Empire of the Worm (11 page)

Gasping, Davril stared up into the
dark, unblinking eyes of the creature. It did not pause but brought its staff
sideways, meaning to lay bare Davril’s skull.

He ducked under its swing, lunged
forward.

A claw slashed out, raking his
right arm.

He plunged his dagger into the
fish-priest’s belly. It threw back its head, started to let out a warble of
pain or warning —

Davril yanked his dagger free and
slit the Lerumite’s throat. Dark, pungent blood sprayed him. It was not warm
like a man’s blood, but cold. Ice cold, even colder than a reptile’s.
These things aren’t natural
.

The fish-priest reeled back,
dropping its staff from its webbed fingers. So far, their duel had been
conducted in relative silence. Yet if the staff clattered to the cobblestones,
the others would hear.

Davril grabbed it with one hand. With
his other, he caught the weight of the Lerumite, set it down gently, then
removed its robes. With barely a thought, he donned its clothes and took up its
hideous staff. He shoved his dagger into the rear of his waistband. Then,
kicking the Lerumite corpse into a gutter, he took up the staff-wielder’s place
in the rear of the procession.

His heart beat so hard he figured
the other Lerumites would hear it, but they just marched steadily forward. At
last they crossed the clearing before the bridge and over the bridge itself.
The hairs on the back of Davril’s neck stood up painfully, and at any moment he
expected a cry of alarm or to feel a spear sticking through him. He eyed the
brackish, reed-filled waters to either side of the bridge warily. As yet, he
saw no monsters, but he wasn’t sure if he was imagining the slight ripples and
splashes and gurgles.

The high, surreally-sculpted gates
were already open, and several smaller groups of Lerumites came and went from
it. This was a busy night for the creatures of Uulos, and the Lerumite compound
was a virtual beehive of activity, as Davril soon saw. The procession marched
through the gateway without stopping. He tried to adopt the same shuffling walk
of the Lerumites, attempting to ignore the pain that flashed up from his leg. With
every step the ache intensified, and he didn’t know how long he could keep this
up without his body betraying him.

As the procession passed through the
grounds, strange statues of fish-things loomed among sinister hedge-mazes, and
there were many stone buildings here and there. Davril saw creatures hunched on
their steps, some with tentacles sprouting from their anatomy, some with ridges
on their heads, and some with even stranger, less human features.

At last the procession mounted the
wide, low steps that led into the Temple.
No mortal man had ever willingly stepped foot inside that place that Davril
knew. He would be the first. He clomped up the steps, grimacing as his bad leg
flared and throbbed.

The great doors of the Temple opened without any of the visible Lerumites
touching it, and at last Davril entered the Temple —

His knees trembled, and he nearly
swooned. As it was, he almost dropped his hideous staff. For, before him, at
the far end of that great, high chamber, rose a huge sculpture two hundred feet
high, a wall of twisted, writhing limbs and open, gnashing mouths. It was black
and horrible, and it seemed to emanate a coldness, and a darkness, that warped
the air and sent shivers down Davril’s spine.

The captives screamed. They
struggled maniacally, hurting themselves in their zeal to escape. Once again
the Lerumites ignored them. They simply marched forward, through a row of high,
purple, monolithic pillars that supported the steeply-angled roof. The far
third of the room was raised, and black steps led up to a rounded dais upon
which a black stone lay. It was not the Black Altar, not Uulos’s window or
doorway into this world, if that’s what it was, but one of the likely countless
lesser altars to the Worm. Behind this altar crouched a high podium, and at
this podium stood the tall, regally poised fish-priest Davril had seen leading
the party at the Temple
of the Sun.

Davril’s eyes went immediately from
him to the intricately-engraved crate that set on the altar before the High
Priest.
The Jewel
.

Davril’s heart sank. There was no
way to retrieve it. His mission was futile. There were too many fish-priests,
and even if there weren’t he knew he could not lift that crate by himself. He’d
hoped it would be locked in some storage room where he could find it, build a
litter for it, and drag it forth, into the swamp if need be, but away. But no. The
Lerumites had it on the altar for some purpose he couldn’t divine. And there
were hundreds of them.

