Read Temple of the Traveler: Book 02 - Dreams of the Fallen Online
Authors: Scott Rhine
Doing some math, Jotham said, “With the two interior doors between the sanctuary and the parsonage, we have five main doors. Assuming six guards per door and the rovers, there are thirty-six waking swords and at least the same number of sleeping guards we might have to contend with. Even invisible, that many guards could still harm us if the alarm is sounded.”
“Our best bet is to burn the abomination down,” rumbled Sven. “With all that wood, and those tiny rooms, they’ll never be able to put it out.”
Jotham objected. “Most of the people inside would burn without waking or complaining. Those who did manage to move toward the exit would likely be trapped in the crush of human bodies blocking the only way out.”
Sven persisted. “Why should we care about the death toll? The monsters running the temple obviously don’t care. If you want to cut the weed down, you have to get all of it.”
Instead of elaborating, Jotham changed the subject. “Because the fire won’t kill what I’m really worried about,” he said, gesturing to the dead body inside the lime pit. “See the way the back of his neck is exposed? That spot is a life-force nexus. See the tan and reddish circular stains around it?”
“A whore’s makeup?” guessed one Stone Monkey.
“Something
disguised
as a woman,” corrected Jotham. “While I was waiting here, I discovered that his life energy had been completely drained, presumably through that spot on his neck. Something fed on this man and then threw the empty husk away. From the distance the body arced, the creature is stronger than me. My guess is that this shrine has a guardian, or some feral spirit is lingering here, taking advantage of the cracks in reality.”
Brent spoke shakily. “Is this another metaphor? Because you’re starting to scare me.”
“He’s not the only one. Tell me you’re exaggerating,” the bearded man added.
Jotham shook his head. “I wish I were. You men wouldn’t happen to have twenty or thirty cubits of sesterina wire on hand would you?”
Sven chuckled at this request. “Must be in my other prison outfit. What the blue blazes for?”
Jotham rubbed the side of his frizzy hair and mumbled, “With an aetheric resonator loop trap I may’ve been able to contain the rogueme feong enough for us to perform the ‘banishment of a thousand cuts.’ That’d take only two or three days of nonstop chanting. None of us would be able to sleep for obvious reasons, but it works eventually. That would’ve been too easy, I suppose. We’re going to have to do this exorcism the hard way.”
The bearded man turned to Brent and asked, “Does this teacher of yours ever have good, cheerful news? Like, today we’re going to the beach, I’ll provide the ox for the barbecue.”
“We don’t eat oxen,” Brent insisted, fondly remembering Red, the beast he had ridden while convalescing. To Jotham he said, “What’s the hard way?”
“Locate it. Cut off its primary mana tap, goad it into attacking, and use the spirit’s remaining reserve of energy against it. Hopefully, we can bind it deep into the earth for seventy years.”
“That doesn’t sound so hard,” said Brent. No one else agreed with him.
Jotham looked thoughtful, as if composing a shopping list. “I’ll need to hold something personal of the feeder’s for a while to learn more about its nature before I can attempt the binding. Don’t let the feeder touch you, or it can siphon off years from your life. Don’t even make eye contact if you can help it. Many of the older spirits have the ability to paralyze with a stare, like certain dangerous snakes seduce their prey.”
“What does it look like?” asked Bjorn.
“I don’t know yet,” admitted Jotham.
“How are we supposed to recognize this creature?” demanded Sven, eyes darting around nervously.
“Three ways,” explained the Tenor. “First, it will be one of thirteen women among all the people in this town who can see through our invisibility. Second, it will probably be able to smell a priest like me coming twenty paces away and howl in fury.”
“Better and better,” complained Sven. “Is this third one going to make me piss myself? Because if it will, I just don’t want to hear.”
“Not at all,” soothed Jotham. “Very simply, daemonic magic generates a disturbance in the flow of the cosmos. It manifests most commonly as a localized field of negative probability.”
“Eh?”
“Bad luck,” said the gray-haired priest. “Freak chances you’ve never seen before. Everyone arm yourselves with dice, coins, or something that relies on chance.”
