows near Shakaboth. If he is pulled into the contention between Princes, his town will be destroyed, and he will be killed. It is therefore to his advantage to have any conflict take place well away from here.”
“And this could be what we need,” said Calliande. “Proof that Kurdulkar is conspiring with the dvargir.” There was a hard light in her blue eyes. “If we find that, we can keep the manetaurs from turning to the worship of Incariel. If we find that proof, it will turn the Princes and even the Red King against Kurdulkar and his followers.”
“Aye,” said Ridmark, uneasy. “This might be a trap. Perhaps Kurdulkar anticipated our coming. Or maybe he never came, and Zuglacht is sending us into the arms of a band of dvargir slavers.”
“It is just as likely that he is selling out Kurdulkar to save his own skin,” said Kharlacht. “We did see the tracks of many manetaurs entering the Deeps before us.”
“Aye,” said Ridmark again, looking back at Calliande. “Remember the ambush on the Moradel road. The path ought to have been clear then, but Caradog and the dvargir were waiting for you. Our path appears clear now…and we might be walking into another ambush.”
Calliande met his eyes. “I thought the risk necessary then, and I think the risk is necessary now. We absolutely cannot let Kurdulkar become the Red King, and the manetaurs cannot wait until the Frostborn attack. We need the armies of the Hunters. The manetaurs need to strike the Frostborn now, or else they shall never have another chance. We might never have another chance.”
She was right that going to the Labyrinth was a risk, but she was also right that they had no choice but to take that risk. He had seen firsthand how tired Turcontar was, how much influence Kurdulkar had over the Red King. If Kurdulkar became the Red King, Tarrabus would become High King and the Frostborn would overwhelm the world.
If this was a trap, they had to walk into it with their eyes open.
“All right,” Ridmark said, stepping away before she could answer. He found one of the kobold mercenaries, who summoned Zuglacht back in short order.
After that, it was all over but the haggling.
###
Gavin followed the others down the gloomy passageway, Truthseeker in hand.
A dozen different tunnels led from Shakaboth’s cavern, and Zuglacht’s expensive map had sent them along one of the southeastern caverns, which twiste
d and coiled through the Deeps like the path of an enraged serpent. In the last two hours they had passed a dozen entrances to other caverns and Gavin realized that Zuglacht had not been making an idle threat. Without the aid of the map, they could have wandered for years and never found the way to the Labyrinth. The dry stone of the floor did not hold footprints, and the scent of the glowing ghost mushrooms clinging to the walls meant that Curzonar and Tazemazar could not use their noses to track the enemy.
The tunnel was larger than he had expected, but the close confines meant there was little room to maneuver if they were attacked. Still, there had been one unexpected advantage. Tazemazar wielded the power of earth magic, which meant he could use the spell that Morigna had once employed to feel the weight of enemies standing upon the earth. The deep orcs moved in perfect stealth, the dvargir employed the shadow of Incariel to make themselves unseen, but neither could conceal the weight of their footsteps upon the earth. So long as Tazemazar used his spell, no enemies else could sneak up on them.
If Tazemazar had been with them on the Moradel road, Sir Caradog’s ambush would have failed.
If Morigna had been with them, the ambush would have failed.
But neither ambushers nor open attackers presented themselves. From time to time Ridmark stopped to check the way, consulting the map and speaking with Caius, who knew the Deeps well.
“The cavern widens,” said Antenora.
She was right. Ahead Gavin saw the cavern open into a vast, empty space, lit here and there by clusters of ghost mushrooms. The glow from the mushrooms provided just enough light to make out the dim outlines of a large cavern, but not enough for any detail.
“If Zuglacht’s map is accurate,” said Caius, “the entrance of the Labyrinth should be directly ahead.”
“Along with Kurdulkar and his Hunters,” said Curzonar. “If Zuglacht told the truth, they are meeting the dvargir here. Arbiter, do you sense anyone?”
Frostborn: The False King Page 23
