Queen of the Depths (22 page)

He whispered the charm of opening, and the lock clacked as it disengaged. The difficult part was easing the door open. In dire need of oil, the hinges squealed as they had before, and he winced at the noise. But no one came rushing to investigate.

He pushed the grate almost back to its starting position, but left it unlatched. With luck, no casual observer would notice the difference. Then he skulked down the passage.

To his relief, creeping through the benighted caverns wasn’t quite as difficult as he’d feared. The reptiles might be able to see in the dark, but the humans couldn’t and had mounted flickering oil lamps at intervals along the walls. A good many creatures and people were still up and moving about—probably necromancers slept by day, like vampires—but the acoustics were such that he could hear them coming, and the complex was so maze-like

that it was usually possible to duck into a niche or side gallery until they passed.

Finally he found what he was seeking, a nook the cultists had converted into a makeshift larder. With a frown of regret, he passed by the freshest and most appealing food—a smoked ham, cherries—in favor of dried and preserved stuff the madmen had presumably laid in to eat when everything else ran out… or to grudgingly feed to their captives. One box yielded ship’s biscuits, hard as oak and crawling with mites. Another contained leathery venison jerky and a burlap sack full of dried apples.

He gobbled some of each then stuffed more inside his shirt. As he was finishing up, he heard noise in the passage outside: trudging footsteps and the swish of a dragging tail.

Most of the crates and barrels were flush with the wall, and he had no time to shift them. He hastily crouched down behind one of the few boxes someone had left in the center of the chamber.

The cursed thing just wasn’t big enough. If the dragonkin glanced in his direction, it was almost inevitably going to spot him. The Red Knight knew, he was in no shape for another fight, but he whispered an incantation and sprouted a sharp, bony ridge from the bottom of his hand.

The footsteps halted, and he heard the rasp of the dragonkin’s respiration. It was standing in the doorway, peering in, without a doubt.

Could he kill such a formidable creature with a single strike, before it raised an alarm? To say the least, it seemed unlikely. Still he gathered himself to jump up and charge, and the dragonkin grunted and slouched on its way. It hadn’t noticed him.

Miraculous. It occurred to him that Tu’ala’keth would attribute the luck to Umberlee. Or she would have, before he tried to murder her.

He gave the dragonkin time to move off then slipped back to the cell, closed the door behind him, and divvied up the pilfered food. The other captives wolfed it down as voraciously as before.

“This was dangerous,” said Jamark through a mouthful of jerky. “If the cultists find out, they’ll punish us.”

“I notice the risk didn’t stop you from grabbing a portion. I didn’t take too much, and only the stuff they’re least likely to miss. If they do, they may well assume one of their own has been pilfering since I gather even they’re a little hungry.”

“Well … yes. They haven’t been to Mirg Isle to reprovision in a while. Too busy preparing for their hellish rituals.”

“Right, and on top of that, we’re locked up, so how could we possibly steal? But I will. Enough food to keep us strong, and weapons, too. That may be trickier. But I’ll wager I can at least find a knife or two no one will worry about and a place to hide them until we’re ready.”

“For what?”

“Here’s one possibility. The cultists have a cog. You and I know how to sail her.”

“So we steal her and put out to sea. Then Eshcaz and the other wyrms fly after us and kill us.”

Anton smiled. “All right, maybe it isn’t a perfect scheme. But we’ll keep thinking … and watch for an opportunity.”

Yhe realm called the Xedran Reefs was not, in fact, all coral reef. Most of it was open seabed lying under shallow, sunlit water aglitter with a multitude of flitting multicolored fish.

Tu’ala’keth had plotted a course through the region so as to skirt all the reefs but the one that was her destination then proceeded warily. It was the only way to avoid sentries and patrols who would otherwise attack her on sight. But now that her goal was within reach, she guided her seahorse, and its riderless counterpart swimming along behind, through clear, open water some distance above the sea floor. She wanted Yzil’s guards to spot her, and with luck, recognize her.

Where were they? It had been years since she’d visited Exzethlix, but it was hard.to believe the xenophobic inhabitants had grown

so lax. As the minutes passed without incident, a ghastly thought occurred to her: The dragon flight had passed this way and destroyed the city, denying her the aid she so desperately needed.

