Dark Sun: Prism Pentad 4 - Obsidian Oracle (16 page)

Agis's brow rose, and Tithian knew his friend also found the tribe names oddly familiar.
Jo'orsh and Sa'ram were the dwarven knights who had stolen the Dark Lens from the Pristine
Tower. The similarity between their names and those of the two tribes could hardly be
coincidence, but the king did not have time to puzzle over the relationship.

Another giant pointed at Tithian and Agis. “What about them?” he asked. “We can't just
kill Balk's spies. We must also punish the city for sending them.”

Tithian turned to face the giant. “I can solve that problem for you,” he said. “We aren't
Balkan spies- or even Saram spies. We came to help you.”

This sent the giants into hysterics. The tempest of rumbling laughter did not sound so
different from a massive rockslide.

“What do ye think yer doing?” Kester demanded, climbing over Patch's neck. “Getting them
to spare us will be hard enough without fillin' their heads with such nonsense.”

“It isn't nonsense,” the king hissed. “And we stand a better chance with my strategy than
by begging for our lives like terrified slaves.”

“What do you know about bargaining with giants?” asked Nymos.

“More than you know about negotiating with monarchs,” Tithian replied. “I doubt any of you
could have talked King Andropinis into lending him a fleet.” When no one rebutted his
claim, he looked to Agis and added, “If you want to leave here alive, let me handle this.”

The noble gave a reluctant nod, then followed dose behind Tithian as the king moved toward
Mag'r. The sachem raised a hand to silence his laughing tribesmen, then asked, “Do you
have any more jokes to tell before I kill you?”

“Considering the circumstances, I would think the clans of the Joorsh would welcome help,”
Tithian countered.

“What can you do to help us?” chuckled the giant, waving a massive hand at Tithian's
glowing dagger. “Drill a hole in the Saram castle with your flying needle?”

“Of course not,” Tithian replied. “I have already done much more than that. Haven't you
heard how my fleet lured the Saram into the Strait of Baza, where we slew many beastheads?”

A giant seated to Nuta's left called, “You lost many ships!” He raised all the fingers on
both hands for his companions to see, then looked back to Tithian. “The Ewe Clan watched
the whole battle. You didn't win.”

The chief who had spoken was far from a powerful specimen of his race. He had limbs as
skinny as the trunks of faro trees, and the sunken cheeks of one who seldom went to bed
with a full belly. The tattoo on his brow depicted the scrawny figure of a sheep.

“Our goal was not to win,” Tithian said. “It was merely to draw the beastheads into
battle, so a stronger force could ambush them outside the protection of their castle.
Apparently, we erred in thinking the Ewe Clan would be brave enough to take advantage of
our plan.”

The chief of the Ewe Clan scowled at the affront, then tore a boulder off the slope behind
him. “The Ewes are as brave as any clan!” he thundered, raising his arm.

“Your insults will get us all killed!” Agis hissed.

The noble crouched with flexed legs, preparing to dive for cover, but Mag'r was on his
feet instantly. “Orl!” the sachem bellowed. “Put that rock down!”

Tithian pulled Agis back to his full height. “You mustn't show fear,” he said, smirking at
the noble. “It makes us look weak.”

With that, Tithian gave Orl an imperious stare. The giant looked away, then hurled the
boulder down the length of the canyon and out over the Sea of Silt.

“Nobody told me to help the Balican ships,” Orl grumbled, giving Mag'r a repentant glance.
“But we would have. We're not afraid to fight.”

Mag'r grunted his acceptance of the apology, then returned to his seat and fixed his gaze
on Tithian. “King Andropinis promised to stay out of our war,” he said. “Why did he attack
the Saram?”

“He didn't,” Tithian replied.

Mag'r frowned at this. “But you said-”

“That
my
fleet attacked the Saram,” Tithian corrected. “And I'm not Balican.”

“He's lying, Sachem,” said Orl. “That was a Balican fleet, or I'm the chief of the Iguana
Clan.”

“They
were
Balican ships,” Tithian admitted. “I hired them from King Andropinis. But it was a Tyrian
fleet, since it was under my command, and I am King Tithian of Tyr.”

“Them ships sailed from Balk,” said Nuta. “So them ships Balican, no matter what you are.”

“Maybe, and maybe not,” said Mag'r, raising a hand for the chief to be quiet. “Let's say
the fleet was Tyrian, King Tithian. What interest does Tyr have in attacking the Saram?”

