Dark Sun: Prism Pentad 1 - The Verdent Passage (18 page)

“Lord Tithian?” asked the shaky voice of Agis's aged valet, Caro.

Beneath his breath, Tithian swore at the spy's bad timing. “I'm busy. Contact me later.”

The ball changed hue to deeper green and blurred even more. “This is the first chance I've
had to sneak away in three days and it might be the last for another three. You'll have to
listen now or take your chances on hearing
from
me again.”

Tithian sighed, cursing the combination of dwarven obstinacy and Agis's leniency that made
Caro so insistent. He had turned the old valet to his cause after confiscating his old
friend's slaves. It had been an easy matter to undermine the dwarf's loyalty to the
Asticles family, for the high templar understood the power of both bondage and liberty as
few other free men did. When presented with the option of dying in the king's brick pits
or earning his liberty by spying on Agis, Caro had opted for freedom.

“Hold the crystal away from your face,” Tithian ordered. “We'll be able to see each other.”

He had given Caro a magical crystal of olivine that the dwarf could use to communicate
with him. Just as he could see Caro in the ghostly light, he knew that his spy could see
his own face in the crystal itself. Tithian's words would sound like no more than a faint
whisper to anyone except the person holding the crystal.

As Caro obeyed, the heavy furrows of the dwarf's withered face came into focus. The old
slave was squinting into the crystal, his wrinkled brow folded in concentration and his
toothless mouth hanging open.

“What is it?” Tithian demanded.

The high templar listened impatiently as Caro told him about the meeting between Agis and
the other four nobles, as well as the attack that had resulted in Jaseela's injury.
Tithian was not surprised by anything the dwarf told him, for
he
had expected his friend to respond to the slave confiscations by doing something foolish.

When the dwarf related the story of Agis's purchase at the slave
auction, Tithian's impatience changed to interest. “What's the girl's name?” he demanded,
temporarily forgetting where he was standing.

"Her name is Sadira.

“Don't let her out of your sight!” Tithian exclaimed, motioning for Stravos to stand up.
“Where are you? I'll send someone to watch her immediately.”

“That will do you no good,” Caro replied. A few minutes after he bought her, Lord Agis
gave the girl a bag of gold and set her free. He told her he wanted to aid the rebellion
and that she should contact him when Those Who Wear the Veil needed his help."

“I have the luck of a blind desert runner!” Tithian snarled. “What did the other bidder
look like?”

With growing frustration, the high templar listened as the dwarf offered a portrait that,
save for the obsidian-pommeled cane, could have fit half the craftsmen in Tyr. Once Caro
had finished his description, Tithian questioned him briefly about the auction and the
elves who had run it.

“You'll be a free man soon,” Tithian said, as the conversation wore to a close. “Besides,
with your help, it'll be much easier for me to keep Agis out of trouble. You're doing the
Asticles family a great service.”

“I know what I'm doing,” Caro replied, the black pits of his eyes fixed steadily on
Tithian's face. “Don't make a fool of me by pretending that it's anything but betrayal.”
Tithian shrugged. “Think of your service however you wish,” he said. “If you see Sadira
again, contact me immediately. You'll have your freedom the same day I capture her.”

“I will,” Caro replied. He closed his fingers over the crystal, and his shriveled face
disappeared from view.

Tithian turned to his subordinates. “Forget you heard a word of this.”

No sooner had he issued the command than he wondered if there had been any need. Both
Stravos and Gathalimay were staring at the room with gaping mouths. Tithian joined them in
inspecting their surroundings.

They had entered an immense chamber in the bottom of the Golden Tower. Copper-plated
rafters hung high overhead. In the squares between the beams were carved shadowy figures
of beasts that Tithian did not recognize. At the edges of the ceiling, fluted columns of
granite supported the gilded rafters. Between these pillars stood row after row of wooden
shelving. Most of the planks were empty, save for a few ceramic urns and metal boxes
filled with coins and glittering jewels. In a few places, the murky outline of an ancient
steel sword or battle-axe occupied an otherwise empty shelf. On one shelf rested an entire
suit of dust-covered armor.

