The Last Whisper of the Gods (36 page)

His weapon was exceptional in terms of craftsmanship and sharpness, but it was designed for close combat. As inferior as his opponents’ blades might be, they were more than twice as long and could hack Sorial to pieces before he could close within range to do damage. His goal had to be a preemptive attack; after felling an enemy, he could retrieve a sword and at least not be at a disadvantage as far as the size of the weapon was concerned.

So, allowing instinct to take over, he charged, practically leaping at the nearest one, who had closed to within ten feet. The man let out a yelp of surprise, stumbled backward, and clumsily attempted to bring his sword into play, but Sorial was inside his guard, slamming into his chest before he could react. Using a tactic he had learned while serving in Duke Carannan’s militia, he twisted his wrist and drove the dagger up and under his opponent’s ribcage, aiming for the heart. His effort was met with a grunt. There was little blood because of the trajectory of the wound but the man’s body went limp almost immediately.

Sorial yanked the dagger free, transferred it to his left hand, and reached for the sword. He was a fraction too slow, however. At least two more were upon him before he could complete the maneuver. Seeing a blade slashing toward him, he jerked up his dagger in an effort to parry. He deflected the blow, but the jarring clash of steel on steel knocked the knife from his grip. As the second sword swept toward him, he faced it naked, with nothing to turn it aside.

For a brief moment, Sorial disconnected from reality, as if watching through the disinterested eyes of a third party. He understood what happened as it happened, but it didn’t seem real. His left hand, severed above the wrist, fell to the ground beside him. Warm blood sprayed from the stump, dousing him and his enemies in crimson. In that instance, he felt no pain. His eyes told him he had lost the hand but his body didn’t register the loss. Then, before the searing agony could begin, something struck him hard on the back of his head and blackness rushed to embrace him.

His last fleeting thought before surrendering to it was that he should have run.

Alicia was nervous now, and had been nervous all day, but there was no way to burn off the anxious energy other than by pacing. As sundown approached, she watched the shadows creep longer. But the arrival of dusk was just another waypost, urging continued patience. Nothing would happen until near midnight, when the half the torches were doused and the halls emptied. She could do nothing until he came for her, and reliability wasn’t his best trait.

Despite his assertion that he would do nothing to aid Alicia if it involved personal risk, Rexall had taken over planning the entire operation. Little remained of Alicia’s initial plot beyond the basic premise; Rexall had belittled it as short-sighted and too reliant on luck. He had devised an alternative scheme and, when detailing it to her, had seemed inordinately pleased by his cleverness. The smugness annoyed Alicia but she was forced to admit that the plan had an excellent chance of success, at least at the outset. But getting away was only part of her goal; staying free might ultimately prove to be the greater challenge.

The means of her escape had been provided by Sorial. At some point, he had discovered a hidden tunnel connecting the cellars of The Wayfarer’s Comfort with the temple’s lowest level. Presumably, it was used to facilitate secret communications between Warburm and his priestly contacts. At some point, Sorial had mentioned it to Rexall and, thinking it might prove useful in facilitating Alicia’s departure, he had undertaken an investigation. After a “trial run” had been successful, Rexall had mapped out how the entire night should transpire.

As the quiet of the darkening temple settled around her, her worries about Sorial intensified. He had been gone for a week; anything could have happened in that time. She was anxious not so much to be free of the temple’s confinement as to be on the road. Nothing would be “all right” until she tracked him down and turned him aside from his folly.

At this time of the night, the temple was as quiet as the grave. The other rooms in this wing were either empty or occupied by priests who had long since retired in anticipation of rising before the sun. As a result, she knew someone was approaching by the sound of footfalls.

The knock was little more than a muffled scratch. Alicia opened the door to reveal a robed man with his hood up to conceal his features, carrying a spare set of garments identical to those he had donned. He entered without ceremony. “Put this on,” said Rexall. He handed the robes to her as he closed the door behind him. “Wait,” he added as she took the garb. “Is that what you plan to wear on the road?” He was staring at what, to her eyes, was a simple dress of the kind she had been accustomed to wear around her father’s mansion on warm days. It was plain, cut just above the knees, and left her arms bare.

“Yes.”

“And you don’t think that will look out of place on a modest traveler?”

Alicia fought down a wave of indignation. One of Rexall’s annoying traits was his unchecked sense of superiority. “Sadly, my wardrobe here doesn’t include sackcloth or burlap. These are the most ‘ordinary’ clothes I have. Of course, I could have asked my father to visit today with something more suitable for a long, dirty journey, but that might have aroused suspicions, don’t you think?”

