Emerald Sceptre (25 page)

The guard was shaking his head and held one hand on his weapon as he advanced toward Pilos again. “They are in emergency session and are not to be disturbed,” the soldier said. “Now don’t make this harder than it already is.”

Emergency session? Pilos wondered, his mind awhirl with confusion and fear. “Why?” he asked the man, even as he relented and allowed the guard to begin locking manacles onto his wrists.

“Trying to decide what to do about the plague,

of course,” the guard answered, sounding surprised. Pilos’s mind reeled. “Plague?” he blurted out.

“When? Where?”

The guard spun the priest around and stared at him. “You haven’t heard? There’s a plague in Reth. Zombies are walking the streets. The Generon is calling for immediate troop relocations. The temple’s, sending every last able-bodied mercenary and priest it can spare.”

“No,” Pilos said, piecing it together. Lavant is behind this. He can’t truly mean to … “No!” he shouted. “I demand the right of immediate sentencing!” The din was too loud, though. The hall was packed with priests and soldiers and each one was shouting, arguing. No one could hear him. He screamed at the top of his lungs. “I demand right of immediate sentencing! I want to be heard in a Truth Inquiry!”

The guard facing the Abreeant stared, awestruck.

The sounds of arguing faded, replaced by urgent shushing noises and whispered explanations, until everyone had gone so still that Pilos imagined he might have been able to hear a mouse squeak. Everyone looked at him.

“I demand right of immediate sentencing,” the

Abreeant repeated, “to be heard in a Truth Inquiry!” “Pilos,” Horial said behind him. “Are you sure?” Pilos nodded. “The truth will come out,” he said.

“I have faith in the will of Waukeen.”

Several people began to talk again, but in muted voices. What the young priest had demanded had not been requested in many years. For Pilos, should the Inquiry find him guilty, the sentence would be immediate death.

Shrugging as if absolving himself of the foolishness of his prisoner, the guard who had restrained Pilos turned and opened the twin doors into the council chamber. He strode forward and Pilos followed. The high priests nearest the door turned and looked, many of them visibly annoyed.

“We gave strict instructions not to be disturbed,” one of them said. “What is the meaning of this intrusion?”

The guard bowed. “My apologies, Grand Trabbar Perolin, but this priest has demanded right of immediate sentencing in accordance with a Truth Inquiry.”

There were numerous gasps throughout the chamber. Pilos looked straight ahead, ignoring them all. All, except for Grand Syndar Lavant, who sat regally upon a central chair, leading the discussion. When the fat priest spotted the Abreeant watching him, a strange, cold look came over his face.

“There must be some mistake,” Grand Trabbar

Perolin said, sounding doubtful. “Young Pilos, are you certain this is what you want? You understand what you’re asking for, correct?”

Pilos merely nodded, never taking his eyes from Lavant. He began to quote. “Upon hearing of a demand for immediate sentencing, the high priests of Waukeen have before them two paths. They may either dispense justice for the perceived crime without an investigation, or they may suggest a Truth Inquiry be held on the spot. If one submits to such an inquiry and is found to be guilty—or worse yet, lying—the sentence is death,” he said, reciting the dictüms of the temple from his youngest days of lessons within its confines. “I want to be heard in Truth Inquiry,” he repeated. “I have faith in the will of Waukeen to clear my name, and those of my fellow prisoners.”

Lavant stood up. “This is the young priest who has been charged with treasonous crimes against the entire temple,” he said, his tone deprecating. “And this is nothing more than a ploy to stall the inevitable. It is fortunate he turned himself in. But I see no reason to waste the council’s time in deliberations. We know what he has been involved in, and we have’, more pressing matters to attend to.”

As outside, the murmurs of many voices began to fill the chamber. Pilos could hear some of the high priests arguing in favor of Lavant’s suggestion, while others railed against the notion of denying a Truth Inquiry when one had been demanded. By right, Pilos deserved to be heard.

“I have evidence that reveals corruption in the temple,” Pilos said, loudly enough that the Grand Trabbar Perolin caught his words.

