Commandment (13 page)

The Acaanan stopped only briefly at the bar to buy a bottle of whiskey. Setting her sack down, she tapped a pim on the counter. Her day had been an untarnished failure, but her only consolation was that, according to the doctor, all sorrows could be drowned in alcohol. As she waited for the order, she spied a familiar looking ostler. The lad walked out of a rear hall armed with a crate.

“Oy! You!” she hailed the boy. Lakif swore it was the very same lad she had spoken to the previous evening.

The ostler, without even an acknowledgment, abruptly veered and hastened away in a suspicious fashion. Lakif bolted up and seized the lad by the shoulder.

“Faithlessness, thy name isn’t woman, but ostler!” She sneered.

“Don’t vex me!” The boy quaked. His tone was so shrill that Lakif felt the entire inn would think he was crying a death wail at her hands.

“Relax, the offence will be forgiven for a favor.” Lakif relinquished her hold on the lad’s tunic.

“Favor?” he squeaked.

“Have you seen my companion?”

“Pardon?” Antipas gulped.

“A Half-man. There aren’t too many around.” Lakif now feared that she had been too successful at dodging Torkoth, and her guard had disappeared from the inn empty-handed.

“I don’t know who you’re speaking of.”

“You must know…” Lakif’s voice trailed off. Antipas had up to now been looking directly at her, but now his eyes drifted past her. Every instinct warned Lakif that someone was approaching her from behind. She cocked her head, and from the corner of her eye saw a large frame marching up to her flank.

The ostler barely wheeled out of the way as the Acaanan bolted past. Without even appraising the hall for alternate escape routes, she barreled toward the front gate.

The Yatu guards pivoted broad heads toward her as she raced past. Fortunately, they offered no resistance to her dash.

Seconds later, she stood framed in the outer gate. She turned only to evaluate the success of her escape. The entry hall was empty.

Just as she was beginning to wonder if she had overreacted, a broad-shouldered form appeared at the inner gate. The hearth behind cast his shadow all the way to the Acaanan’s feet. Lakif’s heart skipped a beat at the sight. The Kulthean was still hunting her! Without thinking, the fugitive sped off down the avenue.

The lanes surrounding the inn lowered in shadow. Despite this, there were disappointingly few places to hide. Lakif dashed here and there, but at the last moment decided against each spot.

A stair nearby led down. Lakif had never used it before. But it was well shielded in darkness. If she could lose her pursuer anywhere, it was in that gloom. Finding the dark-skinned Acaanan in the crepuscular depths was akin to rescuing salt from a snowfield.

She wondered if it led to the Old City. This seemed like a good time to find out. She skipped down the stairs, vaulting the entire length in a half-dozen leaps. Soon, she was engulfed in thick shadow.

The stairs ended in a tenebrous gallery. If it belonged to the Old City, it was well sequestered. What sordid beasts lurked off in the corners? Who could say? But the threat behind her was real enough. Whether or not she was right in choosing this refuge, she would have to suffer the consequences, for there would be no time to go back up.

Fortunately, the center of the gallery was open to the sky above, from which a dim light shone down from the fading day. A series of domed vaults surrounded the open yard. A sea of weathered pillars rose up to support the four corners of each vault. Countless pools of water dotted the rough cobblestone. They aggregated in certain spots, suggesting that the ground wasn’t completely level.

Faced with the creepy expanse, Lakif dithered. This area clearly wasn’t the Old City. It was more likely a forgotten sub-court. Such lost lagoons were lingering vestiges from the district’s construction after the Renaissance. Given its propinquity to the Goblin Knight, it probably fell under the inn’s umbrella.

Lakif was uncertain about exploring this unknown area, but a scratching at the top of the stairs forced her to reconsider. She darted brazenly ahead into the thin lighting, leaping across the puddles so that the splashes would not betray her presence. After catapulting across the open yard, she screeched to a halt behind a distant pillar.

From her vantage point, she peeked back toward the stairs. Vague light from above adumbrated the steps, blessing her with an oblique, yet complete, view of the entrance. As no one stood in the mouth, she breathed a sigh of relief. The Kulthean must have bypassed the unassuming stairs.

