Odyssey

CHAPTER 8

"Everything was going so well," thought the ambassador, stunned by the surge of magic. "How, by the stormy seas, have things gotten so out of control?" The ambassador was finally able to rouse Turg from his digestive slumber only at the end of the battle. He was required to lay actual hands on the amphibian before he could break the near coma. Seeing the pit fighter too stuffed for any use he forced the humanoid to expel much of what he had eaten. Thankfully, no one witnessed the thoroughly unpleasant scene, but Laquatus pledged the frog would not be allowed such behavior ever again.

Even as Turg scraped his face clean, a soldier from the underground army had found the ambassador and reported on the battle. The cephalid shifted down the seats of the arena and collapsed as it fell from the high walls to the sands below. Laquatus thought the tedious importer would have looked very similar if he had not dissolved away under the then-active defenses.

"My lord," the warrior had said in a muffled voice, nearly inaudible as it tried to speak out of water, "the beast is fallen and our forces clear away the debris. Captain Satas has sent those who cannot live long outside the water back through the portal. He has been forced to retire as well and waits further instruction."

Laquatus cursed the poor timing that found so few warriors able to live long above ground. More amphibians would have to be found for further battles. The cephalid's tentacles were nearly white from exhaustion, and it needed to get back to the water. "Tell the good captain that there is no need for further operations on the surface at this time," the ambassador said carefully. "Sound the recall of all troops. It is not necessary for our fighters to act as servants to the inferiors inhabiting this land. I will meet with Satas later at the usual place." He paused, wondering just what the situation outside was.

If worst came to worst, he could always find refuge in the deep caverns. It was unlikely that any would be able to invade the dark subterranean rivers. Whatever happened, he needed to do as much damage control as possible. The presence of a secret fighting force must be explained and assurances offered to the Cabal. Briefly Laquatus regretted the necessity of sending the army back below, but further action would undoubtedly create substantial casualties without any lasting gains. If only the cave digging crews had opened up more of the underwater cavern systems.

He returned the cephalid's gesture of obedience and watched the soft-bodied soldier scale the wall. Captain Satas had responded promptly, and it sounded as if the quick action of the tresias had saved Turg and the ambas-sador from having to contend with the dragon. He resolved ro closet himself with the diminutive amphibian in the near future.

The destruction of the city streets put him in a better humor. The rubble and still-visible bodies made him cheerfully overlook the insults he had suffered for the moment. Though whoever made him and his champion an object of tun would someday pay the price. He saw the last of the marine dead being dragged into the pools as he arrived to talk with the lieutenant. The self-important champion had succumbed easily to the ambassador's spells, and he dragged the officer into a gaping building as his mind overrode the aven's. It took only a few minutes of apparent conversation to set a cover story in place.

Kirtar now believed that days before the ambassador had told the bird warrior of a secret guard foisted upon him by the emperor. Unwilling to insult the ability of his Cabal hosts, Laquatus had hidden them in the secret tunnels under the arena. Realizing that the lieutenant was the preeminent military power in the city, the ambassador offered his troops to the Order as an emergency reserve. The attack of the dragon revealed how incompetent the Cabal was in military matters, and only the lieutenant prevented a complete disaster.

The decision of the emperor to send additional troops showed the wisdom of the underwater monarch. At the conclusion of the battle, the badly damaged marine formation retired back to the deep wells under the arena and the embassy. Laquatus created the fantasy of a temporary alliance that even now worked at the bird warrior's memory. When Kirtar went north, he would take with him the absolute conviction that a permanent alliance was the natural next step with the mer empire.

"Lieutenant Kirtar, we have orders to escort you to a ceremony honoring your leadership." A gravely voice announced almost in the merman's ear. Laquatus broke off his mental manipulations suddenly, leaving the lieutenant to stumble and look about vaguely at the sudden release. A section of city guardsmen stood at ease, one holding a clean standard that contrasted with his torn and dusty uniform. It appeared that the city was wasting no time in honoring a hero. The ambassador smiled brightly.

"A great honor indeed, Lieutenant," the merman said, gripping the bemused warrior's arm and starting off for the square. He ignored the guardsmen who had to step out of their way or be trampled. The Order's men had been unwilling to interrupt a private conversation, but the city soldiers seemed much too arrogant.

"Perhaps an object lesson is in order," the ambassador said to himself.

Turg was resting somewhere in the surrounding buildings, making himself scarce as Laquatus rearranged the lieutenant's reality. The merman could only make a simple request as he shepherded the aven to the ceremony called by the city. The aristocrat's usual close mental link with the amphibian was strained by the necessity of keeping Kirtar's mind quiescent. Laquatus had no idea what he was saying as he continued to impress Kirtar with images and ideas under the cover of the conversation. The ambassador received only a split second of warning as Turg acted on his spite.

