Dark Sun: Prism Pentad 4 - Obsidian Oracle (33 page)

It was no use. Tithian could remember no more.

The king looked toward the last spirit. “Were you there that night?” he asked. “Perhaps
you were one of my brother's guards?”

“Weak fool!”

Tithian's jaw dropped as he realized the identity of the last eddy. “King Kalak!” he
gasped. “I didn't kill you!”

“Of course not. The honor belongs to that jackal, Agis, and his friends,” hissed Kalak,
coalescing into solid form. Although he had been well on his way to becoming a dragon when
Tithian had last seen him, he now assumed the shape of a skinny old man with a bald, scaly
pate and a face buried beneath wrinkles. “You merely betrayed me to them.”

“Then what are you doing here?” Tithian asked.

“I came to see if I should help you,” said Kalak. “I thought you might avenge my death-but
I see that's unlikely. You're as big a coward as ever. If you can't face your brother's
murder, you'll never murder Agis.”

“I didn't kill Bevus!” Tithian protested, his pained voice a mere croak. “Everyone
else-but not him.”

“I know what happened,” snorted Kalak. “You called on my magic-”

“King Kalak, no!” protested Bevus, reaching out to quiet the old man.

Kalak slapped the hand away, then continued to address Tithian. “When I saw how you killed
your brother, Tithian, I ranked you a true murderer-as fine as any since Rajaat,” Kalak
said. He paused a moment, then shook his ancient head in disgust and reached up to take
the battered circlet from Tithian's welt-covered head. “But I was wrong. You don't deserve
this.”

Kalak flung the crown into the grayness, then looked back to Bevus. “If you really want to
torture your brother, I suggest you let him go.”

“Why should I help him?” demanded the spirit.

“You wouldn't be helping, fool. Tithian can't remember murdering you, and he balks every
time he has the chance to kill Agis,” the sorcerer-king sneered. “If a coward like him
uses the Dark Lens against Borys, nothing you can think of will compare to what the Dragon
does to him.”

As Kalak faded away, Bevus turned to consider his brother's tormented form. “I think Kalak
is underestimating me,” he said, reaching for Tithian's eyes. “Don't you?”

The king turned his head away, fighting through his pain to keep his mind clear. Bevus
began to harass him, tracing agonizing circles around the king's eye sockets, moving just
slowly enough so that Tithian could always look away in time to save his eyes.

As he was tormented, the king focused his thoughts on saving himself. He did not try to
remember what had happened the night of Bevus's death, but concentrated only on accepting
that the first person he had ever murdered had been his younger brother.

A sickening pall of self-loathing settled over Tithian, and for a moment he was more
conscious of it than of the physical pain tormenting his body. He felt
a
foul darkness welling up inside himself, coming from a recess so deep and hidden that he
had not even known it existed. As the guilty secret rose into the light, he recognized it
for the hideous beast it was-but instead of recoiling from the terrible knowledge, he
embraced it as a part of himself.

All at once, a placid sense of relief descended over Tithian. He understood what had
happened on that brutal night, and why everything since had come so easily for him: his
rise through the templar ranks, his consolidation of the family fortune, even the
fortuitous alliance that had made a king of him. And he also understood why, when all else
had failed and no amount of treachery or bribery would win him what he wanted, he had
always relished the final option- insisting, whenever practical, that he perform the deed
with his own hands.

Now that he thought about it, Bevus's death had been his starring point, the moment when
he had discovered what he really enjoyed in life, and when his destiny had become dear to
him.

The king raised his arms to embrace his brother, saying, “Come to me.” As he spoke, he
used the Way to change his body into the ghostly semblance of a matronly woman. She had
graying hair and sparkling brown eyes, with a slender nose, high cheekbones, and a stem,
yet pleasant smile. “Yes, my son,” Tithian said, speaking in the soothing voice of his
mother. “Give me one last embrace before we say goodbye.”

As Tithian's arms closed around his brother's shoulders, Bevus looked up with
horror-stricken eyes. “No!” he screamed.

