The Lion of Senet (3 page)

“What happened?” Belagren demanded of nobody in particular.

“Acid,” a tall, gray-haired woman answered her from behind. “They accidentally triggered the trap. It rained acid over everyone standing near the wall.”

Belagren turned to face Madalan. “You broke through, then?”

She didn’t ask who the dead were or if anyone else had been injured. She didn’t care. All she cared about was getting through this damn Labyrinth and back into the building that a dead madman was so determined to prevent her from entering.

“Not yet,” Madalan shrugged, “but now that we’ve sprung the trap, it should only be a matter of time.”

Belagren nodded, but before she could answer, another young man came running through the tunnel, calling for her.

“My lady!” he panted, sketching a hasty bow as he stopped in front of her. “You must come see! Quickly!”

“See what?”

“The sky, my lady!”

With a puzzled glance at Madalan she quickly retraced her steps through the torch-lit Labyrinth on the heels of the messenger. Blinking as she stepped out into the light, the High Priestess squinted for a moment, then followed the pointing finger of the young man. Belagren bit back an involuntary gasp.

A billowing cloud of ash, stained scarlet by the rapidly sinking first sun, blotted out the sky to the south. There had been an eruption, she realized immediately, perhaps on land, but so far south, it was more likely in the Tresna Sea.

Belagren glanced around at the startled faces of her followers and quickly raised her arms, holding them wide.

“It is a sign,” she cried. “The Goddess has spoken to us!”

All around her, the Shadowdancers began falling to their knees, staring up at the sky. Her mind racing, the High Priestess looked around with relief at this obvious sign of their faith, then turned her attention south once more. “Our sacrifice has not been in vain. See for yourselves. The Goddess is with us, and the souls of those lost today will be welcomed into her loving arms. Let us pray.”

As one, the people around her, Shadowdancers and servants alike, bowed their heads in prayer. Belagren glanced over her shoulder to find everyone but Madalan caught up in his or her devotions. The older woman smiled as she emerged from the entrance to the Labyrinth. The convenience of a sign from the Goddess at such a time was not lost on her old friend.

“The Goddess is with us,” Madalan said blandly, as she stood beside the High Priestess.

“This truly is a momentous day,” Belagren agreed, then added quietly in a voice meant only for Madalan, “We have to get back to Avacas.”

Chapter 3

The ground trembled from another aftershock and low clouds of volcanic ash blocked out the sun as Dirk Provin and his brother Rees scrambled up the steep incline of the levee wall to inspect the damage wrought by the tidal wave. Dirk could taste ash on the still air, and his eyes watered as he followed Rees and the rest of the townsfolk up the slope. The shale was slippery and sharp, but he paid no attention to the small cuts that sliced his hands. The first sun had set, and the second sun sat low on the horizon waiting its turn, but the world was still shadowed by the aftermath of the distant volcano.

“Where do you think the eruption was?” somebody asked. Nearly everybody from the town had hurried to the levee to inspect the damage. They had felt the earthquake during the night and knew what it meant, but until the expected tidal wave had unleashed its fury, they had stayed well clear of the northern beaches.

“The mainland,” Master Helgin panted from behind Dirk, as the portly physician struggled in the wake of the younger, fitter men. “It could have been as far away as the Galaquil Mountains.”

“No, it was in the seabed between here and Senet,” somebody else predicted. “A mainland eruption wouldn’t cause this much damage.”

“Now that we’ve returned to the Age of Light, I thought we’d seen the last of these damn eruptions,” someone else said.

“Is the Goddeth angry?”

Dirk glanced over his shoulder at the boy who had spoken, a little surprised to find young Eryk scrambling up the slope behind them. Eryk was thirteen and quite small for his age. He had unruly black hair and soft green eyes that reflected a great deal of emotion and very limited intelligence. He spoke with a distinct lisp when he got excited, and it was generally agreed that he wasn’t the brightest jewel in Elcast’s crown. The lad caught up to Master Helgin, then, seeing the look of disapproval on Dirk’s face, offered the old physician his arm. He smiled triumphantly at Dirk, as if to say,
See! I’m here because
the master needs me.

Sometimes,
Dirk thought, turning to follow his brother,
Eryk isn’t nearly as slow as people think he is
.

“Well, if she is angry, Eryk,” Master Helgin puffed, leaning heavily on the boy’s arm, “it would be pleasant to think she’s venting her wrath on somebody else for a change.” Stopping for a moment to catch his breath, he wiped the sweat from his forehead with a kerchief before starting off again.

Dirk glanced over his shoulder at the physician and frowned. That was a foolish thing to say, particularly as Tovin Rill, the Senetian Governor of Elcast, was only a few steps ahead of them. Dirk’s eyes swung to Tovin, but the big blond mainlander seemed not to have heard the remark.

“Are there likely to be many casualties?” Lord Tovin asked when he reached the top of the levee. Dirk’s older brother, Rees, stopped beside him, shaking his dark curly hair. Stocky and solid, Rees looked so much like Wallin Provin, standing on the levee silhouetted by the scarlet clouds, that Dirk had to remind himself that he was looking at his brother, not his father.