Where was the Black Altar? It must
be in the Temple,
not upon the grounds. It was the holiest of holies to the Lerumites. But he saw
no other door or niche in the rear of the room. There must be a door somewhere
. . .

He was so absorbed in analyzing the
situation that he almost stumbled when the Lerumite procession broke ranks. Those
that bore captives stepped forward and dragged their burdens to the rear wall,
to that horrid bas-relief that stretched to the ceiling and from side wall to
side wall, securing the sacrifices to the numerous protrusions of the
sculpture. Those that bore no captive knelt in one of the many rows of
already-assembled Lerumites that faced the altar and the podium—and the
nightmarish sculpture that hovered over all. There were no pews, Davril saw,
only long purplish cushion-mats for the Lerumites’ knees.

Sweating, he found a place for
himself in one of the rows. All around him were the enemy. If even one of them
glanced at him for any length of time, his disguise would be penetrated, his
life and perhaps even soul forfeit. The Lerumites on his chosen row shuffled
about and made space for him. Their black eyes were fixed ahead, entranced by
the sight of the crate that bore the Jewel, and enraptured by the sight of so
many struggling sacrifices.

Davril knelt awkwardly, wincing at
the twinge from his leg. How long could he remain in that position?

He took a deep breath, letting it
out slowly, and forced himself to focus on the surroundings, on the fantastic
and nightmarish bas-reliefs that lined the walls, on the demonic faces of the
creatures that stared down from the murals on the ceiling. The Lerumites had
had thousands of years to decorate their temple, and most every square inch of
it was covered in some terrible piece of art. The overall effect was not just oppressive
but claustrophobic.

Davril tried not to look at the
victims struggling on the far wall. Tried to seal his heart against them. It
was too late for them, and there was nothing he could do to help.

The High Priest had been warbling
and gurgling, preaching his mad dogma, and Davril had for the most part been
ignoring him. Then, with a shock, he realized the High Priest was not speaking
some alien language, but some bastardization of Avestinic. The Avestines were
considered strange and odd, and they hated the Niardans bitterly. Davril had
studied them and their language, as had all the princes of Qazradan, in case
negotiating with them in their Quarter became necessary, which it did from time
to time. Their population comprised a tenth of the city, after all, if not the
realm. The Lerumites had been around since the first people had inhabited these
parts. They were half-breeds originally begat by those people, so it made sense
that they would speak the language of the Avestines, though the Lerumites’
version had become degraded, or perhaps simply modified to suit their unique
vocalities, over time.

Davril strained his ears, trying to
decipher the High Priest’s words. Maybe he could hear something that would help
him.

After a time he made out:

“. . . so long we have waited . . .
verily, we Chosen People of . . . glory be to our forefathers the Myr, who grew
in the shadow of Nagradin Below, they who heard the Call of He Who Will Deliver
Us . . . and lo, the time has come, the Worm into His Lair . . . and He shall
be the Ruler of Qazradan, and Qazradan shall put forth His Hosts and devour the
world . . . His old servants will rise from the deeps of the earth . . . blood
shall rain . . . fire shall engulf the . . . Man shall fall into . . .” As he
grew more impassioned, the High Priest’s words became harder for Davril to
decipher. “ . . . and the Worm shall wax strong enough to devour the
ilisan
. . . consume the might of the .
. . the sky will darken . . . our Lord shall triumph . . .
Sagrahab will rise once more
!“

Davril wiped sweat from his face. The
Worm meant to
swallow
the Jewel? For
what possible purpose? Davril had assumed the Jewel might hurt Uulos, even kill
Him. In any event, Davril had heard enough. He rose and, as unobtrusively as he
could, began to depart the Temple,
but as he did he saw something that stopped him.

General Hastus led two of his sons
through a high corridor, and in their midst the sons carried Alyssa.

