The Black Mausoleum mof-4

by Stephen Deas

‘Don’t you worry about the worms?’ she asked Siff one day. No point in asking the other outsiders. They flinched every time she even looked at them. Whatever Siff had said, he was their master now and they revered him every bit as much as they feared her.

  ‘Them again? You and doggy, eh? No such thing.’

  ‘You’re wrong,’ she told him, but he only looked at her and shrugged.

  When Siff wasn’t watching, she picked at her fingernails. Keeping them short, for the most part, but keeping them sharp. Claws. The first weapon she’d been born with. Her blood might not touch Siff any more but that wasn’t what she was thinking about.

  After a week, when she thought he wasn’t looking, she scratched herself on the ankle as they were climbing out of the boats one evening and then stumbled and fell into the water. A tiny drop of her washed away.

  Worm! Wherever you are, I call you!

  The Moonlight Garden

  Deep within the wilderness of the Raksheh Forest, overlooking the Yamuna and the Aardish Caves, lies what has come to be called the Moonlight Garden. Myth had long held that the Silver King planned a mausoleum to be ‘built in black marble across the great river from the endless caves’, an idea that actually originates from the fanciful writings of one of the earliest Taiytakei travellers who visited the Silver City before the time of Narammed. Nevertheless, Speaker Voranin sent dragon-riders to scour the great rivers of the realms for it, and thus the Moonlight Garden was discovered.

  The garden is bounded on three sides by marble walls, with the river-facing side left open. The marble appears black but is actually of an unusual colour found nowhere else in the realms — a dark blood-red, veined with mustard yellow. The garden-facing inner sides of the wall are fronted by columned arcades, while the wall is interspersed with small domed buildings that may have been viewing areas or watchtowers. At the far end, away from the river, there are two grand red sandstone buildings that are open to the sides. Their backs parallel the western and eastern walls, and the two buildings are precise mirror images of each other. They were once exquisitely decorated, but they have no interior structure and their function is a mystery.

  Later interest moved to the surrounding Aardish Caves as the most likely location of the Silver King’s tomb, before Speaker Vishmir ultimately abandoned the search, and the Moonlight Garden has since been left to return to the forest. The garden is still sometimes visited by riders making use of the temporary eyrie above the caves.

  Bellepheros’ Journal of the Realms, 2nd year of Speaker Hyram

  58

  Siff

  The Black Mausoleum. He’d never even heard the name until he met the alchemist. The days on the river passed and he couldn’t think of anything else. It was calling him. It was calling the thing inside him, the thing he’d taken away from it, calling it back. He didn’t know why. When he closed his eyes, all he saw were the waterfalls, the crags of rock either side, the little beach where he’d piled the dead bodies fallen from the dragons, the hole smashed into the ground, the caves, the tunnels, the strange arches, the shimmering silver and the tiny serpent made of moonlight, so much like the ones that came from his fingers. The closer he got, the more he saw it. The gaps were coming thick and fast now, but it was starting not to matter any more. They were becoming the same, the two of them. Most of the time that understanding filled him with a satisfied calm. Sometimes it was a terror worse than death.

  He started to see things he remembered. A certain tree by the bank that reminded him of someone whose name he couldn’t remember any more. A stone the size of a barn, lodged in the river on the next bend. A cluster of fallen logs all jammed together. And then, around a corner in the river, they were there. Pale cliffs rose from the banks in the distance. If he squinted, he could see the beach where three dragons had once piled bodies while a fourth had stared down at him. The sound of the Yamuna Falls whispered to him over the wind.

  ‘There.’ He couldn’t help the glee in his voice. He nudged the alchemist. ‘There. Do you see it?’

  She shook her head. ‘I was never here, Siff. Only you.’

  ‘Yes. Only me. The place you called the Moonlight Garden, it looks out over those falls.’ He pointed. ‘On top of those rocks. The tomb..’ He couldn’t finish. His throat was choked. After so long! After so long what? He didn’t know and he didn’t care any more.

  ‘The caves begin underneath the garden. I know that much, Siff. What do you think you’re going to find there?’