Suddenly, a ripple of “Shhh!” and “Be silent! Let

him speak!” spread through the chamber. When the room had quieted, the Grand Trabbar asked in a hesitant tone, “What did you say?”

“I have evidence of corruption within this very chamber,” Pilos answered. “Testimony from myself, as well as several others, that all of you will very much wish to hear.”

“Are we to let this whelp of an Abreeant come in here and spread his lies? He has already demonstrated that he is capable of grand subterfuge, sneaking into the Shining Lord’s palace uninvited, associating with known criminals, and attempting to escape custody in the company of outlaws to all of Arrabar. What value is there in letting him further deceive us?”

“You know the laws, Lavant,” Perolin said. “It’s his right to call for it.”

Again a murmuring arose, but Pilos shouted before it could grow too loud, “And you’re the center of the rot in this temple!”

A heartbeat of muffled words followed, then utter silence. In the next instant the chamber exploded in voices, all of them clamoring for a hundred different things. Through the cacophony of shouting, Lavant stared daggers at Pilos.

Vambran clunked against the sides of another narrow passageway as water washed him down into the depths of the world. He tumbled and bounced and was forced to tuck his head between his arms to avoid being knocked unconscious. When he finally slowed, drifting in an open space with water still churning and tossing about, he uncoiled himself and risked a glance.

The lieutenant appeared to be in a void, his glowing coin the only light. The illumination formed a bright bubble around him, allowing him to see the disturbed sediment in the water, but nothing visible lay beyond the range of the light. Vambran had no idea what place he was in. He felt exposed to unseen enemies by his glowing light. He wondered if things swam beneath him, detecting the light and rushing forward to attack him.

Vambran had to fight a panicked urge to douse his light, to cancel the magic so he wouldn’t feel so much like a target. But he didn’t want to be in utter darkness, with no idea where he was and no idea how to get out. He calmed his fears, used his soldier’s training to force himself to focus on the elements he could control.

If it’s so dark, I must be inside something, he mused. There must be walls. A roof, at least.

The mercenary oriented himself and determined which way was up, then began to swim in that direction, slowly. He had no wish to strike against rock without warning. As he swam, he tried to control his terror.

If I sank down here, I can swim back out, he reasoned.

If you can find your way out, a little voice told him.

I will.

Suddenly, Vambran’s head broke through the surface. He coughed for a moment as his body tried to adjust to air after so long underwater. Water flowed from his lungs, spilling out of the gills the necklace had magically produced, and at last, he could draw in a solid breath.

The air was terribly cold, so cold in fact that Vambran could see his breath in the dim light of his coin. It smelled stale, musty. Old.

Knowing that he must be inside a sealed area for air to still be present, Vambran held his light up, as high as he could reach, hoping to catch a glimpse of a ceiling overhead. He could not.

Well, then, I guess I’d better start swimming, the

lieutenant decided. Somewhere around here there must be walls, something that’s keeping the air trapped inside.

Vambran tried to select the direction that would lead him toward the opening he had tumbled in through, but he had become so disoriented that he had no clue. He paddled along slowly, again not wishing for his face to meet stone. Even so, he was startled when something solid appeared in his view.

It was a wall, not just of rock, but of worked stone blocks. The seams of the blocks were slanted, angling sharply, giving him the impression that the wall was tilted, cocked to one side. He began to follow the wall, swimming in the direction that the seams angled upward, hoping that he might find the bottom of something and perhaps dry land beyond.

When his feet brushed against something, Vambran yelped and flailed, certain that some creature had nudged past him, menacing his toes. But then his foot struck again and he realized it was a surface, a smooth stone surface, and a moment later, he was ascending a steep, paved slope. Wet and naked, he was keenly aware of the cold air.

The incline was sharp enough that Vambran ha’d difficulty walking up. More than once he nearly lost his balance, but he hunched forward and picked his way with care, following the wall, which seemed to have a gentle curve to it.

