Then Arjun looked up at the ghouls. They looked into his eyes. Their own were vague, empty, and yet somehow lifelessly mad and cunning. He knew them for what they were, the tormented remnants of men and women who should have died long ago, and perhaps wished they could have. They might prey on the dying and feed on the dead, but he no longer feared them. Something in his own eyes seemed to call to them, but then they fled, each a different way.
“What… just happened there?” said Inina, her voice shaking and her body shivering.
“They know that I can see them as they are, and I think it reminded them of what they once were. They could not bear it, and fled.”
“That spell you cast with Shirin the magus… I’m grateful for what it gives you, but a more than a little afraid.”
“You aren’t alone in that, my love. But I am happy to pay the price.”
She shivered again, but took his hand, and together they headed back the way they’d come, or so they thought.
Arjun and Inina retraced their steps through the ancient tunnels, but one point they must have made a wrong turn, for they came to a place that was unfamiliar. They stopped to take a long-overdue rest, and think about how to get back.
“We should have paid more attention to our footprints, and less to our memories,” said Inina.
“It is my fault, for a little while the trail of that thing was still visible, and that made it easy. Once it faded away, I realized how little attention I’d been paying during the chase.”
“Ah… among the new things about you that scare me Arjun, that you can see invisible magic trails left by almost invisible things from… well wherever that came from,” she said, though scared or not, she put her hand around his sword arm.
“I would have thought you’d find this flame in my hand scarier,” he said.
“No, my love, that I like,” she replied, “And by the way, didn’t you say using magic makes you tired? Why don’t I light a lamp and you put out that flame.”
“It uses less energy than I would have thought, and…”
She put a finger over her mouth, and whispered in his ear, “I hear something.”
They both went silent. From somewhere down a narrow hallway to their left, one thick with dust, and lacking the footprints even of ghouls, came what might have been distant voices. Arjun dropped his flame, and Inina was plunged into total darkness. He however could soon see, dim but growing, a faint flicker of lamp light. Two voices now became distinct.
“Honored Shalmansar,” said one, “I do not question you, but why must we come out here to speak, in company with the ghouls?”
As second voice answered, “What is said now must stay between us, and the temple has many ears. Fear not, the ghouls will not enter this passage, for it is marked with the signs and image of lord Ur-Laggu the Embracer, in his true form as it was of old, and in any case, I have tested my magic against them before, and they flee me now.”
“The true form… THAT?” said the first voice with a whispered gasp.
“Yes,” said the second.
“Honored one, men might fear to follow him if they saw that form,” whispered the first.
“Let them fear, but follow him they will, when the time is at hand.”
“I… I obey lord Ur-Laggu in whatever form he may take. How do you command that I serve him?” replied the first, with some strength returning to the voice.
“I have discovered that the grand priests at Har are misled by false doctrines. It is our duty to protect the truth of Ur-Laggu. We can take no action at this time, but you are patient and wise, I will dispatch you as my emissary from Zakran. There you will win their trust over time, and report to me what you find. I will have more instructions for you as matters develop.”
“False doctrines at Har? Then the corruption runs deeper than we feared! I hear and obey, honored one. If I may ask, what of those who are aiding us on the council? I do not think we can trust all of them. Bal-Shim of course is one of ours. Mada dra Keshil perhaps, but that slaving dog Ayab less, and the lord of Zash-Ulshad not at all.
“Indeed. But when any such treacherous plots reveal themselves, we shall be ready for them. In the meantime, all in Zakran must be brought under one firm hand, one hand to bend the people to obedience before the gods, and above all before lord Ur-Laggu! Let the destruction of the followers of the usurper Zamisphar be an example of the holy wrath to come!” said the second, in a voice of rising intensity.
“May we live to see the day, honored one!”
“We will, fear not, but now, let us return before we are missed…”
And with that, the voices and the faint light receded once more. After a long wait in the darkness, as Inina shivered and clung to Arjun, she at last spoke in the quietest whisper.
