The Verdent Passage

by Troy Denning

  At Tithian's side, Stravos gasped as he turned and saw who was watching them. The aged templar stepped toward the exit. The trapdoor suddenly swung shut with an ominous clang, sealing them all in the vault with Kalak. Stravos faced the king and fell to his knees, an action quickly mimicked by Gathalimay.

  "Mighty One," Stravos began, inclining his head toward Kalak. "Forgive our intrusion—"

  "Quiet!" Tithian ordered, cuffing the templar across the head. He had no idea how Kalak would respond to their presence, but he did not want to make the king angry by having his subordinates behave disrespectfully. "How dare you speak without permission!"

  After a short silence, Kalak turned one of the heads so that it faced the three templars. "Look, Wyan. Intruders."

  Tithian could make out just enough detail to see that Wyan's head was sallow-skinned and sunken-featured. Its leathery lips were curled into a sinister grin, revealing a broken set of yellowed teeth. Fixing its gray eyes on the trio it said, "Filthy murderers come to assassinate their king, don't you think, Sacha?"

  The other head asked, "Why do you always think of murder, Wyan? Perhaps they're greedy thieves, come to steal what's left of our treasure."

  "My treasure!" Kalak stormed, sweeping Sacha off the throne's arm.

  The head rolled down the pyramid and landed in from of the intruders. It was grotesquely bloated, with puffy cheeks and eyes swollen to narrow, dark slits. It stared up at Tithian with a grisly snarl.

  "Our treasure," Sacha insisted to the high templar. "Kalak spent it all on his ziggurat. A millennium of prudence and thrift, thrown away in a mere century."

  Tithian studied the thing in ghastly wonder. There was a glow of intelligence in its dusky eyes, and the spiteful expression on its face seemed as lively and spirited as any he had ever seen on a templar's face. The heads, he realized, were no mere zombies that Kalak had animated for his own amusement. They were alive, at least after a fashion.

  Kalak grabbed Wyan's head by the topknot and stepped to the edge of the deck. He crept down the smooth surface of the pyramid as easily as he would have crossed a level floor. As the king came closer, Tithian saw that the skin of Wyan's missing neck had been gathered up beneath the jawline and neatly stitched into a straight seam.

  When Kalak reached the bottom of the pyramid, he dropped Wyan next to Sacha. The two heads fell to arguing about whether the three intruders were murderers or thieves, and Kalak moved close to Gathalimay.

  "This one was thinking of stealing," said the ancient monarch.

  "No, Mighty One," Gathalimay answered, not daring to lift his eyes from the floor. "I was merely awed—

  "Don't lie to your king!" Kalak snapped," glaring at the half-elf.

  "I'm sorry, Great King," Gathalimay answered, his voice trembling. "The thought crept into my mind, but I would never—"

  What you would have done doesn't matter," the sorcerer-king interrupted.

  Kalak stepped behind the kneeling templar, grabbing Gathalimay's chin with one hand and placing the other on the back of the half-elf's head. He jerked the chin to one side and pushed forward at the base of the skull, snapping the neck with a single crack. The body slumped to the floor in a flaccid heap.

  The only emotion Tithian felt at the loss of his subordinate was fear for himself. It seemed entirely possible that the king would kill him as well.

  Kalak stepped to Stravos next. "This one is frightened."

  "Kill him!" urged one of the heads.

  "Please, Mighty One. I only opened the door because the High Templar ordered it," he said, his voice quavering. "I've done nothing wrong."

  "Are you not frightened of me?" Kalak demanded.

  "M-most certainly, Great King."

  "That is wrong," Kalak responded. "You are mine. If I choose to kill you, you should be happy because that is my will. You should not be frightened because your insignificant existence is about to end."

  "Yes, my king. I understand that now," Stravos said.

  "Let us see if you do."

  The king reached down to Stravos's belt and drew the templar's dagger, then smiled as he saw that it had an obsidian blade. "Feed the dagger," he said, handing the weapon to Stravos.

  The templar stared at the knife in horror, but made no move to do as the king ordered.

  "Feed the dagger," echoed Sacha and Wyan, their bloated gray eyes sparkling with anticipation.

