Monster Of The Maze

Chapter 15

An hour before moonrise, Blade was at the east entrance to the towering monolith that was the Izmir's tomb. The night was dark and windless, and all about on the plain the campfires blazed, but no torches burned over the arched door and no black priests guarded it. Casta knew he was coming. He was making it easy for him.

For a moment he lingered in the arch. A glow of torches filtered up the ramp from the central rotunda. Nothing moved. No sound. Blade drew his sword and went down the ramp.

The great central chamber brooded in dim, guttering light. The stink of the torches filled it. Blade watched the dark gates that opened from the chamber like wheelspokes. Nothing in there. Nothing he could see.

He went to the third door from the left, thinking back. He had made a point of remembering it. It was through this door that the priest had conducted him on his first and only visit to Casta. Blade moved on. Not this time.

He paused at each entrance, stood silent and sniffed the air. He was near to completing the circle when he found it. The foul odor. It came faint but unmistakable-the stink of dead meat and ordure and something else that he could not identify. Blade moved into the passage.

On a last thought he had attached a dagger to his belt. And carried a second in his hand. He drove the spare dagger into a crack between stones and secured the end of his twine to it, testing both dagger and twine. Firm. He began to explore along the passage, sword thrust before him, unreeling the twine as he went. Ahead of him a torch glinted in a sconce.

He went a little beyond the torch and peered into the dark. No more torches. He went back and lifted the torch from its iron ring and now had to sheathe his sword again for lack of a third hand. He stepped on briskly, holding the torch high and letting the twine out behind him.

Light flashed overhead and then was gone. Gone before he could raise his eyes. A panel in the stone ceiling had been opened and closed. They knew where he was.

The sound behind him was a minor avalanche. Stone crashed down. Blade tugged at his line. It came easily to him, lax and supple. Useless. He reeled it in until he held the frayed end in his hand. So much for that. He cast the ball of twine away and drew his sword. With torch in left hand, held high, and the sword ready in his right, he proceeded.

A wind began to sweep through the narrow passage. A hot wind with the cry of tortured souls behind it. The wind rose and gusted at him, not now, a scalding wind rising in fury. It bore small particles of somethings-and? — that scoured his face and body and threatened his eyes. Blade bent his head and plodded on into the wind. It howled at him and buffeted him and then, in an instant, died away. Somewhere off down the passage a baby cried piteously and a wolf moaned. His skin crawled. He went on.

The passage began to circle, to twist around and around in ever narrowing spirals. Blade began to feel dizzy, a vertigo near overwhelmed him and he lay on the cold floor, pressing his face against it.

There was a jetting sound from all around him, high on the walls. A hissing as something was spurted into the passage. The foul odor vanished to be replaced by the sweetest smell he had ever known. It lulled him and soothed his senses. He felt the need of sleep. And he must breathe deep-he must.

Blade cursed and jabbed the swordpoint into his leg.

Again and yet again. The pain gave him strength to hurry on.

The corridor ceased to twist. It straightened and ran far into darkness. And ended. Stopped. Blade approached the edge and peered down into the darkness. Nothing to see. He thrust the torch into the void and shadows mocked him. He retreated from the edge and considered.

Ten feet beyond the pit the passage continued. For some thirty feet it ran, then ended in a short transverse corridor. Three doors opened off the corridor and over each gleamed a torch. The doors were high and narrow, of metal, with a ringbolt set into each. They seemed to wait, the doors, gleaming and reflecting the torchlight in their shiny surfaces.

Blade looked at the pit again. Ten feet. Easy enough. He drew back a little into the passage and did knee bends to limber his muscles. On second thought he went to the edge again and threw his torch across. It lay sparking and smoking on the far side. Blade went back and took a deep breath and ran.

As he began to run he saw the torch move. It lay on the far edge and it was moving! The ledge there was retreating.

Too late to stop. Blade ran and leaped with all his pent-up anger to lend him strength. The ledge slid away from him. He reached it with his toes, struggled desperately for balance and fell forward with a sobbing cry. Another inch or two and he would have failed the leap.

The door moved beneath him as the ledge slid back to its original position. Blade lay and caught his breath and considered that Casta had never needed Thane. He had master builders of his own. Or had Thane known of this? Had Thane built it? And, had he lived, would he have warned Blade of it, explained the perils and how to thwart them? Blade would never know.

He approached the three doors.

