by Dave Duncan
I have seen people die of fright, though, and it is a very quick way to go.
Thorian fumbled with our bag of supplies in search of light. I just sat. The crypt seemed cold, partly because I was streaming sweat, and that in turn was an effect of the foul air. Already my head was banging like a tombstone shop. I knew I was in danger of fainting, and so was Thorian, for sheer physical strength would be no defense against bad air. If we passed out, then we were dead. This catacomb might be a very effective burglar trap, and I wondered if that simple fact explained some of the skeletons at the far end.
A spark flashed. And another. Either the wretched air was affecting the flint or we had purchased poor tinder. Thorian muttered Polrainian obscenities and kept striking. Sparks flew like falling stars. I felt panic stir. High Priest Nagiak might well have returned to his room by now, directly over our heads. He might decide to drop in and count bones. Even if he just stretched out and relaxed with a good book, he held us trapped down in this morgue.
Thorian had switched from scatology to prayer, and that is always a bad sign. Maybe it was a wise decision, though, because eventually a flame flowered in the tinder. We needed only one lantern, but he lit both, and I did not argue. Ancient walls and roof swam into view, and also the rotting disorder of the temple archives spread over the floor. Some small things scurried away into the darkness.
I raised one of the lanterns; shadows swelled and shrank and swayed. Thorian handed me the supply bag, which was almost empty now. He took the other lantern and a wood ax that was the deadliest weapon we had dared try to acquire. We set off along the tunnel.
I wondered if anyone had passed through there in the last three days. I was morally certain that when the fat high priest needed to enter the secret places, he would prefer to have himself carried up to the chapel and use the other entrance. On the other hand, he might have trouble explaining what he was doing for long periods in the high priestess's quarters—I assumed then, and still do, that very few of the clergy were actually involved in the plot.
We reached the stair. I turned aside and Thorian kept straight on, padding like a leopard.
"Dumb bonehead!" I shouted, starting echoes rolling. "This way!"
"Be quiet!" he muttered, and kept walking.
I hurried to his side. "Are you mad? Let's get out of this cesspit before we choke."
"Gramian Fotius will be armed with a sword," he said quietly—and yet his voice sent deep rumbles reverberating along the catacomb—"and possibly wearing armor. I will go against him with an ax if I must. But I wondered if we might have overlooked some …"
We stopped together, seeing that there had been an addition to the ossuary. Now a bleached solidity lay discarded among the tangle of dark and dusty bones ahead. A hundred tiny eyes glinted at us; lithe rodent bodies slithered darkly on the flesh. Thorian strode forward to inspect; I turned and fled back as far as the stairs. My feet felt heavy, my heart was pumping. I swayed as I began to climb, and I had to stop and lean against the wall several times.
Quite suddenly I felt my wits start to clear. I had not climbed far—about up to ground level, I suppose—but the change was obvious, and very welcome. I wondered if Maiana had rented out the cellars of her temple to some ill-tempered god who disliked visitors. I sat down on the steps and breathed deeply as I waited for my companion. I saw his light appear, and then he came trudging up to me, lantern in one hand, ax in the other, and his shadow gigantic on the ceiling. He stopped on the step below my feet, but he did not sit. He just stood, looking down at me and sucking in the welcome fresh air in bushel-size gulps.
"Anyone we know?" I asked hopefully, thinking of Fotius.
"No."
"Tell me. I shan't scream."
"A woman. Just a girl, really. No one special. Not a lady, nor a priestess—calluses on her hands."
"Any sign of how she died?"
"Painfully," Thorian said in a low voice. "Mostly fists. In the end she was choked. He does that when he gets carried away. Whenever you tell this story, Trader of Tales, be sure to mention that girl."
"I promise."
"She can't have been there very long."
"No."
"We must put out the lanterns now. And then you'd better let me go first, Little One."
I did not argue.
That is a long climb, up through the ziggurat of Zanadon. Comparing memories, we had agreed that the stair had been unbroken by landings or turnoffs, and if it twisted at all, the effect had been too small to notice. If we used our lights, therefore, we should be visible from the top all the time we were climbing. We had brought a glow rope with us, and it was to be my job to keep the smoldering end inside the leather bag. Thus we could have fire quickly when we needed it, but would shed no light. Like most good ideas, glow rope does not always work as it is supposed to.
How long we took to make the climb I cannot even estimate—it felt like enough time to mow a hayfield with a pocketknife. The risers were uneven, and nothing is more infuriatingly deceptive or harder to negotiate than an irregular stair, even in daylight. In the dark it is an excruciating torment. Moreover, Thorian was in a hurry. Our tactical position was inauspicious and he was a firm believer that speed is the greatest virtue in warfare. I am nimble and would have laid bets I could hold my own with him at footwork, but he outran me. At first I tripped, stumbled, stubbed my toes, walked into him, and muttered obscenities. Later he drew ahead of me, and I stopped walking into him. I continued to do all the other things, though.
Eventually, when I had given up trying to catch him and was just blundering ahead at my own pace, I heard a curious noise over the sound of my own breathing and thumping heart. It bothered me, for I could not identify it. Then I heard it again, and wondered if the temple could be settling on its foundations.
