Putting all his strength into the effort, Aric heaved his chest and shoulders off the ground, rolling Corlan off his back. Aric got a foot under him, but the stinger darted toward him.
And then someone landed on the mastryial’s back, flinging arms around the tail, keeping the stinger from sinking into Aric.
It was Myklan. Amoni lunged forward, attacking the thing’s free pincer with her cahulaks, cutting the tender flesh just beneath it. The mastryial dropped Aric’s sword and tried to grab Amoni with the other pincer, but Sellis blocked that attempt. A few mighty swipes with his swords severed the other pincer. Aric scooped up his sword and stabbed the beast repeatedly, as the dwarf pounded on its carapace with his maul. Corlan jabbed his bone sword into the thing several times.
But that tail whipped up and over itself. It buried its stinger in Myklan’s skull. The man screeched, his face twisted in agony. But only for a moment. As the venom took quick effect, he froze. The mastryial freed its tail from his grip and the man toppled over. The beast tried to back away. It was bleeding from a dozen wounds, though, many of them serious, and it only made a few steps before Aric raced past the slowing tail and drove his sword downward through the thing’s head. The mastryial twitched its legs several times, then went still.
Myklan was half buried beneath it. Amoni, Mazzax, Sellis and Corlan lifted the beast while Aric pulled him out. Too late, however; Myklan was dead, his eyes open, face still contorted in pain and fear, mouth open as if to catch one last breath that he would never draw.
Ruhm wandered back into the firelight, half frozen, clutching his beloved club. At the same time, Rieve caught a glimpse of her father’s still form. Corlan ran to intercept her, not wanting her to see the sight, but she twisted free of his grasp. “Father!” she cried. “Oh, Father!”
The rest of the family gathered around as Rieve fell to her knees, burying her face in Myklan’s chest. Her back and shoulders spasmed with sobs. Pietrus joined her over the body, his own grief accompanied by anguished wails. Tears traced down Tunsall’s face, but he stood still, mourning Myklan with quiet dignity. Sheridia and Solyara, mother and daughter, stood back a few paces and watched.
Corlan threw aside his bone sword and crouched beside Rieve, draping an arm over her back. He tried to whisper soothing words, but his tongue seemed tied in a knot and she couldn’t have heard him anyway. He settled for just being there, hoping she knew that he was.
4
Aric wondered if Myklan had not confessed to the affair with Keyasune, and to the murders, would the women have been more disturbed by his death? None of it seemed to matter to Rieve, whose grief was abundant and loudly expressed, but the others were more reserved in theirs.
Aric tried to feel something, but he couldn’t.
Myklan had saved his life. More than once, probably, over the years, but directly, indisputably, just now. For all he knew, though, Myklan’s action this time had not been the selflessly heroic one it had seemed, but yet another evasion of responsibility. Myklan had agreed to accept the blame when they reached Nibenay. Had he meant it? Or had he never intended to see Nibenay again? He had, after all, hidden from Aric’s mother, and even when he took some interest in Aric’s life it was from a far remove, a safe distance. He had allowed himself to keep on killing, even when he must have known on some level that it was wrong. Was this just the final, self-preserving act of a small-minded man? Was a quick death preferable, in Myklan’s mind, to the public humiliation and no doubt agonizing punishment that would have faced him at home?
Aric regretted Rieve’s grief. He worried about Pietrus, who, without Myklan’s confession to protect him, might still be held responsible for the murders, if the family still chose to accompany Aric and the others back to Nibenay. And he regretted not having a chance to see his father meet justice. But he couldn’t manage more than the slightest twinge of sorrow over the man’s death.
He walked away from the others, closer to the fire’s warmth, and let the family mourn their dead. For Aric, having lost the father he had never known and hated for his absence, there would be no mourning at all.
