The Gods Return (57 page)

Holding Attaper's eyes, he flicked the dried rat-tails with his thumbs. "And I lead my men from the front," he added, "as you taught me to do."

"Let's go, gentlemen," Garric said, his grin a mirror of the ghost in his mind's. "With luck and the help of the Gods, we're going to make these rat men extinct before sunset!"

* * *

Invisible brightness pressed Sharina from all directions. Her skin prickled and her mind, not her eyes, felt squeezed. Then—

She stood in the temple precinct of her nightmares. Her feet were firmly planted on the pavers of black granite, and Burne balanced on her shoulder. She couldn't move her limbs, and the rat was as still as a furry statue.

Before them stood Black, hooded and ten feet tall. He held a codex in his left hand and an athame of black crystal in his right. On his shoulder, its hooked stinger raised, was a scorpion; its body alone was longer and broader than a man's hand and extended fingers.

At one end of the colonnaded plaza beyond the tall wizard was the temple on whose triangular pediment a figure robed like Black strangled a bull, while a great scorpion drove off a horde of tiny humans.

To Sharina's right—she could turn her head, though her arms were petrified like her legs—she could see above the portico that a series of mansions with gilded entablature climbed the natural slope. To her left, past Burne, was a multi-story building with ranks of glass windows in bronze casements on the upper levels. Sharina had looked at the design of a similar central records building with Lord Tadai and a trio of architects, though the one they planned would've been in white marble.

In the sky roiled a figure molded from storm clouds, a scorpion which stood upright instead of sprawling. Lightning flashed behind its many eyes and dripped like poison from the tip of its stinger.

Black laughed in the same thunderous rumble as he had in her dreams. "You've caused me difficulties, princess," he said. "That's ended, now. Nothing can prevent the rise of Lord Scorpion, the only true God."

The scorpion on the wizard's shoulder drew a complex pattern with its pincers; the figure of cloud lowering over the black city mimicked—mirrored?—the same gestures. Sharina tried to grasp the hilt of her Pewle knife. Black was too far to stab from where she was frozen, but she could throw the weapon.

Her arms didn't move any better than her legs did. She strained anyway. She had to do something.

"Lord Scorpion will appear in the sky of Pandah, your Pandah, as soon as I speak the final incantation," said Black, "and the city will worship Him. When Lord Scorpion becomes manifest, you and I will return to the waking world as His high priests. We will live and reign forever in Lord Scorpion's black radiance!"

"I'll never join you," Sharina said. "I'll fight you until I win or I die. Never!"

"You won't have a choice," said the wizard said with another boom of laughter. "Your mind and soul belong to Lord Scorpion, princess, and your body is mine!"

Holding the book out, Black chanted, "
Skirtho athea darbo
. . . ." Instead of dipping and rising over words written around a symbol, the athame in his right hand drew a pattern in the air. It wasn't identical to the movements of the scorpion on his shoulder, but at the fuzzy edges of her mind Sharina realized the figures complemented one another.

"
Milio mili
. . . ," said the wizard.

"Mother?" chirped Burne. "I know we've had our differences, and I'm no more ready to concede than you are. But if you'll still admit that you have a son, this would be a good time for you to show it."

Sharina turned her head toward the rat, her mouth open to speak. Her arms and legs tingled.

Burne leaped to the codex in Black's left hand and with that as a platform sprang upward. He arched down with the wizard's scorpion in his forepaws.

Sharina's fingers closed on the horn grip of the Pewle knife. She stepped forward, watching for her opening. She didn't need to hurry. Black had long legs, but he moved awkwardly; she could catch him easily.

"Lady, aid me in your service," she whispered.

"What are you doing?" Black said. "
What are you doing?
"

Sharina stepped close. The shell of the big scorpion crunched like eggshell in the rat's jaws.

Black threw the codex at Sharina; she blocked it with her left elbow. It was a small volume but leather-bound, with iron corners and a hasp. It would have stung if she'd had time to think about it.