“Yours is not the only tribe they have robbed,” the king replied. “They have something as
valuable to my city as the Oracle is to the Joorsh.”

“What?” demanded Nuta.

Tithian smiled. “I'd be a fool to tell you that. You might decide you want it for
yourself,” he replied. “But from what I've heard here today, it seems clear the beastheads
are hoarding people and artifacts that possess powerful magic. What for, I wonder? So they
can rule the Sea of Silt?”

A hush fell over the canyon, then Mag'r leaned down to inspect the king and his companions
more closely. “No one rules the Sea of Silt,” he said.

“Not now, perhaps,” replied the king. “But with what they stole from Tyr...” He let the
sentence trail off. After a moment's pause, he added, “Let's just say it would be better
for both your tribe and my city to work together to make sure they don't keep it.”

The giant chiefs muttered quiet comments to each other, studying Tithian and shaking their
heads suspiciously. Mag'r allowed the murmur to continue for a moment, then said, “Good
story, but I have no reason to believe you.”

“Perhaps you'd believe us if you knew the artifact had come from the Pristine Tower,” said
Agis.

Tithian cringed, for the noble was gambling that just because their tribes were named
after the thieves who had stolen the Dark Lens from the Pristine Tower, the giants would
know what the tower was. Agis's strategy seemed to work, however. A squall of concerned
whispers rose from the entire gathering of giants, and Mag'r scowled at his captives
suspiciously. “What do you know of the Pristine Tower?” he demanded.

“Very little, save that the legends claim my amulet came from there,” Tithian lied. He
cast an annoyed glance at Agis, then used the Way to send a message:

Your gamble was a bold one, but unnecessary. I have matters well under control.

I'll believe that when they let us go,
the noble replied. Despite his acerbic comment, Agis did not voice any further doubts.

When Sachem Mag'r accepted Tithian's explanation without further inquiry, the king
continued, “Andropinis loaned me a fleet because he believed what I said. If he was
concerned enough to risk his ships, perhaps you should worry, too. The Saram must conquer
you before they capture Balk.”

“No one will conquer the Joorsh!” protested Orl.

Several other giants voiced their agreement, but Mag'r remained thoughtful and studied his
chiefs for several moments. Finally, he raised his hand for silence and looked at Tithian
with something other than spite in his eyes.

“If
we let you live, how will you help us beat the Saram?” the sachem asked.

Tithian smiled. “That's for us to decide together,” he said smoothly. “Perhaps your army
can lure the Saram out to do battle while we sneak into their castle. We'll steal what we
came for, as well as rescue the Oracle for you.”

Mag'r shook his head. “We'll have to think of another plan,” he said. “You're too small to
carry the Oracle.”

Tithian breathed a sigh of relief. “Don't worry about that. Together, Agis and I can lift
even the largest giant here,” he said, laying a hand on Agis's shoulder. “Isn't that
right, my friend?”

“If we have to,” the noble replied, stepping away from the king's grasp.
But that doesn't mean we're friends.

As the skiff crept around the craggy point, an unexpected wisp of dank air wafted over
Agis's face. In the blackness of the night, it took him a moment to locate the source of
the breeze: the gaping mouth of a grotto, less than a dozen yards away.

The cave opened into the base of a rugged peninsula, a stony bluff that rose straight out
of the Sea of Silt. From Agis's perspective, its sheer cliffs appeared to stretch clear to
the sky, but the noble knew better. Earlier that night, as Kester had poled the skiff
across the dark bay, he had seen a ring of lofty ramparts crowning the summit. The walls
stood twice as tall as a giant, with flying turrets at every bend and jagged crenelations
capping the entire length.

Agis motioned toward the shadowy cavern. “This one looks small enough,” he whispered.
“Let's see where it goes.”

Nymos raised his narrow snout and sniffed at the draft, then a shudder ran down the entire
length of his serpentine neck. “That wouldn't be wise,” he said.

“There's a dreadful odor inside.”

“What's it comin' from?” demanded Kester, using her plunging pole to hold the skiff
motionless.

“I'm not sure,” replied the jozhal. “But it's foul and savage. There's no other way to
describe it.”

“Whatever it is, I doubt it's any more savage than her,” said Tithian, looking up from his
duties as floater.

