The Seascape Tattoo (31 page)

“Are you taking Kasha with you?” she asked, looking anxiously from one of them to the other in the glow of timelight.

“Yes.”

“Good,” she said. And then she looked at Aros. “Keep him safe.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

She kissed Silith. And then, impulsively, kissed Aros as well.

He felt dizzy.

*   *   *

The background light, the timelight, had faded almost to nothing.

Together, Aros and the general crept forward. At first they sidled along a wall and then moved down to all fours as the ceiling dropped. He had no idea how the general was finding his way through the gloom, but he never seemed to hesitate.

Then there was a glimmer ahead, and a shimmering radiance that grew brighter and wider, expanding as they approached. Silith stopped, and a moment later the great man's hand was on his shoulder. “This I've seen,” he said.

Wizard light lit the cavern mouth. Not far within was what looked like a heap of wire netting covering something Aros did recognize: a stone altar of a type used across many of the southeastern lands. He looked for bloodstains but saw none.

Aros asked, “Did you see it used?”

“No. They wanted me intimidated, not terrified.”

Aros was about to ask another question when he heard a scream. Seeking its source, he saw a man, muscular and stripped to the waist, dragged into the mouth of the cave, toward the netting.

The man was struggling, and if his arms had not been tied behind him and his feet shackled, Aros would have given him an excellent chance against the pair dragging him to the altar.

The netting stood up. It wobbled into the shape of a spherical cage, five-sided outlines with the altar in the center. Aros remembered something from his past and said, “Pentagrams. It's all pentagrams.”

“Does that matter?”

“I don't know. Wizards like pentagrams. Are you moved to interfere, sir?”

“Not yet,” the general whispered.

They chained the half-naked victim to the altar, which was of polished stone, with shackles positioned for a spread-eagle victim. They attached each wrist to an iron cuff. He managed to wrench an arm free and smash his fist into a captor's face before the arm was grappled down and anchored.

He tossed himself back and forth, heaving against the shackles, until his wrists bled with the effort and his lips were frothed.

Aros was simultaneously fascinated and horrified. Lights began to dance around the sacrificial platform, and, as Aros watched, the victim's skin began to glow … and then bubble. Aros watched him evaporate, skin and muscle and then organs, until there was nothing left but the skeleton.

But, hideously, the skeleton was still alive, the bones still moved on their own accord, thrashing as if in pain, still somehow sensate.

Aros and the general slid back from the edge.

“What is that?” Aros said.

“It's the power that shapes the time tunnels,” the general said.

How long have you known about this?
he wondered but asked instead, “Who are those people?”

“They are the ones who tried to kill me. Again.” His eyes burned. “I swore never to reveal this secret, but everything has changed now. Everything.” He looked at Aros directly. “What happens next depends on you, young man.”

“Me?”

“Yes. I am about to go against everything I have committed to for the last decade. When my son was taken from me, I swore revenge. I was filled with hatred for everything in the world except my good lady wife. I never thought anything could fill that void.”

“I think I understand.”

“I think you do. But you more than understand. Suddenly, you are here. And you have saved my life, twice. And saved the life of my wife and my friends.”

“General…,” Aros said. “I have never claimed to be your son.”

“My wife thinks you are, and Mijista is falling in love with you. You never claimed to be my son. But that doesn't mean we weren't intended to think so.” He gripped Aros's arm. “I ask you one question, and one question only, man to man. No lies, no games. I think you owe me that much.”

“And more,” Aros said.

The general nodded. For a moment there was no general and lieutenant. There was no elder and younger. Not even false father and faux son.

There were just two men, knowing that some things could not be known and prepared to settle for those that could be, as men have done since the beginning of time.

“Did you know about the attack on my family?” he asked, urgently.

Without hesitation, Aros replied, “On my life and honor, I did not.”

The general stared into him, holding his wrist as if taking his pulse, as if some force within him was trying to crawl into Aros to see the world through his eyes. The intensity of the gaze so strong it had an impact like a physical blow. He barely wanted to blink.

Then … the focus receded, and there in the dim light from below, Aros saw an old man, a man who had made too many mistakes, and one whose judgment of himself was almost too heavy to bear.

“You … would have died for me.”

“I saw a trick,” Aros said. “Something I might get away with. I wanted you and your family to live and saw a way to make it happen.”

The general shook his head. “I see in you what Jade sees,” he said. “The rest doesn't matter.”

He smiled. “And that means that nothing that has happened until now matters. But what happens now matters very much indeed.” His smile grew broader and colder. “I think Flaygod has work to do.”

 

THIRTY-THREE

The Tower

The night had grown cold, and as Neoloth walked the deserted streets with Shyena the Red Nun, he was very aware of every sound, every sight. Not just because these were things that might influence their plan's successful outcome, but because things could go very wrong indeed. This might be the very last night of his life.

In that case … perhaps it was time to appreciate the stars and the moon. The faint salt-ocean tang. The sounds of carts and tradesmen in the early morning, preparing for the day.

So many things, so little time. And he wondered if he had given them enough time and emphasis. Whether his striving for power, at all costs, had been the actions of a foolish man.

Here he was, rescuing a princess. The woman at his side was strong and useful and sensual, and she would take him as a mate.

Together, they would make quite a pair, capable of achieving … things undreamed.

But not for a moment had he seriously considered changing his path. Princess Tahlia ruled his heart, and he could only wonder about that. He had played a role, until the role had become him.

Shyena took him through the trade section of the city. “As you know, the royal family has secret escape tunnels built into the residence. There are also secret tunnels connecting the Tower to the outside, in case the family was ever captured and jailed there in war.”

“Stranger things have happened.”

She pulled them into shadow and watched a tavern across the road. It was dark. “I was fairly certain that it would be abandoned at this hour.”

