The Warrior Returns - Anteros 04 (28 page)

I wrenched myself up, favoring sore muscles I didn't even know I possessed until I'd entered Hellspoint. But my spirits were returning, so I managed a grin as I said, "Cast your eyes on this, my friend."

And I extended my mortal hand.

Zalia's eyes widened when she saw the gold dust packed under my nails.

"Should make a nice little pile when I clean them," I said.

"I thought you wanted to steal a piece of the finished material," she said, puzzled.

"I did," I said. "But I saw right off it wouldn't work for what I have in mind. Besides, it would take too much in its finished form. Novari or one of her minions would notice its absence."

"You're going to use the dust itself?" she asked, giving me an unbelieving stare.

"That's exactly what I plan," I said. "And it ought not to take more than a dozen trips to get enough."

Zalia was aghast "A
dozen
trips!"

"Maybe more," I said. "Although I hope not."

"I
pray
not," Zalia breathed. "I pray to all the gods past present, and future—if there is a future worth having."

I laughed, trying to make light of our ordeal, but it had a hollow sound to it.

Later, when I cleaned the gold dust from under my nails, it made a heap that was depressingly small.

as zalia had
feared, it took more than a dozen trips to Hells-point to obtain what I needed. It was easily twice that number, and each hour we labored in the forgeroom was a torment I dislike to recall.

I consoled myself by thinking that at least I was alive enough to curse the experience. Although why Novari had let me live still puzzled me.

Did she really feel more revenged by condemning me to this miserable existence? And how long would this humiliation satisfy her? Also, if she was using the mines to soften me up so I could be bent to her will, how soon would she come for me? There were many other questions, all variations on the same theme, which was wonderment that I lived at all.

Zalia had still another theory. "Perhaps Novari can't kill you," she said. "Not without coming to some harm herself."

At first I scoffed at this. "I don't think so, my friend. She was perfectly capable of killing me any moment she chose. Why, she nearly slew me when I attacked her. Several of her own men were killed when she cast that spell. And since I was on the receiving end, I can swear on any holy object you choose that it was
definitely
not only death-dealing but meant for me."

"Ah, but you attacked
her"
Zalia pointed out. "That only proves she can defend herself against you. But maybe she's forbidden—if there was some sort of curse, say—to act directly. She can't command your death. But she can put you in circumstances that would certainly be guaranteed to lead to your death."

"That's a possibility," I admitted. "But only a vague one."

"It's as good as any reason
you
have," Zalia said. "Perhaps even better. I've had much more time to study her. It's my kingdom that's threatened directly, after all."

I cocked my good eye at her.
"Your
kingdom?" I said.

"I, uh, mean my queen's," she stuttered. "Queen Salimar's."

"Aha!" I chortled. "So that's her name? By the gods, woman, I finally got
something
out of you!"

She flushed. "What of it?" she mumbled. "I was getting ready to tell you anyway."

I gloated. "Riight!"

Zalia clamped her lips and said nothing more that night.

I knew my victory had been a childish one. But in Koronos it seemed as pleasing as any other I'd had in a long time. And I was childish enough to take satisfaction in recognizing just how infantile Zalia had been as well when she'd whined, "I was getting ready to tell you anyway."

Well, the laugh's on you, woman, I thought.

The laugh's on you.

while
I
gathered
the dust I also gathered information about our prison.

I immediately noticed a certain looseness in the mine's security. Certainly there were guards everywhere. And we were frequently chained together, especially when we exited the mines and were herded for Hellspoint.

Yet it seemed to me the reasons for being chained had little to do with fear that we'd escape. The artificial hands would ultimately stop even the most determined slave. Plus there was the sorcerous gruel that all the slaves, except Zalia and myself, were addicted to. No, the chains were to protect us from harming the guards or ourselves when freedom was dangled before us and hysteria set in.

Mostly, if we kept to our own warren, we were left alone during the hours we were allotted each day for eating and sleeping. And it was fairly easy to visit other nearby warrens. All you had to do was walk past a few warren guards, who would give you a bored glare, then wave you on. Many times those guards would be momentarily absent or even asleep. No one seemed to care. The metal hand bolted to your wrist would prevent any real mischief.

You especially tended to be ignored if you were an "old-timer." The death toll was so high that those who survived a year were marked by their sheer endurance as being safe. An old-timer could talk from the corner of her mouth and be heard or observed by no one but the person she was speaking to. An old-timer knew how to absorb a blow or a lash and suffer the least harm. An old-timer knew how to snatch a few seconds to rest, how to study the guards' moods and know when a little blatant shirking might be in order. Old-timers knew the system. And the system worked best if you rolled with the punches and watched for small openings to grab a bit more food, a bit more comfort, a bit more life. You could add up the little store of extra life that you gathered second by second.

Like the grains of sorcerous gold I was stealing from Novari's forgeroom.

While I gathered the dust, I made a tool. It was an ordinary rat bone; long, thin, and quite straight. I cleaned the marrow out so it was nicely hollow. Then I polished the hollow with a rough thread I'd taken from my smock. Night after night I pulled the thread back and forth through the bone until it was nearly paper thin. For a while Zalia watched me, curious. But I made certain she knew I'd turn away any question she asked and she soon lost interest.

Daciar was right. Secrecy comes as naturally to a wizard as the ethers she commands.