“What do you think that was about? It made my skin crawl.”
“I think I know, but let’s discuss it as we go. You have good ears,” he said as he lit his flame once more, cupping it in his closed hand to give her eyes time to adjust.
“Look there, those are our footprints,” said Inina as they went on, “I think this is the way.”
She was right, and they made the long way back to the surface as Arjun shared his understanding of the names mentioned by the first voice, and his ignorance of the deep doctrines expressed by the second.
~
Though very tired, Arjun knew what he had to do today. He slept little, and dressed at dawn as a peddler in tattered clothes, with a bag of trinkets slung over his shoulder. In that bag, below the trinkets, was a change of clothes, and among the trinkets was a cheap box that happened to have a dagger in it. Most else of use he carried for his task, he carried in his mind.
Inina slept the sleep of the exhausted. She was curled into a little ball on the bed. He kissed her neck, and woke her gently.
“Bar the door behind me, dearest, and start gathering what we most need to take in a hurry inside the red granite seal of Shirin. Do you remember the word and gesture?”
“Yes my love…” she whispered as she uncurled sleepily, put her arms around his neck, kissed him and rose.
He slipped out the door and she barred it behind him.
~
A peddler walked among the midday throngs entering the citadel. Squads of guards attempted to keep some sort of order, and stopped each one as minor officials made marks in fresh clay tablets.
A guard stopped the peddler, who stooped under his tattered cloak, but whose weary face looked young. He smelled of sweat and alcohol. An official eyed him with mild curiosity.
“Name, and purpose in the citadel?”
“Heb iru Shim, here to pay back taxes.”
“Perhaps, boy, you should spend less on wine, and you might be able to pay your taxes on time,” said the official, with cynical contempt in his voice.
“I fear you are right, master, and I will do my best,” said the peddler, as the official waved him through, attention already on the next visitor.
The citadel was a busy place this time of day, and crowds, guards, and soldiers were everywhere. At last however, in a refuse-filled niche behind some storehouses, the peddler found a place to be alone. He removed his clothes, and donned the short sleeveless tunic of a city slave. He slipped a clay seal on a cord around his neck, marking him as city property, and assigned to the citadel. Lastly, he pulled a slaves harness bag out of his sack, and strapped it to his shoulders. In the lower compartment of the bag, he put a few meager foodstuffs, a bronze dagger wrapped inside a rag, and a set of gambling sticks. He buried the dispensable peddler’s goods, as well as the carefully wine-soaked kilt and cloak, under some broken potsherds and planks of wood.
As he left the niche, Arjun forced down any fear he might feel, and focused his mind on what he must achieve. It would have to be done without the spells he had most wanted, and there was a chance someone would search his bag, open the rag and the stale bread, and find his dagger. On the other hand, to be a city slave was to be insignificant, and he h
oped he might be beneath notice when it counted. He headed for the slave barracks, where, if he was correct, the next shift of slaves might be emerging in not too long, and one of them would be on duty to deliver bread to such prisoners as the city intended to keep alive.
He was not disappointed. The slaves came from the barracks, and some of them headed for a long low open building where flat ration bread was stored. Guards and soldiers got what was reasonably fresh, anything left over, however stale, became rations for the more important prisoners in the tower.
Arjun followed the slave who picked up the scrap bread. Slaves normally moved with anything but efficiency, and this one was no exception. He stopped to talk to whomever he might have any excuse to do so, and then made his leisurely way to a public urinal. Arjun read the man’s slave tag, which named him as Begu, and promised a reward of five silver moons for his return if he should be found outside the citadel gate. Arjun knew the reward was to encourage free citizens to want to report escaped slaves.
Not for the first time, Arjun found himself in agreement with his father’s views against slavery. Unfortunately, however, he had ill to do this man. As Begu left the urinal, Arjun walked next to him.
“Afternoon.” he said with what he hoped was the right of friendliness and hopelessness, “My name’s Sinin, just got assigned to the citadel today. This place is the worst! Well, except the last one.”
