Dragons on the Sea of Night (22 page)

Half a dozen women in unclasped robes and nothing else danced in the centre of the stage. In their circular movements and the tilts of their torsos Moichi recognized elements of the dervish – yet this could not be because, as Sardonyx had pointed out, there were no female Fianarantsoa.

‘This is the Ambaranata,' Sardonyx said. ‘Like the dervish, it is a form of dance which induces an ecstatic state. This one, however, is a prelude to sexual ecstasy and is the sole province of Catechist women. The men – and sometimes women – standing around will pick their favorite and bid on her. Highest bidder wins. The Catechist we saw earlier collects the take and it is added to the Catechist coffers.'

Moichi watched, fascinated, as the women whirled and swooped. In this way, they seemed to lose all sense of themselves. It was as if they whirled toward a primeval core where differences in personality and even flesh were exchanged for an irresistible erotic energy. Dipped into this living flame, the Ambaranata lifted like wings striped robes, animated oiled flesh, revealing in brief stunning bursts breasts and groin, thigh and hip, shoulder and buttock beneath which well-defined muscles rippled like running animals. These dancing creatures lived now on the prayer formed with each whirl and swoop of their bodies, and the aura they exuded was a heady musk that could drive a man – or a woman of that sexual persuasion – wild.

‘Compelling, isn't it?' Sardonyx said, pulling him into the crowd. She put her lips against his ear. ‘Dujuk'kan is on the other side of the stage. You go left, I will take the right.'

‘What about this form?' he asked. ‘I am an old man. I will be unable to force Dujuk'kan to do anything.'

‘But you are Fianarantsoa,' Sardonyx said. ‘Your word is law in Mas'jahan. Even Dujuk'kan must obey or risk being forever expelled.' Her tongue licked the edge of his ear. ‘But I will give you a choice. If at any time you wish him to know who you are, merely think it and you will return to your form as Moichi Annai-Nin. But be very careful, for once returned you cannot go back to the Fianarantsoa form and you will forfeit a great advantage.'

Moichi nodded, setting off through the throng of avidly bidding brigands, mustachioed traders and bearded mercenaries. This was as evil a bunch of humanity as Moichi had ever encountered, even along the foul late-night dives of Sha'angh'sei's rat-infested waterfront. He was obliged to keep his attention tightly focused on the crowd, to ignore the incessant siren call of the Ambaranata.

The bidding had reached a fever pitch, the brigands and freebooters shoving and screaming out their bids, threatening their competitors, when Moichi spied Dujuk'kan. He had stuck himself in a corner, surrounded by a phalanx of mercenaries whose spirited gesticulations and cat-calls served as an effective screen.

Dujuk'kan's eyes slid across the face of the approaching Fianarantsoa, then slid past. He was on the look-out for Moichi and Sardonyx; as far as he could see neither of them were here.

As the moments slipped by, Moichi could see him relaxing more and more. All the better. He shouldered his way through the mercenaries, amazed how easy it was. Even though these men were rapt participants in the Ambaranata they did not fail to mark a member of the Fianarantsoa and give way to him. Moichi began to understand the enormous advantage he would give up were he to return to his own form.

He looked for Sardonyx, but could not see her in the milling crowd. When he was close enough to the Adenese to be assured he would be heard, he said, ‘Dujuk'kan, you will come with me.'

Dujuk'kan's head swung in Moichi's direction. ‘Why, Reverend Father? What have I done?'

‘Nothing,' Moichi said, not wanting to alarm him. ‘I merely wish to speak with you about a … delicate matter of trade.'

‘Ah.' An avaricious smile spread across Dujuk'kan's face. ‘When it comes to business, I am always at the service of the Fianarantsoa. But could we wait until the Ambaranata is concluded? I have a great deal of money in the air.'

Moichi, needing to herd the Adenese out of this very public place, said, ‘I am very much afraid the Ambaranata women will have to wait.'

Dujuk'kan raised his eyebrows. ‘I am shocked, Reverend Father. That is quite an un-Catechistic desire you express.' He shrugged. ‘But I believe in business over pleasure any day.'

The Ambaranata was reaching its climax. Moichi led him through a crowd overheated to boiling point. Still no sign of Sardonyx. Where was she? They went along a corridor that was nearly deserted.

‘May I ask where you are taking me, Reverend Father?'