They were shiny and smooth and bore no inscripture. In these imperfect mirrors he saw himself and it gave him pause. This naked, brawny giant, scowling, with sword in hand and shield on arm, was not like any of the Blades he had ever known or had ever thought to become. This image was of a savage, a barbarian, a shrewd and cunning warrior no better than the men he sought to kill. He snarled at the man in the door and the man in the door snarled back.

Blade began to laugh. Loud, harsh laughter. He smote his sword on the shield and brayed with laughter. It echoed down the passage and from the abyss behind him.

The laughter ended. Blade approached the middle door. He put out a hand and touched the burnished surface. The door moved easily. Opened. Into nothing.

Blade looked down. Blood-colored fire burned far below, and there was no smoke and only a sound of weeping. No heat. These were cold fires. Zero fires. And the weeping, as he listened and knew, was the sound of centuries of grief and stupidity, of mistakes and cruelty, of death triumphant over life, of loss of hope, of desolation beyond desolation.

Tears blinded him and he rubbed them away and jerked his head to clear it. He closed the door. Illusions, yes, but how done and how skilled he could only marvel at and admit ignorance. And something else-he had been careful not to underestimate Casta, and yet he might have done so. He had not bargained for all this. Blade knew then, really knew, that this could be his death. He went to the left door and opened it.

Thunder blasted his ears and lightning forked livid over a far vista. Black rain sluiced down, and in the rain marched column after column of skeletons, wending their worm-like way through witch trees. There was a great mound of skulls. The black rain turned red. Blood. Blade set his jaw and pushed a little way into the room, holding his hand out to the scarlet rain. Nothing. His hand was dry, unstained. He retreated and closed the door. Illusion. But how? He was near ready to believe.

Now the door to the right. The moment he pushed it open he sensed that this was the door he was meant to enter.

A short passage led to a blank wall of stone. There was another door with a square peephole cut in it. Light glowed through the orifice. Blade advanced and peered through the opening. Yes. This he was meant to see.

There was a square room. In the center of the room a bed. On the bed, naked, lay the Princess Hirga. She lay with arms and legs flung wide, her taut peaked breasts rising and falling, her eyes closed. If she sensed his presence she made no sign.

As Blade watched she began to fondle her breasts, stroking and kneading. Her fingers toyed with her nipples. Her mouth fell open and he saw the moist tongue protrude and glisten and a worm of saliva rolled from her lips. She began to moan. «Come to me. Hurry-hurry-Come to me.»

A travesty of the words Janina had spoken to Blade in fantasy. And not meant for him. Blade watched, narrow-eyed, and his scalp twitched. Not meant for him. Hirga had raised herself and was glancing around the chamber, impatient, looking, waiting. For what? Who?

First the odor. The stench smote Blade like an unclean fist.

The smell of death and shit and something worse than either.

It came. Whether from the floor or the walls he could not see, but it filled space that had been empty. It was there.

It stood near the bed and regarded the naked Hirga with eyes set deep in a face that was both animal and human. Horns curled from its forehead and it sprouted scales instead of hair. Silvery platelike scales covered its body. It had the breasts of a woman and the phallus of a man. The legs were short and crooked and ended in hooves. Cloven. It stood and glared at Hirga and slowly moved toward the bed.

Hirga held out her arms in welcome. Blade, sweating from every pore, watched her face. He had never seen such terror writ on a human face, or such anticipation. Hirga groaned and her eyes rolled as she beckoned the creature to her. It was slow, advancing a step at a time, making no sound.

It came at last to the bedside and stopped. Hirga clasped her hands in supplication. Blade shuddered and tried to close his nostrils. The odor was obscene.

The phallus. It had been limp and dangled to the creature's knee. It was thick, a meaty sausage covered with tiny scales. It began to swell, to grow, to gain rigidity and strength until it jutted enormous and threatening. Blade understood then, knew why no mere man could satisfy Hirga. The High Priest sent this thing to her, controlled her by means of it, and Hirga was addicted, like an addict crying for heroin. As she was crying now, sobbing and writhing on the bed and, her face wild, reaching with both hands for the giant phallus.

The creature moved swiftly. It mounted Hirga and thrust in. She screamed. She lifted her knees high and clasped the foul thing to her and screamed. The creature made no sound, only thrust and thrust that gigantic phallus into her, deeper and deeper. Blade marveled that she was not torn apart.