“Yes,” Tithian replied, pressing his lips to the young man's cheek. At the same time, the
king raised his hand and summoned his bone stiletto. When the weapon appeared in his hand,
he brought the blade down between his brother's shoulder blades. “Goodbye, Bevus.”

Agis threw the satchel down, then reached out and grabbed Sacha by the topknot, plucking
him from midair. “Where are Tithian and the lens?” demanded the noble.

“He never left this tunnel,” answered the head. “The spineless wretch betrayed us all.”

Agis smashed his prisoner into a gleaming wall of black mica. “Liar!”

“Would I be down here if I knew where Tithian was-or the lens?” countered the head. “I
came to search for them, the same as you.”

Gripping Sacha's hair with one hand, the noble slowly surveyed the mica-sheathed room,
searching every corner and nook for some sign of what had happened to the king. He did not
bother to light the shattered harpoon he had brought as a makeshift torch. The crimson
sunlight that spilled through the fissure in the roof illuminated the chamber in bright
scarlet colors.

“You're wasting our time,” said Sacha. “Tithian's not here. I looked.”

“I'll look myself,” Agis said, systematically moving along every wall and peering into
every dark corner. When he did not find the king, he returned his attention to Sacha. “If
you're telling me the truth, then explain how Tithian disappeared from this room with the
lens.”

Sacha rolled his eyes toward the crevice in the roof. The crimson orb of the sun hung
about a quarter of the way from the eastern end. “Maybe he climbed,” suggested the head.

Squinting against the glare, Agis studied the crack more carefully. Tilted at a steep,
almost vertical angle and covered on both sides with slick sheets of mica, the rift would
be a difficult, though not impossible, climb. It was just wide enough for a man to scale
by pressing his back against one side and his feet against the other-or, in Tithian's
case, to ascend through levitation.

“You'll have to think of a better lie than that, Sacha,” Agis said. “From what Sadira has
told me, the lens would never fit through that crack.”

“It would if it was in the satchel,” suggested the head.

Agis eyed the satchel. He was tempted to say that the Dark Lens would never fit inside,
but he had seen Tithian draw enough objects out of the bag to know that there was
something magical about it. “If the Dark Lens was in there, Tithian wouldn't be gone,”
said Agis, casting an eye at the crumpled sack. “He'd never leave it behind.”

In spite of his words, the noble laid Sacha on the ground next to the satchel, placing a
foot on the disembodied head to hold him place. “Still, there's no harm in checking. How
does this thing work?”

“Put your hand inside and picture the lens,” the head said. “If it's in there, it will
come to your hand.”

“What does the lens look like?” the noble asked.

“How should I know?” Sacha snarled.

“Rajaat used it to imbue you with the powers of one of his Champions,” Agis replied,
pressing his foot down on the head.

“It's big, obsidian, and round,” came the strained reply. “That's all I remember-I was in
pain, and the tower was full of flashing light.”

Agis gripped the satchel beneath the elbow of his broken arm, preparing to thrust his good
hand inside. Before he did so, he looked down at the head and said, “If this is a trick,
I'll tie you to a rock and drop you in the Bay of Woe.”

“I want to locate the Oracle as much as you do,” snarled Sacha. “And to find out what
happened to Tithian.”

Agis put his hand inside the sack and pictured a large obsidian sphere, similar to the
ones that they had found in Kalak's treasury when they killed him. An instant later, he
felt the cool, glassy surface of obsidian in his hand. The noble pulled his hand out of
the satchel and saw that it contained an obsidian ball about the size of his own head.

“Too small,” hissed Sacha. “Try again.”

Agis tossed the sphere aside and returned his hand to the satchel. This time, however, as
he pictured what he imagined the Oracle to look like, he also concentrated on the cool,
smooth feel of the glassy stone, hoping the added detail would compensate for never having
seen the lens.

When nothing came to his hand, the noble shrugged. “Nothing.”

Sacha looked back toward the ceiling. “Then he had to have taken it out through the
crevice,” said the head.

Keeping the satchel tucked under his broken arm, Agis picked Sacha up again. “What about
magic, or the Way?” he asked. “Could Tithian have used his powers to take the lens out of
here without going through either exit?”

