Читать книгу The Serpentwar Saga - Raymond E. Feist - Страница 33

Calis signaled.

Silently the men behind him halted in place and raised hands to warn the others farther down the line to stop. Since entering the tunnel two days before, they had adopted silent travel. All communication was done by hand gestures and noise was kept to a minimum.

While every man in Calis’s company had been trained in such practices, the clansmen under Hatonis and the mercenaries hired by Praji had been a noisy bunch at first. They had learned quickly, however, and no longer needed constant reminders to keep silent.

Of the one hundred and eleven men who had left the rendezvous – the sixty-six men in Calis’s command and the forty-five with Greylock, Praji, Vaja, and Hatonis – seventy-one had survived the clash with the Saaur above.

‘Above’ was how they now thought of the Plain of Djams. The tunnel had moved continuously down until Nakor estimated they were close to a quarter mile below the surface. At camp the night before he had whispered to Erik that someone had once badly wanted to trade on the plains above to have built such a long and deep passage; either that, or they had wanted their front door a very long, defensible distance from their home.

The tunnel had been a uniform size, varying only with an occasional outcropping of stone that was easier to move around than to dig through. Except for those minor deviations, the tunnel was a uniform seven feet in height, ten feet wide, and apparently endless.

At several points along the way larger areas had been dug out that might have served for rest areas or places to store provisions, but their original use could only be guessed at by those now passing.

Calis turned back to where Luis waited and motioned for him to come forward. Erik wondered at the choice until he saw Calis draw a dagger from his belt.

Beyond the Captain lay another opening, but Erik had the impression this was more than another widening in the tunnel. He sensed air movement and wondered if they had reached some portion of the abandoned underground city Praji had told of. He knew it was not possible that they had come far enough to enter the particular one Praji spoke of down in the south, but perhaps there was another such place up here, in the mountains.

Calis and Luis vanished into the gloom. The single torch was at the center of the column, and the light barely reached either end. Erik did not know how Calis did it; his vision must be inhuman, for the faint light that reached the head of the line barely gave Erik enough illumination to see de Loungville’s back as he crouched, waiting. Erik hugged himself, for it was cold in the passage. All the men were chilled, but they endured it in silence.

Since losing Foster, de Loungville had been delegating tasks equally to Biggo and Erik that usually fell to the corporal. Erik was uncertain if this was any endorsement of his ability or simply a question of proximity; they were the two men de Loungville was most likely to find at his back when he turned around.

A few moments later, Calis and Luis returned, and Calis spoke in a hushed whisper, while Luis returned to his normal place in line. ‘It’s a large gallery, and we’re entering through a passage that empties into a ledge leading both downward and up – it’s wide enough for three men to walk abreast, but there is no railing and it’s a long way down, so pass the word that when we move out everyone should be cautious of the edge. I’m going to explore. You rest here for a half hour, and if I’m not back, that means follow the upward path.’

De Loungville nodded and motioned for rest. Those behind him passed along the silent instruction and the men sat where they were. Erik shifted around until he found a relatively comfortable position resting against the cold stone, while the others did likewise.

He heard a faint scraping sound and realized de Loungville was counting knots in a thong. It was an old trick, moving your fingers along a piece of rope, twine, or leather, silently reciting a fixed ditty, one that had been practiced over and over until it was almost as exact as sand falling in a glass. De Loungville would move his fingers down a knot each time he finished the rhyme; when he reached the end of the thong, ten minutes would have passed. When he had used the thong three times, the half hour would be up.

Erik closed his eyes. He couldn’t sleep, but he could relax as much as possible. Without thought he put his hands on his aching legs and felt them grow warm with the healing power he had learned from Nakor. As the rest of his body was chilled by the cold rocks, it was a welcome sensation.

Erik wondered how the rest of the villagers in Weanat were doing, and what would become of them when the Emerald Queen’s army reached that area. There were so many invaders there was no chance they could lie low in the woods until they left. That host would strip the land of everything edible for five miles on both sides of the river. The only hope those villagers had would be to go up into the mountains and hide in the high valleys. Perhaps Kirzon and his people would help them. Erik doubted it; they would have barely enough food for the winter for themselves.

