A Triumph of Souls (40 page)

With Ehomba still leading, they took turns crawling through. The drain opened into a grooved, stone-faced flood-control channel
that ran the length of a spacious courtyard. Thus concealed below ground level, they were able to approach close to the back
of the keep itself without being seen.

Approaching whistling forced them to halt, trapped with little more than the shadow of the building for cover. If they were
discovered here, inside the main wall but outside the keep, they would have no choice but to retreat back the way they had
come, knowing that the castle’s defenders would subsequently be alert to any further encroachment and thereby making a renewed
intrusion far more difficult. The whistling intensified and grew nearer. Simna silently removed his knife from his belt, only
to have Ehomba put one hand on the swordsman’s wrist and a long finger to his lips.

Around the corner sauntered a member of the household staff. Enjoying the windless, invigorating night air and oblivious to
his immediate surroundings, he was on his way to work in the castle scullery when he blundered into the travelers. Stepping
forward in a single stride, Ehomba put his right forearm around the man’s neck and
pulled, lifting and squeezing at the same time. In utter silence, the startled kitchen aide reached up with both hands to
claw at his assailant’s forearm. His eyes bulged and his lips worked, but, devoid of air from his lungs, no sound emerged.

Slowly, as if he were falling into a deep and gentle sleep, his eyes closed and his flailing hands and twitching body went
limp. Without ever removing his forearm from the man’s neck, Ehomba gently lowered him to the ground. Simna stepped forward
to whisper admiringly.

“That’s a fine move for a peaceful herdsman to know.”

“Sometimes it is necessary to restrain a frolicsome calf from hurting itself.” Almost invisible in the shadows, Ehomba moved
forward, his sandals barely whispering across the courtyard flagstones. “There was no reason to kill him. He will sleep until
morning and wake with nothing worse than a sore throat.”

A grinning Simna silently sheathed his knife. “It’s a kindly invader you are, long bruther. If all my adversaries were as
considerate as you, I’d have fewer scars in embarrassing places.”

“So you would if you had led a more restrained life.” Finding a wooden door, the herdsman tried the iron latch. It opened
at a touch, with an agreeable absence of noise.

They were in.

It was a storeroom of some kind, piled high with crates and containers of household goods. Though virtually pitch-black inside,
there was among their company one for whom poor light and even the near absence thereof posed no obstacle. Following close
behind Ahlitah, they made their way through the storeroom and into a hall beyond.

“Unless the interior layout of this pile is utterly different from every palace I’ve ever been in, there should be some kind
of central chamber or meeting place.” Simna gestured forward. Beyond the storeroom, feeble but adequate light filtered in
through distant windows and ports, allowing them to advance with greater confidence. Once again Ehomba took the lead.

Sounds drifted down to them from the upper reaches of the fortress, but they were isolated and few. This late at night and
this early in the morning, few denizens of the castle were stirring. Guards patrolled the main gates and outer wall, not the
interior living quarters. Ehomba was concerned about the possibility of encountering free-roaming dogs but, oddly, none were
about. Despite his interminable curiosity it was, however, a problem to which he could at the moment devote but little thought.

“Here, this way.” Advancing, the herdsman gestured for the others to follow him to the left. Proceeding silently through a
travertine-trimmed archway, they found themselves in the high-ceilinged, central chamber whose existence Simna had earlier
propounded.

It was utterly silent. Moonlight entered through stained-glass windows of unsettling motif high above the floor. The swordsman
was excited to discover that the floor was paved not with slabs of granite or even marble, but with semiprecious stone such
as rhodochrosite and lapis, agate and onyx. There
was
treasure here; ample treasure. He could smell it.

“Now all we have to do is find the room where the Visioness is held,” Ehomba whispered. “We will take a servant prisoner and
seek the information from him.” His voice was low and tight with expectancy. “Simna and I
have dealt with guards before. With luck, we will be able to spirit her out of the castle and back along the route we used
to enter. By daybreak we will be away from the city and safely in among the mountains.”

“Hoy, that sounds grand, bruther. But what about the treasure?” Deeply concerned with other matters, Simna hovered close to
his lanky companion.

