by Dave Gross
"That's God Caller Opon with the cudgel," said Alase. She seemed oblivious to the count's annoyance at the interruption. "And in the middle is Areelu Vorlesh. You can tell by the knife and the beads trailing off her pelvis like the tail of a dress."
"Thank you, Alase. As I was explaining—"
"And this is Wivver Noclan with his wizard's staff. He was the first to realize their mistake, for all the good it did him. Like the count said, these can't be their bones. Opon and Wivver went straight into the portal when Areelu gave herself to Deskari. She's not dead. She's not even mortal anymore. She learned the trick to turn herself into a fiend, or partly, anyway."
"If you will permit me to finish ..."
"Go on, you. You're the boss."
Radovan sneezed into the corner of his elbow to cover a laugh. Despite his mirth, I saw deep lines on his face I hadn't noticed before. His transformation had left its mark on him.
Jeggare straightened his posture and continued. "The gist of the image is that these skeletons represent the three prisoners responsible for opening the rift to the Abyss."
"Prisoners?" said Porfirio. "I thought the Three were powerful witches."
"One was a witch. The others were a wizard and a summoner—what Alase would call a god caller."
"I call Tonbarse. He's a god." She spoke with deliberate patience, as if addressing a group of children. "I'm a god caller."
To camouflage my scorn, I signaled to Porfirio to cover the path behind us, to Urno to watch the dark passage before us.
"The ancient Sarkorian clergy—priests, shamans, and druids, among others—distrusted wielders of the arcane, whose powers often led the ignorant to consider them heralds of the gods, or even gods themselves. Rather than destroy them, however, the priests of Sarkoris strove to contain and control their powers."
"They locked them up," said Alase. "They put them in the tallest tower ever built, on the highest hill of the High Cairns."
"A fortress-tower known rather prophetically as the Threshold," said Jeggare. "Its keepers called it a place of learning, where arcanists could employ their talents in the service of the priests."
"Their slave masters," said Jelani.
"Just so. If we had lived in that time, Alase, you and I would surely have found ourselves among their ‘guests.' Naturally, those confined within the Threshold saw it as a prison. Opon, Areelu Vorlesh, and Wivver Noclan joined forces to escape. Their plan was to create a number of portals to various destinations. Thus, when the prisoners escaped en masse, their keepers wouldn't know where to begin searching."
"That's not the truth of it," said Alase. "The way it was handed down to me, it was that they wanted to open the doors to all the worlds, show the people the true faces of all the gods."
"Whatever their intention, the Three succeeded in opening portals—thousands of them—but none led to any place they wished to travel."
"I know," said Jelani. "Every one of those little gates led to the Rasping Rifts, the Abyssal domain of the demon lord Deskari." It was a relief to hear my sorcerer contribute to the conversation. I had no wish to depend entirely on Count Jeggare and his summoner for historical intelligence.
"The same demon that Aroden, while he was still a mortal man, once drove into the Lake of Mists and Veils," I added. It was important that the count understand we crusaders were not ignorant of Sarkoris's history. Still, Jeggare provided more detail and a different perspective from the sermons I had heard in the temples of Nerosyan.
"Once the portals had opened even a crack, Areelu heard the whispers of Deskari," said Jeggare. "Seduced by the promises of power, she cast her collaborators into the rift, trapping them between this world and the Abyss."
"Poor devils," said Radovan. "I know exactly how they felt."
Alase cocked her head at him. "They've been imprisoned for over a hundred years."
Radovan shrugged. "So I know kind of how they felt."
"What does this have to do with our current mission?" I said.
"Compared with the other details of the tableau, these carvings are highly distinctive." He tapped a stack of books carved into the wall. Then he removed a notebook from his satchel and opened it to a sketch of a closed book. "Look at this."
I recognized his work. During our journey through the Fierani Forest, he had often stopped to record drawings of the ruins and natural monuments we encountered. The sketch before me seemed less authentic than those, as though he had drawn it not from life but from a description.
