James West - The God King

“Thrones have been bought for less,” Hya said evenly, “but you will have it. You have seen but a tenth part of my wealth, which I have earned over the years, so you know I can pay. Now, lead us to the palace by your secret ways.”

“I suggest you and your followers join us,” Kian said, thinking he would rather have the scoundrel at his side than at his back, where the temptation to betray him might become overwhelming. “If you do not come along, you will surely die.”

O’naal burst out laughing, a queer, high-pitched giggle. “And how, exactly, would that come to pass?”

“By the very hands of those you pulled us from. What’s more, this shelter is doomed. If it has failed to catch your eye, the whole of the Chalice is burning-”

“It’s true!” a young boy high in the rafters shouted down. “I just seen the Boar’s Belly catch!”

Kian let that sink in and then went on, more grateful for that child’s shout than the boy would ever know. “By dawn, those who have not fled will be dead … or in chains, marching to some slave mine. Every step of the way, your backs will taste the lash. Better that you stay close to me and out of sight, until I kill Varis.”

Behind Kian, the booms continued at the doors, and the first cracks were showing in the timbers. O’naal glanced at the doors with growing concern on his gaunt features. A loud cracking noise decided him.

“Very well,” he said, almost choking on the words in his haste.

“I suggest we all depart,” Kian said.

“All?” O’naal repeated. He turned and waved his hand. “These are Chalice folk. They can make their own way, and be happier for it.”

Voices rose in protest, and O’naal blanched. “ All , then,” he consented.

Not wasting time, he then called several men to his side, and they bowed their heads together. After a moment, his underlings ran into the shadows farther back in the warehouse. O’naal glanced at Kian and the others with something close to hatred pinching his lean features. Kian slammed his sword into its worn scabbard and smiled pleasantly. The rogue turned away with a snort.

From the darkness came the strident squeal of rusted hinges opening. O’naal spoke with unconcealed disgust. “Come, my people, we are about to taste the lavish splendor of the palace.”

He motioned Kian and the others to follow, gliding along like a ghost, as the gloom gradually swallowed them into a well of murk. A moment later, O’naal vanished from sight, seeming to sink into the ground. Before Kian could say anything, a fat man covered in layers of grime stood at his side bearing a torch. The flickering light showed a small black square in the floor. Around the hole sat several stacks of crates. The hidden door itself had several rolled rugs roped to it, the tattered ends far overreaching the edges of the door. From the underside of the door, a chain descended into the gloom.

O’naal’s voice floated up from far below. “Get down here, you sister-loving fool! I do not fancy having rats gnaw at my ankles, while you stand there gawking.”

The torchbearer hunched his shoulders at the insult, but tossed the torch down with something more shrewd turning his lips than an idiot’s grin. O’naal squawked, then cursed in anger. Quietly snickering, the filthy rotund man clambered down the ladder, indifferent to the verbal abuse hurled his way.

Ellonlef gave Kian a look that seemed to ask if he was sure this was the road he truly wanted to take, and he nodded in answer. Dropping her eyes in acceptance, she followed Azuri and Hazad. Kian came after, carefully descending the shaky ladder into the underground passage.

It took some time for all of the Chalice folk to make their way down, but those last moved much faster than had those before, compelled by the crashing racket above.

“They are almost through the doors,” the last man warned from his perch on a rung just below the opening in the floor, even as he hastily lowered several bundles of unlit torches. After, he closed the trapdoor with a boom. Amid a cloud of sifting dust the man scrabbled down, coughing as he came. Kian guessed the carpets strapped to the door would hide the passage, at least for a while, and then only if the guardsmen were lax in their search.

“Until a moment ago, only those I trusted the most knew of this passage,” O’naal said to Kian and Hya, grinding his teeth.

“Given that you will live out this night with your head still attached to your neck,” Kian said, “the death of your secret is worth it, wouldn’t you agree?”

With a doubting scowl, O’naal turned and snatched a torch away from the soiled fat man, and moved deeper into the tunnel. Kian and his companions joined him, with the rest of the rabble coming after. Soon, all the shuffling feet kicked up a gritty fog, giving the torches yellowed auras, and forcing all to wrap whatever scraps of cloth were available around their mouths and noses.

Kian strode along in silence. Varis waited ahead. One or the other of them, perhaps both, would die this night. No matter what happened, he was ready. He did not see Ellonlef’s frequent, troubled glances in his direction. He had a purpose, a destiny some fool of a poet might say, and on that he rested his thoughts and his will.

The underground passages wandered about like a nest of serpents, randomly wending this way and that in no obvious pattern or purpose. Near on a thousand years gone, they had been gouged from the bedrock beneath Ammathor by slaves seeking any precious stone, silver, and gold. Kian was grateful that he could recall little of the Pit, for while the warrens were separate, they were of the same nature.

After perhaps an hour, O’naal led them into a large vault and moved to a ladder that climbed twenty feet or more before vanishing into the heavy blackness beyond the torchlight. He motioned to Kian.

“There is a trapdoor above. Open it, and you’ll find yourself in a secret corridor within the palace walls-it’s as much of a warren as these tunnels, but they offer access to the whole of the palace. Few know of those ways anymore, so you have little fear of being found out … but, of course, caution is always in order.”

“You are not coming?” Kian asked.

“No, he is not,” Hya said in answer, “and neither am I. This is your task, and that of your companions. Should you fail, there is nothing anyone can do.” O’naal arched a speculative eyebrow at that, but did not ask what the old woman might mean.

Hya took Ellonlef’s hand. “I will not try to turn you away from this task, but I beg, please be careful. There are too few of us left to risk even one.”

Ellonlef offered the woman a reassuring smile.

“Throughout the passage are peepholes that you can use to find your way,” O’naal said. “As well, there are firemoss lamps near the top of the ladder, along with a cistern of water to set them alight.”

Kian looked about for a brief moment, seeing the many faces peering back. He then glanced at his companions. “Wait here until I signal you.”

“Just as long as you do signal us,” Azuri said. “Do not get it into your mind to again go alone after Varis.”

Kian nodded gravely, though he silently cursed his friend’s insight. In truth, however, he knew he would need them. He felt confident that the powers of creation he had gained back when Ellonlef healed him were enough to fully protect him from Varis, but he could not know if they were enough to best the youth. The most he could hope was that his small company would be able to confound Varis enough to lay deadly snares for him, perhaps draw him into a battle of flesh and steel.