Omens of Kregen [Dray Prescot #36]

by Alan Burt Akers

  Loriman stormed over to us and threw himself down on one of the marvelously upholstered and decorated chairs, all twining vine-leaves picked out with gold leaf and pearls. His eyebrows made a black bar of baffled fury.

  “That man!” Having, as it were, broken the ice with us and put his foot in it, he accepted the consequences of confidences. At that, I suspected he, being the choleric, outspoken damn-you-to-hell person he was, welcomed the opportunity he found so rarely of being able to talk to someone instead of shouting orders or insults at them.

  I leaned forward on the smooth linen napery. “When I said I believed you to be the leader, I see I was wrong. But that man—"

  “I am the instigator. The Lady Hebe was my friend, and she very willingly agreed to get to know Hurngal and persuade him to finance the expedition."

  “Ah,” said Seg, wisely. “These things always cost money."

  “And you, kov—” and here I gave Loriman a look he must recognize as shrewd “—spent all yours either for or against Spikatur."

  “Aye. Both."

  “We all have our own purposes for venturing here. You just picked Hurngal out of a hat?"

  “More or less. He has money, connections, and he is Hamalese."

  Loriman, like the fabled Spatzentarl Volcano on the lost island of Naripur, boiled and bubbled within himself and refused to allow himself to blow up. He simmered dangerously close to an explosion, though, and he wanted to talk to someone; that was perfectly plain.

  “Why Hamalese?"

  “Oh, I trusted he would be killed down here."

  “Yet the Lady Hebe—"

  “I did not intend to bring her. That was her and that cramph Hurngal's idea."

  Seg said, “I had the honor and the wonderful good fortune down here to meet the lady who is now my wife, praise be to—” A tiny hesitation, then: “Pandrite All-Glorious."

  Loriman was too wrought up in his own problems to take much notice of what anyone else told him. He brooded, brows drawn down, face fierce, gripping a golden chalice slopping with red wine.

  “When Spikatur fought against the Hamalese, those were the days. Now, Spikatur is criminal."

  I said, “You know that this witch runs SHS for her own dark ends?"

  “I didn't. She will die with all the others, never fear."

  “At the moment she merely toys with us. This is a kind of refined torture in which she specializes. Her uhu is less subtle. They will amuse themselves with us for a space yet, and, in Armipand's vile truth, we have seen very little of the horrors yet."

  Well, Csitra did toy with us. A full record of our travels and travails on this occasion in the Coup Blag would run to many cassettes, I feel, but if you can taste the flavor of the place, the darkness and the unexpected illumination, the sense of constant pressure, of eyes watching, of ears listening and the sudden devastating onslaught of nightmare creatures, beasts of claw and fang, and insubstantial wraiths of mind-numbing power, if, I say, then perhaps you may also gather a little of the expedition's growing distress.

  One item of information I did not pass on to Loriman was my belief that Csitra had no further use for Spikatur Hunting Sword, and that therefore the organization was already finished. Loriman, in the mood he was in, might not have relished that. Also, he might have decided to quit the search and attempt to march his people out.

  By this time, as we wended our way deeper and deeper into the maze, Seg, Nath, and I were fully armed and accoutered. Seg had his long bow; the poor red-headed fellow from Loh had vanished head first into a giant stone flower that came alive and sucked him in. His boots and his bow were all that were left of a stalwart Bowman of Loh.

  This continual drain of lives was wearing the expedition down.

  Everyone wondered who would be next.

  The principals of the party originally made the decision to enter the Coup Blag. Their reasons might vary; still they were responsible for themselves.

  “By the agate-winged jutmen of Hodan-Set!” rasped Kov Loriman. “We must be drawing near by now!"

  We slid cautiously down a slanting ramp of pure white marble, shiny and slippery under a pervasive yellow glow from the fire-crystal ceiling. I hitched the longsword and the torch I carried stuck through my belt—unlit, of course—more comfortably, and slid down with Seg and Nath. The ramp debouched into a chamber of somber magnificence.

