Where The Ni-Lach

by Marcia J. Bennell

  Having chosen one of the narrow tunnels, Captain Mlar dismissed all but six of his men. Placed in the center of the remaining guards, Dhal silently cursed his captors as they reentered the tunnelways. He soon became disoriented. Not only did the tunnels twist and turn back upon themselves, but there were endless stairways, several actually passing each other, one up, one down.

  A sense of helplessness slowly ate into Dhal’s mind. Without a guide, escape from such a maze would be impossible. How could Haradan, who had never been beyond the trading arc, ever manage to find him in this maze of rock?

  At that moment Dhal likened the Sarissa to a pack of gens-volf that made their homes in caves and underground dens. As the gensvolf were dangerous, so too were the Sarissa, dangerous and forever his enemies.

  Chapter 6

  DHALVAD’S JOURNEY ENDED IN A CELL OF STONE. THRUST INSIDE and unbound, he sat in the dark, on a scattering of damp straw and tried to restore the circulation in his hands and fingers. It was a painful task.

  Some time later he explored the confines of his cell. It was five paces square; the only exit was the stone slab door. By standing on his toes he could touch the ceiling. The floor was level but rough, as if unfinished. Embedded in the wall were several rings, one at shoulder level, another down toward the floor. Dhal wondered at their use.

  There was no way to judge time in darkness. Hunger pains came and went several times before the door to Dhal’s cell opened and he received his first visitors. He stood up as the door swung outward into the tunnel. Squinting into the glare of light beyond the open portal, he saw several figures. Then someone stepped into the cell bearing a glowing ball of light. As Dhal shielded his eyes with his hand, he heard the scuffling of boots on stone, then felt the point of a blade touch his chest.

  “Stand quietly, Green One.”

  Dhal didn’t recognize the voice, and his eyes had not sufficiently adjusted to the light for him to tell if it was one of Captain Mlar’s men. He lowered his hand and turned his head to the side, trying to focus on the man directly in front of him.

  A strange smell aroused his curiosity. It was not a bad odor, only different, as if the man had bathed in some herb concoction. Then Dhal remembered Haradan telling him about the Sarissa upper class and their penchant for wearing expensive perfumes.

  His visitor wore a floor-length tunic and an embroidered overvest. Wooden clogs kept his feet from the cool stone floors. Like most Sarissa, he had dark curly hair and dark eyes; unlike the clean-shaven guards standing around him, the man wore a short neatly-trimmed beard. His lips were full, his cheeks hollow.

  For long moments no one said anything, then this man spoke. “Feed him and give him water and in two hours bring him to the regent’s hall, third level.”

  “Yes, sir,” one of the guards responded quickly. “Saan Drambe, is he to be secured in any special manner?”

  “A neck collar and manacles should be sufficient, I think. He is not overlarge, and from Captain Mlar’s report, he’s been quite docile.”

  A flush of anger warmed Dhal’s face. He would not hear himself discussed as if he were no more than a nida kit caught in a trap. Docile! He took a half step forward. He would show them docile!

  The sharp prick of a sword point brought him quickly to his senses. He was not yet ready to die. He moved back, away from the touch of the blade.

  A moment later Dhal realized that the Sarissa had been testing him. Saan Drambe’s low chuckle rumbled forth. “Captain Mlar did call you tame, Green One,” he said, speaking directly to Dhal this time. “But he was wrong, wasn’t he? When the odds aren’t in one’s favor, one is wise to postpone action until the odds change. Right?”

  Dhal remained silent.

  The man shook his head. “It’s been a long time since any of your race have been ‘guests’ in Annaroth. I’m old enough to remember your people and their end and to know that they were an intelligent race who had delved into mysteries that we are now only beginning to uncover. Tell me, are you full Ni or only half-blood?”

  What point in claiming himself either, Dhal thought, since it would mean no change in his status as prisoner?

  One of the guards poked at him with his sword. “Answer!”

  Saan Drambe reached out and touched the guard’s arm. “No, not that way. There are other ways to get the information we want. There’s no need to fight us, Green One. Your best interests lie in cooperating. Believe me.”

