City Under the Sand

by Jeff Mariotte

  Now, however, both were frightened. The demon’s power grew with every passing moment, as it sapped the magical energies of Nibenay’s templar wives. Already Tallik was beyond their control—the only question remaining was whether or not it could be destroyed.

  Aric was their best hope—and not much of a hope, at that. But he was someone they were happy to sacrifice.

  And his hand was full of steel.

  Another templar crashed into him, light as a bird. She fled, and then it was Aric and Tallik, facing each other across stones washed with crimson.

  “You again?” Tallik asked. His voice was loud enough to rattle the branches at the tops of the agafari trees, and his breath carried the stink of a thousand cesspools. “I thought you had learned.”

  “I’m slow,” Aric said.

  “I let you live before. No longer.”

  “Do your worst.” Fleeing was out of the question now, so Aric decided pretending to bravery was his best option. Not that he could frighten Tallik. But if he could make Tallik believe he wasn’t afraid, perhaps that would give him some small advantage.

  He needed whatever advantage he could gain. The demon towered over him, as big as a giant now, if not bigger.

  Tallik’s tentacles lashed out toward him, all at once. Aric struck back, steel flashing in the colored firelight, slicing through tentacles. They flopped to the bloody stones and writhed there. Tallik yanked them back, grew them again. He sent them once more.

  Once more, Aric fought back.

  The wildness was beginning to grip him again, the feel of steel in his fist feeding him. He moved faster than he knew he could, cutting and slicing, not thinking about his weapon but letting it have its head. The moment seemed at once to happen instantly, and drawn out, slowed down—he seemed to see the blade whip almost to the ground, chopping off tentacles as if they were no more substantial than dried out stalks of grass, then swinging up again, carving through more, sweeping to the left to block the ones coming from that way, then down and right again. At the same time it was all faster than his eyes could follow, the blade a silvery blur.

  Then a tentacle caught him on the cheek with the force of a hammer blow, and at the same time another wrapped around his waist. That one burned like coiled fire. If not for the burn, Aric believed the blow to his face might have knocked him senseless.

  If not for the burn, and the wild fever imparted to him by the steel.

  Now, Aric, Nibenay’s voice said.

  Now, Aric, said Siemhouk.

  Another tentacle lashed him in the face. Blood flew, and Aric’s eyes started to close. And another blow landed. Another. Claws tore at his flesh, opening gaping wounds. Blood splashed into the pools below.

  Aric pushed through unconsciousness, refusing to give in. He embraced the fire at his waist, pulling him ever closer to Tallik, because hanging onto that was the only thing keeping him awake.

  He was barely aware of his feet leaving the ground. Tallik lifted him, raising him up, two tentacles wrapped around him now, waist and thigh.

  That massive jaw opened, and the tentacles carried Aric toward the mouth, and Aric knew then that the demon meant to bite him, perhaps to eat him whole.

  Aric could barely speak, but with a thick tongue and battered lips, he said, “I’ve no magic in me, demon, I’d just give you indigestion.”

  He held his coin medallion in his left fist.

  And he plunged his sword deep into Tallik’s upper chest.

  Once again, it burned.

  Aric hung on despite the agony.

  Yes, Aric, Siemhouk said.

  Yes, Aric, said her father.

  Tallik tried to wrench him away with tentacles, to push him away with hands almost big enough to cover Aric completely. But Aric kept his grip on the sword, and the steel clung to Tallik, and it took several moments to realize, through eyes swollen almost to slits, that the blade was glowing red, its glow visible even beneath the demon’s skin.

  Aric’s head flopped onto his shoulder and he blinked, nearly unconscious from the pain, but he could see Siemhouk on the dais, standing straight, arms thrust out before her, and a red glow emanating from her flowing toward Aric’s sword. Another struck the sword from elsewhere, like a beam of scarlet light. Nibenay, Aric guessed, from wherever he was hiding. Then more of them, beams striking the blade, running along it, down its edges and its fuller groove and into Tallik’s breast, and he knew these came from templars, gathering once more around the demon. He caught another glimpse of Siemhouk, and flanking her now were Sheridia and Sellis and Amoni, their hands resting on Siemhouk’s shoulders and hips, feeding him their magical energies.

