The Pearl Saga - Mistress of the Pearl Part 64

Surely Lujon would be there or, if not, close by.

The sauromician, whose name was Banne, took his prize through the hidden door in the rear wall of the cave, past two more sauromicians, up a flight of stone steps, past another three sauromicians, more in the corridor down which they trod. Banne shouted out to those who queried him. He turned to the left, the right, then left again, finally mounting another, wider set of stairs, pa.s.sing between still another set of sauromicians, through a corbeled archway and into the abbey proper.

At length, Banne brought Riane into Haamadi's inner sanctum. The blood-soaked carpet had been rolled up and placed against one wall, but the Ramahan Nesta's violated body was where Haamadi had left it. Though the archon was not in evidence, Lujon was there with Orujo and Krystren. The stench of death hung rankly in the thick atmosphere. Flies buzzed, congregating in the glistening cavities, feeding, laying eggs. No one save Krystren seemed to notice or to be in the least bit disturbed.

Banne asked for Haamadi.

"The archon is otherwise occupied," Lujon said, a.s.serting the authority he believed to be his. "Turn the prisoner so that we may see her face."

"Out of my way. I answer only to Haamadi." Banne was puffed up by his great good fortune.

Haamadi would reward him handsomely for his vigilance. Besides, he did not trust this Sarakkon, and to that end he conjured a Kyofu defensive spell which, though basic, was certainly enough to rebuff any possible attack from a Sarakkon.

"Ah, look what we have here!" Lujon had maneuvered so that he could see Riane's face. "We know this one."

"You do?"

Lujon nodded, at once seeing the need to be conciliatory to get what he wanted from this sauromician lout. "Her name is Riane. We encountered her in Axis Tyr when we strung the V'ornn regent up by his ankles and bled him dry."

"What do you know of her?" Banne looked dubious, but he was not yet ready to concede that Lujon was lying to gain some advantage.

Lujon flicked his wrist. "She is something of a sorceress."

"A Ramahan?"

"She is far more dangerous than any Ramahan I have yet met."

"How so?"

There was no possibility that Lujon would tell Banne that Riane had in her possession an infinity-blade. "Her repertory of spells is larger than even a konara thrice her age. Her sorcery may not even be Osoru in origin."

"I would know more of this."

"That could be arranged." Lujon saw that in response to his hand signal Orujo had stepped into Banne's field of view.

"All we would ask is a moment or two to study her," Orujo said.

Banne turned to him, laughing. "You cannot be serious, Sarakkon."

"Oh, but he is," Lujon said softly as he placed a hand on the side of Banne's neck. Using the necromancy he had learned from Varda, he broke through the feeble defensive spell Banne had erected.

Temporarily stopping the flow of blood to the sauromician's carotid artery made him lose consciousness.

Lujon caught him as he collapsed, while Orujo gathered Riane into his arms.

"What shall we do with her?" Orujo asked.

Lujon did not immediately answer. He had pulled off Banne's protective glove, grasped his black sixth finger and, wrenching it with a small grunt, broke the bones and twisted it off. Within moments, the sauromician shriveled to a pile of white dust.

"Haamadi will be cross with you," Orujo said with ironic understatement.

Lujon grunted. "We no longer care about Haamadi." He briskly slapped his hands together to rid them of the residue. "We have the ninth banestone.""And this one?" Orujo hefted Riane. "The young sorceress?"

"Riane? Kill her."

Orujo locked the crook of his elbow against Riane's throat. Krystren wondered what she should do.

She could not let an innocent girl be cold-bloodedly murdered, but she did not see how she could stop it without giving herself away.

A reprieve of sorts came from the most unlikely source. Lujon said, "Wait a moment, we have a better idea." He gestured. "Put Riane down and step away."

Unhesitatingly, Orujo did as he was ordered.

Lujon, grinning his feral grin, took Krystren's hand in his. "Now is your chance, my dear, to show us where your loyalty lies. If you mean what you say, if you wish to be a part of us, then kill this girl." He kissed the back of her hand, smiled almost kindly into her eyes. "We promise you that when you do we will trust you absolutely."

Two of the Omaline's crew, muscular, mustachioed, tattooed, smelling of spice and brine and dried searay were leaning against the starboard taffrail, smoking laaga sticks, so it took Eleana longer than she had antic.i.p.ated to get back aboard. Once on deck, another vexing delay ensued. A Sarakkon sat against the open hatch of the aft companionway polishing his high s.h.a.green boots with wax derived from the distilled oil of onaga, a deep-water snapper.

She waited, willing herself to be patient, until, called by the second mate, he pulled on his boots and went about his late-morning ch.o.r.es. Whipping through the hatchway while no one was looking, she half slid down the companionway stairs, made her way to the captain's cabin where she knew Lujon had been quartered during the voyage from Axis Tyr.

