How many such plans did Agrylon yet have in the forge of his intrigues, she wondered, like embers at a slow burn waiting to be coaxed into open flame? How many like Calvraign that he waited patiently to temper and craft into instruments of his own liking? If what he said of him were even partly true, he would fit the needs of House Jiraud quite nicely.
“So, you raised him away from court, with Brohan providing a better education than most nobles would ever hope for and passing along his own personal loyalties to the king in the bargain. And of course he’ll be ideal for garnering support from the Cythe for the wars. He’ll have no ulterior motives, no other House loyalties to get in the way. Very convenient, all in all.”
Agrylon turned away from her again, shuffling over to replace his war-staff. “I prefer to think of it as capitalizing on opportunity.”
“Do you?” Aeolil saw one major flaw in his scheme. “Have you given much thought to what Calvraign will make of all this once he figures it out? That same sense of strategy you’re so keen on will serve him just as well in dissecting your reasons and motivations. It might drive him to wonder exactly when your interest in him was piqued, whether before or after his father’s untimely but very convenient death, for example. You’d best heed your own advice, Agrylon – don’t wake the beast.”
Agrylon looked back at her for a moment, and something passed over his face, if for an instant. She couldn’t be sure if it was amusement or anticipation, but it certainly wasn’t the hint of fear she’d expected.
“I always tread softly,” he said, looking back to his bookshelf. “It’s my nature.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
A MOST GENEROUS HOST
OSRITH wasn’t sure how long it had been since their capture at the river’s edge, but he guessed they’d been carried for at least an hour through the ruined city. In the complete absence of light, it was impossible for Osrith to catch any further glimpse of the Sunken City or its fallen wonders. His sense of smell was also useless, numbed by the thick stench of the severed scalps that flapped rhythmically against his captor’s carapace. His ears were his salvation, providing at least some method of reckoning their progress and surroundings.
The powerful roar of the river had faded, still present but subdued by distance. Osrith marked time by the steady staccato click of the manti appendages on the smooth marble, noting the softer, uneven tread when they crossed rougher, unhewn stone. He wondered how quickly the creatures could move on both sets of legs, trying to judge by the receding noise of the river how far they had traveled from their place of capture. From his position – bound, gagged, and strapped to the back of a mantis soldier – there was not much else to consider.
They halted, and the odd chirping and clicking of the manti language was the only sound that stirred the air. Then, just as suddenly, Osrith felt the pressure on the leather straps fastened around his waist tighten and dig into his abdomen. He winced in pain, grunting into his gag. His position shifted forward on the mantis’ back, and he felt different muscle groups working beneath him as the creature walked. All six appendages were in use now, but they were not moving any faster. If anything, their progress had slowed. It took him a moment, but he identified the change.
They were climbing. Not up a staircase or a ladder, but scaling a cliff or wall of some sort. He could hear manti climbing to his left and to his right, as well as in front – above – them. They were making the ascent as a unit. Osrith was impressed by that maneuver. He wondered how the strong high walls of a surface keep would fare against even a small group of manti warriors.
Osrith calculated it was ten clicks before the mantis beneath him shifted back to a more horizontal posture, and he was relieved that the climb was over. The temperature was several degrees warmer here, and the air was laced with a sulfurous scent acrid enough to penetrate even the pungent aroma of his keeper.
The mantis settled down on its haunches, and Osrith relaxed, preparing for a brief rest. Instead, the pit of his stomach seemed to fall suddenly down to his ankles, and he felt, just for a moment, as if he weighed no more than a leaf on the wind. Numbly, he realized that the mantis had not been resting, but coiling like a spring. It had jumped, propelling them up and out over what he could only assume was a yawning chasm. Hot air rushed up at them as they flew across the gap, intensifying as they arced downward. He could imagine a river of lava running somewhere beneath. He even thought he heard the sound of its bubbling murmur, but there was no sign of it in the impenetrable artificial night.
