Lady of the Star Wind (20 page)

“Set the crown in the box.” Mark spun, aiming the yellowing light of his torch at the door. The great slab was sliding downward in fits and starts, grinding and grating. He shoved Rothan in the direction of the exit. “Move, or we’ll be trapped.”

Rothan stumbled toward the door, dropping the crown in the box and snapping the lid shut. Mark scrambled to follow him. As he passed the statue, he swore, reaching to grab the papyrus. Something, some deep instinct, told him he had to have whatever was written on that scroll. Tucking it in his waistband, he crawled at the best pace he could manage, desperate to get past the huge slab before it slammed shut. He heard a sound behind him. As he shoved the box under the door, he gazed at Khunarum’s face. The statue’s right hand had retracted to form a close-fisted salute over the heart.

What happened next shocked Mark so much he forgot all thoughts of self-preservation and escape.

The statue stood and took one pace forward. Khunarum’s eyes were alive, glowing. He stared straight at Mark and nodded once, majestically. The animals flanking him tossed their heads and growled. A voice rang in his head.

As commanded by the gods, my most precious artifacts have been sent into exile with my people, one to each of the Twenty Families for use either singly or in unison in dire times. I repay my debts of loyalty and now am done.

Rothan reached in from the corridor and dragged the box out of danger before yanking on Mark’s sleeve, yelling, “Come on, you’ll be crushed.”

Mark closed his eyes, rolled frantically out of the way, and the door slammed inches from his face. “Lords of Space.” He tried to forget his last glimpse of the occupants of the vault. “Close call.”

Rothan coughed. “Are you all right? Why did you hesitate? Were you stuck?”

Mark lay on the floor, breathing hard, the world spinning around him. He had
not
heard the voice of a man dead thirty centuries. Hallucination, nothing more mysterious, brought on by bad air in the small room. He staggered to his feet with Rothan’s help and fought the nausea in his gut, taking deep breaths. This place was too spooky for him. “I’m fine. Let’s get out of here. The tide won’t wait.”

With Rothan carrying the precious box, the two men retraced their steps as the small quakes continued. Once or twice, Mark had to stop and clutch at the walls to stay on his feet as a stronger tremor hit.

“These damn tunnels can’t take much more of this pounding,” Mark said after one jolting shake, as a portion of the wall ahead crumbled and fell apart. He took a few more steps, moving past a bend before halting in dismay. The waters were already coming up the corridor toward them. The water advanced and receded and advanced again. He retreated. “We can’t go back the way we came in.”

“The tunnel continued on to the right, beyond the vault.” Rothan reversed direction, sprinting the other way. “No time to lose!”

Mark ran down the corridor right behind him, dodging fallen stones and stumbling on the slick surface. Behind him, the water crept onward.

“Stairs!” Mark grabbed Rothan’s arm and ascended the damp, slimy, seaweed-strewn staircase. He hoped against hope it would lead them out of the maze of tunnels. Behind them, the water continued to rise, coming faster and faster. The swarm of quakes threatened to knock him off the precarious staircase. There were loud crashes as more portions of the tunnels collapsed. Then, so abruptly he almost plunged off the edge, the staircase ended in midair, hanging over the water. He steadied Rothan to keep him from falling into the harbor.

Mark gazed over the green water, ruins and wrecks now hidden under its deceptively serene surface. “Can you dive?”

“I never have.” Rothan pushed his hair out of his eyes with a subtly trembling hand. “When we were on a trading expedition in the jungles to the far south, one of the tribes we spent time with insisted Hutenen and I learn to swim so we could participate in a game played for honor. But to dive as you did at the tide pool—no.”

“We can’t stay here till the tide turns again. This building is going to come apart around us. All these centuries, and the damn thing shakes apart today!”

“It must be because I took the crown. I couldn’t complete the sacred incantation, remember?”