All at once, Vambran found himself at the edge of the slope, reaching up and grasping for a handhold to pull himself the last few feet. Beyond was more blackness.

He shivered in the cold, wondering what was beyond his puny little light.

I need more illumination, Vambran thought. To

the Hells with it, he decided.

The mercenary spoke the familiar magical phrase aloud and pointed his finger upward and ahead. A searing, bright flash of light shot forth from his fingertip and raced ahead. For the first few seconds, Vambran simply could not see, for the brightness of the flare hurt his eyes. But as his eyes adjusted, he began looking around, and what he saw amazed him.

The remains of a city block spread out before him, as if at the bottom of a steep hill, tilted at an awkward angle. The place where he stood had cracked and folded somehow, so that he was at the crest of a ridge between two downward slopes. Behind him, sliding back into the water, was the paved slope he had ascended, with portions of ancient walls enclosing it on either side. Only parts of those walls remained upright, for much had been crushed by massive rock fall piled on top of it. For the first time, Vambran had a real sense of just how much debris must have rained down on top of the ruined city after it slid into the ocean.

Ahead of him, lining either side of the ancient street, Vambran could see two or three partially intact buildings. The architecture was scalloped and wavy, and everything must have once soared to great heights, for the design seemed to be all spindles and towers and flying bridges. The topmost portions of the buildings were destroyed, though, tumbled down as huge boulders had smashed them away. Only their bases remained, tilted and canted at strange angles as the overbearing weight of a million tons of rock, and the water of the ocean above, pressed down.

Perhaps most impressive, though, was the largest structure at the far end of the cavern, much below

him. Mostly buried under rock, gravel, and broken paving stones, the building looked much as Vambran had imagined the great hall from Arbeenok’s vision. All he could see was a façade, but it appeared round with many columns adorning the outside.

Before Vambran could discern any additional detail, though, his flare faded, leaving him blinking in the much dimmer light that his coin could provide. He considered firing another light into the air, but he decided against it, for he already knew he wanted to explore that building at the base of the hill.

He picked his way carefully down the slope of the ruined street, working somewhat sideways, switching back and forth at an angle to lessen the steepness of descent. The street had buckled and heaved out of alignment during the destruction of the city, so plenty of places had formed for Vambran to gain handholds and footholds.

At last he reached the bottom. Standing on a pile of loose rock that had partially covered the surface of the building’s façade, Vambran surveyed the ruins of the doorway. The portal yawned open, a hole that was almost level with flat ground because of the way the building had come to rest on its back. The doors that might have once sealed the opening were nowhere to be seen. Beyond the frame, the lieutenant could see that a great circular hallway wrapped around the whole of the building, a concentric walkway that might once have surrounded the chamber in the center and been brightly lit with evenly spaced windows.

The way the building was canted, Vambran realized, he would be forced to drop down into the darkness and slide down the steep incline. At first, he wasn’t sure how he was going to get out again.

He was beginning to wish the chamber was flooded, because swimming through the ruins would be much easier.

Fool! he chastised himself, remembering his climbing magic. He was especially thankful at that moment that he no longer needed to swallow things such as spiders and blobs of nasty stuff to bring his magic to life. The manifestation of his abilities suddenly were that much more useful.

Nodding in satisfaction, Vambran invoked the arcane force that allowed him to skitter across walls and ceilings, and he lowered himself down through the hole. Once on the underside of the wall, he scrambled down to the next level, the inner wall of the ancient building. He was on the verge of maneuvering toward another doorway farther in when something whizzed past his ear.

Vambran spun in place, searching for whatever had soared so close. He was painfully conscious of having lost his trident. Whatever had passed him had traveled so fast that he had barely caught a glimpse of motion—he didn’t know if it was a flying beast or an object that had been hurled. He spotted nothing, even while holding his light high overhead to illuminate as large an area as possible.

Motion attracted his attention again, and he watched as something swished toward him a second time. It was a small blade, perhaps a short sword, and as it whisked by, nearly slicing into his ribs, he followed it visually. The sword stopped and hovered, turning in place and pointing at him once more.