XXI
NIBENAY
1
They were too late. From the top of a hill they could see the fertilized fields flanking the city walls, the Plain of Burning Water, and Nibenay itself, gleaming in late afternoon sun. But rolling through the Mekillot Gate were wagons laden with steel. They were spread well apart, but one was just passing beneath the musicians atop the gate, and others had already entered the city. The expedition had beat them home, and Kadya—Tallik as well, no doubt—with it.
Aric had been surprised that the others, those of the Thrace family, had kept to their original agreement. Even without Myklan, they would return to Nibenay with Aric, in hopes of warning the Shadow King or, failing that, of finding a way to stop Kadya. That fact filled Aric with relief—if they hated him, they would still see through the struggle ahead.
The night of Myklan’s death, no one had rested much. In the morning, after a brief discussion, they had pushed on, driving themselves and their kanks ever faster. The procession had been a grim one, with little laughter or spirited conversation, but in the end, although it made the days feel long, it probably made the trip shorter.
And here they were, and they were too late, and Aric felt like he had swallowed an erdlu egg, shell and all. It sat between his throat and his chest, aching.
All of it, the journey, the battles, rescuing Rieve and her family, and for what? Kadya would have entered the city in the first argosy, or mounted, even on foot—but at the head of the procession, so everyone could see her triumphant return. By now she was deep in the city.
“Now what?” Ruhm asked. The goliath had come up behind Aric, loomed over his shoulder, and Aric hadn’t even noticed.
“I don’t know.”
“Kill the demon,” Mazzax said. Aric looked around. Everyone had dismounted, and stood gathered together on the hilltop.
“Not so easily done,” Aric said.
“Why not?”
“We don’t even know where Kadya is now. Or who’s protecting her. If she’s with Nibenay, or with her sister templars …”
“As long as the city stands,” Myrana said, “we have a chance, don’t we? Perhaps the demon bides its time.”
“We’ve come this far,” Sellis added. “And it was a hard slog. I’m for Nibenay, either to kill a demon or to have a drink and find a bed to sleep in tonight.”
Pietrus shivered with terror. His mother cradled him in her arms. “We’ll let nothing happen to you, Pietrus. We all heard your father confess to the crimes you were accused of, and any blame will be laid at his feet. You’re safe now.”
“He had better be,” Rieve declared.
“Kill the demon!” Mazzax repeated.
“Yes,” Aric said. “Let’s kill the demon.”
“Do we know how?” Ruhm asked.
“Haven’t the faintest idea.”
“Magic!” Mazzax pointed to Myrana and Sheridia. “Kill it with magic!”
“Good a plan as any,” Aric said. “Let’s see what we can do.”
They started down the hill. As they descended, they saw smoke rise up from the city’s center, tinted green and yellow and blue. “That’s from the Naggaramakam,” Tunsall observed. “They’re already celebrating.”
“A celebration that’ll go far into the night,” his wife added. “They’re lighting fires for warmth, and adding color to the smoke to display their joy.”
“Then they must not know yet,” Aric said. “About Tallik, I mean.”
“Myrana’s right,” Rieve said. “The demon probably isn’t acting right away. He’s been confined beneath Akrankhot for a thousand years or so, right? And then freed by Kadya, and carried inside her? He probably wants to see how things are before he stirs things up. For all he knows, the entire city-state will be as welcoming as Kadya was. If it is, then he might not be bent on its destruction, but on preserving it to use as his
new home.”
“Whatever the demon’s got in mind,” Sellis said, “I doubt it’s anything good.”
“I’m certain of that,” Aric agreed. He watched colored smoke drift into the still air above the city, and a thought came to him. “But if they’re already celebrating, then Kadya must be inside the Naggaramakam. She’ll be the toast of the celebration, right? That’s where we’ll find her—and the Shadow King. Perhaps we can still do something.”
“But … nobody’s ever been inside the Naggaramakam,” Corlan pointed out. “No free person. How do we get in? And even if we do, how do we get out again?”
“I don’t know if we’ll ever get out,” Aric said. “But I haven’t come this far to fail now. As for getting in?” He pointed at the last argosy, its mekillot struggling to haul the weight up the road toward the big gateway. “We’ll use that.”