  ‘I already know what I’m going to find there! A gate to another place. The place where your Silver King went.’

  ‘The Isul Aieha was slain, Siff.’

  ‘It’s a gate to where he belongs!’

  ‘And you’re going to open it?’

  ‘ You’re going to open it!’ Ancestors! There it was, the only reason he’d brought her here, the only reason he needed her, and he’d gone and let it slip out. Now she knew. Pox! He clutched his head and clawed at his face. Why did I tell her that?

  ‘Where does it go?’

  Stupid alchemist! He had to hold himself back from wringing her neck. ‘I already told you! It goes to where the Silver King went!’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘ I know! ’ He screamed it at her, making her wince and screw up her eyes. He took a deep breath. What’s happening to me?

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘You need me to open it. Then that’s what I’ll do, if I can.’

  Another deep breath. Slowly mastering himself. He blinked a few times, trying to clear his head. ‘You will?’

  ‘Yes.’ She held out her hands, still bound in front of her. ‘It doesn’t need to be like this, Siff. That’s what I came here to do anyway. I came to find the Silver King. I’ll help you either way. It’ll be easier if you let me go.’

  ‘Then you’ll take it for yourself!’ he raged. She closed her eyes and shook her head, but she would, he knew that as sure as he knew the sun would rise in the morning. The Silver King. She wanted him.

  They watched in silence while the cliffs drew nearer. As they paddled towards the beach, Siff jumped to his feet. He waved and shouted and pointed. ‘There! There! Take us there!’ He’d never felt something like this. Like his chest was about to burst with joy. ‘There!’

  The canoes changed their course. His heart was beating as though he had a snapper at his back.

  ‘Siff?’ He barely heard her. ‘Siff, this is the place. Are you sure we can’t do this together?’

  ‘Shut up, woman!’ He waved her away. Do this together? It was his, not hers! She’d take it, take all of it away and leave the rest of them with nothing, because that’s what alchemists and riders and all their ilk did. Always.

  ‘Then I’m sorry it couldn’t have been different.’

  The words washed past him, lost in the draw of the waterfalls. He might not even have noticed if the canoe hadn’t bucked a moment later, the nose of it lurching out of the water. Siff staggered and sat down heavily. The man at the front, who’d been spearing fish, turned and looked at them all. His face was white, his eyes wide as plates. His mouth worked, but no sounds came out.

  Something hit the canoe from underneath, hard enough that the front flew high up out of the water. Everyone tumbled backwards and the canoe rolled and toppled them into the river. Siff caught a glimpse of a huge shape, as big as the canoes themselves, vanishing under the surface.

  ‘The worm!’ someone wailed. ‘The worm!’

  A few yards away the water seemed to boil and then a great plume erupted, hurling a man into the air. He crashed back into the water, and there was that shape again. It rose, broke the surface and, like a giant maggot, rings of pale flesh ending in a mouth that was nothing more than a hole surrounded by a circle of hook-like teeth, swallowed him whole.

  ‘The bank!’ Siff shouted. ‘Swim to the bank!’ Did they know how to swim, these outsiders? They had boats so he supposed they must, but it didn’t look like it.

  The worm rose again. It capsiz
ed a second canoe, which was paddling towards them as fast as it could. More men spilled into the river, their frantic screams silenced by the water.

  No! This couldn’t be! The Yamuna worm was a myth! Something the alchemist had made up.

  The water frothed again, further away this time. Another man was hurled into the air and then swallowed whole. The last three boats paddled desperately for the shore. ‘Me!’ he shouted, ‘To me!’ but they were all too terrified or too deaf, or else the screams and the roar of the nearby falls were too loud. He swam for the shore as best he could, not that he had much idea how to do it, arms grabbing at the water, legs kicking. Born and bred in the mountains with their rivers and lakes, every outsider learned how not to drown. They didn’t learn how to outrun a river monster though.

  A third canoe went over, battered from behind this time, tipped sideways. Men and women fell out and clung to it, screaming. Ancestors, were they praying? To whom? He wanted to scream at them but he was too busy trying not to drown.