Lakif cursed when she realized that her rucksack lay unattended at the bar. Aside from the Rare Earth Stone, all of her goods were in that sack! The hound trailing her would no doubt confiscate her property in order to smoke her out. Failing that, he could use the items within to piece together the Acaanan’s whereabouts over the preceding days.

No sooner had she congratulated herself on her deft escape than a light appeared in the stairwell. Lakif instinctively ducked low as it crept incrementally down each step.

A man, hoisting a lantern, inched cautiously down into the gallery. The incident light splashed across the puddles like silver sheets.

The Kulthean paused, one foot in the gallery and one on the steps. Although Lakif was about thirty yards distant, she held her breath, fearing that the other could perceive the faintest of sounds in the deserted place. The intruder stalled in his tracks, as if questioning whether to investigate the gloomy arena or return up to street level.

To Lakif’s dismay, the pursuer turned back to confront the inky court. Fortunately, he walked off in the opposite direction from where she was crouched.

Lakif slowly backed away from the pillar, keeping her eyes glued on the stairs. She was in no mindset to search for a rear exit from the darkness. Instead, with luck, she could double back by skirting the perimeter. If successful, she could sneak up the stairs, thus leaving the adversary prodding through the murky underbelly.

With one eye locked on the receding lantern light, Lakif sprinted to the next pillar. As she rounded it, something hit her squarely in the forehead.

A second later, the object bounced off the pillar. She froze at the damning noise. The Kulthean’s light still receded down the gallery, assuring her that the chink hadn’t been heard.

Lakif couldn’t tell what she had hit. It was difficult to see even an arm’s length ahead. She reached out and felt clammy metal. A shackle was swaying before her, suspended by a chain from above! It reminded her of Tartarus. She wondered why this would be hanging here. Lakif steadied the links lest its swaying betray her presence.

As she turned to continue her crawl, a dull glint caught her eye. A piece of metal lay on the ground alongside a nearby pillar. It happened to be angled perfectly to reflect the dying light. Skipping over, Lakif snatched it up, hoping it was valuable. Now that she had no luggage, she needed every pim she could find to refurnish lost gear.

Sadly, it proved to be only a flat dish. Curiously, it was caked with dried wax. Something was trapped within the paraffin. It looked like a jewel.

Again, the Acaanan looked up to assess her adversary’s position. The lantern light bobbed well down the court. Returning her attention to the dish, she used a fingernail to peel away some of the obfuscating wax. Filing off a thick piece, Lakif squinted closely.

A shriek half-crossed her lips before she slammed her mouth closed. The dish fell from her hand, and the force of the fall was enough to jar free the eyeball that was frozen in the paraffin.

Lakif hurriedly looked down the gallery. She felt that the attempt to stifle the cry was successful, as the lantern light was still gliding away.

Then she noticed the muddy boots swaying before her face. Her eyes cautiously panned up the dangling body. The corpse was suspended by a mossy chain dropping from the ceiling. The chain ended in a thick shackle that was fastened firmly around the victim’s neck. Both hands were bound behind it by rope. The corpse was stiff with rigor mortis; its trunk groaned with the swaying chains.

Lakif fumbled for her lighter. She knew that by sparking it she could alert her foe of her presence, but the visceral urge to clearly see the victim overrode all caution. The flint sparked, and a soft glow washed over the form.

The face presented a ghastly sight. One eye had been gouged out, leaving a hole of dried blood spattering his cheek. All that remained was an empty, clotted orifice. The shackle was clamped so tightly around the neck that the face was twisted in an obscene conformation. Lakif expected the other bulging eye was ready to pop out from the pressure. The hilt of a sword protruded from his gaping mouth. The blade had been sheathed in the victim’s throat! The handle was so thoroughly stuffed in his mouth that there was no room for the tongue, which hung out like a white rag.

The heinous sight was enough to split the Acaanan to the core. Then she noticed the blood-spattered earring, twisted like a shell. She cried out in terror.

Once again her hand rocketed up to smother the outcry, but to no avail. The scream desperately escaped through trembling fingers. The cry echoed around the court, shattering the darkness and rippling the surface of the glimmering puddles.

She was horrified to find the lantern light speeding in her direction. Avoiding the gut-churning sight, the Acaanan darted off, nearly tripping to her knees in haste. She heard some shouting in the distance, although the words were drowned out by her horror. Her scramble was hasty; she cursed as she banged into a pillar and ricocheted off.

