Orb Sceptre Throne

when they bowed … they called him Lord.’

Antsy’s brows rose in appreciation. Really? Some kinda Andii high muckety-muck. Or the ghost of one. Who knew? He joined Orchid in studying the man’s back and wondered: had they just made a bad trade … Malakai for this fellow?

Morn led them through a maze of chambers and halls. What they found cluttering these rooms made Antsy regret his vow not to stop to loot. Obviously no one had ever reached these precincts and the riches revealed made him almost whimper. The collected treasures of uncounted centuries lay sprawled at his feet like the wreckage of a siege. Shattered delicate glass artwork, fragments of precious ceramics, paintings, busts carved in precious stone. Even upended tables and furniture that were themselves beautiful works of art. He winced as his sandalled feet ground priceless fragments into the stone floor.

The deep aquamarine monochrome mage-light made it impossible to distinguish one gem from another, or gold from other metals, but he wasn’t above picking up the odd stone or small piece of metalwork to study it more closely. Ahead, Morn studiously ignored his darting and stooping like a scavenging bird at a battlefield.

‘Look here,’ Orchid murmured, awed. She’d stopped at an immense tapestry that hung fully five paces from floor to ceiling. It was the representation of a city hugging the coast of a lake. Galleys plied the waves. Men and women dressed in unfamiliar archaic costume crowded the waterfront. They were busy at markets, buying and selling fruit, birds, carpets, finely wrought furniture, even horses. One immense pale-blue dome dominated the city’s skyline. Pearl white, Antsy guessed it would be, in the light of day.

‘That is Darujhistan,’ Corien announced, surprised. ‘Or looks like it. You see the dome?’

‘Darujhistan more than two thousand years ago,’ Morn supplied. He had returned to them, utterly silent. ‘During the age of the Tyrant Kings. It is said none could match their mastery of sorcery.’

‘I know of no dome like that,’ Corien said, dubious.

Hands clasped at his back, Morn raised and dropped his shoulders. ‘I understand much was lost during the cataclysm of their fall.’

‘How do you know all this?’ Antsy demanded.

Corien winced and Orchid sent a glare, but the Andii seemed unruffled. ‘It is true. I have been … away … for some time. But I was scrupulous in questioning everyone I met for news. There was little else to do where I’ve been all this time.’

Antsy snorted his scepticism. Morn merely gestured ahead. ‘This way, if you please. There is a light in the next corridor.’

Antsy gaped. ‘What? Why didn’t you say so?’

‘You didn’t ask.’

‘And all this time we’ve been-’ He clamped his mouth shut and signed to Corien in the hand signals he’d been teaching the lad. Scout ahead.

Corien nodded, jogged off.

Antsy shouldered his crossbow, gestured that Orchid should stay behind him, and followed.

He found the lad waiting at a corner. Corien pointed ahead and held up one finger. One. A sentry. Antsy motioned him aside, glanced round the corner. One fellow, sheathed swords at his sides, standing straight in the middle of the corridor with a lamp behind, facing their way. Canny, that. Not facing the light.

He raised the crossbow, nodded to Corien, who slowly drew his weapons. He took three short breaths, steadied his arms, then stepped out from the corner, training the crossbow on the man. ‘Don’t move!’ he commanded. ‘You’re covered.’ Corien stepped out with him, weapons bared.

The figure didn’t even flinch; his hands remained at his belt. The head turned slightly and one word was called in some language Antsy didn’t recognize. ‘Don’t move!’ he ordered again. The fellow appeared to be wearing the lightest of armour, leathers only, but also some sort of helmet. He’d made no move to his sheathed weapons.

As they came closer, a gasp sounded from Orchid and Corien straightened, grunting his surprise. His weapons fell slightly. The barbed point of Antsy’s bolt didn’t waver from the man’s chest. ‘Who’re you?’ he challenged.

‘Red …’ Orchid began, a warning in her voice.

The fellow didn’t answer. Closer, he saw in the dim light that the man was in fact a woman, and that she wore a simple small mask that hid the upper half of her face. A mask? Who did she think she was? A fucking robber?

Another fellow came jogging up the corridor and Antsy swung his crossbow. ‘You’re covered!’ he called.

Orchid touched his arm. ‘Red …’

‘Get back, dammit.’

Corien suddenly sheathed his weapons.

‘What the fuck are you doing?’ Antsy snarled.

‘It’s all right, Red.’

‘What? Tell me why this is all right.’

The newcomer stepped forward, hands at his sides. He too wore some sort of multicoloured mask.

‘No further!’ Antsy barked. ‘Or you are a dead man.’

‘Who are you?’ the man called in oddly accented Daru.

‘Who am I?’ Antsy couldn’t believe what he was hearing. ‘I’m holding the crossbow here! Who are you?’

‘My name is Enoi. Please step forward and let us speak.’

Orchid tightened her grip on his arm. ‘Red. It’s okay. Lower the weapon.’

He spared her one quick glance. ‘Why? Why in the name of dead Hood should I lower my weapon?’

‘They are Seguleh,’ Corien said.

‘Seguleh? Really?’ He’d heard the stories, of course. But he’d never thought he’d ever actually meet one. He lowered the crossbow, slightly, to study them, curious. So, Seguleh are they? Everyone says just three of them defeated the entire Pannion army.

Not true, of course. But it made for a great story around the campfire. When neither went for their weapons Antsy set the crossbow butt to his hip. ‘What do you want?’ he called.

The man, or youth, judging from his clean chin, stepped forward. A multitude of shades swirled across his mask — all variations of blue to Antsy’s mage-sight. ‘You wish to pass through to the upper galleries, yes?’ he said.

‘What of it?’ Antsy said.

The masked face shifted to study Morn. ‘You do not impress us,’ he said. ‘We do not fear ancient shades.’ Morn provided the ghost of a smile. The youth looked back to Antsy. ‘You may pass. All we ask is that you swear a vow to us.’

‘Swear a vow? To you?’ Antsy laughed his disbelief.

‘What is it?’ Orchid asked, very quickly.

‘That should you find one particular object you will relinquish it to us before you leave this rock.’

Antsy laughed again. These fellows were the most naive idiots he’d ever met! ‘And this thing? What is it?’

‘A piece of artwork stolen from my people long ago. It is a legacy of ours. We believe it to be somewhere within the Spawn, as it is our belief that its master, Blacksword, either took it, or acquired it. It is of little monetary value but important to our religion. A plain white mask. Of little value to any but us.’

‘I do so swear,’ Morn said immediately, sounding even more solemn than usual.

‘And I,’ Orchid echoed.

‘I also swear,’ Corien said, enacting a Darujhistani courtier’s bow.

Antsy eyed the lot of them. ‘Just what in the Abyss is going on? Some masked clown walks up, tells you to swear, and you bow to him?’

Orchid glared her fury, urging him to cooperate. He raised a hand. ‘Just a minute. Now, if this thing is so important to you, why aren’t you searching for it yourself?’

The youth drew himself up straight, offended. ‘We do not scramble through ruins like common thieves. Someone has it, or in the course of his or her looting will find it. And when he comes down we will be waiting and he will relinquish it. If he does not, he will be killed.’