The third time it was louder, and I knew it for the voice of Zomapp. The next flash must have been closer, for I saw my accomplice momentarily, not far ahead of me. The storm was almost upon us.
I thought about that, in so far as I could spare any thought from the problems of negotiating the steps. Big storms are scary; the crowd would be impressed. If the rain was heavy enough, it would drive the onlookers from the court—but the priests might let some take shelter in the cloisters. Thunder might drown out any suspicious noises. Lightning might reveal things better not revealed … On the whole, though, the storm was encouraging. Balor might have sent his brother to lend us assistance. Zomapp is the gods' messenger as well as their executioner.
Then I saw Thorian again, and this time the light was steadier and he was closer. Thunder rolled again, louder.
I heard a heavy pattering noise.
He had stopped. I drew up beside him and peered around his shoulder. Straight ahead was the secret room behind the chapel, and a candle flame dancing wildly. Raindrops were coming in through the skylight. Then a lilac flash from the skylight illuminated everything, only to plunge it back into darkness.
The image had been imprinted on my eyes, and as they slowly recovered until the candle was again visible, I reviewed what I had seen. There had been changes in the past three days. The place looked tidier, and more inhabited. The table was new, its white linen cloth fluttering anxiously in the wind. Even from our low vantage I had seen that there were silver dishes on it. The couch had gone, and the chairs had been grouped around the table. I thought there were fewer chests than there had been. This might have been where Gramian Fotius had passed the last three days, but somehow I doubted it. It seemed more like a meeting room, the headquarters of the conspiracy.
Thunder crackled and then roared overhead, rumbling away into the distance.
We were in a tricky location. Enemies could come at us from three directions—up the stair from the crypt, through the secret panel from the chapel, or down that other staircase we had not explored.
"Bring a lantern," Thorian said, and plunged up the last few steps. He rounded the corner and vanished up the second stairway.
Fumbling with my bag and the glow rope and lanterns, I dashed over to the table. Awkward in my haste, I first knocked the candle out of my lantern, then burned my fingers on the glow rope—which of course I no longer needed. I was about to light my lantern at the candlestick when a swirl of wind blew it out. Then I had to scrabble on the floor for the glow rope. Eventually, though, I had a lantern lit, and the room came back around me. Clutching up everything I had brought, I hastened after Thorian. The rain tapped faster.
The stair climbed steeply, parallel to the front of the temple. Soon I saw two pine trees ahead of me, rooted on the uppermost steps, but they moved to make space for me. The rest of him was in the room above. I reached his side, held up the light—and faces appeared in the darkness around us. I made a high-pitched warbling sound and very nearly dropped the lantern.
"Ssh!" he whispered.
They were statues. We were peering into a large, high space, cluttered with statues on one hand and chests and mysterious bundles on the other. I could barely make out the roof, except to note that it had a curved, corbeled shape. The room was perhaps three spans wide and stretched out into darkness on either hand. A young man in the front rank stared mockingly at me, and I thought of Rosh down in the Courtyard, smiling with my face. This youth ended just below his waist, which was why he could look me in the eye at the moment. Behind him was a one-armed matron.
Junk. The priests used this secret attic to store junk. What can you do with a damaged god or goddess? To break it up would be sacrilege. To worship it would be blasphemy. You tuck it away out of sight, of course. This was the place where the gods went to die.
Slowly we mounted the last few steps into the heavenly company. There was a narrow path winding off on either side through the forest of clutter. Which way to go?
Thorian gripped my shoulder and whispered in my ear. "I think there was a light to the left. Cover the lamp."
I tucked the lantern into the mouth of the bag. He disappeared. Everything disappeared. I stayed where I was, teetering on the edge of the trapdoor, trying to keep my teeth from chattering—I kept imagining the statues sneaking closer while I could not see them.
Needles of light flashed overhead and were gone. On our first visit to the temple, we had seen air holes concealed in the cornice that decorated the uppermost tier of the pyramid. They would be long tubes, adequate for ventilation, but not large enough to reveal light to watchers in the city if anyone was busy up here in the dark. The thunder rumbled outside, very muffled. I heard it more from behind me, coming up the stair, than I did from the vents overhead. I could feel air moving, though.
I decided that, if a phalanx of angry priests appeared, I would hide in among the statues and smile cryptically. I might even break off one of my arms to look less lifelike.
Vaguely now I could make out a glow to the left. Where was Gramian Fotius? He might be above me, in the House of the Goddess, consummating his apotheosis upon a screaming Shalial Tharpit.
He might be off to my left where the light was, being arrayed in Balor's armor by a dozen priestly assistants. But if I had to look forward to a full day in massive armor, I would not put it on until as close to dawn as I dared. I would not want it on when I was dallying with a beautiful woman, either.
He might be down in the temple having dinner with High Priest Nagiak and a few selected notables, being instructed for the hundredth time in what was required of him—not his duties in the coming night, of course, but in the days ahead.
Came more lightning, two flashes in quick succession, and I thought I saw Thorian near the corner. More likely I was seeing phantoms.
