A hand seized her left arm.
"Maeve Snapdragon, the Goddess commands your attendance."
Maeve turned back to find three women in the black woolen robes and blood red rope belts of a minor priestess of Dirusa. Their faces were lost in the shadow of their hoods.
Maeve glanced back to the two mounted warriors. She could see the black-haired warrior's painted face now. They were too far away to distinguish features well enough to tell if it was Cat.
"Not yet," she said, desperation seeping into her voice. "I might have found — "
"Enough, the Goddess demands your attendance now."
"You don't understand — "
The middle priestess ended the protest when she drew a rune in the air. Suddenly, Maeve's will was no longer her own. The priestess smiled deep in her concealing hood, and indicated that the sorceress should follow them into the temple as the group turned to go. Maeve followed them wordlessly, mindlessly.
The short trip through the dark temple was a blur of black, grays, and blood red to Maeve. Her attention was locked on the middle priestess, her only thought to obey. She was only vaguely aware that they passed the High Altar and entered a concealed door behind the great statue of Dirusa's animal manifestation, a coiled black serpent.
Deep beneath the temple proper, Maeve was pushed to her knees before another altar. It too was of carved and polished basalt, with Dirusa's leering face in bas-relief.
A word from a priestess released Maeve from their control, leaving her confused and trembling. She glanced around at her surroundings like a trapped animal.
"Where am I? What have you done to me?"
"We have brought you to attend the Goddess, sorceress."
Before Maeve could voice further questions, the bas-relief of Dirusa began to glow before her. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she watched in rising dread as the circle of light expanded. Within seconds she started to make out two figures within. One was sitting, the other standing in attendance. Dirusa and Ayesha.
"About time you reported in," Dirusa snapped.
"Forgive me, my Goddess. I was scouring the countryside with High Mage Rebecca's Puma Troop, looking for the elf and her friend."
"Were you riding day and night then?" Ayesha said, blue eyes narrowing. "There never was any chance to report in to me? Is that what you are saying?"
Maeve's was cautious now. "There were opportunities, but nothing to report. I believe they are now protected by Vikon wards that are making it impossible to locate them magically. I have been forced to rely on mundane methods that are less than efficient."
"Obviously," Ayesha growled. Turning to Dirusa, "The sorceress is less than adequate to the task. She is useless to us. My recommendation is to have your priesthood kill her."
As Dirusa's malevolent black eyes locked on Maeve, considering the recommendation, Maeve found herself too shocked and terrified to respond and plead for mercy. Then when Dirusa's ghoulishly white face twisted into a smile, Maeve almost fainted.
"The little Tyrian would be fun to torment, for a while anyway. She is so expressive and emotionally undisciplined," Dirusa said.
"Please, my Goddess," Maeve begged. "Let me prove my loyalty and worthiness to serve. I believe the elfmaid is in this city. I will capture her for you, and then deliver her here."
"The elfmaid is of no use to us anymore," Ayesha said. "We have captured Taara and her Tyrian bodyguard."
"But nonetheless, I will give you the chance, sorceress," Dirusa said. "You will deliver Danica of Drakehorn to any of my temples, then sacrifice her to me yourself. That done, I will allow you to join my clergy and serve me properly."
Maeve tasted sour bile rising up her throat, but said, "My Goddess, you are generous. I will prove my worth many times over."
* * * * *
"Impressive, don't you think?" Cat said as they rode out through the north gate.
"Too impressive."
"How could that be?"
Danica frowned a second in concentration. She didn't quite know how to explain it.
"It just seemed that every structure was built with the sole purpose of inspiring awe. Even the tenements," she said. "It seemed way overdone. Like a collection of cold government buildings."
"True, but that doesn't take away from its grandeur," Cat said. "I liked it."
"You would," she said absently, spotting the campsite. About half the wagons had already been positioned in the laager. Slightly embarrassed, she increased the pace to join the others.
"What is that suppose mean?"
