Silence is Deadly (31 page)

Darzek dropped the knight and one lackey with a single shot from his amulet. The other lackey turned to run and was cut down before he’d taken a step.

Kjorz hurried down the corridor and found a remote room that was empty. With Rok Wllon and the other four agents looking on in bewilderment, Darzek and Kjorz dragged the knight and lackeys into the room. While Kjorz removed the clothing from the knight and one lackey, Darzek checked the three of them over carefully. He had set the amulet at medium charge. He saw no need to kill them, but he wanted time to get the Synthesis agents beyond pursuit before they woke up.

He donned the knight’s clothing, carefully perching the helmet at the proper angle, and Kjorz took that of one of the lackeys. Then they barred the door, and they started the Synthesis agents back the way they had come—Darzek, the knight, leading the way, followed by five prisoners, with Kjorz bringing up the rear as a lackey.

After the first barrier, Darzek was confident that everything would be all right. A grating spanned the corridor, with a lackey in charge of its central door. He opened it without hesitation, closed it after them. They walked on.

But it took them more than an hour to find the exit, and Rok Wllon and the four mistreated agents were becoming tired and increasingly difficult to handle when Darzek finally reached a fork in the corridor, caught a draft of chill, fresh air coming down one branch, and turned in the right direction.

None of the lackey guards at the main entrance looked twice at them. They were trained to obey a knight instantly and without question, and probably the Protector had instilled in them more concern about unauthorized persons entering the sacred precincts than about escaping prisoners. Darzek, knight of the Winged Beast, led his detachment of prisoners away under a warm afternoon sun; but the moment the lane curved out of sight of the entrance, he hurried everyone up the mountainside and into the trees. There they paused to rest.

“From here on, it’s up to you,” Darzek told Kjorz.

“You’re not coming?”

“I’m just getting a glimmer of what this is all about. If I can understand that glimmer, I may be able to accomplish something. Take them over the crest and down the other side as far as they’re able to travel. Watch out for air shafts on this side of the mountain. When they can’t go any further, find cover for them and wait until dark. Then go down to the encampment and get help.”

Kjorz looked at him doubtfully. “You’re sure you’ll be all right?”

“No,” Darzek said. “But I sense an opportunity here that may never happen again, and I’m not about to run off and leave it.”

“You’d better tell me about this encampment. Where do I go to get help?”

Darzek described the encampment and the positions of his own wagons and tents. As he talked, he began to feel doubtful himself. It wouldn’t do to take this bedraggled group of agents into the camp—the black-capes would know about it within minutes. They’d have to make a wide circuit and hide near the surlane until Sjelk could arrange to pick them up at night and smuggle them out of the central province in one of his returning empty wagons.

A sudden movement in the undergrowth brought him to his feet. An instant later a small figure hurled itself at him.

It was Sajjo.

When her tears had subsided, he presented her to Kjorz and the others. Then, speaking slowly with his hands, he told her precisely what had to be done.
Quickly!
he said.
There’s no time to waste. Their lives depend on you.

He embraced her again and stepped back. She smiled and turned to the others, motioning them to follow her.

The other agents and Rok Wllon got to their feet bewilderedly. Kjorz turned again to Darzek.

“You’re sure you’ll be all right?”

“When I leave this place,” Darzek said, with more confidence than he felt, “I expect to be traveling in a much finer style than you will. Now get going.”

He watched them move off into the forest, with Sajjo bounding along ahead of them. Just before they disappeared, she turned and waved at Darzek. Then they were gone. Darzek turned and moved laterally, following the lane at a safe distance. The forest drew close to it where it met the surlane coming down from the mountain pass, and Darzek settled down there to wait. Whether it would be for an hour or a week he had no idea. He hoped the religious ceremonies for the new king would be brief.

While he waited, he examined with care the glimmer he had seen, and focused and amplified it; and when he finally had his thoughts arranged, only a few confirming details were lacking for him to shape the final solution to the mystery of the Silent Planet.

Or so he hoped.

He continued to wait.

Finally he saw the procession coming. Again the Protector led the way, mounted on his solid black nabrulk, with his retinue of black-caped knights riding behind him. Next in line came the red-caped party of the Duke Merzkion. Darzek scrutinized it with care. The duke was there, and all of his retainers, but the duke’s treasure was missing. He knew that the Duke Merzkion had taken a treasure over the mountain with him. He had seen him fluttering about it anxiously as the outgoing procession got underway. Now the Duke Merzkion was treasureless.

Following him came the silver-caped party of the Duke Rilornz—with no treasure.

And then the purple-caped party of Duke Fermarz—with no treasure.

And the parties of the Dukes Pabinzk and Tonorj, oranged-caped and brown-caped, both treasureless.

Then, in the center of the procession, came the new King of Storoz, formerly the Duke of OO, with his gold-caped followers. And the new king still had his treasure. It rode on a litter carried by four mounted black-caped lackeys; and the treasure chest, covered by elegantly embroidered cloths, was at least two meters high, two meters wide, and three meters long.

Darzek studied it calculatingly. “A little large for diamonds,” he murmured.

He pointed his amulet at it.

As it came opposite him, he touched the trigger, giving it an unusually long blast of maximum power.

The sudden
clump
was audible even at his distance, but the procession of deaf Kammians moved along serenely. Darzek remained where he was, watching the parties of the remaining dukes: The Duke Borkioz and his deep blue-caped followers, no treasure; the redheaded Duke Dunjinz and his pink-caped followers, no treasure; the Duke Suklozk and his gray-caped followers, no treasure; the Dukes Lonorlk and Kiledj, with followers cloaked in pale blue and white, both treasureless. None of the remaining dukes possessed the treasure he had started out with.