One night I returned from Hellspoint so exhausted I could barely eat. The magical blast from the forge had been particularly intense that day, and my mind felt like crushed ore being fed down a rock slurry chute.

I fell asleep before I even cleaned the precious dust from under my nails. I simply sprawled on my stone bed, and darkness leaped up and carried me away.

I drifted, dreamless, for what seemed like a long time.

Then a soft cry crept into my peaceful slumber. It was faint and echoing and full of pain, like the cries you heard when entering Hellspoint. In my dream I had a sudden desire to investigate, to find that person and comfort him. I reached out with my good hand—the hand with the gold grime under the nails—and I felt a force drawing me like the moon draws the seas and makes the tides.

I let it take me, and my spiritself floated free, hovering over my slumbering body.

Again I heard the faint cry. I ghosted toward the sound, slipping through the stone walls, moving as freely as if I were rising from the bottom of a deep pond.

I burst to the surface, coming out under a full moon. I felt the moon tug at my hand and I lifted it and saw my fingers were all aglow. I marveled at the glittering power of it, feeling energy surge and purpose grow.

I floated down the mountain road invisible to the sleepy guards and continued along the path until I came to Hellspoint. It was black under the bright moonlight, low and menacing like an iceberg broken off from some evil field.

The forgeroom drew at me more powerfully than the moon, and I kicked free and went to it, wisping through stone and metal doors until I came to the great machine itself.

The chamber was empty and the conveyor belt was still.

But the sorcerous fires continued to roar, drawing me to the shimmering curtain that divided this world from the ethers.

I stopped there, pulling back against the outgoing tide of energy.

Once again I heard the scream. It seemed closer. And then another scream joined the first, and then another and another until there was a whole chorus of tortured souls howling from the hells.

I closed my good eye and found I could see through the curtain. It was like looking through a telescope into the Other-worlds with an ethereye.

All was wavering fire at first, then the scene came into sharp focus.

There were scores, perhaps hundreds, of souls twisting in agony as flames of blue and green and yellow licked at them from every side. They were kept in place by long magical chains which they fought against ceaselessly. Some were twisted in coils of chain, sobbing to get free. The souls were of men and women and creatures whose form I couldn't make out, and they were all screaming and moaning in horrible pain.

I knew immediately that they were wizards and other beings with sorcerous powers. And the chains were spells created by Novari to hold them captive.

Those wizardly souls were all slaves laboring in Novari's special hell—just as I labored in her mines. But by the gods, it was worse. Worse than I have powers to describe.

One of the spirits saw me and cried louder. I looked closer with my ethereye and saw with a shock the familiar face of Searbe.

My missing Evocator was missing no more.

He struggled toward me, crying my name. I wanted to help him but I couldn't let myself be drawn into Novari's private hell. He stretched the chain, struggling to come closer.

Then he screamed in greater agony and powered himself forward until the magical chain was taut and he was hanging just beyond the shimmering curtain. He was so close that if it were the real world, I could've reached out and touched him.

"Save me, Lady Antero!" he cried. "Save me!"

"1
will if I can, my friend," I said, as calmly as I could. "But I won't torture you by promising. I don't know that I can even save myself."

Despite his pain he had a sudden crafty look on his ghostly face. "I can be of much value to you, Lady Antero," he said. "I know Novari's plan."

I'd forgotten how transparent Searbe could be. And I wondered mightily at my own judgment for ever trusting him.

"Then tell it to me," I said. "The knowledge may help me free you."

"Oh, you can't trick me
that
easily," Searbe said.

"Why would I do that?" I said. "You're one of my own."

"Because I betrayed you," he said, with only a tinge of shame. "And I betrayed Orissa."

"You were forced," I said. "I won't hold anything you revealed to Novari against you."

Searbe hung his head. "I was weak," he said. "I was afraid. And then she promised
...
she promised
..."

"You don't have to tell me what sort of promises a suc-cubus makes, Searbe," I said. "I wish you hadn't succumbed so easily. But all of us are not as strong as others. I, for one, won't judge how much forcing another can take."

"I'm no coward!" Searbe protested. "Don't think that of me!"

"It doesn't matter if you are or you aren't," I said. 'Tell me her plan and all your sins will be washed clean. In my eyes at least."

He hesitated, weaving back and forth behind the glowing curtain. Then the flames shot higher, the screams became more shrill, and there was a hard yank on his chain. Searbe pulled back against it, fighting to stay in place.

"I'll tell you!" he shrieked. "But you have to free me
...
after."

"Quickly," I said. "Before it's too late." "This machine is the source of all her power," he babbled. "All of it comes from these hells. She's feeding every wizard

and witch she can capture into this machine. She can draw on it at will from any place and at any moment she wants. And every day more souls join us to become her fuel, making her stronger than ever."

I didn't have to guess what she wanted to do with that power. Those who seek such a thing are all mad and single-visioned. The more power they get, the more they desire. Combine that with the eternal succubus itch to consume all emotion for their own pleasure, and you had that most original of all dominators—Novari, the Lyre Bird.

"She didn't know about
...
Orissa until I
...
told her," Searbe said. He seemed shamed and spoke hesitantly, as if it were a difficult confession. "Not anything important
...
But she became
...
interested
...
when she heard about all the
...
the
...
discoveries we've been making."

"Orissa is far away," I said. "She has many other kingdoms to threaten before our people have to face her."