"Not now, we have work to do," Danica said. "Meet me by the road with all your gear when finished and bring Claudia."
With that Danica left Cat behind and headed for Helene's wagon. Her wagon mates were just beginning to maneuver it into the campsite. They would pull up behind another wagon, remove the team, then bodily push it into place. The wagons were always put in a tight laager formation for defensive purposes. Helene's wagon was part of the outer circle this time.
The site was on a low hilltop. The wagon proved easy to push into position for once. Danica decided to take that as a good omen of things to come, but her work wasn't over yet. She and her wagon mates immediately headed over to help push the next wagon into position, and the next, and the next. It was past noon before Mother Jeanine was satisfied with the laager.
Danica and Helene quickly collected their gear and rode out to meet up with Cat and Claudia. They had only a short wait before the pair rode up, Cat staring glumly at Danica as Claudia went on and on about whatever trivial thought that popped into her mind.
Wanting to travel fast, they opted for overstuffed saddlebags over packhorses. Mostly, they carried extra clothes and non-foodstuffs. Helene and Claudia assured them food would be readily available at the frequent Way Stations. Danica bowed to their superior knowledge of the Empire and how best to travel through it. For the last week she listened as the other Vikon women talked enviously of Helene's rights under Imperial Law. As a direct descendant of the Empress Jasmine, a Peeress, she could command a host of privileges. Including the use of free remounts at any Way Station. She would also get first choice for rooms in Way Station hotels along the way. Danica considered that ample reason to forget Helene's ways and accept her company. Plus, it wouldn't hurt to have two trained warrior-witches as allies.
They quickly made their way to the Tyborian Way and struck south. Though, they didn't actually ride on the road, but next to it along a well-worn path. Only foot and wheeled traffic moved on the Tyborian Way itself. The softer dirt path was easier on horses.
Danica had to content herself with just studying the construction of the road. It was in fact a sturdy wall of stone rising about three feet higher than the surrounding country and reaching down another good five feet, with soil pushed up against both side and slanting down into ditches. The top layer of cobbles weren't the usual stones, but specially made concrete bricks. Each brick was formed in a lightning bolt shape, allowing them to fit together precisely and helped to prevent them shifting. As they wore out, they could more easily be replaced. Several large patches of newer bricks could be seen. The light color of the concrete bricks gave the Tyborian Way its distinctive color. Seeing it up close, Danica was even more impressed with Amazon skill and resourcefulness.
* * * * *
Carl and Talar listened intently as the slapping sound of bare howler feet approached. Carl had his shirt off, wrapped whiplike in his right hand. Talar was holding his own shirt spread between both hands, intent on capturing the howler they had come to call "Jailor."
The thick, moldy door creaked open on rusty hinges, then a smallish howler in the tattered remnants of a black cloak stepped through. Carl whipped his makeshift whip across the howler's face as Talar stepped forward to capture their stunned opponent. But he found nothing.
Laughter from the hallway echoed into the slimy cell. "Ha! Funny hu-mans," Jailor taunted from safety. "Never give up, do you?" He waved a webbed hand and the
two men were pulled against the far wall and held fast. "You stupid hu-mans not smart enough to fool me. Ha!"
"Good try anyway, barbarian," Talar said, straining to escape his magical bonds. If only he could figure out the laws that govern this realm's magic. "Maybe next time."
"Yes, wizard, there will always be next time," Carl growled low, glaring balefully at Jailor.
"Foolish hu-mans," Jailor said, pretending sadness. Hefting two buckets overflowing with entrails, "And I bringing you nourishment." Sighing dramatically, "But you must be punished for this attempt. No food for you. Ha! Keep it all for myself. Ha!"
With that, Jailor turned and stalked off. The cell door slammed shut. Carl and Talar were released to fall to the bare flagstones.
Carl glared at the door an instant longer, then in a fair imitation of Jailor's shrill voice, "Foolish hu-mans, you say? Ha!"