When the end of the procession reached him, Darzek turned with a grin and loped off through the forest until he overtook the Duke of OO’s party. By the time he reached it, the entire procession had halted. The new king, his knights and retainers, and black-capes from elsewhere in the procession had gathered about the treasure. As Darzek watched, the Protector rode up.

Darzek turned away, climbed higher up the mountain to be safely out of sight, and hurried back toward the caverns. His next hunch was that the entire procession would be returning to the underground temple of the Winged Beast, and he wanted to get there well ahead of it.

CHAPTER 20

If the lackeys guarding the entrance remembered Darzek and thought it odd that he was returning without his work party, they said nothing. Neither did those at the barricades. Darzek’s principal problem was in finding the dormitory rooms: He had to mimic the sedate pace of a knight while searching with frantic haste.

He lost his way several times, and he was fighting a sensation of panic when finally he located the correct ascending passage. He first looked in on the knight and the two lackeys. They were still unconscious and showed no signs of reviving. He took the trouble to dress the knight in his armor. Then he barred that door, opened the door of the last occupied dormitory, and closed it after him, trying to coax the bar into dropping partially into place as the door slammed. It did—barely. His two cell mates were asleep after their emotional exhaustion of the morning, and they didn’t see him enter. He stretched out on an empty pallet and quickly fell asleep himself.

He was awakened abruptly and herded into the corridor with a crowd of bewildered prisoners.

What is it?
the prisoners were demanding.

It’s another Choice,
a knight told them maliciously.

But we just chose a king!

So we did. Now we’re going to choose another king.

He turned away. The prisoners were marched off, one dormitory at a time, and if anyone noticed that Darzek’s room was short six prisoners, no mention was made of it. They retraced their route of the morning, winding their way down to the long room reserved for prisoners.

Darzek hurried to the opposite end and looked into the arena. The torches already had been lit, including those in the ducal boxes, with one puzzling exception. The box that had been occupied by the Duke of OO was dark. The door under his box was closed. All of the others doors were open—except, Darzek assumed, the one occupied by the Protector, who was not eligible for the kingship. That door must have been the one adjacent to the one the victims entered, for Darzek could not see it.

The prisoners’ bewilderment was pathetic as the knights backed them against the wall for numbering. As a lackey painted a glyph on Darzek’s forehead, and the knight’s fingers announced,
Twenty-seven,
Darzek stepped forward protestingly.

I don’t like that number,
his fingers informed the knight.
Give me another.
Deliberately he wiped it off.

The knight stared at him for a moment. Then he signaled the lackey to continue, and they finished the numbering.

The knight with the jar of numbers made his entrance, and the Protector soon followed. As he turned to leave, his gaze fell on Darzek. His hands snapped a question.
No number?

A knight answered apologetically.
His mind has become addled. It happens frequently, especially after several of the prisoners have been given to the Beasts. He wiped off his number, but we remember it. It’s twenty-seven.

It’s the namafj vendor,
the Protector said. He sniffed.
He smells worse now than he did when I saw him yesterday. Didn’t you dump water on him?

It was done several times, sire. Do you wish it done again?

No matter. He wiped off his number, and you have a rule. Take him first.

The Protector left. Knights and lackeys converged on Darzek. He made them drag him to the cage and push him in. Then the cage moved, and he found himself walking toward the center of the arena. While he walked, he set his amulet at the lowest intensity and the broadest beam the little weapon could supply. Then he looked about him. He had picked out the Duke Dunjinz’s box as soon as the cage moved out into the arena—its door was the second on the right from the one used for the prisoners.

Beasts were flapping excitedly far above, and several dived on the cage as it moved. Dizziness swept over Darzek, and he had to will himself to be steady, to concentrate, to think. The first moment after the cage went up would be decisive. “Just give them a touch to start with,” he reminded himself. “See how they react. To kill one might be fatal.” Even if such a death seemed a mysterious act of providence, there already had been too many peculiarities about this particular namafj vendor. The Protector would exact a horrible vengeance.

The cage jerked upward.

Darzek stood at the center of the arena, pivoting slowly, with both hands extended above his head. His posture was that of one invoking the gods. His audience was about to witness a miracle, and Darzek hoped to convey the impression that the miracle was a holy one.

The first Beast plummeted downward, and a new wave of dizziness enveloped Darzek and staggered him. He kept his feet with difficulty, tracked the Beast with his amulet, pressed the stud.

Nothing happened, except that the Beast leveled its screaming dive at the height of Darzek’s head, and Darzek had to duck to escape the slashing talons.

A second Beast followed the first down. Darzek’s dizziness continued. He aimed his amulet again, pressed the stud—and again nothing happened. Before the Beast had finished its dive, Darzek despairingly abandoned the amulet and tensed himself to dodge. For the amulet—after the day’s activity and especially after the long full power blast at the Duke of OO’s treasure—the amulet had a dead power supply.

But the second Beast also pulled out of its dive at the level of Darzek’s head and veered off.

Darzek turned. A sudden dash would bring out the Beasts’ killer instincts, so he walked slowly, one small footstep at a time, and set his course for the Duke Dunjinz’s box. The Beasts continued to dive on him, but now they did not even come close before they veered off.

But the dizziness came in mounting waves, his pulse pounded wildly in his ears, and he wondered how much longer he could remain conscious. His head became a throbbing, tearing agony. He staggered on, closer and closer.