by Conner, Jack
Jeselri’s face darkened. “I believe you had a friend known as Qasan?”
“Yes, but—you don’t mean . . . had . . . ?”
“He’d turned to the worship of Octhus, hadn’t he? Well, it turns out that’s just Uulos by a different name.”
“Dear gods. So all of the worshippers of Octhus were really—” Davril put a hand to his head. He felt sick. “Where is Qasan now?”
Jeselri narrowed his eyes. “In hell, most likely. I had my people exterminate all the Octhusites they could find.”
“Poor Qasan . . .”
“Ha! He died swifter than he would’ve had I been the one who found him.” The Patriarch turned back to the war, and Davril was glad that his men had not resisted an Avestine’s leadership. Then again, Jeselri had installed himself as second-in-command of the rebellion, on the basis that more Avestines than Niardans had joined the cause; and an Avestine would be better versed in tunnel-to-tunnel warfare.
Meanwhile, General Hastus urged his troops on, and he had the aid of the Lerumites. Davril could not see them, but he heard the long, twisted horns they’d brought with them. They blew strange notes, and the hall shook, and the soldiers screamed. Davril clamped his hands over his hears, and his blood ran cold with dread. It was all he could do to stand. He didn’t know how the soldiers kept on fighting.
They did, but they didn’t do it well. The General shoved the rebel forces back, at last forcing them from the great hall into the tighter tunnels. Now the attackers had the advantage, and the rebels gave ground quickly. Their bodies fell, slowing the attackers, but not enough. Back and back Jeselri led the army, wearily relinquishing control to Davril.
“Perhaps you can fight this General Hastus,” he said. “You know how he operates.”
“Sound the gongs,” Davril said. “Summon the Serpent.” When Jeselri looked at him blankly, Davril shouted, “Sound the gongs!”
Jeselri nodded shakily. “I will do it.” He rushed off into the throng to summon the god-thing.
“What’s your plan?” Alyssa asked, looking pale.
He had no time to answer. With some help, he climbed onto the litter Jeselri had departed and barked out orders. His earlier screaming had roughened his throat, and it filled with pain, but he pushed past it. All was the ringing of metal and clamor of battle echoing off narrow stone walls.
“Wedge B, SWITCH!” The tunnel was only tight enough for one wedge at a time now.
Back he led them, as the Uulosons pressed their advantage. Runners came, reporting on the progress of the other battles, and Davril snapped frantic orders, calling on all to fall back to the Pit of the Serpent. At times the hall widened to accompany more wedges, at times it narrowed, and Davril rotated the wedges that took the brunt of the General’s assault, giving each line a breather and ensuring they were fresh when they did battle. At last he led the company down a broad, winding stairwell. The steps’ edges glimmered with gold, and their tiles showed fantastic mosaics, but the gold and the mosaics ran with blood, and swords had chipped gouges in the jade balustrades.
Here, in the wide open spaces of the stairwell, Davril heard the shouts of General Hastus for the first time since the attack began. Hastus roared for his rows to rotate now, or drive there. Davril winced every time he heard his voice. Davril imagined Hastus holding Hariban’s feet by the ankles and dashing his brains against a wall. He saw Hastus raising that heavy axe, bringing it down on Sareth’s small neck. He felt Sareth’s blood spraying his face.
At last Davril led his troops in a fallback through the wide, high halls surrounding the Avestines’ great place of worship, where tens of thousands could gather. It had been here that Alyssa and Davril had overheard the High Priest’s plan to betray the rebellion.
Davril’s troops met up with the other companies that had been fighting the General’s secondary raiding parties, and all the hosts of the rebels gathered in the hall of worship. Doggedly, the General pursued.
Davril sent out runners to carry out his orders. He was gambling all on a last, desperate hope, but it was a plan he’d been formulating for some time. He had risked telling no one. Evidently his caution had been warranted, as obviously spies in his midst (Qasan, how could you?) had been informing to the Lady and the General for some time. Hastus’s brutal persecution of innocent Sedremerans had merely been a sham to make Davril think the enemy didn’t know his whereabouts. How many had died, horribly, so that Hastus could seize such an advantage?
