Gates of Neptune (9 page)

As soon as he moved, Reb, who had stayed on the outside of the group, slipped off his beast and propelled himself with powerful strokes into the darkness outside the ring of light thrown by the remaining guard.

“You Atlantians stay right where you are, or I'll put a dart in you,” the waiting guard said. “Have you got her?” he called out.

But he said no more, for Reb came up behind him, reached out, and wrenched the spear gun from his hands. He reversed it instantly, touched the needle-sharp tip to the guard's breast, and put his hand on the trigger. “You just sit right there,” he muttered, “unless you want be speared like an Arkansas catfish.”

The other guard, by this time, reached Abbey, seized her arm, and drove upward. “I've got her—” But suddenly his spear gun was ripped from his hand, and he was pinioned by two strong young men while a young women pointed his own spear gun at him.

“It worked,” Val said excitedly, “but we've got to get out of here.”

“Won't they know we've been here if these two are missing?”

Val said, “We'll have to kill them. We can't let them take the message back.”

“No!” Sarah cried instantly. “We can't do that. Josh always carries cord in his pocket. Let's just tie them up and leave them.”

“They might get loose,” Val protested. “We can't take the chance.”

But Josh swam over beside Sarah and said, “Sarah's right, Val. We can't kill them. Here, Reb,” he commanded, “tie them up.”

A few minutes later, the two guards were trussed to an outcrop of coral. Josh said as they left, “They'll be all right. The area's under regular patrol, isn't it? The next shift of guards will find them. But by that time we'll be long gone.”

Both men stared up at him. They obviously had expected to be killed, and shock was in their eyes as they watched the young group leave, mounted on their beasts.

* * *

“Well, that was a close call!” Zantar said. “I looked for them to spear us before they left.”

The other looked after them through the gloomy water and said, “Me too. I guess they're not as vicious as we've been told. I'm glad of that. Better to live than to die, isn't it?”

M
any times Elmas, Chief Interrogator of the Sanhedrin, had sent his guards to bring prisoners to the Tower. Often just the threat was enough to make men and women confess. Although most people did not know what went on, the few who came out were never the same again. When asked about what happened inside the Tower, they just turned away. Somehow this silence terrified people even more than knowing the details.

The Tower was operated by Elmas and the Sanhedrin for the purpose of extracting information thought necessary by the leadership. It was also used as a place of punishment for those who were stubborn and refused to obey the Chief Interrogator or his lieutenants.

Elmas was not one of those who did not know what went on. He himself had designed most of the equipment—which was engineered to bring enough pain to cause people to talk—and he had been proud of his success. He had been heard to say, “Why, I've made fathers turn their own children in! I've made wives betray their husbands, and there's nothing that I can't get out of someone once I get him in my Tower.”

But it was a shock, to say the least, when Elmas looked up from his desk to see three guards—not his own, but guards bearing the same mysterious crest that was on the medallion hanging from the neck of Lord Necros. Nervously he rose to his feet. “Yes, what is it?”

“You must go with us,” the leader said.

They all wore skin-tight black leather uniforms. They
bulged with muscle, and there was a look of cruelty in the eyes of each one.

The heart of Elmas skipped a beat, and he swallowed hard. “Go with you—where?” he almost croaked.

The thin lips of the leader turned up in a cruel smile. “To the Tower.” He laughed suddenly. “I don't suppose we'll have to show you the way, will we?”

Elmas began to back away, protesting and stuttering, “But—but—that can't be right! You can't—!”

The guard motioned with his hand, and his companions at once moved forward, each taking an arm of Elmas in his steely grasp.

“Bring him along,” the chief guard said, and Elmas was dragged out of his office and down the corridor. His own guards made no motion to interfere but kept their eyes fixed straight ahead. No one interfered with the private guard of Lord Necros.

By the time they had gotten to the steel door that opened into the Tower, Elmas was reduced almost to a gibbering idiot. Fear had turned his insides to jelly, and all he could do was moan and protest. But it did no good.

“Why, you ought to look on this as an opportunity.” The chief guard grinned. “After all, you've only had other people's word for how good your ‘instruments' are.” He moved forward to stand under the chin of the Interrogator and force his head upward. “Now,” he said, his eyes shimmering, “you'll be able to explain firsthand exactly how they all work!”

Then the guard's lips became a thin line. “Bring him in. The questioner is waiting.”

* * *

Lord Necros stared down at the form that groveled in front of him and then looked up to the guard. “Did the questioner complete his work?”

“Yes, my lord,” the chief guard said, his eyes glittering. “I understand that he gave the Chief Interrogator his most careful attention. He assures you that there is nothing that you might wish to know that the man will not tell you.”

Lord Necros looked down again. “Look at me, you miserable worm!”

Elmas was not wearing his customary scarlet robe and gold rings on his fingers, the signs of his office. A short garment of rough cloth covered him, reaching to his knees, and when he lifted his face, his eyes were blank. They looked like the eyes of a frightened animal that had been highlighted in a forest. He was shaking all over, as if in a fever, and his lips twitched.

“Now,” Necros said harshly, “you have not carried out your promise. The Seven Sleepers have not been recaptured. Every command that I've given you has been broken. Can you tell me any reason why I should not send you back to the questioners?”

Elmas fell on his face again and began pleading, “No, no! please don't send me back there! I will go myself to the Citadel. You will see, sire, it will all be done as you command. I will capture these Sleepers—”

“No, you will remain here.” Necros's face was nearly hidden by the heavy cape that almost covered him. His thin lips turned upward in a cruel smile. “I must have you here, Elmas, so that if your latest plan fails, we can see if the questioner can extract a little more from you.”