No, you may not
, Moichi thought. ‘A place where we can speak in private,' he said. He had no idea where he was going in this labyrinth, which was why he was desperate to find Sardonyx. On impulse, he turned left, headed down a flight of steep, sandstone stairs. Were these the ones they had used to get up here or another flight altogether? In any case, it was a mistake.

‘Private? You mean, you and me?' Dujuk'kan said. ‘But that is illegal. Worse, it is antithetical. Wait a minute.' He put a heavy hand on Moichi's shoulder, spun him abruptly around. ‘Who in the name of Chaos are you?'

It was a mistake using the stairs because they were in a narrow, defined spot with no room to maneuver. The huge Adenese towered over him, his face filling with rage.

‘You are not even a Fianarantsoa, I'll warrant!' He drew a short-bladed scimitar. The perfect weapon for hand-to-hand combat.

Moichi, mindful of Sardonyx's warning, knew he had no choice. He could keep the form of the old Fianarantsoa no longer. He thought of Moichi and became Moichi.

Dujuk'kan sprang backward up the steps. ‘What sorcery is this?'

In answer, Moichi drew his dirks, lunged at the Adenese. But Dujuk'kan was ready for him and, reversing the small scimitar, he launched it, butt first down the stairwell.

There was no time to duck. It smashed into the side of Moichi's head, sending him tumbling backward down the stairs. One weapon flew from his grasp but he managed to hang on to the other even as he fetched up painfully against the wall of a landing.

His head was filled with a titanic roaring and by the time he realized that it was the sound of Dujuk'kan clattering down the stairs, the Adenese had kicked the remaining dirk from his hand. Reaching down, Dujuk'kan fitted his scimitar into its scabbard and, clutching one of Moichi's own dirks, put it to his throat.

‘You have more lives than a marshcrow. Now I'll finish off what I had meant to do in Jailor's prison.'

Moichi, still half-dazed, his head throbbing with pain, still managed to smash the heel of his hand into Dujuk'kan's eye socket. The Adenese screamed, lurching back, and Moichi was on him. But he lacked his full strength, and Dujuk'kan jammed an elbow in his solar plexus, robbing him of breath. He fell and, bellowing in rage, Dujuk'kan came after him. Moichi saw his fallen dirk not more than three hands-breadths away and desperately reached out for it.

He shouted in pain as Dujuk'kan trod hard on his hand.

‘No reprieve this time,' the Adenese said, kicking him hard in the ribs, then flipping him over on his back. ‘I am going to slit you from throat to abdomen and watch your life come sliding out.'

The dirk's blade flashed as it came down toward Moichi. Then, in mid-flight, it paused, trembling in mid-air.

‘No! Noooo!'

It was Dujuk'kan screaming. His face had drained of blood and his eyes were wide as moons.

‘You are dead! You cannot be here! Impossible!'

Moichi turned his head, saw the hideous bulk of the Jailor sidling up the stairwell. His pincers opened and closed as if in avid anticipation. Of course it was impossible. The Jailor was dead; Moichi had killed him. Besides, by his own admission, he could not survive outside the tunnels of his own manufacture. Not that any of this mattered in the moment. The moment was mad, utterly insane, and Moichi used the advantage.

He drew the double-bladed push-dagger the Fianarantsoa had given him in the Mu'ad and, gripping it with white-knuckled strength, launched himself at Dujuk'kan.

The double blades pierced the Adenese just beneath his sternum, plunging to their full depth until they punctured his heart. Dujuk'kan was almost lifted off his feet by the tremendous momentum generated by the missile of Moichi's entire body. His eyes blinked as if he could not believe what was happening to him. He looked directly into Moichi's eyes, but Moichi could find nothing there, no regret or hate; certainly no fear. Then the eyes rolled up and death clouded them with his veil.

With a grunt, Moichi pulled the push-dagger free, and the corpse of Dujuk'kan slumped to the landing. Then Moichi turned to face the advancing Jailor.

He smiled into the awful visage and said, ‘Didn't your mother ever tell you not to make faces like that? You could stay like that for ever.'

The Jailor shimmered, the outline flickering, contracting, metamorphosing until Sardonyx stood before him, hands on hips, legs spread. ‘Ungrateful wretch, I just saved your life.'

