Empire of the Worm (23 page)

That’s
optimistic
, Davril wanted to say.
There
probably won’t be any future generations.

He only patted Jeselri on the knee
and said, “We have people to meet.”

The two stood and turned their
backs to the prayers that washed against the walls so softly, yet with great
power. Davril remembered the singing of Algorad.
My true home
, he thought.
My
true people.
But would he be able to go there if the Worm won out? Would
not Uulos’s shadow block his access to Algorad, just as it prevented his father
and brothers from going there? There would be no afterlife for him, or for any
of the worshippers of the Light, not if Uulos endured.

There was still one hope, however,
and Davril clutched to it fervently as he and Jeselri walked through the dark,
silent halls, their guards escorting them in grim silence.

Jeselri was not silent. Something
was on his mind. “Of course, you know that not
all
my people have turned to the Light,” he said. “We have found
idols, altars—and some of our number have gone missing.”

Davril glanced at him sideways. “Idols
of Uulos, you mean.”

“Some are turning to Him, and
worshipping Him in secret.”

“Your people aren’t the only ones. We’ve
experienced the same problem, although not all of our people are so secretive. Some
openly support the Worm and encourage the rest of us to go to Him. They say
that if we renounce the Light Uulos will take us in and make war on us no
longer.”

“I’ve heard the same promises. All
empty, you know.”

“I know. If nothing else, their
brazenness alerted us as to who the Uulons were, and we have most behind bars
right now. The others are on the run—we think.”

Jeselri’s voice became throaty, and
his eyes flinty. “Then you were kinder to your traitors than I was to mine.”

Davril found his military
commanders and spymasters in the small chapel of the Light, studying the
weapons that had been blessed by the Jewel of the Sun. Two braziers in the
shapes of serpent heads had been left to heat and light the chamber, but the
coals were mere burning embers, making the serpent eyes and gaping maws glow
just faintly. Even in the dim light, the weapons about the altars of the
so-called Light shone. The military men were testing them, bending them, passing
them amongst each other. Even in their hardened faces, though, Davril could see
the reverence with which they held the sacred spears and bows.

The men quit fondling the weapons
when they saw Davril.

“They are impressive, my lord,”
said Nias Trihem, who had been a colonel under Emperor Davril Husan.

“Indeed,” said Gael Marcunis, who
had been a low general, one of General Hastus’s officers. “But will they be
enough to slay the Worm?”

“We know Uulos fears the Light,”
Davril said. “If we can pierce Him with these arrows and lances, if we can
penetrate Him to the core, then yes, I believe we can destroy Him.”

They studied him, trying to measure
whether he sent them on a suicide mission or not, as he had sent the men that
had guarded the Light-House from General Hastus. Davril stood firm under their
scrutiny. Turning to his spymasters, he said, “Our military arm is not strong
enough to defeat his forces in open combat. That’s why I will need your agents
most desperately.”

The spymasters nodded. “Our people
honeycomb the ranks of the Lerumites’ recruits,” said Rafeal Esryl, a
dark-haired, pot-bellied man who had been a gatherer of intelligence under
Davril and his father before him. Many men had undergone tortures unspeakable
under his hands, but his eyes held no remorse. “There is no way to know how
many of them have been turned, if any, but at my signal those still loyal to us
will turn on their fellows and incite chaos among the Lerumites and their
converts.”

“Good.” Davril turned to Desmon
Avini. “We’ll need General Hastus’s military encumbered.”

Desmon nodded, jowls warbling. “It
shall be, my lord. My own agents have infiltrated the army to its highest
levels. Some of the General’s right-hand men report to me, or sleep with women
who report to me, or boys, or . . . well, I have ears everywhere.”

“I need ears, but I also need muscle.”

“At my signal, the army will be thrown
into chaos. Uulos’s return has caused great doubt among the populace, and many
now oppose Him that had previously remained silent, even among the soldiery.”

“But it’s also caused up-swellings
of devotion,” Rafeal pointed out. “Those who were inclined to worship Him
before now have added reason, and added justification, and then there is the
sapping of individual will.”

Desmon did not argue. “My men are
sound,” was all he would say.

