The Temples Of Ayocan

Chapter 12

Blade went before King Hurakun two days later, and went down the Great River only two weeks after that. He spent those two weeks as securely locked up as if he had been the Crown Jewels of Chiribu. He passed the time pretending to learn Gonsaran, perfecting his disguise and cover story, and considering what he had heard and seen at the meeting with the King of Chiribu.

The night of that meeting warriors in black escorted him through the dark paths of the Garden of Kings to an underground chamber and left him there. The walls were bare, damp, and moldy, the smell of earth and decay overpowering, and Blade's nerves tight. They had left him his weapons, but here in this chamber the weapons could not keep off his fear of a trap. Suppose the ceiling were lowered on him, or water flooded in from the ponds in the garden-perhaps bearing the hungry little fish with it? Sword and axe could do little in that case. He was not ashamed to give a start when he heard a noise behind him. Nor did he mind sighing with relief when a section of the wall slid aside to admit King Hurakun, First Prince Kenas, and Princess Mirasa. She shot a quick glance at Blade, with nothing in it to show what had passed between them. Then she stepped back and left the floor to her husband and the king.

Hurakun spoke quickly, without either losing or standing on his dignity. After a few sentences Blade realized that he was going to learn nothing tonight that Mirasa had not already told him. So he concentrated on sizing up King Hurakun and his elder son.

They made a marked and rather depressing contrast. Hurakun must have been close to sixty, but there were only a few strands of gray in his black hair and even fewer wrinkles in his dark skin. He carried himself erect, as a man who had once been a warrior and could be one again if need be. The sword and the axe he carried on his belt were gilded and jeweled, but sharp-edged and well balanced.

The First Prince looked like a man who had never been a warrior, and never would or could be one. In fact, he looked more like a middle-aged and unsuccessful bank clerk than a prince of any land. If Blade had not known Princess Mirasa's character and determination, he would have despaired for Chiribu at the sight of the heir to its throne: Kenas sagged everywhere-belly, shoulders, jowls — in spite of being twenty-odd years younger than his father. His eyes were small, piggish, and perpetually inflamed-no doubt from too much sitting by night at his workbench. His efforts to project some sort of proper dignity would have been amusing if they hadn't been so pathetic. Blade didn't know whether he felt more sorry for the Kingdom of Chiribu, doomed to be ruled by Kenas, or for Kenas, doomed to have to rule when he would be far happier as a modest craftsman. And with a wife like Princess Mirasa.

But the politics of Chiribu were not Blade's main concern, nor were the domestic arrangements of its royal family. His job lay in the south, in Gonsara. And he remembered one particular thing that Hurakun said, near the end of his briefing.

«King Thambral's queen is his third wife, a woman less than half his age. She is said to have a great influence over him. To gain her ear would be a great victory for you, although I would not be able to suggest ways of doing this.» For a moment Hurakun's eyes rested on Princess Mirasa. Blade suspected that the king made no suggestions about ways of gaining the ear of a dissatisfied wife because he wanted to spare his son's feelings. Or perhaps he suspected Blade already knew more than well enough the solution to the problem.

In any case, the possibility of more bedroom politics was very much in Blade's mind as he boarded the ship Lugsa for the trip downriver to Gonsara. It was an ordinary cargo vessel, broad in the beam and bluff at both bow and stern, with two broad sails to help it downstream. It had ports for a dozen sweeps and benches for the slaves to man them, but sweep-slaves were expensive. They would be rented from a Chiribuan factor in a Gonsaran river port when the Lugsa started her return upriver. On the trip downriver their place could be filled by cargo, so that the ship could carry more, and smell vastly sweeter.

