Dark Sun: Prism Pentad 4 - Obsidian Oracle (21 page)

“The Joorsh are attacking at dawn,” added Kester.

“That's when we're supposed to open yer gates.”

“And what was Fylo's part in this plan?”

With the hand clutching Tithian and Kester, the bawan gestured across the pit, where four
Saram warriors held the unconscious half-breed by his arms and legs. The rest of the
enclosure was empty, for most Saram were busy preparing for the next day's battle.

“Fylo has no part in this,” said Agis. “We tricked him into helping us.”

“Don't lie to me,” Nal hissed. “I'm wise enough to know that you are thieves, and that
Fylo is a traitor to all giants.” The bawan nodded to the tribesmen holding the giant.
“Show our guests what awaits them.”

The four warriors pitched Fylo's battered body onto the pit. The slab did not shatter or
even crack, but merely sagged under the giant's great weight. The half-breed lay on his
back, covering the silvery sheet almost completely, with his hands and feet hanging over
the edges. Beneath him, the ghostly faces pressed their lips and noses against the sheet,
their muffled voices crying out in the high-pitched tones of excited children. Many of the
Saram backed away from the hole, covering whatever passed for ears on their beastly heads
and turning away with fearful expressions on their faces.

After a moment, Fylo began to sink, slowly passing through the rock crystal. The faces
began to swirl around him in blurry, saffron streaks. Then, as his shoulders and knees
melted through the slab, the half-breed fell free and plunged into the hole. The ghostly
countenances streaked into the darkness after him.

“The giant you just killed never intended you anything but good!” Agis yelled, glaring up
at Nal.

That is for me to decide,“ the bawan replied. ”Besides, I doubt Fylo is dead-though he'll
soon wish he were."

“What do you mean?” Agis demanded.

“This is where we keep our deformed heads after we become true Saram. We must give them
playthings so they can amuse themselves, or they will fade away-and us with them,” he
said, his ears cocked at a cruel angle. “Be assured, the Castoffs will make Fylo pay for
his treachery a thousand times over.”

“I
suggest you think carefully before sending us to join him,” said Tithian. “If you release
us, we can help you defeat the Joorsh. But if you try to punish us, nothing will stop us
from helping them defeat your tribe.”

Nal's eyes flashed angrily. “Your threats are as empty as your promises,” he said. “What
difference can three puny humans make in a battle between giants?”

“We may be small, but my magic is not,” said Tithian. “It's for you decide whether I use
it to aid you, or to oppose you.”

Nal's hooked beak clattered in the bawan's equivalent of a chuckle. “I think you're
overestimating the value of your magic,” he said. The bawan leaned over and thrust the
hand holding Tithian and Kester toward the pit, then opened his fingers and allowed the
tarek to fall free. A short scream sounded from her lips before she slammed into the slab
and lay motionless, the Castoffs swarming up to press their faces to the crystal beneath
her body.

“If you are so powerful, save her,” said Nal.

Tithian tried to pull his arms free. Nal continued to hold him tight, preventing the king
from reaching for his spell components or making any mystical gestures.

“Loosen your grip,” Tithian ordered. “I need my hands to use my magic.”

“How unfortunate for your tarek friend,” sneered the bawan, watching Kester's stunned form
slowly rise to her knees. “I don't think I should trust you with free hands.”

On the crystal lid, Kester rose to her knees and crawled toward the edge. She had traveled
only a short distance before her arms and legs melted into the rock crystal. The tarek
snarled in frustration and looked up at Agis. “I never should've taken your silver,” she
said, slipping the rest of the way through the lid.

After she vanished into the abyss, Nal turned Agis right side up, then lifted him and
Tithian to the level of his golden eyes. “Now, tell me what you thieves want with the
Oracle, or you will join her.”

“We have no interest in the Oracle,” Agis said. “It's the joorsh-”

“Don't deny it!” snapped the bawan. “Sa'ram has told me that humans seek it.”

“Sa'ram said that?” Tithian asked. “Why would he think we want your Oracle?”

Agis realized the answer to the question almost before the king had finished asking it:
the Oracle had to be the same thing as the Dark Lens. It was the lens that the ancient
dwarf and his partner had stolen from the Pristine Tower so many centuries ago, and only
it would be so important to them that they were still keeping a watch over it a thousand
years later. Probably, the noble reasoned, they had brought it here for safekeeping, and
the artifact had eventually become a central focus of giant culture.