The seal over the stairwell was open, Davril saw. Good. Jeselri had already started.
“Fall back!” Davril said. “Fall back to the Pit!”
Swiftly, but not so swiftly as to arouse suspicion, he led his men to the cavernous spiral stairwell and down it. In the background, he heard the gongs.
The blackness closed around him, lit only by the torches of his people. In their tens of thousands, they flooded down the steps in as orderly a fashion as possible. Even so, some lost their footing or were jostled too roughly, and fell, screaming into the darkness that comprised the center of the spiral. But the stairs were wide, and the General’s forces did not advance swiftly enough to cause a stampede, so Davril succeeded in leading his men back and down. He no longer stood on his litter but was carried on the broad shoulders of a high-ranking soldier. It was a rather undignified position, but Davril with his bad leg could not navigate the stairs fast enough and he needed to see the line of battle.
General Hastus exploited the open spaces and the high ground to riddle Davril’s host with arrows. Davril ordered his men to raise their shields, and for the most part the arrows bounced off. Two score or more men did fall, however, and their bodies tripped up the defenders. Davril ordered the bodies shoved off the edge.
Finally he led his men down from the stairs and along the great hall, then through the high, obscenely-engraved archway, past the massive doors, into the great Chamber of the Pit. Here he consulted with his generals and made sure that the appropriate steps had been taken. In the background, the beats of the gongs reverberated off the walls, lingering on the air. The sound sent shivers down his spine, but they also made him grin.
To make himself more visible to the enemy, he ordered his litter brought near, and with some help climbed atop it. Alyssa, whom he’d had taken to the rear, shoved her way forward.
“What do you mean to do?” she asked. Tears were in her eyes, and he didn’t have to wonder why. Whatever outcome came to pass, whether Davril prevailed or the General did, she would have lost a loved one.
“I mean to end this,” he said. “Take her through the passages behind!”
She protested, but the soldiers grabbed her and hauled her away.
“There!” roared Hastus suddenly. “Drive there!”
The General had seen him.
The hosts had rearranged the wedge formations, spreading them a dozen abreast in the wide space of the Chamber. The General—now on his litter again, as well—shouted to his men to drive toward Davril, who had, quite intentionally, positioned himself in the center of his line.
“Drive!” roared the General. “Push him back to the Pit!”
Davril hid his smile. “Fall back!” he said. “Fall back!” Hastily he gave directions to the center wedge to fall back to the precipice. Behind the tiered daises, many soldiers and civilians alike were pouring through the many doorways, where in olden times the members of the Order of the Serpent would enter the Chamber from their quarters. During the sacrificial rituals, the everyday Avestines would come down the stairs and gather here, but the majority of their priests would be in the quarters beyond, waiting, while their acolytes sounded the gongs. Only when all were gathered would the priests emerge, the High Priest last. Davril knew the way well, for those passages connected with his suite.
The Avestines and the rebels poured into the Order’s quarters to the rear of the Pit, while Davril and his soldiers delayed pursuit. Davril used himself as bait, drawing the General and the Uulosons onward.
D
avril’s men edged against the lip of the Pit, and he glanced over his shoulders, over the side of the litter and down into the endless blackness. Heat and darkness seemed to pour out of it, and he smelled the familiar stench of the reptile. It’s near.
“Set me down,” he ordered, and his men lowered the litter.
“Hold fast!” he shouted to the central wedge, drawing his sword and thrusting it overhead. “Hold fast!”
The other wedges quietly slipped away into the rear passages. Only a token few remained to keep the General from growing suspicious. But surely he could hear the gongs by now. Even he would be frowning, wondering . . .
“Drive!” the General roared, his words rolling clearly over the clatter of battle. “Hurl them into the Pit! The beast comes, lads! We have no time to waste.”
“Hold!” Davril shouted, as much for the benefit of the General as for his own men. He knew he was likely doomed, and the men of the central wedge with him. But it was the price that must be paid for destroying the General. Davril only wished he could’ve lived long enough to carry out his plan against Uulos. I’m probably wrong anyway.
