D & D - Red Sands (2 page)

Marix of Dosen was taken aback by her vehemence. " Y>ur pardon," he said again. "You have the look—that is, the coloring—of such as we of the Eight Provinces call Faziri."

Jadira looked beyond the foreigner to the table where the lamp had been. The remains of a meal lay scattered about, together with an earthen jug. A bronze spoon, its handle worn to a stub, completed the scene. She licked her lips and stared.

Marix noticed her wide-eyed gaze and said, "It is poor fare, but you are welcome to it."

Jadira fell upon the table and devoured what was left of the meal. She stripped the squab's bones of every scrap of meat, then cracked the bones and sucked out the marrow. The old peach she ate, skin and all, down to the pit. The wine was very nearly vinegar, but to her barren throat it was nectar such as Mitaali never tasted.

"Is there more?" she asked after licking the plate shamelessly.

"Ah, no. I'm given only one meal a day. The scoundrels believe they can bend me to their will by starving me.

Jadira thought of the moldy bread in her own bare cell and laughed out loud. Marix said, "You find my plight amusing?"

"Not at all. I laugh for the joy of your company," she said. He bowed again and in a courtly fashion offered her his only chair.

"Why is one such as you languishing down here?" Jadira asked. "I should think a foreign noble's son would be an honored guest of His Magnificence."

"Alas, I am a pawn, not a guest."

"How so?"

"It is a long tale," said Marix.

"My ears hear only you," Jadira answered.

"It began when my father bade me go in the company of Sir Kannal Dustan from Dosen to the city of Tantuffa—"

"The seaport?"

"—yes, and there learn the trade of arms. I was to enter the service of Lord Hurgold of Tantuffa, but our party was ambushed by the sultan's men in the province of Maridanta. Sir Kannal died in the fight, and I was brought to Omerabad," said Marix.

"I see," said Jadira. "So now the sultan seeks to embarrass Lord Hurgold, and keeps you hostage until your noble father pays a ransom?"

Marix rubbed his hand on the top of the crudely made table. "There will be no ransom," he said.

"Why not? Surely a count can spare some gold, even for his third son."

Marix gave the nomad woman an intense look. Swiftly he knelt on one knee by her side and lowered his voice to a whisper.

"Are you a woman of honor?" he said quickly. "I must know. If you are a Faziri spy, leave now and trouble me no more!"

Jadira frowned. "If you think me a spy, then you can believe no answer I give you," she said. "But I am no

spy." She pulled open her collar to reveal gaunt hollows in her neck, deeply shadowed in the lamplight. She held out her thin, scarred hands.

"I spent four days digging through that wall. I ate nothing, and the demon-king plagued me with dreams and deceptions, but I outlasted him. I am Sudiin of Sudiin; that is enough honor for anyone!" Her black eyes glittered in the half-light. "And as for being a Faziri tool, if we were not in this cursed hole, I would demonstrate my anger for such an insult!"

Marix pressed a hand over his heart. "Lady, forgive me. One hears that in the land of Fazir there is all manner of treachery, and what I know must not come to the attention of any minion of the sultan."

Jadira held her head high. "I've no way to convince you that I speak the truth. Speak or remain silent. I do not betray secrets."

"Do you know the Five Cities of the Indigo coast? No? Besides Tantuffa, they are Akker, Sivon, Maridanta, and Herza. These are the only sovereign cities on the east shore of the Inland Sea as yet free of Faziri control. But all is not well amongst them. Matters of trade and religion have brought them more than once to the brink of war.

"The sultan delights in their troubles. His emissaries do what they can to stir up the five against each other. Lord Hurgold, seeing the danger in division, proposed that a foreign prince resolve the cities' differences in an impartial hearing."

"What prince?" asked Jadira, somewhat adrift.

"In this case, my father's liege lord, Prince Lydon of Narsia. His Majesty sent one of his state seals with Sir Kannal, in token of his trust. The lords of the Five Cities are to meet in a conclave at Tantuffa on High Summer's

Day. If Prince Lydon's seal is not there, they will assume the prince declined to intervene. No treaty can be made."

