“This is for the lord, Benormy, make no mistake!”
“Yes, Jik.”
Chan took the ring into his fingers and turned it about.
“Magic,” he pronounced. “At least, we have salvaged something from this shambles.”
Rollo and I exchanged glances. Chan was no Wizard of Walfarg. Rollo said, quietly: “In Walfarg at the time Chan was alive—I mean, well, you know what I mean—the land was soaked in sorcery. Some artifact can be given applied kharrna and function for a time.”
“I've never put much store by magic rings.”
“Nor I. Far too chancy. Nowadays, when we wizards are hanging on by our fingernails in Whonban, Loh in general shares these doubts.”
A memory of Marta Renberg ghosted in, and I wished Korero with his shields could march at my back.
Listening, Mevancy said: “You know, by Spurl—it's going to come as a tremendous shock to Chan when he finds out the date.”
“To go down here when the Empire of Loh is the most puissant force in this part of Paz, and to come out when it is a dusty memory. Quite!”
“If he gets out.” Llodi was polishing up his new acquisition.
“Don't you start, Llodi!”
There being nothing of further interest in that cavern, we all trailed off through the far opening. The pearly light persisted.
“We must guide ourselves to a plan.” I sounded testy.
“It is not easy when the passageways turn and curve.” Chan's face held much of that depressed look of defeat. “We can only go on in the best way we can.”
This particular passageway held straight for a good long run. Some way along we passed the skeleton of a Khibil. Nothing else save the yellowed bones on the floor indicated his companions had gathered up what there was and marched on. We gave floor, walls and ceiling a thorough examination before we pressed on. Nothing startling occurred; but the tension of expected disaster crackled in the still air.
We reached an intersection where two doors in the opposite walls indicated decisions of direction were required. Chan said: “I am weary, hungry and thirsty. We have found fresh provisions down here, so I would like to rest, and my guards and people.”
Mevancy said at once: “A capital notion, strom.”
So I realized, and I suppose Rollo and Llodi likewise, that I was famished and dry. A wet was strictly in order here and now.
Chan turned to his cadade and nodded to the left hand door, which had a flaked blue paint over gray. Rhagran pointed at the door and said: “Benormy and Domesti! Check that room out.”
The Brukaj and an Och started forward. They moved readily enough, yet they weren't happy about the assignment. Well, by Vox, who would be?
They opened the door carefully and went cautiously in whilst a pair of Rapa bowmen positioned themselves ready to shoot in support. After a short interval, the Och came to the door and said: “All clear, lord.”
Chan nodded. “Dondo! Let us go in and rest.”
The room, walled in stone, looked bare and inhospitable.
I said: “I'll check the other room. It might be more inviting.”
“Yeh,” said Llodi. “Inviting to what?”
“You could be right, still—”
Mevancy stared at me, flushed. “Oh, you!” she said.
That cheered me up. The door of peeling varnished wood opened smoothly. I looked in and felt surprise. At my side Rollo sucked in his breath. Llodi said: “That's more like it, what with them couches an’ all.”
The place was sumptuously furnished with couches and chairs and tables, with tapestries on the walls. As usual, we brought the scents with us. Half a dozen tripods held amphorae. Llodi licked his lips.
“Well, now,” I said, not going in. “This could be illusion. This could be trapped to the eyeballs. Rollo?”
“No illusion. As for traps, we must test.”
Intrigued by our reactions, Chan came over. He turned to speak—over his shoulder. “Rhagran!”
This time the cadade chose a pair of strapping Hytaks. Their hard faces under the helmet brims showed no expression. Their armor and weapons, as always with Hytaks, were in impeccable condition. Not apim, Homo sapiens sapiens like me, the Hytak is a diff with only two arms and two legs. He does have a sinuous tail to which he often straps an edged blade. The backbone of many armies and many mercenary bands, hytakim are valued as fighting men and women. These two were twins. In they marched and poked and prodded, with exquisite care. Nothing happened. At length, the room was pronounced safe.
