Roberson, Jennifer - Cheysuli 05 (50 page)

           
Nothing moved in
Conn
's eyes. "You may renounce yourself for
all I care. Brennan ... it has been a long, long time that I have watched you
play your part as Prince of Homana, coveting it myself. And now, in the end, it
is mine—"

           
"How?" Brennan shouted.
"If I do accept this service, Homana will still be mine!"

           
Corin smiled. "No," he
said, "no. In the end, it will be mine. Your fitness to rule will be
questioned. After all, is your jehana not known as mad Gisella?"

           
"She also bore you."

           
"But I am not afraid of small,
dark places. There is no doubting my sanity." He turned toward the Ihlini
waiting in the corridor. "Do not wait. They will agree to nothing in front
of you. Go to Strahan. I will bring them immediately I have an answer."

           
The Ihlini turned and melted away
into the shadows.

           
Brennan slowly shook his head.
"If you think I will agree to anything you suggest, or step one foot
outside this cell with you—'

           
"I think you will." Corin
briefly massaged his throat.

           
"You give yourself away. You
are so willing to believe the worst of me. If I were Hart, you would not be so
quick." He sighed, bent to touch Kiri, then straightened again. He smiled
a little, though it had an ironic hook.

           
"Aye, you did believe it ...
well, so did Strahan. At least I know last night was worth it."

           
Hart sat slowly upright on the cot.
All Brennan could do was stare.

           
Corin sighed. "I spent all of
last night with fingers down my throat, trying to rid myself of that foul,
malodorous bile Strahan calls the blood of the god. But if you tarry any
longer, I will have to drink it again . . . two cups remain before I am truly
his." He gestured toward the door. "I would suggest we go."

           
Speechlessly, they went.

           
Corin led them down a twisting
corridor illuminated by torches set in infrequent iron brackets. The flame was
pure and yellow, not lurid Ihlini purple, but Hart, accustomed to little light,
and Brennan, accustomed to none, found discomfort in the illumination. They
squinted, avoiding the pools of light; Corin's nearly pupilless eyes remained
wide and strangely unfocused.

           
Brennan's walk slowed. At last Corin
turned. "If we tarry—"

           
"What if we do?" Curtly,
Brennan overrode him. "I go nowhere without Sleeta,"

           
Corin smiled a little, glancing down
at Kiri. "I know. I do not expect you to. Sleeta is in the cavern."

           
"The cavern?" Hart stopped
short. "You are taking us there?"

           
"Would you suggest we depart
through the front entrance?" Corin's tone was dryly disgusted.
"Valgaard is a maze of tunnels and corridors, as well as secret exits. But
I only know of one; I am newly come to the god, and Strahan does not tell me
everything as yet." He looked at them more closely and saw doubt in grimy
faces. "Oh, aye, I know—now you are uncertain. Well, the choice is yours.
Come with me, or stay." Corin turned and went on as Kiri trotted beside him.

           
Hart swore. Brennan sighed and shook
his head. And then he shrugged and pushed off the wall, muttering resigned
imprecations.

           
"Kiri is with him," Hart
pointed out. "If he meant to trick us, would she accompany him?"

           
"The lir-link is obliterated
here," Brennan said over his shoulder. "She knows as much of his
intentions as we do."

           
"But would he lead her
astray?"

           
"He is not the Corin we knew.
Who can say what he will do?"

           
They turned a corner and came up on
him as he waited in the shadows. Lir-gold gleamed in tawny hair; armbands were
hidden beneath sleeves of a dark gray doublet.

           
"What I will do," Corin
said distinctly, "is take you out of here."

           
"Then do it," Brennan told
him.

           
He led them into yet another corridor.
It was short, too short, showing a dead end. But Corin halted, touched a stone,
and a piece of the wall slid aside. Cool air rushed out of the tunnel. The
nearest torch was snuffed out.

           
Brennan's breath rasped in his
throat as darkness settled around them. Behind him. Hart stepped closer and
touched his shoulder briefly in a gesture of support.

           
"Almost there," Corin told
them, and went into the shadowed tunnel.