It was a thick volume, its pages ragged rather than cut straight. Dark metal reinforced its corners in a distinctive scalloped pattern. Its cover was composed of some thick hide on which Jeggare's sketch suggested a fine, irregular pattern. Upon the book's face were foreign ancient characters.
The count saw me frowning at the letters and said, "Ancient Thassilonian. This is entitled The Lexicon of Paradox."
"Yes? And what does it have to do with the tableau?"
"Look here." Once more he tapped the carving of the book.
Once he pointed it out, I recognized the scalloped corners of the volume.
"Surely it doesn't mean they're the same book." Even as I expressed my skepticism, I dared to hope that we had at last discovered a useful clue. Would we have seen it without Jeggare's help? I wished to believe so, but I had my doubts.
"We know from the letters of Pastor Shy that Wivver Noclan had some knowledge of the Lexicon," said the count. "This tableau suggests that some party or parties stole away with the materials he and his colleagues used to open the portals at the Threshold."
I mulled over that information. "But what good is that to us? Where is the book now?"
The count tapped the pictogram inscribed on the book's spine. There was no such mark on his sketch of the book. "What does this symbol mean, Alase?"
"Widowknife Clanhold," she said. "That's in Undarin, where Areelu Vorlesh bloodies the river with her sacrifices to the dread lord Deskari."
"Those who did not follow Vorlesh in giving themselves over to Deskari were soon slain," said the count. "But a few escaped, taking with them the arcane instruments of the apocalypse. These they spread throughout the land to keep them from Vorlesh and the Lord of the Locust Host."
"Which ones went to Storasta?"
He tapped another pictogram, a spiral at the base of a great tree. "This means Storasta."
"All right. But where in the city? Do we search Stormont Isle? Iomedae preserve us, do we need to fight our way back into Basseri Green?"
"The Bones Fall in a Spiral," said the count.
"What?"
"Pharasma's holy text," he said. "Radovan? If you would."
"Stand back, ladies," said the hellspawn. As he manipulated a few elements of the tableau, that portion of the wall swung inward to reveal a secret chamber. A gust of stale wind escaped the compartment, causing Porfirio's torch to flicker. I looked back to see him standing sentinel behind us, then looked ahead of our group to check on Urno.
The dwarf was nowhere to be seen. His dwarven sight required no torchlight, yet I did not expect him to wander so far.
"Urno?"
He didn't reply. I moved down the passage.
"What's wrong?" asked Jeggare.
Before I could answer, I spied Urno just beyond the terminal curve of the passage. His axe and shield lay on the ground. He stood oddly erect, his head thrown back, one hand grasping some unseen yoke just beneath his throat.
"Wait," said the count. He drew his sword a few inches from its scabbard. His lips whitened as he peered into the darkness. "Show yourself, Kasiya."
"Vampire," Radovan whispered. He repeated the warning to Alase and Jelani, although everyone heard him the first time.
A languid chuckle emanated from the darkness. "You will regret not addressing me by my rightful title." I detected an Osirian accent.
"No, I thought not," said the count. "If my appearance were as loathsome as yours, I too would hide myself in shadows. You were a princ
e only in life, Kasiya. Now all shall address you as ‘Your Lowness.'"
With an angry hiss, Urno's captor appeared behind him, one bandaged arm looped around his neck.
He was of average height, with a lean, muscular build, but every inch of him was concealed in linen wraps and royal finery. He wore a sort of doublet of peacock feathers and a pleated scarlet kilt. From his hip hung one of those curved Osirian swords, a pair of books suspended on chains, and what looked like a toy chariot with a blackened shield and tongue.
A golden mask concealed Kasiya's face, its impassive features painted in enamel. Something dark crawled beneath the openings at his eyes and lips. I thought of worms.
I drew the Ray of Lymirin. Unlike the count's sword, it revealed no illusions. Its powers were far less subtle.
As I moved, the count cupped his hand and shone the light of his ring down the corridor. Urno struggled listlessly in the vampire's grip, his mind as much a captive as his body.
