Part 24 (1/2)

'Falindrath,' said the sibyl, as the light crept nearer. 'Apendli, margote, bri ?'

Rose turned and lunged for Pazel, dragging him forward. 'Answer her, Pathkendle!' he cried, breathless with excitement.

Pazel waved his hands in protest. 'Captain! I don't speak - I've never heard--'

'You'll do fine! She always talks in riddles! Say whatever you like, but say it sweetly! Here, that's a good lad, take the present, give it to her!'

'When she asks!' hissed Oggosk.

'When she asks!' cried Rose, shaking Pazel violently by the arm. 'Only when she asks, d.a.m.n it, don't be so eager, she's a lady!'

Hands trembling, he took the carved stone from his mouth and held it out to Pazel. Flabbergasted, Pazel reached for the stone-- --and squeezed too hard. The wet stone popped like a grape from between his thumb and forefinger. Rose made a wild grab, and only managed to send it flying like a shuttlec.o.c.k across the room. In the darkness they heard it strike the wall - and then a soft splash.

Oggosk shrieked. Rose dealt Pazel a blow that sent him flying. The sibyl gave a wail of regret, and the enchanted light swept across the floor in the direction of the stone. But as it pa.s.sed Arunis, the sorcerer's hand shot out and seemed to close on something invisible. The voice gave a cry of pain.

Arunis pulled hard, like a fisherman setting a hook, and grimaced as the light throbbed in his fist. There was no doubt: he had her. And with the Polylex Polylex in one hand and the sibyl trapped in the other, he leaped headlong over the flames, up the stones rings, and vanished through a lightless arch. in one hand and the sibyl trapped in the other, he leaped headlong over the flames, up the stones rings, and vanished through a lightless arch.

'After him! After him!' shrieked Oggosk. 'Didn't you hear the sibyl? His book has a drawing of a spirit cell! If he copies it out and imprisons her inside, she'll be forced to tell him anything he wants. Do you understand ? Anything! Anything! Run, run, you jackdaws!' Run, run, you jackdaws!'

The next minutes were mad. The men and tarboys (except Peytr, who crouched in the doorway where Rose had left him) marauded into the darkness after the sorcerer. Thasha started to go as well, but Oggosk grabbed at her arm.

'Not you, girl. You stay here at my side.'

Thasha was incensed. 'Let go! I have to help them!'

'You will be. By staying put.'

'I can fight as well as they can! And Pazel's barefoot, and hurt, thanks to your favourite thug. Why does it have to be me me?'

Oggosk slapped her.

'Because I wish it, you arrogant girl! Because I'm your elder five times over! Because you'd still be flouncing about in your nightdress on the Chathrand Chathrand if I hadn't brought you along!' if I hadn't brought you along!'

Thasha was bleeding; the witch's rings had cut her face. 'Why did you bother?' she asked.

Oggosk leaned close to Thasha, blue eyes s.h.i.+ning in the blue firelight. 'Listen to me, you fool. If he succeeds - if Arunis wrests a means of controlling the Nilstone from that creature - you and I just might might be able to stop him. It would kill me, and damage your mind forever. But no one else in this world would have a chance. Now shut your mouth and draw your sword. I'd d.a.m.ned well prefer to get out of this alive.' be able to stop him. It would kill me, and damage your mind forever. But no one else in this world would have a chance. Now shut your mouth and draw your sword. I'd d.a.m.ned well prefer to get out of this alive.'

For Pazel the hour that followed was one of the most desperate, frightened and confused times he had ever known. There was no light, except in chambers where the blue fire gleamed. There were pits and caved-in hallways, and others on the point of caving in. Worse still, a great deal of the level to which they had descended was full of water. Some of it was cool, but most of it was hot - very hot, even scalding. When they neared such waters they were forced to turn back and seek another way.

They could hear the sibyl wailing, her strange voice echoing in the dark. But the depths of the temple were as tangled as the rooms above, and there was no telling into what distant chamber Arunis had fled, bearing his enchanted book and supernatural captive. They split into pairs, groping along the walls, feeling for stairs and holes and drop-offs. Pazel was with Chadfallow, whose hand on his arm felt like a surgical clamp. The darkness was horribly complete; they groped, swore, cracked their heads on unseen walls. Sometimes the pa.s.sage dwindled to a crawlway; at other times they wriggled through gaps only to find themselves in tiny, tomblike s.p.a.ces that seemed to shrink as they patted the stones. At every moment Pazel expected an ambush. Chadfallow carried a sword strapped to his back, but Pazel had only his skipper's knife, small and sweaty in his hand. Yet what scared him most was the thought of the unseen, scalding water. He could hear it in side-pa.s.sages, bubbling and hissing. He thought suddenly of a crab he'd watched Teggatz drop into a boiling kettle. It had died with one twitch of its claws.

Chadfallow whispered constantly, mostly warning Pazel of dangers as they groped down those hideous halls. But at one point he said: 'Find the book. That's all that matters. Until he copies out the design of that spirit-cell he cannot make the sibyl tell him anything. Take the book before he finishes, lad, and then run, run for your life.'