Then he wondered what his mother was doing. He had no idea what time it was back home—he didn’t really know what time it was above; he thought it was midday. That probably meant it was the middle of the night back in Ravensburg. She was most likely asleep in her little room at the inn. Erik wondered if she knew he still lived. Her last news of him might have been that he had been condemned to die. Given the secrecy surrounding the mission and the chance of not surviving training, he suspected she thought him dead.

He sighed softly and wondered how she was, and Rosalyn and Milo and the others in the village. They seemed so far away and that life so alien, he could barely remember what it felt like to rise up every day with his only expectation being hard work at the forge.

Suddenly he felt a touch on his wrist and looked over to see de Loungville in the dim light signaling it was time to move out. Erik reached over and nudged the dozing Biggo, who nodded and nudged the man next in line.

Erik rose and moved out after the sergeant, who passed through the opening to the gallery, and turned right on the walkway, heading upward. In the deep darkness, Erik could only sense the size of the place, and he was about halfway around the circular path when the man holding the torch emerged from the side passage. Suddenly Erik could see the entire gallery and he involuntarily stepped back against the wall. The floor was lost in the gloom below, despite the torch light, as was the ceiling above. A faint draft of air rose up, and it carried a damp, stale odor.

Erik wished he hadn’t known the pathway was so narrow and the fall so great, as now he walked with considerably more discomfort. He moved on, and followed de Loungville upward into the darkness.

At several points along the way they encountered entrances to new tunnels, and they paused to see if Calis had marked any, indicating they should leave the upwardly spiraling path. They never saw any marks.

There were wide places, as if ledges had been carved into the rock of the mountain, to allow more comfortable movement, and places where the men could sit. Erik had no idea how long they had been following Calis, but he knew his legs hurt. The constant upward climb was taking its toll.

Suddenly they saw Calis ahead in the gloom. He said, ‘This area is deserted.’

The men seemed to relax at that, and de Loungville said, ‘Praji, is this like that dwarven place you spoke of?’

‘Not that I’d recognize,’ said the old mercenary. He was short of wind and obviously pleased to be halting, even if only for a few minutes. ‘Mind you, I have only tales, but it’s been described to me several times by different people who’ve been there.’ He looked around. ‘This place … I don’t know what it is.’

Calis said, ‘There are dwarven mines back home and I’ve been through a couple. They have galleries and such, but this is something different. No dwarven hand built this place. This is no mine.’

Erik heard Roo’s voice coming from behind. ‘This looks like a city, Captain.’

Erik turned and heard Calis say, ‘A city?’

Roo said, ‘Well, something like it. Those tunnels lead to other places, maybe. Sleeping quarters or places to store goods. But those wide places, if you noticed, are in a pattern: there’s one for every two entrances along the way, and they’re all of uniform size. I think they’re like market areas.’

‘Then this would be some sort of central passage, like a boulevard in a city, only it moves up and down instead of north and south,’ said Biggo.

‘Who would have built such a place?’ asked Erik.

Calis said, ‘I don’t know.’ He changed the subject. ‘We’re about at ground level, so I’m inclined to start looking for a way out. I’m going to explore the next corridor we come to. I want the men to make camp at the next “market” area we find.’

‘Is it sundown already?’ asked de Loungville.

‘I’d judge it an hour past,’ said Nakor from behind.

‘More like two,’ answered Calis.

‘How do you know?’ blurted Roo.

Calis smiled in the dim light. ‘I’ll be back before dawn.’

With that he moved ahead, and the weary column of men followed after until they came to the next wide space on the trail, where they gladly settled in for a night’s rest.

Erik discovered he had no sense of time in these caves. Calis had mentioned to de Loungville that it had been two and a half days of travel, which in his judgment accounted for a twenty-mile journey from the hillock to the foothills of the mountains, and then a gradual climb into the interior of a large peak. Erik felt as if it had been a lot farther, but he realized that so much of the trek had been up the spiral path inside this mountain.

Earlier that day. Calis had said he was convinced the entire region was deserted, but there was something in his voice that hinted to Erik there was more that he was not sharing. Despite Erik’s constant pledge to himself not to seek trouble but to mind his own business, he couldn’t help but wonder what it was that seemed to be lurking behind the Captain’s words.

