Darkness Weaves (14 page)

She regarded the helpless vintner in amusement. "So you see; Kane, my alarm system does not fail when meddlers trespass upon my sanctuary. There's little here to tempt a thief, and after we saw the fool creeping about so inquisitively, there can be no doubt."

Efrel uttered a joyful cry, like a child with a new toy. "A spy! A fat little spy! Prowling about, little fat mousie? Were you going to bear tales to your master?" She laughed delightfully. "And after I'd thought I had purged my realm of such vermin. Poor little spy. Are you frightened?"

"What spell holds him like a statue?" Kane wanted to know. "What spell holds you, little mouse?" she mocked. "The spell of my beauty, perhaps? No, Kane. He's too shy. It's something else, I think.

"Did you not see Efrel cast her spell then?" She tittered. "But I remember now. I told you to watch my fat little spy through the peephole, while I turned his limbs to clay. No matter. Perhaps I'll show you on another day. No one else of the Pellin line has ever mastered it--but Efrel is mistress of Dan-Legeh and all who venture within my halls. It is a simple spell, but a potent one. It is quickly cast, and steals from my victim all powers of voluntary movement.

"See, my fat spy can only stand and breathe. Wait, I hear his soft little heart pounding away in its plump nest, and I think my mousie is standing in a puddle that wasn't there before. But he can move his limbs and head only as I will him to do--he is my automaton now. Were he one man or a hundred, my spell would make him dance to my command. Will you see my little puppet walk?"

"I'd rather hear him talk," Kane rumbled. "Make him tell us his mission here. Ask him who else spies on us. Where can--"

"I can make him speak only such words as I command his lips to form," interrupted Efrel impatiently. "But come, my little spy, join us within my secret chambers, where you so dearly wanted to pry. We will show Kane a game or two with my pretty toys, and soon I think you'll beg to tell us all the secrets your fat little mind holds."

"He may have accomplices here in the fortress," Kane suggested. "We should order all gates barred immediately. If you summon some of your servants, we might learn immediately on what pretext he came to, Dan-Legeh--and who else came with him. It won't take more than a few minutes to determine this, regardless of the obstinacy of his tongue--which I judge to be ready to spill over with words right now."

"Kane, at times you display a depressing boorishness." There was an insane tone of menace in the sorceress's words that silenced Kane. "Spies are rare visitors to Dan-Legeh these days. Since my last pets languished here, I've thought of several new tricks to play on them. This one will speak to us presently. But first I intend to have my sport, and I mean for you to watch."

She whispered soothingly. "Come, fat little mousie." His face still set in a mask of abject horror, Tolsyt followed her beckoning finger. With awkward steps he plodded through the doorway and into the concealed passageway beyond. Kane frowned in chagrin, but entered behind him.

Efrel's words drifted back as the door slid shut. "Dear little spy. What games shall we two play? I wonder if you were one of those who whispered of my plans to Netisten Maril a lifetime ago? Do you know how it feels to have your flesh torn from your bones? Shall we play that game, too? Poor little plump spy--I think you're frightened of me."

The closing door cut short her mocking laughter. Warily Cassi stepped out of his concealment. Tolsyt had maybe had more nerve than Cassi had credited him with. At any rate, Tolsyt had managed to reach a sector of the fortress important enough for Efrel to guard it with some manner of alarm. Clearly Tolsyt had blundered upon something--and in doing so had drawn Efrel and her henchman to investigate.

Cassi licked his thin lips. At least the wine merchant had succeeded in flushing the sorceress from her lair--but whatever knowledge he had gained was lost forever now. Cassi regretted that loss, though he felt no regret at his companion's fate--only relief that it had not been his own.

With a sudden rush of fear, Cassi realized that Efrel and Kane would soon be party to Tolsyt's every secret regarding the two spies' operations in Prisarte. Only Efrel's sadistic lusts had kept Tolsyt from spilling everything on the spot. Cassi hurried through the passageways as fast as discretion permitted. It would only be a short time before Kane had the pieces together, he knew. Had it not been for Efrel's interference, Kane's men would be combing the fortress for him this very moment.