Neoloth recognized the Happy Orc. He'd eaten there. “I know this place.”

“You think so?” She grinned at him and then hurried them across the street.

The front door was locked, but she produced a key and solved that problem swiftly. Neoloth slipped in.

The room had a smell of tallow and sour fat, with a trace of dried vomit and beer. The previous evening's revels must have been riotous. She led him through the dark room to the kitchen, where a single kitchen boy was curled in the corner on a makeshift bed, asleep.

She studied the boy for a moment and then they continued on. In the back of the shop, she tapped on the floor in a variety of spots until rewarded by a hollow “thump.”

The Red Nun bent and pressed the tip of a stiletto into a seam between two stones and levered one up. A loop of leather thong was anchored to a wooden panel beneath. When she pulled that, a ladder was exposed, leading down into darkness.

Neoloth felt the hair on the back of his neck burning. This was a hidden pathway to his princess? He had eaten in this tavern! He had been so close, had actually had an intuitive sense that something about this place was important … but had not followed his hunch. Anger boiled his blood.

The wizard followed her down into darkness. The tunnels beneath were dank and night-cold, the walls marked with bits of glowing fungus.

The Red Nun had brought with her one of the odd, small torches that seemed to make light without heat. She had shuttered its opening lens to make a narrower beam, and this was what carried them through the darkness.

He could do little save follow. She seemed to have a sense of where she was going, turning this way and that in the semidark until the tunnel began to rise. They followed the incline for perhaps a quarter of an hour, and then the tunnel came to an end.

“Shhh,” she said, and very cautiously opened the door. The room beyond was a weapons' repository. Coals glowed dully in a fireplace. The room was deserted.

“Come,” she said. She led them to a narrow staircase that wound up the wall a level, then to another stair leading into the Tower. Before they exited on that level, she stopped them and flattened against the wall.

“Now,” she said.

Neoloth opened a vial he had spent the last days preparing. It was filled with a yellow powder, and when he spilled it on the floor, he was careful not to inhale. He stroked a long tube against his talisman and then blew into the powder.

It puffed into the air in a little cloud, but neither dispersed nor settled back down. It was almost invisible in the darkness, but his eyes, darkness-adjusted, could see it slip around the corner like a large, vague caterpillar.

And now he heard the snoring sound. Near. The snores were interrupted by a strangled sound and then stopped. No sound at all.

The Red Nun peeked around the corner and nodded with satisfaction.

When Neoloth joined her, the guard was very dead, yellowish powder clotted under his nose. She slipped his keys off their ring. They tiptoed down the hall. Several cells on that floor, and Shyena peered into each before coming to the one she sought.

She opened the door. “Princess?” Shyena called. There was a single figure on the straw, asleep, and it stirred …

And was revealed as a young woman Neoloth had never seen. “Who are you?”

“Why, Drasilljah. You're with
her
?” The woman suddenly remembered something and concentrated. For an instant, her face flickered and became older, riven with wrinkles, and Neoloth was gob-smacked.

“That … is impressive,” he admitted once he managed to untangle his tongue. “We'll discuss spells later. Where is the princess?”

Drasilljah clutched his forearms. “Oh, sir! The princess was right. You did come for her. For us. I'm so sorry: you're too late. But you're with her?”

He felt an icy hand on his neck. “No, she's with me. Too late?”

“Yes. They took her away at dusk. There was nothing I could do.”

He looked at the Red Nun. “It could be true,” she said. “But she may still be alive. If they wish to use her royal blood in a ceremony, they will wait for dawn.”

“We have time, then,” he said. “We can get to her.”

“It is behind the wall,” Shyena said. “And in the tunnels. We will need help. Where is your barbarian?”

“I would guess him abed with his new paramour,” he said. “We can find him, I think. A simple locator spell should suffice. I tagged him.”

Neoloth sank to the floor and held the talisman. It glowed a bit, and then the glow diminished, its power nearly drained. But when he came out of the spell, his eyes were wide.

“He's already in the tunnels,” he said.

“How is that possible?” Drasilljah asked, astonished.

“Because he's Aros. If ever there was a spoiler, that is the man.”

Something had happened outside, something like a lightning strike. It momentarily shook the ground and lit up the sky outside the little window. Brass horns and screams, and suddenly the floor beneath them vibrated. The Tower was coming to life.

“What in the world?”

Shyena was staring out the window at the end of the corridor. Neoloth and Drasilljah were confused. “What? Who?” A fireball rose high, crested over the enormous wall in back of the capital.

“Aros,” he said.

 

THIRTY-FOUR

Escape

Aros and the general descended upon the guards like avenging demons. There were five of the unfortunates, and they stood no chance at all. The suddenness, violence, and efficiency of the two warriors were part of the problem, and the shock of seeing the general attacking them did the rest.

By the time the guards fully appreciated what was happening, swords were in their gullets and guts, and the uneven rock floor was slippery with their blood.

As his second man dropped, Aros spun to help the general, just in time to see two men attack him from opposite sides. With dazzling footwork, Silith eased between the two and sliced like a man peeling an apple, a long continuous cut that somehow wound between the two men, killing them both with a single stroke.

Aros wiped Flaygod on the gashed body of his second victim. A sense of satisfaction in a job well done and a sense of relief in surviving warred with an odd curiosity. “General,” he asked, an ugly thought stirring in his mind, “weren't these your men?”

“No,” he said. “Once they were, but they volunteered to work with the Hundred.”

“Didn't they think they were…,” he started to say,
working for you?
But he saw the haunted expression on Silith's face and thought that silence might be his best option.

“Get the others,” the general said, voice flat. Aros didn't argue. He seemed to be getting better at following orders these days.