‘And a damn fine job of it you did,' he said, kissing her on the lips. He retrieved his dirks, but when he bent the throbbing in the side of his head became almost unbearable. He staggered and Sardonyx caught him around the waist.

‘How white of face you look,' she said. ‘You are frightening me.'

While they stood very close together, she put the flat of her hand to the wound, and gradually the pain ebbed.

‘The worst of it is gone,' she said. ‘But you still need time to heal completely.'

His head was beginning to clear. ‘Thank you,' he said. Then he took her hand as they headed down the stairs.

On their way back to Hamaan and the hanged Yesquz, Moichi stopped at the cinnamon stall. Over the merchant's bitter protests he thrust his hand into the spot he had seen Dujuk'kan make use of. His fingers burrowed into the spice until it covered his entire forearm. Then he felt something and gingerly he pulled it out.

‘What is it?' Sardonyx said as he blew it free of clinging cinnamon.

‘It is a ring.' Moichi's stomach contracted. He turned it around and around, just to make certain. But he needn't have bothered; he had recognized the star sapphire the moment he had pulled the ring free. He stared into its deep-blue and pale gold depths. ‘It belonged to my sister Sanda. My father gave it to her when she turned thirteen.'

Sardonyx peered at it. ‘What is that engraved on the sides?'

Moichi looked closely. ‘Why, it's a bear,' he said, thinking of the riddle verse Sanda had recited in his dream.

‘The bear in the stone?' Sardonyx said.

‘What was Dujuk'kan doing with this?'

‘You mean what was Yesquz doing with it,' Sardonyx said. ‘I think Dujuk'kan took it from him before he killed him.'

‘Why?'

‘Perhaps it is the key,' Sardonyx said. ‘The connection we have been looking for. Did the Makkon kill Sanda for it? Or, as Hamaan is convinced, the Al Rafaar? But she had given it to Yesquz or he had taken it from her. Remember what your sister said to you in your dream. “
When the spirit flies above marsh and chasm
.”' She looked at him. ‘Perhaps you misheard her, Moichi. I believe that instead of
chasm
Sanda said Khashm.'

ELEVEN

E
VE

Chiisai was dying, slowly and painfully
, as Kaijikan had predicted. Without the magus's protection, the invisible energy of the ancients was seeping into her bones, intent on eating her from the inside out. On the other hand, it was more than likely that the wounds inflicted by Kaijikan would kill her first.

Chiisai opened her eyes. The reed torch had burned itself out, but fitful illumination was provided by the veins of the white metallic substance in the earth floor of the cavern. She knew she had lost a lot of blood; she had trouble breathing. Her lungs felt full and there was a pink froth at the corners of her mouth.

Death crouched beside her, stinking, its bones bleached a hideous yellow-white, cracked with age. It hunkered close to her, her sole companion. She was a warrior, and death did not frighten her. But she had never imagined dying, lost and alone, life seeping from her, second by agonized second. Defeat in battle, an honorable death, was one thing. This was quite another.

She felt the fear creeping through her as death spread its clanking arm across her shivering shoulders.
No!
she thought.
I cannot allow this! I
will
not!
But she knew there was no way out for her. She had neither the strength nor the stamina to crawl her way out of the cavern. And even if by some miracle she managed that, then what? She did not know how long she had been unconscious and by the time she made it out of the mouth – if she could – she would no doubt be so saturated with the death in here, she would die anyway.

Oh, it was cold! She could feel death's chill breath on her cheek and she shivered, then coughed, hacking up blood. This frightened her even more and she determined to move. Where? Anywhere; do anything but sit here and wait for death's icy kiss.

She turned her head convulsively away from her companion and that was when she saw her dai-katana stuck horizontally in the fissure.

The Bridge.

An idea was forming in her mind. It was so lunatic that for an instant she thought surely the invisible energy was already destroying her from within. Then she threw her head back and laughed.
Why not try it?
she told herself.
What did she have to lose – her life?
She laughed again, a harsh, sardonic noise that rattled through the cavern like the last wheeze of the damned.

Terrified, she pressed her back hard against the cavern wall and tried to stand. She cried out more times than she cared to count and, more than once, her breath failed her and the cavern spun around crazily. She concentrated on breathing, spitting blood, and going on, moving on rubbery legs along the wall, until she could reach out and grab the hilt of her dai-katana. Then, she climbed upon the flat of it.