“That, at least, we have,” admitted the leader of the Stone Monkeys.
“When you get closer to the hungry spirit, probabilities will shift to warn you. We’ll all attempt to approach from several angles. When you think you’re close to its lair, come back here and we will plan the next step. Once we know more about the feeder, I’m hoping to lower myself inside the Temple by ropes and close the Door to Eternity before anyone is the wiser. I don’t want to have to fight all those swordsmen.”
“I know what you mean,” laughed Sven.
“I don’t think you do. If push comes to shove, I might have to harm them. I sincerely dislike the thought of that much blood on my hands,” said Jotham.
Bjorn raised a questioning eyebrow at the boy. Brent answered, “He means it. He’s much better at miracles than I am.”
“Gentlemen, find me a lair. Bring back anything small that looks valuable,” ordered Jotham.
“Aye, aye,” clamored the others.
“Knocking heads and taking names, the Stone Monkeys are back in business,” boasted Sven.
After repeated attempts with ‘volunteer’ prisoners, Hisbet determined that newly created deaf men were more sensitive to the effects of Nightfall than those born without hearing or those losing the sense to fever. These new investigators could work only in the mine-car loading and unloading area. If they were placed in the carts, bone conduction carried the sound and they expired before reaching the halfway station. The record distance was an ancient woodworker who reached a spot about seven paces shy of the plateau before letting go of the string. Once true night fell again, the intensity rose and absolutely no one could set foot beyond the loading zone.
The head of intelligence reported these facts to a fretting emperor, who played with a scale model of the rail system. Sandarac whispered, “We must stop this man.”
The Viper nodded. “The gods conspire against us. How shall we proceed?”
After playing with his model for a few moments, Sandarac noticed the tiny trees. “We burn him out. We burn the whole City down.”
With no thought about the cultural or religious history involved, Hisbet asked, “What about the rain?”
Sandarac replied, “I have other experts watching this phenomenon. They tell me that the City of the Gods is in the eye of this freak weather. It may be a little damper than normal, but oil and certain powders should still work. Ask the priests of Intaglios for help with the burning. Use anything we have in the Capital to accomplish this deed. Work all night if you must. Find a way to open up the mine cars and have them dump their loads automatically. I know they sometimes do this for delivering food and equipment. As soon as the sun comes up, begin packing as much kindling as you can into that area. Then use your deaf men to throw the torches if you need to. The sooner we eliminate this sheriff, the sooner we can continue our plans.”
Hisbet bowed. “It shall be done even as you have said.”
****
Nearby, Urgot the Fire Mage was awaked from his slumber by a sense of extreme terror. He took care not to rouse the female slave in his bed as he splashed cool water over his face and bald head. Urgot couldn’t allow her to see him panicking. Grabbing his staff from its resting place against the wall, he recalled the gist of the nightmare. The City of the Gods had to burn to the ground or his entire church, and all the power he possessed, might be extinguished by the next sundown. He was as sure of this inevitability as the very air he breathed. Looking out his window he gave thanks to the gods. They had shown favor by reducing the amount of rain to the point where a proper pyre could be ignited.
Urgot hastily threw on a red robe and set about kicking his subordinates out of bed. Every wizard he had would be laying siege to the Holy Mountain as soon as they could light tinder. When he contacted the Viper, the efficient spy had somehow known to lay the groundwork for him. Urgot began planning for the largest display of magical pyrotechnics the empire had ever seen.
****
The Stone Monkeys in the Dreaming City gathered by the lime pits. “Any luck?”
They all grumbled in the negative. “The next bell is coming up fast, and we don’t have a clue. The closer we got to the middle of the temple, the crazier the dice got. But we couldn’t get into the very center. It was too heavily guarded,” complained Sven.
“Zariah’s chambers no doubt,” guessed Bjorn.
“The roof was the same way,” admitted Brent. “But I slipped on a loose tile before I could get close enough. Luckily, I caught myself on one of the lightning rods.”
“
One
of the lightning rods? How many do they have?” asked Bjorn.