But finally, as the suspicion was taking hold of her in earnest, a patrol peered out from the cover of a floating, tangled mass of dark green sargasso weed. She halted the seahorses and waved her hand.

Locathahs, thrall warriors with piscine faces and jutting ridges of fin on their arms and legs, aimed their crossbows at her. Curse it! This, too, came as a surprise. She’d been prepared for an initially hostile response, but not a murderous one. Ixitxachitls were inveterate slave takers, and would normally try to capture a lone and unarmed traveler alive.

She urged her mount into motion, it dodged, and the first quarrels hurtled harmlessly past. She called out to the leader of the patrol and didn’t need the magic of her ring to translate. She’d mastered the language of the ‘chitls on previous visits.

“I am Tu’ala’keth, a waveservant known to your devitan. He has given me leave to come and go as I please.”

The locathahs reached into their arrow sacks for fresh bolts. A voice said, “Reload, but don’t shoot unless I order it.” With that, their officer emerged from the hanging mass of weed.

At first glance, a human might have mistaken the ixitxachitl for a common ray, a flat, soft, rippling thing, dark on top and pale on the underside, with a long, thin tail snaking out behind. But a predatory intelligence lurked in its blood-colored eyes, and fangs like needles ringed its maw.

“I remember you,” it said.

“Good. What ails this place? Why are there no sentries posted farther out?” For that matter, how was it this particular patrol only had a single ‘chitl leading

it, and that one of low rank? She could tell it hadn’t yet achieved the vampiric condition to which they all aspired by the condition of its teeth. It lacked the pair of elongated upper fangs.

“I won’t harm you,” it said. “I don’t think the devitan would wish it. But you must go away.”

“Impossible,” she said. “Umberlee sent me here.”

“Whatever you’re talking about,” the demon ray said, “now is not the time.”

“I ask again: What is amiss? I am willing to help you mend it so long as you promise to aid me in return.”

The ‘chitl hesitated. “It’s not my place to tell outsiders what goes on Exzethlix.”

“Then take me to Yzil, and let him do it.”

“Unless the devitan has rescinded the order granting me safe passage, it still stands. You can obey it as is your duty, bring help to your city, and earn your ascension to vampirism in the process. Or you can discover how the Queen of the Depths chastises those who seek to hinder her servants. In the unlikely event you survive, Yzil will no doubt have further punishments to inflict on what is left of you.”

With a flutter of its body and a lash of its tail, the demon ray turned toward its minions. “You’ll stay here and obey your orders until I return.” It wheeled back toward Tu’ala’keth. “Follow me.”

Exzethlix came into view a few minutes later. To Tu’ala’keth’s eyes, it rather resembled the decaying corpse of a coral reef, largely denuded of the life that generally flourished about such sprawling growths and carved into grotesque and uncouth shapes. But it looked the same as it always had. Whatever misfortune had overtaken it, the maze of chambers and tunnels remained intact.

As she’d anticipated, her guide led her toward the

primary temple, likewise the seat of government, for in the Xedran Reefs, the clerics of Ilxendren—in her view, a mere demon, albeit a powerful one, posing as a deity—were preeminent in everything. Gliding ‘chitls and toiling thralls watched as she passed. Misliking the place, her seahorse tossed its head, and she gentled it with the touch of her hand and mind.

ŚŠŚŚŠŚ

Constrained by magic, the mermaid lay motionless atop Ilxendren’s green marble altar. Despite her paralysis, she managed to roll her eyes wildly and shoot Yzil a look of mute appeal.

Did she actually imagine her master might spare her? Perhaps so, for she’d proved to be a particularly useful slave. But unfortunately for her, that was the point of the ceremony, to offer up someone of actual value.

The devitan wrapped the tip of his tail around the greenish claw-coral knife, recited the concluding prayer, and opened the thrall from throat to waist. Even in her agony, the spell held her immobile. Blood billowed up from the gash.

Blood was blood—the warmth, coppery scent, and taste, always delectable—and even at such a solemn moment, Yzil felt a greedy urge to bury his lips in the wound and drink his fill rather than let it diffuse into the water. He quashed the impulse and stared intently, looking for images or, failing those, patterns in the swirling stain.