Mark didn’t care what was causing the old structure to self-destruct. He wanted to survive. “Yeah, well, here’s what we’re going to do. You better go in feet first and strike for the surface as soon as you hit. I’ll toss the box as close to you as I can, and then I’ll dive in. We’ll swim to shore together. Tide’s going in, so the current ought to carry us, making the trip less arduous.”

Rothan took a deep breath, then another.
 

“Don’t think about it too much,” Mark advised. While his companion focused on preparations for jumping into the water, he took the papyrus from his belt and stuffed it under the crown in the box for safekeeping.

Swearing or calling upon his gods for help, the captain took a giant step off the ledge, plunging into the murky green waters below. Mark had an anxious moment, waiting for his companion to reappear from the depths. Rothan was struggling a little, but he raised one arm and waved, so Mark heaved the wooden box out and followed it in a smooth dive, cutting through the water without raising much of a splash. He resurfaced. A few strokes brought him close to Rothan, floating with the aid of the box.

“Let’s get to dry land!” Mark got a mouthful of the salty water and spat it out.

“No arguments from me.” Rothan released his grip on the box, pushing it through the water to Mark before swimming, his strokes awkward and inefficient, but he made progress. Even with the handicap of the box, Mark had no problem matching the other man’s pace. He’d gotten a few yards away from the ruin when Rothan shouted and disappeared under the water, bobbing up again and trying to yell but getting water in his mouth. The current grabbed Mark a second later, sweeping them both sideways in the grip of a powerful riptide.

Rothan wasn’t panicking, but he fought to continue straight to the shore. Mark worked with the flow, overtook him, and yelled in his ear, “Go with it, don’t try to fight the current. We have to swim parallel to the shoreline till we can get clear.”

Mark managed to stay afloat himself, all the while encouraging his companion and keeping him from drowning. He also kept track of the precious wooden box. As he’d expected, the riptide lost its power a few hundred yards farther along the coast, and Mark was able to direct them both toward the shoreline. Now the tide worked in their favor, and after a few long moments, Mark washed up on the beach. Exhausted from the struggle, he forced himself to rise and check on Rothan, facedown in the foam.

As Mark rolled him over, the captain coughed, retching. Overhead Mark heard Lakht’s harsh cry. Shielding his eyes with one hand, he stared into the sky until he spotted the bird, and then he waved vigorously, hoping Sallea would see him through Lakht’s eyes.

Rothan leaned with his head on his knees. “I never want to swim again. Is the box safe?”

“Got it right here.” Mark tapped the lid.

“Open it, check the crown.” Leaning over, Rothan vomited copious quantities of seawater. He wiped his mouth. “We must not let the salt water corrode it.”

Mark worked the complicated latch and swung the lid open. The interior was tight and dry, the crown gleaming in the early morning sun, the parchment scroll nestled underneath.
 

Frowning, eyes narrowed, Rothan touched the note with one fingertip. “You took this too?”

“Yeah, I can’t explain why, but it seemed like a good idea at the time. Somebody made an effort to leave it there for anyone who came after the crown.” Maybe his unusual fixation on the scroll was why he’d had the hallucination about the long-dead king talking to him.

“Good point. I hope we can find someone to read it for us.”

“Here come the others.” Mark retrieved the scroll, put it back inside, and resealed the box.

Jagrahim led the charge over the beach at a gallop. The chief reined in his stallion with a swirl of sand and hit the beach to run the last few steps. “Are you all right?!”

“The ocean did its best, but we managed to survive.” Mark stepped aside to greet Sandy, who hugged him as if she intended to never let go.

“I wouldn’t have survived without you.” Rothan stood with help from two of the archers and Tia. “I owe you much. Nakhtiaar owes you much.”

“Glad to be of service.” Mark had never been comfortable accepting thanks. “What next? How do we get to your city to give the crown to your prince?”

Rothan gazed at the ocean for a moment as if hoping to find an answer, before pivoting to regard the ruined city. “I don’t know. We were ignorant about the season of storms in the Empty Lands. Yet we must journey home with all haste to ensure Hutenen survives whatever Farahna is scheming, or all this effort might be for naught. Any suggestions?” he asked Jagrahim.

