“You needn’t have snapped,” she told Dhojakt as he settled his ridiculous form. “My friends would have gone if you had asked me with the respect I deserve.”
“Were they offended?” Dhojakt asked. He scratched his muzzle with one hand, as human as hers, but that face—the flaring nostrils, the tiny ears flush with the bottom of his jaw, the bulging eyes, so like the single orb of a cilops but paired, and smaller—was decidedly not. “And is there some reason you believe I care?”
“I know you care not in the least,” Siemhouk said. “And honestly? It’s true, most of our father’s wives are insipid creatures who can’t formulate a thought more complex than to wonder if Father cares more for some other wife than he does them. But I’m human, after all.” She emphasized the word, jabbing him with it like a dagger. “I need company from time to time.”
“Not I,” Dhojakt said. His high voice had an unpleasant rasp to it, like a hinge rarely used. “I need only my studies to keep me company.”
Looking like you do, Siemhouk thought, then broke it off. It would be too easy for him to read her mind, and although she could block him just as easily, who knew what he might pick up in that initial probe?
“Is that what brings you here?” she asked. “Something you’ve learned?”
“I was in Father’s private library,” he said. She knew it well: corridor upon corridor lined with shelves, from the floor to a ceiling so high up it took tall ladders to reach the upper sections, and one had to carry a candle or lantern aloft because the light from the wall lamps didn’t reach that high. If there was a larger collection of knowledge anywhere on Athas, she didn’t know of it.
“And?”
“And I discovered some interesting information.”
“About what?”
“About Akrankhot.”
“That city that Kadya is looking for?”
“Don’t feign ignorance, dear sister, it isn’t becoming. I know that you campaigned to have Kadya lead the expedition to Akrankhot. I know that a dead man promised huge stores of metal could be found there, and I understand as well as you the strategic significance of that metal to Nibenay, as well as the benefit to whoever is responsible for fetching it back here.”
“Little escapes you, my brother.”
“Precious little indeed. But I believe I have learned something about Akrankhot that escaped you.”
“Hardly surprising, since I know nothing of the city save what the undead mercenary told us.” Siemhouk shifted her position on the silk pillows. She was growing bored again, and wanted her brother to get to the point. “Will you share what you’ve learned?”
“I suppose.” Of course he would; that was the reason he had come here. Just telling her that he knew something wasn’t nearly satisfaction enough for him.
Dhojakt shifted his many feet again, and picked up a pillow in the claws of a couple. As he spoke, he tore the pillow apart, scattering shreds here and there. “Eons ago, in a time that some scholars call the Gray Age, a war between gods and primordials had ended, but left Athas in a troubled way. Arcane magics had become prevalent, although not nearly to the extent that defiling magic later savaged the world.”
“Defiling magic you’re happy to use, when it suits you,” she pointed out.
“I never said otherwise. At any rate, the primordials, in their battle against the gods, ripped the very fabric of the world. Who knows what they let in, during that time, from the Gray or the Astral Sea? And who knows what the primitive but powerful magics being employed here did to whatever dared enter? At any rate, according to these histories I found, one being that became troublesome in those days was a demon known as Tallik. Perhaps this demon was summoned by some fledgling sorcerer, who then proved unable to control it. There were others about, however, with power enough to intercede, and one of them, or several, imprisoned Tallik beneath what was, at the time, a major city.”
“Let me guess,” Siemhouk said. The story had entertained her, momentarily, but the ending was too easily grasped. And she had already glimpsed the demon’s work, in the undead man who had journeyed all the way to Nibenay to tell the Shadow King about the discovery. “Under Akrankhot.”
“That’s right. So at your suggestion, a templar loyal to you is about to disturb the prison of a demon—one not powerful to stand against the primordials who slew gods, but quite possibly more than powerful enough to threaten all of Athas as we know it.”
“Sounds exciting,” Siemhouk said. “If it brings some color to our lives, then—”
Dhojakt interrupted his sister. “If it’s excitement you want, I can tell Father. His reaction should offer quite a large respite from boredom.”
Now Siemhouk was intrigued. She had to think fast, to strategize. Dhojakt wouldn’t threaten to tell Father unless there was something in it for him—he had to think that Father would be pleased enough by this knowledge to reward him in some way. Why would it please Father? Because if the demon were to become a threat, better to know about it in advance, to be able to prepare for its coming? Or because the possibility existed that the demon, more than the metal, might become a weapon Nibenay could wield against his foes?
If he thought that freeing it from its prison was a dangerous idea, then might he not blame Siemhouk for pursuing the undead mercenary’s story with such fervor? Better, perhaps, to wait until the city was found, and they knew if the demon yet lived, before taking steps either way.
“Why would you tell him?” she asked, the very picture of naive innocence.
“Because it’s something he should know. But I don’t have to. I know you have a reason for sending Kadya on the expedition. I even understand it. All I want is for you to share the rewards, be they gold or good feelings.”
“And if I don’t, you’ll tell Father about this Tallik?”
“That’s correct,” Dhojakt said.
