Blinded by Power: 5 (The Death Wizard Chronicles) (7 page)

Suddenly, there was a sharp cry, and Kusala turned to see a Tugar catch a refugee, a young boy by the looks of him, just as he was about to fall.

After that they proceeded even more slowly, and it took half a bell for the entire contingent to make it to the bottom. By then Madiraa had stridden hastily into a dark tunnel. But Indajaala was with her, his staff of
Maōi
lighting the way more intensely than ordinary fire. This new tunnel was about the width of four bodies side by side, and its ceiling was only a cubit or so above Kusala’s head. The air was cold, and water drizzled off the ragged stone in a manner that resembled a misty rain.

The tunnel began to wind this way and that, with numerous offshoots that plunged into the dark depths of the world. Kusala marveled at the courage it must have taken for the first humans to explore this realm, but many of the black knights knew these ways well and were at ease in the chambers. It was the deepest portions—far, far below where they now walked—that were less known and that contained marvels, mysteries, and dangers foreign to the creatures of the surface.

Madiraa led them into another gallery, smaller than the first two but substantial in size, nonetheless. Through its middle ran an underground river, its icy waters smooth and silky but not without motion. This chamber, which was far longer than broad or tall, also was illuminated by natural outcrops of
Maōi,
though these were less dense and bright, providing just enough light to see barely a stone’s throw.

Kusala approached the river with the queen. He had been here before, though many decades ago, and his memories were hazy. The river was about ten cubits broad, but its pale-blue depths were indeterminable. As far as Kusala could tell, the river could have been a cubit deep or a hundred. But Kusala did remember Henepola once telling him that it was deep enough to drown in, and that its currents were swifter than they appeared. The memory of the king brought on a wave of sadness, reminding Kusala that it was not only Madiraa who was grieving. Kusala had lost not a father but a friend.

“Care for a swim?” the queen said, startling him out of his reverie.

“Very funny.”

“I’ve swum here before
 . . .
a few times—mostly without Father’s permission, of course. The water’s cold, but not much colder than the Ogha, and there are no snakes . . . at least not what you would consider to be snakes.”

“Your words bring me little comfort.”

Madiraa laughed. For a moment Kusala recognized the pleasant child she had once been, which saddened him further. But it was a temporary vision. In truth, the young princess was gone. A queen who would face a deluge of pain in the days to come had replaced her. Madiraa’s expression changed, as if she had come to this realization at the same moment. But she held back tears and then shouted to the others, who were gathering in droves along the riverbank. “Drink until your bellies are bloated and then fill your skins. This will be the last good water until we reach the mountains.” And then she knelt to do the same.

A black knight came forward with a report. “All have survived the descent, my queen. And there is more good news. There is still no sign of pursuit.”

“When it comes to Mala, it is not my way to be optimistic,” Kusala said, “yet I do not believe we will be followed. Besides, our force is not large enough to hold his interest. The next time we face the Chain Man will be on the Green Plains east of Jivita.”

Churikā had come over and was listening intently. “Chieftain, will we not harass his army as it marches along Iddhi-Pada? There are Tugars among us. We could make Mala’s life difficult.”

“The damage we inflicted would not be worth the effort,” Kusala said.

“You may lead your people wherever you desire,” Madiraa said bitterly. “But I have not yet chosen the path of mine. It is not so clear to me that we should go to Jivita and aid those who did not fight—or die—alongside us.”

Before Kusala could respond, the queen started off again. “Come!” she screamed in a voice that echoed so loudly it hushed all the others.

Indajaala glanced at Kusala, shrugged, and then fell in behind Madiraa. They followed the river for at least a league, wandering in and out of pockets of darkness where the quantities of
Maōi
were so small they provided little light. Madiraa marched too quickly for the large contingent to keep pace, and Kusala found himself beseeching her to slow down. Her responses were often rude, and there was a mania to her behavior that was unlike her. But who could question her after all that had occurred and was still presumably occurring. The horrific demise of Nissaya had negatively altered everyone among them.

Finally, Madiraa led them to the maw of another passageway, this one smaller and darker than the last—and it was devoid of Maōi, which made it pitch-black, its narrow opening anything but inviting. Without the conjurers’ staffs or ordinary torches, it would have been impossible to traverse, as far as Kusala was concerned.

“My queen,” Indajaala said. “Will you choose this way? There are easier passages not far beyond.”

“This is the fastest,” Madiraa said, her voice nervous.

“I thought we’ve already decided that speed is not an issue,” Kusala said. “We cannot tarry here forever, but neither should we rush into danger for no reason.”

“I know better than you what dangers await us,” Madiraa snapped. “But I do not choose this path out of despair. I sense something that troubles me, a foreboding presence. As many times as I’ve been in the catacombs, I’ve never felt this before.”

“Has Mala found another way into the caverns?” Churikā said.

In the dim light Indajaala’s staff provided, Madiraa sneered. “It is not Mala—or any of his minions—that I fear. There is something else, perhaps awakened from deep slumber by the storm above. Do you not sense it, Indajaala?”

“It would be a lie if I said that I did not.”