“What?”
“Just come with me!” Aric broke into a run. Behind him, some tried to prod their exhausted kanks on faster, then gave up and dropped off them.
The final argosy was just near enough the gate to hear the musicians. As Aric raced toward it, he could see its drivers swaying, already caught in the music’s irresistible spell. There wouldn’t be many people inside, if any—the thing looked as if its wheels would give out at any moment, so it was burdened by the weight of a massive amount of metal.
Aric had easily outdistanced his companions, but he had to act fast, before he was seen, so he didn’t wait for them. He jumped onto the argosy’s side, landing with quiet, sure-footed grace, and climbed to the top. He could hear the music, too, and had to fight not to give in to it and start dancing. He let the music fill him just enough to add a sinuous fluidity to his motions as he crept toward the front.
Ruhm’s footfalls pounded closer, in counterpoint to the music wafting from the gate. “What’s that?” one of the drivers asked.
Aric reached the argosy’s front just in time to see another poke his head out and spot Ruhm. “It’s a goliath,” he said. “Running at us.”
“Well, kill him!” the first one said.
Aric drew his sword, and before the second could tuck his head back into the argosy’s depths, he crouched low and swung it. It sheared through the man’s neck, and the head flew out, bounced, and vanished beneath the big wagon.
“What—?” the driver cried.
Aric heard him fumbling with the panel that he could close, to keep those inside safe from Athas’s winds and cold. The reins went slack as he worked it. Aric climbed down, and Ruhm reached the wagon at the same time, jumping up onto the tongue. The driver managed to slam the panel shut but not to latch it, and Ruhm’s massive fist opened it again. Aric slid through the gap, sword in hand. He ran the driver through while the man was still drawing his own.
“Sorry,” Aric said as he pulled his sword free and the man died. “It’s nothing personal, but we need this thing.” He stuck his head out the window. “Go around back!” he told Ruhm. “Open the doors so we can get rid of some steel!”
Ruhm dropped off the wagon without comment. Moments later, Aric heard him pawing at the doors, then they opened and light flooded the inside. As he had expected, there were no other guards, just a mass of metal, stacked as high as the single mekillot could manage to pull.
“We need some speed!” Aric shouted.
Ruhm climbed up and started hauling out chunks of steel, throwing them into their tracks. The others were beginning to reach the wagon, and one by one they climbed in, tossing out the pieces they could lift.
Then they were getting close enough to the gate to worry Aric. This would be the hard part. “Everyone inside, now!” he called. “Get those doors closed!”
His companions did as he said. Behind them, Aric knew, was a trail of metal pieces and a man’s head. But the mekillot had managed a little more speed, as the load lightened. Anyone standing on top of the Mekillot Gate could look back and see that they had shed cargo, but only the musicians were there, and they were focused on their playing. The guards at the gate danced without enthusiasm or expression, probably tired by now of watching the argosies roll past. Aric summoned Corlan to stand beside him at the reins, and the guards waved them in with hardly a glance.
“We’re in,” Corlan said as the gates clanged shut behind them. “Now what?”
Aric had no answer. He had only worked out how to get inside the city walls. From there, he had no plans.
2
Sage’s Square!” Tunsall said from the darkness of the argosy’s interior.
“What?”
“All the argosies will be at Sage’s Square. Nibenay will want the people to see them. They may even be stopped and opened up so the people can see all the metal they’ve brought back. They’ll be well guarded, of course, but they’ll be in a public place for at least a day or two.”
Tunsall was right. There were still smatterings of onlookers lining the road toward Sage’s Square, although no doubt there had been many more at the front of the expedition.
“We’ll go to the Square,” he said. “But then what?”
“Then on to the Naggaramakam,” Sheridia said. “That’s where Kadya is.”