“There’s no settlement around here, just farmland,” Rees explained. “This part of the coast is too prone to storm surges.”

“We don’t often get tidal waves in Senet,” Lanon Rill remarked. The governor’s son had scrambled up beside his father, flashing a quick grin over his shoulder at Dirk. It had nothing to do with the tidal wave. Lanon was gloating because he’d beaten Dirk to the top of the wall.

“No, you just have the quakes that cause them and swamp us on a regular basis,” Dirk heard Helgin mutter crossly.

Dirk threw the old man an exasperated look before scrambling the last few feet to stand beside his brother.

As the townsfolk reached the top of the wall they fell silent, overwhelmed by the sight. The scene that greeted them was one of utter desolation. The tide was out now, and as far as the eye could see in the dim light a barren black beach strewn with the flotsam of the tidal wave’s long journey stretched before them.

The monstrous wave had dumped its load well past the beach. The tree line that yesterday had marked the start of the fertile farmland beyond was all but flattened, the soil now poisoned by seawater. Rees pointed to the sodden fields with concern. “The crops...”

Tovin Rill shook his head, stunned at the carnage. “I’ll have the damage assessed. We can apply to the mainland for relief. The Lion of Senet will not see you starve.”

No,
Dirk thought,
but what will it cost us?
Like all the islands of Dhevyn, Elcast was suffering under the weight of the crippling taxes imposed by Senet. He could imagine his mother’s reaction to the news.

Tovin scowled suddenly and turned to Rees. “Of course, Duchess Morna would probably rather you starved than accept a single sack of grain from Senet.”

Rees looked uncomfortable at the reminder. “I’m sure my mother will be grateful for Senet’s help, my lord.”

The massive granite levee on which they stood had protected the rest of the island from the fury of the wave. Not for the first time, Dirk wondered who had constructed the wall. With the exception of Elcast Keep, it was the only structure on the island that hadn’t been rebuilt a thousand times over. Almost a hundred feet below them, the wet black sand glistened in the dull morning, the base of the levee cluttered with debris thrown up by the ocean. He wiped his streaming eyes and squinted into the distance.

“Something’s moving.”

Rees glanced at Dirk before scanning the beach carefully. “Where?”

“Over there,” he told him, pointing toward the devastated tree line.

“It’s probably just seaweed blowing in the breeze.” Tovin shrugged, looking in the direction of Dirk’s pointing finger.

Dirk shook his head. “There’s not a breath of wind this morning.”

“There’s something alive down there!” somebody else called. Every eye on top of the levee suddenly fixed on the tree line, waiting to catch a glimpse of the unexpected movement. Dirk studied the scene carefully, trying to sort out the tangle of debris in his mind.

“It’s a ship,” Lanon announced. “See! You can just make out the end of the bowsprit at the base of the trees. And over there! It’s part of a mast.”

“If there was a ship caught in the wave, there’d be no survivors. It would have been smashed to kindling.” Tovin looked at his son apologetically. “Poor bastards probably didn’t even know what hit them.”

“There is definitely something moving down there,” a female voice called farther along the wall.

Rees turned to Tovin expectantly. Although Rees was the heir to Elcast, there would be no rescue party sent to investigate without Tovin’s approval.

“It’ll take hours to get around to those trees now the road’s been washed out, but I suppose we’d better investigate,” the governor decided. He was silent for a moment, then turned to one of his officers who had come to view the scene along with the curious townsfolk. “Ateway, send someone to fetch a rope and then take a couple of men down the levee wall. See what you can find. And take Master Helgin with you. If there is a survivor, no doubt he’ll need medical attention.”

Helgin had finally managed to reach the top of the levee. He looked down the sheer, steep wall and took a step backward, suddenly pale. “I . . . er . . . perhaps, my lord...”

Tovin smiled unpleasantly. “You’re quick enough to criticize Senet’s efforts to aid the Kingdom of Dhevyn, Master Helgin. Surely you’re willing to step forward when there’s a chance to take an active part yourself?”

“I’ll do it,” Dirk volunteered. Tovin Rill had that look in his eye that he got when he was riled. He’d obviously heard the physician’s earlier snide remarks. “Master Helgin is afraid of heights, my lord,” he explained.

“I’ll go, too!” Eryk offered eagerly. Wherever Dirk went, Eryk was determined to follow.

“No, you won’t,” Rees declared, grabbing the lad by the collar before he could jump off the wall in his enthusiasm. “Are you sure about this, Dirk?”

He nodded to his brother, then turned to Tovin Rill for permission.

Tovin glared at Dirk for a moment and then nodded. “Your young apprentice apparently has more balls than you do, Helgin. Does he know enough to be of any use?”

“He is his father’s son, my lord,” Helgin replied stiffly. “And yes, he knows enough to render aid.”

“If there is any aid to be rendered,” Rees remarked doubtfully, still clutching the crestfallen Eryk by the collar. “It would be a miracle if anyone survived such a wreck.”