This incensed Kusala. “It’s a good thing the two of you decided to tell me about it. Or were you going to let this thing—whatever it is—walk up and politely introduce itself?”

“It is only now that I have been able to identify my discomfort,” Madiraa said, her voice still edgy, though less confrontational. “But it is possible we can avoid this ‘thing,’ as you call it, if we move quickly enough and take less-traveled paths. Regardless, we should stop here to eat and rest. We have gone fewer than two leagues thus far and have many more to travel before we see the light.”

Deep in the caverns beneath Nissaya, Madiraa allowed the large company to halt. Though it was difficult to estimate the passage of time, Kusala guessed that two more bells transpired before the recently ascended queen of Nissaya ordered the next march. The sun would be rising on the world above them, but it held no sway in the catacombs. Except for the abundant deposits of
Maōi
, the only light came from the conjurers’ staffs or ordinary torches, of which they had many—the fortress’ keepers having had the foresight to store them in chambers along the way.

Bearing fiery brands, Madiraa and Kusala strode into a craggy maw, followed by Indajaala, whose staff of
Maōi
was far brighter than any torch. The passageway was barely wide enough for two people abreast. Kusala, who was more than two spans taller than the queen, had to duck his head several times to avoid bumping it on the irregular ceiling. They descended rapidly, the slippery floor growing increasingly treacherous. Voices echoed behind them, and Madiraa sent back orders for all conversation to cease. Sound carried far in these dark depths, and it was obvious that the queen was concerned about who or what might hear.

Eventually, they came to a crossroads, where they had the choice of three passageways, each of similar size and appearance. Madiraa halted and stood silently for an uncomfortably long time before whispering to Indajaala just loud enough for Kusala to hear.

“You have advised my father wisely in the past. What say you now?”

“The left path is the most perilous, especially at the bridge, while the right opens into wide chambers that would leave us vulnerable,” the conjurer said. “For our purposes, I believe the middle path is the best of the three.”

“But the left path is the most likely to lack enemies,” the queen said.

“Still, it is very risky, especially considering that most among us are unused to such challenges,” Indajaala said.

Despite the conjurer’s objections, Madiraa chose the left passageway, which was narrow at first but soon broadened and grew taller, making it easier to traverse than the tunnel from which they had emerged. But even this passageway continued to descend, and Kusala wondered just how far they had plunged beneath the surface, guessing at least several hundred fathoms. Eventually they would have to begin walking upward, which would be a tiresome task, especially for the refugees, many of whom were ordinary village folk unused to such vigorous climbs. The children and elderly among them would find the going next to impossible.

The passageway spilled into another massive gallery that was hundreds of cubits broad and tall, its ceiling and floor littered with stalactites and stalagmites. There were traces of
Maōi
as well, creating just enough illumination to reveal a stunning deposit of yellow-brown diamonds protruding from one of the walls. The enormity of the wealth staggered Kusala. Just one of the diamonds would have been worth a fortune in Senasana, yet here there were thousands of them, some as large as his fist.

Madiraa led them along the floor of the gallery, winding to and fro between the stalagmites. Kusala felt as if he were wandering through a forest of stone trees. Eventually, the queen bade them to stop, then she walked over to a dark tunnel that appeared to dive sharply downward. She strode in far enough so that her torchlight was no longer visible. To Kusala’s relief, she reappeared quickly, though her expression was distraught.

“An enormous creature has come this way,” she whispered to Kusala. “There are markings on the walls, floor, and even ceiling. And it has left behind a strange odor, sweet as perfume.”

Kusala quickly ordered the Asēkhas to spread out and search in all directions, but they found no scat or other signs, other than those the queen already had reported. More than a dozen tunnels led out of this gallery, so if a creature had passed this way, it had many exits from which to choose.

“My queen, we should rest again before we continue,” Indajaala said. “From here, the ways are increasingly difficult, as you know far better than I.”

“Agreed,” Madiraa said.

A sharp cry startled the gathering, and Churikā came forward gripping a man by his wrist. She cast him to the stone floor at Kusala’s feet. Kusala recognized the pirate named Tew. The Senasanan countess stood nervously nearby.

“I caught him trying to pry one of the diamonds from the wall with a dagger,” the Asēkha said, her beautiful cleavage still revealed by her tattered black jacket. Was it possible the pirate was leering at it even now?

“Ohhhhhhh,” he moaned, cradling his wrist as if it had been broken.

“Where did you get the dagger?” Kusala said in a stern voice.

“I
 . . .
I
 . . .
found it on the ground.”

Kusala’s
uttara
flashed in the dim light, making a hissing sound as it approached the pirate’s throat before stopping a hair’s width from his neck. “Lie to me again, and I will not halt the stroke.”

“Yes, sir
 . . .
yes,
sir
 . . .
I stole it, I did
 . . .
from a man in front of me who had tucked it in his girdle. Please don’t kill me, sir. I meant no harm. I figured nobody would miss just one of these diamonds, when there are so many.”

Kusala glared at the countess. “I thought I told you to watch him. You are as guilty as he.”

“It’s dark and crowded,” she said, her voice quivering. “And he’s been well-behaved ’til now.”

“What do you think we should do with him?” Kusala asked her.