  And Tallik screamed.

  The scream hit the branches of the agafari trees like a terrible wind, tearing leaves from limbs, raining them onto those gathered below. It deafened Aric; he felt hot blood running down his jawline, and for an instant his eyes shut and he was gone, away from this plaza in the Naggaramakam and back in the chamber beneath Akrankhot, beneath all the steel there, imprisoned for a millennium, and inside the Shadow King’s palace, in darkened corridors choked with incense and tuneless chants, in the elf market, in Nibenay’s streets, alone and frightened, and he almost let go of the sword’s handle.

  Then he was back in that place, in that moment. He strengthened his grip on the sword, its blade nothing but red light now, and shoved it in deeper, to the hilt. Tallik screamed again, his face contorting. Aric felt the wind, smelled his ghastly breath, but heard nothing. Tallik’s knees buckled. He dropped to his knees, trying to cast Aric away but unable to. He was smaller, Aric realized, he had stolen the templars’ strength and grown but now he was shrinking again. Aric twisted the blade in the demon’s breast.

  Tallik’s tentacles relaxed, flopped limp at his sides, then his arms did the same, and he released Aric. Aric hung onto the sword, refusing to fall, to let go, unwilling to give Tallik the chance to pull it from his chest. But now the red light showed in Tallik’s eyes, glowing from his open mouth, from his nostrils and ears, and he shrunk more, teetered, and sank backward, rump meeting heels. He kept going, head swaying back, back paralleling the wet paving stones. Aric hung on.

  The demon slumped to the ground, Aric on top of him, gripping his hilt. They held that position for what seemed a full minute before he heard Siemhouk’s voice again. That’s enough, she said. He is defeated.

  “Enough?” Aric echoed, or thought he did. The world was utterly silent, except for the sounds in his mind.

  Enough.

  Aric found his feet. Through the slits he had for eyes he saw Tallik, still at last, shrunken back to the size he had been when he had first emerged from Kadya, arms and tentacles splayed out around him like a stomped spider’s limbs.

  He drew his sword from the demon’s chest, nothing but steel now, the red glow faded.

  Enough? he thought.

  Summoning what strength remained to him, he struck quickly, lopping off the demon’s head. It rolled to one side, and Aric kicked it away from the body lest it reattach itself somehow.

  That was unnecessary, Nibenay’s voice said.

  I didn’t want to chance someone reviving him again, Aric thought.

  Me, perhaps?

  Aric spat a tooth into the gore coating the paving stones. Perhaps.

  Nibenay didn’t respond. Siemhouk had gone silent, too. On wobbly legs, Aric made his way back toward his friends. They caught him before he fell, and they led him, half-carrying him, out of the plaza, out of the Naggaramakam, past the argosy they had stolen and abandoned, past the guards, who as far as Aric could tell might still have been mute.

  No one raised a hand to stop them.

  XXII

  AFTERWARDS

  The Inn of Nine Feathers was quiet when he arrived, but it was early yet, mid-afternoon, the hottest part of the day. Even the birds were still, sitting in cages suspended from the tavern’s ceiling. Most were sitaks, their plumage deep crimson and pale blue, or burgundy and taupe, with ivory c
rests, but there were other types Aric couldn’t name, feathered in every color from carmine to chartreuse to indigo.

  A barkeep stood behind a bar with cages lining the wall behind him and birds carved in relief in the wood of the bar front. The birds in those cages squawked when he yanked feathers from their tails. He put the tailfeathers into a mortar, added clear liquors depending on what drink had been ordered, and worked them together until he could pour the vibrant, liquefied contents into mugs. A barmaid served the mugs and took orders for more.

  Aric watched it all through eyes that had not entirely healed over the past three days. He could hear again, and had been relieved to find the deafness was only temporary. He sat at the tavern’s biggest table, and had another dragged over to add more room. Soon enough, Ruhm showed up, then Sellis and Amoni, followed after a few minutes by Rieve. “How’s Pietrus?” Aric asked when she sat down.

