Dark Sun: Prism Pentad 1 - The Verdent Passage (7 page)

Sadira strapped the guard's belt and dagger onto her narrow waist, then pulled a few stray
strands of lizard web from her smock. She formed these strands into a small wad, then
plucked a lash from her eyelid and sealed it in the silky ball. Pointing her palm at the
ground, she summoned the energy for another enchantment. As she spoke the words of her
incantation, the sorceress slowly rolled the wad between her fingers.

The web and the eyelash disappeared. The half-elf lifted her hand and waved it in front of
her eyes. Like tie rest of her body, it had become invisible.

Sadira wasted no time leaving the Break. She had only a brief time before her spell
expired. In that time, the half-elf had to sneak back to her mud-brick cell and collect
her spellbook from beneath the loose stone where she kept it hidden. Afterward, she would
leave the estate by walking out the gate, passing beneath the noses of the guards charged
with keeping her and her fellow slaves in the compound. By the time her magic lapsed, she
hoped to be far away from the walls of Lord Tithian's gladiator pits.

Though she wanted to check on Rikus's condition, she knew that such an act held too many
dangers, for guards and healers would surely surround him. She would simply have to trust
in the mul's natural hardiness and hope that he survived long enough for her to send help
from the Veiled Alliance.

Old Friends

In a remote corner of his estate, Agis of Asticles sat at the edge of the muddy reservoir
that provided water for all his parched lands. On the far side of the copper-colored pool,
a dozen slaves marched in an endless circle, pushing four wooden crossbars that turned a
creaking waterscrew and filled the small pond with bitter well-water. Every fifty turns,
two slaves were replaced by a pair who had been resting and drinking in the shade of a
nearby pavilion.

Turning the screw was not particularly strenuous for twelve healthy slaves, but the
scarlet rays of the sun cut through the afternoon haze like a shaft of flame. This part of
the day was an insufferable inferno, a time when men collapsed simply from walking and
when heavy exertion killed others. Nevertheless, the water had to keep flowing, so the
slaves had to keep turning the screw.

Unlike the slaves, Agis did not have to pass the hottest part of the day beneath the sun's
crimson fury. Yet this was where the robust noble spent most afternoons, sitting
crosslegged on the barren ground, his long black hair billowing on an occasional puff of
wind. Usually his brown eyes were fixed on the murky waters of his irrigation pond,
staring out from beneath his dark brows with an eerie vacancy. Often the only sign that he
was alive was the steady flaring of nostrils at the end of his patrician nose. His firm
jaw never flinched, his strong and sinuous arms never twitched, and his solid torso did
not fidget.

Like all serious students of the Way, Agis found that extremes of physical sensation, such
as suffering the agony of full exposure to the midday sun, aided his meditations. It was
only when he hovered on the edge of unbearable torment or unimaginable pleasure that his
body, his mind, and his spirit became one, that he felt the immense power of a physical
form and intellect so flawlessly joined that he could not tell where one ended and the
other began. It was then he fully appreciated the great truth of being: that the energy
and vitality of the body could not exist without the mind to give it form and reality and
the spirit to give it all a higher meaning.

It was this simple principle that lay at the heart of all psionic power. The individual
who truly understood it could tap the mystical energies that infused his own being and
shape them however he wished; giving him abilities that were as incredible as they were
mysterious.

Unfortunately the Way did not yield its gifts easily. It demanded a high price of those
who used it, both in devotion and knowledge. For a student of the Way, enlightenment came
most often in times of physical extremes, such as during periods of complete exhaustion or
terrible distress. Therefore, like most practitioners of the psionic arts, Agis spent
several hours a day in considerable discomfort while he contemplated the unity of body,
spirit and mind. Usually, he chose to perform his meditation on the remote shore of his
irrigation pond.

On this particular day, his mind's eye was focused hundreds of miles and more than a
decade away, on an oft-remembered place Ñ an oasis that he had visited as a young man. In
contrast to the muddy reservoir of his estate the waters of the oasis pond sparkled blue
and clear. It was surrounded by the billowing forms of damson-crowned chiffon trees and
creaking canes of black-jointed whip grass. Hanging over the forest were the two golden
moons of Athas, Ral and Guthay, secluded from the bloody splendor of the rising sun by a
clear expanse of olive sky.

