The Verdent Passage

by Troy Denning

  In that moment, the old man realized that his mind was being invaded. Suddenly, a thousand white shrikes appeared out of the trees and flew toward Agis's owl. Each of the little birds screeched a tremendously loud and shrill warning call. The noble tucked the wings of his raptor and dropped toward the pool, but the shrikes attacked, tearing at the larger bird's tailfeathers and pecking at its eyes.

  Even as Agis prepared to change his probe to something less subtle and more powerful, the shrikes tore the owl. The noble glimpsed a beak and a handful of feathers settling over the oasis pond, then Agis found himself staring across the murky courtyard at his opponent.

  The noble gasped several times, for the battle and the loss of the owl had cost him a considerable amount of energy. Nevertheless, though he doubted he could enter the sorcerer's mind again, he had plenty of stamina left and there were as many ways to use the Way as there were men who walked the face of Athas. He would find another way to attack and try again.

  "What's the bidding, Caro?" Agis asked.

  "Seventy-one gold."

  From across the courtyard, the old man's sonorous voice called, "Seventy-five."

  "Eighty," Agis replied automatically.

  A murmur rustled through the courtyard. Mul gladiators could be had for eighty gold.

  No response came from the other side of the courtyard. The slave girl regarded Agis with her icy blue eyes, then cast a glance in the old man's direction.

  "Are you finished bidding?" Radurak asked, directing his gaze to the old man.

  "I withdraw my offer."

  To the astonishment of Agis, the voice had come from close at hand. Had Caro spoken? Agis looked down and saw that a pair of lips had formed in the dust at his feet. There was no nose or chin or face of any sort, just a mouth.

  As the nobleman watched, the lips parted and said, "I withdraw my offer."

  Radurak's brow sank in disappointment as he looked to Agis. "Did I hear you right?"

  Planting his boot square in the mouth on the ground, the senator shook his head. The mouth tried to speak again, but all that emerged was a muffled garble. When it was clear that the sorcerer's magical lips would not interrupt him again, Agis called, "I said eighty-five gold."

  "A bold maneuver," Radurak said, smiling in relief. He turned back to the old man. "Can you match his bid?"

  This time, the noble was ready to pay the sorcerer back in kind. He used the Way to create an invisible tunnel that ended directly in his opponent's mouth. As the old man spoke, Agis silently mouthed the words he wanted to come from the other man's lips.

  "I do not have that much." The voice was the old man's, but the words were Agis's. The noble was particularly proud of the way the voice cracked with disappoint.

  "How unfortunate," Radurak cooed sympathetically He motioned Agis forward.

  The old man started to protest, but again Agis put his own words into the sorcerer's mouth. "Perhaps you would trust me for the rest—"

  This brought a roar of laughter from everyone assembled beneath the bridge. The sorcerer scowled in Agis's direction, but the noble ignored him and stepped forward, taking his purse off his belt. He found his fingers trembling with fatigue as he untied the knot. His contest with the sorcerer was taking its toll on his energies.

  The slave-girl looked in his direction, an expression of contempt on her face. She mumbled something under her breath, then motioned for Agis to return to his place. "You'll never lay a hand on me, spawn of a misbegotten mekillot!"

  Agis's foot struck an invisible obstacle, and he found himself sprawling face-first into the dust. He barely managed to tuck his heavy purse of gold away before his body struck the hard ground.

  More than a few of his fellows made lewd comments suggesting Agis should wait until returning home to think about what he was going to do with his prize. The noble accepted the jibes with good-natured humor, then gathered himself up.

  The sorcerer's voice called, "I found a few more coins, Radurak. My bid is raised to ninety gold." The old man glanced at Agis, gesturing at him as if motioning him away.

  Agis stood, calling, "Ninety-five!"

  The bid elicited a puzzled look from Radurak.

  The elf frowned, then asked Agis, "Have you ever seen Ral and Guthay dance a two-time jig?"

  "What are you talking about?" the noble demanded.

  This time, the elf scowled angrily. "You should walk on your hands to Gulg."