The door was locked. She knelt down and studied the keyhole up close. Several times during the voyage, she had observed Lujon coming and going from the cabin. He was always careful to lock the door after him. She had seen the size and shape of the key, had seen how he turned it in the lock and, therefore, had an essential understanding of what type of lock she was dealing with.

One of her main a.s.signments when she was with the Resistance had been getting in and out of facilities within Axis Tyr. She had been trained in the intricacies of locks and keys by an old veteran whose legs had been severed by a Khagggun shock-sword. She had an apt.i.tude for it, for opening locks required both a steady hand and an intuitive mind. "Locks are alive," her mentor had told her. "Whether they are opened with Kundalan bronze keys or V'ornn photon keys, they respond to your affinity for them."

Eleana put her hand on the lock, tracing its outline with her fingertips. The shouts of the crew, the call of the seabirds, the creaking of seasoned timbers, the wind singing through the rigging drifted down the companionway. The heady spiciness of the narrow corridor's oiled wood paneling in her nostrils. She centered herself.

Inserting a thin strip of alloy into the keyhole, she closed her eyes, pictured in her mind the key. It had five indentations. Each one of them corresponded to a base pin inside the lock cylinder. The idea to opening all locks of this sort was to gain control of the shear line-the place where all five pins lined up and allowed the cylinder to rotate, the lock to open.

She moved the strip in until she reached the first of the five base pins. By delicately and gently turning the strip she pressured the pin upward, mimicking the action of the key, into its shear-line position.

Inserting it deeper, she did the same with the second pin. When all five had been manipulated upward, she turned the strip precisely as she had seen Lujon turn the key.

The cylinder rotated, the door opened, and she slipped inside, only to find the second mate whirling on her, the gleaming blade of his dirk at her throat.

Krystren did not glance at Orujo; to look away from Lujon would have been a mistake, and she knewit. Courion had always told her that being in a position of power was more a matter of perception than anything else. On the one hand, she was effectively Orujo's prisoner. On the other hand, neither he nor Lujon suspected that she was crifica. If there was a time to use her hidden power, this was it.

Kneeling beside the girl-sorceress, she drew Riane into her embrace, pressing the left side of her neck into her own biceps, and placing the heel of her hand against Riane's right temple. How simply death could be effected, she thought, not for the first time. Just a swift jab of her hand would crack the lower vertebrae in the neck. Bang! That would be it. Lights out.

Krystren took a deep breath and sent out a mind-feeler. She revealed none of her astonishment that it was met by an ethereal tendril from the girl-sorceress's own mind.

"Go on," Lujon urged, eyes filled with an unnatural l.u.s.ter, a bald avidity. "What are you waiting for?"

Knowledge flooded through Krystren and Riane, moving back and forth with synaptic speed. Within the blink of an eye, they learned many things about each other, found they had common goals in a difficult situation, linked themselves together, formulated a plan of action.

As Krystren moved over Riane, ostensibly to kill her, Riane withdrew her infinity-blade. Out of sight of the two Sarakkon, she thumbed on the wand. As the goron-energy blade manifested itself, Krystren reared back, slamming her elbow into Lujon's midsection. Then, twisting to her feet, she turned to Orujo.

Lujon recovered and switched on his own infinity-blade all in the same instant. "Better this way," he said. "Now we know where everyone stands, eh, Orujo? And you, Riane, we are grateful to Krystren for giving us the opportunity to kill you ourself."

He engaged her blade and, as he had done before, pressed his attack. This time, however, Riane was prepared for him. Instead of directly parrying, she spun, ducked, touched his blade with hers, spun again.

As Asir had taught her, she felt for rhythm of the goron-energy pulses, began to move in concert with them.

Lujon, try as he might, could not touch her with his blade, and he became increasingly frustrated, moving after her. Deft as he was, Riane time and again outmaneuvered him. She spun and wove in a tight circle, never covering much distance. That further frustrated Lujon. He tried thrust after thrust, slicing through dead air where she had been standing not a split second before.

Krystren, for her part, did not attempt a physical a.s.sault on Orujo. Instead, she sent a mind-feeler directly into the center of his brain. His shock and defensive reflex ma.s.sed themselves like thunderheads on the horizon, but she kept him from reaching her with his lethal hands and feet.

"What. . . what are you doing?" he whispered hoa.r.s.ely.

"It was you who killed Courion."

"We were nowhere near him when he was killed."

"However he died, you are to blame," she said bitterly.

"We fell in love with him. You must believe that. We hadn't meant to, but the heart wants what it wants."

"If that is the truth, than your crime against him is all the more horrific."

"Why can you not understand-?"

"You are a fool to seek understanding."

"How can you be so cold?"

You betrayed my brother's love, she said directly into his mind. That we can never forgive. Never.