“Go ahead. Let me know what he says.” She had made the calculation that, with permission granted, Dhojakt would never tell their father. He would think that she wasn’t concerned about Nibenay finding out, so there was a better angle for him in keeping it quiet.
Dhojakt rubbed his shaved head with one of those oddly human hands. “I think I’ll wait,” he said. “Perhaps there’s no need for Father to know just yet.”
“I could tell him …” Siemhouk offered.
“That surely will not be necessary,” her brother said. “When the time is right, I’ll let him know. Until then … well, why trouble him? We don’t even know if this Tallik is alive or dead. And if alive, if he yet possesses any power whatsoever. No, let’s hold off, for now.”
“As you wish, brother.”
Dhojakt started to turn around, a process that took his ungainly body a considerable amount of space and time. “As always, dear sister, visiting with you has been a pleasure and an enlightenment.”
“And the same to you, Dhojakt,” Siemhouk said, inordinately pleased to see the last of him. “Do come back whenever you’ve a mind to.”
3
Djena paced about the Council Chambers at the Temple of the King’s Law, running her hands through her gray hair, aggravated beyond belief at some of her templar wives. Wives loyal to her sat in thronelike chairs similar to the ones high consorts used at Council meetings.
“Of course we have spies in the caravan!” she said, at a level barely below a scream. “I’m positive every high consort has spies in the caravan. What I haven’t seen is any useful information.”
“What is it you need to know?” Lijana asked. She was one of Djena’s oldest allies, a woman who had become a wife just a couple of years after Djena and understood early on that Djena’s route to power in the king’s court could not be denied. She had been right—Djena had walked over the bodies of dozens of other wives to get where she was. Some of those bodies had been figurative, others quite literal. The High Consort of the King’s Law was the most powerful person in the city-state, second only to their husband himself, and so that position became Dje
na’s goal.
At the time, Siemhouk had not yet been born. No one could have known the king’s daughter would overturn his rigidly organized hierarchy.
“I need to know what Kadya has in mind. I’m certain she’s talking with Siemhouk. But Siemhouk is already more powerful than me, so what does she stand to gain? And what has she promised Kadya? My position?”
“She couldn’t possibly,” Pasumi said. Pasumi was young, beautiful, and Djena knew that to underestimate her ruthlessness would be a disastrous error. She had drawn Pasumi into her confidence because she recognized in the stunning new wife a kindred spirit, someone she wanted to keep a close eye on. Of all the templar wives brought into the family in the past five years, this was the one she most expected to make a play for her spot.
She never would have expected such a move from Kadya. From Siemhouk, though, anything was possible. If Siemhouk could replace her with Kadya, that would cement her control over the two most important temples, and therefore over most of the city-state. Her power would be almost on a level with Nibenay’s.
That was what she feared, and why she wanted a better conduit into the communication between Siemhouk and Kadya.
“She might, Pasumi,” Djena said. She stopped pacing, and shook out her hair. She must have looked a sight, like someone on the verge of a mental breakdown. She blew out a breath. “Don’t put anything past Siemhouk. She is my sister, my husband’s daughter, and I love her as I love life itself. But she is as ambitious a templar as has ever lived. I have achieved my goal, and attained a position from which I can help our land and its inhabitants. Someday I’ll be asked to stand down in favor of someone with new ideas. But that time is not now, and that person should not be Kadya. If we can’t find out what those two are saying to each other, though, then Kadya it may be. We need to know what Kadya reports to Siemhouk, and without waiting for Siemhouk herself to give us what are certainly very unfaithful adaptations of those reports.”
“What would you have us do, sister?” Lijana asked.
“Each of you knows someone on that expedition, I’d wager,” Djena said. “Make sure they’re sparing no effort at intercepting any communication between our beloved sisters Siemhouk and Kadya. And make sure that your allies here in Nibenay with experience in the Way are trying to glean the contents of those conversations on this end. We must know the truth about what they find, what they would do with it, and when it will return to Nibenay, and we must know it as soon as Siemhouk herself does. If we can’t, then I fear that all is lost.”
Djena plopped down into her usual seat, satisfied for the moment with her diatribe. She had overstated the case. There would still be time to react to whatever the expedition brought back, even after its arrival. But it would be more difficult then, the results of that reaction less certain. Forewarning was the best defense she could hope for. She had needed to throw a scare into her allies, to make sure they and their loyalists weren’t being lazy or duplicitous.
If Djena went down, they all did. That was the most important fact they had to bear in mind. Those who had tied themselves to Djena were all in trouble, if Siemhouk and Kadya were successful.
That couldn’t be allowed to happen.
IX
CITY UNDER THE SAND
1
Aric and Ruhm rode inside an argosy, not because it was comfortable—the sun pounded on the armored roof and walls, and even with the open windows, Aric felt like they were riding inside his forge—but because Kadya had insisted, after the halfling attack, that he be kept as safe as possible. She pointed out that had he been inside an argosy in the first place, he would have been in little danger.