The wall from an upper story fell out, the heavy cornice and brick an irregular boulder that flattened an impudent guardsmen like a overripe fruit. The ornate carving was followed by a rain of other bricks that broke arms and heads and grew a bumper crop of pain among the escort.

Laquatus shouted with loud dismay and pointed to the men, calling for aid. Even had anyone looked up it would have been difficult to spot the camouflaged Turg scampering away in manic glee. The ambassador knelt by the men as Kirtar called for a surgeon to treat the fresh bout of broken bones. The merman hoped to watch the men as their bones were set, but additional guardsmen came to escort them to the delayed ceremony. This time the interruption was much more polite, and Laquatus curbed his impulse for Turg to create another accident.

"We thank you for your actions," the fat man said, as the Order leader stepped to the stage. "In the hour of our need…" he droned and Kirtar stood in the background, still lost in the grip of the merman's spell. Laquatus dared not use his magic in the presence of so many. The official was looking askance at the ambassador as the subject of the mer forces came up. The aristocrat gathered himself to respond only to have Kirtar step forward.

"The decision to use the forces was mine," he said, claiming the cover story that Laquatus had implanted. Victory was sweet in the ambassador's mouth as his new puppet played his part. The lieutenant told the assembly that the forces were under his command during the battle. The aristocrat looked on benignly as the farce played itself out on the stage.

The selection of a prize was supremely unimportant to Laquatus, and it was only as the hooded elen brought back the diminutive dull-gray ball that the merman took notice. The pit frog had access to the ambassador's abilities, and he was first to feel the beat of power produced by the sphere. The ambassador started from his machinations and looked on it as well. Then both stared.

The flare of power blinded Laquatus. The metal ball, so muted before, reflected the sun in a brilliant spray of light. The strength of emissions from the sphere blacked out his awareness of other spells, and it was only his grip on Turg's arm that maintained his control. The unbelievable mystic assault died down, and the ambassador tried to cast a spell of detection, just to convince himself that he had not imagined the event. His spell detected nothing but reverberations. It was only when he focused directly of the object in the lieutenant's hands that he sensed something unusual. Like a night animal staring into the noonday sun, all knowledge he might learn was washed away. The confluence of might was too much for even a mage of his ability.

The Cabal officials appeared stunned, and many of the pit fighters competing in the games stood like dumb oxen as the lieutenant mumbled a few words and walked away. A Cabal official's incredulous look of disbelief turned to anger, and he spun on the Master of the Games. The tall, spare man jerked the fat fool back toward the arena, whispering furiously in his ear. The ambassador imagined that quite a few hard words would be said to someone who allowed such a treasure to be given away or offered to all comers. Laquatus smiled even as he quickly walked after the lieutenant. The Master of the Games's head would likely pay for the insults in the arena.

Kirtar continued on, his aides and soldiers gathered around him, their instinct in times of uncertainty to protect their commander. The ambassador tried to close with the bird warrior, but the press of people prevented him.

"Lieutenant, we need to talk," he shouted, but the officer was still lost in his contemplation of the object. Such power was fascinating, and Laquatus ached to peer within the orb for himself. Mastering such power will take time, he thought and waved to a servant.

"Find out where the Order party is going," he instructed, looking to see whom else he could command. "Meet me at the embassy as soon as you have the information. Find one of your fellows to keep watch if there are any changes." Laquatus was almost at a run as he headed for the embassy. The sphere was a completely new factor in his plans, one that upset his machinations in the city. The challenge was exhilarating.

By the time the servant returned with his report of the route, the embassy was a madhouse. Workers rushed about, closing up rooms while the permanent staff was locked over blueprints for new architectural wonders. If the ambassador left the city, he would take advantage of his absence and expand the residence. It was becoming too cramped for his ambitions. In a city of spectacle, his home must be the most impressive.

"A system of waterfalls with a twisted channel of pools is the most interesting," the ambassador said to a harried chamberlain. "You will have to construct a spur to the aqueduct and bribe the Cabal to divert enough water."

"Most impressive, your Excellency," the man said subserviently, "but where shall we procure the funds for such a great expansion?"

Laquatus waved the concern away.

"The coastal shipping fees are being collected by our agents for the quarterly shift to the treasury. Divert all you need from that source," the ambassador said, feeling expansive. When he gained control of the sphere he would need a dwelling to reflect his new status. And perhaps it was time to accelerate his plans for reentry into the undersea court. He looked over the drained grotto, the artificial reefs being broken by slaves with sledgehammers. He had been chief fish in a small pond for long enough. The horrified look on the chamberlain's face reminded him that he must still win his new status.