Begu chuckled appreciatively, if not with much interest.
Arjun continued, “Any good place to throw the sticks, with no guards too close by to spoil the game? I’ve got a couple of pieces of dried spiced meat to wager, and a copper crescent I found in the road.”
Now the other’s eyes lit up, and he replied, “I’ve got a few sticks of anise bread I stole from a supply delivery when they weren’t looking, and some lead wire I pinched from those idiots over at the construction detail. Tell you what, I know just the spot. I’ve got a couple of minutes left before they start to care… just enough time for a game or two.”
Arjun knew the slaves on those other details could be whipped if the items Begu had stolen were noticed missing. He felt a little less uneasy about what he intended to do. The two of them arrived at a narrow space between two stables for messenger horses. There were people about not far away, but no one was paying particular attention to two slaves squatting in the filth.
Begu won the first toss, and Arjun lost a piece of dried meat to him. Arjun nibbled the piece he hadn’t wagered, and Begu, watching it hungrily, did the same with his own. He smiled appreciably at the flavor. Slaves were rarely allowed meat, let alone spiced. In moments however, he was rolling on the ground holding his belly. He started speaking between spasms of pain.
“Ah! Sinin, you son of dogs, that meat you gave me is spoiled! I’m going to be late… I could be whipped!”
“Begu, I’m sorry I’m sorry. Let me make it up to you! I just finished my shift, and I’ve got a little time before I have to get back to my barracks. I’ll tell them I was assigned to cover your shift.”
“You’re a fool. If you get caught, and they’ll be whipping both of us!”
“But if I don’t, it’ll be neither of us!”
“By the hells, my stomach! Ah… all right. Take my pack.”
As Arjun left, he thought his money at the apothecary had been well spent, Begu would be ill for an hour or so. Arjun felt sorry for what he’d done to him, though the man’s callousness much reduced the feeling. The complete plausibility of Begu’s story would, hopefully, mean he’d avoid punishment beyond a whipping like he’d brought on his fellow slaves with his thefts.
With his basket of bread tied to his slave’s pack, Arjun approached the tower, and the guards standing alertly out front. They eyed him, and one of them tilted his spear across the doorway.
“Who are you, and where is Begu?”
“Ah… sir, I am Sinin. Sorry, Begu was sick this afternoon, and I was sent as his replacement.”
“Sick, eh? Tell that lazy worthless dog that if he gets sick again, or is so much as late once more, I’ll have his hide peeled from his back. You understand me, boy?”
“Yes sir,” said Arjun, cowering with feigned fright.
The guard’s eyes narrowed.
“You look a little strong to be on ration duty, where were you transferred from?”
“Brick hauling, for the sewers, sir.”
“Hah!” snorted the guard, “Then you might actually consider this place a promotion! On the other hand, you’ll see we don’t allow any of that sewer-crew lazing around. Bah! You’ve wasted enough of my time, get on your way, or I’ll give you a kick you won’t soon forget.”
Arjun scurried forward with as much of an air of groveling fear as he could muster. Inside was a large entrance chamber with scribes on the right, a few more guards playing at sticks on the left, and a few casks, boxes, and amphorae of supplies next to them. The tower was a big place, but very practical. In the ideas driving its operation, aesthetic beauty or tidiness ranked far behind maximum storage of prisoners of and guards to keep an eye on them. As the new slave, it would be a good idea to act like it and ask a scribe where he was supposed to go next. In contrast to the guards, they were unlikely to follow through with any threats to kick him.
“Honored scribe, sir,” he said to a lower-ranking scribe in plain tan robes with the narrowest band of purple, “I’m here to replace Begu for his shift, carrying food to the prisoners, which way should I go?”
The scribe, sitting cross-legged on a low bench, looked up at him as one might an annoying fly buzzing near one’s ear. Still he answered, in a long-practiced flat monologue.