"There follows war, and the only victor will be the sultan," said Jadira, seeing the truth at last. "What became of the prince's seal?"

Marix folded his hands and touched them to his lips. "Seeing our party outnumbered, Sir Kannal ordered me to save the seal. Drawing his great two-handed sword, he led the last of our brave men-at-arms into the very teeth of the Faziri lancers, where they perished to a man. With their cries ringing in my ears, I buried the box in a nearby olive grove."

"Could you find this grove again? The exact spot?"

"I am certain I could." The fellow sank back on his haunches. "Oh, this is idle talk! We are in the deepest prison in Omerabad. We shall die here!"

She ignored his despairing remarks. "Do the Faziri know of Prince Lydon's seal?" she asked.

"No. Only Sir Kannal knew, and he's dead."

"Good. They must have another use for you. Nothing good, I am sure." Jadira looked around the cell. Apart from its sparse furnishings, it was identical to hers. "I think I know how we may get out of here," she said.

Marix lifted his head. "How?"

"To get this much food in, the guard must enter your cell, yes?"

"He enters, once he sees I have retreated to the rear wall. You're not thinking of overcoming him, are you?"

"Why not?"

"He is uncommonly large, with some orcish blood, I think. He carries a cudgel of no mean weight," said Marix.

"Great trees will fall to a small axe," Jadira said thoughtfully. "Especially if they don't see the axe coming." So saying, she slipped to the floor beside him and told him of her plan.

• Keys and Cages
  
• The Menagerie
  
• The Word of Agma
  
• Julli
  
• SHAMMAT
  
• Sacred Chimneys
  
• Hard Duty
  

Keys and Cages

Nungwun the guard halted at the cell door. He leaned his knotty club against the wall and shoved the wicket-gate back with one meaty hand. Bending down, he put an eye to the peephole and saw the pale foreigner by the far wall. Marix's hands were folded reverently and his eyes were closed.

"I bring food," said Nungwun. Marix remained in his prayerful pose. "Y>u stay back or no eat," added the guard. Marix didn't move.

"Hmph. Crazy outlander." Nungwun closed the trap and released the latch. The heavy door swung inward. The guard hefted his cudgel in his right hand while trying to balance a trencher of food in his left.

"Is time to eat!" he bellowed. The fellow might have been a statue for all the response he gave.

Nungwun had to stoop his heavy frame to pass through the door. He set the meal on the table and approached Marix cautiously. Poking him with the narrow end of his club, he asked, "You sick?"

"Shh!" Marix hissed.

"What you do?"

"I'm praying."

"Why you pray?"

"I'm asking my patron deity for a favor."

"Huh! What favor you ask?"

"I'm begging Tuus, the sun god, to drop a large rock on your head," replied Marix.

"My head!" growled Nungwun. He stepped back involuntarily and looked up.

There was Jadira, feet and shoulders wedged between the ceiling corbels, her face contorted with effort. She clutched a tenth-talent block of limestone broken from the wall. When the guard raised his lumpy face, she released the missile. Nungwun toppled like a great tree.

you see," said Jadira when she was on the floor again, "the gods do grant favors to mortals. Even when the mortal nearly spoils things by causing the target to step back."

Jadira rifled Nungwun's pockets while Marix stood watch at the door.
The
bulky guard had little on him they could use. One silver coin (with toothmarks), the cudgel, and a small notched iron rod were all he carried.

"Keep that," said Marix, indicating the rod.

"What is it?" asked Jadira.

"A key. The hall is empty. Let us be off!"

Marix bolted the door after Jadira joined him in the corridor. He pointed left and said, "I was brought that way and passed a guardroom as I came."

"So we'll go the other way," said Jadira, moving quickly to the right. They kept close to the wall. The massive blocks bulged outward from their centers like great stone pillows. A rime of soft gray mold filled every crack. Now and then a fat brown rat squealed softly and scurried away into a black hole in the floor.