  With a sinking heart, Agis realized the sorcerer had cast another enchantment on him. Whatever anyone said to him reached his ears in the form of utter nonsense. Judging from Radurak's expressions, the reverse was also true.

  The elf motioned Agis back to his place, then invited the sorcerer forward. When the noble did not obey immediately, two tall tribesmen stepped forward to enforce their chief's order. Agis decided he would accomplish nothing by arguing in his present state—except, perhaps, starting a fight. He reluctantly retreated, then watched the old man shuffle forward.

  As the sorcerer moved into the torchlight, Agis saw the old man's purse bulging beneath his tabard. A last desperate idea occurred to him. He slipped his empty hand beneath his cloak and imagined it disappearing from the end of his arm, calling on the Way to make it happen. A sharp pain sliced through his wrist, and then he felt nothing below the wrist.

  The old man paused in front of Radurak, reaching beneath his tabard. Keeping the stump of his arm beneath his robe, Agis reached toward the sorcerer's gold. Once again calling on the Way, he visualized his hand appearing beneath the old man's cloak, clasped onto the purse. Suddenly he felt the heavy bag in his hand, just as if his hand were still attached to his own arm—save that there were many yards of numbness between his forearm and his fingers.

  The sorcerer untied his purse strings. Agis jerked on the leather sack, at the same time ending the expenditure of psionic energy which kept his hand separated from his wrist. The feeling below his wrist returned to normal, and he now held a heavy sack of gold clenched in his fist.

  As the purse was ripped from the sorcerer's hand the old man spun and pointed a thickset finger at Agis. "You'll find that water from the black well tastes best," he snarled.

  Agis shrugged at the nonsensical words. Still holding the old man's purse beneath his cloak, he raised his eyebrows at Radurak. Before the elf could respond, the sorcerer said something to him, pointing an accusing finger at the noble.

  While the old man was turned away, Agis took the opportunity to stand body-to-body with Caro and slip the purse he had just stolen to the dwarf.

  Of course, what the old man said made no sense to Agis, but he was counting on the legendary greed of elves to do his arguing for him. Since there was no gold in the old man's hands, the noble hoped Radurak would dismiss him quickly.

  As Agis had anticipated, the elven chief shrugged at the sorcerer's complaint, then motioned Agis forward. "Bring me the lungs and kidneys of your favorite goat"

  Without taking the chance of a reply, the noble went to the elf's side. He counted out ninety-five gold coins while the other nobles left the slaveyard with their purchases. Once Agis had paid the full amount, Radurak had his assistants bring the slave-girl forward, offering her hand to the noble with the words, " Take this woman to the nearest mountain-top. The moonlight there will be good for her skin."

  The half-elf cast a dismayed glance in the sorcerer's direction. The old man angrily regarded Agis for several moments, then turned to the slave and said, "In the faro fields are whopping great windows. For now, you'll be safe with him."

  Agis breathed a sigh of relief; the second half of the old man's comment made sense. Apparently the spell had been a short-lived one and he could now hear and speak normally. He stepped toward the old man. "Before you go—"

  The sorcerer cut Agis off by jabbing the tip of his cane into the noble's chest. "The answer is no," he spat. With that, the old man turned sharply away and stepped out of the makeshift slaveyard.

  Motioning Caro to come fo
rward with the sorcerer's purse, Agis started to follow. "At least hear me out."

  The noble was stopped by his new slave. "My name is Sadira," she said, stepping in front of him.

  Agis tried to move around her, but she once again blocked his way. Fixing her icy blue eyes on his, she added, "I don't know why you bought me, but I assure you, it was a waste of good gold."

  EIGHT

  Kalak's Treasure

  Tithian and three subordinates stood in the lowest room of the ziggurat, staring down at an iron trapdoor that had once been hidden beneath two layers of bricks. The low-ranking templars had discovered it a few hours earlier, while searching for the last of the Veiled Alliance's hidden amulets.

  "Go ahead" Tithian said, motioning to the door.

  One of the assistants, a half-elf named Gathalimay, kneeled on the floor. He released the lever holding the circular door closed, and it fell open with a loud creak. Gathalimay took a torch and peered into the darkness below.