The landing wasn’t as rough as Osrith had expected; the experienced and flexible legs of the mantis warrior absorbed most of the shock. They waited for a short time, the silence occasionally punctuated by the thud of another landing. One such thud was much louder than the others, followed by a brief but thunderous clatter of flailing appendages. There was a series of rapid chirps immediately following the commotion, and a flurry of activity. Osrith chuckled at the apparent crash landing, guessing that his bulky reptilian friend had been a bit more a burden than even the cave-manti could handle easily. A growing tenor drone of what sounded like a dozen violins accompanied the tumult. Puzzled, Osrith stilled his own laughter to pinpoint the source of the music.
He was amazed to discover the manti themselves were making the noise. His own guard joined in the chorus, rubbing his right hind legs together to produce a beautiful rich hum that even the king’s minstrels might envy. Osrith realized that the demon feeders of kin legend, the stealers of babes in the night, the scourge of the underworld, were laughing at one of their own for falling down. If he hadn’t been convinced he was about to die a horrible death, he would have found it extremely funny. As it was, he managed to find it mildly amusing.
The music and brief rest were broken up in short order, and soon they were on their way, continuing in silence. Once again, Osrith heard the distinct sharp click of marble under mantis feet. They ascended four separate staircases, broad ones from the numbers on either side of him, but despite his best efforts he couldn’t count how many steps to each one. So many clattering appendages confused things considerably. A sharp turn to the left, and a set of doors creaked open before them. Here it sounded as if most of the manti hung back. The noises of their progress echoed closely now, suggesting a hallway. Then through two more sets of doors, past the splash of water spilling into water to his left – perhaps a fountain or a well – and then finally the glimmer of light ahead. The outline of a broad double door was etched in soft gold light, like a beacon out of nowhere. The manti stopped before it and released their prisoners. Osrith stretched his sore limbs as his bindings were sliced away and hoped for some water to wash the taste of gag from his mouth. Without ceremony or explanation, the manti pushed their prisoners through into the welcome if temporarily painful light and slammed the door behind them.
Osrith’s eyes adjusted slowly, his surroundings dissolving from pitch black to indistinct shadows and then finally to discernable shapes. He looked about him, trying to take in his newly revealed environs before the darkness returned. He would have described the place as a library, except that the scale was so vast, the word didn’t seem to do it justice. He stood in the middle of an intersection from which four great halls stretched out to the very edge of his perception, each over forty feet in height and at least double that in length. Doors, like the one they had come through, were set between the halls.
From the floor to the ceiling, each wall was nothing but shelves, and each shelf was filled to its capacity with scroll cases of bone, metal or vellum. Chandeliers hung at regular intervals from the arched ceiling overhead, each holding an array of glowing orbs in place of conventional candles, spreading a diffuse and gentle light on the lines of chairs and narrow reading tables that bisected each hall.
Osrith scratched at his beard with his right hand, because the manti had stripped him of all the weapons with which he would normally fidget. Kassakan shifted Symmlrey from her great shoulders, laying her down on the round table i
n the middle of the intersection. Her tongue flicked out across her teeth in a nervous gesture of her own.
“We wait here, I guess,” Osrith said.
“These are the Fourteen Halls,” Kassakan whispered, though from her detached tone, Osrith wasn’t even sure she was addressing him in particular, “the Great Library of Oszmagoth.”
“Fourteen?” Osrith shook his head to avoid picturing this room and everything in it duplicated several times over.
“Aside from the library at Azgadaan, it is the greatest collection of knowledge the world has ever known. I thought it a myth.”
“No myth, Hosskan,” a familiar old voice said from behind them, “no more than I.”
Osrith turned with a wry grin. “You’re a tough old bastard, Two–” The name caught in his throat as he caught sight of his companion. The wilhorwhyr appeared to be uninjured, striding confidently toward them with a welcoming smile.
But his eyes…
His eyes stared into them like amber swords, unwavering and inhuman. The body was Two-Moons’, but the eyes were something else entirely.
Kassakan’s hard stare confirmed Osrith’s own gut reaction. “What have you done to Two-Moons, Old One?” she asked. Her tone carried a cautious insistence Osrith had not heard in her before.