Though he was about to set off across two hundred miles of open desert, Agis was traveling
light. Across his back was slung a single waterskin, in his hand he carried a wooden
walking staff, and at his waist hung a steel sword with a leather-wrapped hilt. He had
just learned from a passing caravan driver that his older sister, the heir to the Asticles
family name, had been murdered in Tyr.

Let
the spirits of the land guide thee, my love.

The speaker was Durwadala, the druid of the grove. She was not speaking, for she had sworn
never to interrupt the music of the wind, but rather waving her four arms through an
intricate pattern of gestures that served as a language between her and Agis. She stood
nearly seven feet tall, with a tough dun-colored carapace that covered her entire body.
Her face was narrow and chitinous, with black, multi-faceted eyes. A pair of small
mandibles served as her jaws.

You have taught me well, my lady,
Agis answered, moving his arms in a graceless imitation of Durwadala's speech. Always,
your words will be in my heart.

That is a strange place to keep words, Agis
, she observed. Better to hold them in thy head, where they
will do thee some good
.

Agis stifled a laugh, for he knew the sound would upset Durwadala. I will keep them in
both my heart and
my head
,
he promised.

The druid studied Agis for several moments then touched his face with one of her antennae.
Walk with the wind, she said, stepping into the forest. Her carapace instantly changed
color and pattern to match the black and gold stalks of cane grass.
The trees will remember thee.

As Durwadala faded into the underbrush, Agis withdrew from his meditation. There was a
serene but hollow feeling in the nexus of his being, that point where the mystic energies
of the mind, body, and spirit all converged.
The noble blinked his stinging eyes, slowly growing aware of his swollen tongue and the
dry, bitter taste of thirst. As always, he felt dizzy and weak from the early effects of
heat stroke.

“Caro?” Agis called, bringing the murky waters of his small reservoir back into focus.
“I'm ready for my water.”

He turned to look over his shoulder, expecting to see his dwarven manservant standing
nearby. Instead of the old servant's wrinkled face, Agis found a lanky man dressed in the
black cassock of a templar. His feature were sharp and bony, and his long auburn hair was
pulled into a braided tail. There were deep-etched lines in his furrowed brow, and he had
thick, puffy lips that made him look as though he were in a
constant
sulk.

The templar stepped forward, offering Agis the water he had requested. “So, how goes it
along the Way, old friend?”

“Tithian?” Agis exclaimed. He blinked twice and shook his head, fearing he had lost
himself in meditation and was imagining things. When the high templar's image remained
solid, the noble stood and faced him.

“How did you find me here?” Agis demanded. He glanced over Tithian's shoulder, expecting
to see a handful of embarrassed guards
or at least Caro's flustered face.

Tithian grinned at Agis's surprise. “Don't blame your slaves,” he said. "I used my office
to find you.

Agis frowned. Not even Tithian should have been able to sneak up on him unannounced. He
would speak to Caro about the lapse at the first chance. “How long have I kept you
waiting?”

“Too long,” Tithian replied, squaring at the pale green haze in the sky. “You must be
quite adept at traveling the Way. Your concentration is impressive.”

Agis took the water from Tithian's hand. “One can't master the mind without first
mastering the body.”

The high templar rolled his eyes. “So I remember hearing, over and over again,” he said.
“For me, the psionic arts are too much work.” He reached beneath his robe and withdrew a
ceramic carafe of wine. “I took the liberty of having your servants supply me with
refreshment,” Tithian said. “I hope you don't mind.”

“Not at all,” Agis answered, studying his guest's face for some hint as to his mission.
Though he and Tithian had known each other since their youth, he was not accustomed to
receiving the high templar without notice, especially not during his meditations. “Isn't
it rather hot to be wandering around the countryside, Tithian?”