When Blade boarded the Lugsa, he was so thoroughly disguised that he suspected Mirasa had been right. His own mother would have had to look at least three times to recognize him. And no casual observer would have ever guessed he was other than what he seemed-a merchant's agent of half-Chiribuan, half-Gonsaran blood, headed downriver on a master's business. His head was shaved to the skin, and his beard and body hair had been tinted black with a long-lasting dye. They had tried to dye his skin as well, but a spectacular purple rash made it obvious that he was allergic to the dye. Hurakun's men had resigned themselves to letting him go with his natural tan. «If you stay dirty enough,» one of them suggested helpfully, «nobody will notice.»

He also sported intricate black patterns tattooed under both armpits and around his penis. The tattooing had been prolonged and painful. Considerably longer and more nerve-wracking had been the wait to see if the tattooist's needles had been cleaned adequately. Blade had threatened him with blood-curdling tortures if he didn't clean his needles, but he couldn't be sure the man had understood, or obeyed. In spite of their healing drugs, the people in this dimension seemed to have rather rudimentary notions of cleanliness.

Barges manned by teams of slaves towed the Lugsa out into the river's current. Then the crew, naked except for breechcloths, unfurled the two big ribbed sails. They stiffened as they caught the north wind. Blade saw water begin to curl white at the Lugsa's broad bow.

With wind and current both behind her, the ship made good time. Tzakalan was well out of sight behind them by lunchtime. Blade ate the bean soup and coarse bread, drank the sour beer, and stared at the towns passing by on the shore and the other boats on the river.

One boat in particular caught his attention. She was long and narrow, almost like one of the canoes on the Upper River. With six fast-moving oars on each side and four sails on two masts, she swept past the Lugsa. The other boat was also riding high in the water, so she must have been either heading downriver empty-possible but unlikely-or carrying a high-value cargo. Jewels, drugs, goldsmith's work? All of these were articles in the Gonsara-Chiribu trade. In fact, the boat looked too shallow to even have a real cargo hold. Her rowers sat on the open deck, and a number of bundles wrapped in blue and white canvas were piled amidships.

Blue and white! The colors of the cult of Ayocan! Blade started. Was the fast boat carrying a cargo for the cult? Or did she perhaps belong to the cult? And if so, why was she heading downriver at the same time as the Lugsa with Blade on board? Coincidence, or something more? Blade decided to assume it was something more.

The captain of the Lugsa did not know who Blade was or what he was going to do in Gonsara. But he was a trust-worthy man, known to hate the cult of Ayocan as much as was prudent. Blade had no hesitation in voicing his suspicions to the captain.

«Indeed,» replied the captain. «And I watch her myself. Nothing unusual I see. But warning you give is wise. I have six men on Lugsa to fight if they are needed. But I think Ayocani not become just river pirates.»

«Perhaps. But King Hurakun will not give them what they want. Perhaps they are getting desperate.»

«Maybe,» said the captain. «If so, they maybe have Death-Vowed on board. Can you fight?»

«I can fight well enough in a pinch,» said Blade. He hoped he would not have to show off his fighting skills on the voyage downriver. That might reveal his identity.

«Good,» said the captain. «I watch for that boat. If she get close, I call you.»

Blade nodded. For the moment the suspected boat seemed to be drawing rapidly away from the slower Lugsa. He decided he could go below for the moment.

Within an hour the other boat was out of sight downriver. The Lugsa crept onward at her own more sedate pace. By the time Blade came on deck again it was nearly twilight. Lights twinkled in villages and isolated houses along the shore. Out in the middle of the river there was a breeze to cut the tropical mugginess.

Blade ate his dinner-more bean soup, more bread, more beer that was even worse than what he had drunk at lunch. By the time he had dropped his bowl into the washtub by the foremast, the swift tropical night had fallen. The banks no longer showed any lights. Apparently they were passing along an uninhabited stretch of the river. The only sounds were the creak of the slats in the sails, the splash of water at the bow, and an occasional foot thumping down on the planks of the deck.