The minutes dragged by as Cassi rushed through the endless passages. Valuable time was lost in ducking out of sight to wait for soldiers to pass by, or in ambling casually along once the spy reached the safety of the kitchen area. But his luck still held.

Returning a few nods and greetings from acquaintances made earlier in the day, he eased himself onto the wagon seat. He clucked to the horses, and the wagonload of empty wine barrels rattled toward the servants' gate. The guards waved him through without interest, and there remained only the main entrance gates to pass.

The sergeant of the guard looked at him quizzically. "What happened to your master?" he drawled.

Cassi swore. "The fat bastard sent me back to haul back a second load by himself. I'll be busting a gut, while he loafs around pinching the kitchen maids."

The guards laughed. "Well, go on, then," grunted the sergeant. "I guess you'll have to hustle to get through by dark, anyway."

Cassi let out a deep breath as he rode from under Dan-Legeh's shadow. The horses were impatient from their long wait, so he let them jog along. As soon as he reached the empty wineshop, he jumped off and raced to pull on his soldier's gear. No one noticed as he strode from the building and hurried for the docks, but he knew his time was fast running out.

He knew he must get off the island at all costs before the alarm went out for his capture. Holing up somewhere in the hills was out of the question--even if he escaped, he would have no means of getting his information to Netisten Maril. Not that Cassi felt any extraordinary loyalty to the man who had saved his neck from the gallows, but the Emperor paid generously for his services, and this mission could make Cassi rich as any lord.

He had considered and discarded a number of hasty plans on his way to the docks, based on his knowledge of the Pellinites' blockade. Once at the waterfront, Cassi sighted a ponderous trireme in the process of casting off. It was as good a chance as any, he decided. Raking his memory for bits of information he might work from, Cassi ran toward the vessel and jumped on board even as it slid away from its mooring.

He smiled cheerfully at the milling sailors and marines, who gazed at him curiously. Sitting against the rail to catch his breath, Cassi pulled off his newly issued helmet and wiped his face with his forearm. Below him, the slaves rattled their oars into place. The ship began to get under way.

An officer approached him with a frown. "You! What's your story?" he barked.

Cassi clumsily clapped on his helmet and snapped a salute. "Better late than never, sir! I... uh.... was sick this morning and I didn't wake up till they threw me... I mean, I got here as quick as I could, but I got turned around..." He sputtered on sheepishly, keeping an eye on the receding shoreline.

The officer spat. "Shit! You damned marines can't even spend a night in a whorehouse and bear up the next day. I ought to have you flogged as an example, soldier! Shitload of good that would do, with your sort of gutter-scrapings. Where Kane digs up scum like you, and how he expects trained officers to make fighting men out of you, is more than I can figure!"

The angry officer continued to chew him out for the benefit of all those on deck, while above them the sails filled with wind and the trireme plowed out to sea. Out of breath, he thumbed through his rollbook. "What did you say your name was, soldier?" he growled.

Cassi told him, and watched him run his finger along several dirty pages of names. "This is the Sorpath, I guess?" he queried as the officer came to the end of his roll and started over.

The officer looked stricken. "The Sorpath sailed for battle maneuvers this morninng," he said heavily. "You stupid ass! You're on the wrong ship! This is the Hast-Endab, and we're bound for two weeks of patrol south around Fisitia!"

Cassi burst into astonished protests of innocence. He'd thought it was before noon yet, and how could he recognize a new ship, and he didn't have time to ask, and he couldn't read what it said on the bow, and...

By the time the officer finished cussing him out, the ship had put not a few miles behind them. "Damn well got a notion to feed you to the fish!" he concluded. "But I'm stuck with you, so you'll get to fill in for the ones who didn't make it out of the whorehouses for this crew. Lato knows how Kane expects disciplined troops out of the crap he keeps handing us for recruits! Stay out of my way, soldier! That's all!"

Orders Cassi gladly planned to obey. He joined the laughing marines, weakened and sick as the tension slipped from him. All that remained for him was to find a way to jump ship when the propitious moment came.

He lapsed into a dream of the rewards Netisten Maril would heap upon him in a few days. It amused Cassi that he, a gutter-born thief, had boldly entered and then escaped the diabolical web Efrel was spinning.