  As Tithian watched the scene, his fear for his own life mounted. So did his interest in the sorcerer-king's seemingly insane actions. Obsidian was so common that it was used to make weapons and inexpensive jewelry. He was surprised to see Kalak and the heads treating the stone as if it had magical properties.

  At last Stravos directed the blade toward his own heart but he froze there. His lips began to quiver and tears welled in his eyes. "My king, show pity on a poor subject."

  "I thought as much," sneered Kalak, fixing his black eyes on the dagger.

  Stravos suddenly gripped the hilt more tightly. The muscles on his arms tensed as he struggled against the king's mind. "No, please!" The blade moved closer and closer to his chest, though the templar fought to hold it back. A crooked grin crossed the king's lips. The hilt slipped from between Stravos's hands and plunged deep into his stomach. The gray-haired templar grasped at the dagger, then pitched forward and rolled onto his side. He lay groaning on the marble floor, lacking the strength to pull the blade from his gut.

  "You should have done it yourself," Kalak chuckled. "You could have chosen to die a lot faster."

  Tithian watched a stream of blood spill put of the wound and spread over the marble floor.

  The king looked at Tithian next. "I didn't summon my high templar," he said. "What is he doing here?"

  "Robbing " said Sacha.

  "Spying," said Wyan.

  Though he had not been given permission to speak, Tithian decided to explain before the two heads convinced Kalak to execute him. Trying to keep his fear from showing the high templar met the king's gaze. "Mighty One, we were searching for the Veiled Alliance's last amulet when we discovered the secret passage between the ziggurat and your palace. We only opened the door to be sure—"

  Kalak raised an eyebrow. "Does he really believe that Those Who Wear the Veil hid an amulet in my treasure vault, Wyan?"

  "I had to be certain," Tithian answered before the undead creatures could speak.

  "He's disrespectful," said Sacha.

  "Kill him, too," added Wyan.

  Kalak shook his wispy-haired head. "Not Tithian," he said. "I have need of him."

  Tithian breathed a sigh of relief.

  "Tithian of Mericles?" demanded Sacha. "This snake-faced runt can't be a descendant of mine!"

  Tithian's jaw fell slack, and he stared at the bloated head in astonishment. "Who are you?"

  With an amused chuckle, Kalak lifted his disembodied companions by their topknots. He brought Sacha over to the high templar and held the head out to him. Tithian accepted it with both hands, and was surprised to discover the head seemed as warm as any living body.

  "I present Sacha the Beastly, progenitor of the noble Mericles line," the king said to Tithian. "Sacha and Wyan were the two chieftains who accompanied me when I conquered Tyr."

  "You mean the chieftains who conquered it for you," Sacha spar.

  Kalak ignored the comment and stooped over Stravos's groaning form. He pulled the dagger from the templar's wound. The man cried out as blood began to gush from his shredded stomach.

  Tithian stared at the head in his hands. He felt nothing but disgust toward his ancient ancestor and could not bring himself to accept that the thing's blood ran in his veins.

  Kalak moved to Stravos's side and placed Wyan in front of the templar's wound. The sallow head extended its ash-colored tongue and began lapping up blood.

  Kalak handed the dagger to Tithian and motioned toward Gathalimay's inert form. "Feed your ancestor," he said. "Then we'll discuss some things I want you to do for me."


  Tithian tucked Sacha under one arm and went to the half-elf's body. "Where would you like me to cut him?" he asked the head.

  "The throat" Sacha said anxiously. "Prop his feet up. The blood will flow more freely."

  Tithian placed the bloated head near the dead templar's throat and did as his ancestor instructed. He left the dagger lying on Gathalimay's barrel-shaped chest.

  Kalak gripped Tithian's arm and led him to the base of the pyramid, squeezing the high templar's elbow painfully. "You saw the shaft leading down from my arena into my tunnel?"

  Tithian nodded. "Yes, my king." His arm began to throb beneath Kalak's grip.

  "Good. During the games commemorating the completion of the ziggurat, you must place this obsidian pyramid over the shaft you passed, but only when the last match of the day begins. Make it look like part of the contest."