I turned the Ray point-downward. "Iomedae, hear my—"
"Now now," oozed Kasiya's voice. "Can your crusader maiden answer before I tear out your little friend's throat?"
Beside me, the others moved.
Kasiya yanked Urno's head back, exposing his neck. The dwarf shouted in pain.
"I'm beginning to think you don't like this fellow very much."
"Release him."
"Perhaps I shall," said the monstrosity. "First, all of you withdraw into the cathedral."
Valor demanded I refuse, yet I had come too far through too many mortal perils to let one of my troops die before my eyes. I hesitated.
"Kill him," the count said to me.
"But he'll bite Urno."
"With what?"
"Well, his fangs—" Feeling foolish, I realized the flaw in Kasiya's plan. He couldn't bite anyone's throat out until he removed that heavy mask.
The vampire cocked his head as he began to understand. I was already charging.
Behind me, the count triggered one of his riffle scrolls while Jelani uttered an arcane word. A handful of darts and stars whizzed past my shoulder. One glanced off Kasiya's golden mask, but another stuck in the middle of his golden forehead.
Kasiya shoved Urno forward, forcing me to shift my attack away lest I impale my own man.
"You," said the vampire as he backed away. Silver and red bolts of arcane energy shot into his body, arms, and face. He went down to one knee, all the while keeping his golden gaze locked upon mine.
I raised the Ray above my head, took the grip in both hands, and swept the blade downward. It sizzled as it passed through a greasy miasma where his body had crouched an instant earlier. The foul cloud persisted, rising up to disappear into the earthen ceiling of the passage.
Glancing back, I saw Porfirio already tending to Urno. He lay his hands upon the dwarf's upper chest, light spilling from his palms as he prayed Iomedae's mercy. Urno coughed and muttered thanks.
"How can somebody that stupid keep finding us?" said Radovan.
"It is a mystery to me," said the count. His mocking tone gave way to frustration. "But what he lacks in intellect, he certainly makes up with persistence. We must not delay. What have we found in the hidden cache?"
Jelani peered into the hidden vault. It was no larger than a bookshelf, less than half filled with carved sticks and tiny glass containers. She cast a spell I had seen her use many times in the past. "There's magic here, but nothing powerful."
"Take it all," said the count. I wanted to remind him that I remained in command of my people, but I felt the urgent need to return to the others. We had no way of knowing whether the vampire had arrived alone or in force.
Reading my expression, Jeggare added, "If you agree, Captain Oparal?"
"Yes, I agree. For now," I added. "But I want to know a great deal more about this Prince Kasiya and why he is here."
"I am at your service."
Chapter Eight
The Looter's Market
Radovan
By the time Jelani and I reached the Looter's Market, every mook in Gundrun was staring at us. We'd made a quick stop at the Splinter to warn Whalt he had big business coming in a little while later. He lit up at the chance to line his coin box with the visit of a big company.
Nobody was going to miss me and Jelani for a couple more hours, when the others finally caught up. There was only so fast they could go without leaving the wagon and carriage behind, but the two of us ran ahead to get things ready.
"Are we in danger?" asked Jelani. Her hand strayed to the rune sticks we found back in the bone cellar. The boss had divvied them up with her. I'd half expected him to offer her some riffle scrolls, too. For some reason, I was glad he hadn't.
I didn't answer right away. She'd been asking me questions nonstop ever since we passed the great big rune stones surrounding the town. Some had symbols of gods I recognized: Gorum, Gozreh, Torag, even Urgathoa. That last one seemed like a damned bad idea if you don't want to call down a plague.
Oparal had Jelani tag along with me when the boss sent me ahead to make things ready in Gundrun. At first I figured Jelani knew the place, but it ended up being me leading the way through the burned-out, tumbled-down houses. I reckoned she was here to keep an eye on me.
She wasn't the only one. The boss kept bugging me about my little chat with Viridio in the cathedral. The big demon put on a good front, but was scared enough to let go of me right away. I'd caught his fear like a cold. Now all I wanted was to get the hell away from the Worldwound.