There came a flash of blinding light from the room ahead, and Chadfallow whipped out his sword. But it was only Drellarek and Dastu. They had relit their torches, somehow. Both man and tarboy looked deranged, their faces bright with soot and steam, their eyes wild and twitchy.

'Not a sign of him,' said the Turach, spitting. 'And Rose scalded his blary leg halfway to bacon, stumbling into a pool. I had half a mind to knock him over the head and carry him out of here. But your friend Hercol had other ideas. It almost came to blows.'

'We must stop Arunis,' wheezed Chadfallow.

'We can stop him by sailing away!' Drellarek poked the doctor in the chest. 'You're supposed to be bright. Tell me: is this madness or isn't it?'

'It will be over soon,' said Chadfallow.

Pazel and Dastu exchanged a look. 'Aye,' whispered the older tarboy, 'one way or another. Here, take this.' He handed Pazel his torch.

'Thank you,' said Pazel, gripping his arm with feeling.

Dastu managed a feeble smile. 'Watch them bare feet of yours,' he said.

They parted and went on. It should have been better with a torch, but it was not. There was too little air, and too much of the cloying scent, and the shadows seemed to leap out threateningly at every turn. And now that they could see the walls, they found that many bore hideous murals: sinking canoes, slaughtered animals, men maimed and fleeing through palm forests, warriors lifting severed heads.

Pazel was sweating and breathing hard. Time and again he had to crouch low, out of the worst of the steam, just to catch his breath. Chadfallow fared even worse. He discarded his coat, wrenched his s.h.i.+rt open at the collar. Soon he began to stop, crouching low, gasping as though about to faint. Pazel would creep a few paces ahead, considering the choices, longing for daylight as much as any glimpse of the sorcerer.

Then Chadfallow disappeared. Pazel felt a stab of panic. How could he have missed him? How far had he crept alone? He rushed back down the corridor, around their last two turns. He raised his voice to shout, but the steam burned his lungs so badly that he staggered and clutched at his chest.

The torch spilled all its embers. They lay at his feet, hissing and dying, the only light left in the world. Pazel began to crawl forward, croaking, 'Ignus, Ignus.' After a few yards his hand came down in hot water. He jerked back with a cry of pain. Trapped, blinded, burned. He closed his eyes in despair.

And then something startling occurred. Pazel thought once more of his mother. It was not the same vision as that on the balcony. This time Suthinia was looking at him as she so often had: sternly, but with love. Your Gift, our sacrifices, all these years you've survived on your own. Is this what they were for ? Your Gift, our sacrifices, all these years you've survived on your own. Is this what they were for ?

Pazel was shaken. Almost six years since he had heard that voice, but how vividly it came back to him now! He turned and crawled back to the torch, shook the wetness from his hands. Then, using embers that had already died, he coaxed the few live coals back into the mantle. He lifted the torch and blew gently, and soon a meagre flame sprang to life.

Just then a loud wail echoed down the corridor. It was the sibyl, nearer than he had yet heard her - dead ahead, unless the echo deceived him. He went forward on hands and knees, until he entered a taller chamber, where the steam was not as thick. Here he rose, swaying a little. It was an unusual room: painted with images of a rice harvest and grazing animals along a palm-lined river, not slaughter and war. And right across the floor ran a deep, gus.h.i.+ng stream in a tiled sluice. The water when he touched it was clean and cool.

There were several exits from the room. Pazel listened for the sibyl again, but no sound came. Then on a sudden impulse, he bent and splashed the water against his face. The feeling was blissful. He cupped more water and soaked his chest, holding the torch at arm's length. He closed his eyes and sighed with pleasure.

The third time he put his hand in the water, something took it and held tight.

He should have been terrified. But recognition came too soon for fear. Gold, a wondrous rush of gold through mind and heart, and joy like sudden deliverance from pain. He opened his eyes and there she was, rising from the water, her face aglow.

'Land-boy,' she said.

It was Klyst, the sea murth who had tried to kill him on the Haunted Coast, only to fall magically in love with her intended victim. Klyst, who had begged him to stay with her, to live enchanted in her people's kingdom in the Gulf of Thol.

She looked strange and unhealthy. Her impossibly thick hair hung like a great mat of seaweed on her head, the hundreds of braided kulri sh.e.l.ls merely a limp bead curtain tangled up in the mess. Her gown, which had once seemed a net of lights, was now a threadbare rag that clung like soggy tissue to her body.

But her eyes were unchanged. The love-spell had not broken, though she had never meant to cast it on herself.

'It's really you, isn't it?' he said. 'You're not a phantom, not a trick.'

The murth-girl nodded. She took an uncertain step in his direction. As though he might be the phantom, an apparition that could vanish with a word.

'Klyst, look at you,' he said. 'You're not well. What's happened to you?'

'Nothing,' she said, recoiling slightly. 'It's the waters of this place. They're unhappy. I'll be . . . pretty again, once I'm back in the sea.'

'You followed me in here,' he said, aghast. 'You've been following us all along, haven't you?'