  “He’s all right,” Rieve explained. “He’s not comfortable yet venturing into the city. Still, it’s strange how fast people forget. They destroyed our house, killed some servants. That was apparently enough justice, but it will take him a while before he thinks he’s forgiven.”

  “Not too long, I hope,” Aric said.

  “As do we,” Rieve agreed.

  Myrana entered next, a wide smile lighting her face. She sat and slapped the tabletop. “It’s just so good to see you all again!”

  “It’s only been a couple of days,” Sellis said.

  “Long enough. After what we’ve been through, it feels like forever.”

  Finally, Corlan and Mazzax joined the party. Aric was surprised to see them together, and he laughed, then winced at the sharp pain in his ribs when he did. He wasn’t alone in his misery: Amoni had a broken arm, and Sellis was covered in bruises in shades of blue, purple, yellow and black. Only Ruhm had challenged Tallik and emerged relatively intact, with nothing worse than a swollen cheek to show for it.

  They had survived, that was the important thing. Gone up against the greatest threat any of them had ever encountered and walked away. And Aric couldn’t deny that, though he’d been terrified at the time, thinking about it afterward all he remembered was that it had been, in some strange way, fun.

  They chatted casually while the barmaid delivered everyone’s drinks. Once everybody had a mug before them, Aric banged his on the table. “A toast!” he said.

  “A toast,” others echoed.

  “To all of you, boon companions to the end!”

  “And to you, Aric, slayer of demons!” Mazzax added.

  They drank, banged their empties down, and the barmaid came over to fetch more. The birds launched into a series of loud squawks as tailfeathers were plucked.

  “I wish we knew he was truly slain,” Aric said.

  “You cut his head off!” Myrana said.

  “But he lived before, in Siemhouk’s head and inside Kadya. Do we know there’s not some aspect of him, carried in one of the templars?” Aric lowered his voice. “In Nibenay himself?”

  “We can’t know that,” Amoni said. “But it’s unlikely—there was a lot of magical energy channeled through your blade, Aric. Even without beheading him, I’m sure he was killed.”

  “I hope so.” Aric peered across the table at Rieve, copper hair sparkling in candlelight. So beautiful, and yet unattainable, his half-sister. “When will you and Corlan be wed?” he asked.

  “We won’t,” Rieve replied. A glance at Corlan showed only the slightest trace of disappointment, a twitching of the lips, a lowering of eyelids. “Not that I don’t love Corlan—and all of you—but I’ve been thinking a lot, and talking to Grandmother. I’ll be joining the Order of the Serene Bliss, becoming an ascetic, and working on developing my spiritual nature.”

  “It’s the right decision for you,” Corlan said. “As I told you before.”

  “Corlan’s been just wonderful about it,” Rieve said. “I meant to tell you sooner, Aric, but …”

  “But I didn’t want to see anybody for those few days. You wouldn’t have wanted to see me. I was a mess.”

  “You’re still a mess!” Mazzax said.

  “I know.” Aric’s face remained puffy and bruised. Sellis’s flesh was colorful, but Aric’s had more hues than all the birds in the cages around them. Pain lanced from his ribs when he breathed too deeply or laughed or rolled over in his sleep. The gouges from Tallik’s claws were scabbed over, but the scorch marks where his tentacles had wrapped around Aric were still black and sore. “I wish you the best, Rieve. I’m sure it’ll be a wonderful experience for you.” He had thought himself used to the idea that he couldn’t be with her, since the night of Myklan’s confession, but it still stung.

  Corlan reached toward Myrana, who sat beside him, and took her hand. “The truth is, Myrana and I have … well, we’ve comforted one another,” he said. “Out in the desert, we were drawn toward each other, and since being here in Nibenay that feeling has deepened.”

  “I don’t know if it’s love,” Myrana said. “But it’s close enough for now.”

  Aric was astonished by this revelation. He had seen Corlan and Myrana, lost in conversation, at times, but hadn’t known anything like this was in the offing. This stung as well. He had been attracted to Myrana from the moment they met.