For a split second she looked back to gauge the light’s position. It was relentlessly zeroing in on her stumbling course.

Turning back, she ran directly into another corpse. Her face slammed into the stiff groin. The force of the collision was enough to send the labile body dancing like a puppet.

A light washed over the jiggling corpse as if it actually were a marionette performing under the spotlight. Lakif blanched. The shackle suspended the victim upside down by the calf. A gash ruptured his belly. Strangely, there were no inner organs visible, as if he had been completely eviscerated. The head was bagged with a bloody sack, sparing her the sight of the mutilated face.

She retreated before the disemboweled husk. Something squashed under her boot. She was standing on a pile of severed toes and fingers. They were adorned with an assortment of blood-crusted rings.

Lakif leapt into the air, fearing that the digits would begin scurrying up her legs like a swarm of angry insects. As she landed, she splayed her feet wide so as to avoid squishing the fetid digits.

A broad light shined squarely in her face. A heavy hand fell on her shoulder. The Acaanan plunged into an apoplectic fit. She tried to wrestle free, but the grip was unshakeable. The tall man loomed before her.

She cried out in terror and fainted.

“L
AKIF!”
A
WATERY VOICE HISSED.

A blurry form coalesced. The lurid image of a broken troglodyte vacillated before her. Its bulbous toad-like face rippled like a reflection on a choppy lake. Deformed claws reached out to rake her. Lakif tried to cry out but was paralyzed with fear.

“Lakif…” The voice changed. Rather than a warped whisper, it was firm and reassuring.

The image snapped into sharp focus. A large man was leaning over her. In one hand he held a lantern while the other jostled the Acaanan to her senses. The incident light blinded the Acaanan to his finer features. As if sensing the problem, the assailant set the lantern down next to his prey.

Lakif now had a clear view of the assailant. It was the Kulthean! It all came back to her in a stroke. The Kulthean had tracked her down! Lakif tried rolling to the side, but a stout knee fell squarely on her chest, pinning her to the slick cobblestone.

“Easy! You won’t squirm away this time!” The voice was commanding yet nonthreatening.

Lakif gasped for breath, for the knee was pressed squarely in her solar plexus. Her captor pulled back slightly, allowing the prisoner a fresh breath.

“Who are you? I have no quarrel with…” Lakif stalled. Some element of the Kulthean’s face elicited a spark within the labyrinth of her mind. A distinct form materialized in the forgotten halls that stretched into the dimmest, most remote reaches of her consciousness.

Lakif’s pupils dilated with disbelief.

“Bael?” she called out. It was more of a shriek than a genuine question.

The High-man flashed a wide grin. Even the gloom couldn’t conceal his pearly teeth.

“Bael!” Lakif shouted again, almost before she was entirely certain of the other’s identity. The word was choked, and Lakif realized that she had accumulated saliva along the corner of her mouth. With that single word, the horror of her surroundings vanished in a flash.

“On your feet, Acaanan!” The Kulthean stood and extended a hand to the fallen. His grip was solid, and with a tug, Lakif was hoisted up. No sooner had she regained her balance than the Kulthean descended on her with a hug. The hold, although inspired by affection, was ursine, forcing Lakif to gasp.

“Are you a ghost?” Lakif reeled, dumbstruck.

“Not yet.” The Kulthean pulled back to get a good look at his elusive prey. “Unlike your dream friends, cursed with a name I am, as well as flesh and blood. Didn’t you hear me call out to you?”

Lakif shook her head. Apparently the Kulthean had tried reassuring her, but in her panic all his words were garbled.

“What on earth are you doing here?” Lakif squealed.

Bael held a finger before his lips.

“We must not speak of such things among the angry dead. They will surely try to thwart us.” He then looked over to the mutilated corpse that still twitched with animated life. “Judging from his end, the ghost would be furious indeed.”

Lakif couldn’t focus on the mutilated carrion.

“I knew him…I mean, I met him, several days back. He was a traveler from Clothorai. And the actor…No!” Lakif looked beyond the Kulthean. In the offing, she saw the adumbration of yet a third form suspended in the court. It hung perfectly still, weighted down by the lodestone of death.