Jak Barley-Private Inquisitor and the Case of the Seven Dwarves (31 page)

I was still shaking as I reached the gate. Mika and Avrama were already in the coach. Morgana dropped back to take my hand after Lorenzo took her place assisting the witch. I turned to wave goodbye to the dwarves when I felt a heavy blow to my back and was knocked to the ground. I rolled to see Morgana being lifted into the air by a piss dragon. I drew my saber as I stumbled to my feet. It was a wasted effort. Morgana was already out of sword reach. I stared helplessly at the retreating dragon. Even the witch now had no options. Blasting the dragon at that height would drop Morgana to her death.

"Watch out," Lorenzo warned.

Chapter Seventeen

A shadow crossed the ground in front of me. I looked up to see a second dragon circling the carriage. There are times when the body moves before the brain has even grasped a situation. I found myself running to the carriage and climbing to its roof. Once atop it, I began waving and shouting at the piss dragon. Spying me as such easy prey, it swooped down and painfully snatched me in its large talons. I was jerked roughly from the carriage and into the air. I looked between my feet to see a circle of uplifted faces, all gazing opened mouth in shock.

I tried unsuccessfully twisting my head to catch sight of the other piss dragon and Morgana. I was facing backwards and could only watch the seven dwarves' cottage growing smaller and smaller.

This was not that unfamiliar a situation. My secretary
Osyani had begun life as a baby harpling. She became as my adopted daughter after her mother, a full-grown harpy, had snatched me during my trip to Stagsford--intending me as baby food. Having a previous experience gave little comfort. Once again I found myself thinking how my private inquisitor classes had not prepared me for this. There had been no "What To Do If Snatched By A Piss Dragon 101."

There was not much I could do with my sword so I clumsily slid it back into its sheath. The painful grip of the dragon made it a difficult chore. I tried not to squirm--that made the piss dragon clutch me tighter.

The air grew chilly after it leveled off at a higher altitude. I tried planning what my ploy would be upon reaching the castle. Would there be mages or assassins waiting on the temple roof when we arrived? Or would we have a few minutes before Dorga's minions checked on their pets' latest cargo? Or were Morgana and I, as Lorenzo would say, truly screwed?

Several hours passed and the rhythmic beat of the dragon's wings had almost put me to sleep when the corner of my eye caught a flicker of motion. I turned to see that my dragon had caught up with its companion.

"Morgana," I shouted, frightened at the sight of her hanging limply from the other dragon.

My cry must have woken her. She lifted her head and smiled.

"Jak, this private inquisitor vocation is not as fun as I believed it to be."

"I warned you it could be boring," I replied. "Do not worry, it will get more exciting as time goes on."

"Good. I would hate to believe that most of my time would be squandered hanging from a dragon's feet."

I was at a loss for words. What conversation is customary between two people hanging from piss dragons on their way to a heathenish temple of a fish-headed god of death?

"I am sure your mother can follow our route. There cannot be that many mages left, so it should be a simple chore for Lorenzo and Morganna to find and free us."

"That we can hope, me dear, dimwitted private inquisitor."

"What, dimwitted?"

"I saw what you did, Jak, leaping to the carriage to be snatched by the dragon. It was a brave act, but I fear it may be a foolish one."

"Not at all. You know how I loathe walking."

Our banter ended when the dragons paused in their flapping and began gliding with outstretched wings. Both angled to the right and began a slow, circular descent. Beneath my feet were wispy clouds and we passed through them as if through a fog. The land below looked wild and treacherous. Sharp crags and wind twisted trees were the chief aspects of the inhospitable terrain. On a rough outcropping perched a temple of Dorga. It was made of the same faded grey stone as the surrounding mountains. Looking like a tiny child's toy from this height, it still conveyed a leprous nature.

Our descent gained in speed. I feared we would be smashed against the rough stones of a temple lookout tower when with a snap of their wings, the dragons came to a halt several feet above the battlement then dropped Morgana and me to ground for a jarring landing.

There was a greeting party. Several appeared to be plain temple guards, two others wore the garb of Dorga priests, and the remaining three were unmistakably Reverian Assassins.

"Ah, another bride of Dorga. And how comely," oozed the center cleric who stepped forward to examine Morgana as if she were a chicken for the stewing pot. He wore a black robe with two red stripes on his sleeve signifying he was part of the priesthood hierarchy. The second priest wore a brown robe of the common clerics.

"Not really. You should see her without her makeup. And she is a very ugly person inside. Plus, she has not been a virgin since she was twelve. Not the quality of sacrificial victim that would meet the rigorous standards of Dorga."

"And you must be that popinjay ferret who has been giving us so much trouble," the priest turned to me. He had a deceptively kind, round face--until he smiled and showed his filed-to-a-point teeth. His tongue had also been split and it was quite disconcerting to watch him lick his lips.

I stared, mesmerized at his mouth. "You must be a big hit with the grandchildren.'"

"You have given us quite the runaround, ferret," he ignored my gibe and continued, "Yes, for that you shall pay dearly. For all your trouble, we will in due course retrieve the eyes and head of Dorga. Nothing can halt the rebirth of our god."

"Tell that to your motley collection of Ghennison Viper mages. If they were capable of talking, they might convey a different tale."

His eyes tightened and he looked up at the circling piss dragons; most likely remembering they had been in the company of five wizards. He considered my words and spoke, "Mere bravado. There is no force that could impede such a cabal except Dorga."

I decided to let the priest have his delusions. It would be best that he did not know of the mages' defeat and the help that would be on the way.

"Enough of this banter," the priest snapped and turned to the temple servants. "Take them to their quarters."

