'The maze begins,' said Rose.
Thasha saw Hercol and Drellarek exchange a look. The Turach's lips shaped a silent question: Maze?
Oggosk pointed to the left-hand stair, and up they climbed, single file, with Rose leading the way and the Turachs bringing up the rear. It was a stumbling, awkward climb: the corroded steps had no truly level surfaces any longer, and their feet tended to slide. They passed a tiny corridor exiting the stairs, and then another identical. At the third such hallway Oggosk pointed with her stick. Rose left the stairs and crept into the hall, crouching low. Embers fell from his torch as it knocked against the ceiling.
Even in this black, cramped corridor they could hear the wind outside, and the endless song of the seals. They passed many other halls, and took several turns, all chosen by the witch. Once they passed through a little chamber with an iron grate set in the floor. Steam issued from it, and a stronger whiff of that druglike smell Thasha had caught in the doorway.
Then Rose turned a sharp corner, and they were descending again: this time down a spiral staircase, even more corroded and hazardous than the previous steps. The air grew warm and heavy with moisture. Around and around they went, shuffling, choking on torch smoke, until Thasha was certain they had descended much farther than they had climbed.
Finally the staircase ended, and Rose led them down a hallway tighter than any of the others, the Turach's armoured shoulders scraping the walls with every step. The narcotic smell was all but overpowering here. Thasha tensed, aware that some deep part of her was shouting an alarm: You could get drunk on that smell — drunk, or worse. Then they turned a corner, and Lady Oggosk cried, 'Ah! Here we are!'
A great chamber opened before them. It was round, and composed of many stone rings, one within another, descending like the levels of an amphitheatre. The edges of the room were dark: Thasha could just make out a number of stone balconies, some with crumbling rails, and many black corridors leading away.
But the centre of the room was lit by fire. It was a breathtaking sight: a polished stone circle twenty paces wide or more, orange like the sun before it sets. The stone was cracked into a dozen pieces; it resembled a dinner plate smashed with a rock. The spaces between these shards were filled with water, to within a few inches of the top of the stone. And the surface of the water was burning: low blue flames that raced and died and puffed to life again, as though fed by some vapour bubbling up through the water itself.
At the centre of the cracked orange stone sat Arunis, cross-legged, his tattered white scarf knotted at the neck. His back was to the newcomers, and his Polylex lay open before him.
Peytr crouched a few paces away, hugging his knees. When the big tarboy saw the newcomers he rose with a cry: 'Captain Rose! I didn't want to help him, sir! He said he'd kill me in my sleep if I didn't!'
The newcomers filed into the room. Rose, Hercol and the Turachs descended the stone rings towards the room's fiery centre. 'You're a coward and a fool,' Drellarek shouted at Peytr.
'Or a liar,' muttered Pazel.
'Get over here, Bourjon,' snapped Rose.
The big tarboy was panic-stricken. He looked from the captain to the sorcerer and back again. Then Arunis turned his head, showing them his profile.
'Go,' he said.
Peytr ran to the captain, hopping over the cracks with their whispering flames. Rose stepped forward and intercepted him, seizing a fistful of hair. 'Drellarek here thinks I should have left you to die,' he said.
Peytr's eyes pleaded for clemency. Thasha looked at him with a kind of disgusted fascination. There was nothing false about his fear.
'The sorcerer can kill no one, Mr Bourjon,' said Chadfallow. 'Have you forgotten that to do so would risk the death of his own king?' But Arunis, still watching them from the corner of his eye, smiled at the doctor's words.
The captain raised a fist high over his head. Then, gradually, he relaxed his grip on Peytr's hair. He pointed at the doorway they had come by. 'Stand there. Don't move and don't speak.' Peytr leaped to obey, shoving between Pazel and Thasha in his haste.
Arunis turned away once more. He placed one hand on the open Polylex, on a page with a large circular diagram. Drellarek looked sharply at Rose, drew his fingers across his neck. The mage was as vulnerable now as he would ever be. Hercol raised a cautioning hand, and Oggosk shook her head. Rose hesitated, eyes full of wrath and distance. Then he glanced up at Drellarek and nodded.
Drellarek moved with brutal swiftness. He glided softly down to the orange stone, unsheathing his Turach greatsword as he went. Nearing Arunis, he raised it for a single, killing blow.