Sharina lunged. Black screamed and jabbed with the athame. The long crystal blade could've been a dangerous weapon but the attempt was clumsy, like all the wizard's other movements.

She caught Black's right wrist with her left hand. He tried to jerk free, but he wasn't strong enough. She chopped at the side of his left leg to where she thought his knee should be under the robes. She missed the joint, but a bone cracked anyway at the stroke of the sharp, heavy blade.

Burne's clicking teeth spewed out bits of chitin. The fragments gleamed in an arc against the duller black finish of the pavement. Overhead, the cloud wrack was dissipating, shredded by gusts which seemed to come from every direction.

Black lurched sideways and fell. Sharina landed on top of him, still holding his wrist. The fall drove the point of the athame into the pavement, chipping the granite and jarring the knife from the wizard's hand. The crystal didn't shatter: it must be black diamond instead of quartz or some lesser material.

Light spread through the plaza, bleaching the temple and porticos without blinding Sharina. Black mewled and squirmed like a salted slug. She thrust upward: from below the wizard's ribcage she thought, but the heavy steel grated through bone this time too. Dragging the Pewle knife free, she stabbed him high in the chest.

There was a stench worse than a long-dead mule bursting. Sharina rolled away from the body and got her feet under her. Holding her breath, she wiped the blade of her knife on the wizard's robe and backed away.

Black's hood slipped off. His flesh was dripping away as a foul liquid. The bared skull was neither human nor that of any animal of Sharina's experience. Its bulbous cranium sloped sharply to narrow jaws which hinged sideways instead of vertically.

Burne looked up from the remains of the scorpion and chuckled. "I'll bet mine tastes better," he said. He lifted his pointed snout and added, "Thank you, mother!"

Things were . . . changing. Sharina stood in light that neither blinded nor dazzled her. She was no longer in the dream Pandah, or not only there.

She heard voices, prayers; more than she could count but each distinct and meaningful. "
Lady, preserve us from evil. Lady, save me/us/mankind. Lady, grant us your mercy in this hour of trial
." Many voices, desperate but hopeful. There were people kneeling before temples, pausing in fields as they scythed grain, and standing before the windows of huts to look in the direction their men had marched off.

Lady, preserve us!

The world turned beneath Sharina's feet. Armies were massing for battle. She slid the Pewle knife back into its sheath; its time was over.

The storm that had gathered in the south now rushed toward her, taking on human shape. It was cloaked in cloud and the lightnings flashed from its hands.

Lady, preserve us!

* * *

"It's not our fault," Princess Perrine begged.

Ilna felt a sneer, though she didn't let it reach her lips. In her experience, nobody said that unless they were sure it
was
their fault.

"We were prisoners too," said Perrin. "Even when we went to the waking world, our parents remained here in the King's hands. We had no choice!"

An old woman in silk and gold lace had come out of the throng to embrace King Perus. They were crying hopelessly, helplessly. That was weakness; Ilna had only contempt for weakness. Nonetheless, the old couple weren't whimpering lies like their offspring were.

She began to pick out the knots of the pattern whose truth had destroyed the King of Man. She hadn't cried when Chalcus and Merota were killed. Would it have been better if she could have?

Hervir knelt before her, touching his forehead to the floor before rising. "Your ladyship," he said, his tongue stumbling over the emotions that thickened his words.

"I'm not a lady!" Ilna said. There was little enough she was sure of, but that she knew.

She looked again at the chamber, partly to avoid seeing the devotion in Hervir's eyes. "Why did that monkey imprison so many people underground?" she asked. "Was it just out of cruelty? Because with the drug he was giving you, he could have put you all to working in the fields and you still wouldn't have escaped."

