Lord of the Silent Kingdom (23 page)

Hecht thought Firaldia would drown in refugees first.

The great map did show that there would be no quick, direct confrontation over Clearenza. The passes to the heart of the Grail Empire were closed. A courier might make his way out of the continental heartland, but no armed force ould make the transit for months yet.

Hecht asked, “Do we know where Lothar and his sisters are?” Johannes Blackboots had preferred the Imperial cities of Firaldia, Plemenza in particular. He liked to stay close enough to tweak Sublime’s nose when the mood took him.

“Hogwasser. In Lothar’s case.”

“Sir?”

“Sorry. Bad joke. Hochwasser. Means ‘high water,’ literally, but generally translates as ‘flood.’ The name goes back to antiquity. When it was called something else that meant the same thing.”

Imperial times. Today it served as the headquarters for Hecht knew a little about Hochwasser because he claimed to have passed through during his journey south from Duarnenia. It was a military city, of sorts, and had been since old Imperial times. Today it served as the headquarters of the Grail Emperor’s lifeguard, the Braunsknechts.

The concept of even that limited a standing force found little favor among the Imperial nobility. Anything that strengthened the Emperor necessarily weakened the noble class.

Delari said, “Lothar is at Hochwasser. Katrin is either there or at Grumbrag. There’s some doubt about Helspeth.” The Principal gestured at the grand map. “Don’t let that lull you. If Lothar decides something needs doing he has people here who can make our lives miserable. Follow me.”

Hecht did so, down to the main floor, passing monks and nuns engrossed in their work. One of the latter appeared to be extremely gravid.

Principatè Delari approached a heavy wooden door. Ancient, bound in spell-wrought iron, it looked capable of withstanding assault from barbarian or Night. A shelf in the stone to its right bore several oldtime brass lanterns of the sort once carried by Imperial night couriers. They even had an Imperial seal on the adjustable shutter that controlled the amount of light emitted. Delari chose one, checked its fuel level, lighted it from a candle at the end of the shelf. Tallow spills showed that a candle burned there all the time.

“Open the door, Piper.”

The door was not locked, latched, or barred. Hecht pulled. It opened.

Cold, damp air greeted him. It smelled of raw sewage and very old death.

“The catacombs?”

“Exactly.” Delari nodded. “They’re real. Take a lantern yourself. Never come down here without one.”

“I don’t want to be down here at all. Not if half the stories are true.”

“They aren’t. But the reality can be worse. The light from these lanterns repels things of the Night.”

Hecht sorted through the lanterns. They all seemed fully fueled. He took the heaviest on the theory that it would last the longest. He lighted it, tried to look ready. If go he must.

Delari chuckled. “Remember, down here, as in the world above, the worst monsters go on two legs and have mothers who love them.”

Why would
we
want to be down here?”

“Sometimes a man needs to move around without being seen.” That sounded too pat. “What about your mother?”

The Principatè had moved into the tunnel, which was lined in stone set without mortar, using an Old Brothen technique. The question caught Hecht off guard. “Sir?”

“I was curious about your mother.”

Hecht temporized, trying to recall anything he had told anyone about the woman. “I expect she’d agree with most mothers. Piper is a good boy. He didn’t mean any harm. He couldn’t possibly do anything bad.

I didn’t know her, though, sir. She died when I was quite young. Childbed fever.”

“And your father?”

“He was a good Chaldarean. In Duarnenia that means he got to heaven early. I don’t remember him at all. They say he came home just often enough to keep my mother pregnant.”

Delari seemed amused. He did not pursue the subject. ‘The catacombs here belong to us.” He did not define “us.”

“They’re safe. Most of the time. There are wards. And watchers. Not much gets past. But you can’t count on being safe.
Always
carry your own lantern.”

The footing grew damper. The stone had been plastered at one time. The plaster had fallen into the muck underfoot.

The Principatè said, “We’re near the Teragi, but deeper down. We could visit the Castella or Krois. Or cross over to the north side, if we wanted. But that isn’t something you need to know how to do yet.”

Hecht muttered, “This is real silent kingdom country.” He saw no evidence of life. No rats. No spiders.

No vermin whatsoever.