“The Visioness first,” Ehomba reminded him tautly. “When we have her, then we will discuss the matter of treasure. Better
to worry now about guards, and whether this Hymneth the Possessed sleeps near at hand to the one called Themaryl.”

“Tonight, he does not sleep!” The booming voice was shockingly loud and immediate.

Illumination flooded the audience chamber as the fifty fine lamps that lined the enclosing walls and hung from the high ceiling
came simultaneously to life, filling the imposing room with light. Whirling as one, the four travelers found themselves staring
at the far end of the chamber. There was a throne there, raised up on a high but modest dais. Seated on the throne was a towering,
striking figure clad from head to foot in burnished armor of florid design and elegant execution. Bejeweled floor lamps of
solid malachite blazed on either side of the chiseled seat of state, their light glimmering off the gold and azure armor.

From beneath a helmet of alloyed red and green gold, eyes blazed with no less intensity than the plethora of dazzling lamps.
One mailed arm was upraised. As it lowered slightly, so did the light of the fifty lamps, reducing the blinding brilliance
that flushed the chamber to a more tolerable level. Straight-backed and steely-eyed, white of
hair and lean of muscle, a venerable soldier-sage stood to the left of the throne and slightly to its rear. Near the foot
of the splendid dais fluttered two ominous, independently hovering puffs of malevolent black vapor.

The intruders scanned entrances and alcoves, but the rest of the chamber was deserted. There were no concealed guards, no
approaching platoons of heavily armored soldiers, no murderous dogs snarling and snapping madly at the ends of handlers’ chains.
Only the imposing figure seated on the dais, and the single venerable attendant.

Simna’s hand drifted away from his sword. The black litah rose slowly from his crouch. Around them, saturated wicks flickered
and sputtered softly, fed by finely sieved and blended oils. Ehomba searched the helmet-shrouded eyes of the towering figure
seated on the throne, and those same deep-set, intelligent eyes gazed unblinkingly back.

“‘A master of the necromantic arts,’ the Worm said. ‘A questioner of all that is unanswered.’” Leaning forward slightly on
the dais, Hymneth the Possessed, Lord of Ehl-Larimar and Supreme Ruler of the central Aurreal coast all the way from the Wall
of Motops to the frozen northlands, leaned his chin on his fist as he considered the taller of the two humans standing before
him. “Have you really come from all the way across the Semordria, the eastern ocean?”

It took Simna a moment to find his voice. Swallowing hard but uncowed, he boldly took a step forward. “Not only from across
the Semordria, but from far to the south as well.”

The armored specter ignored the swordsman. For Hymneth, Simna ibn Sind did not exist. Nor, except as transitory curiosities,
did Hunkapa Aub or the black litah. He
had words only for the tall, slim, spear-wielding figure clad in simple shirt and kilt who met his gaze without flinching.

“I must say that you don’t look the part.” After holding the stare for another long, thoughtful moment, the Possessed sighed
and sat back on his throne, dropping his arms to the sculpted dragon-headed rests. “After all this waiting, it’s something
of a disappointment. However, when it comes to reading tomorrows, even the Worm is not omnipotent.”

“By Gosthenhark, we’re due some respect here for what we’ve done!” Insults Simna could deal with, but he could not and would
not be ignored. “This is my friend the Naumkib Etjole Ehomba, who comes from a land so far to the east and south you cannot
conceive of the distance.”

“Can’t I?” Already, Hymneth was sounding bored.

“He is a wizard of inestimable wisdom and power, controlling forces you cannot hope to defeat.” Straightening proudly, the
swordsman touched a thumb to his chest. “I am Simna ibn Sind, virtuoso of blades and sixth-degree adept in the warrior arts
of my homeland. We have not come all this way, defeating dangers and overcoming obstacles beyond your imagining, to be treated
with contempt. We mean to have from you the Visioness Themaryl of Laconda, unwillingly abducted from her family and home,
and return her to her people.” He took a step back and then added hastily, “And whatever treasure of yours we can carry off
with us as well.”

Hymneth the Possessed nodded slowly, his posture and attitude indicative of a weary patience. The senior soldier at his side
remained standing at attention, having moved not a muscle or, insofar as Ehomba could tell, an eye, during
the entire confrontation. As for the amorphous blobs of black effluvium, Ehomba knew what they were.

