by Vance Moore
Zombies splashed into the lower chambers and began filling baskets the servants handed to them.
"He failed to realize that withdrawing the water would settle everything to the deeper rooms and bury them. To be honest, I do not approve of the former caregiver. There is an unholy lode of mud to be cleared away."
The ambassador nodded dumbly, accepting that a servant of the Cabal would be the best judge of unholy. He realized with a sinking liver that tracking down the orb might still be a formidable task.
"Are there no records of where materials were stored?" he asked hopefully. She shook her head in amusement.
"No. Just a record of what the caretaker received," she said. "For example, the last entry is of a sphere that gave an impression of tremendous power."
The ambassador nodded with excitement. The prize was here.
"The logs show what came in and what went out, but the actual locations are a complete mystery. And that was before nearly everything sunk into different rooms when the water was forced out.
"Surely the other workers have some idea?" he questioned her, hoping there might be someone else to interrogate.
"What other workers?" Fulla replied with exasperation. "From the logs, almost everything was handled by the previous caretaker. I am informed that the servants who did work here cannot function in the open air." Baskets of gunk were thrown out of the entry hole to splat into the mud. "If you can call this open air."
She retreated to a stack of shelves with wax boards and paper books open.
"I and my colleagues are cataloging what we find and entering a reference to the original logs and a current position."
She appeared busy, but Laquatus could not equate her new position as chief curator with her career as a jack in the pits.
"How did you end up here?" he asked with a raised eyebrow. She glanced back, and her face filled with the demons that drove her.
"By the same process that cast you to the Cabal's far shore," she replied. Her features calmed, and she spoke without intonation. "What truly brings you here ambassador? I doubt it was a quest for close friends."
Laquatus considered his answer for several seconds. Just for variety he essayed the truth.
"The final object received here," the merman said. "I want it. What will it cost for me to have it my possession, no questions asked?"
The novelty of a straight answer seemed to disarm the dementia caster, and she fumbled for a response.
"A great many pieces were damaged," she finally said, turning to the shelves. "Some of them beyond repair. But even ruined, they might be of interest the Cabal for research purposes." Her face turned sly, destroying any attempt at disguising her greed.
"Done," Laquatus said simply. "Hold the piece for me when you find it. In return I will aid you in smuggling your loot back to the continent." He looked her deep in the eyes. "Cross me, and I will prick this bubble of air. Your bones can be catalogued by the next curator."
She started running her hands over the pieces already gleaned, like a shopper handling fruit in the market. Laquatus turned and walked to the stairs, soiled at the crassness of the deal and having legs once again.
He mounted the stair and dived through the bubble, transforming even as he swam away, ignoring the guard who recorded his exit. He surged up into the palace. He might have been within yards of the orb, but he could not detect its power. It was hidden from his magical senses. Rumor spoke of perhaps a dozen chambers under the palace, and who knew where the fool of a curator might have put it. The ambassador also worried about his monarch. Fulla was a wild card, who knew what she might say if questioned.
Aboshan emptied troves cared for by the empire's mercenaries and selkies, dumping them to decay in his palace. Only the ruler's love of control and hunger for power had brought the relics to the palace. Now the distraction of a simple assassination attempt washed them from his mind.
"Well," vowed Laquatus, "if it is conspiracies that truly engage him, then conspiracies he will have." The ambassador laughed in the bowels of the palace. He would bring new treacheries before Aboshan to conceal his own. Turg followed his masters, grinning as new plans spawned in the merman's mind.
CHAPTER 20
Kamahl rode Emerald east, watching for signs of the ambassador's caravan. The gecko's sinuous gait lulled the barbarian as he remembered his escape from the town.
The mountain mage had climbed the rubble ramp to the keep's upper stories looking for signs of another exit as the cries from Order reinforcements sounded below. Through the dust laid down by his destruction, he could see tracks that led him to the postern gate. The mountain warrior skirted the crystal effect, seeing its rate of advance slowing as it continued to fill the castle. The taste of the orb's magic faded as the growth slowed.