Talar grinned, pulled off his belt and removed the buckle. He pried a large flagstone up that was just to the side of the door, next to the wall, and Carl seized it and maneuvered to one side. A hole, almost big enough to hold the two of them, was underneath.
"Your turn to dig," Talar whispered, handing Carl his wide, oval-shaped brass buckle.
Carl took it with a grin and climbed down into the hole. This far down the soil was bone dry, a mixture of rock hard clay and small stones. Neither knew how long they had been laboring at the task. Though it felt like years, Talar estimated somewhere between one and two weeks. There was no day or night, and Jailor visited them only infrequently.
Carl hatched the plan on their first day in captivity. Using the brass buckle, he scraped out the thin line of mortar around the largest flagstone. That had taken the better part of a day. With the flagstone up, they'd had a moment of discouragement upon seeing the hard-packed, stony nature of the soil and that the wall continued down into the ground. The idea of tunneling out to the hallway was then and there abandoned. A new plan formed.
The task of digging was grueling work. Using the buckle, they took turns in the hole scraping handfuls of clay and rock. The digger would scoop up the loosened soil and hand it up to the other. He would then deposit it down the small drain in the center of their cell. A constant trickle of water — their only source of vital water — flowed from under the door straight to and down the drain, keeping it from stopping up.
Carl scrapped at the unyielding soil for several hours before surrendering the hole to Talar. Talar spent an equal amount of time digging. They worked in silence, the only sound the scraping of the buckle on clay and rock. Rarely did they discuss their plans, fearing the howlers had ways of listening in on them.
Finally, Talar said, "Carl, crawl down here a moment."
Carl slipped down into the hole. Then they both squatted. There was room enough. They grinned at each other.
"It is time, wizard," Carl said.
"All we need now is our friend, Jailor," he said.
They pulled the flagstone partially over them and waited. They waited for what felt like an eternity, but eventually Jailor could be heard coming their way. Along with others of his beastly ilk. Silently, Carl maneuvered the flagstone back into its slot.
They waited, all senses alert.
"Ha! Hu-mans, my master, the Warlord, commands you..." the Jailor started. "Holy Vengeance! The hu-mans have escaped! Hurry, find them you mindless louts! Before the Warlord has us for dinner!"
The howlers started that incessant howling that grated on Carl's nerves so. They could be heard scrambling about above, fighting their fellows to leave the cell and begin the search.
Carl waited until all sounds ceased, and then waited some more. Rising slowly to his full height, lifting the flagstone in the process, he glanced around warily to find the cell empty and the door open.
"It worked," Carl declared triumphantly. "But my ideas always work."
"Your idea? You wanted to burrow out of here," Talar said, climbing out of the hole and taking the flagstone from Carl. "I'm the one who conceived this plan."
"Trying to steal my thunder again, heh?" Carl said, grinning. "We'll just see who gets credit when my legends are told down the generations."
Shaking his head, Talar hurried over to the door and checked the hallway for sentries and stragglers. All was clear. Without another word, they stole stealthily down the hall. In some distant part of the castle the howlers were screaming bloody murder.
Reaching the ground floor, Carl pointed to their left, "The howlers are that way."
"Then that is the way we head," Talar said, eyes squinting into the dark hallway.
"Are you crazy?" Carl said. "They'd be all over us in a flash. Do you have a death wish?"
"Hardly. Where the howlers congregate, I believe, is where we'll find the portal back to Allaria," he said. "Or at least this Warlord character Jailor mentioned every so often. The Warlord will definitely know the whereabouts of the portal."
"If it exists at all," Carl said.
"There is that."
"And if there is no portal?"
Glancing around, "It's as good a place to die as any."
"I can think of much better places to die, wizard."
"You lead, barbarian. Be wary, but get us as close to the howlers as possible."
"Of course."
Carl moved off. It never ceased to amaze Talar how catlike Carl could move when the need arose. Usually, he made a ruckus everywhere he went. Talar thought he just liked attention, most Tyrians were that way. He walked the streets with a belligerent air, and entered taverns like a conquering army. He never seemed happy unless he was the center of attention. Though he had an uncanny knack for knowing when to keep quiet and move stealthily. Talar had to silently admit a grudging respect for the barbarian warrior and his talents.
