Shadow of a Dark Queen (54 page)

“One thing I've discovered is that the Dread do not ‘drink' the life of living beings on this world. They change the energies to a state they can use. The unfortunate side effect of that change is the death of the creature they touch.”

“Such academic considerations are of little interest to those who die, I'm afraid.”

“True, but you see, it's important. If they can do that, why can't forces we can't see in our normal frame of reference not be able to reach out and manipulate energy here in our world?”

“Where are we going with this?” asked Miranda, betraying impatience.

“What was the Lifestone like when you last visited the Oracle?” asked Pug.

“What do you mean?”

“Did it appear as it always did?”

“I don't know.” Miranda looked puzzled. “It's the only time I've ever seen it.”

“But there was something odd about it, wasn't there?”

Miranda shrugged. “I had a feeling . . .”

“That the Valheru trapped inside were somehow doing something.”

Miranda had a faraway look. “Stirring. I think that's what I said. They were stirring more than usual.”

“I fear they may have found a way to interact directly with someone or some group within the Pantathian community. Perhaps with this so-called Emerald Queen who now leads them.”

“That's a chilling thought.”

Pug said, “There is, something few know. Have you heard of Macros the Black?”

Miranda said, “By reputation.” Her tone was dry, and Pug assumed she didn't believe the inflated tales about the Black Sorcerer.

“Much of what he did was theatrics, but much was an order of magic beyond even my understanding today. He was able to do things with time that I can only speculate on, for one example.”

Her eyes narrowed at that. “Time travel?”

“More. Tomas and I were trapped in a time well with him and we traveled to the dawn of time and returned. But he could use his mind and will across eons.”

“How do you mean?”

“He used his skills and powers to fashion a relationship between Tomas, a boyhood friend of mine, and Ashen-Shugar—”

“The Valheru whose armor he wears!” supplied Miranda.

“It was never a simple case of an ancient magic lingering in a mystic suit of armor. Macros used that armor as a vehicle for his own manipulation of my friend, centuries later, so he could act as he did during the Riftwar.”

“That wily bastard,” muttered Miranda.

“What if Tomas's armor isn't the only vehicle for such manipulation?”

Miranda's eyes grew wide. “Is it possible?”

“Of course it's possible,” said Pug. “The older I get, the more certain I become that there is very little that isn't possible.”

Miranda stood up and began to pace the tiny room. “How would we know?”

“We wait for Calis to return, or somehow get word to us. When last I saw Nakor I asked him to travel with Calis if possible, for he is uniquely suited to spying out this sort of problem. I suggested the possibility I just spoke of to you more than three years ago. Now that you tell me he's gone with Calis, I am content to wait until they return. And we keep out of sight until then, so as not to provide the Pantathians with a target.

“I could protect myself for a while, as you can, I am sure, but constantly having to defend myself would prove wearisome and divert me from certain studies.”

Miranda nodded. “What was that business of the clue and the rest, with the Hall of Worlds and the City of the Gods, all about, anyway?”

“I wanted a way to keep to myself and yet be found if someone with the wit and talent needed to find me. Had you gone prowling the Hall, asking questions on any number of worlds, well, you would have encountered difficulty.”

“I was warned of your assassins,” she countered.

“Who told you?”

“It was the gossip of the day at Honest John's.”

Pug said, “The next time I hire someone for a quiet undertaking, I think I will avoid the Inn.

“Who directed you to Mustafa's?”

“Boldar Blood.”

“When you left Mustafa, I went ahead to the mountains to wait for you. The simple trick of telling you to go somewhere else was my last trick.” He smiled. “Had you not proved so agreeable a guest, I would have disposed of you up on those cold peaks so as to be as far from Stardock as possible when the Pantathians noticed the display.”

Miranda gave him a sour expression. “Lacks subtlety.”

“Perhaps, but time grows short and I have much work to do while I wait for Calis and Nakor.”

“Can I be of help? Boldar Blood is waiting for me in an inn in LaMut if he can be of service.”

“For now, send word to him to wait; let the mercenary enjoy Tabert's girls and ale,” said Pug. “As for you, there are any number of tasks around here that I could use help with, if you don't mind.”

“I won't cook,” she said, “or mend your smallclothes.”

Pug laughed. He was genuinely amused. “My, that's the first good laugh I've had in a long time.” He shook his head. “Hardly. I can get all the dinner and laundry I require on Sorcerer's Isle. I inform Gathis, and when all is ready, I transport food in and linens out.

“No, I need you to start digging through a large part of a very old library, looking for clues.”

“Clues to what?” asked Miranda, now obviously intrigued.

“Clues to where we may have to go to find someone if the need arises.”

Cocking her head to one side, as if she already knew the answer, she said, “Looking for whom?”

Pug said, “If Calis brings me the news I fear most of all, we're going to have to find the only being I know of who can counter the sort of magic we'll face. We're going to have to try to once again locate Macros the Black.”

C
alis signaled
.

Silently the men behind him halted in place and raised hands to warn the others farther down the line to stop. Since entering the tunnel two days before, they had adopted silent travel. All communication was done by hand gestures and noise was kept to a minimum.

While every man in Calis's company had been trained in such practices, the clansmen under Hatonis and the mercenaries hired by Praji had been a noisy bunch at first. They had learned quickly, however, and no longer needed constant reminders to keep silent.

Of the one hundred and eleven men who had left the rendezvous—the sixty-six men in Calis's command and the forty-five with Greylock, Praji, Vaja, and Hatonis—seventy-one had survived the clash with the Saaur above.