"This is only incidentally a prison, your ladyship," Hervir said. Ilna didn't correct him again because that would obviously be a waste of breath, but her fingers started a new pattern—which she picked out unfinished with a look of self disgust. "It's the throne room of a god. By polishing the walls outward, we slaves of the King—the monkey—worked our very souls into the stone."

Ilna's face worked on the sour thought. "It must be the drug," she said, as much to herself as to the fawning merchant. "To worship a monster like that, an ugly beast!"

Usun had sauntered back to her, twirling his staff. He chuckled and said, "Surely you've seen more of people than that, Ilna? They'll worship any strong person who orders them around. If he tells them they're worthless scum fit only to sacrifice and slave for him, so much the better!"

Hands on hips, the little man surveyed the vast, self-lighted cavern. "And they're right, aren't they?" he said. "People
are
worthless slaves."

Ilna stared at Usun in cold fury, her fingers knotting a pattern that would—

The little man grinned at her. He'd caught her out, baited her into a reaction that taught her something about her own feelings that she wouldn't have guessed.

"No, they're not," Ilna said quietly. "As you and I both know. And that's probably less of a surprise to you than it was to me."

She held up the fabric she'd begun, picking the knots out as she spoke. "You're a very clever fellow, Master Usun," she said. "Perhaps too clever for your own safety, sometimes."

"There wasn't any danger that you'd act without thinking," said Usun, still grinning. "Unless I'd misjudged
your
cleverness. If I made a mistake like that, why, I'd deserve to be punished, wouldn't I, Ilna?"

She laughed. She didn't do that very often. She turned and called to the former prisoners, "You're all free now. We'll go back to the surface and then—"

And then what? Return to the waking world? From what both Hervir and the monkey-king had said, some of the prisoners had been in this hole for thousands of years.

"And then we'll decide what to do."

Her voice carried better than it should have; it filled the whole glowing cavern, despite the sighs and prayers of the captives. Maybe when they were out in the light of the valley, those who wanted to stay could set up a kingdom, a something, of their own. Garric would surely help those who wanted to live in the waking world.

"For now, leave this place! Perrin, you and your sister lead them out. Now!"

The door opened. The woman whose image was carved on its outer face strode into the chamber. She stood twice Ilna's height, clad in armor gleaming like black pearl. The points of the trident in her right hand glittered with a vicious absence of color.

"I am Hili, Queen of Hell!" she cried. "Worship me, slaves! You are mine for all eternity!"

* * *

The wind was worse than the storms out of the northeast that sometimes lashed Barca's Hamlet, but this time Cashel was sweeping across worlds and ages, not driven but driving. Mountains swayed beneath him; great seas rose in billowing waves before his onrush.

Cashel laughed with the joy of it, but he kept a firm grip on the quarterstaff. He knew he'd have need for it soon.

With no sense of motion or past motion, Cashel stood on the Stone of Question in the court of the Tree Oracle. Liane was on his left side and Rasile on his right. He didn't see Gorand.

Cashel turned. The women were looking around silently. Neither was the sort to talk just to be working her lips. They were good companions for when things got hard, which they were likely to do any moment now.

There hadn't been anybody else in the enclosure when Cashel first found himself in it, but Amineus and two other plump, middle-aged fellows came walking out of the Priests' House a moment later. One of the strangers led a goat; the other had a wax-stoppered wine jar with a pretty design in blue glaze. Amineus held a bowl, a knife with an engraved bronze blade, and a folded length of red cloth.

They were talking to each other. They didn't see Cashel and his friends till Liane said, "Good day, Master Amineus."

The priest with the wine screamed, "Spirits!" and flung the jar over his shoulder when his limbs spasmed. The goat got away too, bolting across the enclosure. The brick wall there had started to come down, which the goat seemed to have noticed as sure as Cashel had.

"Master Cashel!" Amineus said. "How—where—how did you get here?"

The priest who'd lost the goat sat down on the ground like a little boy and put his face in his hands. "Oh, may the Lady help us!" he said, then started to cry.