Orujo's eyes opened wide. "You are crifica? How? How did we not know?"

That is the trouble with your kind. Increasing the pressure on his brain.

What your arrogance provides you, what you think of as your strength, is really your weakness. Krystren concentrated fully, channeling all her fury, her pain, her loss into a last lethal stab that caused the cells in the innermost part of his brain to explode.

Orujo's eyes rolled up, and she saw him spinning away from her, plunging down into the caldera of Oppamonifex. This time there was no specially sewn jacket to save him.

Lujon lost patience. Three teeth lay in his palm-Ramahan's teeth, necromantic talismans he rolled back and forth with the pad of his thumb. His eyelids fluttered as the teeth clacked together to the rhythm of his spasming eyelids, and the last of the life force trapped within the teeth at death was released.A phantasm arose, an animal unlike any of flesh and blood, fierce and unrelenting, as devoid of intelligence as it was of remorse. There was no opportunity to reason with it, no chance to avoid it. The infinity-blade was as useless now as if it were made of paper, for it swept through the necromantic anima without effect. Lujon directed the anima to attack, and it had no choice but to obey.

Krystren had turned, was planning how best to help Riane, when she heard a rustling from behind her that made the hair at the back of her neck stir. She whirled, to witness the resurrection of the dead, for Orujo, stirring, opened sightless eyes. He rose jerkily, awkwardly.

"Surprised?" Lujon gave a harsh laugh. He had reanimated Orujo's corpse.

What a prize we have found us!" The second mate, grinning evilly, ran the blade across Eleana's throat.

He did it gently so as not to pierce the tender skin. "How well will we be rewarded when we bring you to Lujon!"

He was big and burly and volatile, with a mean streak that propelled him into fights with lesser mates.

Many feared him. Even the first mate was wary of him.

"How well, indeed," she said, "when Lujon discovers that you were crawling around his locked cabin."

Taking advantage of his momentary surprise, she struck his throat with the point of her knuckles and, as he rocked back on his heels, she struck him a two-handed blow on the bridge of his nose. As it splintered in a welter of cartilage and blood, he roared, charging her, taking her right off her feet, slamming her against the cabin bulkhead. Her head snapped back, hit the bulkhead so hard that she saw stars.

Time enough for him to wrap his salt-hardened hands around her throat. He squeezed as hard as he could, and she heard a roaring in her ears. Her lungs labored. She lifted her legs, wrapping them around his abdomen, but he kept slamming her back against the bulkhead so that she went in and out of consciousness. With a strength fueled by desperation, she kicked with her heels, striking the backs of his knees so that he fell, taking her with him to the floor.

The dirk he had dropped when she had attacked him was partially under her hip. She fumbled for it, grasped its grip, plunged it into the middle of his back. He reared up, letting go of her, his hands scrabbling backward to pull out the blade.

She gasped and groaned, sucking in great lungfuls of air. Bracing her aching back against the bulkhead, she kicked him on the point of the chin. She heard his neck snap, and he fell over on his side.

For a long moment, she crouched like that, bracing against the bulkhead, bent over, hands gripping her trembling thighs, as she brought herself back from the brink of oblivion. Then she stumbled over the corpse, staggered to the opposite side of the cabin, where a built-in rack held bottom-heavy decanters of liquor. She uncapped one at random and, tipping back her head, drank deeply. The resulting fire in her throat and belly soothed the pain in the rest of her body. She felt all over to make certain no bones were broken, but she could not touch her neck, which hurt so badly it brought tears to her eyes.

Decanter in one hand, she sat on the sea berth, concentrated on breathing while she took an inventory of the cabin. It was lined in oiled wood, dark and gleaming with runes. A bra.s.s lamp hung by a chain from the canted ceiling. A searay, pebbled skin stretched across its back and wings, hung on one bulkhead. In the other was inset a globular tank in which swam a beautifully colored fish, which now and again nibbled at the smooth edges of the rock-strewn sandy floor of its little world. Dried urchins, shards of coralbright, the lacquered sh.e.l.ls of many a distant sh.o.r.eline filled cases and vitrines cleverly built into the bulkheads. But it was the floor that most interested Eleana. Using the heel of her boot, she struck each and every floorboard. She was listening for a hollow sound, looking for a hidden cache where Lujon would have stashed the banestone.

On her hands and knees, she felt under the berth, her head immediately pounding painfully as the blood rushed into it. She had to pause several times to allow the throbbing to subside. Finding nothing, she checked the berth itself. Then one by one the cabinets, vitrines. She removed the searay, tapped thebulkhead behind it. All to no avail. Where had he hidden the banestone?

Presently she found herself back on the berth. She took another swig from the decanter, stared at the fish. "If only you could talk," she said. "I bet you know where he hid the banestone."