Rexall’s response was an unconvinced grunt followed by a second admonition for her to slip the priest’s robe over her dress. When they stole out of Alicia’s chamber moments later, they could have been twins but for the difference in their heights.

At night, the temple was a realm of the surreal. Although no light penetrated into this windowless wing of the building even at mid-afternoon, the priests went to extraordinary lengths to separate night from day. Torches mounted on the walls at ten foot intervals provided illumination; after dusk, every other one was extinguished, darkening corridors and lengthening shadows. The persistent drone of chanting was silenced following night prayers, plunging the building into silence. Many of the temple’s residents who hadn’t yet retired were in seclusion for study or contemplation. Since Rexall and Alicia wore hard shoes, they were hyperaware of the scuffing noise made by their soles on the bare stone floor.

Rexall led Alicia confidently through a maze of corridors, public rooms, and stairways into a part of the temple with which she was unfamiliar. Belatedly, she realized how limited her explorations had been during her period of confinement. Rexall had been more thorough; he moved with the ease of someone who knew his route. He never appeared lost, confused, or uncertain.

They traveled briskly, but not so quickly that their passage would seem irregular to any onlookers. The temple’s hallways were patrolled at night, but at uneven intervals and with little diligence. The two entrances - front and rear - were closed and heavily guarded, and there was little concern about the activities of those within the priestly community. All visitors were registered and those not authorized to be within the building after dark were located and escorted out when the sun dipped below the horizon.

They were descending and the lower their progress took them, the more apparent it became that they were venturing into a poorly frequented section. The stones on the floor were less worn. The torches were more widely spaced. The walls were not as rigorously spotless. The air was cooler and closer, not unlike that of a cellar or dungeon. Alicia wondered whether anyone lived down here. Perhaps during these hot times, the below-ground chambers were prime sleeping quarters, claimed by priests of high rank. The stillness that was eerie above was suffocating down here. Her breathing and the thumping of her heart sounded thunderous in her ears. She wanted to say something to prove she hadn’t lost her voice.

Down they went, and Alicia admitted to being hopelessly lost. If Rexall was to suddenly vanish, she doubted she could find her way back to her room without guidance. From the outside, the temple looked large, but from within, it seemed endless, with rooms and corridors spreading far and wide under the nearby city streets. There was more space than the current denizens needed; in prosperous times, the priesthood had been a honorable profession for young men without inheritance or land. Two centuries ago, all these rooms would have been occupied. In those days, the temple was a city within a city.

“We’re here,” whispered Rexall, stopping in the middle of a corridor. The sound of his voice so startled Alicia that she nearly shrieked. Looking around, she saw no evidence of a door or other means of egress. Her companion placed a finger in the gap between two wall stones at waist height and probed. With a click, a panel comprising nine of the square stones swung inward, revealing a gaping blackness beyond. Wherever they were going, it wasn’t illuminated.

“Sorial found this?” asked Alicia, her voice hushed.

“From the other side,” said Rexall. “I doubt more than handful of priests know about it. And Warburm.”

He removed a torch from a nearby sconce and motioned for Alicia to step through the hole. She hesitated, smelling the damp earth and stale air beyond, but steeled herself and moved forward. Rexall entered close after her, shutting the door behind him.

In front of them gaped a maw of blackness that extended far beyond the immediate reach of the torchlight. The tunnel was little more than a hole in the earth, although there was a floor of sorts comprised of rough paving stones. The hard-packed dirt of the walls and ceiling was buttressed by timbers. Standing here, with countless tons of rock and dirt pressing down from above, Alicia felt the stirrings of claustrophobic panic. The distant drip-drip-drip of water helped to calm her nerves. It was oddly comforting, almost musical.

“It’s a long walk,” said Rexall once the temple entrance was several hundred feet behind them. “Same distance as if you walked from the temple to The Wayfarer’s Comfort above ground. It’ll seem longer, though. No reference points.”

“Is this place safe?”

Rexall shrugged, although the gesture was invisible under the voluminous priest robes. “As safe as it needs to be. Sorial said the main tunnel was used as an escape route but the secondary passage, where we are, is recent, possibly commissioned by Warburm after he purchased the inn. It explains why he spent so much time in his cellar. Sorial and I used to joke that he went down there to take long naps. Little did we imagine he was sneaking out for assignations with Ferguson.” He paused, then asked, “How does it feel?”