Gradually her screams subsides into groans. Soft moans. The thing was fully ensconced in her now and moving with a rhythmic beat. On and on and on. Hirga's eyes were open and staring. She drooled. Her belly pulsated and her nates quivered. Where there had been terror, fear, anticipation, there was now a growing ecstasy. Her face reddened and tears ran from her staring eyes. Blade, Blade the voyeur, looked down at his own penis and saw it iron hard. He cursed himself.

Hirga screamed in frightful joy. She threshed around on the bed and screamed and screamed and the sound filled the room and ripped at Blade's nerves. He was gripping the swordhilt so hard that his fingers cramped. He pushed against the door. It gave a bit. He must go in, he must kill the thing, end this foulness, for he could stand no more. Casta would know this. It was so planned. Bit by bit he was fraying away Blade's nerves, whittling at his courage.

The thing was gone. Blade pushed into the room and went to the bed. Hirga lay fainting, her face in repose again, her eyes dull and heavy-lidded, her mouth swollen and pouty. Moisture glistened in her pubic hair and trickled down her inner thighs. She did not seem to know he was there.

Blade glanced at the floor. A few scales. The foul smell was fading. Yet another illusion? No. This had been real. The creature had been there, just as it had been in the cavern cubicle before, and in the palace bedroom. Hirga was in bond to it, slave to it, to Casta's abominable creation.

Hirga opened her eyes and stared up at Blade. They were a soft and sleepy green and yet now they begged.

«Blade. You saw?»

«I saw.»

«Do you understand?»

Blade shook his head.

«Casta,» she told him with a weariness in her voice now. «He devises it and his priests obey-in the crypts below they copulate with beasts and so produce monsters. Half animal and half men-of many sorts. Casta seeks to produce a race of monsters with brute strength and small brains so he can control them and, through them, all of Zir and, eventually, the world.»

«The intent is not new to me,» said Blade. «The method is. But what of you, Hirga? Does your body have you so in thrall? Must you be Casta's creature always?»

Hirga rose on an elbow and looked at him. The green eyes pleaded. «When the desire, the madness comes over me I cannot help myself. But when the creature has come and gone I am, for a little time, satiated, and can think for myself. Now is such a time. So I beg a favor of you, Blade. Grant it to me and I will help you as much as I can-I will warn you of what lies ahead, though you must fend for yourself, and I will tell you of a way out of the maze should you live to use it.»

Blade felt mingled pity and revulsion. «And what is this favor, Hirga?»

«Kill me, Blade. Cut off my head and take it with you. It may be of some help when you meet Urdur.»

«And who is Urdur? Or what?»

Hirga began to weep. «A monster born of monsters. Casta mated a male with a female monster and they begat Urdur. He is Casta's familiar and guards him, and now that you have come this far into the maze you will meet him. If you can kill Urdur you will have defeated Casta. I do not think you can, Blade, but you cannot go back. Now, before the madness comes over me again, I ask you to kill me. I am vile and loathe myself beyond bearing. I grow old. Soon I will be a hag and Casta will use me to breed his monsters. And I have no courage to kill myself.»

Blade stepped away from the bed. «Find it, then. For this I cannot do.»

She was at his feet, clutching at his knees, begging with tear-filled eyes. «I beg it. I beg it! Please, Blade. It is no stain on you and a favor to me. Promise me this and I will tell you of the secret way out. There is only one. Without this knowledge you will die in the maze, even if you kill Urdur. Even if you slay Casta. The crows will wait until you are weak from hunger and thirst, dazed from searching a way out, then they will creep up and slay you. I know this.»

Blade stared long into the green eyes and saw truth there. She did wish this thing.

«Tell me of the way out, Hirga.»

«You promise to kill me?»

«I promise.»

«You were in Casta's private chamber?»

«He nodded.

«Then you saw a fire?»

«Aye. He sat before it.»

«Beneath the fire, when you scatter it, is a grate that can be lifted out. A hole leads into a passage and the passage out to the Plain. When the tomb is sealed, as it now is, it is the only way out.»

He believed her. He looked down at her and fingered his beard and knew that he must do her this kindness.

Hirga still knelt before him. «Do it quickly, Blade. Before I lose courage and become mad again. Before my body lusts again.»

He stroked the gleaming red hair. «Close your eyes, Hirga. Be at peace. It will not hurt.» «I thank you, Blade. Farewell.» «Goodbye, Hirga.»