One fortunate result of Calis’s exploration was his saying that he thought they were getting close to a way out of this maze of dark passages and tall caverns. At one point he had hesitated between two large tunnels, one angling down into the mountain, the other veering once again upward. Erik sensed Calis had wanted to take the other tunnel, the one heading deep into the heart of the mountains, but he kept them moving upward. Erik wondered what had drawn Calis to that other tunnel.

Late the next day, the soldier carrying the bundle of torches said they were running low. Calis acknowledged the report, saying nothing else.

Erik felt an unexpected stab of fear at the thought of being in these mines without light. They had been extinguishing the torches when they slept. On the first night he had awakened in total darkness and had to fight back the urge to shout in alarm. He had never awakened to so utter a blackness, and he had lain there listening in the dark. He realized he was not the only one awake, for he could hear the rapid breathing of men not able to sleep in such conditions, and the quiet weeping of one or two who felt terror so profound he could understand it even if he couldn’t name it.

Another fitful night was spent in utter darkness, and then they resumed their march. At noon on the fifth day they broke for the midday meal, more dried rations. Water was a problem, as they had only two large skins and a handful of smaller ones, filled at an underground pool the morning before. But there was no sign of water anywhere nearby, and Calis ordered the men to drink as they had in the desert, one mouthful, no more.

As they were readying to move out, a distant clatter rang through the tunnel, as if someone had dislodged rocks. Calis motioned for everyone to stand still. After a while de Loungville whispered, ‘Rock slide?’

‘Perhaps,’ answered the Captain. ‘But I need to be sure.’ He pointed up and toward the left. ‘If I am correct, somewhere up ahead you should come either to an opening that leads directly to the surface, showing you some light, or a big passage leading up and away to the left. Ignore any passages that clearly lead downward or off to the right.’ He smiled slightly. ‘You should be on the surface by the time I catch up with you. I will follow as soon as I am sure there is nothing behind us.’

‘Do you want a torch?’ asked de Loungville.

‘I can find my way without one. If we are being followed by the Saaur, I don’t want any light to show them where I am if I get too close.’

Erik wondered how he could find his way through the dark, and, even if he could, how he was willing to give up the torch’s reassurance, scant as it was. Calis moved down the line, offering a quick tap on the shoulder or nod to each of the men as he passed them.

De Loungville motioned for hand signals only and indicated they should follow him. Erik discovered he was now second in line. He peered into the gloom, barely able to see ten feet beyond the sergeant into the murk, as the flickering torch in the middle of the line caused the shadows to dance. He fervently hoped that Calis was correct and they were getting close to getting out of these caves. They moved forward.

Faint noises echoed through the passages as the torch burned low. De Loungville judged Calis had been gone for almost a half day. The men were tired, and it seemed an appropriate time for sleep.

Motioning for a halt, he whispered back, ‘How many torches?’

The answer came, ‘We have two after this one.’

De Loungville swore. ‘If the Captain doesn’t get back soon, we may be truly lost in the dark tomorrow, unless that passage he spoke of is nearby. Put out that torch and make sure you have everything needed to light it quickly if there’s any trouble. I want two shifts, first four hours and second four; then we walk out of this gods-forsaken hole.’

Erik knew he would be among those sleeping first, so he lay down and tried to get as comfortable as possible. Despite being tired to his bones, he just couldn’t find it easy to sleep in the pitch darkness on rock.

He closed his eyes and heard muttering which told him that the torch had been extinguished; he was not alone in being troubled by the total absence of light.

He kept his eyes closed and turned his mind to pleasant thoughts. He wondered how the harvest at home this year had gone and how the grapes looked. He recalled the growers bragging about a record crop, but that was nothing unusual. You could usually tell if they were just talking to hear themselves talk or if they truly meant it by their manner. The more earnest they were that it was to be a great year, the more you could suppose it wouldn’t be, but if they spoke of the harvest in a matter-of-fact, nearly indifferent way, it would be a great year.

He then wondered how the other young men and women in the village were. He thought about Gwen and regretted he hadn’t gone to the orchard with her on the occasions he might have. Having a woman was a great deal more than he had imagined, and the memory of the whore’s softness roused his flesh despite his fatigue. He thought of Rosalyn and found himself both fascinated and disturbed by remembering her without her clothing. He had seen her numerous times as a child bathing, but seeing her woman’s breasts as she lay before the tree … He found the memory now oddly disturbing, as if there must be something wrong to think about how she looked as the result of a rape.