Davril considered his next words
carefully. He stared each of his men in the eye, then said, “It will have to be
enough. This will be our last chance to destroy Him. Our last chance of saving
everything we hold dear. I want you to make ready immediately. We strike
tomorrow.”

Jeselri approached the altar of Tiat-sumat
and ran a finger along one of the blessed spear-shafts. “I know what you told
the others, but you
truly
think these
things will slay the Worm?”

“I don’t know,” Davril said. “But I
believe they can. If we can pierce Him with enough of them, if we can penetrate
His darkness with enough Light, then yes, I believe we can hurt Him, maybe even
kill Him—at least drive Him from our world once more.”

They stared at each other, and dust
motes drifted through the room between them, catching the soft light that
emanated from the blessed swords and spears and arrows.

“If this fails, we are all dead,
and are souls condemned,” Jeselri said.

“It will not fail.”
If he does not believe me, he’ll have his
people rise against us in the night, just as the High Priest tried to do, and
deliver us to the Lerumites.
Davril had to force himself to breathe
normally.

“This will be a tricky battle,”
Jeselri went on. “Uulos holds every advantage.”

“We have surprise.”

“He has spies.”

“So do we.”

Silence. “I do not think the
blessed swords and spears and such will be enough, Davril. There are too few of
them.”

Davril tried not to grind his
teeth. “You know my plan, Jeselri. Our agents will cause chaos in our enemies’
ranks, then the vast portion of our army will strike, along with many of your
own people. We will overwhelm the General’s forces, while our priests use their
books to quicken the egg and weaken Uulos so that He cannot fight back. Then,
when the way is clear and there are none to oppose them, our men, the ones that
have been training, will use the blessed weapons to attack the Worm directly.
And He will die
.” Davril stared at
Jeselri. “It’s a good plan.”

Jeselri returned his stare. “And
after he is dead, the Avestines will be equals with you Niardans?”

“I’ve already made it law among my
generals and officers. Even if I die, your people will be raised up.”

Davril waited.

At last the Patriarch nodded. “I am
with you.”

Davril breathed out. “Come.” Ignoring
the trembling in his fingers, he left the room, his guards escorting him at a
reasonable distance, and Jeselri fell into step beside him. “It’ll be good to
breathe the fresh air again,” Davril said. “Not to be locked up here in the
tunnels.”

“I prefer the tunnels, actually,”
Jeselri said. “My people have developed an intolerance for wind.”

“Then dividing up the city won’t be
difficult when this is all done,” Davril smiled. “I’ll take the above-ground
and you the underground.” He imagined himself in his Palace one day in the
future, reading a book in the study when all of a sudden scuttling noises start
issuing from below. “Or perhaps not.”

They continued through the winding
halls, the ruins of ancient Sagrahab, and Davril noticed groups of people
gathered together in the larger chambers, or in the wider halls, each bowing to
a different altar. Sedremere was a city of a thousand gods, and each one seemed
to have found its faithful amongst the rebels. Davril saw dead chickens on some
of the altars, a dead goat on another, a sprinkle of flowers here, and a virgin
being deflowered there.

They reached the area that had been
reserved for the Order of the Serpent, and Jeselri accompanied him inside his
magnificent suite. Jeselri himself occupied quite an extravagant suite himself
some distance away.

Alyssa waited in the baths.

The bathing chamber was Alyssa’s
favorite place in the High Priest’s suite, and Davril didn’t blame her. Massive,
perhaps a hundred yards in diameter, it possessed a high, domed ceiling notched
with sun-shafts. Sunlight, undiminished from having bounced down a system of
mirrors, flooded into the chamber, sparking on still more mirrors, bathing the
room in warm, splendid light, turning the chamber into glowing gold. And it
was
golden. Every pillar, every wall,
shimmered with gold-leaf or was in fact cast from solid gold.