  “You’d best take good care of her, Corlan,” Mazzax said. “I once thought taking care of Hotak’s shop was the most important thing, but now … now I think it’s Myrana, taking care of Myrana. She’s special, that one, and I want no harm to befall her.”

  “Believe me, I wouldn’t harm her,” Corlan said.

  “Not and take two breaths afterward,” Mazzax countered.

  “Good luck with that,” Aric said, to general laughter. “All three of you!”

  “Will you be staying in Nibenay?” Rieve asked them.

  “All I’ve ever wanted is to settle someplace,” Myrana said. “I’m so tired of wandering.”

  “And everything I have is here,” Corlan said. “The academy, my family … I think we’ll stay.”

  “Good,” Rieve said. “We can visit, once in a while.”

  “Anyone else leaving?” Ruhm asked.

  “I am,” Amoni offered. “I thought perhaps Tyr. Maybe I’ll join the Veiled Alliance there. Keep enjoying freedom—now I’ve had a taste, I find I like it. Maybe I can help free others.”

  “I could go with you, Amoni,” Sellis said. “If Myrana has no more need of me.”

  “I’ve been in touch with the family, Sellis,” she said. “You’ll be paid, and well, for your service. I like to think I won’t need a bodyguard any longer. I’m not sure you ever did.”

  “It’s Nibenay,” Aric said. “One never knows.”

  “She’ll have me, demonslayer,” Mazzax reminded them. “What more could she need?”

  “That’s right, Mazzax,” Myrana said. “I’ll have you.” She seemed to take the dwarf’s single-minded interest in good spirits. He could choose some other interest later on, Aric knew, and then again, he could trail her around until his last day—you just couldn’t tell, with dwarves.

  “I’m staying,” Ruhm said. “Nibenay’s awful, but it’s home.”

  “Staying, and keeping the shop,” Aric said. “Mazzax, he might need a hand now and again.”

  “If the lady wills it, demonslayer.”

  “I’m sure I can spare you sometimes, Mazzax.”

  “Very well, then.”

  “But if Ruhm gets the shop,” Amoni asked, “then what of you, Aric?”

  “I don’t know that the city has suffered from my absence,” Aric said. “And with Ruhm and Mazzax working together, there’ll still be a smith of uncommon skills. So …”

  He didn’t finish the sentence, because he didn’t know what the end of it was. His journey had been hard, dangerous, but he’d caught a taste for travel—like Amoni’s, for freedom, he supposed. He had nothing in particular to hold him in Nibenay, and plenty of reasons to leave, like the memories spawned by so many street cor
ners and buildings and neighborhoods. He could always return; he had the closest thing to a family now that he had ever known. The knowledge that they would always take him back gave him the courage to leave them behind.

  The barmaid put a mug before him and he drank deep, thankful for the excuse not to speak. He had no idea where he would go. Athas was a big world, full of perils but also splashes of great beauty, and there might be a place in it for a half-elf with an affinity for steel.

  He would have to find where that place was.

  Searching for it?

  Now, that would be an adventure.

  JEFF MARIOTTE is the award-winning author of more than forty novels, including the Age of Conan: Marauders trilogy, horror trilogy Missing White Girl, River Runs Red, and Cold Black Hearts, (all as Jeffrey J. Mariotte), The Slab, the Witch Season teen horror quartet, and others, as well as dozens of comic books, notably Desperadoes and Zombie Cop. He’s a co-owner of specialty bookstore Mysterious Galaxy in San Diego, and lives in southeastern Arizona on the Flying M Ranch. For more about him, please visit www.jeffmariotte.com.

  SIGIL

  The joy of the Chained God was a wild thing, fierce and manic, straining against the bounds of his prison. The merest hint of freedom, a whiff of possibility, filled him with savage delight. He could almost taste the annihilation of the world.

  Through his mortal servant, he felt the power of the Living Gate. Even such a small piece of the crystal made the space between worlds thinner. In his servant’s hands, the fragment would open a window to his prison.

  But the Chained God would not be able to escape through a window of that size. Even though his power filled the desolate universe that was his prison, he could only send a fraction of his might and majesty burrowing between worlds if the Living Gate opened the way. And the Progenitor would be the vehicle for that shard.