Emerald Sceptre (9 page)

“Then so be it,” Edilus replied, not even breathing lard as he climbed. The staircase was beginning to twist and lean more, and Horial could feel the druid shifting his weight, trying to maintain his balance and reach the top before the whole thing gave way. “This is where I belong. I will stay.”

“Don’t be a fool!” Horial said. “If the fall from up here doesn’t kill you, the soldiers will! Come through with us, and return to fight them another day!”

Edilus didn’t say anything, for all of his energy, all of his concentration seemed to be devoted to making the last few steps. The stairs were dissolving , bits and pieces crumbling away as the main part of the staircase began leaning, falling. At the top, on a tiny ledge that had remained intact, Edilus set Horial down so the man could put his weight on his good leg. He tried to step back, give the sergeant some room, but Horial shook his head.

“Come on!” he shouted, just as a swarm of Silver Ravens poured into the open space below. Edilus shook his head in denial, but Horial wasn’t having any of it. Grabbing the druid, he jerked the man toward him. At the same time, he reached out to fall through the portal, intending to drag Edilus with him.

Horial was stunned to discover that his companion seemed rooted to the spot like a rock, but it made no difference. As the first swarm of arrows flew toward the two men from below, all the world shifted, and the sergeant and the druid vanished from sight just as the stones of the staircase crashed to the ground below.

Isftr’t

Come on, you, move it,” the small, wiry man known as Lak said, jabbing at Pilos’s back with the butt end of his dagger. The

priest grunted from the poke and tried to step faster, but descending the narrow, steep spiral staircase with his hands manacled behind his back was tricky work. The task was made even more difficult because of the limited light. The wizard in the magenta vest carried a single torch with her, but she was in the front of the procession. The other prisoner, Quill, walked behind the woman, with the big thug, Borth, keeping an eye on him. That left Pilos and Lak to bring up the rear, and in the narrow, crowded confines of the stairwell, not much illumination was reaching them.

Still, Pilos did the best he could, figuring if he did stumble and fall, he would land on Borth rather than tumble down the stairs. For a moment, he considered doing that anyway, wondering what the chances were of inflicting a few broken necks on his captors as they went sprawling. Those odds seemed better to the young priest than meekly being led to his death, but just when he was working up his courage to try the stunt, the stairwell began to give clues to their location.

The young Abreeant priest had noticed during the descent that the air was growing more humid and carried the odor of the harbor, and he suspected that they were nearing sea level. His suspicions were confirmed when he noticed that the steps and walls had abruptly turned slimy with moisture. The stairs also ceased then, leveling out into a straight and narrow passage. The entourage stopped as the wizard reached some sort of gate that barred their way.

The woman fumbled with it for a moment, presumably manipulating a lock, though Pilos couldn’t see to know for sure. She shifted a huge bar, allowing the gate to swing open, away from herself. She passed through the barrier and the rest of the group followed’ behind. After perhaps half a dozen more steps, the route emerged into a much larger passage. Pilos was wary, wondering where the thugs had brought him.

The open space was actually a low-ceilinged tunnel, perhaps ten paces wide, that vanished into the distance, well beyond the light of the torch. It stank of waste and sea salt. Runnels of liquid poured down the walls or directly from small holes in the ceiling in various places, and the sounds of drips and splashes echoed in the distance.

The group stood at the end of the tunnel. At the

time, only brown sludge covered the bottom of the passage, but Pilos understood that the water level sometimes rose up past the roof when—

When the tide comes in, the priest realized, his fears growing. This is the sewer, and it connects to the harbor!

As if sensing Pilos’s desperate recognition, the wizard chuckled. “Lak, Borth, get them ready,” she said, sitting down on one side of the gate and opening a bag she carried. “We don’t have much time,” she urged.

Lak grabbed Pilos’s arm and shoved him forward, sending him sprawling into the nasty muck. Without his hands free to stop himself, the young priest landed hard against the floor of the tunnel with a splat, striking his chin and coating his face with filth. Spots swam in his vision. When he regained his senses enough to realize what had happened, Lak was sitting on top of him, locking the second cuff of a pair of leg irons around his ankle.