Chapter
9

The first thing Davril noticed was that she fought them,
violently. She hadn’t come here willingly, and in fact was dressed only in a
silken shift, as if she had been ripped from bed without warning. Her two
brothers—
My brothers-in-law!
Davril
thought disbelievingly—Selnon and Briat, held her tightly, even cruelly,
dragging her behind their father, who navigated the hall as if he’d been here
before.
Maybe I’m not the first human to
come here willingly
, Davril thought. The Lerumites parted almost casually
about Hastus and his brood as they carried about their own business. Had the
fish-priests been expecting them?

Heart beating fast, Davril knew
only one thing in that moment, and that’s that he didn’t want to be caught.
Quickly, he ducked behind a pillar as Hastus, his sons, and a struggling Alyssa
passed by him. He caught just a trace of her perfume lingering on the air. When
they were safely away, he realized he could leave now. The door was open.

Leave
her to her fate
, he thought.
She may
not have killed Hariban and Sareth herself, but it comes out to the same thing.
She deserves what she gets. I only regret that I couldn’t be the one to give it
to her.

Selnon and Briat hauled Alyssa
around a corner and out of sight.

Good
riddance.

Davril stared at the spot where
they had vanished for a moment, shook himself, and faced the door leading out
of the temple. It was less than fifty feet away.

Then, hating himself, he turned
back around and marched toward the side hall Hastus and his family had taken,
suddenly fearful that they would have moved out of sight. They nearly had. They
slipped through a doorway halfway down the hall. Heart thumping, leg aching,
Davril followed, all the while thinking,
What
am I doing? She deserves whatever they’re taking her to!

Which was what? What
could
they be doing to her? It obviously
wasn’t sacrificing her; there were taking her the wrong direction for that.
Which left . . . ?

They took another door, and he
paused there, then peered beyond cautiously. The General and his family had
descended a flight of stairs and reached the landing, poised to look back at
the doorway. Breath catching, Davril ducked back. Judging by the sounds of
their footsteps and Alyssa’s muffled screams—one of her brothers must have
clamped a hand across her mouth—they continued descending the stairs without
seeing him. He took several deep breaths and continued after them, trying to
make as little noise as possible on the stairs.

The General reached the bottom and
entered a subterranean level of the temple; Davril hadn’t even known the level
existed. Building it must have been quite an undertaking, considering it was
all below water level. Moisture beaded the walls, even floor, but it all looked
sturdy enough.

Davril’s quarry took one turn, then
another, finally pausing before a thick stone door. The General pressed its
face in certain key places—Davril watched closely—the door opened, and Hastus
entered the room beyond. Selnon and Briat dragged Alyssa after. The door
slammed closed.

I
really can’t believe I’m doing this
, Davril thought as he crossed to the
door and imitated what the General had done. Sure enough, the portal swung
open, revealing darkness. Somewhere water lapped on stone walls. The General
had lit a torch, but it couldn’t illuminate the whole of the room, which was
sunken and flooded with water, deeper the further into the room one went. Most
of the room lay in darkness.

Hastus strode out into the water,
torch thrust forward boldly. Selnon and Briat, more hesitant, hauled Alyssa
behind. Selnon finally took his hands off her mouth.

“Father!” she cried. “What’s the
meaning of this? Whatever it is, stop! Please!
I don’t understand.”

Hastus spun about and slapped her,
hard, across the face. With a gasp, she reeled backward, her brothers catching
her.

“Silence!” he said. “This is a holy
rite, and you should show respect.” Turning about again, he said into the
darkness, “We have come! Show yourself.”

For a moment, there was nothing.
Then, scales glimmering in the torchlight, a figure approached, and Alyssa let
out a scream. Davril didn’t blame her. It was no mere Lerumite but a being that
must be one of the Myr, all scales, claws, webbed fingers and crested head, a true
creature of the sea. Hastus was upholding the ancient tradition, then. But why
take Alyssa here?

“We give her to you, fish-man,”
Hastus said. “She’s yours to do with what you will.”