The postern gate led down a hidden path outside the city walls. The tumult inside the town died down as Kamahl rejoined the flow of refugees. A golden coin secured him a spare great cloak from an elen bird warrior. The garment was sized for someone nine feet tall and even after a few alterations with a dagger, it was still all-enveloping. It was a measure of the people's unrest that he did not attract more notice. He moved into the old city, listening for news. But rumor ruled the crowded streets, not the Order. He headed for the Citadel road once more, hoping to find out what had occurred.
Kamahl remembered the swell of power as he felt the orb change only minutes after he saw Turg following after the lieutenant. The mer must hold the prize by now. The barbarian wondered if Kirtar survived. Somehow he doubted it.
His leg began to pulse with fresh pain from the wounds inflicted by the frog. He moved down an alley, ready for any attacker, but it was a dead end. Despite the city's overcrowding, a momentary break in the traffic gave him privacy and allowed him to seek shelter. He drew an axe and knife and jumped, his leg screaming in protest as he rose. As he started to fall back, he sank his tools into the wood racing of the building's corner. Rot and lack of care allowed his blades to bite deeply, sending sawdust to the alley below. He crawled up the structure's side, his arms burning as he finally reached the roof.
This building was shorter than the others backing the alley. He crawled behind a storage shed and concealed himself from observation. Momentarily safe, he ate what food he had. Thirst led him to raid a rainwater cistern, and he gulped the cool water down. Weary, for even his endurance had its limits, he lay down to rest.
He awoke that night. The city was quieter, the sun set some hours before. He wrapped the cloak tighter around him and drank more of the water. He had no more food. Kamahl squatted to test his leg. Finding himself fit he decided to brave the city once more.
He dropped into the alley, his lower limbs hurting at the strain but healed enough for full use. There was still traffic on the street despite the hour but not like Cabal City, whose denizens never seemed to sleep. There was a different feel to these pedestrians. They were more afraid and more furtive, even as they stayed close to the lights. Kamahl remembered his friend Chainer who seemed to know most of his city's secrets. The barbarian decided the best source of information might be one of the night birds flitting through the streets.
The first lone walkers proved almost useless. His cloaked form emerged from the darkness provoking two responses. They collapsed in panic or attacked with suicidal bravado. One man continued to fight even after Kamahl slapped his weapons aside several times with his bare hands. Finally he knocked the man out in disgust. Perhaps a more predatory type would be more amenable to conversation.
A group of youths moved in concert through a street. The avenue was barely lit by damp wood burning in a metal basket. A copper hood reflected light to the ground.
The boys split up, settling into positions outside the flow of traffic. Their actions reminding Kamahl of feral cats choosing their prey. The gang looked into the street and not toward each other. The barbarian picked a member off silently, covering the young man's mouth. They disappeared into the night, Kamahl's cloak wrapped aro
und his catch.
The boy was ragged and smelled, a rusty blade thrust through his belt. The dirty pallor of his skin and the color of his clothes hid him from those without Kamahl's night-sight. The barbarian watched him struggle to exude confidence as he stood an arm's length away.
"My friends will come looking for me," the city dweller said, staring hard at Kamahl. The gang member's hand was on his blade, but the weapon was left undrawn.
"Better for them if they do not," the barbarian said and stepped a little closer, forcing his captive against a wall. "All I desire from you is a little information. Do you know what happened in the castle today?"
The impromptu informant relaxed slightly.
"They say that western barbarian and a group of conspirators broke into the Citadel. They were the ones behind the animal attacks. The swine forced refugees into the city, so they could strike from the cover of the crowd." Kamahl wondered how good his information could be with these falsehoods cast as truth. "The traitors managed to kill the captain and the lieutenant despite all efforts to stop them. The entire Order might have been crippled if not for the mer ambassador's warnings."
"Tell me about Laquatus and his jack, Turg," Kamahl ordered, wondering if he should waylay an Order patrol. Perhaps they might have more accurate information.