“Anything's possible with the lens,” said Sacha. “Which is all the more reason we should
leave now.”

Agis frowned. “Why are you so anxious to get me out of here?”

“Because that traitor Tithian has a good lead on us,” sneered Sacha. 'let's go."

Agis shook his head. “I think not,” he said. “It strikes me that you're trying to hide
something. Tithian's still down here, isn't he?”.

“Don't be ridiculous!” hissed Sacha. “You can see for yourself we're the only ones here.”

“And what about Wyan?” asked the noble. “I suppose you're going to tell me you don't know
where he is?”

Sacha's gray eyes widened. “He was supposed to be watching the entrance to the tunnel,” he
said. “Didn't you see him there?”

“No, I didn't,” Agis growled, stuffing Sacha into the satchel. “And I'm tired of your
lies.”

The noble closed the sack and folded the top over to form a tight seal, then, using his
knees to help hold it, he bunched it together in a ruffled wad. Next, he tore a strip off
his cape and used it to bind the sack closed, using the surest knot he knew. Once that was
done, he dropped it near the exit, where he would not forget to pick it up on his way out
of the chamber.

The noble began searching the chamber again, this time more carefully. Several times, he
used his broken harpoon to scratch away at crannies and niches that seemed suspiciously
deep or straight, hoping to find a secret door or hidden passage lurking behind them.
Twice, he even resorted to peeling sheets of mica off the walls when the light played
tricks on his eyes and he thought he had spied a torch flickering behind them.

Agis discovered nothing but more mica. Whatever had become of Tithian, it seemed that he
was not here-and the noble doubted that the king had any intention of returning. He looked
around the room one last time, then turned to leave.

That was when he heard a giant's heavy breath purring down the tunnel.

* * * * *

With his wyvern's tail wrapped around the Oracle, Tithian continued to fly through the
Gray, traveling in what he hoped was the direction from which the red flash had appeared a
few moments earlier-or had it been longer? The king had no way of telling. All he could do
was flap his leathery wings, keep his nose pointed straight ahead, and hope that he was
flying on the correct course.

After driving away his brother and the other murder victims, Tithian had rested for a
time-he did not know how long. His welts had slowly faded, and with them his pain. By that
time, he had regained his strength and was ready to continue his search for the exit.

The task had been more difficult than he expected. At first, he had called on the Oracle's
power to visualize the opening to his satchel. The effort had failed miserably. Although
he had created more than a dozen red circles resembling the exit, after passing through
them he always found himself back in the Gray.

Next Tithian had tried magic, and the results had been even more devastating. Because
there were no living plants in the Gray, he had turned to the Oracle for his power. But
when he had summoned the energy into his body, its intensity had burned the flesh from his
hand. From that, the king had deduced an important lesson: as a mindbender, he was
experienced enough to channel the power of the lens through his body without injury. But
as a sorcerer, he could not control the savage energies.

Next, Tithian had tried to use the Way to make a compass out of his bone-handled dagger.
When he balanced the blade on his finger, the tip had always pointed slightly to the left.
It had taken him only a short time to realize that by following it, he would do nothing
but fly in circles.

The king had just decided to stop and try to think of something new when he had glimpsed a
faint red flash. Casting aside his useless dagger, he had turned toward the light and
flown as fast as he could, pulling the Oracle along with him. Tithian had seen no more red
lights, flashes or otherwise, since.

Cold fingers of despair were just beginning to creep into the king's heart when he spied a
small point of darkness in the Gray ahead. He redoubled his efforts and flew toward it as
fast as his wings would carry him. He did not even allow himself to blink. It was the
first substantial form that he had seen since chasing his brother away, and the thought
that it might disappear before he reached it terrified Tithian.

To his relief, it did not. As he approached, the dark point became a dot, then a circle,
and finally he identified it as the back of a head-a disembodied head with a long topknot
of hair.

“What are you doing here?” Tithian demanded.

The head slowly turned around, and the king saw by the broad cheekbones and yellowed teeth
that it was Sacha. His gray eyes darting to the lens, Sacha said, “I see you've found the
Oracle-though I don't know what you think you're going to do with it in here.”