Erik tried to turn over and succeeded only in making himself less comfortable. Maybe he could talk to Nakor about this unsettling memory of Rosalyn; the funny man seemed to know a great deal and perhaps could tell Erik why he was suddenly aroused by such a repulsive memory.

Yet when he thought of that night the rage and anger were distant, and the murder seemed as if it happened to someone else. But those small firm breasts …

He groaned slightly and sat up, suddenly disoriented in the darkness. He started to berate himself for being as depraved as any man living when it struck him suddenly there was light coming from ahead in the tunnel. It was faint, but any light would be noticeable in the absolute gloom of the cavern.

He sensed more than saw the form of de Loungville before him and saw that the soldier who was to have been on duty had dozed off. He felt no anger for the man: remaining alert in total darkness was almost impossible. The sound of slow breathing everywhere told Erik he might be the only man remaining awake who was close enough to the head of the column to see the light.

He gently reached past de Loungville and nudged the sentry. The man came awake, saying, ‘What?’

De Loungville was awake an instant later and also whispered, ‘What?’

Before the sentry could say anything, Erik said, ‘Marc thought he saw light ahead. Sergeant. He was asking me if I saw it, too.’ Turning to the sentry, he said, ‘Yes, there is light up there.’

De Loungville said, ‘Wake the others. Quietly. No torch. First six men come with me.’

They crept forward, and after a few steps, Erik could see it was a moving light, coming from the left, from a passage that intersected the one in which they traveled fifty or so feet farther along. As they neared the passage, it was clear it was rapidly growing brighter, then suddenly de Loungville was motioning for everyone to hug the walls.

The sounds of movement preceded a figure who strode into view, passing through the intersection without a glance right or left. Erik gripped his sheathed sword hilt, ready to pull it free should the need arise.

The creature was a serpent man, dressed in a tunic and leggings rather than trousers, which allowed his short tail to swing freely.

Behind him came two more, larger and dressed in armor. Erik had had a good look at the Saaur, a better look than he would care to repeat, but these creatures were of a different stripe. The tallest of them was smaller than a human by a head, and they were sinuous. Erik noticed they seemed slow and deliberate in their movement. He wondered if it might be the chill in the cavern that slowed them, for Nakor had said these creatures were cold-blooded.

Another pair of guards passed through, one glancing in their direction. Erik waited, but the creature moved on without comment or alarm. Erik could only reason that the creature’s night vision had been harmed by the closeness of the torch before it, and that, hugging the walls, the humans were nearly invisible.

Another pair, then another, until a full dozen Pantathians walked by.

De Loungville motioned for the others to wait, then moved to where the light was quickly fading. He hurried back and whispered, ‘They’re gone.’

As the tunnel was plunged into darkness again, they reached the remaining column, now alert to the last man. Nakor, who had worked his way to the head of the line, said, ‘Serpent men, yes?’

‘How’d you know?’

‘I felt them’ was his answer. ‘I feel a lot of strange things here. This is a bad place.’

‘I’ll not argue that,’ said de Loungville. He let his breath out slowly, in frustration. Then he said, ‘I want us out of here as fast as we can get.’

Erik found listening to his voice in pitch darkness only heightened his appreciation of the tone of frustration in the man’s statement. Then de Loungville asked, ‘Which way do we go?’

Nakor whispered, ‘We move roughly to the southeast. I think we go the way the snake men came from, not follow after. I think they came from the surface and go somewhere deep within the mountain. We are high enough that we will find it cool, cold even, when we come out. Serpent people don’t like the cold, so I think that would be the place they don’t live.’

‘You think they live down under the mountain?’

‘Could be,’ Nakor answered. ‘Hard to know, but they are here and we need to do many things before we start fighting again. If we die, then no one knows what’s really going on, and that is bad.’

De Loungville was silent. Erik found himself growing uncomfortable with the duration and at last said, ‘Sergeant?’

‘Shut up,’ came the quick response. ‘I’m thinking.’

Erik and the others stayed silent. Then at last de Loungville’s voice cut through the darkness. ‘Greylock!’ he called, his voice low but urgent.