"I assure you that it will be cleared with the emperor," Laquatus said and forgot everything as he noticed the servant sent to the Order camp. He walked with the man to the entrance of the grotto. Making sure that no one observed them for the moment, he pulled the man into the secret room. A crab filled the enclosure, a sentry reporting to the caves below. After the ambassador closed the door, the crustacean lifted the cover and vanished into the pool. Captain Satas dragged himself clear moments later. The tre-sias paused for a moment, then moved toward the ambassador and messenger, drawn by their nearly imperceptible movements and breathing. Laquatus shifted as quietly as possible, but the tresias adapted, altering his course. The merman was unimpressed with the tresias's performance during the battle, but it appeared the captain and his kind could adapt well to the land.

"How may I serve, my lord," the small amphibian said in his quiet, dead tone. The ambassador waved the spy to speak, noting that his hand's passage in the air was tracked by the captain as well.

"The Order will be traveling west to the forest's edge to catalog the reported predations of woodland creatures," the man said, opening a pouch and taking out a map. "I bought this off a Cabal servitor able to sneak into the main tent." He laid it on the floor and weighted it down with a dagger and a few coins. Then he looked at the blind amphibian, flustered how to use his acquisition. The ambassador also wondered how the tresias would know how far the cave system ran. To Laquatus's surprise, instead of calling for a sighted retainer, the cave dweller chuckled and drew a stone from his own pouch.

"The sound of paper and mention of routes suggests it is a map lying on the floor," Satas stated, rubbing the dull gem between his hands. "I have always found such methods of little use and came prepared with a substitute."

The short creature tossed the jewel to the ambassador who caught it. A spell whispered new knowledge to his mind. A variant of the false memory spell, it left him with a sensory map of the explored caves and cleared tunnels. The underside of the continent was suddenly more familiar to him than the memories of his childhood home. Captain Satas's skin broadcast his amusement, but entranced with the novel method of information transmission, the ambassador did not even feel anger. He did, however, experience irritation as he pulled his new memories and the map of the lieutenant's path together.

Kirtar's route led west. The underground rivers did underlay the route, but they were unexplored and sure to be nearly impassable. Miners connecting the underworld to the sea would have to be moved farther inland. The lieutenant planned to swing north and an explored cave system lay nearby. Laquatus could catch up with the party and capture the newly revealed power source.

"Captain Satas, the northern caves allow us to intercept the group of landsmen and crush them. It is absolutely necessary that an amphibious force be available for extended action out of the water. Find me soldiers and send them to the Cave of Knives." The memory of sharp stalactites and stalagmites in the north prompted the name.

"I will send what forces I can, but we are very short on long-duration patrols," Satas said in a pun, the unintentional humor irritating the ambassador. "It may be necessary to find air-breathing slaves to meet you and supply bodies to soften up the adversary."

Laquatus nodded reluctantly, regretting the lack of forces able to operate out of water. He dismissed the officer and thought of whom he could meet in the forests. Perhaps the Cabal could be of aid. He smiled and clasped the spy's hand. "Excellent work!" he cried and hugged the man in apparent fellowship. Laquatus raised power and cut into the other's psyche. Experiences withered, and memories grew confused. He worked at the servant's mind, creating a false shadow of drunkenness and nameless female companions. It was hard work, and the fellow proved fairly resistant. It took real effort, and Laquatus wondered if death wasn't a better solution. But as his talk with Satas proved, he lacked walking servants. He continued to mutilate memories, wishing he had the resources to just kill the fellow and swim away.

Kamahl breathed and was struck by deja vu. Buried twice in one battle.

"I am no mole," he muttered.

The warrior coughed and tried to turn over. He could not.

Pressure prevented him from more than breathing. Even his head was locked in position, his cheek pressed against stone. The barbarian could remember the dragon falling and the crab getting in his way.

"I despise seafood," he muttered. More sensations intruded, and he could feel multiple small points of pressure digging into his back. He remembered the crustacean's armor and realized that he must be trapped under it. He tried to move again, his muscles bunching in agony, but nothing shifted. He remembered the great dragon falling as well and with a shock understood that two great beasts lay atop him, their mass making a mockery of even his powerful muscles. It was a miracle that he was not pulped as well. The cobblestones underneath him seemed jumbled, and over the smell of the dragon and the crab he detected strong odors of mold. He could hear the dripping of water and the scuttle of a rat. The street must have collapsed under the weight and crushed a sewer. The stench of filth was the stench of life, and Kamahl laughed before coughing spasms ended his momentary merriment. To owe his life to a poorly constructed drain.