  He caught a cry as another man tumbled through the air like a broken doll. ‘Isul!’ Then the worm breached the surface. It reared up and crashed down and the man vanished in the spray. The Silver King! They were calling to the Silver King.

  He saw a man’s eyes, wild with fear, staring straight at him as the water swirled and sucked him under. ‘Isul! Isul!’ Him! They meant him! For a moment he was stunned enough to forget that he was about to die. Why? Why were they looking at him? He flapped and floundered closer to the shore, but that was no good because that was where the worm was now. He let the current take him instead, carry him away from the slaughter. Screams rang out over the water, over the rumble of the falls. ‘Isul! Isul!’

  ‘What?’ he screamed back at them. ‘What can I do?’

  A moment later he realised that he wasn’t alone. Someone was in the water ahead of him. Lying on their back, almost drifting.

  The alchemist. As soon as he saw her, he knew: she’d done this. He thrashed through the water towards her, madness and a volcanic anger driving him on. Her hands were tied. She had no escape. He caught her and grabbed her arm. ‘No, you don’t do this. You don’t do this to me!’

  He flailed towards the bank, hauling her with him. She didn’t resist but it was hard work and they were far from the beach.

  ‘It won’t touch me as long as I have you,’ he snarled, as much to make himself believe it as anything.

  ‘You should… have let… me go,’ she gasped. Damn her, he was almost minded to push her head under the water and drown her for this. But he needed her. That was the trouble. The rest of them, they might have been his friends, might even have been his family if he let them, but he didn’t need them. He needed her. He was completely certain of that, even though he didn’t quite know why.

  The screams of the outsiders from the village faded as the river carried him away. And then he saw something. A wave heading through the water towards them, small and fast, a dark shape beneath it. The alchemist had called the worm to her! Madness!

  ‘Let… me go… or I’ll kill us both.’

  ‘Crazy witch!’ He’d let her go, and then she’d have the worm eat him and she’d be free. No chance.

  ‘I’ll let you live,’ she cried. ‘On my word as… an alchemist.’

  He did let go, but only so he could grab her again, this time with an arm around her throat. His head bobbed under the water; he almost let go again as he choked.

  ‘Stop it!’ he screamed in her ear. ‘Stop it! Stop killing them! If you don’t stop, I will kill you. We’ll all drown together, you blood-mage witch!’

  She spluttered something.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Can’t!’ she managed.

  ‘ Liar! ’ Can’t what? Make it stop? Breathe? He didn’t care any more. His people. She’d called the worm and used it to kill his people. He shifted his arm further around her neck and squeezed as hard as he could, then forced her head beneath the water for good measure. They both went under together. She writhed and squirmed, but she was tied and there wasn’t much she could do about it. He had her fast. He couldn’t see the worm any more but the water didn’t boil. No teeth grabbed him, no sucking maw devoured him.

  The alchemist went limp in his arms.

  59

  Jasaan

  It took every ounce of strength after he’d seen the boats on the water, but they did it, Jasaan and his two riders. They walked and they walked, on through the night, no stops for rest. They were at their limit, all of them. Jasaan’s ankles were killing him; the riders could barely stand — Parris probably didn’t even know what realm he was in any more — but they they got ahead of the boats. And so Jasaan was on the rocks at the top of the waterfall, at the foot of the Moonlight Garden, when the outsiders came, and he watched the canoes round the last bend, one, two, three, four, five of them, with maybe a dozen men in each. Which meant fifty or sixty outsiders against three armoured men at the end of their tether with two bows between them. And, when he counted, exactly thirty-three arrows.

  An Adamantine Man didn’t retreat just because the odds were bad, but Jasaan thought about it anyway as he watched the canoes come closer. Parris and Nezak were here because they hadn’t seen how many they had to face. They were his responsibility, weren’t they? They were riders, not Guardsmen. They didn’t have a duty to stand and die no matter what.

  He wasn’t sure he did either. Question was, where else did they go? Or did they sit and watch and see what happened and then spring some sort of ambush. Even then the riders didn’t look like they were going to last. The more he looked at them, the more he was amazed that they weren’t already dead. And the trouble with that was it made him proud they’d all come this way, and that made him want them to live all the more.