From the rear a figure moved slowly forward, trying not to step on feet in the dark. At last a voice said, nearby, ‘Yes?’

‘You’re in charge. I expect you to get as many of this company out alive as you can.’

The former officer said, ‘I will, Sergeant. I’d like Erik for my second.’

De Loungville didn’t hesitate. ‘Von Darkmoor, you act as sergeant for a while. Jadow, you’re his corporal. All of you pay attention to whatever Nakor and Hatonis have to say.

‘This is what you’re going to do. I’m waiting here for Calis. I don’t want to try to mark the passages we take in case more of those Pantathians come this way. Leave me one torch and I’ll wait here until I decide the Captain’s not coming back.’ There was a note of urgency and worry in his voice Erik had never heard before. He wondered if he would have noticed it had he been able to see de Loungville’s face.

‘Then I’ll catch up with you,’ continued de Loungville.

‘Now, here’s what you do. When you reach the surface, get across the grasslands as best you can, and to the coast. Acquire horses or steal a boat, but somehow get back to the City of the Serpent River. Trenchard’s Revenge is there or she’s been sunk, for Nicholas gave orders that at least one ship would remain for us. Hatonis and his men will know the best route.’

Hatonis, from the rear, spoke loudly enough for his voice to carry just to the front of the line. ‘There’s an old trade route, overland from Ispar to the City of the Serpent River, through Maharta. It is rarely used anymore, but it should be passable on horseback.’

De Loungville took a deep breath and said, ‘All right, light a torch and get out of here.’

The man who had been harboring the torches lit a spark and soon the flame was going. Erik found he had to squint, which surprised him, given how far back down the line the light was. He turned and saw de Loungville; the sergeant had his usual mask of determination in place. Erik decided he wouldn’t have noticed the sound of worry if he had been looking at the man.

Without saying anything, Erik reached out and quickly placed his hand on de Loungville’s arm, gave a quick squeeze, and released it, the only gesture he could make without saying something.

The sergeant looked at him, giving him only a brief nod of acknowledgment, before Erik moved down the tunnel. Greylock reached the junction of the tunnels, peered both ways, then motioned for the men to follow to the left. Erik reached the junction and as he started to turn the corner, he fought down the urge to look back to where de Loungville waited.

If only the Captain were here, he said to himself silently. Where could Calis be?

Calis held close to the wall as he stared in wide-eyed amazement. He and his father had spoken many times of what it would be like to confront their unusual heritage, a legacy of ancient magic, warped by the skill of Macros the Black, and used to bring to his human father the powers incarnate of the legendary Valheru.

Tomas had wooed and won the hand of Aglaranna, the Queen of the Elves, and had fathered Calis, impossible fruit of a union unique in history. Calis was young by the reckoning of the elven people, little more than a half century old. By human consideration, he was a man of middle years, and by any measure, he had more than a dozen lifetimes’ experience in watching the pain and madness of the creatures who lived on this world.

But nothing had prepared him to deal with the consequences of what he had chosen to investigate.

Elves possessed the ability to navigate by the dimmest light of the night, a single moon, or distant stars, but even dwarves were incapable of seeing in the utter blackness of underground tunnels. Yet they had other senses, and Calis, unlike his elven cousins, had traveled with dwarves enough in his youth to have learned some of their tricks: the sound of air moving, faint echoes upon the passage walls, counting turns and remembering distances. It was said that once upon a path, no dwarf could ever fail to retrace his steps. Calis possessed the same knack.

After leaving the company, he had moved back down to the vast gallery, the circular central hall of this city within a mountain. For that was what he was certain it had been, once in ancient days, a city beneath the mountains, as Roo had supposed. But the youth from Ravensburg had no idea what sort of city.

From what he had studied with Tathar and the other Spellweavers of Elvandar, Calis had suspected from the first that this was a city of elven construction rather than dwarven. But the elves who had built this place were as unlike Calis’s people as they were unlike any other mortal race. Those elves had existed as slaves to the Valheru, and only by command of their ancient masters could such a place have come to be built by elven hands.

Once he had reached the gallery, Calis was convinced the sound he had heard had been nothing more than a distant rockfall. There were no signs of pursuit; still, he moved downward to make sure, passing the strange split in the tunnels that had called to him so strangely.