“Sa'ram does not explain his reasons to any giant-even me,” Nal said, answering Tithian's
question. “But to doubt him would be foolish.”

“Of course, as it would be to doubt Jo'orsh,” Tithian replied, nodding with exaggerated
sincerity. “We know that even in Tyr. We also know that they're the dwarves who stole the
Dark Lens-what you call the Oracle-from the Pristine Tower.”

“How dare you say such a thing!” Nal roared, indignant. “Sa'ram and Jo'orsh were the first
giants- not dwarves!”

Agis raised his brow, suspecting that both Tithian and Nal were correct. From the
Book of the Kemalok Kings,
he knew that Sa'ram and Jo'orsh had been the last dwarven knights. But, as the birthplace
of the Dragon, the Pristine Tower had become a dangerous and magical place, where living
beings were transformed from one kind of creature into something as different as it was
hideous. Given that the two dwarves had penetrated to its very core, it seemed likely that
they had come out as something else-in this case, giants.

“The race of Jo'orsh and Sa'ram is not important,” Tithian said. “What matters is that
they were thieves. We've come to reclaim what they stole for the rightful owner.”

Agis frowned. “There's no need for lies,” he said. “The truth will work better here.”

Tithian fixed a murderous gaze on the noble. “I agree. That's why I
am
being honest, this time.” He looked back to Nal. “I'm here on behalf of the true owner of
the Dark Lens.”

“How can that be?” scoffed the bawan. “Sa'ram has said that Rajaat fell more than a
thousand years ago.”

Tithian gave the giant a confident smile. “If you know the history of Rajaat, then you
also know who defeated him, and therefore who has the right to his property.”

“You can't mean Borys!” Agis gasped. “Even you couldn't sink to such depths of corruption!”

“It's not corruption for a king to do what he must to save his city,” Tithian replied.

“You care nothing for Tyr!” the noble accused, noting that Nal was silently watching the
exchange with rapt interest. “By giving the lens to the Dragon, you would destroy
everything the city stands for-as well as any hope we may have of saving the rest of
Athas. What can be worth that?”

“That's not your concern,” Tithian replied, pointedly turning his head away.

Knowing that he would learn no more by arguing, the noble fell silent and began to puzzle
out the king's motivations for himself. Tithian was not the type to serve as an errand boy
for someone else, especially not when the task involved dangers such as they faced at the
moment. If the king had come here on the Dragon's behalf, there had to be a special reward
in it for him-and Agis had to figure out what.

Tithian continued his discussion with Nal. “I suggest you give the Oracle to me now,
Bawan,” he said. “You'll save your tribe a terrible fight with the Joorsh.”

Nal held the king out at arm's length and let Tithian's legs dangle free. “And what
happens when I drop you instead?”

“You and your tribe will die, if not at Mag'r's hands, then at the Dragon's,” Tithian
replied. Had he been back in the Golden Palace addressing his personal valet, he could not
have sounded any more calm and sure of himself.

“You're bluffing,” Agis said.

The bawan nodded. “Your friend is right,” he said, still holding the king over the pit. “I
have nothing to fear from the Dragon. Sa'ram's magic prevents Borys and his minions from
discovering the Oracle's location.”

“Am I not Borys's servant? And did I not find the lens?” Tithian asked. “There are ways to
bypass the spells hiding it-as my presence here proves.”

Nal remained silent.

“Both Andropinis and Borys know I took a Balkan fleet to search for the lens,” the king
continued, pressing his argument. “When not one ship out of twenty returns, how long will
it take them to guess what happened? How many giant villages will the Dragon destroy
before he lands on Lybdos?”

“Your audacity is astounding,” Agis said. “No one else would dare threaten his captor in
these circumstances-but I suppose I should expect no less. You've always been boldest when
the prize was the greatest.”

A cloud came over Tithian's face. “I warn you, don't interfere.”

'Interfere with what?" demanded Nal.

“With the arrangements I've made to keep the Dragon from savaging Tyr,” supplied Tithian,
jumping in with an answer before Agis could respond. “Pay him no attention. Nothing he can
say will change what I've told you.”