           
"The gods forgive me if I do
our rujholli an injustice—"

           
But Brennan did not finish. He
merely followed Corin.

           
The tunnel soon gave way into an
alcove cut into polished basalt. And the alcove gave into the stairway leading
down to the massive cavern. Godfire dripped from seams of rock, splattering on
the stairs. Corin went on without pausing, steadily descending.

           
In the distance, harp strings
thrummed. Something gibbered in the wall.

           
He took them out of the passageway
into the archivolted cavern and led them to the Gate. He paused at the glowing
rim and pointed into the glare.

           
"Down there?" Hart
demanded,

           
"I am with you," Corin
said. He gazed at them both with an eerie, unfocused stare. "I can show
you the way."

           
As one, his brothers backed away
from the lip of the Gate. Corin stepped closer. "It is your only
chance."

           
"Ours—all of us?"
Brennan's eyes narrowed. "Or only Hart and me?"

           
Corin frowned. "I am coming
with you. Do you think I would dare remain?"

           
Hart chewed on a lip as he stared at
the opening.

           
"Through the Gate itself?"
His tone was dubious.

           
Brennan's was distrustful.
"Into the lap of the god."

           
Corin bent down. One hand reached
into the gate and scooped up livid godfire. "Cold," he said,
"cold. You will shiver, but never burn."

           
"No," Brennan said.
"I will forgo that exit."

           
"Then why not try this
one?"

           
As one, they spun in place. Strahan
stepped out of basalt.

           
Godfire edged his robe of deepest
black. The silver on his brow glowed lilac-white in the glare of the Gate.

           
Behind him was only shadow; no exit
could be seen.

           
He gestured, indicating stone.
"In there, Sleeta awaits. Why not go and see her?"

           
"Trap," said Brennan
succinctly, unimpressed by Strahan's avowal.

           
"Is it?" Strahan moved
closer to them, between the Gate and the glass of the cavern wall. Corin, at
the rim, dropped down to his knees instantly in perfect homage.

           
He bowed his head.

           
"Ku'reshtin," Brennan said
bitterly, as Hart closed his eyes,

           
The Ihlini nodded slowly and put an
approving hand on the tawny hair. "Well done, Corin. You have done as you
said you would."

           
Corin turned his face up to Strahan.
"And you have done as I hoped—" He lunged upward, off his knees,
locking both arms around Strahan and pinning the sorcerer's arms. Even as
Strahan twisted, Corin thrust out a foot to trip Strahan and tumble him into
the Gate.

           
Flame gushed up. Strahan screamed
something, and then the voice was silenced.

           
"Now!" Corin ran for the
glassy wall.

           
"But nothing is there!"
Brennan cried.

           
Corin and Kin disappeared.

           
"I am not waiting." Hart
ran for the darkness as well.

           
Brennan took a step after him, then
stopped. He recalled too clearly the power that had reduced him to
obsolescence. He recalled too clearly the fear that had engulfed him.

           
He shivered. Sweat broke out on his
flesh.

           
And then the Gate disgorged the
Ihlini, blazing like a pyre, and Brennan did not look back.

           
There was a seam, he saw at once. A
fault in the stone, or else something cut by god or man. The naked eye could
not see it, but the hand felt its gap. He slipped through and departed the
cavern even as Strahan shouted.

           
He ran. The passageway engulfed him,
scraping against bare arms. He heard the chime of lir-gold basalt. It was a
narrow, low conduit, alive with the stink of the netherworld. Godfire glimmered
in crevices. For once, he was thankful; he would be blind without it.

           
He ran on, ignoring the knot in his
belly. Small, dark place . . . and the only available exit.

           
"Hurry!" Hart called. The
echo carried back, reverberating, and then Brennan saw them all. Hart. Kin. Corin.
And Sleeta just beyond, eyes aglow in purple godfire.

           
"Lir—" He tripped and
nearly fell.

           
"No time," Corin said
breathlessly. "The bailey is just beyond."

           
Brennan caught his balance.
"Strahan is alive."

           
Corin's face was stark. Fear turned
blue eyes black.

