The prince nodded his agreement, and King turned once more to the narrow entrance. “You see anything?” he asked Daniel.
“It is quiet,” the old man answered. “The pilgrims have all but disappeared.” He looked over at King, his face strained. “Which does not bode well for us, I am afraid.”
“You think the big guy and his scrawny brother are out there?”
“I think someone is. As to who, I am uncertain.”
King gave one last glance out and shrugged. “Well, can’t you just call up a vision or something?”
Daniel shook his head. “It does not work that way. A prophet of Yahweh is not a soothsayer or diviner. The Lord provides when he deems it best to provide.”
King sighed. “This is exactly why I don’t have much use for gods in general. They’re never in much hurry to lend a hand when it’s really needed.”
“Do not be too quick to judge, warrior,” Daniel said. “He brought me to you when you needed me most, did he not? And you to Belshazzar.”
“I had it under control.”
The old man laughed quietly at this, then stepped out into the night without another word.
“Do you trust him?” King asked Belshazzar, before allowing the boy to follow.
The prince nodded without hesitation. “With my life.”
King let the prince pass and took a deep breath. “I suppose that’ll have to do for now,” he mumbled to himself. “But I’d much rather have a bazooka than a crazy old man by my side.”
He stepped out into the night and began making his way down the steep decline to the temple’s foundation. The moment his foot touched solid ground, he felt it shake.
13
The earth trembled beneath his feet, throwing him off balance. In the distance, toward town, bone-chilling screams broke out from the suddenly awakening masses. A trumpet blared, followed immediately by a great unearthly roar.
“It’s the Girtablilu!” shouted Daniel. “They’ve found us!”
How on earth has everyone and their mother tracked us so easily? King wondered as he hefted the massive bludgeon onto his shoulder. It’s like we have a neon sign on our backs.
King leaned forward to peer past the temple gates, but could see nothing of the scorpion men yet. “Is there a back door?”
“The priest’s gate,” Belshazzar said. “It is underground. It allows the priests to enter the temple unseen.”
“Perfect. Daniel, take the prince and get him out of here. Forget the horses. Sereb-Meloch will have men watching the stables. Just leave the city as best you can. Head southwest, and I’ll catch up as soon as I can.”
“Wait. What are you going to do?” asked Belshazzar.
“I’m going to make some noise,” King grinned. “Hopefully draw them away from your escape.”
“But why?” the prince asked. “The priest entrance is perfect for hiding our escape from prying eyes. There is no need to take a stand now.”
King looked from Belshazzar to the old man, who nodded his understanding.
“Come lad,” Daniel said, placing a gnarled hand on the prince’s shoulder. “Achelous is correct. Though the tunnels will certainly hinder their pursuit, it would not be enough. Your journey to Eridu must remain a secret. From Nippur, you might just as easily be heading home. But if Sereb-Meloch, or worse, your grandfather, surmises your true plans, no resources would be spared from stopping you. Your Guardian is going to lead them away in a different direction, I suspect.”
More shouts of terror echoed through the city streets. They were closer this time.
King nodded at Daniel’s deduction and turned to the prince. “I don’t plan to fight for long. It might be difficult to kill me, but I don’t believe I’m immortal either. No need for unnecessary risks. I just want to lead them in a different direction.”
Belshazzar stood silent for several seconds before nodding. “All right,” he finally said. “I will go with Daniy-yel. But you must survive this, Guardian. Without you, all hope of stopping Sereb-Meloch from releasing Tiamat’s destruction is lost.”
Daniel looked at King. “Just west of the town of Fara, there is a system of caverns near the entrance to a series of strange-looking rock formations. You cannot miss them. Look for us there when you’ve made your escape.”
An inhuman roar exploded from just outside the temple gates. The horrendous cacophony was followed by another rumble in the earth. “Go. Now!’ King shouted, grasping the club tight in both hands. “We’re out of time.”