“You’re uncomfortable.”

“I don’t like tight places. Tight places underground are worse.”

Delari chuckled.

Evidently he found everything humorous today.

Hecht asked, “Where are the vermin?”

“Cruel things roam down here. They don’t care what they eat. Including you and me if they could catch us.”

“That’s no help.”

Delari chuckled yet again. “You’re in the underworld now, Piper. Like in the old mythology.”

“I’ll keep an eye out for black rivers and blind boatmen.”

“If he was down here for real he’d get knocked in the head and robbed of the passage money.”

“You’re so reassuring. Where are we going?”

“Nowhere in particular. I’m suffering from an inclination to share Collegium secrets.” Delari turned left into a cross tunnel. That led to a huge chamber. The lanterns revealed no farther walls, only ranks of ancient colonnades marching off into the darkness. It looked like an abandoned cathedral at midnight. A cathedral abandoned for ages. Debris lay everywhere. The lantern light took on a blue-white hue.

Everything appeared in shades of bluish gray. Dust was thick and cobwebs ubiquitous.

And there were bones. Bones great and small, everywhere. Ugly bones, some of them. Bones that Hecht did not find familiar. Perhaps bones not human. There was little odor of decay.

Delari said, “Flesh doesn’t last long enough to putrefy down here.”

Some larger bones had been broken, presumably to expose the marrow.

“Another silent kingdom.”

“Not always. Though it is now. Bats sometimes establish colonies that don’t last. Sometimes pagans celebrate demonic rituals. Which is an ironic twist. This is where the earliest Chaldareans got together to worship and to hide their dead. Now the demon worshipers use the far end, over there. And break into the crypts to get bodies to use in their wicked rites.”

“Really? How do they do that?”

“Excuse me?”

“What do they do with the bodies? There was a story I heard when I was little. Overheard, actually, and only part of it, because I was supposed to be asleep. The storyteller claimed it came out of the Grand Marshes and every word was true. It was colorful. But he only got to the part where the three brothers who were the heroes were coming home with the mummies of some oldtime sorcerers when I started sneezing. I got whipped and sent to bed and never did find out why they wanted the mummies in the first place.”

Delari’s frown was obvious, despite the lighting. “This was a story?”

“Up north we have traveling storytellers. Like jongleurs down here. Only they don’t usually sing. And they don’t tell love stories. They’re really grim hero stories, mostly. They always claim the stories are true, but mostly you know better. This storyteller — I can’t remember his name — was famous for scary stories.

This one about stealing mummies sounded real.”

“Mummified sorcerers, you say?”

“Yes, sir.” Had he said too much?

“Interesting. Tell me more.”

“Sir?”

“Who were the heroes? Where did they go for their mummies? Who were the dead men?”

“I was five years old, sir. Pybus. That was the name of the brother who was in charge. I remember that.

It was all his idea. And there was a … Flogni? Something like that. He was the one who said they shouldn’t disturb the dead. But he went along because brothers have to stick together. The place they were looking for was in the mountains way off to the east. It was a secret tomb. I don’t know how they knew where to find it. One of the oldtime horse people conquerors was buried there. One of the ones that those people still worship. The sorcerers in the story were murdered and buried at the points of the winds so their spirits would protect the tomb. They’d be in such a rage about what happened to them, they’d destroy anybody who got close enough to notice. The one buried in the south was a woman who was also the conqueror’s lover. She laid some kind of curse on his tribe when she found out what they were going to do to her.”

“Good story. I wouldn’t mind hearing the original.” Principatè Delari never stopped moving, staying close to the wall, going round to their right. Hecht suspected they were making a long, slow circle, the Principatè operating with no specific destination. Delari said, “I’ve heard a story something like it, only this one happened in Lucidia.”

“Sir?”

“There’s a hidden fortress in the Idium desert in Lucidia called Andesqueluz. Carved out of the living rock of a mountain. A long time ago an ugly, murderous cult operated out of there. They were exterminated by the rest of the world. Which always happens when that kind of people gets too ambitious. A few years back the great mage of Dreanger, er-Rashal al-Dhulquarnen, sent a band of Sha-lug warriors to Andesqueluz to steal the mummies of the slain sorcerers.”