He had moved deep within the well of darkness, and when at last he could hear only his own breath and the pounding of his heart in his ear, he turned back. But as he approached that odd junction where he had hesitated the first time he had passed, at the head of the company, he again paused, sensing something ancient and compelling deep within the tunnel that moved downward.

It was a foolish risk, yet it was impossible for Calis to resist. He knew he should ensure the others got free, but he had faith in the cunning of de Loungville and the skills of Nakor.

And now he knew what had called him. There was something ancient at the heart of this hall. And he looked upon it with fear and astonishment.

He had taken the tunnel moving downward, following it through another gallery, smaller than the grand gallery they had climbed, yet large enough to have served as a small town. High above, a faint light shone down, so far away that the noon sun was but a pinpoint, yet that entrance, at the summit of some high mountain, told him his instinct was correct.

This ancient place had once been home to a Valheru, much as the great cavern below the Mac Mordain Cadal, the ancient dwarven mines in the Grey Tower Mountains, had been home to Ashen-Shugar, the Ruler of the Eagles’ Reaches, the Valheru whose ancient spirit had come to possess his father and change his nature so profoundly.

Crossing a narrow stone bridge, he had come to a set of wooden doors large enough to admit a great dragon, and Calis knew that once they did, for the Dragon Lords kept their mighty mounts close at hand. In the door was a smaller portal, one used by servants in ages past.

He had moved a heavy iron handle, and to his surprise it opened a latch easily and without noise. The door had swung open on hinges recently well oiled, and Calis blinked his eyes as the sudden light threatened to blind him.

At the end of the long cavernous hall, a ledge overlooked a vast cavern ablaze with torchlight; and in the center of the cavern a village of mud huts, crude and without craft in their fashioning, was constructed around a series of cracks. Steam rose, heralding an underground source of heat, and at the center of the largest vent a heat shimmer danced in the air. As he had approached, Calis had been bewildered by the sudden rise in temperature. Where he had been feeling damp chill when he left the others, he was now sweating as much as he had been in the desert. The thermal vents showed that this Valheru hall was fashioned inside what had once been a volcano.

The air was pungent with the smell of decay and the stench of sulfur on the air. Calis felt his eyes burn at the sting of it as he looked down on the scene below.

Throughout the hall roamed serpent men, and at the center rear of the hall, on a high dais, a great throne rose against the wall. Upon that throne, where once sat a Dragon Lord, now sat one of their tribe, a creature of scales and claws, but its eyes were fixed upon space, for it was ages dead. The Pantathians nearest the motionless figure appeared to be priests, wearing vestments of green and black, and to the mummy of some ancient reptile king they paid homage.

Calis was no Spellweaver, but he felt the bite of magic in the air, and around the base of the throne he saw artifacts from eons past.

It was the presence of these items that caused him to suffer. He ached to march into the hall, brushing aside those creatures, and to mount those steps to the top of the dais, casting down this lesser creature, to take possession of the items of might that lay at its feet.

For Calis was certain these items were indeed relics of the Valheru. Never had his blood sung so, save once when his father had allowed him to hold the shield of white and gold he wore into battle.

Calis fought back such foolhardy urges and tried to make sense of the scene before him. It would be too easy to count this simply a Pantathian village, for there were too many strange things to account for; he wished Nakor was here – the little man’s ability to see things clearly would have been invaluable.

As it was. Calis attempted to memorize every detail before him, drinking in the conflicting images and trying to record them in his mind without passing judgment on their significance, so as not to neglect an important detail through an error in judgment.

After a half hour, several human prisoners were brought into the hall. Most had the vacant-eyed look of those in shock or under some sort of spell or the effect of drugs, but one woman struggled against her chains. The priests ranged themselves in a line across the lowest step on the dais, and the centermost spread his hands, holding in one an emerald-topped staff.

He spoke in a hissing language unlike anything Calis had heard in his travels, and motioned to guards to take the prisoners and move them to another place. Calis wished for his bow, that he might kill this priest; then he wondered where such a violent rage came from.