“The door on the right, the one with the carved vulture above it. Go up and around to the left, then back down the stairs on the opposite side at the top. Give food only at those cells with city seals in the spaces above the doors. Others are either empty or have prisoners not to be fed.”
Arjun bowed his head with an air of subservient gratitude to the scribe, and went on his way.
15. The Tale of the Hand of Death
As Arjun went up the stairs and made Begu’s rounds, he found that the next two levels up were dark and windowless, perhaps to discourage attempts at escape by jumping, but after that, windows were placed at the ends of each floor, near the staircases. By the next level above, the fifth floor of the tower, he was level with the citadel walls. There were guards stationed at this level, but they were less alert than the ones at the main entrance, and after a cursory glance, waived him by so they could continue a game they were playing with little numbered clay tiles.
At the seventh floor, Arjun saw that he was level with the top of a nearby tower lining the wall. At the ninth and highest level, he found the cells for his father and Keda. He began to doubt his ideas for how this might work, but knew he had to press on. He knocked on the door of Keda’s cell, mindful of the glimmers of magic he could see upon it.
“Keda, can you hear me?” he said.
“Eh… who… knows my name?” said her voice from within. It sounded weak.
“It is Arjun,” he replied.
“Arju… do you really have to lie to me, jailor… why… eh? It does sound like Arjun.”
“It is me, just as it was that day when I was five, and you took me to the bazaar to buy honeyed almonds.”
“Arjun! My sweet…” she yelled, her voice hoarse, and with coughing fits it sounded like she was crawling closer to the door, then came to a halt with the clank of lead chains.
He leaned against her door, straining to hear her, the replied, “Yes, I’m here to get you out of this place.”
She laughed, and the laugh was interrupted by horrible sounding coughs, but at last her voice sounded again, “Arjun, you… are mad… it’ll never work. No way to get a dying old woman out of this place.”
“I’m going to try.”
Then he heard the scrape of chain, and his father’s voice from the other cell.
“My son, how do you propose t
o do that?”
“I have learned Words of Opening, and other magics, I will use them to open your cells, and then, we’ll find some way to sneak out of here.”
Keda laughed again, and again collapsed into wheezes and coughs before she could speak, “Sneak! Arjun, I can’t even walk.”
His father spoke as well, but in surprise, “It is amazing that you’ve come this far. How did you get here? Did you find some hidden back way? This place did not look like it would have them.”
“No my father, I disguised myself as a city slave and feigned taking the shift of the regular slave to deliver bread to you.”
“I am proud of your skill, my son, and your devotion to what is right, but I do not see how we will escape down the guarded stairs.”
“I’ll… find something…” said Arjun, bitterly thinking the truth of his father’s words, and Keda’s. What had he been thinking? He’d imagined the place as somehow more of a maze than it actually was. Even if his training in his five spells had been complete, how would they get out of here? How would he get two people who’d spent several months chained in cramped cells past armed guards?
Arjun hadn’t come this far to give up, though his mind raced.
“Father, Keda… I love you both… I’ll find a way.”
He scanned the walls with his magically enhanced sight, looking for the glimmer of magic that might, if he was lucky, mark the wards defending a secret stairwell. There were none. It was possible that there was a hidden door with no magical defenses, but as he studied the arrangement of the walls, it began to look more likely that there simply wasn’t such a stairway.
Then he heard voices, coming up the stairs on the right.
“Curse all slaves! Where is that lazy swine?” said one.
“Up here napping, I’ll wager,” said the other.
Arjun drew his dagger, and darted to the wall next to the door, out of sight of those coming up the stairs. In moments, two of the guards from the fifth floor arrived side by side. They walked casually, and didn’t even have their swords drawn. Arjun drove his dagger into the kidney of one, who howled in pain and doubled over, then into the throat of the other. Turning back to the first man, he slit his throat, and the howling was replaced by a gurgling sound.
Blood on Bronze (Blood on Bronze Book 1) Page 13