The Verdant Passage

by Denning, Troy

  Ktandeo took a deep breath, then led them down a bank to a small cobblestone courtyard. Although she was surprised to see such a thing under the city, Sadira had no time to puzzle over its origin. As they crossed the courtyard, she kept her attention focused over her shoulder, glancing at the ground only occasionally to look for obstacles. By the time they reached the other side of the small courtyard, the first templars were standing at the top of the embankment. They were close enough that she could distinguish between the ones who had mustaches or beards and those who did not. Many of them had stopped pursuing and were staring over her head with their jaws drooping open.

  Sadira looked forward and saw the reason for their shock. Ktandeo’s cane was illuminating the facade of an immense building of granite block, the likes of which she had never seen before. A great apron of stairs led up to several pairs of ornate doors, each set into a high arch covered by a gabled porch. Beautiful windows of colored glass adorned the gables, each depicting a tall man with the head of an eagle, a huge pair of leathery wings, and the lower body of a coiled serpent.

  “What is this place?” Sadira asked, awestruck.

  “It’s the Crimson Shrine,” Ktandeo wheezed, slowly climbing the stairs. “A temple of the ancients.”

  Sadira and Agis froze, for such places were rumored to be the homes of wraiths and ghosts.

  “Beneath Tyr?” Agis asked.

  “Before Tyr was a swamp, it was a sacred wood,” Ktandeo replied, not bothering to turn as he spoke. “That was two thousand years ago. The city was built around this temple.”

  On the far side of the courtyard, the templar commander barked, “Don’t waste time gaping! If they get inside, I’ll send you in after them!”

  Sadira and Agis started after the old man. “How do you know all this?” Agis asked.

  “I’ve spoken with those who inhabit the temple,” the old man answered, reaching the top of the stairs.

  As Sadira stepped to Ktandeo’s side, the purple light of his cane illuminated the wall high above them. Four pairs of tall, dagger-shaped windows flanked a statue depicting the eagle-headed figure in flight. In the windows the figure was shown in flight, too, and from a bucket carried beneath its arm, it was sprinkling rain over a green forest.

  As she studied the wall, Sadira glimpsed a black, man-shaped shadow passing behind one of the dagger-shaped windows. It peered down at Sadira and her companions, setting the slave girl’s heart to pounding with fear.

  “You aren’t thinking of taking us in there?” she asked.

  “The pure of heart have nothing to fear in the Crimson Shrine,” Ktandeo said.

  Agis followed the sorcerer toward the door, but Sadira did not move. “What do you mean by ‘pure of heart’?”

  Ktandeo pointed his cane at the square below. “You can face the crimson knights or Kalak’s mindbenders. Only you know which choice to make.”

  Seeing that a dozen of the king’s bureaucrats had already moved halfway across the courtyard, Sadira said, “I’ll try the knights.”

  Ktandeo motioned for Agis to open the doors of the temple. The noble obeyed, then stepped backward in alarm. “By Ral!”

  In the doorway stood a wraith dressed head to foot in steel armor. Its visor was open, revealing two red eyes that looked out from a mass of churning darkness. Over its breastplate hung a pearly tabard decorated with the eagle-headed figure so prominently depicted in the temple’s facade, and from the crown of its helm rose a fantastic red plume. The wraith held a tall halberd, and its burning eyes were fixed on Agis.

  Beyond the guard lay a cavernous room lit by a thousand candles flickering with a brilliant red flame. It seemed that every inch of the church had been carved with bas reliefs of fantastic creatures.

  “It’s amazing!” Agis gasped. “What keeps all those candles lit, magic?”

  “There is no magic in this temple,” Ktandeo said. “Faith keeps the candles burning.”

  Sadira cast an anxious eye behind them. The twelve templars had reached the bottom of the stairs. On the far side of the square, the templar commander was shouting orders to the rest of his men, sending them along the edge of the embankment to encircle the area.

  “If we’re going inside, let’s do it,” she said.

  Ktandeo slipped past the wraith and entered the temple, the violet glow of his cane dying as he crossed the threshold. The area outside the door grew dim but did not fall entirely dark. The light of the shrine’s candles illuminated the entire stairway.