  Following Saan Drambe’s departure, Dhal was fed. Any thoughts of refusing the food were quickly overcome by hunger. Unused to having an audience while he ate, he took the wooden platter and turned to the wall, presenting his back to the three guards who stood watching over him.

  When he finished eating, he was ordered at the point of a sword to lie stomach down on the floor. Cursing silently while his hands were fastened behind his back in a pair of manacles, he fought to keep his temper, knowing full well that any violence on his part would only bring him violence returned and in double measure.

  Wait, he thought silently. Wait and pray for the right moment. Escape from such a prison of rock would take time, patience, and a good deal of luck.

  Two hours after Saan Drambe had left his cell, Dhal was escorted through another section of the warrens and up three long flights of stairs to the level reserved for Regent Lasca and his immediate family. In the regent’s quadrant the tunnelways were wider and better lighted.

  Suddenly Dhal felt a sharp jerk on the chain that was attached to the metal collar at his throat. “Hold!” the guard beside him ordered.

  Angered by being treated like some half-tame gensvorf, Dhal deliberately stumbled into the guardsman and stepped on his foot. His weight threw the man off balance; that man, in turn, fell into another of the guardsmen, who was thrown against the wall.

  The next few seconds was a confusion of pushing and shouting. Caught in the middle of the skuffle, Dhal ducked a fist aimed at his face and lunged into his attacker’s legs, knocking him over. The guardsman cried out as his elbow smashed against the wall. Confusion turned into chaos.

  Rolling out from under the tangle of legs, Dhal was sitting up when a nearby door opened and Saan Drambe appeared with two other men. “What’s going on here?” he shouted.

  Dhal was hauled to his feet and pushed up against the tunnel wall. As Saan Drambe listened to the stammer of excuses being offered, he watched Dhalvad, who returned his look with what he hoped was his most innocent expression.

  Interrupting one guard’s description of an escape attempt, Saan Drambe approached the prisoner. “Did you try to escape, Green One?” he asked calmly.

  “No,” Dhal replied, keeping his own voice steady.

  “He’s lying! He was—”

  “Silence!” Saan Drambe roared at the guard. Softening his voice, he added, “I would hear what the prisoner has to say.”

  The guardsman started to object but then thought better of it. “Yes, Saan, your pardon.”

  Saan Drambe turned back to Dhalvad. “If you were not trying to escape, then tell me what happened here.”

  Dhalvad indicated the man to his right. “He pulled on the chain at my neck. I fell and one of the others attacked me. He was clumsy and fell over me. The only thing I was trying to escape was being trampled.”

  One of the guardsmen cursed. Saan Drambe turned on the man. “You have something you wish to say, guardsman?”

  The man started to speak, then hesitated, glancing at his comrades. Finally he shook his head. “No, Saan, nothing.”

  “I see. Well, I’ll look into this matter at a later time. The regent’s waiting now and there’s no more time for delays. Two of you will stay with the prisoner, the other two will remain on duty out here.

  “Come, Dhalvad sar Haradan,” Saan Drambe said, taking the lead on his collar. “It’s time for you to be presented to our regent, Dramnal sar Lasca.”

  The two men who had entered the tunnelway behind Saan Drambe, and who had remained silent throughout the exch
ange of accusations, moved back a step, clearing the doorway. From their long tunics and fancy overvests, Dhal assumed them to be more of the Sarissa upper class—either that or officials of the government of Regent Lasca.

  Saan Drambe paused before the open doorway and gave last-minute orders to the two guards stationed in the tunnelway. “Let no one enter except by order of Regent Lasca or myself. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, Saan,” two voices agreed.

  Following Saan Drambe through the doorway, with the two guards stepping close on his heels, Dhalvad felt apprehensive. Regent Lasca was reputed to be a man of great vitality, a leader who demanded complete obedience from his followers and whose greed was matched only by his lust for more power. It was no secret that the regent’s ambitions included gaining control over every port on the Enzaar Sea. Already he had made pacts with the Bagorians of Port Cestar and the Ruling Council of Port Bhalvar. It was Letsia’s turn next and, according to Haradan, if the Letsians were not careful they would find themselves annexed and under the authority of the Sarissa regent before the year was out.