           
"Then he can still gainsay
me." He turned abruptly and thrust the hidden door open.

           
Cheysuli and lir spilled out of
basalt into the bailey, footsteps echoing on cobbles. All around them was
darkness and the breath of Asar-Suti. Stars were but a dim glow through the
veil of malodorous smoke.

           
"I have forgotten what daylight
is like." Hart remarked, half laughing. "Will we ever see the
sun?"

           
"Not if we tarry here." At
a run, Corin headed toward the gates with Kiri streaking behind. Hart caught
Brennan's arm. With Sleeta, they followed their brother.

           
Stone shifted beneath their feet. It
burst from under boots and threw them to the ground. Once, twice, thrice; each
time they lost more distance. Some stone melted, clinging to their boots- Other
cobbles exploded around them and rained down as smoking missiles.

           
Hart fell. Pain set his stump
ablaze. The missing hand spasmed and tried to clutch at stone.

           
"Up—up—" Brennan dragged
him from the ground.

           
Corin was at the gates. Frenziedly
he threw the bar out of its brackets.

           
"No guards," Hart gasped.
"Why does he post no guards?"

           
"Does an Ihlini require
any?" Brennan dodged as a cobble exploded beneath his right boot, sending
fragments of smoking stone slicing through the air. Splinters cut one cheek.

           
"Now—now—" Corin's shout
was mostly swallowed by the shrieks and whistles of flying cobbles.

           
Massive gates tore loose of hinges
and slowly began to topple. Corin scooped Kiri up and ran through as they
crashed down. The sound of thunder filled the bailey; if Strahan did not
already know precisely where they were, the noise would surely tell him.

           
Brennan gaped in astonishment as he
and Hart ran on, pounding over the fallen wood. "By the gods—Strahan is
using Valgaard itself to stop us!"

           
"Trying—" Hart rasped.
"Oh—gods—I had forgotten this!”

           
They were through. The walls of
Valgaard fell behind them; the field of fire lay before, stretching into the
night. Fold upon fold of stone, all piled on one another; ripple here, curl
there; a treacherous carpet of ensorcelled stone. The god had a sense of humor.

           
They ran. Staggered. Tripped. Got up
and ran again, cursing the pockets of shadow that reached out to catch their
boots. Cauldrons gurgled, fumaroles splattered, smoke issued forth from vents.
It coated flesh, clogged throats, filled eyes with irritation. Coughing,
wheezing, gagging, they stumbled through crumbling crusts and tripped over the
spine of the earth itself, wrenched free of flesh and muscle. The viscera was
foul.

           
Shadows loomed. Darkness incarnate,
stretching across the ground. And then the rules were changed.

           
Unexpectedly, there was movement in
addition to their own. They snatched hurried glances out of the comers of
reddening eyes, and then the eyes abruptly widened. The field was a grotesque
boardgame made by the god himself, and the pieces were alive.

           
"The stone—moving—"
Brennan croaked.

           
Shadows altered. Darkness shifted.
The pattern of fear mutated. Strahan's stone menagerie came to life in the
sulfurous murk.

           
Hart recalled his father telling
stories of how he had voluntarily come into Valgaard, alone, leaving behind
even his lir, to make a bargain with Strahan. He recalled very clearly Niall's
descriptions of the canyon of the god, cut so sharply from black basalt. As a
child he had smelled the sulfur and squinted against the fumes, imagining
Strahan's lair. Now he was in it himself, experiencing the same doubts and
fears that Niall himself had known.

           
"Watch out for the stones,"
Corin rasped. "Remember how jehan told us they can move—?"

           
Brennan fell over a coiled
protruberance. He landed hard, jarring his senses; a vent cracked open beneath
him. Cursing, he tried to rise before the Seker's spittle burst forth.

           
Hart snatched one arm, Corin the
other as steam gushed out of the vent. Together they dragged him free, scraping
boot toes against rock, and forced him back into a stumbling run. Dodging paws
and teeth and slashing tails, all formed of sinuous stone, they fled toward the
defile that would give them exit from Strahan's domain.