The Sunset Warrior - 01 (19 page)

They looked in all directions but could make out nothing in the gloom. There was no doorway close to them, no window; the narrow balconies were empty.

‘What is it?’ G’fand asked.

Ronin said, ‘We are in a Dark Section.’ His hand strayed to the hilt of his sword.

They moved on, and still the stone carvings regarded them, lips pulled back from bared teeth, and the sea of sound licked along the humped length of the crooked street, increasing in volume.

There was no space between buildings here, although they obviously were separated by walls on the inside, for they passed numerous doors now with individual, excessively carved fronts that seemed somehow unsteady, as if about to give way and expose the bare skeletons of the structures. As they advanced, an increasing number of windows opened on to the street. There appeared to be no order in their placement. They crowded one another in profusion, some just centimetres apart, others overlapping in chaotic riot.

Often, at the periphery of their vision, the pair thought they could detect movement behind the windows, furtive and unnatural, but each time their eyes darted to the spot, it was gone. G’fand particularly seemed disturbed by this.

The muttering continued unabated from all about them, which, unaccountably, increased the sensation they had of being watched. It occurred to Ronin then that there was a cadence to the sounds and, beyond a rhythm, melody.

They rushed on, almost at a trot, the jangle of metal against metal all but drowned in the pulsing sound. Chanting, Ronin thought. He told G’fand, who listened through his mounting unease, and nodded. But, he said, it was nothing he had ever read about. The words, long meaningless syllables, nevertheless chilled them. And as if one were the cause of the other, the shadows deepened and a cold wind blew along the street.

The chanting was louder now, swelling like an engulfing tide, and Ronin increased their pace until they were running headlong down the lane. The Bladesman in him abhorred this flight; his training was for Combat and his immediate reaction was to turn and find the source of the chanting, which seemed somehow to be affecting their senses.

They were running slowly, too slowly, the dark windows crawling by, the air so gluey and sticking to them that they had to cleave a path through it. And all the while the sound advanced on them from behind, rolling over them heavily.

But through the murk Ronin realized that Combat now was time-consuming and useless. At the back of his brain a tiny voice screamed and screamed: Get out! The trouble was that it was getting softer, and he had to strain to hear it, to remember what it was screaming.

Once or twice G’fand paused, panting, moving towards the houses, and Ronin, not quite knowing why, pulled him back, set him to running again.

But it was hard, the cobbles slippery and suddenly insubstantial, the breath pounding in their lungs. Small chitterings assailed them, and heavy slitherings from behind them, gruntings and weird moanings, so that the backs of their necks crawled. Tears seemed to be streaming from G’fand’s eyes. The street closed in upon them and the stone creatures above their heads proliferated, flocking on the overhanging ledges.

And still they ran, with a dogged singlemindedness now. Shrieks came from behind them, closer now, and the chanting, ritualistic, almost liturgical, reached its peak. Stone walls turned to rubber.

Both of them saw the light of the cross street at the same time, Ronin blinking his eyes to keep the connection so that his pumping legs would know where to go. G’fand began to waver, slowing down, and Ronin reached out blindly, dragging him forward towards the light. Why? he thought. Waves of sound washed over him and his vision went momentarily. Then someone, from very far away, a distant bright land, said: ‘Get out!’ And his legs dragged themselves forward, one last lunge, the screaming came—what?—ignore, forward to the slitherings, light and …

They stood in what appeared to be a wide avenue. Light streamed into their eyes, dusty and golden. G’fand dropped to the cobbles, chest heaving. Ronin turned, peering back into the deep shadows of the narrow lane. Nothing emerged, and—his head lifted—yes, sweet silence descended on to his aching ears.

Old shops lined either side of the avenue, their doorways open, small-paned windows dusty and dim. Above, their signs, of scarred wood and beaten brass, creaked in the warm breeze. Higher still, where one might expect windows to be, were solid walls of fired brick and mortar, broken at regular intervals by deftly carved stonework.

‘They are not decorative.’

‘What?’