No! Pilos thought, grunting and thrashing, trying to shake the little man off and free himself. No!

Lak jumped up once he had finished, and Pilos turned to see that Borth had similarly secured Quill, who was mumphing through his own gag and jerking at the manacles still restraining his wrists behind his back.

“Consider yourself ready,” the small man said, his tone smug.

“If you could swim fast enough,” the wizard said with a smirk in her tone as she pawed through the contents of the bag, “you might reach the end of the tunnel before you drown.” She laughed and looked at Lak and Borth, who stood chuckling. Pilos saw that she was examining Xaphira’s and Emriana’s

belongings. “It’s a shame to lose these fine things,” she commented, examining the various blades and jewelry, “but we can’t take the risk that someone will come looking for them. So I guess we’ll tie the bag around your neck so it can disappear with you. The current usually washes the bodies out in a day or two, doesn’t it?”

The two thugs nodded. “Yeah, sometimes the fishermen find them floating near the boats,” Borth said with glee in his voice, “but sometimes they head out to the open water and no one ever finds them.”

Pilos watched as Quill suddenly tried to rise to his feet and rush at the three of them, desperation perhaps lending him strength, but Lak saw what was happening and kicked him with one boot, sending the bound man sprawling into the slimy muck again. The mercenary landed on his side with a grunt and lay there for a moment, gasping for breath.

Pilos turned to stare at the three thugs, wanting to give them one last defiant speech, but he held off when he saw the wizard. She had a very strange, almost pained look upon her face. He watched her as she stared at nothing for a moment. Then she stood suddenly and turned her attention down the tunnel.,

‘

“What’s that?” she said.

“What?” Lak asked, looking where she did. “What do you see?”

“I thought I saw something shiny,” she said, pointing. “Way down there.”

“Shiny like what?” Borth asked, craning his neck to get a better view.

“Maybe a bit of jewelry, glittering in the light of the torch. Go see,” she ordered.

“Aw, there’s nothing down there,” Lak fussed, turning back to gloat over Pilos. “You’re imagining it.”

“What if there is something? What if it’s a tiara covered in rubies? Part of the lost treasure of Narneth Elor, washed out of some secret hidey hole for us to find? Don’t you want to make certain? Here,” she said, holding out the torch for Lak. “Go check.”

Lak looked at the wizard for a moment, his expression doubtful, then he sighed and grabbed the torch. “Come on,” the small man grumbled at his larger companion, trudging down the tunnel. “Let’s go see what she’s talking about.”

The two men took the light with them, leaving the wizard and her two prisoners in the ever-deepening darkness, and splashed through the slime. Pilos noticed it had risen slightly and had become shallow water.

Now, the young priest thought as he struggled to his feet, my only chance.

Pilos was up on one knee, trying to decide whether to slam himself into the wizard first to incapacitate her and stop her from using magic, or if doing so would give the two men too much time to return and catch up to him. Then the woman was beside him, her mouth close to his ear. Pilos wanted to bash his forehead into hers, possibly stunning her, but her words stopped him.

“Don’t move,” she whispered. “Let them get a little farther away first, or they will hear us.”

The Abreeant gaped at her, though all he could see was the silhouette of her head. He opened his mouth to ask her what in the Nine Hells she was talking about, but she placed a finger on his lips, shushing him.

“Trust me,” she said.

“Where is this thing?” Lak called from the distance. “We don’t see any treasure!”

“I don’t think you’ve gone far enough yet,” the wizard called. “It was really a ways down there.”

Pilos wasn’t sure, but he thought he caught the sound of some disgruntled swearing. He waited, though, his heart pounding, wondering what the woman intended.

Finally, after another interminable moment, his captor said, “Now. Head for the stairs, as quietly as you can. No matter what happens, don’t stop, don’t turn around.”

Pilos still didn’t understand, but he didn’t object as she helped him to his feet. He began to walk in the direction of the stairs, feet shuffling. His blind movements made splashing sounds like a roaring torrent in his ears.

In the distance, Pilos heard Lak shout, “Hey!” and he made the mistake of turning to peer over his shoulder. He could make out the silhouette of both Maquillon and the woman directly behind him, their outlines illuminated by the glow of the distant torch, which was growing stronger. “What are you doing back there?” the small man shouted.

