Part 13 (1/2)

Hirea said, 'Yes, but you can't be thinking-'

'Yes,' interrupted Nakor. 'I must.'

Further debate was interrupted by the arrival of a Deathpriest, escorted by two palace guards. He said, 'I recognize the badges of the Scourge and Sadharin.' He looked down at Bek and said, 'You wear no badge. Which society do you belong to?'

Before Bek could answer, Martuch said, 'He is my retainer, by name Bek.'

'Sadharin. Which house?'

Now they were rapidly getting into murky water, for it was never considered for a moment that any of the visiting humans would undergo this level of scrutiny. Martuch said, 'Langorin.'

The Deathpriest's eyebrows rose slightly. 'Your name?'

'Martuch,' he replied, inclining his head in a deferential gesture that was so slight it bordered on insolence.

'You are known, even here, Martuch of the Langorin. Is this your son?'

'No,' Martuch answered quickly. 'He is from a Lesser family'

Nakor wondered if this might be a ploy by Martuch to get Bek dismissed.

The Priest looked confused, both curious and dubious. 'How is this possible?'

Martuch looked at Bek in such a way he was clearly telling the young man to pay close attention to the story. Nakor knew that Bek at times seemed single-minded, even to the point of simplicity, but he was anything but stupid. He was murderous and bloodthirsty and he took pleasure in others' suffering, but he was no fool. A quick glance from Bek told the diminutive gambler that he would follow Martuch's lead. 'I found him during a hunt. He had been chased down by one of my youngest retainers, the son of one of my most trusted old companions, and Bek had pulled him from the saddle, taken away his sword and killed him.'

'Impressive,' said the Deathpriest, his expression changing.

'Not by half; by the time I reached the struggle, he had killed another Deathknight with his newly-acquired sword and had wounded another grievously. He stood defiant, not a hint of fear, daring me and others to come and die. I knew at that moment I needed to take him into my service, to train him for some special role. Now I understand why I was fated that day to take him in; the Dark One has marked him for a higher calling.'

'Apparently,' said the Deathpriest. He made an imperceptible motion with one hand and the guard closest to Bek moved. His hand shot down to the hilt of his sword and in a single motion he drew it, and with a looping arc, aimed it for Bek's neck. But before the blade had cleared the scabbard, Bek had moved just enough to his right to draw his own sword, reach back and drive it home. While the palace guard's blow cut through empty air, Bek drove his own blade through the man's stomach, punching through his armour and completely through his body, so that the point protruded from his back.

Martuch and Hirea stepped back to draw their own swords while Nakor moved away, ignored for the moment, but ready to defend himself and Bek with whatever 'tricks' might be needed.

But to everyone's surprise, the Deathpriest shouted, 'Hold!' The second palace guard stood ready to attack, but held his place.

Bek grinned at the Deathpriest. 'A test?'

'Impressive,' repeated the Deathpriest. He looked at Martuch. 'You would not be the first head of a family to embellish the accomplishments of a called warrior, to gain reflected glory for your house and society. I found it hardly credible, the story you told, but now...' He glanced to where Bek easily pulled his blade free of the man's corpse and added, 'I believe this young man, with a sword he had never wielded before that night, killed two-'

'Three,' interrupted Martuch. 'The wounded warrior died a short time after.'

'-three of your Deathknights.' He turned to Bek. 'Stand up.'

Bek did so and if he had been impressive sitting on the bench, he was now doubly so, for if anything his Dasati guise had made him even larger and more menacing than he was in human form. Martuch said, 'It was a more than fair bargain. He is the equal of a dozen men.'

'This one will rise quickly, I think,' said the Deathpriest. He glanced at Nakor. 'Is this Bek's Attender?'

'Yes,' said Martuch. 'I gave this thing to him some time ago.'

'Come with me,' said the Deathpriest to Bek, and Nakor followed the young man.

Silently, Nakor sent up a short prayer to whatever kind G.o.d might just happen to listen. He took one moment to give Martuch and Hirea a quick glance over his shoulder, then followed his strange young companion into the heart of evil.

Pug was nearly exhausted by the time they landed. One unantic.i.p.ated consequence of their chosen method of travel had been a particularly vicious flying predator that had a keener perception than most. An almost disastrous attack several hundred feet above the surface of another canton of the city had nearly caused him to lose control, which would have killed them all, less than an hour into their journey. He and Macros together destroyed the flock of winged killers, while Magnus kept them from falling to their death below.

Since that first encounter, Pug had had to fine-tune his spell of invisibility to cover a range of the spectrum beyond that which the Dasati eye could see, as well as somehow defeat those creatures that hunted by heat. He had used his prodigious ability to fas.h.i.+on such a mystical masking, literally on the fly, but the cost had been one of near-exhaustion by the time they reached their final destination.