So, yeah. We were in danger all right. Just not from anything in Gundrun.
I leaned back in the saddle and winked at Jelani. "Don't worry, sweetheart. We're just making an impression. Little town like this, people seldom see a man of my good looks."
She laughed the way I like to hear.
When I first saw Jelani, she seemed as hard as the rest of Oparal's legion of virtue. But she brightened up a little every time I looked her way, like spring was finally working its way in. Didn't hurt a bit that she wore snug furs instead of steel plate and chain.
It wasn't me that drew all the attention. Wasn't Jelani, either. What caused the stir was my phony pony. I felt big and proud. Maybe it took two scrolls, but I made it myself.
After my first "incident," as the boss called it, the phantom steed he summoned me looked all smoky. We figured that was on account of fire was the sigil for Norge, my first devil. Later, when Norge was dead, or sleeping, or whatever, the next steed the boss got me was all green with a mane like sea foam. Back then, we didn't know what that meant.
After Viridio came through me the first time, my phony pony changed again. This one had great brown blisters all over its body, hard ones like the shell of a bug. Its orange mane was soft and wet, like an overcooked squash. I hated the feel of it. I hated looking at its swimming yellow eyes.
Still, it made one hell of an impression.
We got off our horses. Jelani tethered hers to a hitch. I just left mine standing. Because it was all magical, it went nowhere I didn't tell it to go.
Jelani took a scrap of parchment out of her glove. Our shopping list.
First we bought all the traveling food we could find, mostly dried beans and salted meat. I paid for the stuff from the boss's purse and told the sellers to deliver it to the wagon they'd find outside the Splinter around dusk.
For insurance, I gave each merchant the look that said it'd better be there, or I'll find you. In Gundrun, even the grocers were big, tough guys. The ones that didn't seem impressed, I gave the big smile.
That sealed the deal.
Second stop was for stuff the crusaders needed replaced: boots, laces, pouches, packs, waterskins, buckles, stuff like that. Jelani paid with crusader gold, all fresh minted with the stamp of Nerosyan. Seeing Queen Galfrey's profile on the coins made me want to tell Jelani about the coin on the string around my neck. The one with my face on it.
Not actually my face, you know. But there was a strong family resemblanc
e.
I resisted the urge. It's good practice.
From a fat leatherworker I bought new pants for Aprian. There was nothing wrong with the ones I'd borrowed, but some guys are fussy about other guys going around bare-assed in their trousers. When I shucked them off for the guy to chalk up the size on a new pair, I caught Jelani checking me out. I guess she hadn't seen enough back at the cathedral.
"Are you cold?" she said.
"No." Feeling small, I said, "How come?"
"Gooseflesh." She ran a finger across my hip.
Suddenly I was resisting another urge. Any day, I was going to be an urge-resisting expert.
The tailor threw back Aprian's trousers. He'd already chalked up two new pairs, one for Aprian, a shorter pair for me.
"Are you sure one pair is enough?" said Jelani.
"Good point." I showed the leatherworker four fingers. No matter how much Viridio didn't want to come back so close to the Worldwound, it was a smart idea to be prepared.
While the guy worked on the pants, I checked out the other goods on display. I thought about having him make me a bandolier, like the boss's, but decided against it. Somehow I couldn't see myself throwing around wind, fire, all that kind of thing. Maybe I was having better luck with the riffle scrolls, but I didn't see myself doing it all the time. I just liked having a phony pony.
Over a sawhorse hung a pair of saddlebags decorated with demon faces. I liked the look of it, asked the price. The guy said a big number.
"For that much, these demons better jump out and make me breakfast, dinner, and supper."
He shrugged and kept working. I ignored him and picked over the cheaper stuff. He said a different price.
"Throw in some of these," I said, holding up a handful of buckled leather straps. They'd be good for securing luggage on top of the carriage.
We made our deal. I hoisted the leering saddlebags, and Jelani and I wandered through the rest of the market while he worked.