An insect whined past Blade's ear. He batted at it. When it had whined away into the darkness, he thought he heard another sound, a new one. He held his breath and listened. It was unmistakable now. Off to the left, the splash of water. A large fish jumping? There were no large fish in this river. The little carnivores ruled the murky waters. A local boat on its private occasions? Small boats stayed off the river at night, as far as Blade knew. He found himself gripping the hilt of his sword as he stared into the darkness, trying to pierce it, strip it away from whatever was out there. Was it his imagination, or did he see a pale flicker of bow-wave and behind it the even fainter loom of a ship?

The captain came aft, and Blade beckoned to him. His voice a whisper, he said, «I think there's another ship out there.»

«Temple boat?»

«Perhaps. Do ordinary boats run without lights along here?»

«Never!» The captain stepped to the cabin doorway, stuck his head inside, and called softly, «Fighters, on deck.» Murmurs came back, and the faint clatter of weapons being gathered up.

The captain was just turning back to Blade when the night fell apart. As swift as thought, the low-slung boat lunged out of the darkness. Clawed grappling hooks soared through the air from her decks and dug into the Lugsa's railings. With a grinding crash, the enemy boat came riding up against the Lugsa's port side. Heart-freezing shrill screams sounded above the crash of wood. They were not screams of fear or pain, but of insane fury. And then above the railing, Blade saw six blazing white bat-masks.

He had no time to see more before the Death-Vowed leaped high into the air, screaming again. They rose so high that for a moment Blade wondered if they were going to take off into the sky like real bats. Then with yet more screams they thudded down on the Lugsa's deck.

If Blade had not seen the approaching boat and if the captain had not alerted his fighters, the Death-Vowed would have swept the Lugsa's decks in seconds. The men came down in fighter's crouches, then sprang toward Blade, swords and knives flashing in their white-gloved hands. More chilling screams poured from the mouths of the hideous white masks.

Blade and the captain surged forward to meet the Death-Vowed. Blade's axe split open a mask and the head behind it. Then the Death-Vowed gave a scream of a very different kind as Blade's sword chopped off his arm. But a cloven skull and a missing arm could not stop the Death-Vowed at once. Legs moving by pure reflex drove him forward still. Blade had to back away to keep from going down under the man's dying lunge. A gap opened between him and the captain.

Two of the Death-Vowed charged into it, and the captain howled in agony as their knives drove into him. One eye gone and a knife sticking in his belly, he reeled back. But sheer courage kept him on his feet. As one of the Death-Vowed closed in, knife raised to carve the sign of Ayocan on the captain's flesh, the captain's teeth closed on the attacker's wrist. The Death-Vowed screamed and jerked his arm back and forth, trying to shake off the dying man's jaws. Then he screamed again as Blade's axe chopped off the arm at the shoulder.

Two of the Death-Vowed down, four to go. But four against one was more than Blade wanted to face, particularly when the four were men with no care for their own lives. Blade knew such were the deadliest possible opponents, willing to die to take you down with them-sworn to do so, in fact. He backed up again. Out of the corner of his eye he saw other figures appearing at the railing. Not Death-Vowed this time, but the regular Holy Warriors of Ayocan. They were going to leap down behind him. .

They did. But at the same time the armed fighters of the Lugsa's guard swarmed out of the cabin, brandishing their own axes and swords and screaming vengeance for their captain. They hurled themselves at the Holy Warriors so fiercely that the enemy were hurled backward onto the advancing Death-Vowed. Blade was caught in the middle. For a moment he stood there, jammed so tightly among his enemies that he could not strike at them nor they at him.

By sheer strength he pushed the men away, punching and kicking and shoving. A space opened around him, a space large enough for him to use his weapons. A Death-Vowed caught off balance died with Blade's sword chopping his spine in two. He fell to the deck, writhing like a broken-backed snake, stabbing at Blade's legs still, until Blade slammed a foot down on his ribs. There was a crunch and a gasp and a sudden silence.

A Holy Warrior faced Blade next, but not for long. Axes rang against each other's blows. But Blade's sword crashed through the other's guard by brute force and deep into the man's shoulder. The man's sword fell to the deck, the clang lost in the battle roar all around. But he screamed very audibly as Blade ran him through the stomach. Blood spurted, flowing down onto the deck, making the planks slick. For a moment Blade's feet did a frantic dance on the planks as he fought for balance. A dying Death-Vowed blundered against him, and they both went down.