The amphorae contained a nice light yellow and I felt the smoothness as it went down. “By Mother Zinzu the Blessed!” I said, and I deliberately wiped my hand over my mouth. “I needed that!” Just how you'd judge the age of the vintage I didn't care to contemplate. As to its provenance, it could have been shipped in from almost anywhere during the time when Loh had trading links extending over most of this part of Paz.
We ate and drank, the cadade set watches, and we settled down to some much needed rest. This City of Eternal Twilight was just one of the famous Lost Cities of Chem. If they were all like this, then—!
Chan and that damned silly magic ring bothered me. I had no truck with foolishness of that kind. Yet, here I was supposedly chasing after magic rubies. Na-Si-Fantong believed in the power of the Skantiklar, and so did Deb-Lu. So how could I, a mere mortal, disbelieve?
Thinking of the powers of thaumaturgy, I wondered how Deb-Lu had got on in his investigation of the tower—or what was left of it—from which we had been shot at by fireballs. If that was Na-Si-Fantong's handiwork then that meant he had left some device or another assistant sorcerer up there. He could be down here now, and, as I surmised, he would also have negated the sleep spell. Did I want to run into him? That would bring this affair to a head; it might not be to my advantage, by Krun!
Chan would not hear of my standing a watch.
Later I said to Rollo and Llodi: “See? That's what you get for saying I'm a prince. I don't stand a watch. Ha!”
Eventually I went off to sleep with my perennial last thought. By Zair! She had to be safe with all that chivalry about her, and Deb-Lu!
In the all-pervasive light where no such thing as night existed, we reckoned that morning dawned when we were all rested sufficiently to continue.
Chan stretched. “By Wurzam! Had my mother and father treated me differently I might not have caught this disease of adventuring. When I think of my estates in Wioldrin, the plans I had for the conservatory and the rose arbors, I wonder. And there is Susy-Lee-Sarin. Ah! Hlo-Hli Herself must aid me to return, for Susy and I are to be wed.” He tugged his beard. “When I return I do not think I shall go adventuring again. Susy will rule me with a very different rod.”
“You'll return to your Susy, strom,” I said, making it positive.
He did not employ a slave overseer. Very often hired guards when in charge of slaves are heedlessly cruel. These Rapas carried whips. I had noticed that Chan appeared concerned over the well-being of his slaves, whom he called his people. That, of course, could be because they were carrying the treasures found along the way. At any rate, so far I had not seen a whip used.
Around the corner of the room where we had rested, further doors, carefully opened, revealed more rooms. This appeared to be a complex of guard rooms. Apart from the room where we had rested, all appeared uninhabited. I had to remind myself that this underground labyrinth was in use, was peopled by the folk of the Realm of the Drums. The stasis spell had caught them as well as the people of the City of Eternal Twilight. Things down here existed as they had done for at least five hundred seasons. And they were as fresh as they had ever been.
We went on. I said to Rollo: “What chance is there of you being aware of the nearness of Na-Si-Fantong?”
“In all this kharrna down here, not much.”
“Well, if we run into him—”
Rollo said with great loftiness: “We will do what we can.”
He walked on ahead
, for we were at the tail of the procession. The rock walls here were rough-cut once more. A slave had cut his foot, a young quanim, with pointed ears and long chin. He carried a bundle wrapped in sacking and he dropped back. A Rapa guard stalked past. I turned to look back.
Among the slaves there were Fristles, although none served in Chan's guard. The cat-folk and the bird-folk more often than not did not get along together. There were no Pachaks, Khibils or Chuliks, either, in the guard.
The Rapa guard swiveled his head to look towards the head of the column. He had dark feathers, and looked the typical vulturine Rapa I had first encountered upon Kregen. The column turned a corner up ahead. The Rapa unlimbered his whip. He hit the young quanim.
“Up, shint!Move, or I'll stripe you! Grak!”
That disgusting word grak is a word calculated to cow, to make a slave run until he falls dead. It is a word and an idea I detest.
The quanim shoved up with his bundle. Blood dribbled from his foot. The Rapa hit him again, quite needlessly. The youngster yelled.