The Scholar pointed. ‘The carvings on these buildings. Those are glyphs, very old, but still—’

‘Messages?’

‘Their history, perhaps. If I only had time—’

The avenue described a turning to the left and they followed this at a fast pace and abruptly found themselves at the edge of a vast plaza. The warm light shone unhindered here and G’fand scanned the vault above them in an attempt to discover the source. Near them now were only low buildings, but in the distance tall structures rose, their outlines blurred in the haze.

As they walked out into the plaza they noted that it was floored with alternating segments of deep brown and light tan stone, the former laced with chips of a mineral that caught the light and threw it back at them in dazzling pinpoints. The stones were precisely cut in shapes roughly like a triangle with its top point cut off so that it formed a four-sided figure, wider at one end. They were larger along the perimeter of the plaza and grew gradually smaller as the pair progressed towards the centre.

They came upon several low wide benches of a textured sandy stone, polished along the seat, grouped in a semicircle around a low oval structure. They sat gratefully down and rested for a time in the heavy molten light.

Ronin took a long pull from the waterpipe and ate some food without really tasting it. G’fand went to inspect the oval in front of them. It was perhaps a metre in height, lidless and hollow. G’fand stooped, found a small piece of rubble, dropped it down. After a long time there came a faint splash.

Ronin got up and joined him.

‘A well,’ said G’fand. ‘But judging by the water level, it has not been of much use lately.’

The walls of the well, constructed from the same sandy stone as the benches, were covered by the same style of carving as they had seen on the avenue. G’fand sat on his haunches to get a better look.

‘Can you make anything of it?’

G’fand frowned in concentration. ‘Uhm, well, it is quite a sophisticated language—more than our own.’ He pointed with a forefinger. ‘You see here, judging by the relatively infrequent repetitions, the glyph range must be enormous.’ He shook his head sadly. ‘Give me, oh, twelve or fourteen Sign and the right texts—although I suppose I could make do without—given more time, and I might be able to read this. Now—’ But he was still excited and would not leave the side of the well until Ronin, deciding that it was time to move on, spoke to him.

He looked up then, reluctantly, and seemed about to say something, when a movement caught his eye and he motioned to Ronin.

Off in the distance, three or four animal-like shapes moved among another grouping of benches. At first Ronin thought that they would move in another direction, but then the breeze freshened and he knew that they were downwind, and if the animals had not noticed them by now, they soon would.

The animals came out from under the benches, started hesitantly towards them. There were five of them, four-legged, long muzzles, dingy yellow fur, matted and dirty. They crept closer, and now he could make them out clearly: long forelimbs, hind legs short and thick with bunched muscles, so that they appeared to be crouching as they moved. Squat necks merged into wide powerful-looking shoulders. Their snouts were all mouth.

As they approached from the far side of the well, they spread in a rough semicircle. G’fand stood. He could see their eyes now, hot lemon circles with tiny black pupils.

Ronin slipped his sword from its scabbard. ‘Take the right side.’

At the same instant, they stepped from behind the cover of the well.

Black lips drew back from blood-red gums to reveal long curving fangs, blackened, wet with saliva, set in triple rows. The animal nearest Ronin yawned nervously, its jaws hinging open to an impossible angle. Its mouth snapped shut with a clash, and it licked its lips. The eyes regarded him feverishly.

He moved out to his left, reaching for his dagger, flicking it before him with his left hand, facing the animal with his side.

It blurred before his eyes and he knew it was leaping, but it was coming on his left flank instead of straight on. Impossible! He made a pass with the dagger but too late, and the blur was past him and, simultaneously, a second animal bounded at him from in front. The mistake was in treating them as dumb animals, and as the first one had gone beyond him he had corrected his thinking so that now, at the instant of the dual assault from front and rear, he had his legs far apart, knees bent to help absorb impact, the sideways stance already an enormous advantage because the left hand slashed upward with the dagger while the right arced the double-edged sword. The long blade clove the first animal’s skull in twain, spraying bits of yellow brain and shards of bone. Almost at the same time, the second animal was upon him, larger and more massive than the other. He tried vainly to flick it from him but the combination of mass and momentum was too much, and it landed upon his left shoulder, spit on the dagger, howling and shuddering as a great gout of black blood splattered hotly against him, viscous and sticky, the stench of it clinging to his nostrils so that for a moment he had trouble breathing. Staggering under the assault, he tried to avoid the long sinewy forepaws reaching for his eyes, scythelike claws scraping the air, great jaws snapping, eyes rolling. Jerking his left hand, raking the dagger through the thing’s insides, knowing his right arm was useless as long as the animal was on him, and still it writhed desperately against him. Then something smashed into his side and all the breath went out of him. Flesh came off in strips and he crashed to the stone tiles of the plaza.