“No, Father!” Alyssa said. “
Please
. There has to be another way.”

The Myr drew back its lips,
revealing rows of sharp, jagged teeth, at the same time emitting a hissing
sound, obviously a warning. Alyssa paid no heed but said, “Father—Father—they’ll
at least send me back afterward, right? Right? That’s the way it works?”

“Silence,” he instructed, and she
obeyed. Seeing her compliance, he said, “No. You’re to be given to them, not
lent. For this one and any others to use you however they like, to get on you
as much spawn as they can. They wish to increase their numbers, and I have
pledged to help. Let the rest of the city think you’re under house arrest, but you’ll
stay here for the rest of your—”

He cut off as a wet, gasping noise
rang out. While the General had been speaking, Davril had stolen forward and
stabbed Briat in the back. The General’s son gasped and fell sideways, into the
water, clutching at the wound. Selnon, slow to understand what was going on,
released Alyssa and half drew his sword, turning, even as Davril slammed him
over the head with his stolen staff, then drove his dagger into the other man’s
abdomen.

General Hastus bellowed and drew
his sword. Davril knew he had no chance against him. Luckily Alyssa was already
thrashing through the water toward the gaping door. Davril hurled Selnon into
the General’s path, slowing him, and followed. The Myr slipped beneath the
waters and was gone, but that was more unnerving than if he’d simply come after
Davril in the open. In any case, Davril had reached the shallow water, grabbed
Alyssa’s hand, and cleared the doorway.

Hastus screamed behind him, and
Davril pivoted, slamming the door directly in his face.

Breathless, husband and wife looked
at each other.

“
Davril
,” she said, sounding shocked. Her face had gone completely
white. “I—”

“Do you know a way out of here?”

“Of course not.”

He nodded. “West is this way, where
the shortest distance to the water is. Come!”

They fled through the halls as fast
as they could go, finding a set of stairs and taking it, at last, to a
concealed doorway leading outside. Davril opened it, waited for a Lerumite
patrol to pass, then took Alyssa’s hand and limp-scurried across the grounds to
the water, where they slipped in as quietly as they could. The water shocked
him with its coldness, but his blood was hot enough so it didn’t matter, and he
wasted no time in swimming.

Several times he and Alyssa had to
dodge boat-mounted Lerumite patrols sweeping the riverways, forced to come up
for air in stands of reeds and mud, but soon enough they were clear.

Dragging his tired, aching body from the river, Davril tried
to stand, but his leg failed him and he went down. Alyssa shoved her shoulder
under his armpit, helping him up, and he took a moment to catch his breath and
study their environs. They were in the swampy area at the source of the River,
where so many tributaries came together and where springs bubbled up from the deep
earth, while some of the water was stagnant and reeking.

“I don’t think the priests’ boats
saw us,” Davril said, smashing a mosquito.

“I hope not.” Alyssa’s golden hair
lay in muddy tangles on her skull and curled down her back. Her cheeks were
flushed and her eyes bright, but there was sadness in them. They moved from
Davril to the twisted spires of the Temple.

“We have to get away from that
thing,” Davril said. “Your father will be after us soon.” He grimaced. “About
your brothers . . .”

“I took your son. You took my
brothers. And for more reason. I still can’t believe they would blindly obey
Father like that—can’t believe
he
would be willing to—” She shook her head. “I can’t think about it right now. Where
are we going?”

“The city may be in chaos, but it’s
not overrun yet. I know a safe place.”

Limping, freezing and covered in
mud, he moved away from the water, she half-supporting him; he still had the
staff of the Uulosan priest, however, having shoved it through the rear loop of
his belt during the swim, and when he’d recovered a bit he propelled himself
along with it. The city
had
succumbed
to chaos, he hadn’t been wrong about that. People preached aloud in the city
squares, spreading prophecies of doom to those who wanted to hear them. Others
looted, some trying to raise money to buy a place on one of the outbound ships.
Others abducted women and children. Still more went after the abductors. Already
bodies hung from the lamp-posts, twisting in the winds. A few fools had started
setting fires, and several bucket brigades had formed to quench them. Smoke was
on the breeze, and not just from these fires, but from the White Quarter, as
well, where the Aesinis had settled in. The screams of women, and men too,
rolled across the city. Occasionally chariots clattered down the streets, the
charioteers shouting warnings for people to get out of the way. Apparently they
were on errands of urgency, though whether on their own behalf or the city’s
Davril couldn’t tell. In all the confusion, he was able to liberate a silken
robe for Alyssa. They were both still covered in mud and looked wretched. They
fit right in.