“Er-Rashal al-Dhulquarnen?” He mispronounced it. “Wasn’t that the one …?”

“He was at al-Khazen. Yes. We distracted him while you and the Emperor eliminated his associates. We couldn’t keep him from getting away. I expect he’s back home and up to some other mischief.”

“So what would he want with dead bodies? Well, you said mummies. That’s not quite the same thing.”

“Specifically, mummified sorcerers who were of the first water when they were alive. Some of the worst ever. More than one lord of Andesqueluz ascended before death dragged the rest down.”

“Uh … Ascended?” Hecht knew next to nothing about sorcery. He would have been damned if he did.

“They worked sorceries powerful enough to make themselves over into Instrumentalities of the Night.

Demons, if you will. The djinn of the east were all human once. The cruel immortality was once much less difficult to achieve, and the more so near the Wells of Ihrian. One would suspect that the Dreangerean has a scheme to transform himself.” Delari took careful steps sideways. Hecht followed, round a skeleton wrapped in scraps of rotted linen. The skull had wisps of hair attached. The empty eye sockets seemed to track him.

There were dozens of skeletons, then. Someone had ripped open countless crypts. “No jewelry,” Hecht noted. Grave robbers.”

“No. These are the earnest Brothen Chaldareans. They didn’t believe in jewelry. They took nothing to the grave but what they brought into the world when they were born.”

“Times have changed.”

“Human nature will prevail.”

“If this sorcerer can turn himself into a god … Well, what’s he likely to do if he does?”

“The conventional wisdom says ascendants lose interest in their old lives. They get busy doing the same old things inside the Night, going after more and more power. But that’s really just speculation. Nobody really knows. They don’t come back to chat about what it’s like on the other side. And there hasn’t been a lot of it happening in recent centuries. Stop!”

Delari’s voice fell to a whisper. “Say nothing. Do nothing.”

The old man turned his head slowly, side to side, listening intently. Eyes shut, he sniffed the air. He breathed, “It’s time to go.” He began to retrace their path carefully, straining for silence.

Hecht asked no questions. His amulet had suddenly turned bitter cold.

Something extremely unpleasant had begun to stir out in the darkness.

The old man relaxed visibly once they entered the tunnel to the Chiaro Palace.

“What happened?” Hecht finally asked.

“We almost walked right into something very dark and very powerful. It was asleep, but suddenly restless. I didn’t want to waken it.” Soon afterward, he added, “It may be the thing responsible for those grotesque murders. Now we know where it dens up, we can go after it.”

“Why not now?”

“Because I’m one old man, by myself, all alone, and worn out from showing you this tiny slice of the world below.” A chuckle. “And because I’m unarmed and it felt like it might be nastier than anyone guessed before.”

6. The Princess in Plemenza

Princess Helspeth started angry. Algres Drear kept dragging his heels. She stayed angry. Drear persisted in his claim that waiting a few weeks would make for a dramatically easier journey. Weather was Drear’s determined ally in thwarting her desires. Her most fervent desire.

She wanted to be in her city of Plemenza.
Now
.

Weather be damned, just days after Lothar bestowed the Plemenza honors, Helspeth and those of her household hardy enough moved from Alten Weinberg to Hochwasser, on the Bleune. Hochwasser was a ghost town just beginning to show signs of life because the Emperor was expected. The Bleune was wide, filthy, and speckled with floes of ice, some the size of warships.

The serious delays came at Hochwasser.

Couriers reported only one pass even remotely usable. This was the worst winter on record. Only the toughest, most determined travelers had any hope of getting through. Helspeth was determined to try.

And did, accompanied only by Captain Drear and two Braunsknechts who felt the eyes of Johannes Blackboots’s ghost crisping the backs of their necks. They refused to let Hansel’s baby girl go alone once it was clear she could not be dissuaded.

Helspeth demonstrated a stubbornness the Braunsknechts found disturbing. Weather did not stop her.

Cold did not stop her. The threat of frostbite did not intimidate her. The presence in the mountains of something abidingly awful did not frighten her into turning back, though it stalked them for days, singing in the wind. Algres Drear was both impressed and deeply concerned.