On the right of the well, G’fand faced two animals. Nervousness and exhilaration combined within him. Both hands on his sword hilt, he feinted to his right, swung to the left, catching a beast in mid-spring, opening its chest and deflecting somewhat its body. At the same time, he did his best to keep out of the second animal’s way.

Ronin had reflexively let go of the dagger. Still he sprawled in the black blood and slime of the dying animal. Pain raced along his side and dimly he wondered how the blow had got through the mail corselet. He turned on to his back and saw the beast—the third one—poised to smite him again with its powerful forepaw. He struggled to get up as the animal crouched low, recognized that there was no time, and channelled all his energy into a mighty two-handed cut. He did not have the leverage that he would have had on his feet, but it was timing and swinging sword and arms as one, using the pivot of his wide shoulders as the power base. The beast leapt at him, so close that he felt the warm puff of fetid breath as the enormous jaws swung wide, heard the thin whine of the talons ripping the air before his head. He swung from right to left, the blade whistling for an instant before it struck the hide, bit into flesh, and Ronin leaned his torso to the right, using the added leverage as the blade cracked the beast’s spine and the carcass danced lazily, black blood pumping in spurts, fluttering in the air like funereal lace. The animal toppled in a twisted heap to the paving.

G’fand could not concentrate on both so he ignored the wounded one, attacking the second beast. He knew it was a mistake when he felt the weight of the first one crash on to his back. He staggered, went to his knees, his vision a blur. Then, miraculously, the thing was off him and he felt lighter than air, springing up and slicing into the neck of the advancing second animal with his bloody blade, oblivious to the impact of its fore-paw against his shoulder, swinging again and again even after the creature ceased to twitch.

After a time he was dimly aware of a hand on his shoulder, and he turned, staggering slightly to see Ronin standing over the animal he had wounded and forgotten about, the one that had almost killed him. He saw then that Ronin was grinning and he knew that even through his tiredness, his spent exhilaration, he was returning it.

They wiped their wet weapons on the matted pelts and, leaving the corpses where they had fallen, went across the vast plaza, reluctant in the end to leave it, to plunge back into the midst of narrow streets, dark and confined: the recesses of this enigmatic city. They worked their way down a crooked alleyway, turned right, then right again. They were in a section of the city containing low rambling houses with some space between them. As a result, this area was divided fairly evenly into square blocks. It was lighter here, though not as light as in the plaza, and for once the streets appeared to run quite straight.

They saw small animals, some looking much like the rodents of the Freehold, others bearing no resemblance to any creature they had encountered before. But all seemed small and likely presented little threat to them.

Occasionally they spotted large slitted eyes peering out at them from a dark doorway or a back alley, but there seemed to be no aggressiveness in the stares, only fright. G’fand commented on this, his spirits high, but Ronin was unaccountably worried by what lurked in those eyes. He tried to shake off the feeling, reasoning that they were now quite near the house of glazed brick. Yet it continued to grow.

Ahead lay the last few turnings. It was deathly still. The small skitterings and occasional chatter of the animals had ceased. In the abrupt absence of sound, he fancied he heard the chanting from the Dark Section. But there was nothing on the air.

They moved around a corner and, at last, caught sight of the house of glazed brick, its canted copper roof glowing in the late light. For a long moment they drank in the sight. G’fand gave a short cheer and Ronin smiled. Then they went down the street, Ronin leading the way.