  The middle canoe tipped over, spilling its men into the river. Then another. From beneath one of the men thrashing in the water something massive rose, and a great spout of spray threw him high into the air. When he came down, he vanished, sucked under by a great pale shape.

  ‘Parris! Nezak!’

  They could barely move, poor bastards. Parris lurched to the edge of the rocks and stared blankly down, eyes so distant that Jasaan thought he might walk off over the edge without noticing. Nezak, though, he was grinning, even through the pain of his hand and his side and his exhausted legs.

  ‘The worm of the Yamuna!’

  Three of the canoes were on their sides now. Jasaan eased the bow off Parris’ back. Nezak was counting, Jasaan could see it in his eyes. How many men he’d have to face.

  ‘We have bows,’ offered Jasaan.

  ‘So do they.’

  Jasaan shrugged. The people who lived on the fringes of the realms weren’t his concern. The King of the Crags used to catch them and sell them as slaves to the Taiytakei. Everyone knew that. Little people of no consequence to the speaker and the Speaker’s Guard. ‘Not ones made of dragon bone,’ he growled.

  The river surged and frothed as another man was hurled into the air and then swallowed whole.

  Nezak nodded. ‘And we wear dragon-scale.’ They stared as a colossal fountain of water erupted below.

  The fourth canoe went over about a dozen yards from the shore. Most of its men reached the bank. The fifth canoe beached before the worm could capsize it.

  ‘You think our alchemist was on one of those?’

  A pale shape welled up from the river and sucked another man down. From up here, with the waterfall so close, there were no screams, no cries for help, no curses, no monstrous howls. Just the endless roar of water.

  ‘Could be. Could well be.’ Sometimes it was kindest to lie. The alchemist had been on the canoe in the middle. But there was only one way to know for sure.

  He took Parris by the arm, led him away from the edge, sat him down and drew his sword for him. He had to close Parris’ fingers around the hilt to make him hold it. It would be a miracle if he wasn’t dead by morning.

  ‘Hold this, rider,’ he said. ‘Yo
u have an important job to do. We’ll take the enemy from the flank. You have the centre. You hold, we crush them against you. Understand?’

  Parris gave a distant nod. Jasaan clasped his shoulder. ‘Good man.’ He turned to Nezak. ‘You know what I think?’ Nezak shook his head. ‘I think it’s not eating that many of them. I think they’re getting to that beach half drowned, terrified and without much idea what’s happening. I think if we leave them be, we’re going to be facing forty-odd men who are angry and ready to fight. I think if we hit them now, they break and run.’

  Nezak looked at him. Then he threw back his head and laughed. ‘And if I’m going to end my days in the middle of nowhere with no one left to sing my name, better it be in a mad charge for glory than a slow death of poison and disease, hunted and fearful.’

  Jasaan seized his arm. ‘You’d make a fine Guardsman, rider.’ And which way would I rather go? Quickly sounds better than lingering, but as long as the lingering hasn’t come to an end, lingering is still alive. Best not to give himself the choice. He nodded and started off back down the path. They had to pick their way down the bluffs by the falls. There was a trail of sorts but you needed hands as well as both feet to follow it.

  ‘If we were on the other side of the river, we could have shot them. They couldn’t have done anything about it,’ said Nezak. It was the sort of thing you said when you knew you were about to get yourself killed doing something stupid.

  ‘Until we ran out of arrows.’ They were halfway down. Jasaan wondered how long it would be before someone noticed them. Two armoured men, scrambling among the rocks, in and out of cover, couldn’t be that hard to spot.

  ‘They’d have to swim across the water to reach us. We’d cut them down in the shallows.’

  ‘But they wouldn’t bother.’ Jasaan shook his head. Riders thought like that. Had to face each other in battle somehow. An Adamantine Man thought different. So what if a few men died in a rain of arrows? Adamantine Men did what needed to be done. Didn’t matter if none of them came back, and no one ever called them cowards. There was no such thing.