Without argument, the old man and the boy dashed off in the other direction, disappearing in the darkness behind the ziggurat. King hefted the massive club and ran toward the temple’s main gate. Just as he reached the fifteen-meter-tall entrance, an explosion of brick and masonry blew him backwards. He landed on his back, five feet away.
Shaking his head from the indirect blow, King looked up to see a storm of dust and powdered mortar swirling all around him. As a soft breeze blew the cloud away, he slowly began to make out the form of two giant creatures lumbering toward him through the wide hole in the stone wall. The creatures’ long, serpentine tails bent backwards behind their human-shaped heads as they hissed.
Tiamba and Namtar drew closer, their hideously deformed faces resembling masks of fury and hate. Between them, walking casually, as if the temple grounds were his to call home, was Sereb-Meloch. A cruel smile twisted across his face.
“They are most displeased with you,” the High Priest of Tiamat whispered. “You helped their prized sacrifice escape his fate. Their wrath remains unsated. Unfocused. They demand blood...as much as they can consume until the prince fills their bellies.” He watched as King clambered to his feet and dusted himself off. “I suppose your mongrel blood will have to do for now.”
King’s eyes quickly scanned his surroundings, peering past the two brutes and their master. Though the gate had been widened by the Girtablilus’ fierce attack, the way was now completely bottlenecked by the mercenary Zaidu and his men. The only way out would be the route Daniel and Belshazzar had taken, which would negate the entire purpose of King having remained behind.
No matter which way he played it, he could see only one possible outcome—his death. But King was determined to take as many of them with him as he could. Without uttering a word, he ran straight for Sereb-Meloch, bringing the club back as he did. The high priest shrieked in surprise, tucking himself into a protective ball. He needn’t have bothered. Before reaching the cringing man, one black-armored scimitar of an arm lashed out, batting King away, as if he was a child’s toy. For the second time in as many minutes, he was hurled backwards. The club slipped away from his grip, as he crashed to the ground.
Before he could recover, Tiamba pounced. Leaping nearly ten feet, the arachnid creature extended its arm directly toward King’s torso as it dropped from the sky. Rolling out of the way, King scrambled to his feet, rolled toward the creature’s left flank and jumped onto its back. He clambered up Tiamba’s torso and wrapped both arms around its massive neck, putting the beast in a monstrous sleeper hold.
Tiamba roared as it twisted and bucked against its unwanted rider, but King’s grip held firm. Putting every ounce of strength he had into it, King tightened the hold, attempting to choke the monster. With the segmented armor running up the Girtablilu’s neck, he wasn’t sure he was doing anything other than annoying it. But at least from this position, he knew Tiamba wouldn’t risk using its stinger, for fear of striking itself. Sereb-Meloch’s men and Namtar, wouldn’t risk injuring the other creature either. And every second they wasted with King was another second Daniel and the prince had to slip away unnoticed. So for the moment, King figured he held the advantage.
But the moment didn’t last long.
Without warning, Tiamba dashed forward, running full speed toward the immense temple wall ahead. The creature twisted, raised itself up onto its hind legs, and crashed backwards into the stone masonry. King was wedged between the beast and the wall for a split
second, before being flung through the air. He landed on the sun-crusted earth with a resounding crack, and he felt something pop within him. He couldn’t be sure what it was, but from the intense shooting pain from somewhere inside his gut, he figured it was nothing good. Heaving for breath, he tried to stand before the monster twins could resume the offensive, but his legs wouldn’t budge. He could move nothing below the waist.
His spine had been broken.
14
The two Girtablilu stalked over to him, their tails swaying back and forth like cobras mesmerized by a flute. From between the protection of his two enslaved beasts, Sereb-Meloch strode up to stand near King’s feet. Recovered from his earlier fright, the high priest glared down at his enemy. Hatred and venom radiated from his dark eyes, as he laughed at his fallen foe.