That made sense, but Aric knew the doing of it would be more complicated. He guided the mekillot, Corlan still beside him so anyone looking inside would see two people, as there had been, and they made their way into Sage’s Square. There amid the thick grove of agafari trees, the other argosies had been parked, some with their backs open, and throngs of people gazed past the guards at the treasure within.
Instead of following suit, Aric guided his mekillot around the square’s outer rim. At the entrance to the road leading toward the Naggaramakam—this road considerably narrower than the first, and roundabout, as no roads led directly to the Shadow King’s private estate—two city guards blocked the way.
“Why have you not pulled over?” one asked.
“We were told that the Shadow King wants to see one load for himself,” Corlan answered. They had briefly discussed this possibility, and Aric was glad they had. “You don’t expect him to come to where all those people are, do you?”
“I suppose not.”
“Then get out of our way, imbecile!” Corlan shouted at the man with the imperious air of one used to being obeyed. Aric had never known that sensation, and likely never would.
Corlan was convincing enough, and the two guards stepped away, letting them pass. The mekillot followed Aric’s urging, and soon the big armored wagon made its way down a road barely wide enough to let it pass without scraping the ornately sculpted buildings on either side.
“This might work,” Myrana said after they had passed the guards.
“What happens inside Naggaramakam?” Ruhm asked.
The dwarf’s voice bounced off the argosy’s walls. “We kill the demon!”
“That might not be so simple,” Tunsall said. “She’ll be surrounded by other templars, and slave guards. We’ll be strangers, barging in—if we can get in—and attacking one of their own.”
“We need some way to make Tallik show himself,” Myrana said.
“There might be a way to do that,” Sheridia said.
“How?” Myrana asked.
“Everyone in Nibenay has heard rumors about the Shadow King’s palace,” Sheridia explained. “It’s built in the shape of his head. His many wives are carved into it, forming his hair.”
“How does that help?” Myrana asked.
“It’s said that those sculptures are more than just carvings in stone,” Sheridia said. “That there’s some essence of each wife contained in the figure. If one can destroy the figure, that forces the templar wife to reveal her true self. Naturally, it has never happened, that I know of. And I’m certain the palace is a nest of secrets many layers deep. I’m only telling it because I’ve heard it spoken, more than once, and from people with far vaster stores of knowledge than mine.”
“It sounds worth a try,” Aric said from the front.
“If we can figure out which of those many figures represents Kadya,” Solyara said. “And find a way to destroy it.”
“We’ll have a chance soon enough!” Corlan called. The argosy was just rounding a bend. “We’re at the gates!”
The Naggaramakam was surrounded by walls towering fifty feet high. Beyond those walls, when one was far enough back, the tops of huge agafari trees, in the Shadow King’s private garden, could be seen. The sun had almost sunk below the horizon; in the shadow of those walls it was already dusk.
As the wagon drew up to the massive wooden gates, Aric pondered the impossibility of the task ahead of them. They had to venture into the inner city, the Forbidden Dominion, which no one had ever done and lived to tell about. Once there they had to identify which of hundreds of sculptures, on a tall palace, stood for a particular templar wife. They had to destroy that, revealing the demon inside—they hoped. And then they had to destroy the demon, and hope that because they had shown it for what it was, the other templars, and the Shadow King himself, would let them leave again.
He had been surprised when the family Thrace had agreed to come to Nibenay, after Myklan’s death. If they survived the next few minutes, that surprise would be dwarfed by the astonishment he would feel.
A trio of goliath soldiers stood before the gate into the Naggaramakam. “Turn away!” one shouted. “There is no admittance here!”
“But the Shadow King has asked to have a wagonload of steel brought before him for his inspection,” Aric argued. “We’ve been ordered here by the templar Kadya!”
The soldiers traded glances, uncertain but made anxious by the mention of Kadya’s name. “We’ve heard no such orders,” one of them said.
“Open the gates, and let us pass!” Aric insisted. “Just because you’re not trusted with this information doesn’t mean we don’t have a mission to fulfill!”
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