  "It's a tunnel!" he called.

  "We'd better see where it leads," Tithian said.

  He ordered one of the templars to stay behind, then took the other two and descended into the tunnel. They found a circular, man-sized corridor running eastward beneath the gladiatorial arena. It was lined with bricks of black obsidian that made the strange passageway seem supernaturally gloomy and dark.

  "Who dug this, the Veiled Alliance?" asked Stravos, a wiry, gray-haired human.

  "We'll see soon enough," Tithian said, motioning his two assistants forward.

  After walking a time in the strange corridor, Gathalimay stopped and looked up. Above his head rose a small shaft, also lined with obsidian. He held his torch close to the cavity, but they could not see the top.

  "Where does that go?" he asked.

  "There's only one place it can go," Tithian replied. "We're underneath the fighting floor of the arena. It must lead to a trapdoor concealed under the sand."

  The half-elf glanced around. "We aren't near the prop room for the games, are we?"

  Tithian shook his head. "We've gone too far. Those chambers and the shafts that lead up to the arena are closer to the middle of the field."

  "Why would the Veiled Alliance build a shaft like this?" asked Stravos.

  "What makes you think the Alliance built it?" Tithian countered, motioning him and Gathalimay forward. "We're heading toward Kalak's palace."

  A short distance later, the tunnel ended. In the ceiling hung another trapdoor with a bas relief of the Dragon's head molded into it. The beast's sunken eyes seemed fixed on Tithian's face, and its jagged-toothed muzzle gaped open as if ready to seize anyone who attempted to open the door.

  Despite his curiosity, Tithian was tempted to leave the trapdoor closed. He had no doubt that they were somewhere beneath Kalak's Golden Tower, which meant the tunnel could only be a secret passage connecting the palace and the ziggurat. He doubted that the king would be happy to know it had been discovered.

  Unfortunately, he and his men had only recovered one of the two amulets that remained secreted in the ziggurat. He could not afford to ignore the possibility that the other had been planted in this tunnel or on the other side of the door Besides, Tithian was curious. As the High Templar of both Games and the King's Works, it seemed suspicious to him that Kalak had not mentioned this secret passageway. He wanted to find out as much about it as he could.

  Tithian stepped away from the door and motioned to the half-elf. "Gathalimay, give Stravos a lift so he can open the door."

  Stravos's wiry face went ashen.

  "We'll have a look around and cast a few detection spells," Tithian said, more to reassure himself than the human templar. "If the last amulet isn't there, we'll close the door and forget we ever saw this place."

  Gathalimay created a stirrup with his pudgy hands, then Stravos swallowed hard and stepped up. When the gray-haired templar released the latch, the rusty door fell open with a loud creak. Dim white light shone down into the tunnel.

  Tithian motioned the man through the doorway, then passed his torch up and followed himself. As Stravos reached down to help Gathalimay through the trapdoor, Tithian lifted his eyes to examine their surroundings.

  He saw that they had come up facing the wall of a gloomy chamber. Suddenly a melon-sized globe of yellow-green light appeared in front of him. The sphere hovered four feet off the ground, a fuzzy, undulating, indistinct ball of glowing haze shaped vaguely like a bald head with a sagging chin.

  "Lord Tithian?" asked the shaky voice of Agis's aged valet, Caro.

  Beneath his breath, Tithian swore at the spy's bad timing. "I'm busy. Contact me later."

  The ball changed hue to deeper green and blurred even more. "This is the first chance I've had to sneak away in three days and it might be the last for another three. You'll have to listen now or take your chances on hearing from me again."

  Tithian sighed, cursing the combination of dwarven obstinacy and Agis's leniency that made Caro so insistent. He had turned the old valet to his cause after confiscating his old friend's slaves. It had been an easy matter to undermine the dwarf's loyalty to the Asticles family, for the high templar understood the power of both bondage and liberty as few other free men did. When presented with the option of dying in the king's brick pits or earning his liberty by spying on Agis, Caro had opted for freedom.

  "Hold the crystal away from your face," Tithian ordered. "We'll be able to see each other."