  Agis motioned for Sadira to enter next, but she shook her head. “You first,” she said.

  The noble stepped toward the door with his customary confidence and poise. As his foot crossed the threshold, the wraith struck him across the brow with the butt of its halberd.

  “No!” Its deep voice echoed far into the pylon forest. Agis let out a surprised cry, then stumbled backward holding his bleeding brow.

  “Cursed nobles!” Ktandeo growled, half-stepping out of the door.

  “Why won’t it let him in?” Sadira demanded, addressing her question half to her master and half to the ghostly guard.

  “Because he owns slaves, perhaps, or for some other vice,” the old sorcerer said, raising his cane and pointing the tip toward the twelve templars on the stairs. “Get down, both of you.”

  As Sadira and Agis obeyed, Ktandeo uttered, “Nok! Quietstorm!”

  Sadira felt her stomach tense, then a beam of white light silently shot from the cane’s tip. It illuminated the face of the closest templar. The man’s torch went out, and he quietly crumpled to the ground in a lifeless heap. A second bolt of light shot from the cane, and Sadira felt more energy being drained from her body. Another templar fell dead. A third flash followed, and then a fourth and a fifth. Each time, another torch went out, another templar died, and Sadira felt a little weaker.

  By the time the cane flared the twelfth time, Sadira lay on the stones gasping for breath and fighting to keep from retching. When she could finally lift her head again, she saw that Ktandeo still stood bathed in light from the interior of temple. He was hunched over and struggling to support himself by hanging onto the door. Agis lay to her right, holding his bleeding head and drawing slow, even breaths.

  “You chided me for killing a little ceiling moss?” she gasped.

  Ktandeo looked up, seeming immeasurably old and feeble. His whole body heaved with the simple effort of breathing.

  “I have taken nothing that cannot be replenished,” the sorcerer wheezed. “What you did destroyed—” He broke into a fit of coughing. When he finished, he said, “You know the difference. Now come. If we close the door, perhaps Agis can sneak away in the darkness.”

  Agis nodded. “Go on,” he said. “My strength is coming back. I’ll be fine. Even if they capture me, I doubt Tithian will let them do me any harm.”

  “I’m not taking that chance,” Sadira insisted, her strength also returning. “We have to change the guard’s mind and get Agis inside.”

  “The guard has no mind to change,” Ktandeo answered weakly. “All it has is faith in its god’s teachings, and those teachings prohibit Agis from entering this temple.”

  On the far side of the courtyard, another half-dozen templars started down the steep bank. Agis rose and started to leave, but Sadira caught his arm.

  “The god can’t still be alive! Kalak would never stand for that beneath his own city,” Sadira objected. “The guard has nothing to lose by making an exception.”

  “You don’t understand,” Ktandeo said, pulling himself completely upright. “The gods of the ancients aren’t sorcerer-kings. They were much more powerful, and those who worshiped them did so with all their hearts—not the way the templars worship Kalak.”

  “What happened to these ancient gods?” Agis asked.

  Ktandeo shook his head. “Like all glories of the past, they faded away. No one knows why.”

  Sadira pulled Agis toward the doorway. “I don’t care about the decree of some dead god
or a wraith’s blind faith in it.”

  Ktandeo blocked her way. “To let Agis in, the guard must break its faith,” the old man said, his voice growing stronger. He pointed toward the interior of the shrine. “Every time a crimson knight breaks its faith, a candle goes out. Does it look like many lights have died in the last two-thousand years?”

  Sadira did not have time to study the room, but at first glance she did not see any unlit candles.

  “If you must stay with Agis, then stay with him,” Ktandeo said, pulling the door closed until only a silver of red light escaped the temple. “Leave me here and go. I’ll be safe until my strength returns, and you two will stand a better chance of escaping without me.”

  “Where will I find you again?” Sadira asked.

  “I’ll find you,” Ktandeo answered, motioning them away. He kept the door cracked open so he could watch them leave.