“You have failed, foreigner. Your diversion here has achieved nothing. I anticipated the prince’s escape route and set guards at the other end of the tunnel. By now, the brat should be in their hands.”
No mention of Daniel, King thought. A ray of hope attempted to flutter to the surface of his foul mood. Maybe the priest doesn’t know about the old man.
“So the question,” continued the lanky priest, “is what do we do with you? You are not a god. I would certainly know if you were. Though you have proven impossible to kill.” Sereb-Meloch stepped forward, placing his booted foot on King’s useless legs. Putting his full weight on the left tibia, he applied pressure until the air around them echoed with a loud crack. With the severed spine, King mercifully couldn’t feel the leg break. “And yet, you can be injured, can you not? You can be damaged. And I would hazard to guess that you could be damaged far beyond your body’s ability to repair itself.”
“Possibly,” King said between grinding teeth. “But know this: if you’re wrong, if you fail to kill me… I’ll put you through the same suffering times ten before this is over.”
The high priest leaned down to glare at King. “Oh, I do not think that will happen. I know precisely how to deal with you.” He glanced up at Namtar. “Bring him. I cannot defile this sacrifice to the Mother by killing him on soil dedicated to an inferior god.”
Namtar growled its disapproval, but Sereb-Meloch held his ground. “Do not disobey me, beast. Your goddess would not approve of your rebellion now.”
King couldn’t help wonder what the high priest meant by ‘rebellion now’ as he was lifted into the air and placed across the creature’s wide shoulders. Before he could dedicate any mental energy to the puzzle, however, he succumbed to his extensive injuries and slipped into unconsciousness.
King wasn’t sure how much time had passed when he awakened to full consciousness. He’d slipped into and out of consciousness many times since being carried from Enlil’s temple. His spine had stubbornly refused to repair itself during his slumber. This, of course, told him that A) he had not died since his last encounter with the Girtablilu and B) they couldn’t have been traveling much longer than a day or two. His regenerative abilities would have mended even the most severe of bone fractures if it had been any longer than that—or if he had died. For some reason, a complete death sped up the recuperation.
He turned his attention to the more immediate concern of his current predicament. His head hung toward the ground, his face pressed against the chitin-like armor of the scorpion man’s back. From this vantage point, he could see the creature’s insectoid legs scuttling along a deep bank of sand.
“Achelous!” The voice sounded like Belshazzar, but King couldn’t see the prince from his position. “You’re awake finally.”
“Bel? Is that you?”
A pause. “Yes. They were waiting for us when we emerged from the priests’ way. They hurt Daniel. Left him there. I am not sure if he is alive or dead.”
King twisted his torso, trying to get a better view. But the Girtablilu tightened its grip across his back, keeping him in place.
“Where are we? How long have I been unconscious?”
“Two days march,” the boy said. “I do not know where we are, but I think we are drawing close to Fara.”
There was a shout from behind King, and the creature suddenly halted its march.
“The procession is stopping,” Belshazzar said. His voice was nearer now. King turned in its direction to see a small wheeled cart, complete with a wooden cage, which was being pulled by a donkey. The boy sat cross-legged inside the cage. “I cannot see very far ahead. I do not know why we have stopped.”
“I can guess,” King mumbled to himself more than anyone else.
Confirming his suspicions, he heard the strained, rasping voice of Sereb-Meloch from the front of the processional. “Namtar, bring him to me.”
King looked over at the prince, as the creature began making its way toward its master. “Don’t worry about me. Just do whatever you have to do to survive this. Understand?” His eyes narrowed at the boy. “Just survive. I’ll come for you soon.”
King was carried another thirty yards before being lifted from Namtar’s shoulders and gently placed face up on a flat stone. For the first time, he was able to get a relatively good look at his environment. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much to see. Desert stretched for miles in every direction. To the east, close to a mile away, a series of rock formations rose from the earth like giant teeth. From this distance, he could just make out a narrow pass between the rocks.