The king pointed at a low isthmus curving out from the forested hills of Lybdos to connect
with the rugged peninsula beneath which they hid. Directly behind the rocky neck, Ral's
golden disk hovered low on the horizon, silhouetting a chameleon-headed Saram against its
golden moonlight. She paced along the treacherous crest with great care, carefully
studying the placement of each step before taking it.

“The less time we give her to spot us, the better,” Tithian said. “Go into the cave.”

“Let's try another,” insisted Nymos. “Mag'r said the peninsula is honeycombed with
grottoes.”

“That may be, but it could take us all night to find the passage we need,” countered
Tithian. “We don't have time to look for a cave you think smells nice.”

“I agree,” said Agis.

“You see, we
can
work together,” said Tithian.

“Agreeing is not trusting,” warned the noble, his hand brushing a coil of giant-hair rope
that hung from his belt. As soon as Tithian's freedom was no longer necessary to the
company's safety, he would use that rope to bind the king-and this time, there would be a
choke loop to tighten at the first sign of trouble.

Tithian smiled at the noble's gesture, then said, “But you must admit, it won't be easy to
find another cavern like this. It's big enough to hide our skiff, yet small enough to keep
giants away from it while we're gone.”

“What does that matter?” objected Nymos. This plan is ludicrous. It'll never work."

“Don't ye start with that again,” growled Kester, pushing the skiff forward. “Sit down and
spare us yer ranting.”

They were all familiar with the jozhal's objections to the plan Tithian and Mag'r had
worked out. Upon hearing that the Saram citadel sat upon a peninsula riddled with
grottoes, and that caves opened both inside and outside the castle, the king had suggested
they might sneak inside through a subterranean passage. Nymos had immediately pointed out
that even giants were smart enough to seal off such a connection. Tithian had shrugged the
reptile off, assuring him-and the others-that he could break any Saram seal and rescue the
Oracle.

Mag'r had liked the idea, except that he wanted the companions to open the castle gates
for his warriors so that they could rescue the Oracle. To make sure Tithian and the others
kept their part of the bargain, the sachem had threatened to sink the
Shadow Viper
if the gates were not opened when he attacked at dawn.

As the skiff slipped into the grotto, it grew so dark that Agis could not see the bow of
the craft, much less anything that lay beyond. Still, he did not kindle a torch, fearing
that its flickering light would spill out of the cave mouth and draw the sentry's
attention to them. Instead, the noble borrowed Nymos's cane and knelt on the forward deck.
He swung the small rod slowly back and forth, searching for obstacles in front of the ship
and softly tapping the walls to keep track of them. They continued in this manner for many
minutes before a low rumble shook the cavern, stirring up a choking cloud of silt. So deep
and muffled was the sound that Agis felt it in the pit of his stomach more than he heard
it.

“Far enough!” hissed Nymos. His twitching tail thumped softly against the skiff's gunnels.

Kester stopped the boat, and Agis peered back toward the cavern exit. The noble saw
nothing but deep, profound darkness. “Perhaps we're in far enough to light a torch,” Agis
suggested.

The others agreed. Nymos fumbled about in the bottom of the boat for a moment, then passed
a rancid smelling torch forward.

"What about firer asked the noble.

“Allow me,” said Tithian. The king rummaged around in his satchel, then said, “Kester,
strike this stake over this plate.”

The noble heard what sounded like a stick being drawn over a rock wall, then the acrid
stench of brimstone filled his nose, and a white sparkle of light momentarily blinded him.
When his vision returned to normal, he held a burning brand. In the bottom of the boat lay
the greasy skin from which the torch oil had come, while Kester held a slate of white
pumice and a blackened stick in her hands.

Nymos snatched the implements from the tarek's hands and sniffed them with his twitching
nose. “Magic?” he asked, his tone covetous.

“Hardly,” replied Tithian. “A simple bard's trick.”

Kester retrieved her plunging pole from across the beam. “Magic or not, light is light,”
she said. “Now we can go on.”

The tarek pushed on.

By the light of the torch in his hand, Agis saw that a stain of milky white calcium coated
the ceiling of the grotto. Slender gray stalactites pierced the veneer in a hundred
places. The tips of the pendant spears had snapped off at a height half again that of a
man, leaving the ends sharp and jagged. The breakage puzzled the noble, but even after
studying the formations carefully, he could not determine what had caused it.