"The merman and the pit frog were heroes," the young thug said excitedly. "They would have been feted for days if not called back to the ocean on urgent business." The city dweller paused. "How could you know nothing of what happened? The town has been abuzz for hours." He started forward, and Kamahl shoved him back.
"Why should I believe you know anything at all about the ambassador?" the mountain warrior asked, showing his teeth. "All you seem to know is rumor and innuendo."
"Because I watched them leave the city for the east!" came the hot reply, the injustice of being called a liar seeming to raise the boy's courage. Kamahl's snort of disbelief further inflamed the informant.
"I saw them leave this afternoon," he insisted, drawing his knife. "I watched the ambassador ride out the eastern gate." He waited for an attack, but there was only silence as the barbarian melted away.
Kamahl drifted through the streets, heading for the city walls. The thug's affronted pride convinced the barbarian that the boy had seen the ambassador withdrawing to the east. Moreover, if the orb fell to Laquatus, he would have set out for the sea. Kamahl knew that it might be a false trail, but whom could he question? The merman was as likely to lie to the powerful as mislead the masses. He would trust the word of a direct witness for now.
The walls were low with ramps and ladders leading to the upper walkway. Like most defenses, the guards were more interested in keeping invaders out than townspeople in. He appropriated a coil of rope from a storeroom and wrapped it around a stone. In less than a minute he rapelled down. With a practiced twist he pulled the strand down, leaving no sign that any had left the city. He doubted his informant would share his description. The boy seemed one who avoided the guards whenever possible. Kamahl set off to see if Emerald still waited out in the plains.
*****
Kamahl crept through the long grass, threading between the sentries. Avoiding contact felt strange. However, the barbarian imagined it as a challenge to see how close he could approach the Order camp without being detected. It took nearly a day to find Emerald, and knowing the Order believed him a bloody murderer, he kept his distance from the road and other travelers. Only the gecko's incredible endurance and speed allowed Kamahl to finally catch up to the ambassador's party despite the rough country and avoiding enemy patrols.
The Order guards and mer hirelings flew the empire's standard. Kamahl's sharp eyes had caught sight of it as he paralleled them on the highway. He infiltrated the camp to see if Laquatus and Turg truly rode with the group. He had no time to waste on meaningless fights. If the orb was in camp, then he would declare himself and win the prize in honorable combat.
Circumstances demanded he fight tonight if he would fight at all. Some distance ahead of the party an empire caravan camped at a crossroads against a set of bluffs. As night fell, he took Emerald on a run, covering the miles in minutes. A large procession of wagons had left deep ruts along the merging road. Dozens of captive animals sent up cries of distress as they moved in their cages and strained at their hobbles. These guards were more aware. Dogs as well as warriors patrolled the camp perimeter, preventing the barbarian from sneaking in. There were signs of nervousness, the mercenaries reacting to every rustle as an imminent attack.
Kamahl heard the men talking. When would the next attack come? How bad would it be with such a long pause between them? The barbarian realized with surprise there were no fresh signs of rampaging forest animals or destruction along the road. True, they were much farther from the great trees and the animals that sheltered there. However, he understood the problem to be continent wide. Why had an uneasy peace fallen across the two traveling parties and, for all Kamahl knew, the rest of the plains?
Such questions would have to wait until he first completed his quest. The ambassador, if he were traveling with the party, would find reinforcements on the morrow. The barbarian decided to confront the pair tonight.
The tent below the standard was dark with no guards standing before it. Kamahl moved in. Wrapped in his cloak, he avoided the light of the campfires. He made sure that he could reach the weapons on his belt. His sword was secured to Emerald, its length difficult to conceal on the approach. He could detect no life within the tent, but he must be sure. He had watched the caravan settling for the night without any sign of the ambassador or his jack. If they were anywhere in the camp, they must be here. He opened the flap, the rustling canvas seeming very loud.
