March To The Stars

They had lost their pursuers, mostly by leaving field expedient booby traps behind. After the first few explosions, the Scourge guards had become remarkably circumspect in their chasing. But that didn't help the fugitives find their way out of the palace. Or to the gates. Their helmet systems could tell them where they were in reference to their starting point and the gates their bug-out plans specified as their way out of the city, as well as which direction they were headed, but that was of strictly limited utility. The temple had backed onto the outer wall of the city, so there was probably a connection between where they stood and the walls' defenses—like the gates they needed. But they couldn't tell which of the myriad corridors would get them there.

'We're about a hundred meters below the gates,' Kosutic pointed out, looking at the various corridors with him. 'And still to the south. I think we need to head northeast and up.'

'Uh-huh. Unfortunately,' Roger noted, 'that still leaves two.'

'Eenie-meenie-miney-moe,' the sergeant major said. 'Chim, take the left corridor.'

'Yes, Sergeant Major,' the Vashin replied. 'It smells like the kitchens are ahead.'

'It does,' Roger agreed uneasily. 'A bit.' Chim was right, a distinct odor of cooking came down the passageway to them, but it was overlaid by a fetid, iron smell that was unpleasantly familiar.

The corridor was a five-meter high arch, leading into darkness. Unlike the intersection, it lacked even the dimness of an oil lamp. The Marines' helmet vision systems let them see clearly even under those conditions, but did nothing for the Mardukans in the party—or for Roger or O'Casey, neither of them had brought helmets to what was supposed to be a diplomatic conference—so the Marines turned on the lights mounted on their rifles. The lights' white spots seemed to reveal and conceal in equal measure, for the walls were of basalt blocks, which seemed to swallow the light. The complex interplay of lights and dark lent an additional air of unreality to their flight, but at least the natives (and Roger) could see something.

After perhaps a dozen meters, the corridor terminated in a heavy wooden door. Fortunately, it was bolted on their side, and Chim waved one of the Diasprans forward to pull the bolt. As soon as the door opened, the Vashin nobleman darted through the opening, his pistol held in a two-handed grip. The rest of the Vashin poured through behind him, and Roger heard the blast of arquebuses, answered by pistol cracks and a bellow of rage.

The prince followed before the echoes of the pistol shots could fade, and as he stepped through the door, the reason for the bellow was obvious. The large room beyond was filled with bone pits. He could see a group of Krath Servants escaping through the far door, leaving the baskets of ash and bone they'd been carrying spilled across the floor.

Chim was down as well, caught in a death grip with one of the four guards. The smell in the room was much stronger than it had been in the corridor—a mixture of rotting meat and charred bone that caused Roger to flash back to Voitan. He swallowed his gorge and checked to make sure everyone else was okay. When he glanced sideways at Pedi, she seemed strangely unaffected. She simply glanced at the charnel pits, then looked away.

'You don't seem too broken up,' Roger said. 'This is ... foul.'

'Sometimes you get the priests,' Pedi replied. 'Sometimes they get you. We don't eat them, but we don't let any we capture live, either.'

Cord's benan headed for the far door, but Roger put a hand on her shoulder.

'Let the professionals go through first. Any idea what's on the other side?'

'Not many come out of the Fire,' Pedi pointed out. 'But with the pits here, the kitchens should be to the right, and the sanctuary up and to the left.'

'Sergeant Major,' Roger said, gesturing at the door. 'Head for the sanctuary. It's got to have public access, and that means a primary point of entry ... and exit. That makes it our best chance to find a way out of this damned maze quickly.'

'Yes, Sir,' Kosutic said. She put her hand on the closed door's bar and glanced at the other grim-faced warriors crowding around the prince. 'Let's dance.'

The corridors beyond were more of the same black basalt, drinking the light from the Marines' lights. A few more meters brought them to a narrow staircase up and to the right. Kosutic flashed a light up it, then climbed its treads with quick, silent steps. At the top, she found another heavy wooden door, this one with red light coming under it, and she cocked her head as she listened to the loud, atonal chanting coming from above.