“Above” was how they now thought of the Plain of Djams. The tunnel had moved continuously down until Nakor estimated they were close to a quarter mile below the surface. At camp the night before he
had whispered to Erik that someone had once badly wanted to trade on the plains above to have built such a long and deep passage; either that, or they had wanted their front door a very long, defensible distance from their home.

The tunnel had been a uniform size, varying only with an occasional outcropping of stone that was easier to move around than to dig through. Except for those minor deviations, the tunnel was a uniform seven feet in height, ten feet wide, and apparently endless.

At several points along the way larger areas had been dug out that might have served for rest areas or places to store provisions, but their original use could only be guessed at by those now passing.

Calis turned back to where Luis waited and motioned for him to come forward. Erik wondered at the choice until he saw Calis draw a dagger from his belt.

Beyond the Captain lay another opening, but Erik had the impression this was more than another widening in the tunnel. He sensed air movement and wondered if they had reached some portion of the abandoned underground city Praji had told of. He knew it was not possible that they had come far enough to enter the particular one Praji spoke of down in the south, but perhaps there was another such place up here, in the mountains.

Calis and Luis vanished into the gloom. The single torch was at the center of the column, and the light barely reached either end. Erik did not know how Calis did it; his vision must be inhuman, for the faint light that reached the head of the line barely gave Erik enough illumination to see de Loungville's
back as he crouched, waiting. Erik hugged himself, for it was cold in the passage. All the men were chilled, but they endured it in silence.

Since losing Foster, de Loungville had been relegating tasks equally to Biggo and Erik that usually fell to the corporal. Erik was uncertain if this was any endorsement of his ability or simply a question of proximity; they were the two men de Loungville was most likely to find at his back when he turned around.

A few moments later, Calis and Luis returned, and Calis spoke in a hushed whisper, while Luis returned to his normal place in line. “It's a large gallery, and we're entering through a passage that empties into a ledge leading both downward and up—it's wide enough for three men to walk abreast, but there is no railing and it's a long way down, so pass the word that when we move out everyone should be cautious of the edge. I'm going to explore. You rest here for a half hour, and if I'm not back, that means follow the upward path.”

De Loungville nodded and motioned for rest. Those behind him passed along the silent instruction and the men sat where they were. Erik shifted around until he found a relatively comfortable position resting against the cold stone, while the others did likewise.

He heard a faint scraping sound and realized de Loungville was counting knots in a thong. It was an old trick, moving your fingers along a piece of rope, twine, or leather, silently reciting a fixed ditty, one that had been practiced over and over until it was almost as exact as sand falling in a glass. De Loungville would move his fingers down a knot each
time he finished the rhyme; when he reached the end of the thong, ten minutes would have passed. When he had used the thong three times, the half hour would be up.

Erik closed his eyes. He couldn't sleep, but he could relax as much as possible. Without thought he put his hands on his aching legs and felt them grow warm with the healing power he had learned from Nakor. As the rest of his body was chilled by the cold rocks, it was a welcome sensation.

Erik wondered how the rest of the villagers in Weanat were doing, and what would become of them when the Emerald Queen's army reached that area. There were so many invaders there was no chance they could lie low in the woods until they left. That host would strip the land of everything edible for five miles on both sides of the river. The only hope those villagers had would be to go up into the mountains and hide in the high valleys. Perhaps Kirzon and his people would help them. Erik doubted it; they would have barely enough food for the winter for themselves.

Then he wondered what his mother was doing. He had no idea what time it was back home—he didn't really know what time it was above; he thought it was midday. That probably meant it was the middle of the night back in Ravensburg. She was most likely asleep in her little room at the inn. Erik wondered if she knew he still lived. Her last news of him might have been that he had been condemned to die. Given the secrecy surrounding the mission and the chance of not surviving training, he suspected she thought him dead.

He sighed softly and wondered how she was, and
Rosalyn and Milo and the others in the village. They seemed so far away and that life so alien, he could barely remember what it felt like to rise up every day with his only expectation being hard work at the forge.

Suddenly he felt a touch on his wrist and looked over to see de Loungville in the dim light signaling it was time to move out. Erik reached over and nudged the dozing Biggo, who nodded and nudged the man next in line.

Erik rose and moved out after the sergeant, who passed through the opening to the gallery, and turned right on the walkway, heading upward. In the deep darkness, Erik could only sense the size of the place, and he was about halfway around the circular path when the man holding the torch emerged from the side passage. Suddenly Erik could see the entire gallery and he involuntarily stepped back against the wall. The floor was lost in the gloom below, despite the torch light, as was the ceiling above. A faint draft of air rose up, and it carried a damp, stale odor.

Erik wished he hadn't known the pathway was so narrow and the fall so great, as now he walked with considerably more discomfort. He moved on, and followed de Loungville upward into the darkness.

At several points along the way they encountered entrances to new tunnels, and they paused to see if Calis had marked any, indicating they should leave the upwardly spiraling path. They never saw any marks.

There were wide places, as if ledges had been carved into the rock of the mountain, to allow more comfortable movement, and places where the men
could sit. Erik had no idea how long they had been following Calis, but he knew his legs hurt. The constant upward climb was taking its toll.

Suddenly they saw Calis ahead in the gloom. He said, “This area is deserted.”

The men seemed to relax at that, and de Loungville said, “Praji, is this like that dwarven place you spoke of?”

“Not that I'd recognize,” said the old mercenary. He was short of wind and obviously pleased to be halting, even if only for a few minutes. “Mind you, I have only tales, but it's been described to me several times by different people who've been there.” He looked around. “This place . . . I don't know what it is.'

Calis said, “There are dwarven mines back home and I've been through a couple. They have galleries and such, but this is something different. No dwarven hand built this place. This is no mine.”

Erik heard Roo's voice coming from behind. “This looks like a city, Captain.”