  Thirty or forty heavy iron-bound boxes stood stacked against one wall, half-draped by a green curtain with golden tassels.

  “Treasure chests!” shouted Kov Hurngal, and strode across exultantly.

  He touched the chests and nothing happened. We dragged them down and nothing happened. We opened the first and threw the lid back—and still nothing happened.

  The chest was crammed to the top with golden coins.

  Loriman's lip curled as Hurngal directed his people to transfer the gold from chests to sacks.

  “At last!” cried the Rapa zhanpaktun, Tyr Rogarsh the Rattler. “By Rhapaporgolam the Reiver of Souls! It has taken long enough, but we have found the treasure."

  Seg said to Loriman, “Two things, kov. One, gold is too heavy for delvers to carry out. Two, I understand the witch is capable of causing it to turn molten and burn and flow away to nothing."

  “Aye,” I said, nodding. “The gold will melt, although it may not have been this witch who caused that when I witnessed it."

  Loriman's heavy face showed a grimace of pleasure. “Is Hurngal then on a fool's errand?"

  “Oh, there is probably genuine treasure about,” said Seg, airily.

  In their manic delving the slaves were simply scooping handfuls of gold from the chests and filling their sacks, not bothering to empty one chest before passing on to the next. Nath hitched forward a wallet he'd picked up.

  “Gold is something I need. If it melts, it melts. That I will risk, by Chusto!"

  He reached into the first chest which had been pretty well emptied before the slaves simply scooped up the easier gold from chest to chest. I looked at him with sympathetic understanding.

  A corpse-white tentacle as thick through as a man's arm whipped out of the box, lapped Nath, dragged him in.

  “Nath!"

  I leaped. I reached the chest and was dragging out my sword when a second tentacle slapped its corpse-white length about me. Headfirst I went into the box after Nath. The bottom of the box did not halt that hurtling descent. Neither did the floor of the chamber.

  Helplessly, wrapped in tentacles, Nath and I plummeted down, clean out of the chamber into pitchy blackness.

  * * *

  Chapter seventeen

  Concerning a toad's supper

  We hit the water with an almighty splash.

  Deep, we were dragged, deep beneath the surface. The tentacle constricted about me like a steel band, trapping my left arm. The short sword remained in its scabbard. There was no time now to wonder how Nath fared. In that automatic gasp as the tentacle caught me and hauled me down, my lungs had not exactly equipped me for a dive underwater.

  Accounted a merman as a swimmer and a fish as a diver though I may be, I am only apim. Air! If I didn't get a breath of fresh air pretty damn quick I was done for.

  The old sailor knife scabbarded over my right hip came out with oiled sweetness.

  I knew where the tentacle was, all right, I could feel it pressing in on my chest. I put the knife against it and then with a burst of savage anger sawed the blade across, and across again, and then lifted it, dug the point in, and so sawed again like a manic witch stirring a magic brew.

  The tentacle unwrapped and nearly took my knife with it. The blackness surrounding me was shot through with little flecks of fire. They were in my eyes, not in the water.

  Something big and soft bumped against my side. There was just time enough for me to stay the automatic knife thrust. This bulky lolling object was Nath the Impenitent and I felt the thick tentacle about him. I severed that one as I had severed the one pinioning me.

  Gras
ping Nath and queasily conscious that whatever monstrous thing had seized us with his tentacles might have more than two, I shot for the surface.

  I knew that here in Csitra's maze, created for her enjoyment, at least one lake swarmed with fish and monsters all teeth and jaws. They'd chew up a school of piranha before breakfast.

  Nath in my left arm, my legs kicking, I retained the knife in my right fist. Something cold hit my thigh and I struck down without thought.

  Fish or another tentacle, I did not know. Whatever it was, it went away.

  Just when I knew I couldn't last another heartbeat, my head popped out of the water into air that, musty and stinking of fish though it was, tasted like the best Kregen air on a headland of Valka.

  I hoisted Nath up, used the back of my hand on his cheek, and looked about into that unremitting darkness.