The Dorga devotees stepped forward and grabbed Morgana's arms and mine. They pushed us toward a stair opening to below with the assassins following. We were pulled and shoved down the rough-hewn steps until we came to a hallway entrance. Oily smoking torches gave off a dingy light and the walls were coated with a buildup of soot that could have been centuries in the making. I shuddered when contemplating the source of the oil fat.

We continued down more flights of winding steps and narrow halls until we at last must have been in the bowels of the temple--into the mountain itself. They paused in front of a thick wooden door. A food slot was at the bottom. One of the servants pulled out a solid iron ring of keys and fitted one into a very solid lock. Once the door was opened, my sword was taken and I was thrust into a dank and dark chamber. I spun in time to glimpse Morgana's pale and drawn face before the door closed and I was cast into complete darkness.

The fools. They had not even frisked me--nor chained me tightly to a wall. Their usual captives must be witless peasants or frightened maidens. I almost felt insulted they considered me such an easy guest. I paced off the room. It was roughly eight by ten feet in size. The walls felt as it they were coated in soggy lichen and what I took to be the bones of small rodents crunched under my feet. For being in a temple of a death god and condemned to torture, I was feeling surprisingly buoyant. The masters of this temple obviously did not know they were holding a highly trained private inquisitor--one whose forte had always been the overcoming of locks and barricades.

I waited at least a half hour before removing my trusty leather bag of picks. The archaic lock was simplicity in itself. The people in charge of security should be sacked for such incompetence. The biggest obstacles were the rusty hinges that screeched intolerably loud. It took me several minutes to slowly open the door to where, with eye pressed to the crack, I could peek out into the hall. I stood sentry for a few minutes until I was sure the hall was not a busy corridor. I ignored the creaking hinges and pushed my way out and then closed the door behind me.

I felt as if I were reliving my last experience as a captive of Dorga. Then I had been in a temple located in Stagsford. Lorenzo, for all his intrigue, can be very simplistic when it comes to stratagems. I planned to follow his lead again. I walked a fairly short distance until finding a suitable nook. Two supporting archways spanned a section of hall and offered a deep shadow in the narrow niche between them. I leaned in the back and began my wait. The lit torches told me that sooner or later some acolyte or priest would be using this passage.

The soft tread of three servants gave me little warning of their approach. I let them pass--they being too great in number of my purpose--plus, they wore no hoods. I was also forced to ignore two overly burly guards. It was when a lone priest walked by that I struck. Leaping from behind, I used a comparatively safe Kimchee thumb chop to a bundle of nerves just under his ears. The cleric dropped silently to the stone floor and I drew him into the shadows.

Once dressed in the hooded brown robe of a minor priest of Dorga, I quickly dragged the unconscious cleric back to my former quarters and unceremoniously pitched him in. The thick door would muffle his alarm to where his voice and words would be unrecognizable.

I paused outside the door. This was all seeming too easy. Could my escaping be some subtle plot of the rat-toothed priest? I could not see any gain for him in my escape. I would just have to continue as if my freedom were genuine. I halted again. I was now free in the temple and safely veiled in the garb of a priest. Now what? I am sure the sacrificial maidens would be heavily attended as compared to the poor wretches here. Could I possibly free Morgana and make our escape? It seemed far too uncomplicated, but as Lorenzo has often said, sometimes the easiest is the easiest.

I tucked my hands in my voluminous sleeves and began down the passage with head bowed. Thankfully, the followers of Dorga are an aloof bunch. When I reached a passage with heavier traffic, those passing me gave no notice. I wandered up and down the myriad of passageways that seemed more like cavern tunnels with their hewn blocks of grey stone. My stomach was beginning to rumble in protest from its recent neglect. I passed what appeared to be a suphall, though food was not being served at the moment. I wandered in and spied a pile of hard rolls sitting on a counter that ran the length of long opening into a kitchen. Looking about, I grabbed several and stuffed them into a pouch sewn to the side of the robe. I furtively chewed on them as I continued my exploration.

The rule seemed to be that servants and the lesser priests moved to the walls when groups of higher ranked clerics passed. I followed suit at the approach of several priests, two guards, and a group of young maidens coming my way. The maidens all bore looks of dejection and walked listlessly as if drugged. From the shadow of my hood I studied each face. Morgana was not among them. It seemed safer to see where they had come from rather than follow the group.

The hall led to a large stairway and I continued my hunt. It brought me to a gate and small plaza open to the sky. Guards carefully scrutinized those entering. Beyond the gate I could see that a small wall enclosed the grounds to my left and beyond that a void, thousands of feet above the valleys below. The sheer rock face of mountain and temple on my right climbed dizzyingly into the clouds above. A number of entrances were carved into the rock. Several maidens dressed in simple white shifts exited one of the doors and walked to the stone balustrade. From there they appeared to gaze longingly at the unattainable freedom offered before them.

I had found where Morgana must be held.

I watched as the different processions entered and exited the complex. Though the guards suspiciously eyed those using the gate, none were stopped for identification. Did they wear some form of badge or marking bestowing authorization to enter the plaza or some secret hand sign? I had not seen an indication of such passports. One of the guards occasionally looked my way. Maybe a priest loitering so close to the sacrificial maidens was suspicious. I retreated back down the stairway to reflect on the puzzle. Could I pass freely through the gate and if so, how would one lowly priest escort a maiden out of that prison?

Another group of priests and guard passed me on their way up the stairs. The kidnapped victims were being taken out of the area for some unknown reason. If I waited long enough, would Morgana sooner or later pass by? Could I even wait that long without drawing attention to myself?