No one was inside. He saw only a mound of baggage piled on the floor. There was no sign it had even been opened. Each piece was secured with wax, imprinted with the ambassador's sigil, binding the bags' draw-cords. However the merman traveled, Kamahl saw it was not with this detachment. However, the seals on the bags suggested he would eventually meet his luggage. The barbarian reached to his belt and pulled out the rope he used in his escape from the city. He was no thief, however stealthy he might be. The barbarian placed it on the baggage, returning it to the Order. The camp guards never saw him withdraw through their pickets on his way back to Emerald.
"They were not there," he said in response to the gecko's quizzical look. "We will have to meet them at the coast." The lizard seemed sluggish as Kamahl secured his gear. The mountain warrior seethed at missing Laquatus and especially Turg. Though the night was chilly he removed the elen robe, letting the cold flow over his skin.
"However they traveled 1 have lost them," the barbarian muttered as he hauled himself up into the saddle. Knowing that the cool air might slow his mount he sent a small surge of power to the gecko. The lizard blinked in surprise at the warm air but did seem sprightlier as he absorbed the magic. Kamahl directed Emerald down the road to the bluffs, planning to use the lizard's ability to handle any terrain. The steed would take them past the pickets over the bare rock faces, riding above the caravan guards' eyes.
The lizard slowed as they neared the large camp, Kamahl vainly trying to direct the gecko's path. The lizard looked through the night at the stacks of cages and hobbled animals. Its body seemed to vibrate in sympathy with the miserable calls sounding from there. The barbarian realized he could not force Emerald to go anywhere.
The gecko stared at the captured creatures intensely. There were no large predators in the gathering but rather numerous cages of small animals. The barbarian undid his sword from the gecko's side, shifting it up to his back. He looked once more back to the Order camp in the distance with the empty ambassador's tent.
"We cannot spend too much time on this rescue," Kamahl said, pulling small axes from his baggage and slipping them into holsters hung from the saddle. The lizard's long tongue flickered back as if in agreement, then the beast set off for the camp.
The caravan was s
et by the road, sentry fires out and burning in an attempt to cover the perimeter. Guards stood their posts nervously, talking to each other to reassure themselves. Kamahl wondered how the nightblind chattering fools planned to see anyone. The only danger seemed a pair of dogs that a guard escorted around the perimeter. The barbarian wondered what he would do if discovered but found himself unable to feel concern. The camp looked as deadly as a carnival and easier to move in and out of.
The gecko followed Kamahl, the mount nearly silent, with only its tail sometimes touching the ground. The outer pickets saw nothing as the pair worked through the line, using the terrain. The lizard lowered itself nearly to the ground to decrease its height. The dogs made no alarm, and the barbarian wondered if Emerald somehow stifled their senses. The cages grew closer, the smell assaulting the barbarian as the guards had not. Moving into the circle of cages was challenging, but without the threat of the dog it was only a matter of timing. He crouched by the cages after a slow roll from the darkness. Emerald followed, and the barbarian could scarcely believe his mount had crept into the camp as well. Hunters walked slowly among the captive animals in the cages and pens, lost in their own thoughts. Suddenly the joke fell flat to the mountain warrior. Loosing the animals silently would take far too long, and he was not inclined to waste the time. Kamahl was tired of stealth.
He drew his sword from a sheath on Emerald's saddle. He mounted, and a guard turned to behold him, a mounted intruder in the heart of the camp. The flat of his blade sent the mercenary crashing down unconscious. The first real warning the caravan had was the long whip of flame arcing down to blaze through locks and bars. The animals were maddened by the fire's closeness. The beasts battered at their prisons as they had done so often, but now the bars fell to the ground.
Mercenaries closed from all points with shouts of alarm, but Kamahl's sword streamed flame over the other enclosures, melting away iron. He ignored the guards as beneath contempt as he shouted and roused the imprisoned beasts to escape. One caravan hunter came at the lizard's side only to be met by the long tongue. The muscle wrapped around his head and yanked him into crushing jaws. Kamahl's steed spat out the corpse as his rider freed more of the captured. A chain holding a group of satyrs parted as he swayed to the side, his sword severing several links.