“What?”

“Freedom. You did what you set out to do. You escaped.”

“True,” mused Alicia. “But that was the easy part. Finding Sorial and preventing him from killing himself without being dragged back to the city by my hair will be the hard part.”

“I doubt they’d do it by your hair.”

The continued for a while in silence. Rexall was right about the distance. It felt like they had been down here forever. Alicia half-expected them to emerge into bright daylight. By the time they reached the entrance to the inn, she believed she could have made the trip twice-over on the roads above.

They removed the priest’s robes once inside Warburm’s cellar and stowed them in a half-empty crate of pewter mugs.

“You go upstairs first. Head for the front door and walk to the stable. Vagrum’s waiting there. Act natural. I’ll be close behind, but I’m too well known to avoid a few casual words. That would be suspicious and we don’t want to arouse curiosity. Wait in the stable till I get there.”

Alicia nodded. She glanced at her clothing - the same dress that had distressed Rexall when he first saw it - and realized with a grimace how out-of-place it would seem in an establishment like The Wayfarer’s Comfort, but there was no help for it now. Maybe she could replace it along the way.

To her relief, no one spared her a look, even though the inn was packed almost to overflowing. She threaded her way through the crowd of half-drunken farmers and laborers and existed into the warm, dry night air. She had no trouble locating the stable; she had visited it often enough. Seeing it now brought back fond memories, although she hadn’t thought of them warmly at the time.

“Vagrum?” she asked upon entering.

“Milady.” He was off to one side, doing his best to appear unobtrusive in the shadows. “You made it. Till now, I didn’t really trust him. Thought he might turn you in and claim some reward.”

“Rexall may be many things, but he’s an excellent scoundrel and knows secret places. Although he says he came by knowledge of this one from Sorial. If only I’d known about it before he left...”

“It wouldn’t have made no difference. You was watched till he was well clear of Vantok.”

She was still watched, at least during the day. The temple was a place of hidden eyes looking and concealed ears listening. What if some watcher had followed her tonight? Rexall was counting on at least a half-day’s head start but, if she had been observed escaping, a contingent might already be on its way.

“Big man, are they saddled and ready?” asked Rexall, breezing into the stables with a careless air.

“They are, little man.” He had taken care of everything, even brushing down the horses.

“What if we were followed?” demanded Alicia, voicing her concern.

“We weren’t followed,” said Rexall.

“I’m under constant watch at the temple. If they saw...”

“We
weren’t followed.
” The certainty in Rexall’s voice brooked no argument. He went to the stalls where four hale, healthy horses were waiting to be ridden, their saddlebags bulging with provisions.

Noting the animals’ good condition, Alicia said, “They’re stolen.” It wasn’t a question.

“I prefer the term ‘borrowed without permission.’ After all, it’s our intention to return them at some point, assuming we don’t lose them in our travels.”

“To this point, we haven’t done anything illegal,” said Alicia. “As much as my escape from the temple will be looked on unfavorably, I wasn’t breaking any laws. Horse stealing, however, is punishable by death. If we do this, we’re outlaws.”

“Milady,” began Rexall his words dripping with sarcasm. “Would you like to wait here all prim-and-proper in your ‘simple’ dress while I return these animals to their rightful owner? How do you plan to catch Sorial, who has a week’s head start, if we travel by foot? Will you run the whole way cross country? Or perhaps you’d like to buy four horses? Just give me the money and I’ll be happy to get them, although we’ll probably have to wait till morning. The only horses being sold at this time of the day are stolen ones.”

Alicia glared at him but said nothing. He had made her look like a fool far too often for her liking.

“As for your assertion that stealing the horses will make us outlaws, that betrays a degree of naiveté I didn’t expect from you. Your absence alone will be the cause of alarm; no one is going to care about the stolen horses.”

“Milady,” interrupted Vagrum. “I recognize these animals. They’re your father’s. This here’s Valor, the horse I rode while in his employ.”

“You stole the horses from my father?” Alicia was incredulous.

Rexall flashed a toothy smile. “Ingenious, no? What father’s going to bring his daughter up on charges of horse theft? Besides, the duke’s stable was unguarded.”

“That was Sorial’s duty. I guess my father hasn’t replaced him yet.”

“All to our advantage. Now, if your conscience is salved, can we mount up and be on our way? We’re still one shy of our full company.”