  Sadira took Agis’s hand and fled down the left side of the temple’s stairs. It appeared that the line of templars ahead of them was fairly spread out. She hoped to sneak through one of the dark places between their glowing torches.

  The commander’s voice suddenly rang across the square. “They’ve changed directions!” he called. “They’re moving toward the left side of the square!”

  The six templars in the square adjusted their approach accordingly.

  “How can he track us from up there?” Agis asked, frustrated. “It’s as if he can smell us!”

  “Not smell us, but feel us!” Sadira exclaimed, suddenly realizing how the templars had tracked them both to the Drunken Giant and through the dark caverns of UnderTyr.

  “What?” Agis asked. “What do you mean?”

  “Magically! He can feel where we are by using magic,” Sadira answered. “Do you still have that bronze disk you tried to give the barman?”

  “Yes, right here.” He placed the token in the half-elf’s hand.

  Sadira smiled in the darkness. “This is what’s leading them to us,” she said, reversing their course and leading Agis back up the stairs. If she was correct about the bronze disk, she thought it would be possible to virtually guarantee their escape.

  “Caro must have slipped it into your purse before you sent him home the other day,” Sadira whispered as they reached the top of the stairs. “The templars tracked us to the Drunken Giant with it, then waited for Ktandeo to show up before springing their trap. With this little trinket to help them keep track of us, they could afford to be patient.”

  On the far side of the square, the commander yelled a curse, then cried, “They’ve reversed directions! They’re heading toward the temple doors!”

  The six templars in the square turned back toward the center of the shrine. Fortunately, the six men’s little detour had delayed their progress, and they were only halfway across the square.

  “Dozens of men went in and out of the wineshop every day,” Agis objected. “How would the templars know which one was your contact?”

  “Caro again,” Sadira answered, working her way back toward the sliver of red light where Ktandeo still held the temple door cracked open. “He was there when you bought me at Radurak’s auction. He would have been able to describe Ktandeo from that incident.”

  Ahead of her, the flickering shaft of light widened as the door opened. Ktandeo stuck his head outside. “I’ll cover your escape, Sadira,” he called in a throaty rasp. In the dim red glow shining from the doorway, the sorceress saw him point his cane at the six templars in the square. “Run.”

  “Wait—”

  In the same instant that Sadira spoke, Ktandeo activated his cane, then called, “Groundflame!”

  A glob of fluorescing green gas spewed from the cane and wafted over the center of the square. The templars stopped moving as the cloud descended in their midst. The stones began to sizzle, and the glowing haze spread out across the square like a ground fog. In the blink of an eye, it changed color to vibrant blue. There was a blinding flash, and the templars screamed once. When Sadira’s vision cleared again, the square was completely dark.

  Ktandeo groaned and grasped at the door to keep from slumping to the ground. The sorceress moved to catch him, but a tremendous thunderclap reverberated off the cavern’s rocky ceiling and floor. A bolt of lighting flashed across the courtyard and slammed into the open door.

  “Ktandeo!” Sadira shrieked, momentarily blinded.

  As her vision cleared, the sorceress saw that the bolt had not even scorched the church door. She dared to hope Ktandeo had escaped injury, then she saw the old man’s crumpled figure lying between the double door.

  Sadira rushed forward and snatched his cane from where it had fallen. As she kneeled at the old man’s side, she saw warm blood streaming from his ears and mouth. Though the lightning bolt had not even scorched the temple’s door, it had slammed the door into Ktandeo, crushing his ribs.

  The sorceress slipped the cane into her master’s hand. “Will this help?” she asked. Tears began running down her cheeks and dripping onto the old man’s face.

  Ktandeo pushed the cane away. “No, that wand only takes life.” He suffered a fit of violent coughing and spewed up a gob of bright red fluid. When he could finally speak again, he said, “Sadira, you must go to Nok.”

  “Nok?” she asked. “Where—”

  The old man grasped her wrist. “Listen! Take my cane, go to Nok in the halfling forests. Get the spear and kill Kalak. Tithian betrayed you, but the danger he showed Agis is real.”

  “What about that danger?” Sadira asked. “Tell me.”