Blade heard the dying enemy's breath hiss inside his mask, felt claw-gloved hands tearing at his own skin. He got a full nelson on the other's neck and heaved. The spine went with a crack, and the thrashing legs and clawing hands went still. Blade started to rise and another body crashed into him. He went back to his knees and twisted about, hands reaching for the new attacker's throat. But the man-a Holy Warrior-was already dead, face split open and an axe embedded in the mass of bloody bone splinters.

Finally Blade did stand up, as he realized that most of the men around him were also dead. Blood, discarded weapons, and splintered bat-masks lay thick on the deck. Alongside the Lugsa the sails of the Ayocan boat still loomed. Without thinking, Blade snatched up an axe and a sword and hurled himself over the railing. He landed on the enemy's deck so hard that for a moment he went to his knees again, and pain stabbed through one ankle.

A Holy Warrior saw Blade, hesitated for a moment, then rushed in. The hesitation was fatal. Blade was ready to meet the attack, and both axe blow and sword swing clanged off his guard. Blade's riposte met no such resistance, and the Warrior's thigh gaped and spurted.

Blade rose, and feet clattered on the deck as the boat's crew and priests ran hastily aft. He saw them clustered near the stern. And he also saw the dim glow of a brazier by the railing amidships.

Three strides forward, and his sword licked out. The brazier went over, and hot coals went flying. The tinder-dry matting covering the deck blazed in an instant. By the glow of the fire Blade saw the cluster of men aft cringe and stare. One of them moved forward, cautiously holding out a bucket. Blade snatched up an axe from the deck and threw it with deadly accuracy. The man bent over, staring down at the axe embedded in his stomach. The bucket clattered to the deck and emptied itself uselessly around the man's feet. The flames blazed higher, reaching up for the sails. Then the sails themselves burst into orange flame, and Blade knew the enemy ship was doomed.

He turned, and realized with a cold shock that he would be too in a few more seconds. The survivors of the Lugsa's crew were chopping loose the grappling hooks that held the temple boat alongside. A gap was already widening between the two craft. Blade sprang up onto the railing, and stared down at the water below. It was black in the light of the fire, but he could see dartings and splashings as the scent of blood drove the fish wild. Then he tensed his legs and leaped out into space.

For a chilling moment in midair he thought he was going to fall short, to fall into the jaws of the fish. But two of the Lugsa's crewmen saw him coming, and practically snatched him out of the air. All three of them crashed down on the blood-slick deck with a jar that knocked the wind out of Blade. When he got his breath back and stood up, the enemy boat was drifting away into the darkness, a pyramid of fire almost from end to end. The priests and crewmen were still clustered, aft but as Blade watched, he saw a white splash by the steering oar. Someone had decided to accept death from the fishes, rather than from the flames. A moment later a gurgling scream floated across the dark water as the fish tore into the man. The screams did not last long-it would be only a matter of seconds before the man had no lungs or throat to scream with.

Blade turned to the men who had caught him. «Thanks. Without you I'd be on the fishes' menu tonight along with those over there.»

A man Blade recognized as the Lugsa's mate nodded. «We could not do less for you. You saved us. Ayocan priests not use Death-Vowed on river before this. I do not understand.»

«Neither do I,» said Blade. «That was why I wanted to destroy the whole boat and its crew, not just beat off the attack. If their first try at river piracy costs them the boat and the crew, they may think twice before making it a habit.»

There was another reason, one he could not mention. The attack by the cult boat suggested that someone high in the cult knew of Blade's presence aboard the Lugsa. Perhaps he knew of Blade's mission also, and was sending a warning downriver to the temple mounds of Gonsara. If so, destroying the cult boat and every man aboard it might make sure that the Lugsa reached Gonsara before the warning.