Ignoring the question, Tithian drank directly from the carafe, then smacked his lips with
satisfaction. “I saw the most impressive display of psionics this morning. The king
discovered that Those Who Wear the Veil hid a number of amulets in his ziggurat.”

“The Veiled Alliance?” Agis asked. “Were the amulets magical?”

The high templar said crossly, “Yes, magical. I suppose they're intended to slow down work
on the ziggurat, though I didn't see them that closely.”

“Or at least you wouldn't tell me if you had.”

Tithian continued his story without confirming or denying Agis's reply. “King Kalak was
most angry with Dorjan over the matter.” The templar paused. “He incinerated her from the
inside out.”

“That's not how the Way should be used,” Agis protested.

Tithian smiled. “You tell that to Kalak. I won't.”

“I'm just a senator,” Agis said, smiling and shaking his head. “It'll have to be you.
You're the high templar.”

The joke seemed lost on Tithian, who grimaced and replied, “I'm the high templar, as you
say. Now I'm not only the High Templar of the Games, but also of the king's works.”

Agis frowned, confused by Tithian's unhappiness over what the senator assumed would be
regarded as good news. The templars served the king both as bureaucrats and priests. They
performed all of Tyr's civic tasks, such as collecting taxes, policing the streets,
supervising public works, and commanding the city guard. They also coerced the populace
into venerating Kalak as a deific sorcerer-king, by whose good graces the city was allowed
to exist. In return for their worship, the king invested the templars with the ability to
use a certain amount of his magic and paid them generous salaries, though they were free
to supplement their income through bribery and extortion.

“Those are two very powerful positions,” Agis said. “I would think you'd be delighted.”

Tithian met Agis's gaze with the first hint of fear that the handsome senator ever
recalled seeing in his friend's eyes. “I would be ... if I didn't have to finish the
ziggurat in three weeks, in addition to finding the amulets the Veiled Alliance has hidden
inside it!”

“Surely with the king's magic at your disposal you'll have no trouble completing the task.”

The high templar scowled. “Do you really think it's that easy?” he snapped. “Cast a spell,
find an amulet?”

Agis weathered the storm with a calm countenance, for he had known Tithian long enough to
realize that the templar's outbursts posed a danger only to those intimidated by them.

“Isn't it?” the noble countered. “I thought that was why people resorted to magic.”

“It's harder than it looks,” Tithian replied crossly. “Besides, I tried. The amulets are
protected by psionic shields and counterspells. I have people trying to break the
safeguards, but if they fail, the only way to find the amulets may be to tear the ziggurat
down, brick by brick.”

“But you said the amulets were just annoyances?”

The high templar seemed about to speak, then let the topic drop.

Since he had no other suggestions to offer, Agis remained silent, trying to puzzle out why
Tithian had picked this afternoon to come visiting. If his guest had been any other
friend, the noble would have assumed that the visitor had simply come in search of a
sympathetic ear. The high templar, however, was a solitary person who never shared his
troubles or his joys with his friends. "Tithian was telling him all this, Agis suspected
there was a reason.

“If you want me to do something about the amulets, you'll really have to tell me a little
about them,” Agis said last, deciding to press for all the information he could.

“You?” Tithian asked. “What can you do?”

“Isn't that why you're here?” Agis asked. “I assume you've come to discuss asking the
Senate to support an initiative against the Veiled Alliance.”

The high templar laughed. “What makes you think Kalak cares about the Senate's support?”

Tithian's reply touched a sore nerve. The Senate of Lords was an assembly of noble
advisors who were supposed to have the authority to override the king's decrees. In
reality, the body was little more than a paper assembly, for senators who opposed the king
invariably suffered prompt and mysterious deaths.

“Perhaps the king should start caring about the Senate's support,” Agis said, speaking
more openly in front of his old friend than he would have to any other templar. “He's
nearly taxed the nobles into ruin building his ziggurat, and he still hasn't bothered to
tell the Senate why he's erecting it in the first place!”

The high templar looked away and waved his carafe toward the center of Agis's estate. “May
we go back to your house? I'm not accustomed to standing about in the sun.” Without
waiting for an answer, he began walking with a slow, even pace.