The very mention of such a thing shook Elmas so fiercely that his teeth chattered, and he began to babble, “It will not fail! It cannot fail! We have Lord Aramis completely under our control, and we will capture the Sleepers again, I promise.”

Lord Necros glared down at the shaking figure, silence fell over the room, and once again a powerful sense
of evil emanated from the Dark Lord. “Your life is forfeit, and your only hope lies in success. I will accept no excuses.”

“I … I will go at once and contact Duke Lenomar,” Elmas said. “May I be dismissed?”

“Go.” Lord Necros motioned with a strong hand. “When I hear from you again, I trust to hear better news.”

* * *

Duke Lenomar stood holding the message that had just been brought to him. He recognized the special lieutenant of Elmas the Chief Interrogator, his master, and said, “Wait. I will see if there is to be an answer.”

He scanned the words quickly and froze as the messenger watched furtively.

Duke Lenomar kept his eyes on the paper for a long time. He was a handsome man with dark eyes and dark hair, who wore the symbol of authority in a medallion around his neck. He had made himself indispensable to Lord Aramis, and now, in many cases, he exerted the power that that young man had once wielded.

Finally looking up, he said, “Take this answer back to Lord Elmas. Tell him that all shall be done as he commands.”

“Yes sir,” the messenger said. Doubt came to his eyes, and he hesitated. “I think it would be well if you succeed, sir. If not, Lord Necros has a long arm. He can reach, I think, even down here to the Citadel of Neptune.”

“Begone!”

Duke Lenomar watched the messenger turn on his heel and leave the room. He frowned and began pacing back and forth. Thoughts ran through his head and were reflected on his swiftly changing features. He was a man of tremendous intelligence, he was accustomed to power, and he had moved upward in the kingdom of Atlantis from
a low post to the second highest in the land. He had even greater plans for when Aramis retook the kingdom, but these he kept to himself.

At last he reached a decision. In quick, firm strides he left his quarters and made his way through the Citadel, crossing many passageways, until he came to a door guarded by two sentries, who eyed him sternly.

The duke gave the password that even he must give, and the guards opened the doors. Passing through them, Duke Lenomar saw Aramis standing before a map of the kingdom. He approached and said cautiously, “My Lord Aramis …”

Aramis turned, his blue eyes coming at once to rest on Lenomar. “What is it?”

“The Sleepers, my lord. I must speak to you of them.”

Aramis moved over to a black chair positioned in front of the map, sat down in it, and ran his hand over his blond hair. Even in repose, he looked strong, this Lord Admiral. At twenty-five, he had lived enough for several men's lifetimes. But restlessness and confusion were in his voice as he said, “They are not dangerous.”

“I do not think, my lord Aramis, that you recognize how powerful these young people are.”

“How can they be powerful? There are only seven of them, and the oldest of them is a mere boy. What can they do to a kingdom such as this—to a force such as mine?”

Duke Lenomar bit his lip. He had been through this before with Aramis but now knew that he must make him understand. “My lord, strength does not always lie in the heaviest battalions. Sometimes there are strange things that cannot be explained, for the world we inhabit is not only physical, but spiritual.”

Aramis put his gaze on Duke Lenomar, studying him. There was a quick intelligence in his eyes, despite the
cloudiness that seemed to haunt them. “I did not know you believed in the gods.”

“I believe in force,” Lenomar answered rapidly, “and somehow there's power in these Sleepers. They managed to escape all the forces of the Sanhedrin, did they not? We know that much about them. Anyone who can escape my lord Elmas is not a fool. These seven young people are somehow tied in with destiny. I know it. And their destiny is to destroy us. Therefore, my lord, we must find them and kill them.”

Still Aramis hesitated. At last he said, “They did not kill our guards. Why was that?”

“I cannot answer that.” Lenomar hesitated. “But one act does not negate their mission. They are sent by the one called Goel to establish the kingdom of King Cosmos—this much we know.”

“Goel.” Lord Admiral Aramis said the name slowly. “Who is this Goel? Is he the same as in the myth that I've heard—and the songs—'the House of Goel will be built'?”

“My lord, you are not well,” Duke Lenomar said. “Trust my judgment in this.”

There was a long discussion between the two, and the longer it went on, the more Lenomar became alarmed. Aramis, he saw, was slipping from his control.

Aramis said wistfully, “Sometimes, Duke, I think I was wrong to lead this revolt. I know you counseled me to do so, but my mind is troubled over it.”

I've got to put him under stricter control,
Lenomar thought. Quickly he crossed to a cabinet, pulled out a bottle, filled a glass. Keeping his body between his hand and the admiral, he slipped his fingers into his inner pocket, drew out a small glass vial, and managed to pour several drops of liquid into the drink. Then he turned and brought the glass to Aramis. “Drink this, my lord.”

Aramis frowned. “I do not need medicines.”

“You are weaker than you thought. The pressures,” Lenomar urged, “have been terrible. All the destiny of our people rests on you, and you are tired. This will help you to rest. I know you have not slept.”

Aramis hesitated, then took the goblet. “You're right, I've not slept. I'm troubled about all of this, Lenomar, very troubled.” He stared at the drink, then shrugged his wide shoulders and drank it down. Handing the glass to the duke, he leaned back in his chair and grew quiet.

Lenomar replaced the goblet and returned to stand to the right of the admiral. He waited for some time, speaking of inconsequential things, and then he put his hand lightly on the blond head of Aramis and began to whisper, “You are sleepy—you are very sleepy. You are falling asleep.” He continued for perhaps three minutes, then saw with satisfaction that the admiral had indeed fallen asleep, his head resting against the back of the chair.