Valko had endured the journey with a stoicism that would have shamed a Tsurani, Pug thought. If a young Dasati warrior could be termed 'likable', then Valko was such. He only mentioned his almost uncontrollable desire to murder them twice, but the context was how difficult he judged his personal struggle with new concepts and leaving old values behind, which was as close as any Dasati came to being personally revealing, Pug decided. In a very alien way, it was admirable.

They reached a mountain stronghold that was invisible to all but the most powerful scrying magic, but Pug had no difficulty sensing it as they approached. Perhaps it was a result of the manipulation he had been controlling for almost a full day as they jumped halfway around the world. Macros let out an audible sigh of relief when they touched the ground, and said, 'I had none of your burdens, Pug, but I fear my const.i.tution is far less robust than what it once was.'

'Is there any danger in approaching this enclave?' asked Magnus, who seemed relatively fresh despite his efforts over the last day and more. Pug was impressed by his son's endurance.

'Most certainly,' said Macros. 'We would do well just to stand here and let them come to us.'

For nearly an hour they waited, then a last a ripple in the air around the invisible enclosure announced the arrival of a quartet of young women. Pug suspected they were either among the most puissant of the Bloodwitches, or those they could most afford to lose if Pug's group proved hostile.

'You are unbidden here,' said the leader, a striking young Dasati woman who was tall by her race's standards. She had a bearing that set her apart from the others, so Pug a.s.sumed she must be the leader here.

Valko spoke before anyone else. 'I am Valko, Lord of the Camareen, son of Narueen.'

That name provoked a response, but before the women could respond, Macros said, 'And I am the Gardener. We have much to discuss.'

The leader nodded. 'Indeed. You must all come with us.' She stared hard for a moment at Valko, then turned and walked away. The other three stepped to either side, clearly indicating that Pug and his companions were to follow the tall young Bloodwitch.

As they reached the edge of an apparently empty clearing, Pug felt the energy pulse of magic and suddenly a walled fortification appeared. He realized that they had stepped past the boundary of a ma.s.sive illusion, one designed to fool any onlooker until they actually made contact with the boundary. He also suspected that there were nasty surprises for anyone who did if they were not expected by those inside.

The enclave was ancient, Pug instantly knew. It had that look of stones which had been set in place for hundreds, even thousands, of years, worn smooth and seamless by the ceaseless caress of the wind and rain. Corners once sharp were now rounded, and a rut in the stone showed where countless feet had trodden from the gate to the entrance of the main building.

This was the first Dasati construction Pug had seen that was not part of some ma.s.sive urban centre. It was simply a keep. It looked similar in many respects to one that he might find in the mountains of the Kingdom of the Isles, a square stone building with a circular tower rising in the middle, commanding a view of the mountain pa.s.ses below that would warn any lookout of an enemy approach hours in advance.

Inside Pug could feel the vibrancy, which suggested for more than just the bustle of women busily taking care of the day's needs, and in the distance he could hear the unmistakable sound of children. And they were laughing! The tall woman turned and said, 'You must wait here for a moment.' To Valko she said, 'And you must remove your sword and give it to her.' She pointed to another young Bloodwitch.

'Why?' asked the young Deathknight defiantly. His sword was hard won and represented much of who he was and what he had endured.

'Because there are those here who wish you to be unarmed,' answered Macros. 'Please.'

'Please,' was a word rarely used in Dasati culture, and one that usually meant a pleading for life. In this context, it was a simple request, yet a powerful one. Valko removed his belt and scabbard and handed them to the young woman.

The leader of the four Dasati women departed, leaving them alone with the three remaining escorts. The hall in which they found themselves was just what Pug would expect from a simple keep: it was a short hallway, intersecting another with two doors, one at either end, presenting a blank wall to the main entrance. In ancient days, should the main entrance be forced, invaders would have had a short route to awaiting death. Glancing upwards, Pug saw the murder gallery above, down from which would rain arrows, bolts, rocks, and boiling pitch or oil. At either end of the hallway, ma.s.sive doors waited, no doubt equipped with huge bars and reinforced to withstand all but the st.u.r.diest rams. Pug could only speculate, but he imagined this fortification had never been taken.

Unlike the other Dasati buildings in which he had been, this one had decorations hanging on the walls. Ancient banners from the look of them; possibility insignia from antiquity, emblems of houses or societies long vanished. Pug could not tell. One of them, however, looked vaguely familiar, and his eyes kept returning to it. It was simple, a red field with a white glyph in the middle. The shape of it was almost recognizable, a single vertical line, bending to the right at the top and looping down to almost close against the vertical. Below that point, a short single line crossed and below that, another, longer one. Why did he think he recognized it?

Three women returned in the wake of the young woman who had greeted Pug and his companions. The three younger women who had waited with Pug's group departed.