Django Wexler - The Thousand Names

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Saints and martyrs. This place goes on forever.

Once the corporals of the Seventh had managed to round up enough lanterns to light their way, Marcus and Janus had proceeded into the hillside, a squad of infantry in the lead. The doors had opened onto a low-ceilinged tunnel with a gentle curve, laboriously hacked from the native rock. After a few dozen feet, though, it opened out into a much larger space.

“This must have been a natural cavern,” Janus mused. “I can’t believe anyone would excavate so much stone.”

Marcus nodded in agreement. The vaulting cave put him in mind of a cathedral, high-ceilinged and spreading wide to either side of the entrance. Two great fires burned in the far corners, but they barely served to outline the space and throw leaping shadows. The floor was covered with shapes , humanoid figures twisting grotesquely in the bobbing lantern light and the flares of the bonfires, and Marcus had a bad moment before he realized they were statues. He’d seen dozens like them on Monument Hill in Ashe-Katarion, elaborate depictions of the myriad Khandarai gods, each possessing inexplicable animal features and dressed in odd, ceremonial regalia. The closest pair were what looked like a horse-headed man with wings and a snake that walked upright on a pair of grasshopper legs, and had for some reason been provided with an enormous, drooping penis.

“Goddamned priests,” Marcus muttered. He wasn’t a religious man, but there was something a lot more. . well, respectful about a simple double circle in gold hanging over an altar. He turned to Janus. “You were right. This is a temple.”

“There must be a shaft,” Janus said to himself. “Otherwise the smoke would be smothering. Unless they only lit the fires as we came in?”

“Either way, they’re ready for us.”

“As you pointed out, Captain, that was inevitable when we used a cannon as a door knocker.” Janus raised his voice. “All right, Corporal. Onward! They’re only statues. And ask your men not to touch any of them, please. They are quite old, and some of them seem fragile.”

The big corporal barked orders, and the rankers advanced, spreading in a loose formation through the enormous room. The statues were set in a rough pattern, not quite a grid, with ten or twenty feet between them. They seemed to fill the cavern to the walls, giving the impression of an army of shadowy, lantern-lit figures all around them. Marcus heard muttering among their escorts, and more than one man brought his hand to his chest to make the double-circle ward against evil. He couldn’t blame them.

Another fire sprang to life, just ahead of them, and men raised their weapons. This one was smaller, just enough to illuminate a small circle of flagstones. On either side of it lay a human figure, spread-eagled, with a wooden box sitting between them. Marcus glanced at Janus, and caught the corner of the colonel’s mouth quirked in amusement.

“Sir?” Marcus said.

“Gifts, Captain. Someone is trying to. . buy us off.”

“I’m not sure I understand.”

Janus beckoned him forward, and Marcus reluctantly approached the fire. As he got closer, he realized with a start that he recognized both of the men on the floor. The fat body of General Khtoba, still in his stained dress uniform, wore an expression of blank surprise. The young man in black robes who had been the Hand of the Divine seemed more serene. Each corpse had a slim dagger embedded to the hilt in its left eye socket.

The colonel went to the box and flipped the lid open with a boot before Marcus could protest. He stared down at the contents for a moment, then looked up with another brief smile.

“Take a look, Captain. You’ll appreciate this.”

The firelight glittered across a steel mask, twin to the one they’d found after the ambush. Janus bent and picked it up. Underneath it was another identical copy, and Marcus could see another beneath that.

“What is that?” Marcus said. “The Steel Ghost’s spare wardrobe?”

“More like the source of his mysterious powers,” Janus said.

“I’m not sure I understand. Was there something special about the masks after all?”

“Only the significance ascribed to them.” Janus ran a finger along the smooth metal. “It’s inspired, really. I’m amazed they managed to keep the secret for so long.”

“The way he could be in two places at once,” Marcus said. “The Steel Ghost used doubles.”

“In a way. My guess is that there was never any such person as the Steel Ghost to begin with. He was. . a sort of myth, but one that only outsiders believed in. They must have laughed long and loud around the campfires.”

“But someone must have worn the masks!”

“Whoever was convenient. Once you’ve built up the legend, think of the advantages. Pull a mask out from under your cloak, and suddenly it’s not just a Desoltai raid but the Steel Ghost himself out for blood. Take it off when no one’s looking, and the Ghost vanishes into the desert like a shadow. Combine that with the intelligence advantage they derived from their lantern codes, and they’d created a shadow puppet that had the whole country running scared.”

Marcus looked down at the mask in the colonel’s hand. “You knew. That’s why you told me not to put it out that we’d killed the Ghost in the ambush-you knew he might turn up here as well.”

“Let’s say that I strongly suspected. When you have a man whose only distinguishing feature is something that hides his identity, why should you assume it’s the same man each time? It’s like saying the Pontifex of the White has lived for a thousand years because different men keep putting on the hat.”

“You might have told me.”

“I would have, if it had ever become a serious issue. As it is, it’s simply a. . curiosity.” He looked dismissively at the two corpses, then raised his voice to a shout. It echoed off the distant walls. “Very generous! I thank you.”

Marcus opened his mouth to speak, but Janus held up one finger for silence. A moment later, another voice filled the cavern, a distant hissing sound that seemed to come from every direction at once.

“You have what you came for, raschem . Consider this our surrender.”

“Steady,” Marcus said, as the rankers looked in all directions. The last thing they needed was a careless shot causing a panic. “Corporal, get the men to close up.”

“I am Count Colonel Janus bet Vhalnich Mieran,” Janus said in Khandarai. “May I have the honor of knowing to whom I speak?”

“You may call me. . Mother.” The word echoed oddly, repeating over and over through the vaulting hall for longer than it had any right to. “And I know well who you are.”

“Then you know that this is not what I came for.”

“No?” Mother’s voice was a hiss, like windblown sand sliding across stone. The fire lighting the two corpses started to flicker and die. “You have the leaders of the Redemption. Bear them back in triumph to your pet prince. The Desoltai will raise no more rebellions, and the Steel Ghost will vanish into the myths of the Great Desol. What more do you require?”

“I will have the treasure of the Demon King,” Janus said. “Give me the Thousand Names.”

“Then it is as I feared. You are the minions of Orlanko and the Black Priests.”

Marcus glanced at Janus, but the colonel’s face was blank. None of the rankers would understand the Khandarai conversation, and Marcus was starting to doubt his own comprehension. Black Priests? If she means our Priests of the Black, she’s about a hundred years too late. .

“No,” Janus said. “They are my enemies as well.”

“You lie,” Mother snapped. “Or else you are deceived. It matters not. I offer you this final chance, raschem . Take your prizes and go.”