When the wild howling and screaming became a single chant, they altered direction to find the source. The chant rose and fell, with a single faint voice the only constant.
The Warlord addressing his troops, thought Carl.
The howlers possessed excellent night vision, so there was little light in the castle. The ebon stone walls, floor, and ceilings didn't help the two escapees either. The black walls absorbed what little light there was. Even the moldy tapestries were in all dark shades. Most were black, with gray howlers chasing strange looking game and there was no furniture at all.
They finally found the massed howlers in a cavernous hall. Its double doors were slightly ajar, allowing Carl and Talar to peek inside. The slimy, mottled creatures were packed before a shoulder high dais, brandishing an astonishing variety of horribly rusted iron and steel weapons. The enormous disembodied heads of the shaggy-headed God of Beasts, Garn, and the raven-haired Goddess of Hate and Vengeance, Dirusa, glowed translucent on either side of the creatures' leader. The dark-haired man — it was undoubtedly a human male, and an arrogant looking one at that — could only be the Warlord.
The Warlord was dressed in an archaic-styled black velvet outfit from the long-dead Tyrasillian Empire. That with his long dark hair, drooping mustaches, and black eyes gave him a sinister appearance. A hint of madness could be seen in his face as he tried to whip the howlers into a frenzy.
The guttural language the Warlord bellowed was unfamiliar to Talar, who could read and write most of the lost tongues of Ancients. Most grimoires were written in long dead languages, to help keep their mysteries secret. Only this language somehow suited the motley fish-men.
The howlers danced hysterically, while hooting and brandishing their neglected weapons. Many were so out of control they were killing and injuring their fellows, who seemed totally oblivious to the dangers.
"Fun bunch," Carl said.
Talar had eyes only for the swirling black pool against the wall behind the Warlord. Eerily glowing magical symbols surrounded it. He knew that a double-ringed pentacle was drawn on the wall there, the most potent magical symbol known. Ayesha's ghostly face could be seen watching the proceedings from the other side of the portal. She didn't look par
ticularly pleased. That brought a smile to Talar's lips, but he couldn't tell from so far away if it was really a portal or a type of visual communications spell that looked similar.
The Gods quickly took turns speaking to the howlers in the strange language, who threw back their heads and howled at the top of their lungs when the Gods were finished. Then that mass of slimy rage turned on the double doors Carl and Talar crouched behind spying.
They jumped back, startled by the sudden turn of events. They were at the end of a long corridor, barren of doors or furniture to hide behind. And the howlers would be pouring through the doors at any second.
Grabbing hold of a black and gray tapestry, Talar gave it a hard jerk. It held.
"Up! Climb up to the top," he said, not waiting for Carl to acknowledge the plan before beginning to climb.
"You're crazy. They'll spot us."
"Now!"
Carl, hearing the howlers nearing the doors, jumped high and grabbed thick handfuls of tapestry. The thick moldy clothe sagged, and the wall fastenings groaned beneath his weight, but all held. Carl pulled himself higher as the howlers burst out of the hall and raced down the corridor.
Chapter 10
Danica looked over the sprawling complex of stables, hotels, and army barracks with a dubious eye. The Way Station was indeed a tempting sight after a long day in the saddle. Cat, Helene, and Claudia were eager to enter and sample its hospitality. Only the number of soldiers and customs officers made her hesitate. Surely they would be alerted to look for Cat and herself.
"But we have a good two hours of sunlight," Danica protested. Her own weariness was sapping her strength to argue. "And I don't trust any place with that many soldiers."
"They're just there to patrol the Way," Claudia said. "They're unlikely to be looking for us. And besides, they'll never recognize you in your disguises."
"And I'd like a hot meal and bath," Helene said.
Into Lands Forbidden (The Elfmaid Trilogy Book 2) Page 15