'Lord, I hate Papists,' she muttered, checking her ammunition pouches and fixing her bayonet. Then she drew a belt knife as Roger arrived beside her. 'We really should have brought shotguns for this, Your Highness.'

'Needs must,' Roger replied. He left his bead pistol holstered, conserving its ammunition against a more critical need, and balanced a black powder revolver in his left hand. 'Do it.'

The sergeant major slid her knife into the crevice where the bar should be, and moved it upwards. The monomolecular blade sliced effortlessly through the locking device, the door sprang loose on its hinges, and she pushed forward into Hell.

The nave of the temple was packed with worshipers, females on one side, males on the other. Worship in the High Temple was clearly only for the well-to-do of Kirsti's society—most of the worshipers were not only clad in elaborate gowns and robes, but wore heavy jewelry, as well.

A double line of 'Servants' ran down the centerline of the temple, surrounded by guards. The line led up to the sacrificial area, where three teams of priests were involved in mass slaughter. The priests wore elaborate gowns, rich with gold thread, and caps of gold and black opal that simulated volcanoes, and the decorations of the temple were of the finest. The walls were shot through with semi-precious gems and gold foil, adorned again and again with the repeating motif of the sacred Fire. All in all, it was a barbaric and terrible sight, made all the worse by the heavy leather aprons that the priests also wore. Of course, if they hadn't worn them, the gore from their butchery would have ruined the pretty gold thread.

Like a machine—or like what it really was: an abattoir—each bound captive would be placed upon an altar, then quickly dispatched and butchered, the parts separated into manageable chunks. The offal was hurled by teams of lower priests into the maw of the furnaces at the rear, while others bore the edible materials away even as another 'Servant' was brought forward. The worshipers' deep, rhythmic chanting was a bizarre counterpart for the frantic screams as the captives were dragged forward ... until the screams were abruptly cut off by the priests' knives.

If anything was worse than the hideous efficiency of the sacrifices, with its clear implication of frequent and lengthy experience, it was the well-dressed worshipers, swaying back and forth in hysterical reaction to the slaughter and chanting their ecstatic counterpoint to the prayers of the priests.

When Kosutic opened the door, the priests' prayers stopped abruptly, and the chanting shuddered to a halt in broken chunks of sound. Roger looked out over the suddenly silent tableau and shook his head.

'I'm just not having this,' he said in an almost conversational tone.

'We're low on ammo, Sir!' Kosutic pointed out. 'We can retreat. The door will hold them for a bit.'

'Hell with that.' Roger reached over his shoulder with his right hand. 'The best, shortest way out is through the temple, Sergeant Major. And I don't think they're going to just let us walk through, do you?'

'No, Your Highness,' the Satanist replied.

'Well, there you are,' Roger said reasonably. 'And I suppose if we're low on ammo, it'll just have to be cold steel, won't it?'

Steel whispered in the near-total silence as he drew his sword once more, and Dogzard lashed her tail back and forth. The smell of blood had hit her, and her spikes were shivering.

'Roger!' Despreaux yelled from the press around the door, then—'Ow! Dammit, Dogzard—watch the tail!'

'You hang back, Nimashet,' Roger snarled. 'Let me and the Vashin handle this.'

'Allow me to note that this is not a wise endeavor,' Cord observed as he hefted his spear. 'That being said, clear the door, Your Highness!'

'Let me at them!' Pedi called, waving both bloodstained swords over her head. 'I'll give them 'lesser races'!'

'Oh, the hell with that!' Despreaux said, stepping forward as the ceremonial guards in the temple below raised their staves. 'You're not going any place without me!'

'No,' Kosutic interjected, never taking her eyes from the waiting guards. 'Cover the back door. We don't want to get hit from behind.'

'But ...'