“Damn,” the wizard said from right behind Pilos. “Move it, you two,” she muttered. “Get up those steps.”’-

Pilos turned back to the task at hand, his heart threatening to leap out of his chest. He tried to take a few more steps, then slammed face-first into solid stone. He sat down with a grunt of pain, tasting blood on his lip and realizing that he had missed the smaller opening at the end of the tunnel. Right behind him, Quill nearly toppled over him, and the wizard collided with both of them.

“Don’t stop!” she said, scrabbling around in the dark, trying to help them to their feet. “Get through the gate!”

Pilos could hear running footsteps behind them, but he was too afraid to turn around to see how close their pursuers were. Instead, he felt his way along the stone wall, sensing Quill frantically shoving him from behind. When he suddenly felt space in front of him, he darted forward, fighting against the water, which was nearly up to his knees. Three or four paces beyond the barrier, he crashed against the partially open gate, badly bruising his shoulder. He grunted in pain again as the gate creaked and swung almost completely shut. Quill bumped into him again from behind, and the man gave an urgent, almost frantic grunt, urging Pilos to keep moving.

Blessed Brightwater! Pilos thought, trying to wedge his shoulder between the gate and its frame so he could slip past it. Hold your ever-loving horses!

Finally he shifted enough to nudge the gate open and stumbled past the barrier, Quill right on his tail. Blind, Pilos continued forward until he struck the first submerged step with his toe and lost his balance, careening forward and slamming himself against the rough edges of the stairs.

Gods! the priest swore as he wailed in pain, for Quill tumbled on top of him once more, multiplying the injury. Next time, he thought miserably, you can go first.

The priest heard the harsh clang of the gate closing behind him, and he struggled to sit up and look back. Lak and Borth were perhaps thirty paces away, charging as fast as they could toward the three of them, fighting against the deepening water. The wizard was fumbling with the lock, trying to seal the barrier shut against the two men.

“Damn it, Laithe, what are you doing?” Lak demanded as he splashed along, closing the gap.

“Open that gate!” he yelled. “This isn’t funny!”

Just as the wizard managed to snap the lock shut, Lak reached for her, Borth a few steps behind. The small man grabbed for the wizard but just missed her as she leaped back, out of reach. His face wedged between two of the bars of the gate, Lak stared at her, looking demonic in his rage. “I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but open it, now!” he snarled.

Borth reached past his companion and grabbed the bars of the gate, rattling them furiously. “Laithe,” the bigger man said, a different edge to his voice. “Laithe, please unlock this gate. Whatever game you’re playing, it’s time to stop and let us through.”

Pilos felt the water rising against him where he was still sprawled out on the steps. He felt a twinge of guilt at the thought of leaving the men locked behind that gate, but he banished it. They were ready to leave us there, he reminded himself.

Laithe moved to help Pilos and Quill to their feet, removing their gags as she did so.

As soon as the wad of cloth was out of his mouth, Quill began demanding an explanation. “What’s going on? Why are you helping us? Unlock these manacles!”

“Hush, Maquillon!” Laithe scolded. “Be thankful I let you come along at all,” the woman said, nodding her head toward the two men, who were frantically trying to yank the gate free. “After what you did to Xaphira, I had half a mind to leave you back there with them.”

“Laithe!” Lak screamed, shaking the gate with his entire body. “Laithe, please!”

The wizard studiously ignored the two men and said, “I don’t think they brought the keys for those manacles, I’m sorry to say. I guess they didn’t expect

to need to unlock them ever again. You’ll have to manage as best as you can on the stairs until we find a way to get them off.” Then she turned to Pilos and said, “Can you conjure up one of those magical lights Vambran and Kovrim are so fond of? Otherwise, we’ll be climbing the stairs in the dark.”

Pilos gaped at the woman, realizing at last. “Hetta?” he said softly, suddenly overjoyed.

The wizard smiled. “Yes, child. It’s me.” And she held up her hand, showing the ruby ring on her finger. “She started playing with the ring, and I took a chance. She’s trapped in the stone, mad as a hornet, but she doesn’t get her body back until I say so.”