Aric tried to argue that he, in fact, killed some of the attackers. She countered that she’d had to drive off the halflings using magic, for which many no doubt resented her, and if it hadn’t been for that magic then Aric—and everyone else—would quite possibly be dead already.
So he was stuck.
The caravan cut across open desert, and since leaving the road the jouncing, jostling ride had been more pronounced than ever. He had to hold onto the bench or put a hand against the argosy’s wall to steady himself each time the wheels rolled over a rock or uneven patch of ground, or let his spine be painfully jarred. He and Ruhm and the others in the argosy, mostly slaves who chose to ride in order to save their strength for the difficult tasks ahead, weren’t talking much. The constant chatter and joking that had marked the earlier part of the trip was gone, and a new mood had taken over. People were tense, mourning the dead but even more concerned that they not follow their comrades into the grave.
Aric sat near a window, so that he could stand occasionally, stretch his legs, and look outside. For the first several days he had reveled in the new and different scenery, but these last days on the trail had knocked that enthusiasm from him. Each new vista was just like the last. Sand, low hills, a few determined plants. The occasional birds flew past overhead, and every now and then they caught a glimpse of an animal, insects, lizards and snakes, sometimes larger beasts. Most of those would no doubt have gladly eaten Aric or any other member of the expedition, but didn’t dare prey upon such a large group.
He would not have said that he missed Nibenay—chaotic, frenetic Nibenay, so often unfriendly to half-elves—but he did miss his little home, and his shop. The only piece of metal he had on this trip was his coin medallion, and he found himself handling it often, taking solace in its familiarity and in the enduring solidity of metal, worn down from his touch but still there after all these years.
A whisper yanked him from unhappy contemplation. “Hsst! Aric!”
Aric reached for the window’s edge and pulled himself to his feet. The argosy rocked, a wheel rolling over a large stone, Aric guessed, and almost threw him back down, but he held fast. Damaric walked beside the window. “What news, Damaric?”
“Kadya says we’re close!”
“We are? How close?” He had no idea what hazards the lost city might hold, but anything would be better than another day in this damnable wagon.
“I’m not sure. There are low, rocky hills ahead. According to the undead man’s map, beyond those lies another short stretch of desert. Then Akrankhot!”
Ruhm had overheard, and now he stood as well, his back hunched over to get his head out the window. “Did you hear it from her?” he asked.
“Everybody’s talking about it. She’s up front with a glass, so she saw it first. She told someone, and that one told someone else, and so on.”
“Are you sure it’s true?” Aric asked. “You know how rumors spread.”
“Aye,” Damaric said. “Sure as I can be. The closer to the front of the caravan, the more people are talking about it. She would never tell a slave soldier anything, but people I trust confirmed it.”
“That’s great,” Aric said. “I think I’m already a head shorter from the way this trip is crushing my spine.”
He leaned out the window and peered ahead. The rocky hills were visible, two rows of them slanting toward each other at the end. As if they tasted the end of the long trek, the mekillots seemed to be pulling harder, hauling the wagons along faster than ever.
The excitement was palpable. Everyone knew they were approaching their goal. Shouts and curses buzzed through the air. The attitude of the travelers had changed, in the space of an hour, almost back to where it had been at the journey’s start.
Aric wasn’t immune to the change. For now, their goal was his goal. Find the metal, load it up, and get home.
After that, no one knew what would happen. But if all went well, he could end up the wealthiest half-elf he had ever known.
There were worse things to hope for.
He was still thinking about it when the creature attacked.
2
It happened while the entire caravan passed between the two rows of hills, which, Kadya assured them, would direct them straight toward the city’s front gates.
Aric obeyed the templar’s order and staye
d in the wagon, although he would have preferred to be walking. Ruhm had got out to walk. Damaric took two steps for every one of Ruhm’s, while for Amoni, who had also joined them, it was closer to one and a half.
They were closer to the set of hills on the argosy’s right side—the window Aric was hanging out of—and he watched the rocky slopes, noting the different textures. The hills were rounded, studded with stones of various sizes, some of them nestled in patches of green.
And then one of the hills moved.
Not the entire hill, but a large section of it. It shifted, as if the ground itself had just awakened from a long nap. Then it separated from the hillside around it, its camouflage almost perfect. “Ruhm!” Aric shouted, pointing.
Ruhm and the others followed Aric’s finger. People around other wagons had seen it too. “Earth drake!” someone cried. “It’s an earth drake! Soldiers, to arms!”
The beast revealed its full size, peeling away from the rocky surface into which its scaly, pocked, bulbous hide had blended it. It must have been thirty feet long, or more. Its head was massive. When it let its jaw swing open to release a bloodcurdling roar, its mouth looked easily large enough to swallow humans whole. Aric had heard improbable tales of earth drakes eating entire mekillots. Seeing this one, however, he no longer had reason to doubt. A bony ridge protected the drake’s brow and eyes, and behind those its head flared back in a fan shape, probably to make burrowing easier. Its limbs were gigantic, as big around as some of the old agafari trunks in Sage’s Square.
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