Surprisingly, it wasn’t the gold
that drew the eye, but the water. The majority of the room was sunken, so that
there was only one wide, leisurely door-level walkway around the circumference
of the room; beyond this border the floor dropped away into a series of pools
and oases. Jets of water gushed from golden serpents’ heads and filled a small,
steaming pool to the brim; the water cascaded down to more pools carved in the
shapes of bowled leaves, and the water in these pools overflowed to run down a
golden bas-relief of beautiful, naked, writhing women, the water shimmering on
their jutting golden breasts and flowing golden hair, their eyes made of
sparkling diamonds and their nipples gems. The water cascaded down those
shimmering walls, flowed over those steaming pools, until finally it trickled
down to the lowest pool, the central pool, where only the High Priest and his
favored playthings would have been allowed, and there, her white skin glowing
pink with the heat, and steam wafting across to conceal her, then reveal her,
was Alyssa, naked and humming to herself, bathing.

Davril smiled. It was beginning to
feel natural, him returning to her. Sareth was gone. Hariban was gone. There
was no getting them back. But maybe, just maybe, Davril and Alyssa would get a
second chance.

Clearing his throat, Jeselri said,
“Perhaps I should leave you . . .”

“I won’t stop you.”

“We will meet later to discuss the
attack in detail.”

“I’ll find you,” Davril promised.

Jeselri swept from the room, his
guards following like trained shadows.

Davril dismissed his own guards. Alyssa’s
stood on the walkway, their backs to the pools, giving their mistress privacy.

Davril shrugged off his robe, tunic,
and unstrapped his sandals. Then, all but naked, he carefully descended via a
golden stairway into the pools. Here all was the pounding and surging of water,
steam and spray obscuring his vision, the warm droplets berating his skin.

Climbing down the narrow staircase,
he moved slowly with his bad leg. A sharp pain coursed up him every time he struck
it wrong, but he’d grown used to it over the years. The tricky part was not
slipping on the slick stairs. The sunlight glaring off the gold and making the
mist shine like glowing clouds disoriented him.

Dreamlike, he limped down those
stairs, tearing away his loincloth as he went. With the steam caressing his
skin, his pores opened, sweat beading from them. Heat flushed his face. From
time to time he caught glimpses of Alyssa, humming and lathering herself below.
He saw foam on her long, golden hair, a foamy strand curling around a jutting, round,
pink-nippled breast. Her blue-green eyes flashed, her lips smiled. A cloud of
foam glided down her slim belly, as though out of modesty, but then a passing
jet of water dissolved it. Errant beads of foam still glistened on her blond
mound.

Davril’s manhood led the way before
him.

The lowest pool was of course
situated in the mouth of a giant golden serpent, and the floor there was
reddish marble, making the water, once Davril got close enough, look like
blood, and the mist that roiled there pink and frothy.

He could hear her humming through
the mist. She appeared not to have seen him. He smiled, ignoring a twinge of
pain from his leg. At last he descended into that lowest pool, feeling the warm
water on his legs, and breathed out.

At the sound, Alyssa turned, her
eyes widening. “Davril!”

He laughed. “I didn’t really catch
you by surprise, did I?” He waded forward, his member still leading. Pink froth
beaded in the red-blond hair at its base.

She smiled. “Not quite . . .” Her
gaze lowered. “What is
that
?”

“A present for the empress of
Qazradan.”

He stepped closer, into the deeper
water, and his member looked to be swimming in warm blood. Alyssa came toward
him. She had been on the opposite side, in the shallower water, and now the
churning, blood-covered fluid came to right below her breasts. He reached her,
and his member pressed up against her stomach, angling upward. The contact felt
so good he had to restrain himself.

She smiled wider and wiggled
against him. She threw her lithe arms about him and embraced him, pressing his
member more firmly into her belly.

“I can feel your heartbeat . . .
down there,” she said.

“Alyssa . . .”

“Yes?”

He bent his head and kissed her. Her
lips were soft and warm, and her tongue darted playfully into his mouth.

He grabbed her hips and hoisted her
off her feet. She cried gleefully. Her legs opened, then encircled his waist. He
found her moist, hot crevice and impaled her. Her tight flesh enfolded him,
gripped him. He moaned. So did she. He pushed deeper. She squealed in his ear.

He pumped into her, slowly at first,
then harder, harder. Faster. She gripped his shoulders and pressed her breasts
against his chest. Her nipples were hard. Her lips pressed against his ear, and
he heard her soft cries, felt her hot breath against him. She bit at his
earlobe.