Netisten Maril sat on the obsidian-and-gold Imperial throne in his high-vaulted audience hall. About him rose the towering walls of his palace at Thovnosten, capital city of Thovnos and of the Empire. His black-bearded face was dark with barely restrained anger, and he nervously tapped the golden throne arm with his dagger hilt, adding a new pattern of tiny dents across the soft metal. The Emperor glared at the assembled counselors, evidently chafing for an excuse to cut a few throats. He usually needed little excuse.

Maril was a well-built man, still in his early forties. If his prime of life had passed the Emperor, there lay no hint in his hard-muscled frame. His aristocratic face was lined with traces of frequently vented rage--creases and suffused veins that matched the thin white scars on his weathered skin, hallmarks of past battles. Here was a man who held on to what he claimed for his own--a man who had never yielded ground to an opponent, and considered any man a weakling who would yield for him. It made for a volcanic temper and a domineering, uncompromising spirit. The Emperor was a dangerous man to cross, and he was dangerous now. Netisten Maril had just learned that his power in the Empire was seriously threatened by an enemy whom he believed he had utterly destroyed.

A guardsman entered the doorway from the hallway beyond the throne room: "They're bringing him up now, milord," he announced, resuming his post.

Maril grunted, and watched the doorway with hostile eyes.

An unarmed youth of about twenty-five entered, followed by two other guards, who stopped at the door to let him enter alone. Lages carried his powerful body well erect as he stalked toward the black-and-gold throne. Exercise had passed the time and kept him in shape, but the paleness of his complexion evidenced the more than two months he had spent in his cell. His appearance was somewhat shabby withal--his long brown hair unkempt, and his clothing carelessly chosen and hastily arranged. Lages had been given only a short time to prepare for this audience--and he fully expected it to end in an audience with the headsman. His expression was sullen, his well-muscled body tense. His brown eyes quickly surveyed the room--searching for M'Cori. But the girl was not present. Only Maril's most trusted counselors--and the ever vigilant guards. Arrogantly, he drew himself up and glared back at Maril.

Maril fought down his resentment and forced himself to speak calmly. "Well, Lages--I hope this last stay in my dungeons has taught you a little something."

No answer came but an insolent glare.

Maril shrugged. "I could have killed you. I should have killed you. Only your high rank and your innocence in your father's treasonous plot spared you when I punished the original nest of conspirators. Then the first time when you so rashly attempted my life, I spared you out of acknowledgment that your father's death had robbed you of sanity. A questionable premise--a stupidity compounded by my accepting your promise of honorable conduct as the valid word of a gentleman. But when you broke your vow and escaped to let that pack of jackals make a puppet and a fool of you--when you again tried to plot against me! By all rights and reason, I should have executed you on the spot. If it hadn't been for the old friendship I bore your family, and my daughter's unreasonable fondness for your worthless carcass--"

"Leave M'Cori out of this, you damned butcher!" Lages exploded. "And your lies of friendship as well. You hate me nearly as much as I hate you, and you've never cared a damn for M'Cori's feelings. There's only one single reason why you haven't eliminated me, and it's the same reason today as you had two years ago. We two are the last direct heirs of the Netisten blood, and you're too proud to let that blood die out. If you could possibly get a male heir, I'd be dead in an instant. So spare me these accusations of my having violated your mercy--I've seen what mercy you showed my father and his friends." "You insolent bastard's son! Your father was a traitor to the Empire, and I killed him in a fair fight!"

"You murdered him in bed when you found he'd seduced your wife! Couldn't you even get it up for Efrel?"

Maril snarled in rage and leaped from his throne, dagger poised to strike. Lages jumped back into a fighter's crouch--eyes wild, watching the object of his hatred warily. Bare-handed and in the presence of his guards, he would kill the man at first opening.

"Milords! Stop it!" shouted a counselor. "For the sake of us all, don't fight among yourselves now! It will only mean ruin for the Empire and death for all of us!" Several of them started to move toward the two--hesitantly, as they knew what it was to interfere with Maril when he was enraged.

With difficulty, Maril regained control of himself. Lowering his dagger, he ordered, "Get out! All of you get out! I'll call for you when I want you!"