The chieftain nodded. “Leave this to me, my lords. We’ll procure a fast ship for you and get you home faster than you came, if the sea gods favor you.”

“A ship?” Mark waved his hand at the harbor in front of them. “How can a ship put in here with all those ruins waiting under the surface to tear a hole in the hull?”

“Didn’t you say the city was forbidden territory?” Sandy asked.

“Indeed, and so it is. My people carry on an extensive trade from a secret harbor located on the coast two days’ ride from here. Our trading partners arrive on a regular schedule, or I can set a summons beacon if no ships are due this week.”

“What do you trade?” Mark’s assessment was that the Mikkonite chief possessed many secrets and relished surprising them one revelation at a time.

“The rest of the world craves our crimson and purple dyes to make themselves beautiful.” Jagrahim gestured at his robes, covered in multicolored whorls.
 

“You can’t get the spices we grow anywhere else,” Sallea said. “You tasted them in the cooking at our village. But, Father, the merchant captains want gold to transport passengers and drive hard bargains.”

“Problem solved.” Mark unfastened a side pocket on his fatigues and pulled out one of the gleaming coins from Khunarum’s vault. “There are a few more where this came from.”

Stroking his beard for a moment, Jagrahim pondered before giving his consent. “It is well. The bounty of Khunarum can pay to transport his crown and scepter.”

“Rothan and I reached the same decision, although we didn’t get the scepter.” Mark restored the coin to his pocket.

“But we must have that to cure my brother.” Tia’s eyes were wide as she looked from Rothan to Mark. “Why didn’t you take it as well as the crown?”

Rothan folded her hand in his. “The scepter wasn’t there, beloved. The gods favored us only so far.” He pointed at Sandy. “The Lady of the Star Wind can cure your brother’s ailment when we arrive home.”

The center of attention, Sandy said, “I probably can if the illness hasn’t progressed too far. I’ve got a few things in my bag equivalent to generics for organic poisons, but—”

Mark put his arm around her shoulder and leaned closer, whispering in her ear, “I wouldn’t say any more right now. Let’s evaluate the medical situation when we arrive.”

Rothan’s party left Amareten by the main gate after traversing the abandoned city again. Jagrahim insisted they stay in a tight formation and didn’t suggest any side trips. Sallea reopened the gate for them, and she and one man stayed behind to seal the portal with the secret rituals, rejoining the column later. After a day of riding along the coast, Jagrahim called for spending the night in a sheltered cove. Dinner consisted of plain but filling journey fare, after which Mark made a tour of the sentries on duty, checking their level of situational awareness before he allowed himself to drift to sleep with the sound of the waves in his ears.
 

He woke in the middle of the night, realizing Sandy wasn’t in her bedroll next to him. Anxious, he grabbed his blaster and prowled through the camp. She stood on the beach, gazing out to the horizon.

Relieved but concerned that she’d wandered off, he joined her. “Don’t take strolls on your own—it’s not safe. What are you doing out here in the middle of the night anyway?”

“I couldn’t sleep, so I got up to watch the waves and think.” She turned her head toward him. “You know how much I loved the water when we lived on Throne.”

“Thinking what? You’re freezing!” Mark took her in his arms, appalled at how chilled she’d gotten in the night air. He took off his borrowed cloak and wrapped her in it.

“Thinking about what it must have been like in the city, on the day when the earthquakes and the tidal waves hit. Did the residents have any forewarning? What else was going on? Jagrahim said the city had been at war. And something must have happened to Khunarum himself. No one has talked about him leaving the city.”

He didn’t want to think about the legendary king. “The city died a long time ago and probably not the way these people have heard the story told. Funny how events become distorted and altered over the centuries. Does it matter anymore? Let’s get back to the fire before you catch some local disease. I’m a lousy doctor, no training, remember?”

She accompanied him willingly, holding his hand. “Don’t you wonder about why the Travelers left the mirror and your ring in our house, not even locked away? Or what happened to all of the people?”