  No! Not quite! A leaching sickly green light, low on the water, just ahead. It could not be far. Using my legs easily, trying not to make a commotion in the water, and towing Nath along at my side, I persevered, and felt the shock of relief as my feet hit soft mud.

  By the time I'd crawled out and pulled Nath clear, we were both covered in the evil-smelling gunk.

  Nath still breathed and after I'd pumped some water out of him he spluttered and spat and choked out: “By Vox, Jak! You saved me. I thought I was on the one-way journey to the Ice Floes of Sicce then."

  “We're not out of it yet, dom."

  “No. But I give you thanks for my life. Now where?"

  “Look there."

  The green light emanated from a swarm of tiny creatures like glow-worms contained in a transparent shell dangling on a line. I noticed the creatures were not trapped, for some crawled to an opening and flew off, extinguishing their light as they did so. The line depended from a spiral extension from the forehead of a monster like a giant toad, horse size, that sat crouched and waiting with open mouth. The green light dangled before that open gaper.

  As we watched, a bat-shape, all glints of orange and silver, swooped with jaws agape at the cluster of fireflies. With a single convulsive gulp, the giant frog took him, took him in whole. The wide horny mouth snapped shut, the flaccid skin of the throat bulged and swallowed, and the mouth opened again ready for the next.

  We did not approach the green light bait, and the monster toad ignored us.

  “Looks as though we are stuck,” commented Nath.

  “I'm not prepared to peg out on a filthy bit of mud watching a toad catch his supper."

  “So?"

  “I've no idea."

  With an enormous splashing and a sucking sound the water boiled and a tentacular shape reared upward. Green light glinted from its glistening hide. Corpse-white tentacles snaked aloft, striking unerringly for a hole in the unseen roof—a hole that appeared where it had not been before, that disgorged a shrieking man, and that closed up again the moment its evil work had been accomplished.

  The massive body with one of its two tentacles fastened about the man, fell back into the water. We saw no more of that poor devil.

  “Magic and monsters,” said Nath. “I see."

  “We can't stay here forever,” I said, somewhat peevishly. “Let us go and explore."

  The torch I carried thrust through my belt would need to be dried out before it could be used; the spare in my pack was roused out, tinder and steel were struck, and we had a light.

  “When delving,” I said, “it is wise to wrap everything in waterproof oiled silk or membrane."

  “I'll remember."

  I quite liked this Nath the Impenitent. Laconic, he had a nice caustic way with him.

  Our torch had no attractions for the orange-and-silver batlike creatures. They lusted after tender green fireflies, and were consigned to the inward parts of the monstrous toad. We left him to get on with his supper, and I wondered how long he had been there, and how long he would have to remain there in the future.

  The spit of mud ahead broadened in the light of our torch into a graveled way that led into a wide shelf of rock above the water.

  The going was treacherous. We were still dripping from our harness, and the leather would need some attention in the not-too-distant future. The temperature, on the cold side, was not too inconveniencing, and we made out a flight of steps leading upward into the darkness above the reach of our torch.

  “Yes, Jak, I know,” said Nath before I needed to speak. “Stairways are treacherous here."

  “We must go up."

  “Assuredly."

  Prodding with our swords, checking everything twice over, we made our way up.

  Nath's sword point went clean through the apparently solid rock of a tread.

  “Painted parchment. There'll be stakes under there, sharp."

  “Aye."

  A loose stone lay dead in the center of the top step.

  I stretched out, and this time I used the longsword. A quick twist sent the stone skittering off. In the same instant a damned great set of spears slammed across the head of the stairway. They ripped across with points glittering. Those points, still glittering and unstained with our blood, tucked neatly into slots cut to receive them. The five spears formed a gate to our egress.

  “Um,” said the Impenitent. “Awkward."

  “If they're on springs we may be able to force them back."

  “Then, by Chozputz! Let us try!"

  “Stand by the points. When I have them drawn enough, slip through."

  He didn't argue. I laid hands on the second and third spear haft, drew in a breath, and hauled back.