The barbarian wondered if anyone would rescue him. He remembered the disregard of the lieutenant and the crabs and hoped he could count on the Cabal forces. At the very least, someone would have to take care of the giant corpse.

"Perhaps they will enchant it and have it walk away." The crab might weigh over a thousand pounds, but he was sure that he could get out without the tons of flesh holding the shell in place. He imagined a giant undead monster crushing the crab and the life under it into oblivion as it tried to rise. Kamahl thought of his killing blow. He realized that with no intact spine, it was unlikely that even raised, the monster would be able to move. It seemed colder somehow.

The tremendous ringing of magical energy made him believe that he was dying, and new planes of existence called to him. Then his senses located the source of the power. A locus of exultation, a shout of birth, it lay some distance away. His mind demanded he move, run to the source, but his body stayed relaxed, impotent under the great weight. His thoughts grew hazy as the energy retreated. He had sensed this before, though it wasn't as strong. The treasure room! He recalled the sphere behind the sword. Someone else must have seen its value and called forth its essence. His mind swirling, he tried to imagine what champion might hold it now. It was harder to think, the air thicker. He could not call power, the pressure on his body seeming to squeeze the magic out. Just a few more minutes of rest and them he would cut his way free. After all, a victory without being alive to enjoy it seemed pointless. Just a few minutes more…

The sound roused his attention at once. The rhythmic cuts of a sharp edge into flesh transmitted themselves through the corpse. He might have been gathering himself for a few minutes or for days, but he shouted loudly, pushing the sound out despite aching, compressed ribs. There was a pause in the beat and then it resumed, louder than before.

The leathery scrape of scales signaled the shifting of the dragon's mass. Pressure spiked and eased as the giant corpse slumped to the side. Shy beams of light peaked under the crab's shell, and the crunch of metal in chitin showed the worker was near.

"Have a care," shouted Kamahl trying to shift the beast above him. It gave a little, though it still seemed pinned down on one side. "The crab is right on top of me!"

A great hand wormed its way under the shell and another joined it. The knuckles went white as the shell lifted a fraction. The barbarian forced his complaining body to lift as well, and the additional force flipped the crustacean to the side. Kamahl reeled at the release of weight, and the light left his eyes watering. Seton stood, his sides heaving, with a bloody axe beside him. As the barbarian moved out of the shallow depression, he could see Cabal servants advance on the crab, sledgehammers falling as they smashed armor and threw fragments into a nearby wagon. Other servants with huge cleavers attacked the dragon's corpse, a steady stream of bloody lumps of flesh falling to the street. The meat went to other carts, and some rumbled toward the arena.

"Waste not, want not." Seton laughed as he came closer to Kamahl. The barbarian allowed himself to lean on the giant.

"What happened?" the mountain fighter asked, speaking with difficulty from his chapped lips. He waved a water carrier over from his round of the Cabal workers.

"What happened?" the centaur replied incredulously. "You are standing in the largest open- air butcher shop on the continent, and you ask what happened? As if you missed a few seconds of a play?" The simian face writhed with suppressed merriment.

"I don't mean this," Kamahl said irritably, dismissing the battle, his triumph, and his near death with a wave. "What force cried out so loudly long after the dragon fell?" The centaur moved away from the other workers.

"The Cabal presented a prize to Lieutenant Kirtar for killing the beast," he whispered. "When he held it in his hands, it released such power that all the city was stunned by it. He left for his camp and soon after went north. Word came of other attacks by forest creatures, and the Captain called him away." The centaur knelt, bringing his mouth closer to the barbarian's ear.

"They say the Master of the Games has disappeared, punished for giving away such power. He has gone to feed the beasts I wager. I heard the ambassador's servants tell a Cabal officer that Laquatus would be leaving the city shortly for 'consultations.' " Seton looked over the destruction and the blood running into the gutters. "What happened here is merely the beginning."

Kamahl thought of the prize that he desired given to the Lieutenant.

"They rewarded Kirtar for killing the dragon?" he said hotly. "They gave him what was rightfully mine, and he has run away north." He began to pace, his injuries momentarily forgotten. He ran to the pit where he had fallen, shouldering aside the workers. Kamahl went to his hands and knees, looking determinedly over the ground, ignoring the complaints from offended servitors. Seton followed and quelled the comments with a frown. Kamahl stood suddenly, his great sword in his hand. The long blade whipped through the air, the dragon blood burning away in a trail of smoke.

"I will go reclaim my prize from Kirtar," the barbarian said, steel ringing in his voice. "1 will have my reward though the entire Order stands in my way."