“Ah, the little Ebuouki man. He is resting. But don’t worry yourself, Hosskan, I’m just borrowing this shell,” he spread his arms wide and laughed, “to welcome you to my home!”
“Who are you?” asked Kassakan, and Osrith could hear her struggling to keep the edge out of her voice.
“I am Qal Jir’aatu,” he said, “the Keeper of Scrolls.”
“Qal Jir’aatu,” Kassakan repeated, and Osrith saw the suspicion in her eyes, though her voice remained calm and steady. “Legend has it you perished defending the Halls from Seoughal and Aguohn.”
“Really?” Two-Moons was within an arm’s length of them now, those fierce eyes shifting between them. “Legend has it, eh? Well, well,” he paused as if in reflection, “how terribly… dramatic. I didn’t think anyone spoke of such things anymore. With all these running around,” he pointed off-handedly at Osrith, “it’s a wonder anything of importance is remembered at all. In any event, as you can see, they weren’t entirely successful in doing away with me.”
“What do you want with us?” Osrith demanded. Whatever that thing in Two-Moons was, he didn’t care for it much. “Why did you bring us here?”
“Your human is speaking, hosskan, and it annoys me,” Jir’aatu made no attempt to disguise his irritation. “Silence it.”
Kassakan’s swift hand stifled Osrith’s insult behind her fingers. “He is not my human,” she explained. “He is my companion.”
“Don’t quibble terms with me. I see his leash, plain as the tides.”
Osrith had no idea what this Jir’aatu thing was talking about, but he didn’t appreciate the implication. He reached up to push away Kassakan’s silencing hand, but she held firm on his impatient mouth.
“It’s not a leash,” she said. “We are j’iitai.”
Two-Moons’ mouth twisted as if he’d eaten something sour. “Bound to a human?” he decried. “How sad for you.”
“That is our business. Regardless, what he asks is valid – what do you want?”
Jir’aatu laughed. “An expansive question, that. Let us say only that I will help you, and you will help me.”
Osrith succeeded in pushing away the lizard’s hand. He made an effort not to sound too irritable. “You don’t seem to be asking for our help so much as telling us we’ll give it.”
“Yes,” agreed Jir’aatu.
“And how exactly have you decided we’ll help each other?” Osrith asked.
“Your Ebuouki man and I have worked out all the details already. For my part, I can have you resting comfortably in Dwynleigsh by daybreak. For yours, well, the three of you have only to go on your way. I ask nothing of you.”
“And Two-Moons?” said Kassakan. “You aren’t borrowing him, as you said. You’ve taken him, haven’t you?”
“We have our own arrangement.”
Osrith resumed the scratching of his beard. He didn’t like the sound of this deal Jir’aatu had struck up with Two-Moons, even if it did mean an unexpected shortening of the journey ahead. If this thing was an andu’ai, as it claimed, then it had power and deceit in equal proportion. He knew that, Kassakan knew that, and in all probability Two-Moons knew that, too. If there were any humans who still knew of the andu’ai, he would wager it was the wilhorwhyr.
“You expect us to just leave him behind with you?” he said.
“I expect you have no choice, human,” said the interloper, and with a gesture Osrith felt cold invisible fingers clutch at his heart, squeezing it to a standstill. He fell down to his knees, his muscles frozen by the formless will that held him. “I could simply have taken this shell and done away with all of you,” explained the Old One, “but I chose to be more civilized. If you prefer to ignore my good will, to be contentious and contrary, I will repay you in kind.”
Osrith grimaced, clawing at the smooth floor, struggling to resist the spell. Kassakan had taught him how to combat this sort of magic, to fight it with every ounce of his stubborn will. Jir’aatu was simply using his control of the iiyir to circumvent and supplant Osrith’s natural balance, and he fought to free his immobilized body from the usurping magics that held him. With a sharp pain, his heart beat once, twice, a feeble but defiant gesture against the iron grip that sought to still it. The dreamstone burned into his chest with every sickly little pump of his lifeblood, and he felt slow tendrils of control snake through him. He sucked in a shallow breath through his clenched jaws, his hand twitched. Then the shackles evaporated, and he fell forward onto his arms, trembling with every new breath.