The corridor curved to the right. They passed several • ells, bolted and silent. The sickly smell of death was in i lie air. Without a word, Jadira reached back and took Marix's hand.

A new dark corridor opened up on Jadira's right. 1 learing voices drift down the passage ahead of them she ,md Marix pressed themselves into the shadows. Marix took the cudgel from the nomad woman. She nodded briefly toward the oncoming voices, and he signed his understanding.

Two men, a Faziri soldier in mail and a leather-vested jailer, wielding a torch appeared in the tunnel. They were talking earnestly about dice when they spied Jadira standing proudly in their path.

"The sultan," she declared, "is the son of swine!"

The soldier snatched at the scimitar on his belt. He never drew it, for Marix burst from the shadows and bashed him across the neck. The Faziri's spiked helmet bounced and clattered on the paving. The torch-bearing jailer turned to flee, but in a flash, Jadira leaped on his back and bore him down. She cracked his sbaven pate repeatedly on the stone floor until he stopped struggling-

More voices could be heard. As she quickly ran through the jailer's pockets, Marix retrieved the soldier's sword. He stuck it through his belt and said, "Get the torch."

They ran into the dark tunnel. A faint breeze washed their faces and flickered their torch as they walked down the passage. There had to be an outlet somewhere ahead.

They passed a series of niches in the walls. Jadira thrust the torch into each opening, looking for a way out. The niches held nothing but skeletons, some still

clothed in rotting garments. All were chained to the wall. Spiders and other vermin crouched in their empty eye sockets, and the skull mouths hung open in unheard cries of silent agony.

"Tuus preserve us," Marix muttered as the parade of the dead continued.

Jadira steeled herself and turned to the next niche. This one was deeper than most. She stepped in—

A dim figure rose up with a clanking of chains. Marix and Jadira shrank back, torch and cudgel to the fore. From the umber depths of the alcove, a voice said, "Peace, my friends. I am a helpless prisoner."

Jadira pushed the torch closer. Chained to the wall was a portly man of middle age whose benign features and scalp lock identified him as a priest.

"May the warmth of Agma find you always," he said. "Can you release me?"

"I don't see how," said Jadira. "We have no tools."

"And no time," Marix insisted. "Let us be gone!"

"Don't leave me, I beg you! I am due to die on the morrow," said the priest.

"For what crime?" asked Jadira.

"For spreading the word of my god. I am Tamakh, reborn in the wisdom of Agma. The corrupt clergy of Omerabad imprisoned me, and they mean to take my life."

"This is hardly the time to discuss religion!" said Marix. "Guards may come at any moment!"

"Calm yourself. Even vultures take time to feed." Jadira examined Tamakh's fetters. "There are no rivets," she said. "How are they held together?"

"They're locked," Marix said. "Use the key."

Jadira was puzzled. She turned the iron rod over in her hands.

"How?"

"Oh, filth," said Marix in exasperation. "Let me." He look the rod, inserted it in a hole in a fetter, and turned. In short order, Tamakh was free.

"My soul is rekindled!" he said. "Thank you! Surely Agma will bless—"

"Can we go now?"

"Yes, yes," said Tamakh. "As you so wisely said, let us be gone."

Marix turned sharply on his heel, took two steps, and stopped. "Ah, which way should we go?"

"Into the wind," said Jadira. She led the way past Tamakh's niche.

The flow of air grew warmer and stronger. The floor began to slant upward. "I smell smoke!" Jadira said. That would mean they were near street level, where home fires were kindled.

They came to a set of steps. Wind flowed down the stairwell, tormenting Jadira's torch. Marix handed the cudgel to the priest and drew his scimitar. As one, the three took a deep breath and fairly ran up the steps. At the top Jadira stumbled. The flaming pine-knot flew from her hand—and fell, end over end, down a deep cylindrical shaft in the floor at their feet.