One by one the defenders fell in bloody heaps to the ground. They slew many of the attackers, to be sure, but there were too many of the Uulosons, and too many of the defenders had already fled.
“Switch!” Davril thundered, and the men in the first row fell back to the rear. There were pitifully few of them left, and they were covered in sweat and blood. Had he been clean and in good health he would have felt guilty for not fighting beside them on the front lines, but as it was he was still more ragged and bloody than any of them, and the stench of the gullet still clung to him.
Runners sprinted up to him, their eyes bright. “It’s done!” they said. “All the General’s men are inside! All our men are in place.”
Davril gave a tight smile. “Order the doors sealed!”
The runners darted off, and the massive main doors clanged shut, sealing the General and his men in the Chamber of the Pit. Great wails rose from the Uulosons, and for a moment their advance halted.
“Now!” Davril shouted. “To the doors! Out through the rear!”
His soldiers melted away, fleeing around the gaping crater that was the Pit through the narrow doors that led into the Order’s quarters. Some of the General’s men went after them, around the Pit and the tiered daises, but the narrow metal doors slammed in their faces after the last of the rebels passed through.
Davril and a handful of men remained at the Pit to draw the General on. Afoot now, hacking and slashing with his own blood-stained sword, General Hastus led his men against the remnants of Davril’s wedge, until the last defender fell, twitching, spurting blood, at the General’s feet.
Davril, covered in the blood of men he’d slain—he had finally been forced to take up arms—as well as his own men, stood panting before the General. Broad-shouldered and gore-coated, the Hastus glowered down at his son-in-law and shook his head. Blood rained off the curls of his glorious beard.
“This end comes well deserved,” he said. “It’s because of you that all this happened.”
“Don’t foist this on me,” Davril said.
“But it’s true.” Hastus sniffed. “To think you could defeat me.”
“I will,” Davril said. “I have already.”
The gongs had ceased ringing, the gong-beaters having fled, but they did not need to sound any longer. The Serpent had heard their call. The being’s stench had grown very strong. Davril thought he could feel the earth shake through his thin sandals.
To either side of General Hastus, the Uulosons glanced about fearfully and muttered to themselves. They were trapped. Only the General’s complete contempt and arrogance kept them from utter despair.
“I fear no reptile,” Hastus declared.
He thrust with his sword, meaning to skewer Davril, but Davril leapt back, his bad leg burning with pain as it took his weight. Hastus sliced at his head. He ducked, shoved out with his sword. The blade scraped off the General’s armor. Hastus reversed his swing, brought his sword down at Davril’s right shoulder, meaning to chop off his arm and hack through his ribcage. Davril twisted, parried the blow, but his arm went momentarily numb.
“Die!” the General said, and stabbed at Davril’s neck.
Davril leapt back. He teetered on the very brink of the Pit. At his back darkness dropped down and away, forever.
Hastus brought his blade down at Davril’s head. Davril raised his sword, catching the blow. The General shoved down, using all his muscle, and Davril’s arms trembled with the exertion of fighting him. Hastus’s eyes glared into Davril’s—contemptuous and triumphant.
Davril, however, had prepared himself for this moment. He removed his left hand from the sword handle, holding off the General with merely his right. He only needed a moment. Just an instant and it would be done. Lightning-quick, he jerked his blood-thirsty dagger out of his waistband in the small of his back and—just as his right arm gave out under the strain—plunged it up into the General’s abdomen. Hastus gasped, and his eyes widened. His arm fell away, and his blade clattered to the floor.
“For Hariban,” Davril told him. “For Sareth.”
The General stumbled backward and fell, sprawling on his back, his wound open and visible, blood running from it across the floor.
The sight halted the advance of his men, who stared down at the body. Some made religious gestures, though none were the sign of the Worm.
Then, anger taking the place of sorrow in their eyes, the troops lifted their gazes to Davril. As one, they advanced on him. He had nowhere to go. His back was to the Pit, his front to the advancing soldiers. It was an even bet whether the soldiers would end him or the Serpent. Its stench was so thick he felt nauseous.