“Well spoken,” the Lord of Ehl-Larimar deigned to comment. “While I generally dislike volubility in my soldiers, you exhibit
the kind of blind and dumb courage that can sometimes prove valuable. I might have use for you.” Before a defiant Simna could
reply, Hymneth returned his attention to the silently watching Ehomba.

“When first I was warned of your coming, I was concerned. Not afraid, mind, or worried, but concerned. It is a foolish man
who is not concerned with the unknown. This consideration troubled my thoughts, and became so persistent as to unsettle my
sleep. Then, things changed. Or rather, something of great importance changed. So much so that it no longer became a matter
of interest to me whether you reached Ehl-Larimar or not.” Behind the helmet there surfaced the suggestion of a smile.

“This came about because I became immune to anything you could do. Believe me, when the change took place it was a revelation
as welcome as it was surprising.” He leaned his head slightly to one side. “I look forward with complete indifference to whatever
you may choose to do next.”

Simna whispered tersely to his laconic friend. “He’s bluffing. No matter how powerful he is, he knows nothing of our strengths
or powers. Therefore he can’t be as disinterested as he says.” When Ehomba did not comment, the swordsman decided to go on
the offensive. Raising his voice, he challenged the armored figure slumping on the throne.

“If you think you can intimidate us with words, then you’ve no idea of what we’ve gone through in the getting
here.” His fingers slid meaningfully to the hilt of his sword. “It doesn’t matter if you’re alone except for that old menial
and a couple of black puffballs, or if your whole army is waiting just outside this room. We demand that the Visioness Themaryl
be brought before us—and that’s just for a start.”

The helmeted skull nodded slowly. “As you will see, I can be quite an agreeable fellow.” Turning slightly to his right, he
gestured toward the shadows. “There is no need to send for her. She’s right here.”

From out of the darkness strode the abducted enchantress of far-distant Laconda. Trailing pale blue chiffon and silk, her
flowing tresses bound up in a snood of gold wire set with sapphires and tourmalines, she seemed to glide across the floor
toward the dais. Having been smitten with her aspect in a vision, Simna was no less overwhelmed by her loveliness in person.
Though he had known many comely women, they were as thistles compared to the radiant rose that now stood before him.

Commanded to appear, he expected her to halt well short of the throne. She did not. As he searched for hidden chains or restraints,
she mounted the dais until she was standing directly alongside the throne itself. Reaching out, she placed one hand on the
metal-clad shoulder of Hymneth the Possessed. The swordsman hunted in vain for evidence of handcuffs or leg shackles.

And then she smiled.

Simna’s lower jaw dropped. Beside him, Ehomba said nothing. Hunkapa Aub and Ahlitah waited behind the two men, confused and
uncertain, not knowing how to react or what to do next.

To say that Hymneth was enjoying the effect the Visioness’s
actions had on his visitors was to understate the delight he hardly showed. “As I told you, something of a transformation
has taken place here in Ehl-Larimar.” Without taking his eyes from the stunned intruders, he murmured encouragingly to the
woman standing by his side. “Tell them—my dear.”

As it had been in the vision, her voice was molten gold, each syllable a chord in an infinite celestial cantata. “I am sorry
if you have gone to much trouble. It is true that when I was abducted by Hymneth I was overflowing with hatred for him and
all that he might stand for. Brave men and women died on my behalf, trying to liberate me. For that I am now and forever will
be sorry. At the time and for many months thereafter I grieved for them even as I hoped another might come who would deliver
me.

“Imprisoned here, a ‘guest’ who was not permitted to leave, I was well treated. I kept my own counsel, and nursed my anger
and loathing, until eventually it became a thing separate and apart from me. Once that happened, I was able to stand back
from it and consider more dispassionately my surroundings. Only then was I able to bring myself even to speak civilly with
my captor. Only then did I come to appreciate his profound qualities.”

“Profound qual—“ Simna whirled on Ehomba. “Bruther, why don’t you say something? Are you hearing this?”

Glancing down, the herdsman nodded. “I am hearing it, friend Simna.”