“Mighty Prince,” he panted, “if you would let the Lady Eyil go free-”
“No. No more of your logicking and bargaining! I should make your Eyil our guest at the next Giving of Praise to the One of Mouths!” He leaned down over Harsan. “Note well, priest: not only will your priestess suffer if you again seek to escape or to betray me, but you have witnessed my power over the Undead. Even were you to succeed in suicide, I can resurrect your body and enough of your mind to make you guide me to the Man of Gold. You are not needed alive, only in somewhat undamaged form! Slower and less responsive would you be, but far more pliable if your soul were gone…”
One of the Legion of Ketl approached and murmured something. Prince Dhich’une nodded and spoke again:
“My original purpose in bringing you here still holds. Since you shall soon journey to Purdimal in my service, I would have you meet your escort.”
An officer in. blue and brown livery was making his way through the crowd. At first Harsan thought him one of the Undead as well, for he was thin and gaunt, shaven-headed, his face wrinkled as a corpse dried in the sun. The man halted and saluted, fist to breast.
‘ ‘This is Lord Qurrumu hiKhanuma, Commander of the Battalions of the Seal of the Worm, my father’s Ninth Legion of Medium Infantry, a unit devoted to the Empire-and also to our Temple of Sarku.” He turned to the officer. “You have a Cohort marching to Khirgar within a six-day?”
“It is so, my Lord. The First Cohort.”
“You shall prepare space within your baggage wagons for two guests. Neither shall come to any harm, but let no one speak to them. I shall send attendants to care for their needs. When you reach Purdimal you will hand them over to a priest of our sect, one Jayargo.”
“I know the man, mighty Prince. Was he not at Tumissa a year back?”
“The same. I have had him reassigned. He will be waiting in Purdimal for these whom you bring.”
“Shall I take custody of your guests now, Lord?”
The still features gazed down upon Harsan once more. “I think not. I would teach one further lesson to this obstreperous little priest.” He cast about for Vridekka. “Is the girl retaken, old man?”
“She is, mighty Prince. As she fled down the spiral stair.” “Then do you transport these two back to the Tolek Kana Pits and find accommodation for them in one of the Chalices of Silence. When Lord Qurrumu sends to say that his troops are ready, you will accompany them to Purdimal. You alone can be counted upon to squeeze the truth out of this grey-robe.”
“My Lord, I am too old! My place is here, with Lord Arkhane-my own work-”
“A baggage cart will be splendidly appointed for you, old one. Your scrawny feet need not touch the earth all the way, and you shall be wined and coddled until you are as fat as a Hmelu- calf. The weather grows cooler, and you may enjoy the change.” The mouth did not smile.
“I must obey…”
“Indeed. To do otherwise would be disappointing.”
Prince Dhich’une turned his back and departed.
The worshippers were leaving as well, the service over. The Undead were no longer to be seen. Had they descended again into their catacombs, or had they ever really existed at all? The Vorodla were assuredly real enough!
The soldiers of the Legion of Ketl escorted Harsan down across the emptying nave to where Eyil hung limply between two temple-guards. Vridekka did not allow them to speak to one another but formed up his party, gestured sharply to its subaltern, and led the way back through the subterranean labyrinth.
The journey was uneventful.
The captives were led through the silent corridors of the Pits. At length they stopped before a row of little ladders of four steps apiece. Each of these led up to a square metal door, much like the mouth of a potter’s kiln. One of these hung ajar, and Harsan saw a black shaft slanting down into the rock. He and Eyil were unbound, and a soldier took away the remains of his stained and tattered kilt. Two guardsmen then wrestled him up the ladder and thrust his legs into the shaft.
“I would not have ordered this for you, boy,” Vridekka said, not unkindly, “but my master has commanded it. The Chalice of Silence is a cell barely large enough to lie at full length, no room to rise or to sit up, and barely enough to turn over. Food and water are poured down to you through this hole in the door, and your wastes pass out through a grating at your feet, for the cell slopes somewhat.” He twisted a finger in his straggling beard. “Sometimes the keepers of this place pour down filth or boiling water in lieu of sustenance, but I shall see that this is not done to you. At least you may be consoled that this condition will last only for a day or two-some there are who have lived in these holes for as long as a year. Most are insane within a month.”
“And the girl, master Vridekka?” one of the soldiers asked.
The Mind-seer sighed. “She will probably fare better with her priest here than alone without him. More, I see no other Chalice vacant at present. Put her in with him.”
Arms wrestled Harsan into the narrow aperture. He fought, scrabbled at the smooth sides of the shaft, found no purchase, and slipped down within. His feet jarred against bars of slime-encrusted metal, and he came to a stop in blackness. He tried to flex his knees but only bruised them against the low roof. There was a little room at the sides to extend his arms, but as he did so Eyil’s legs struck his shoulder, and he had to press himself against the slimy wall to let her slip down into the cell beside him. His arms went around her automatically, and she came to a halt panting against his breast.
The cell door clanged shut above.
Smothering darkness closed in upon him. All was silent.
Slowly, insidiously, the terror of being buried alive seeped in to fill him with icy fear. The nightmare of being wedged into a black box to suffocate-the terror of a small boy left alone in the dark, the memory of a near-fatality during a boisterous cave exploration in his childhood-arose to overwhelm him. He gasped, struggled, and fought to gain control of himself. His temple training helped.
Then Eyil stirred, thrust her hands against the stone walls of their coffin, kicked out, and screamed.
It was a long time before they were calm again.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Harsan awoke to an urgent sense of wrongness.
Interminable hours had passed. His logic-schooled mind had finally mastered his own fear of the in-pressing walls, the blackness, the silence, and the numbing terror of being buried alive. Someow he had also soothed Eyil. It was as Vridekka had said: what saved their sanity was the knowledge that this imprisonment would last no more than a few days at most. That-and being together-helped to bolster up their mutual courage. Alone, he might have given in to madness, clawed and scratched at the stone walls, and died howling in this smothering coffin.
He and Eyil gave one another strength. They made what adjustments they could against the narrowness and their cramped limbs, recovered from their hurts, slept, and rested. Three times- once a day, judging from the sharp remonstrances of Harsan’s stomach-a mixture of Dna-pomdge and water was poured through the hole at the top of the shaft. They caught as much of this as they could with their bare hands and licked more from the slimy stones as it trickled down past their bodies and out through the grating at their feet.
The grating?
That w^s what was wrong! His exploring toes encountered only empty space there. The grating was gone. That was what had awakened him!
Amazement, fear-a dozen thoughts-fled through Harsan’s mind.
“Harsan-! Something-my ankle!” Eyil gasped.
Even as she spoke her body slipped down against his, her face pressed against his chest. He fumbled for her but only barked his knuckles against the low ceiling. Eyil kicked out and screamed, and Harsan shouted as well. If these were the Prince’s soldiers come to get them, why did they not take them out of the upper door? Why did they not at least reply?
Something pulled Eyil inexorably downward. Visions of the nightmare denizens of Lord Sarku’s catacombs