The fish ignored her, swimming languidly from rock to rock, nibbling at what, bits of algae? Eleana rose and put her nose against the crystal of the tank. Maybe the fish had answered her. That one rock it was circling-black, egg-shaped, absorbing all light. Dear Miina! It was the ninth banestone!

Feeling around above the tank, she discovered the access panel and opened it. Leaning in, she found herself looking down into the open top of the tank. The fish swam lazily below her. Dipping her hand in, she reached down toward the half-buried banestone, but as her fingertips neared the fish, it swung around. Its jaws hinged open, baring twin sets of razor-sharp teeth. She pulled her hand out an instant before the jaws snapped shut.

Looking around, she saw a net with a long handle, obviously used to take the fish in and out of the tank during periodic cleanings. She used it to scoop up the banestone. It was heavier than its size would indicate, and the handle bent a little as she drew it out of the tank. The fish followed it upward, swimming near the surface. It seemed to watch her somberly as she reached to cup her bare hand around the banestone and in triumph draw it out of the dripping net. At the very last moment she stopped, looked at the fish and smiled.

"I understand," she whispered. "I remember what Riane told me."

Eleana found a sailor's foul weather scarf in a drawer, dumped the banestone into it, and wrapped it up without ever letting it touch her skin.

Giyan, revived and revitalized, turned her attention to Haamadi. She needed to keep all of his attention directed at her so that the Ra-mahan would have a chance to free themselves. Toward that end, she entered Ayame-Otherwhere-and gained possession of her sorcerous avatar, the great bird Ras Shamra. Through the lens of Otherwhere she could see Haamadi, could feel the wellsprings of his power.

What dreadful power source had he tapped into, how many innocent victims had his minions killed for him, to have ama.s.sed such power?

She engaged him through her avatar, bringing to bear all her sorcerous energy, all her considerable intellect with the sole purpose of pinning him down, of defeating him. But she soon discovered another of necromancy's chilling peculiarities. It was dumb. That is to say, it did not respond to intellect the way all the other sorceries-even Kyofu- did. It fed on fear and superst.i.tion-the dumb arts, as they were known among the Ramahan, so-called because while they were powerful enough among the ignorant, they became impotent in the light of rationality and knowledge.

She saw him stripped of his necromantic artifice-saw the shriveled thing he had become, grey, lined, drained of life, for necromancy extracted a high price for its power. He had no aura-none at all. He was like one dead. That was the difference between a magician who relied on fetishes and an ecstatic who opened her soul to the Cosmos. Here was a direct manifestation of Miina's special genius. By giving the exiles a black sixth finger she had, in effect, turned them into fetishists, and so had condemned them to this terrible living death.

There was one curious feature of Haamadi that set him apart from other sauromicians: a halo circled his head like the rings of a distant planet, what was left-fragments, really-of the spirit energy of those newly sacrificed. Caught in his low orbit, they screamed with terror, with the desire to be freed, to be allowed to go where the dead must rest before returning to the Great Wheel in whatever form the Cosmos had chosen for them. This was necromancy's most heinous crime-it violated the basic laws of the Cosmos, the ebb and flow of life into death and into life again, the grand cycle of renewal that was, at its core, the reason the Cosmos had come into existence.

Giyan grimly directed her spells to the rings of the dead.Under Lujon's necromantic tutelage, Orujo's corpse swiftly gained in coordination. Krystren learned the hard way that it not only possessed extraordinary strength but also the unnatural ability to move from motionlessness to full-out speed without the transition necessary in a living being. The corpse slammed into her with such force that she went tumbling head over heels, all the breath driven from her chest.

Orujo, eyes whitened with a translucent film, grabbed her off the floor, held her with her legs dangling, her boots off the floor, and threw her against the wall. White-hot pain lanced through her shoulder, her left arm hung useless at her side.

The reanimated corpse stood over her, spread-legged. Grabbing her dislocated shoulder between thumb and fingers, it squeezed until the tears overran her eyes, rolling down her cheeks. She sucked in her breath, bit down on her lower lip in order not to cry out. Krystren tried a mind-feeler, but there was nothing to attack, just a grey-matter sponge that sucked up her energy, trapped her feeler inside it. Pulling her in.

Eleana, cradling the banestone, warily entered the Chaos Cave. So far, she had seen no sign of a sauromician either on the narrow rocky beach or in the sea-cave mouth. She had looked up toward the cave into which Riane disappeared, but the ledge was likewise deserted.

The eerie feeling she experienced upon climbing the spiral rock stairs was heightened when she came across the dead sauromician. He was sprawled across several stairs, his eyes open in stark disbelief.

There was blood everywhere.

He was not the last dead sauromician she discovered on her way to the abbey. She counted half a dozen. All of them looked as if a pack of rabid wyr-hounds had fallen upon them. This could not be Riane's work. Who was so savagely attacking the sauromicians in their own sanctum?