  They passed through a series of five small rooms, and Dhalvad felt himself to be entering a strange new world. Never had he envisioned such lavishly furnished rooms. There were cushioned platforms for sitting, hanging globe lights in rainbow colors, wall tapestries, rugs, and intricately carved wooden tables on which rested all sorts of delightful-looking objects. Haradan had once spoken of the Sarissa penchant for games; Dhalvad wondered if the inlaid patterns on each table were gaming boards rather than mere designs.

  Saan Drambe slowed his pace as they entered a narrow corridor that was dark and long. One of the guards at Dhalvad’s back placed a hand on his shoulder. As they neared the end of the corridor, Saan Drambe glanced behind him. “If you value your life, Green One, keep a civil tongue and answer only those questions that are asked.”

  When Dhalvad failed to respond, Saan Drambe stopped and turned, confronting him. “Did you understand me?” he asked softly. The warning note in his voice was all the more meaningful for its lack of volume.

  “I understand,” Dhal answered, but in truth he did not. Why should Saan Drambe caution him at all? If by chance Dhal were to anger the regent and be punished, it would not be Saan Drambe’s back that would feel the whip.

  The man gave him one last warning look then, tugging gently on the neck chain, he stepped out of the corridor into a well-lighted chamber the size of a great hall, with a ceiling six times the height of a man.

  Startled by the dimensions of the hall, Dhalvad moved behind Saan Drambe as one in a dream, lost to the brilliant glitter of crystal that hung below the globe lights on the ceiling. Here all was light, as if the suns had somehow found a wedge through the tons of rock that formed the roof to the warrens. In the center of the hall there was a large pool and a fountain that rained water continuously. Around the poolside there were beautifully carved statues of men and women, some in erotic poses. The floor of the hall was laid with small colored stones that swirled in patterns of blue and white. Never before had Dhal seen such fine stonework.

  They passed among a scattering of banquet tables. Then Dhal saw a gathering of people at the other end of the room. In a raised chair, overlooking the heads of the crowd, sat a man of huge proportions: Regent Dramnal sar Lasca.

  As Saan Drambe approached the official seat of State, the thirty or so men who were attending the regent moved to clear an open pathway. Stopping five or six paces from the first step of the platform, Saan Drambe bowed from the waist, as did the two guards. When Dhalvad failed to follow their example, one of the guards hit the back of his legs and pushed him down to his knees, holding him there by a hand on his shoulder.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Saan Drambe saw what happened. Standing to his full height, he glanced in warning at Dhal, then turned to face the regent. “Please excuse the Ni, Reverence. He was found in the Deep and, I fear, is ignorant of our customs.”

  For several moments the regent sat quietly gazing down at Saan Drambe. Then he looked at Dhalvad and stepped down from the platform. He was dressed in a long-sleeved, floor-length tunic, a furred overvest, and a pair of soft leather slippers. Tunic and slippers were black, the vest gray. The colors of rock, Dhalvad thought.

  Though the regent wore no jewelry about neck or arms, his fingers were weighted down with golden rings. As he stopped a pace or two away, Dhal became aware of a spicy odor emanating from him. The heavy scent far overpowered the perfume worn by Saan Drambe.

  “Let him stand,” Regent Lasca said.

  Dhal was quickly pulled to his feet, his arms held by the two guards.

  “He certainly hasn’t the look of the Ni-lach,” the regent said, moving a step closer. “Yet Captain Mlar has told us that he displayed unusual powers of healing.”

  All eyes were on Dhalvad as the regent reached out and took a firm grip on his hair. Moving as one, the guards stepped forward to restrain Dhal’s legs. Regent Lasca pulled on Dhal’s hair, forcing his head up and back. The regent’s eyes were as black as the tunic he wore. Feature by feature, he studied Dhal’s face, then hair.

  “It’s dyed. Reverence,” Saan Drambe offered.

  “Yes, I can see it. What about his eyes?”

  “Look close, Reverence, and I think you’ll see what you look for.”

  “I didn’t think it possible to change eye color, Saan Drambe. How is it done?”