I went back towards them. Oh, yes, I know. This is something that Dray Prescot cannot keep his big nose out of. It was quite clear that Strom Chan looked after his slaves, his people. This Rapa would never dare act like this in the presence of his lord.
I caught hold of the Rapa's shoulder, swung him about, and hit him on his big curved beak. He was so surprised he staggered back, dropping his whip. His dark feathers bristled. “Get up ahead, beakim. Bratch!”
He stared at me for a moment, his eyes mean. Then he picked up his whip and slouched off.
The quanim looked terrified. I said: “It's all right. Your lord does not allow whipping. Now cut along ahead.”
“Thank you, master.” He hobbled off.
I took a breath. Thank Opaz! I had been fully prepared for a most ugly scene, and it had passed off this easily.
I started off. The quanim ahead disappeared around the corner with his bundle. For just those few moments I was alone in the corridor.
Reaching the corner I swung around it—and stopped dead.
I gaped.
The corridor was empty. No one. Not a single solitary living soul marched along ahead. The rocky passage stretched to another corner about a hundred paces off. There was no sound. The expedition had vanished.
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* * *
Chapter fourteen
This was uncanny. I walked on, testing every step carefully, until I reached the next corner. The corridor here went on a long way in that pearly light. There was no sign of anyone. I went back to the first corner and searched around, looking for anything that might explain this mystery.
I yelled, after a bit, exasperated. “Mevancy! Llodi! Rollo!”
Not a dicky bird. Where in a Herrelldrin Hell had they gone?
I couldn't find any signs of cracks to indicate secret doors. I banged on the walls and floor. The rock rang back mockingly.
By Makki-Grodno's leprous left earlobe and putrescent right eyeball! Where the blue blazes had they gone?
I searched around quite uselessly for some time. After that I felt my best course would be to go on. We had to meet up again, surely?
Going on alone for me is both a pleasure and a source of concern. Any adventure can be heightened by the presence of good comrades. Adventuring alone is rewarding in quite different ways. I may say I kept an excruciatingly sharp lookout, testing any and everything that did not look right.
Corridor followed corridor. There were many doors now, lining the walls. I looked in a few to find nothing. After a time I kept on and ignored the rooms, reasoning that if my comrades were in any of them I'd hear. Coming out into a larger hall in the smooth light I saw a man lying on the floor. His booted feet were entangled in a rug. I stopped.
Not being sure just how close I had to be to wake him, I waited. He did not stir. I looked closer. Then I let out a breath.
Looking all about, I walked over to the corpse. He'd had his armor caved in by a blow I judged to have been of enormous force. His body had not rotted away, so he'd been killed just before the stasis spell came into effect. Logically, then, he'd be one of Queen Satra's party.
His helmet, dislodged, revealed his shaven skull with his pigtail, dyed red and yellow, twisted at the back. One of his tusks rising at the corners of his mouth had broken off at the gold band. In death he had lost some of his color; but his skin still showed that oily yellow sheen. Although I'd evidence to suggest that Chuliks were not entirely devoid of humanity, as is often said of them, their harsh military training from birth creates a race of diffs notably lacking in humanity. In service all over Paz they are among the most highly paid mercenaries.
His usual arsenal of weaponry was missing. His comrades had helped themselves in the paktun way. A broken stux lay near his fist. The throwing spear had snapped just below the cross quillons. These were very small, almost mere ornaments, at the base of the foot-long head. Developed to be hurled in hunting for vosks, large blundering stupid—if succulent—animals, the stux might have to be used to stop a maddened creature's charge. So that is why the check pieces were fixed, to stop the vosk clawing his way up the shaft to stick his tusks into you.
I said: “Mikshu the Treacherous—or whoever—smile on you, Chulik.”
Passing on, I reflected that I'd not studied Chulik history or religion as much as I had other diffs'. Likshu or Mikshu—well, yes, there must be a difference. In the same way I knew a fair amount of Walfargian history; but detail was hazy. I walked on into another chamber. All these areas were natural caverns, I felt, and the rumble and roar of water now became constant. Another body lay to one side, a Fristle, and this catman had likewise been stripped of weapons. His armor, also, was gone.