A translucent, alabaster panel through which shone a filmy white light provided the
chamber's weak illumination. Beneath the alabaster panel sat a black, glassy pyramid
taller than a full giant and more than a dozen paces across at the base. The entire
structure had been carved from a single block of obsidian, the surface polished to icy
smoothness. It seemed to Tithian that he was staring into the heart of darkness itself,
and he felt more curious than ever about the significance of the obsidian corridor.

The top of the pyramid was flat, forming a small deck large enough for several men to
stand upon. Along the edge of the deck sat two-dozen ballsÑalso of polished
obsidianÑranging in size from that of a piece of fruit to as large as a half-giant's head.
As strange as they were, the ebony globes were not what caught the high templar's eye. A
magnificent silver-gilded throne stood at the front of the deck.

On the arms of the throne sat a pair of human heads with topknots of long, coarse hair,
their faces turned toward a diminutive figure perched at the edge of the seat. Tithian
could just make out the gleam of a golden diadem ringing the old man's head and see that
deep-etched lines of age creased his withered face. The high templar had no doubt that he
was looking at Kalak.

At Tithian's side, Stravos gasped as he turned and saw who was watching them. The aged
templar stepped toward the exit. The trapdoor suddenly swung shut with an ominous clang,
sealing them all in the vault with Kalak. Stravos faced the king and fell to his knees, an
action quickly mimicked by Gathalimay.

“Mighty One,” Stravos began, inclining his head toward Kalak. “Forgive our intrusionÑ”

“Quiet!” Tithian ordered, cuffing the templar across the head. He had no idea how Kalak
would respond to their presence, but he did not want to make the king angry by having his
subordinates behave disrespectfully. “How dare you speak without permission!”

After a short silence, Kalak turned one of the heads so that it faced the three templars.
“Look, Wyan. Intruders.”

Tithian could make out just enough detail to see that Wyan's head was sallow-skinned and
sunken-featured. Its leathery lips were curled into a sinister grin, revealing a broken
set of yellowed teeth. Fixing its gray eyes on the trio it said, “Filthy murderers come to
assassinate their king, don't you think, Sacha?”

The other head asked, “Why do you always think of murder, Wyan? Perhaps they're greedy
thieves, come to steal what's left of our treasure.”

“My treasure!” Kalak stormed, sweeping Sacha off the throne's arm.

The head rolled down the pyramid and landed in from of the intruders. It was grotesquely
bloated, with puffy cheeks and eyes swollen to narrow, dark slits. It stared up at Tithian
with a grisly snarl.

“Our treasure,” Sacha insisted to the high templar. “Kalak spent it all on his ziggurat. A
millennium of prudence and thrift, thrown away in a mere century.”

Tithian studied the thing in ghastly wonder. There was a glow of intelligence in its dusky
eyes, and the spiteful expression on its face seemed as lively and spirited as any he had
ever seen on a templar's face. The heads, he realized, were no mere zombies that Kalak had
animated for his own amusement. They were alive, at least after a fashion.

Kalak grabbed Wyan's head by the topknot and stepped to the edge of the deck. He crept
down the smooth surface of the pyramid as easily as he would have crossed a level floor.
As the king came closer, Tithian saw that the skin of Wyan's missing neck had been
gathered up beneath the jawline and neatly stitched into a straight seam.

When Kalak reached the bottom of the pyramid, he dropped Wyan next to Sacha. The two heads
fell to arguing about whether the three intruders were murderers or thieves, and Kalak
moved close to Gathalimay.

“This one was thinking of stealing,” said the ancient monarch.

“No, Mighty One,” Gathalimay answered, not daring to lift his eyes from the floor. "I was
merely awedÑ

“Don't lie to your king!” Kalak snapped," glaring at the half-elf.

“I'm sorry, Great King,” Gathalimay answered, his voice trembling. “The thought crept into
my mind, but I would neverÑ”

What you would have done doesn't matter," the sorcerer-king interrupted.

Kalak stepped behind the kneeling templar, grabbing Gathalimay's chin with one hand and
placing the other on the back of the half-elf's head. He jerked the chin to one side and
pushed forward at the base of the skull, snapping the neck with a single crack. The body
slumped to the floor in a flaccid heap.

The only emotion Tithian felt at the loss of his subordinate was fear for himself. It
seemed entirely possible that the king would kill him as well.

Kalak stepped to Stravos next. “This one is frightened.”