  “Probably some plant or drug, sir. The Ni-lach are well versed in such things. If we restrict his diet, the eye color should revert to normal in a few weeks. Of course, there is the possibility he is only half-blood. If so his eye color might be natural. You will note, however, that he doesn’t need a shave. In fact, I doubt he ever has. Another Ni-lach characteristic.”

  It was true. Dhal had never shaved. Haradan had always told him that beards came with maturity. He had assumed that at a later age he would have to shave, as Haradan did. The truth came somewhat as a shock. What other things was he to learn about himself?

  When finished with his examination, the regent released Dhal’s head and moved back to stand beside Saan Drambe. “Strip him.”

  Rather than free Dhal’s wrists from the manacles, the guards chose to cut his clothes away. Suppressing the urge to fight back, Dhalvad stood quietly, eyes down, waiting for it all to be over. His fear of being killed outright had left him. They wanted something from him. He was sure of it. So as long as he didn’t give them what they wanted, he would be safe. He hoped.

  Slowly the regent walked a circle around him. “No sign of scales,” he noted.

  “Scales?” someone echoed. “I didn’t know they were scaled.”

  “Some, not all.”

  Twice Dhalvad felt the regent’s hand on his body. Anger quickly drowned all shame. “Note the color of his skin where it’s been protected by clothes,” the regent continued. “Was any Sarissa ever so pale, even as a babe?”

  “Some of the Letsians are fair,” someone commented.

  “Yes, but not like this.”

  The regent returned to stand beside Saan Drambe. “Have his healing powers been tested other than by Captain Mlar?”

  “No, sir,” Saan Drambe responded, “not to my knowledge.”

  The regent turned to Dhalvad. “I believe you have been told the charges against you. Answer the charges truthfully and you have my word that you will be granted mercy.” He paused, then asked, “Are you Ni-lach; one of the Healers?”

  Dhalvad swallowed his anger. “I am a wilder. No more, no less.”

  “A wilder. A wilder who has the power to heal? Tell me, how do you come by such power if you are not Ni-lach? Or do you disclaim Captain Mlar’s witnessed account of your healing ability?”

  Dhalvad was silent. There was no way to answer the question without condemning himself.

  “Saan Drambe, a knife please,” the regent said softly.

  Saan Drambe hesitated, then drew a knife from beneath his overvest, proffering it to the regent hilt f
irst.

  A moment later the knife was laid next to Dhalvad’s throat. “I am curious as to the nature of your power, Green One,” the regent said. “Should this knife slip and cut your jugular vein, could you stop the bleeding before you died? Shall we try it?”

  Dhalvad felt the knife blade press against his throat and pulled back as far as he was able. The knife followed, but before the test could be completed Saan Drambe interceded.

  “Reverence, please, should he die we would lose—” He paused and began again. “We would lose the chance to find out if there are more of his kind in the Deep.”

  A murmur of surprise passed among the onlookers, and it was evident to Dhal that Saan Drambe had overstepped himself.

  Regent Lasca withdrew the knife and turned to Saan Drambe. He smiled, a strange, knowing smile that failed to reach the eyes. “I know what you’re afraid of losing, Saan Drambe, and it has nothing to do with the threat of more Ni-lach in the Deep.”

  The look on Saan Drambe’s face was enough to tell everyone there that the regent had touched upon a truth. But what truth? Dhalvad wondered.

  Regent Lasca motioned to a man standing to the right of the raised platform. “Bring the tray.” The tall, brown-haired man approached. He was dressed much as the others except for an additional leather harness that crisscrossed his chest and held three knives in sheaths. The man was one of the elite bodyguard who served the regent.

  Dhalvad looked down at the tray and caught his breath. The glitter and shine of metal and gemstones was awesome. Rings, necklaces, bracelets—it was a great concentration of wealth. Regent Lasca picked out one of the smaller items and held it up for Dhalvad’s inspection. “Do you know what this is, what it represents?”

  Dhal’s eyes widened in disbelief. His ring! Where had they— no. No, it wasn’t his ring. The green color of the stone was darker and the setting was different. Dhalvad raised his eyes and found the regent watching him closely.