  The springs were powerful. I could feel the resisting pressure; but I put my back into it and hauled with a will and slowly, slowly, with a creaking groan of protest, the spears eased back. The points came free of the slots. Keeping the movement smooth I forced the spears back and back and then Nath with his guts drawn in, slipped through.

  With a smashing ripping sound the spears socked back into their slots as I released them.

  “Now you, Jak."

  Nath hauled. He hauled with a will and the sweat started out on his forehead. His biceps bulged. He swore and struggled and got the spearheads out of the slots and then he could force them back no farther.

  “They're slipping!"

  I put my fists on the hafts just beyond the shaped heads. I arched my back. I thrust. I pushed the spears back, and Nath laid on again with a surge of power, and with a final burst of frenzied energy, the spears were free and I could slide through.

  “By Vox!” he said, panting. “You have the strength of a dozen nikvoves!"

  I made no answer but turned around to survey what new perils we must encounter in this ghastly place.

  At this point Csitra and Phunik put on a splendid show for us. At least, for the poor wights who were trapped down here.

  First, a procession of mewling goblins fell on us. After we had chopped them, a crazed herd of Shrinking Phantoms gibbered and clawed to their own destruction. Three Lurking Fears nearly had us; but we rallied and drove them off with contemptuous words as well as cold steel. A handful of unnamables were hewed to pieces, and coiling vapors which stank like a fish souk in a drought sent us, green-faced, charging full on them. Then, after a few more passes with objectionable creatures both material and immaterial, we were confronted by a clacking collection of skeletons.

  “Skelebones,” declared the Impenitent, highly disgusted. “We know how to deal with them!"

  So, deal with them we duly did, and left bits and pieces of sundered bones strewn upon the rocky floor.

  “Somebody is failing to impress, dom,” said Nath. “That I truly declare."

  “You are right. But we are not out of it yet."

  The passageways we cautiously traversed were still jagged; but we progressed up two more floors and the architecture of the corridors became more refined.

  One room into which we peered with due precautions, for the door stood open, revealed a hideous idol of a demon god upon a throne. “No,” I said, ra
pping it out, sharp and hard. “We will not go in there."

  Shortly thereafter we ran across a chamber sumptuously decked and spread with a banquet for two. So, down we sat and ate and drank.

  “They like to keep their victims nice and fresh,” said Nath. “That suits me."

  He drank, I noticed, without his habitual and automatic rationing of himself, for he was a swod of Vallia. He also did not realize the potency of some of the wines. In any event he caught himself, and threw the last flagon onto the floor. But his tongue was loosened.

  In no regular order I learned he'd been apprenticed to a silversmith but had preferred to go off and learn the trade of armorer. He was the first son of parents who, having bred four fine sons and three beautiful daughters, went and got themselves drowned in one of Vondium's canals. Then the troublous times hit Vallia, and Nath had gone off to be a soldier, something hardly available to anyone of Vallia unless they went abroad to be a paktun.

  He had never been a mercenary. He had fought Vallia's enemies. He had a chestful of bobs; but he'd lost the medals when he'd been knocked off Shango Lady.

  “Then it all went wrong,” he said, and the mournfulness that would have been amusing at another time rang painfully true. “Those Opaz-forsaken Leem-Lovers!"

  I sat quiveringly alert. Now what?

  “Took her, they did, took my sister's little Sassy. Gave her sweets and a new white dress, and a bangle. My own sister, Francine, and that husband of hers, Fortro. It was their fault. If I'd found ‘em, I'd have killed ‘em stone dead on the spot, by Vox!"

  I waited. He rambled on, a broad palm against his forehead, his elbow on the table.

  “Bought her back, I did. Gave those stinking rasts broad red gold for little Sassy."

  I ventured, “But you have paid them. Do you still need the gold to repay the debt?"

  “Debt? Aye, it's a debt. They said I stole the money. Stole it from my own regiment. Well, I borrowed it and then I was disappointed of my promotion and there was no gold. I could have managed it, I could."