  He had given Caro a magical crystal of olivine that the dwarf could use to communicate with him. Just as he could see Caro in the ghostly light, he knew that his spy could see his own face in the crystal itself. Tithian's words would sound like no more than a faint whisper to anyone except the person holding the crystal.

  As Caro obeyed, the heavy furrows of the dwarf's withered face came into focus. The old slave was squinting into the crystal, his wrinkled brow folded in concentration and his toothless mouth hanging open.

  "What is it?" Tithian demanded.

  The high templar listened impatiently as Caro told him about the meeting between Agis and the other four nobles, as well as the attack that had resulted in Jaseela's injury. Tithian was not surprised by anything the dwarf told him, for he had expected his friend to respond to the slave confiscations by doing something foolish.

  When the dwarf related the story of Agis's purchase at the slave auction, Tithian's impatience changed to interest. "What's the girl's name?" he demanded, temporarily forgetting where he was standing.

  "Her name is Sadira.

  "Don't let her out of your sight!" Tithian exclaimed, motioning for Stravos to stand up. "Where are you? I'll send someone to watch her immediately."

  "That will do you no good," Caro replied. A few minutes after he bought her, Lord Agis gave the girl a bag of gold and set her free. He told her he wanted to aid the rebellion and that she should contact him when Those Who Wear the Veil needed his help."

  "I have the luck of a blind desert runner!" Tithian snarled. "What did the other bidder look like?"

  With growing frustration, the high templar listened as the dwarf offered a portrait that, save for the obsidian-pommeled cane, could have fit half the craftsmen in Tyr. Once Caro had finished his description, Tithian questioned him briefly about the auction and the elves who had run it.

  "You'll be a free man soon," Tithian said, as the conversation wore to a close. "Besides, with your help, it'll be much easier for me to keep Agis out of trouble. You're doing the Asticles family a great service."

  "I know what I'm doing," Caro replied, the black pits of his eyes fixed steadily on Tithian's face. "Don't make a fool of me by pretending that it's anything but betrayal." Tithian shrugged. "Think of your service however you wish," he said. "If you see Sadira again, contact me immediately. You'll have your freedom the same day I capture her."

  "I will," Caro replied. He closed his fingers over the crystal, and his shriveled face disappeared from view.

  Tithian turned to his subo
rdinates. "Forget you heard a word of this."

  No sooner had he issued the command than he wondered if there had been any need. Both Stravos and Gathalimay were staring at the room with gaping mouths. Tithian joined them in inspecting their surroundings.

  They had entered an immense chamber in the bottom of the Golden Tower. Copper-plated rafters hung high overhead. In the squares between the beams were carved shadowy figures of beasts that Tithian did not recognize. At the edges of the ceiling, fluted columns of granite supported the gilded rafters. Between these pillars stood row after row of wooden shelving. Most of the planks were empty, save for a few ceramic urns and metal boxes filled with coins and glittering jewels. In a few places, the murky outline of an ancient steel sword or battle-axe occupied an otherwise empty shelf. On one shelf rested an entire suit of dust-covered armor.

  A translucent, alabaster panel through which shone a filmy white light provided the chamber's weak illumination. Beneath the alabaster panel sat a black, glassy pyramid taller than a full giant and more than a dozen paces across at the base. The entire structure had been carved from a single block of obsidian, the surface polished to icy smoothness. It seemed to Tithian that he was staring into the heart of darkness itself, and he felt more curious than ever about the significance of the obsidian corridor.

  The top of the pyramid was flat, forming a small deck large enough for several men to stand upon. Along the edge of the deck sat two-dozen balls—also of polished obsidian—ranging in size from that of a piece of fruit to as large as a half-giant's head. As strange as they were, the ebony globes were not what caught the high templar's eye. A magnificent silver-gilded throne stood at the front of the deck.

  On the arms of the throne sat a pair of human heads with topknots of long, coarse hair, their faces turned toward a diminutive figure perched at the edge of the seat. Tithian could just make out the gleam of a golden diadem ringing the old man's head and see that deep-etched lines of age creased his withered face. The high templar had no doubt that he was looking at Kalak.