'Can your witch detect a lie?' said Arunis, without moving.
Drellarek hesitated, looking back over his shoulder.
'She can,' said Rose, 'if her captain requires it.'
'Then ask her the truth of this, you spawn of a toad-faced polygamist: I, Arunis Wytterscorm, have the power to sink your ship whenever I choose, and will do so if you harm me.'
For a moment no one breathed. Oggosk put out her withered hand and took hold of Rose's coat, made him bend to her ear and whispered urgently. Rose's face hardened with repressed fury. He pulled irritably away from the old woman, and waved Drellarek off.
Arunis laughed, closing the Polylex. He tossed the end of his white scarf over his shoulder and rose slowly to his feet. Thasha saw that he had concealed a weapon beneath his cloak: a black mace, studded with cruel iron spikes. She had never seen it before.
'I told you in the Straits,' said the mage, looking them over, 'that I was the sole master of the Chathrand. What you did to my king only delayed the last reckoning. You are my instruments. You are small flutes and horns in the symphony of my triumph. What do I care if you manage the occasional squeak?'
'You monster,' said Pazel suddenly. 'We'll see who plays with whom when Ramachni comes back.'
'Ramachni?' said Arunis, as though trying to remember. 'Ah yes. The mage who enlists you to a deluded cause, then scurries away to safety like the rodent he is, leaving you to fight alone. The trickster who hides under the skirts of a girl, only to cast her off when it seems her life is forfeit. Would he return if you were writhing in pain again, girl? Not sure, hmm? Never fear, you will be.'
Pazel started forward, seething, and Thasha barely had time to grab his arm. Then she saw that Hercol too was moving towards Arunis. His sword was sheathed and his hands were empty; still Arunis took a hasty step backwards, raising his mace. Hercol drew a step closer, well within the weapon's reach. But now it was Arunis who looked uncertain.
'Do you know when a man speaks the truth?' Hercol said.
Arunis gave a nervous laugh. 'Better than the man himself.'
'I thought as much,' said Hercol, and turned away. But when he had taken two steps he moved with a speed not even Thasha had ever witnessed, and suddenly Ildraquin was in his hands, and its tip rested on the soft flesh beneath the mage's ear.
'This is Ildraquin, the Curse-Cleaver, the Tongue of the Hound of Fire,' he said. 'And this is my promise: Ildraquin will end your cursed life if you should ever again touch a hair on the head of Thasha Isiq.'
Arunis sneered, and pushed the tip of the blade away — but gingerly, as if he hated to touch it even with his fingertips. 'Only a fool makes promises he cannot keep,' he said.
'Quite so,' said Hercol.
'We are not here to kill one another,' said Drellarek awkwardly — it was an unusual statement from the Throatcutter. 'Captain, you have your tarboy back. Now let's say we forget that silly sibyl, and be on our way.'
'Save your breath,' said Oggosk. Then suddenly she raised her scrawny arms, so that her gold bangles clattered, and her milk-blue eyes were wide. 'Be still, Nilus! Be still, all of you! We have come in the right year, and the right season for divination. This, now, is the right hour — the only hour, for another nine years. Put out your torches! Quickly!'
'Do it!' snapped Rose.
With some difficulty Drellarek and Dastu extinguished the to
rches. The room was now lit only by the blue flames dancing in the cracks of the stone. Arunis turned in circles, like a wary cat. Oggosk groped for Rose's arm.
Then she pointed, high across the chamber. There, upon one of the ruined balconies, shone a tiny pool of light. It was daylight, a single focused beam. Tracing it with her eyes, Thasha saw that it had entered by a tiny hole in the domed ceiling. She realised that there were scores of such holes. All at once she remembered the odd little windows in the temple roof. They're not just windows, they're light-shafts. Just like those on the Chathrand that brought light to the lower decks, except that these must have run through immense tunnels of stone, and were so narrow that only a pencil-thin beam of light could pass through.
Suddenly both Oggosk and Arunis began to chant. The old woman's voice was loud and strong, but somehow humble, almost pleading:
Selu kandari, Selu majid, pandireth Dhola le kasparan mid.