“Kill him!” urged one of the heads.

“Please, Mighty One. I only opened the door because the High Templar ordered it,” he said,
his voice quavering. “I've done nothing wrong.”

“Are you not frightened of me?” Kalak demanded.

“M-most certainly, Great King.”

“That is wrong,” Kalak responded. “You are mine. If I choose to kill you, you should be
happy because that is my will. You should not be frightened because your insignificant
existence is about to end.”

“Yes, my king. I understand that now,” Stravos said.

“Let us see if you do.”

The king reached down to Stravos's belt and drew the templar's dagger, then smiled as he
saw that it had an obsidian blade. “Feed the dagger,” he said, handing the weapon to
Stravos.

The templar stared at the knife in horror, but made no move to do as the king ordered.

“Feed the dagger,” echoed Sacha and Wyan, their bloated gray eyes sparkling with
anticipation.

As Tithian watched the scene, his fear for his own life mounted. So did his interest in
the sorcerer-king's seemingly insane actions. Obsidian was so common that it was used to
make weapons and inexpensive jewelry. He was surprised to see Kalak and the heads treating
the stone as if it had magical properties.

At last Stravos directed the blade toward his own heart but he froze there. His lips began
to quiver and tears welled in his eyes. “My king, show pity on a poor subject.”

“I thought as much,” sneered Kalak, fixing his black eyes on the dagger.

Stravos suddenly gripped the hilt more tightly. The muscles on his arms tensed as he
struggled against the king's mind. “No, please!” The blade moved closer and closer to his
chest, though the templar fought to hold it back. A crooked grin crossed the king's lips.
The hilt slipped from between Stravos's hands and plunged deep into his stomach. The
gray-haired templar grasped at the dagger, then pitched forward and rolled onto his side.
He lay groaning on the marble floor, lacking the strength to pull the blade from his gut.

“You should have done it yourself,” Kalak chuckled. “You could have chosen to die a lot
faster.”

Tithian watched a stream of blood spill put of the wound and spread over the marble floor.

The king looked at Tithian next. “I didn't summon my high templar,” he said. “What is he
doing here?”

“Robbing ” said Sacha.

“Spying,” said Wyan.

Though he had not been given permission to speak, Tithian decided to explain before the
two heads convinced
Kalak to execute him. Trying to keep his fear from showing the high templar met the king's
gaze. “Mighty One, we were searching for the Veiled Alliance's last amulet when we
discovered the secret passage between the ziggurat and your palace. We only opened the
door to be sureÑ”

Kalak raised an eyebrow. “Does he really believe that
Those Who Wear the Veil
hid an amulet in my treasure vault, Wyan?”

“I had to be certain,” Tithian answered before the undead creatures could speak.

“He's disrespectful,” said Sacha.

“Kill him, too,” added Wyan.

Kalak shook his wispy-haired head. “Not Tithian,” he said. “I have need of him.”

Tithian breathed a sigh of relief.

“Tithian of Mericles?” demanded Sacha. “This snake-faced runt can't be a descendant of
mine!”

Tithian's jaw fell slack, and he stared at the bloated head in astonishment. “Who are you?”

With an amused chuckle, Kalak lifted his disembodied companions by their topknots. He
brought Sacha over to the high templar and held the head out to him. Tithian accepted it
with both hands, and was surprised to discover the head seemed as warm as any living body.

“I present Sacha the Beastly, progenitor of the noble Mericles line,” the king said to
Tithian. “Sacha and Wyan were the two chieftains who accompanied me when I conquered Tyr.”

“You mean the chieftains who conquered it for you,” Sacha spar.

Kalak ignored the comment and stooped over Stravos's groaning form. He pulled the dagger
from the templar's wound. The man cried out as blood began to gush from his shredded
stomach.

Tithian stared at the head in his hands. He felt nothing but disgust toward his ancient
ancestor and could not bring himself to accept that the thing's blood ran in his veins.

Kalak moved to Stravos's side and placed Wyan in front of the templar's wound. The sallow
head extended its ash-colored tongue and began lapping up blood.

Kalak handed the dagger to Tithian and motioned toward Gathalimay's inert form. “Feed your
ancestor,” he said. “Then we'll discuss some things I want you to do for me.”