Then the priest motioned for the first prisoner to be brought before the throne, and two guards moved to carry out the command. A series of ritual passes of the staff was punctuated by guttural croaks and deep hisses, and the emerald at the top of the staff began to glow brightly.

Death magic surged in the room as one of the guards held the first prisoner’s head back, while another quickly struck with a long knife, cutting the head completely from the body. Calis held himself motionless, despite strong anger surging up within. The guard threw the head into a corner, and Calis followed its flight, watching as it landed with a wet thud among a pile of heads, some rotting, others now skulls, that sat behind the throne.

The two serpents holding the man’s body lifted it, carried it to a recessed chamber, and tossed it down out of sight. The screeches of hunger that answered caused Calis to swallow hard.

The woman who seemed unfazed by the drugs started screaming, and Calis felt his nerves grow taut. He clutched his sword hilt and ached to charge this den of monsters. One by one the drugged prisoners were slaughtered, their heads tossed to the pile after dark magics seized their life energy, and the bodies were fed to the Pantathian young.

The woman screamed continuously as she crouched on the floor, her terror outracing her fatigue. At last she remained alone before the priests. The priest with the emerald-topped staff motioned for the guards to take the woman next and they lifted her up, ripping her tunic free, so she stood naked in front of the priest, who ignored the warm sticky puddle he stepped in as he walked through the pooling blood of the victims.

Calis saw the priest motion the guards to hold the woman fast, and he saw them force her to lie back, holding her down while the priest began to make more motions with the staff and prod her with the butt end while singing in his alien tongue.

Calis felt his throat tighten. He had encountered the Pantathians’ evil sorcery before. They were able to use humans to create Pantathians who looked like humans. Calis had seen the results before and knew it was a powerful, black art being practiced below.

Calis was no student of magic, but he had some knowledge of it, and this next act was too vile for him to begin to understand. As the priest removed a long dagger from his robe and advanced upon the now shrieking woman, Calis looked away.

He judged himself too close to this place of dark magic for too long and moved backwards, slowly, into the gloom. A few paces up the passage, he turned, and hurried up the long tunnel. He quickly slipped through the door, closing it behind him, and paused a moment to let his senses start to adjust to the gloom.

As he paused, he considered what he had just seen. It was impossible to imagine what the Pantathians gained from the priest’s slow torture of a human woman. He had no doubt that eventually the priest would kill the woman, and her head would join the others on the pile as her body went to nourish the young.

He wished for a moment that Nakor had been along, for the strange little man who claimed not to believe in magic seemed to know more about it than just about anyone Calis had met. He might make some sense of how this ritual torture and slaughter tied into what he feared might be occurring with the Emerald Queen and the Valheru artifacts of power.

Calis hurried through the darkness.

Without conscious thought, he started counting steps and measuring distances with his hearing, and he hoped that he’d find his company where he had left it.

De Loungville almost leaped when Calis touched his arm. He spun around to hear a familiar voice ask, ‘Where is everyone else?’

‘Captain!’ de Loungville said. ‘I was about to say a brief prayer to Ruthia and a small testimonial to Lims-Kragma on your behalf, then get the hell out of here.

‘Now I can sit down and die of a burst heart!’

‘Sorry I startled you, but I couldn’t tell who it was here in the dark, and it smelled like you but I wanted to be sure.’

‘Smelled like me …?’

‘It’s been a while since you’ve had a bath, Bobby.’

‘You’re no bunch of roses either. Calis.’

‘Have you a torch?’

To answer, De Loungville struck steel to flint and set a hot spark into the treated cotton wadding wrapped on a stick. The flame started modestly but spread quickly, and by the time de Loungville held it up, they were bathed in a pool of light.

‘Call me mother, but you look a fright,’ said de Loungville. ‘What did you find down there?’

‘I’ll tell you when we’ve put some distance between us and it. Which way?’

‘We found a passage used by some serpent men, so I put Greylock in charge and sent the men in the other direction, to the left.’

‘Good: that should mean they’re on the surface by now. If we hurry, we can overtake them before they get too far down the hillside. We’re a lot higher up than when we came in the tunnel, Bobby.’

‘And a lot farther from where we want to be than we were when we started,’ responded de Loungville.

‘We’d better hurry. We have a long way to go.’ Softly Calis added, ‘And I fear not that much time to get there.’