That must be where Daniel had planned our rendezvous, King thought.
“Now foreigner,” Sereb-Meloch said, as he waded through the sand and approached the rock slab on which King rested. “We have wasted enough time with you. I have taken you far enough away from Enlil’s city to avoid his wrath. It has given me ample time to study some of the tablets from my library, and I do, indeed, know how to dispatch you now. Permanently.”
King looked up at the man, but refused to speak. Anything he said now would seem as if he was pleading for his life. He refused to give the bastard the satisfaction. Instead, he concentrated on his legs, willing them to move. Praying his spine would repair itself in time. He just hoped the pompous blowhard would keep talking long enough for his regeneration to kick in.
“...a most interesting study,” the high priest was saying, when King returned his attention to the man’s diatribe. “My goddess herself shared some of the secrets with me. The sacred texts. It seems there have been a few of your kind lurking in our midst through the centuries. Creatures of the darkest magic, unable to be killed by conventional means...”
King felt the big toe of his right foot shift within his boot. His heart rate surged with sudden hope. Just a little more...
“...two centuries ago, a rather impressive mage discovered an ordinary means of disposing of your kind. A cruel, painful means, but effective nonetheless. Any idea what it was, Achelous?”
King could no longer hold his tongue. “Sex with your mother?”
It was a childish retort, but the enraged flare from the priest’s eyes made the immaturity well worth the gamble. Drawing the sword from his belt, Sereb-Meloch thrust the blade deeply into King’s abdomen and twisted with all his strength.
“Watch that tongue, foreigner, or I might just remove it and keep it as a memento of your death.” Sereb-Meloch favored King with a cruel smile. “I have always wondered what the afterlife would be like, if one is unable to speak. I might just put it to the test with you.”
The searing pain in King’s gut made it impossible to concentrate on the threat. Blood rushed from the open wound as the priest withdrew the sword. King’s hands clasped futilely at the wound in an attempt to stem the flow of fluid. The slight tremor of his left foot went unnoticed by all but him.
“I truly wish I could savor your death for longer,” Sereb-Meloch goaded. “But my goddess calls me, and I will humbly admit that you are just too dangerous to leave alive. So I will tell you the secret that dark mage discovered, all those centuries ago. He learned that if an immortal creature is beheaded, then set ablaze—their ashes scatter
ed by the four winds—there is no returning from that. There is only death.”
Captain Zaidu sidled up to the priest, just as the man had finished his explanation, casting a disgusted glance in King’s direction. The mercenary brandished a large axe that gleamed in the noonday sun. Following close on their captain’s heels, four more men advanced, carrying bundles of twigs and debris they’d obviously been collecting along the way, to be used for the fire.
“Do you expect me to beg for my life?” King asked, glancing past the motley crew in search of young Belshazzar. The boy’s eyes clouded. Tears began to stream down his cheeks, as Zaidu’s men busied themselves setting up the kindling. King turned back to the priest. “This is your last chance, Meloch. If you do this, I swear to the one and only God that matters... I will make you suffer more than you ever imagined possible.”
The high priest’s mouth opened as if he was about to say something, then closed. He looked over at Zaidu. “Do it.”
The mercenary stepped forward, raised the axe above his head and lined up the best trajectory. Suddenly, King’s legs pulled up toward his stomach and he sprang. The heel of his boot caught Zaidu just under the chin, sending the mercenary sprawling. Taking advantage of the surprise attack, King rolled from the slab, scooped up the fallen axe, and flew to his feet...only to collapse again in a heap. His spine, the broken leg and the most recent evisceration were all simply too much for his body to handle. Complete healing would take time, which was something he didn’t have to spare.
Zaidu’s men jerked King off the ground and dragged him to the slab once more. He was simply too weak to resist. The mercenaries tossed him unceremoniously onto the hard surface. One of the men spat an Akkadian curse before walking away.
Jack Sigler Continuum 1: Guardian Page 7