  “Nok, he will—” He fell into another fit of coughing, and Sadira waited patiently for him to stop. She did not even try to suggest that the old man would survive. The lie would have been obvious to both of them, and she would not insult the man who had taught her magic that way.

  When Ktandeo stopped coughing, he motioned her close to him. “You’ll learn the answer there,” he said. “There is one other thing I must tell you, Sadira.”

  She leaned over to hear his final words. “Yes.”

  “Be careful,” he said, gesturing toward the satchel that contained her spellbook. “If the templars hadn’t come, I wouldn’t have given that back to you. You’re walking too close to the edge. Step off, and you will fall so far you’ll never see the light again.”

  With that, he gave one last cough and closed his eyes forever.

  TWELVE

  ASTICLES WINE

  RIKUS DIDN’T CARE MUCH FOR ASTICLES WINE. THE pale golden color reminded him of something he’d rather not drink, and the tart, dry scent made his nose tingle. It had a thin, light taste that left him with a dry month, and after each swallow he had a thirst for something richer and sweeter. Still, compared to the fruit syrup doled out in Tithian’s slave pits, Asticles wine was at least drinkable, and it was a lot more potent than its watery appearance suggested. Besides, drinking it made the gladiator feel like he was stealing something from a nobleman, and he liked that feeling.

  The big mul lifted his crystal goblet and asked, “How about some more?”

  “Have all you like. My master won’t care,” replied Caro, who had introduced himself as the valet of Agis of Asticles. The wrinkled old dwarf picked up a carafe and refilled the goblets of his guests.

  Rikus, Neeva, and Caro were in the western courtyard of the Asticles mansion, sitting on a pair of benches sheltered beneath a vine-covered bower. The bower stood upon a small patio-island located at the center of a deep pool. A narrow bridge ran from the island to the marble colonnade that ringed the pond, and the colonnade was in turn encircled by a granite privacy wall.

  Enormous lily pads covered the surface of the pond. Round, with upturned edges, they resembled green serving trays set out to float on the water. Between the pads drifted pink-hearted blossoms with pearly white petals.

  Every now and then, a flower bobbed once or twice, then Anezka’s wooly-haired head appeared as she treaded water and gulped down a few lungfuls of air. The halfling had bee
n in the pond since they arrived, when she had astonished both Caro and her companions by stripping off her dusty clothes and jumping into the pool.

  Rikus and his companions had spent the previous four days skulking about the desert, sneaking into faro orchards to ask directions of unguarded slaves. They had met with little success, for most fields were deserted, having been ravaged by scavengers or burned by marauders. On the two occasions when they had found someone, the slave had mistaken them for raiders and had run off screaming the alarm. Finally the trio of gladiators had gone to the road, where they had ambushed a templar. He had told them what they needed to know in exchange for a mercifully quick death. After the four-day ordeal, Rikus was so tired and thirsty that he would have joined Anezka in the lily pond, had he known how to swim.

  “How will your master feel about a halfing bathing in his pond?” Rikus asked.

  Caro watched Anezka’s small form slip beneath a lily pad, then smiled crookedly. “Don’t worry about my master,” the dwarf said. “If we wanted to, we could drink the last drop of his wine and swim in his pond for days. He’d never say a word to us, I promise.”

  “Then here’s to Agis of Asticles. May his fortunes prosper!” Neeva said, raising her goblet. When Caro did not match the gesture, the woman asked. “What’s wrong? It’s only proper to drink to your host’s health.”

  “To toast him would be to toast my bondage,” the dwarf replied, his face unreadable.

  “There are worse things than this sort of bondage,” Neeva said, waving her hand around the lavish courtyard. “This is paradise!”

  “Compared to our slave pits, perhaps,” Rikus allowed, rolling his crystal goblet between two grimy fingers. “But slavery is slavery. I doubt that Caro’s master views him much differently than be does this colonnade or his house. It’s all property.”

  Caro nodded. “I couldn’t have put it better, my friend.”

  “Forget I offered that toast,” Neeva said, starting to empty her glass on the ground.