But Arunis, though he chanted similar words, cried out in a harsh and threatening voice:
Sathek kandari, Sathek majid, ulberrik Dhola le mangroten mid!
At the same time he drew a grey powder from his sleeve and tossed a handful of it into one of the flaming cracks. It burned in a flash of blue sparks.
Witch and sorcerer were both watching the light on the balcony. The sounds of wind and seals blended into a weird, throbbing moan. Rose looked anxiously up and down the beam of light, from balcony to window and back again. His fists opened and closed; he looked like a man whose time was running out. Of course! Thasha realised. It can't last more than a few minutes. Once the sun moves at all it will be gone.
She felt Pazel's hand in her own — but no, it was Dastu's; the older boy thought she was frightened. She wasn't, or not severely; in fact her strongest feeling was curiosity. Was there a different light-shaft for every holy day in the old monks' religion? Was there a soul alive who knew what they had believed? She looked again at the light on the balcony — and cried aloud, and so did everyone else.
Later, no one could agree as to what had happened on that balcony. They all said that the light had changed, growing less like daylight and more like that of the moon, or fireflies, or something spectral. They agreed as well that someone had appeared. But no two of them saw the same figure.
Thasha saw her mother, waving to her (or to her husband?) with a smile of recognition; then the banister parting, and horror replacing joy as Clorisuela Isiq fell to her death. Sergeant Drellarek saw the woman he had killed six years ago while drunk on grebel, after she insulted his manhood in a brothel in Uturphe. Dastu saw the Etherhorde nurse who had saved him from consumption.
Dr Chadfallow saw Pazel's mother Suthinia, driving him from her door. Hercol saw a grey woman in a silver crown, with two dead boys at her feet, pointing an accusing finger. Lady Oggosk saw an enraged woman sixty years her junior, who nonetheless resembled her greatly, except for the sleek red tail that twitched behind her. Captain Rose saw almost the same figure, but tailless, and with larger, more heartbroken eyes.
Pazel saw his sister, Neda, struggling in the hands of Arquali soldiers who tore at her clothes. But as she fought and whirled, the figure changed. One turn, and she was his mother, shaking her head and mouthing those heartless words: We will never belong among those who belong. Another turn, and she was a woman in the prime of life: a woman of great beauty and seriousness and strength, holding up her arms in a roaring wind. He had never seen her before, and yet he felt, strangely, that he knew her as well as his mother or sister.
Arunis too must have seen a figure, but his reaction was not one of awe, like that of the others. He tossed another handful of dust into the flames, and shouted at the balcony.
'Dhola! Come down! I am Sathek's heir! I am the new steward of Alifros, the hand that moves the Shaggat, the will that bends Empires to my purpose! I shall wield the Nilstone, and loose the Swarm of Night, and scour this world for its new dispensation! Come, sibyl! Come kneel before me!'
On his last words, the light vanished: the figure disappeared. Captain Rose gave a howl of frustration, but Oggosk silenced him with an urgent wave. No one moved. Then Arunis whirled to face the righthand wall.
A new pool of light, small and blue and restless, hovered on the wall above a dark doorway. This time it took no human form. But a voice came from it all the same: a woman's voice, distant as thunder's echo, yet somehow clear as temple bells.
'Arunis Wytterscorm,' it said. 'Great mage, death-deceiver, Elder of Idharin. You whose gifts were given that you might seal the wounds of Alifros, the torn flesh, where the black blood of the underworld seeps in. You who preferred the commerce of devils and wraiths, theft from neighbouring worlds, a shameless auction of your own. Why should I kneel? You are not my elder. And this is my house. No, I do not kneel, but I challenge you: catch me, blood mage! Catch me and drink of my wisdom, or go with my curse!'
And with that the light made a furtive, teasing dart into the doorway.
But Arunis scowled and stood his ground. 'I will not follow where you lead,' he said.
The voice laughed softly. 'And I will not suffer your evil touch. I see what is in your book. You would draw the six-sided prison and trap me inside. But that will never be.'
'Ah!' cackled Lady Oggosk. 'That's your game, is it, mage?'
The blue light emerged from the doorway, slid down the stone rings one by one, and vanished into the flames. A moment later Dastu pointed: there it was again, sliding from the burning water on the opposite side, pausing on a broken step.