“What’s this?” Jir’aatu said, bemused, “a little human with an iiyiraal? Wherever did you come across that?” He knelt down and fished the dreamstone out from under Osrith’s tunic, holding it between his thumb and forefinger. “Not many of these left lying around, I wouldn’t imagine.”
Osrith’s hand grasped Two-Moons’ wrist. “Leave it,” he growled.
“What a waste,” Jir’aatu sighed, releasing his grip and standing. He watched Osrith recover with a passing curiosity. Then he walked over to Symmlrey, tracing the line of her cheekbone with a finger and cocking his head to one side. His voice lost some of its manic edge, fading into a whisper. “Lovely, isn’t she?”
Osrith’s stomach twisted as he watched the possessed body of Symmlrey’s friend and mentor caress her skin with such obvious lust. He struggled to his feet, even as Kassakan moved to stand protectively over the unconscious aulden.
“I doubt Two-Moons allowed you any liberty with her, Qal Jir’aatu,” the lizard warned.
Two-Moons’ eyes looked up sharply at the use of that name, and he raised his hand from its unwelcome passage over her contours. “No,” he said, his voice was distant, “but I may change my mind shortly.”
“You’re a liar as well as a thief, then?” Osrith said. “Your word means nothing?”
“Once it meant everything, human. But now, well, I am not entirely sane, I suppose. After the first few hundred years flitting from shell to shell, living in the most horrid of conditions.” He shook his head, looking back at Symmlrey. “That’s certainly had the effect Seoughal hoped for. And I’ve not had a shoungeighl in quite a long time. She pleases me immensely.” Sweat was beading on his brow.
“I don’t know what you’ve done with Two-Moons while you’re in there,” Osrith said, “but I don’t think any pleasing with her will sit well with him.”
“I think you had best let our friend out for a while, Old One,” said Kassakan. “You took an oath as a qal. You must not betray it.”
“So long ago,” muttered Jir’aatu. “That means little to me now.”
“You gave up everything for that oath,” Kassakan reasoned. “This whole city fell on the basis of that oath.
You can’t betray their memory after all this time. You fought to free the shoungeighl all those centuries ago, and now you would take her against her will? You would keep her trapped with you down here in the smothering dark? You know she would die from it. Could you be responsible for that?”
Jir’aatu wiped the perspiration from his face. “Your little Ebuouki man wants to come out now, for a bit. Perhaps you are right. Don’t trust me. I don’t trust myself. I’ll let him back just for a moment… to recover myself.”
Kassakan reached out to steady the old man as his body jerked suddenly. He blinked, and in that instant the eyes that looked out at them were tired, bloodshot, and unmistakably Two-Moons’.
“Ingryst help me,” he said, quavering.
“Will it be back?” Osrith asked.
Two-Moons nodded. “Yes, and soon. I must take you to the Wellspring and send you on your way. There isn’t much time.”
Osrith grabbed his arm roughly. “You’re not actually staying here?”
“I am,” Two-Moons responded with confidence. “It’s the only way.”
“My friend,” Kassakan interjected, “this is not wise. Jir’aatu only wants you as a shell, a comfortable house to dwell in. Even he admits he can’t be completely trusted.”
“Kassakan, I have no illusions about this. But I have seen Jir’aatu more clearly than you could ever hope to. He is just sane enough to know what has happened to his mind, and he needs a stable host to return him from the brink of madness. He saved my life and my soul – I owe him whatever I may give in return. It may destroy me in the process, but it may also be our salvation.”
“What are you talking about?” Osrith saw the implacable determination in the old man’s eyes, and it worried him.
“Don’t either of you see? This is the Fourteen Halls!” His passion only made Osrith more nervous. “No other place on Rahn will offer me what is here. The cure to the Wasting, the secrets of the iiyir well… All of it is likely to be here. And Jir’aatu was the qal – with our minds bound together, he will lead me to the knowledge we seek in short order.”
In Siege of Daylight Page 36