The General had established a
curfew, and his soldiers tried to put people in their homes, but they were too
few—most of them being on the city walls—and the people too predisposed to
violence. The soldiers feared to use force to disburse the crowds, so the
crowds remained. Davril and Alyssa stuck to the well-lit streets, but stayed in
the shadows along the shop-fronts, out of the way of soldiers, charioteers and
riders. Some citizens had gathered on their balconies to hurl stones or refuse on
the soldiers—or the charioteers—or the riders—all depending on whom the various
people favored, and it was just as well to be out of the middle of the street.

Several groups of Lerumites roamed
the city, but no one interfered with them as they went about their grim
business, and grim it was. Davril saw them sack a chapel to Tiat-sumat where
many faithful were gathered; those the Lerumites didn’t slay they bound and
gagged and transported back toward the direction of the Temple of Lerum,
but not before destroying the chapel’s altar.

“What can it mean?” Alyssa asked.

“I don’t know,” Davril answered,
“but it can’t be good.”

They saw two more chapels sacked by
Lerumites on their journey, and each time they stayed well away.

Without transportation, and with
both of them in such poor repair, it took the rest of the night and most of the
next day for the royal pair to reach the Tower of Behara, and that only after
Davril had stolen a mule to ride on. His bad leg was simply not going to allow
him to complete the journey afoot. They did ultimately reach their destination,
that massive, tiered structure that stretched halfway to the heavens, and they
were starving and exhausted by the time they reached the summit, where an only
moderately surprised Lady of Behara greeted them and furnished them with food
and a place to rest.

“We must talk,” she told Davril.
“The Lerumites are attacking every church and chapel in the city, all except
those of the Asqrites. Many are seeking shelter here.”

“We know,” Davril said. “What’s
more, I saw a group of what looked like church men being sacrificed in the Lerum Temple.”

“Dear Behara!”

“How many have gathered here?”

“Hundreds. It’s the strongest
bastion of the Light not part of the Asqrit faith, though why the Lerumites
would forestall to attack the Asqrites I can’t fathom.”

“I can. Listen. Call as many of the
leaders of the dispossessed together as you can. We need to make plans.”

While the Lady carried out his
instructions, Davril let Alyssa prepare a foot bath for him, consenting to have
her clean and wash his feet, then put salves on his aching leg. If nothing else,
it was good to rest, and her warm fingers kneading his tight muscles felt soothing.

“Davril,” she said, her voice soft.
“I’m —”

He traced her jaw with a finger. “I
know.”

Tears filled her eyes. “I had no
choice! It was either that or watch you all die right there. Father said if I
helped subdue you he would just put you under arrest until the riots died down,
and then— ”

“I know.”

For several hours, he slept, and
when he woke dusk was falling. He ate some grapes and nuts, gathering his
strength, and had a full glass of red wine; only then did he talk again to the
Lady about gathering the high members of the Brotherhood for a council, and
some members of the Church of Tiat-sumat and whatever other churches could be
included, as well.

“They’re on their way,” the Lady
told him.

Soon Davril, Alyssa, the Lady, ten
men in blue robes, three in yellow and various others sat around a long white
table, the setting sun visible through many arched windows;
the Emperor’s shadow walks to the Jade
Ziggurats
, as they used to say. Davril wondered what they’d say in the
future:
the Worm slithers to the Gates
,
perhaps? At least the damned storm had ended. Davril supposed the Lerumites’
chanting had put it to sleep.