Brent shrugged. “More than a dozen. They’re all over up there.”
“That only stands to reason,” said Jotham. “If the creature is a strong negative force, Nature would continually be striving to balance the energies in the area. The feeder may even use the rooftops to scout out food. We may well have gone in through its out door.”
Sven looked more nervous now than before. “Does anything seem different to anyone here?”
“It’s not raining as heavily. Kind of nice, really,” observed Brent.
“Smells a little smoky,” noted Bjorn.
“That’s because the top of the Holy Mountain has been lit up like a torch,” said a shocked Jotham. “By the Halls, they’re burning the City of the Gods.” The implications held him spellbound for several moments as he stared at the smoldering orange glow.
Sven ignored the fire, trying to describe his feeling. “No. It’s like someone’s watching me. Did you hear that? The faint jingling of bells? It might’ve found us. Kiateros preserve us!”
Just then, a grizzled stranger let out a tremendous yell as Ekvar smashed into him from behind. Both men tumbled head over heels down a slippery, festering pile of garbage, stopping inches from the lime pit. Ekvar pulled the newcomer’s arms backward, leading to more screams.
Bjorn pried the two apart. “Spying on us, eh?”
“Be quiet,” commanded Jotham, snapping out of his reverie.
“Is this the feeder?” demanded Brent.
“Unlikely, he’s male. Throw me his pouch.” Jotham held open a hand. It took all the Stone Monkeys to wrest the boxy, leather pouch from the spy’s side. The priest held the personal item for a few moments before saying. “No. He’s probably one of the Viper’s agents. This is a specialized weapon of some sort.” Squinting, he looked at the intruder’s forehead. “This man used to be one of ours, a walker of the six-fold path.”
“How do we know he’s not a gray man, a servant of sleep?” asked Bjorn.
“He’s a former bard; they have some natural resistance to the corrupted magic flowing from the remnants of the College of the Bards. Greetings, I’m Jotham the Tenor, High Priest of both Hospitality and the Great Library.”
Nigel spit refuse out of his mouth onto the ground. “I was never one of your ilk!”
“You still have a name, and I would hear it,” said Jotham.
“Nigel the actor,” he introduced himself in a mumble.
“Hey,” noticed Bjorn. “He’s the traitor who turned Tashi in to the Pretender.”
The Tenor looked serious. “Is this true?”
Nigel’s defiance softened a little with blossoming fear. He struggled to hide the emotion. “I did my duty to the emperor. I also aided the sheriff in every way I was able. I loaned him something of great personal worth to me, and he promised to bring it back to the gate of this temple.”
“Excellent,” said Jotham. “You swear not to interfere with us?” Ekvar still kneeled on top of the old actor’s back.
“I’d call this duress, wouldn’t you?” argued Nigel. “No more than I’d expect from an evil wizard such as yourself.”
“He’s not evil,” protested Brent.
“Deluded child,” sighed Nigel. He grunted in pain as Ekvar twisted the actor’s arm in its socket again.
“We haven’t much time. I need help closing this temple forever. Are you with us?”
“The Viper is, and I for my own reasons. Yes,” Nigel admitted.
“Then I bind myself and these men here to do you no harm if you promise the same,” offered Jotham, his hand extended.
“Do I dare choose between evils?” muttered the actor. His rider aimed Nigel’s mouth at a particularly vile-smelling heap.
“What if I were to wipe the mark from your forehead in exchange for an hour of your aid?” asked Jotham. The actor didn’t answer, but stopped wriggling. “Cycles of debt on your shoulders erased in a single hour.”
“You toy with me.”
Jotham stepped forward and spoke a short phrase and slid his thumb between the actor’s eyebrows. Nigel went limp, collapsing as if his strings had been cut. Ekvar let go in surprise at the lack of resistance. Jotham gestured for him to stand clear. In the next moment, Nigel drew a deep, shuddering breath.
Nigel looked at the sky and then his own hands as if seeing both for the first time. “For one hour, Tenor, you have my alliance. May the gods have mercy on my soul.”