There! It … but no. The ixitxachitl realized that in his desperation, he’d perceived the suggestion of a runic form where, in fact, it simply didn’t exist. This augury was as useless as all the others, and he twisted away from it in frustration.

But that only brought him face to face with Shex,

looking on with an expression of concern that, Yzil very much suspected, masked an underlying satisfaction.

“I fear,” said Shex, “that I saw nothing.”

For a moment, Yzil was tempted to say he had. But it would be blasphemy to claim Ilxendren had communicated with him when it was untrue, and besides, the lie probably wouldn’t hold up.

“Nor I,” he admitted.

“A pity,” said Shex. He pursed his lips, sucking at his fangs in a display of deep thought that made Yzil want to smite him with one of his most virulent spells. “Devitan, I hesitate to propose this again—”

“Then don’t.”

“—but since all your efforts have proved unavailing, and the life of the city itself is at stake, I suggest you journey to Xedras to consult with His Holiness. Surely he can provide an answer.”

No doubt, Yzil thought bitterly. The problem was that the Vitanar had long suspected him—correctly—of embracing the Qyxasian heresy, of believing that commerce and dialogue with lesser races would facilitate their ultimate subjugation. If he entered the capital as an abject failure, unable to defend his own domain, His Holiness would surely take it as an opportunity to strip him of his rank, his liberty, and quite possibly his life.

But how much longer could he refuse? In theory, Shex was a mere vitan, chief priest of a single temple, unable to compel a devitan, the primate of an entire city, to do anything. But in actuality, he’d come as the Vitanar’s representative, and a time was rapidly approaching when Yzil would be able to deny him no longer, lest continued resistance make matters even worse—assuming such a thing was possible.

“I’m reluctant,” Yzil said, “to trouble His Holiness when I’m certain that, with more study and prayer, Exzethlix can solve its own problems.”

“He wouldn’t consider it ‘trouble,’” Shex replied. “Like the god who speaks with his voice, he cares for the strength and vitality of all our race.”

“Still,” said a new voice, managing the ixitxachitl tongue with facility despite the handicap of a tongue and voice box never intended for the purpose, “it would be unnecessary. I will help you, for a price.”

Baring their fangs, tails lashing, all the vampire rays in the shadowy coral hall with its dozens of irregular arched doorways turned toward the shalarin. Yzil understood their startled outrage. No one but ixitxachitls and sacrifices ever entered this holy place. Tu’ala’keth had not only intruded, but presumed to speak unbidden. Her escort, a common warrior, looked as if he couldn’t decide whether to attack her or grovel in apology for her insolence.

Yzil felt a pang of anger himself, though it was more out of concern for his own well-being that the sanctity of the shrine. Years ago, Tu’ala’keth had approached him with a bargain. Like all spellcasters, the two of them were eager to acquire esoteric lore and the power that came with it, and it was certain that, pursuing their separate paths, each had discovered secrets unknown to the other. Such being the case, they’d share as much as they could, without, of course, forsaking or betraying their respective faiths.

It had actually worked out quite well. The tricks Tu’ala’keth had taught Yzil helped him ascend and cling to his high rank while scores of ambitious wretches such as Shex strove to usurp it. In the end, Yzil might even have grown a bit “fond” of the shalarin, if he understood what that alien concept truly meant.

Still after an absence of a decade, why did Tu’ala’keth have to turn up now? If one cared to take it that way— and Shex undoubtedly would—her intrusion here was further evidence that Yzil had lost control. Worse, his

collaboration with her could itself be construed as proof that he’d embraced Qyxas’s forbidden views.

Yet she’d spoken of providing help, and really, now that she’d already interrupted the proceedings, could she make things much worse? Perhaps it would be sensible to hear her out.

The other ixitxachitls had all pointed themselves in her direction. In another moment, they’d swarm on her, and she hadn’t made a move to protect herself. She simply gave Yzil a cool, level stare.

He’d often thought her arrogant self-assurance would someday be the death of her. It still might, but not just yet. “Stop,” he said. “For the moment, the shalarin is under my protection.”

She inclined her head as if acknowledging a simple courtesy

“Who is this thrall?” Shex demanded.

She answered before Yzil could. “Tu’ala’keth, waveservant and keeper of Umberlee’s shrine in Myth Nantar.”