Agis did not correct the statement, for if Nal was the kind of ruler who would allow
himself to be intimidated, anything the noble could say would only make matters worse.
Still, Agis perceived the lie behind the words, for he had long been suspicious of the
purpose behind the king's preoccupation with sorcery and the Way. Now, it had become
apparent that Tithian lacked only the Dark Lens to convert his dream into a nightmare for
Tyr.

After considering Tithian's words for a moment, Nal said, “I wish to know what prize you
expect to earn by giving our Oracle to the Dragon.”

“All you need to know is that in the end, you'll give the lens to me, or the Dragon will
take it from the ruins of your citadel,” Tithian countered. “The choice is yours.”

The bawan's neck feathers ruffled. “I've heard the truth in what you've said, Tithian,” he
said. “And before this is over, I'll also hear the truth in what you haven't said.”

It disappointed Agis to see Nal restraining his anger, for it meant Tithian's threats had
affected him.
“I'm
sure you'll find what the king hasn't said more interesting than what he did, Bawan,” said
Agis. “But first, it would serve you well to hear me out. I've also come to Lybdos seeking
use of the Dark Lens, but my purpose is to kill the Dragon, not serve him. Only then can
we return Athas to the paradise it once was.”

“Kill the Dragon?” Nal muttered, incredulous.

“My friends have already gathered two of the things we need,” Agis replied. “We have an
enchanted sword forged by Rajaat himself, and our sorceress has been imbued with the magic
of the Pristine Tower. All we need now is the Dark Lens.”

“And what magic will keep the Castoffs in their cave after you take the Oracle away?” Nal
demanded.

“The same magic that keeps them in the caves when it's the Joorsh's turn to keep the
lens,” Agis countered.

“Mytilene is only a wade of three days away from Lybdos, and even at that distance the
magic is weakened. Many Castoffs escape and harm my Saram,” he said. “If I allow you to
take the Oracle farther away, my tribe will be destroyed as surely as if the Dragon took
it from us.”

“Perhaps we can find another way to keep them at bay,” Agis insisted. “This is for the
good of all Athas.”

“What do I care about Athas?” Nal replied. “My concern is the Saram first, and all giants
second.”

“Killing Borys benefits giants, too!” Agis objected.

“Not as much as keeping the Oracle where it belongs,” replied the bawan, lowering Agis
toward the pit. “No matter how noble you believe your cause, I won't allow you to steal it
from us.”

With that, Nal dropped Agis onto the crystal lid.

The noble's knees buckled as soon as he hit, and he collapsed onto his side. The surface
seemed curiously warm, and Agis could feel it buzzing with the flow of energy. Below his
cheek, Castoffs began to press their faces against the translucent surface, and he could
hear them crying in the lonely, frightened voices of young children.

Agis closed his eyes. Although he had not been able to use the Way to help Fylo or Kester,
he hoped to save himself by buoying his body on its surface, much as Damras had shown him
how to float a ship. He felt the familiar tingle of energy rising from deep within
himself-then a brilliant flash exploded inside his mind, bringing with it the blaring
clamor of a thousand trumpets. The noble's mind ruptured into unbelievable agony, and,
though he could not hear it over the terrible din inside his head, a horrid scream rasped
out of his throat. Every muscle in his body erupted into fiery pain, and a wicked,
cramping torment filled his stomach. He tried to open his eyes, but found it impossible.
From somewhere above him, he heard Bawan Nal laugh.

“That's but a small taste of the Oracle's power,” the Saram said. “Do not call on the Way
again-or the anguish you feel will be a hundred times worse.”

The pain vanished as quickly as it had come, leaving Agis soaked in cold sweat and gasping
for breath. A freezing chill ran through his body. He opened his eyes and found himself
half-submerged in rock crystal. One side of his body had already passed through the
translucent cover. It was visible only as a pinkish blur, and it was as numb as ice. The
noble looked up and was surprised to see Tithian watching him with a remorseful
expression, then he dropped into the abyss,

Agis plunged downward for what seemed like forever, his gaze fixed on the translucent
cover above, his terrified screams breaking against huge quartz crystals growing out of
the granite walls. The Castoffs streamed after him, their masklike faces strangely
detached from any semblance of a head and glowing in the darkness like a hundred moons.