  Tithian studied the enormous structure with an eye toward moving it. Teleporting the pyramid would require more magic than the king had granted him, but he thought he could shrink it just long enough to move it. "What about the throne and the balls?" he asked. "Should I place them in the arena as well, Mighty One?"

  "No!" Kalak hissed. His long fingernails broke the surface of Tithian's skin and drew blood. "Don't touch anything else. The globes and the throne stay here with me!" "As you command," Tithian replied evenly. "Forgive me for asking. Is there anything else?"

  Kalak nodded. "When the last game begins, I want you to lock all the gates to my stadium."

  "Until when?"

  "Don't worry about opening them," the king said. "You'll need to make special preparations so they can't be burned down."

  "How long will we keep the gates closed?" Tithian asked. "It won't be an easy matter to provide food and water for forty thousand people."

  "You won't have to feed them," Kalak said. "Just keep them inside."

  Tithian frowned, puzzled by the unusual order. "Perhaps it would help if you could tell me—"

  "You don't need to know anything else, High Templar," Kalak snapped. He glared at Tithian from beneath his aged brow. "All you need to know is that I want the gates closed and the spectators kept inside."

  "Yes, Mighty One," Tithian replied, looking at the floor. Clearly, Kalak had more in mind for the games than celebrating the ziggurat's completion. He suspected that whatever it was, it would not be pleasant.

  "We'll need a security force to keep the spectators in their seats after my games end," Kalak continued. "I've placed Larkyn in charge of that. You are to coordinate with him regarding how the gates are sealed, but don't question anything else he wants done. Is that clear?"

  "As you wish," Tithian replied. He was not happy to learn that this particular task had been given to someone outside his sphere of influence. The high templar wondered how many other similar, regrettable assignments the king had made.

  Kalak flicked a wrist at the trapdoor, and it clanged open again. "From what I heard of the conversation with your spy, it appears you're having trouble discovering the plan being hatched by the feeble sorcerers in the Veiled Alliance."

  Tithian took a deep breath, then said, "They won't disrupt the games. You have my word, Mighty One."

  "I don't want your promise," Kalak replied sharply. "I want them dead."

  "Yes, my king," Tithian said as calmly as he could. His heart was pounding so hard that it muted his words in his own ears.

  Kalak studied his servant for a moment. "These sorcerers are as wary as jackals," he said. "Perhaps it is time to offer some bait to lure them into the open."

  "Into the open, Mighty One?"

  The king nodded. "Use that simpleton senator, Agis of Asticles. You're his friend, are you not?" Kalak said. "Think of something the Alliance wants and offer it through him."

  "He has no connections with the Veiled Alliance!" Tithian protested.

  "Do not lie to me, Tithian. Agis has more of a connection to Those Who Wear the Veil than anyone within your grasp. Besides, the good senator participated in an open revolt against my servants," Kalak replied, narrowing his eyes to dark slits. "Use him or kill him!'

  Tithian bowed his head. "Yes, my king."

  Kalak studied Tithian for a few moments, then nodded. "Good. Now, who else knows about my tunnel?"

  "Only the guard I left at the other end," the high templar replied.

  Kalak smiled. "Have him lay the bricks back over my door when you return to the ziggurat."

  "As you wish," the high templar nodded. "And after he's done that, I'll kill him personally.

  "Yes Tithian," Kalak said, looking back to his obsidian pyramid with an eerie smile. "We must keep my tunnel a secret."

  NINE

  Tin Gates

  Sadira stood beneath a portico across the street from Tyr's gladiatorial arena. The immense structure's high walls were supported by four stories of marble arches, with those at street-level covering short tunnels that ran into the stadium. Though the crimson sun had just risen, these entryways already swarmed with slaves cleaning the stones in preparation for the coming games. From inside the passageways echoed the creak of pulleys and a constant din of strident hammering, high-pitched and sharp.

  "Can't you at least tell me why I'm doing this?" Agis asked. He stood next to Sadira, along with his manservant Caro. "I'd hate to think I'm risking my life for the sake of a test."

  The sorceress shook her head, sending waves of rosy light dancing through her hair. "That's not the way we work," she said sternly. Though her statement was technically true, what it implied was not. The Alliance had not authorized her to contact the noble. Asking Agis for help was Sadira's idea. "If you can't convince Tithian to do as you ask, it'll be better if you don't know much."