Tovin nodded in agreement and looked out over the beach. “Aye. Whoever it is, if he’s still alive, he’s been spared by the Goddess herself.”

Dirk was the last one down the wall, but he had little trouble negotiating the perilous descent. He and Lanon had often scaled the levee these past few months, although they took great pains to ensure that their adventures remained a secret from both the governor and the Duke of Elcast. The area around the levee wall was strictly prohibited, mostly because of the same thing they had come here to witness this morning. The shallow seabed between Elcast and Senet was riddled with underwater volcanoes and the beach was often lashed by monstrous waves, although rarely one as large as this. His father had declared the whole area off limits after three children had been killed by a smaller wave that had arrived without warning when Dirk was only a small boy.

Ateway and the two Senetian soldiers he assigned to the task headed off across the damp black sand as soon as Dirk was freed of the rope. With a quick wave to those who stood watching them from high on top of the levee, he turned and hurried after the men.

Ateway glanced at Dirk as he fell into step beside them. “You know, that physician of yours is going to get himself arrested someday. Lord Tovin’s only been here a few months and he’s a very devout man. You should tell Helgin to guard his tongue.”

As if that would do any good,
Dirk thought. Still, for a Senetian, Ateway was probably one of the better ones, so Dirk was disinclined to aggravate him. He settled on a change of subject instead.

“Do you miss Senet?”

“Not really. You’ve a good life here on this island, when all is said and done. And you manage to avoid most of the earthquakes. Sometimes Senet shakes so hard, it’s impossible to stay on your feet.”

“We get the tidal waves, though,” Dirk pointed out. “It’s your earthquakes that cause them.”

Ateway frowned. “It’s the Goddess that causes the waves, lad. Don’t you go thinking anything else.”

“Why?” he asked, as they trudged across the damp sand.

“What do you mean,
why
?”

“Why does she cause them? Why does your Goddess insist on visiting disaster after disaster upon us?” Dirk wasn’t trying to bait him. He was genuinely puzzled by the blind faith of Senetians in all matters relating to the Goddess.

“Because the people turn from her,” Ateway informed him uncomfortably, ill equipped to argue theology. “And if enough people turn from her, then she dooms us to another Age of Shadows until they get the message,” he added sternly.

“But her disasters affect everyone, the ones who follow her and those who don’t. Why doesn’t she just do something to the sinners and leave the rest of us alone?”

Ateway glared at Dirk for a moment then shook his head. “You should ask a Shadowdancer that sort of question.”

“Haven’t you ever asked them?”

“Of course not!”

“Why not?”

Ateway was saved from having to reply by the shout of one of the soldiers who had gone on ahead to inspect the tangled debris caught in the felled trees bordering the farmland. Dirk temporarily abandoned his quest for spiritual enlightenment and hurried toward the soldier who was ripping away the branches and shattered planks from the wreckage to uncover the body beneath. Dirk dropped to his knees and placed his ear to the man’s chest.

“He’s dead,” he announced, looking up at Ateway. “And as cold as a fish. If someone was alive down here, it wasn’t this man.”

“There’ll be more of them around,” Ateway agreed with a nod. “We should get help to bury them.”

“Let’s find the survivor first,” Dirk suggested.

They worked through the morning to uncover the victims of the shipwreck. They found eighteen bodies before Ateway gave a shout to indicate that he had discovered one still breathing. The soldiers laid the dead men out in a row along the black sand as they uncovered them. They were barefoot and roughly dressed, but nothing they wore gave any hint as to the identity of their unnamed ship. They were thin, too, as if they had been at sea for some time, or perhaps they were just generally undernourished. Their injuries ranged from multiple shattered bones to one young boy no older than Dirk, who didn’t have a mark on him. They were Baenlanders, he guessed. He’d heard it was a struggle to survive in the Baenlands. It was the reason so many of them took to piracy.

“Goddess, I can’t believe this one’s not dead!”

Dirk hurried over to where Ateway was kneeling over the body of a dark-haired man whose left leg was twisted at an unnatural angle. His arms were broken, his face was covered in blood from a savage gash over his left eye and his left shoulder appeared to be dislocated. But his chest rose and fell with surprising regularity. He was unconscious, and would no doubt awake to unbearable agony, but unless his wounds turned septic, or he was suffering from internal injuries, Dirk judged that he would probably live.

“We’ll need splints,” he told the Senetians. “And a stretcher. And something for the pain. When he wakes up, it’s going to be pretty horrible.”

Ateway nodded and ordered one of the soldiers to head back to the levee wall for help. Dirk gingerly turned his attention back to his patient and examined him more closely.

He was not a particularly big man, but he was well muscled, tanned and obviously fit from a life spent on the deck of a ship. His dark hair was flecked with gray at the temples, and Dirk guessed the sailor was well into middle age. Dirk was not skilled enough to tell if he had more serious injuries. For that reason, he hesitated to move him, afraid that he might make things worse. He’d seen that happen last year, when one of the grooms had been thrown hard from a horse to the cobbled stones of the Keep’s courtyard. His friends had rushed to help him up and now the poor boy couldn’t feel a thing below his armpits.