'Hercol of Tholjassa,' said the woman's voice. 'Have you come to ask for knowledge, or forgiveness? I think you have great need of both.'
'As do all who walk the earth,' said Hercol, gruff and startled. 'But I do not seek them here.'
'You were always wise,' said the voice, soothingly. 'Love, then — love, which is where knowledge and forgiveness meet; love, which alone is balm to broken souls. You have lived too long without it, warrior. You have fought in its name, but the love was always for others to enjoy. Come and take it, before you grow old, before it is too late forever. For you too carry an open wound.'
Thasha looked with distress at her friend and tutor. Hercol told her so little about his past — nothing of the Secret Fist, next to nothing of what came before it, or after. Was the sibyl speaking the truth? What kind of wound could he be suffering from, and why hadn't she seen it herself?
Again the light began to slide towards an archway. Hercol watched in silence. But when it reached the threshold, his eyes changed. A shocked and naked look stole over him, and he reached out helplessly towards the light. He took a step forward, and Thasha moved to stop him. To her surprise, Dastu's hand tightened on hers.
'Let him go,' he whispered. 'Poor man, let him find her, whoever she is.'
Thasha hesitated, then shook her head. She pulled away from Dastu and rushed to Hercol. At the touch of her hand the swordsman jumped, 'Thasha!' he breathed, like a man waking from a dream.
Thasha glanced up at the doorway, and her breath caught in her throat. Just beyond the threshhold, where the dancing light hovered still, the floor ended in a steaming pit. Hercol had been walking towards his death.
Now the light pulled away from the door, and came to rest at Thasha's feet.
'For you,' it said softly, and almost in a tone of respect, 'I have nothing to offer. For what good is a lighted lamp, or a book lain open on the table, until the reader takes her hands from her eyes?'
Thasha felt her skin grow cold. The sibyl had to be speaking of the Polylex. It was ghastly, however, to realise that a creature that had just tried to kill her oldest friend seemed to be giving the same advice as Ramachni.
The blue light vanished into the flames once more, and when it emerged it began to circle Pazel. Three times it swept around him, and several times Pazel reached out, only to drop his hands swiftly, as if fighting some impulse he knew to be dangerous. When the light spoke at last, it used a strange, inhuman language that made Pazel cov
er his ears in sudden distress. Thasha had heard it before: it was the unforgettably strange tongue of the sea-murths, who had nearly killed Pazel and Neeps along the Haunted Coast, before helping them to raise the Red Wolf from the depths. Then the light abandoned Pazel and raced to yet another doorway.
'Well, Captain,' said the woman's voice, suddenly bright and airy. 'Twelve years ago you fled my Manse with unsightly haste, and I doubted you would ever return. Yet here you are. Curiosity was ever the death of cats and pleasure-seekers, isn't that so?'
Oggosk glared in sudden anger. Rose bowed his head and said nothing.
'And what can I do for the commander of the Wind Palace,' the voice continued, 'that I could not do when last we met?'
'Accept a gift, lady,' said Rose. 'A small token of my esteem, and an apology for the noise and violence of our last encounter.'
'It is not to me that you should tender your regrets,' said the voice. 'But if you have brought me something, some warm and pretty megigandatra-'
She said several more strange words, and slowly the light descended towards the broken stone once more. Thasha was amazed: despite her coy words, the voice was suddenly childlike, hungry for the captain's gift, trying and failing to hide its eagerness. Thasha reeled at the wonder of it all: they were haggling with a strange and mighty being, spiteful and even murderous, and yet no more immune to loneliness and want than the very beings she was trying to entrap.
'Falindrath,' said the sibyl, as the light crept nearer. 'Apendli, margote, bri?'
Rose turned and lunged for Pazel, dragging him forward. 'Answer her, Pathkendle!' he cried, breathless with excitement.
Pazel waved his hands in protest. 'Captain! I don't speak — I've never heard-'
'You'll do fine! She always talks in riddles! Say whatever you like, but say it sweetly! Here, that's a good lad, take the present, give it to her!'
'When she asks!' hissed Oggosk.
'When she asks!' cried Rose, shaking Pazel violently by the arm. 'Only when she asks, damn it, don't be so eager, she's a lady!'
The Rats and the Ruling sea tcv-2 Page 24