  On his master's behalf, Caro demanded, "Better for whom?"

  "Better for the Veiled Alliance," Sadira replied. "If Lord Tithian realizes Agis is trying to influence him through the Way of the Unseen, nothing will save your master."

  The shriveled dwarf looked at Agis, creasing his hairless brow against the ruddy rays of the morning sun. "You deserve to know why you're risking your life," Caro declared, casting a caustic glance at Sadira. "She's playing you for a fool."

  "Agis said he wanted to help the rebellion," the half-elf replied. "Here's his chance."

  The dwarf shook his head. "You should tell us why—"

  "That's enough, Caro," Agis interrupted. "I'm the one who's taking the chances here. If I don't need to know the reason, then neither do you."

  Caro glared at Agis, but pressed the matter no further.

  Sadira took the noble's hand and squeezed it warmly. "Be careful. When you return, don't stop to talk to us. Walk down the street six blocks, then wait for us there. Once I'm sure you haven't been followed, we'll join you."

  Agis smiled. "You are careful, aren't you?" Without waiting for a response, he set off across the street.

  Sadira watched him go, hoping she was not making a terrible mistake. Two days earlier, when Agis had set her free, she had feared the noble's generosity was a templar plot to locate the Alliance. Instead of trying to find her contact, she had taken a room and spent the night waiting for the sorcerer-king's guards to break the door down.

  Sadira had spent the next day trying to look suspicious striking up conversations with perfect strangers and sneaking into the back entrances of a dizzying array of shops and taverns During the whole time, she had kept a he might be following her, but had seen no one. At last, she had come to the conclusion that Agis's offer was sincere.

  It was then that the sorceress had made her most difficult decision: not to return to the Veiled Alliance. Ktandeo would have bustled her out of the city immediately, giving no further thought to Rikus or to convincing the mul to kill Kalak, so Sadira had decided to accept the senator's offer of help.

  The sorceress had approached the noble in the Alliance's name, hoping he could use his status to arrange a safe meeting between her and Rikus. Unfortunately, she had soon realized that even Agis could not orga
nize a rendezvous without the possibility of alerting Tithian to what was happening. Nevertheless, Sadira had asked him to try. Unless she spoke to Rikus, the Alliance's plan for assassinating Kalak was doomed anyway.

  On the other side of the street, Agis paused at an entrance to the stadium. A sour-faced templar met the noble at the open gate, a steel-bladed glaive in his hands. "You're not permitted inside," the man said flatly.

  "I'm Agis of Asticles," the noble replied.

  "So?"

  "Tithian—er, the High Templar of the King's Works— asked me to meet him here this morning."

  The templar's scowl deepened. "Why didn't you say so?" he demanded, stepping aside. The man turned and called over his shoulder, "This is the one."

  Another templar, this one a woman in her mid-thirties, stepped from the shadows. "This way," she ordered, waving him forward.

  Agis stepped beneath the arch and was temporarily blinded by the stark contrast between the morning light and the shady stadium. The smell of burning charcoal hung heavy in the air, and the sound of striking hammers echoed down stone passageways opening to both sides of the corridor.

  "I said, this way," the female templar repeated, grabbing Agis's arm and roughly pulling him forward.

  They emerged onto a cobblestone terrace that ran along one side of the stadium. Far below the terrace lay a huge field of sandy ground that would have taken even a mul half a minute to sprint across. At one end of the field stood Kalak's immense palace, with its large balcony overhanging the arena. At the other end loomed the rainbow-hued ziggurat, still shrouded beneath a web of ropes and swarming with an army of slaves.

  Below the terrace, tier after tier of stone bench work descended toward the sandy arena floor. Behind Agis rose more grandstands, with an immense balcony overhanging them. Though the senator was not fond of the sport played in the stadium, he had to admit that the structure itself was an impressive feat of architecture.

  Agis's guide led him along the terrace, stepping around several large braziers filled with glowing charcoal. Sweating smiths heated ingots of tin over the coals while others worked nearby to hammer out thin sheets of the light metal.