I set my mind to working out the geography. I must be standing almost directly below the top of the great staircase, in front of the House of the Goddess. It took no great genius to guess that the chamber was a square. The House of the Goddess must be supported by a pillar of solid masonry at the heart of the pyramid, and this tunnel would go all the way around it. The rooms on all the other tiers formed three sides of a square, because the front of the structure was solid, but this secret level had no skylights and could go all the way.
If a parade of priests came up behind me, there would be plenty of places to hide, assuming it was all as littered as the portion I could see.
The light had disappeared.
I checked to make sure my lantern was still alight inside the bag and had not set the rope on fire. I gave it some more air, then closed the bag again, but not quite shut. The flame had dazzled me, and for a while I could see nothing.
I wanted to sneeze.
I desperately wanted to sneeze.
I rubbed my nose until it hurt.
Lightning. Thunder. I had never known anyone the size of Thorian who could move so quietly. The silence was good news, though. If he ran into anyone, I would hear the argument.
My legs were already weary from the long climb, and I now they had begun to go to sleep, in pins and needles. I wriggled my toes. I wanted to sneeze.
Then I saw light glowing to my right, wavering, becoming brighter. I knew it could only be Thorian, gone all the way around, but my heart thundered louder than Zomapp himself until he came clearly into view, his face lit by the candle he was shielding with his spare hand. He had his ax tucked under one arm.
He worked his way carefully through between the heaps and the gods until he was back at my side, and his teeth gleamed in a smile.
"No one," he whispered.
"You're sure?" I was shivering with relief.
"I don't think that big pig would have the wits to hide." The smile vanished. "He may be upstairs, of course."
"Is there an upstairs?"
"Yes. Some sort of trapdoor again, of course. Whoever designed this place was very fond of trapdoors. Let's have more light."
He laid his silver candlestick on a chest, and I produced the lantern.
"Is this safe?" I asked.
"It soon will be." Thorian stooped and took hold of the flap, which was made of heavy timber, bound with metal, and so laden with dust that it had obviously not been closed in years. The hinges squeaked, and he paused.
"What in the name of Balor are you doing?" I demanded.
"Waiting for thunder. Ah!" Needles of light flashed on the roof again.
"Thorian! If you shut that, then you cut off our escape!"
He started to speak, and the thunder roared, louder than ever. The squeal of the hinges sounded much louder to me, as Thorian heaved the flap over, but of course that was a closer sound. The trapdoor thumped shut. Dust swirled like fog, sparking around the candle.
He chuckled in satisfaction. "Cutting off pursuit, you mean. Now … Ugh! Give me a hand here." He was trying to move the nearest chest.
"No!" I said. There was no need to be quiet now, but I still whispered. "You're out of your mind!"
But I knew how he was out of his mind. I had known for some time that he was making his own plans. I just had not wanted to admit it to myself. Now I had to face the problem.
"What do you suppose they …" Thorian lifted the lid of the chest and whistled. Gold blazed in the candlelight—and then in another flash overhead. He glanced around, and so did I. There were six of the great chests, all solid timber, metal-banded. This was the temple treasury. Small wonder they were heavy.
"Come on!" he snapped, and braced himself to push.
"And how do we get Shalial out of here?" I snapped. "She must be up there, in the House of the Goddess. We came to rescue her, remember?"
He straightened up. Then he took a long step that put us toe to toe. He looked down at me threateningly and tapped me on the chest with a cautionary finger.
"No we didn't, Trader of Tales. I think you already know that wasn't why I came with you tonight. As for you, you came to Zanadon to see a god. Well, now you're looking at one. I am Balor. You may kneel."
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24: Three Up
"The hell you are!" I said.
But, to be honest, I wasn't
absolutely certain whether he was or not. Oh, I had no doubts he was a mortal, but I had suspected from the beginning that the gods had some purpose in mind for Thorian. He had been thrown in my path, and even when we had parted in a moment of pique, we had been brought together again very quickly.
I am a witness. I had been summoned to Zanadon to observe, and I had been shown many hidden things in my first hours in the city. Without Thorian I could never have contrived to see those things. That was one possibility—that he had been assigned to me as an assistant. I liked that idea best.
I still hoped that Balor would truly appear in his glory to rescue Shalial from a despicable death on the temple steps. I still hoped to see that incorporation this night, and again my arrival had been greatly aided by my brawny companion.
But if Balor did not come in person, was it not possible that he sent a suitable mortal in his place? That might be the truth behind the legend. That might always have been the truth. That was more the way gods usually worked. Thorian himself had suggested as much on that first evening—the hour brought forth the man.
Perhaps! Thorian was a warrior, and he was unknown to the people, so that he would not be recognized. He was shrewd and capable. I found him a much more believable war lord than the loutish Fotius acting as his grandfather's puppet. He might well have been sent by the gods, and if so then it was I who was the assistant.
He put a hand around my throat.
"I am now Balor. I shall go up to Shalial and explain. If she has met Fotius, she will welcome the substitution. If she has not, then she will still prefer me to a horrible death. I am not unskilled with women, Friend Omar. Did you not see how she looked at me?"
Yes, I had seen.
"I shall treat her with honor," he growled. "I admire her courage beyond all words, and I shall tell her so."