A cry made Davril wheel about.
Alyssa, Jeselri, and a handful of soldiers stood on the far side of the chasm. A rope arced out, away from one of the soldiers. Two others held its far end. Its near end, weighted with a piece of metal, fell to the floor at Davril’s feet—fell, and began to slip, back toward the Pit —
“Don’t let him escape!” the Uulosons called.
They rushed over the General’s body, trampling it underfoot, even though it still moved.
Davril dove for the rope.
Missed it with one hand.
Caught it with the other.
A sword came down at his head. He rolled out over the edge of the precipice. Plunged down into darkness. His stomach lurched. Two fires burned below. They rose toward him.
The far side of the pit rushed up at Davril. He braced himself. Struck. The impact nearly knocked him off the rope, nearly crushed his hip. Somehow he hung on.
Above, the guards began reeling him up, inch by inch.
Still weak from the impact, Davril looked unsteadily down. The two fires rose at him. A thin, curved line appeared below the eyes. The line grew broader, and he thought he could see the silhouettes of teeth, sharp, against that inferno. The stench made his eyes smart. The earth shook, and pebbles and dust rained down all around him.
He put one hand in front of the other and climbed, madly, desperately, unheeding of anything else. He was hardly even aware that he had clamped his dagger between his teeth, and that he could still taste the saltiness of Hastus’s blood.
Alyssa cried out in fear. Jeselri shouted at his soldiers to reel Davril up faster.
The Serpent roared below. More dust and pebbles rained down.
The Uulosons screamed in panic. Davril could hear them scrambling back, some beating at the huge main doors, closed. Metallic booms echoed through the Chamber.
The soldiers hauled Davril over the edge. Instantly Alyssa threw her arms about him and covered his face in kisses. He stuck the knife back in his waistband and let her embrace him. Then he allowed Jeselri to offer him a hand up from the floor.
“Come,” Jeselri breathed. “Let us hurry.”
They reached a narrow doorway, where many Avestines wai
ted for them, huddling in the narrow, winding passages of the Order of the Serpent. Here was the Order’s monastery, a nightmarish affair of labyrinthine passageways and obscene sculptures.
Davril turned back to see the General, or the General’s replacement, trying to hold his guts in and drag himself away from the lip of the Pit. All over the room, the ten thousand soldiers under his command screamed or pounded at the doors, slew themselves, each other, or prayed.
Even through the distance, Davril saw the still-living General’s eyes widen as an immense black Shape rose up from the Pit. The General screamed. Then the Shape eclipsed him, and Davril saw him no more. The Serpent scooped up a score of Uulosons with its first bite, and the General’s screaming ceased when it chomped.
At Davril’s side, Alyssa wept.
“I’m sorry,” Davril said.
She nodded solemnly. “You had no choice.”
A dozen Uulosons had seen the open door through which Davril and his party had gone, and they rushed to it, even as the Serpent craned its head around and started leaning in their direction, fire gushing from its maw.
Davril helped shut the thick metal door in their faces, but he did not smile when they banged futilely against it. They did not bang for long.
The screams of the rest lasted for nearly half an hour, and Davril could hear each one, even through the thickness of the metal door.
Not all the Uulosons had followed the General down to the Chamber of the Serpent. Some had remained behind to loot or rape; thus Davril, Jeselri and the other commanders, after making their way from the Order’s monastery, led different companies throughout the Avestine tunnels, cleansing them of trouble-makers. Meanwhile Davril dispatched his spies through the streets of Sedremere to find the location of the Jewel.
An hour after the battle, and at the end of the clean-up, he met with his commanders and priests in the brisk night air atop a tower rising from the Avestine Quarter. The stars twinkled brightly across the expanse of night, but the towers and domes of Sedremere were dark, as the Lerumites had summoned all citizens to Sraltar Square to witness the ascension of the Worm. Even now Davril could hear the tolling of bells calling the Sedremerans. The result was a dark, hulking city, empty and silent save for the bells. Waiting.