A long thin sliver had been passed through his body from below to top. He'd been skewered from a round hole in the floor. I studied this with attention. How—he'd been marching along and triggered the trap and up popped his death. So he was probably in the vanguard. This meant that because of the stasis, no one who lived here had come along to reset the trap. Wherever traps had been let off, they were now harmless. That made me guess that Chan's party since meeting us had been lucky or we'd been traipsing along after another party.
In this chamber a few chests had been tumbled to one side, smashed open, flung down. The thought occurred to me that these caches of chests in these particular rough caverns were not window dressing, were not necessarily traps, were not even required; but they might be genuine.
The searchers had not been altogether thorough and a kick revealed an unopened lid. I kicked it open. Inside a mass of jewels flamed and sparkled like a furnace fire. Splendid gems! I looked at them, and laughed, and walked on. I did not want to be slowed down by junk.
I say I looked at them. Oh, yes, by Krun, I looked! There was not a single red jewel among them.
Further on I crossed a cavern in which a chasm emitted clouds of steam. The far opening admitted me to a corridor more gloomy than usual and with wisps of steam being sucked along with me. It grew hotter.
Somehow or other I found I could see quite well in the gloom. I stopped. I saw a marvel. A plant grew from the roof, a corpse-white plant growing from a thick stem. Venus flytrap growths surrounded that trunk, and fleshy tentacles extended out to catch its prey. The spine-barbed leaves glistened slickly. The marvel was this, the syatra grew upside down. Its roots were firmly embedded in the earth above the roof and its tentacles sought food in the passage below.
It had found some sustenance. A portion of a naked girl could be glimpsed between the spines of one of the growths.
If I approached the syatra it would unfreeze. There was just room to squeeze past against the far wall of the corridor. Clearly, this poor girl had been careless or unlucky and had been seized up. Then—and I have seen sights in my time on Kregen, I felt it, then—another portion of the girl showed between the spines of another of the growths.
Remember, I told myself, remember
the frog and the scorpion. A syatra will live, therefore it will do what it has to do. What, I couldn't help wondering, did the inhabitants of the Realm of the Drums make of it?
Shoving up against the wall I began to edge past, my Krozair brand naked in my fist. If the syatra struck he'd lose a tentacle or three...
The plant awoke, the portions of the naked girl vanished as the spined lids clacked shut. Steam coiled up as the tentacles began to lash about trying to seize me up, and stuff me down in a trap adjoining the bits of the girl. I had only to lop one fleshy tentacle that groped too close. It fell to writhe on the ground. Then I had edged past and was clear.
There were three more syatras before the tunnel opened into a cavern. The air hung close and humid. Vapors rose from cracks in the floor where a rich yellow grass grew luxuriantly. Just in front of me a small hairless animal, very much like a piglet, cropped the grass motionlessly. Ahead and as far into the cavern as I could see, covering the ceiling, the corpse white syatras grew. Fleshy tentacles hung down, spined traps gaped open. More than one syatra had a piglet-beast in tentacle or trap.
The nearest syatra contained another girl in its tentacle. A second tentacle had pulled. Each sinuous length was about to deposit its bit of the girl in its trap. There was no way through there, so I would have to retrace my steps through the cavern of the chasm and take another fork. The way I had chosen had looked the best and most open way.
Until, that was, I'd run across the syatras.
So, I retreated in face of a superior force and found my way back across the steaming cavern of the chasm until I could turn off and continue ahead along a different track.
Once again the walls became squared off and tool marks showed. The light improved. Whilst I had no real idea of the design of this place I had the notion that the rougher portions existed on the perimeter. That would make sense, anyway, up to a point. The way continued on and I did not relax my caution. A glitter of gold drew my gaze. As I walked on I passed a handful of gold pieces, then a few more, then a pile, then a stream of gold. Further progress brought me to a box, splintered at the corner, with gems spilling out. Again, there were no rubies. Going on carefully, I found a sack of gems, which I checked, and a slew of precious objects—cups, trays, bracelets, necklaces—all heavily jeweled.
Scorpio Drums [Dray Prescot #42] Page 12
