The Temples Of Ayocan

Chapter 14

The priests hustled Blade up the mound and down the stairs into it at a run, as if they wanted to get him out of sight as fast as possible. Considering that the mob was still gathered at the foot of the mound, Blade didn't blame the priests at all.

The door to the stairs rumbled shut behind him and the familiar smelly darkness of a temple mound closed around him. The priests kept in a close circle about Blade as they led him down the corridor and down more stairs, deeper into the mound. This did not bother Blade. The priests here looked no more athletically inclined than the ones he had seen in Chiribu. If there were actually none of the Holy Warriors in the Gonsaran temples of Ayocan, he had only the Death-Vowed to fear. And the priests would be reluctant to release those within the temple mound merely to stop an escaping prisoner.

Unless they recognized him. That was the thing Blade knew he had to avoid at all costs. There just might be a priest able to recognize him even through his disguise, and then the game would be up. The cult would take almost any risk to bring down the man who had learned their secrets, slaughtered their Holy Warriors, and then escaped being sacrificed to Ayocan by the intervention of their enemy King Hurakun. Once again the notion that he had possibly fled into a snake pit occurred to Blade. And as the priests led him still farther down, he kept at a peak of alertness. His eyes roamed the shadows, looking for signs of guards, memorizing the way back to the surface.

But Isgon, chief priest of the cult of Ayocan in Gonsara, did not remind Blade of a snake. The Elder Brother looked more like an aging hunting dog-a large man for a Chiribuan, graying, flabby in belly and jowls. His voice was vigorous, though.

«I am told by Brothers of this House that you sought to serve mighty Ayocan in the city outside. Is that so?»

«It is, Revered One.»

«Tell me how you sought to serve Ayocan. In your own words, mind you. I have heard how it seemed to these Brothers, but not to you.»

Blade told his story, putting in every detail he could think of that might impress Isgon. He succeeded in doing so. By the time Blade had finished speaking, Isgon looked nearly as awe-struck as the priests who had first met Blade.

«For this I can and shall call you Brother and one to be blessed by Ayocan at the time of his coming, though you are not as yet a priest of the god.» Isgon sat in silence for a moment, chin sunken into his cupped hands. «Is it your wish to become a priest of Ayocan?»

The question was so unexpected that for a moment Blade was at a complete loss for words. Then his mind leaped to the idea of yet another gamble. Mirasa and Hurakun had both said the Gonsarans would not permit the cult to maintain any Holy Warriors in the temple mounds in Gonsara. So the temple mounds there were almost defenseless. They were protected from the wrath of the hostile people by their friends in high places and by the soldiers of a king who might easily turn against them. It would be a miracle if this state of affairs wasn't preying on Isgon's mind to some extent. Perhaps Blade could offer to lighten his burden?

«Revered One, I am ready to become a priest if it is the will of Ayocan. But I have not heard his call in such a manner. It has come to my mind that your temple mounds here in Gonsara perhaps need protection. Suppose the soldiers of King Thambral had not held back the mob that was pursuing me today?» Isgon shuddered. Blade almost grinned. The priest was ready to walk straight into the trap.

«Indeed there is a need for protection for the Houses of Ayocan here in Gonsara,» said Isgon. «But what can you do to help us in that?»

«I have traveled in Chiribu,» said Blade. «I have watched the sacrifices there. I saw that your priests and temple mounds had soldiers to protect them from those who reject or defy Ayocan.»

«They do,» said Isgon. «We call them the Holy Warriors of Ayocan. But King Thambral, may Ayocan curse him, will permit us no such protection here in Gonsara, to stand between the houses of the god and the wrath of his people.»

«Indeed,» said Blade. «This is known to me. But there must be a good number of strong and brave men among those who follow Ayocan here in Gonsara. Perhaps I could take some of the worthiest and most trusted of these men and train them in a warrior's arts. And when they are trained, you will have your own Holy Warriors, and that cursed King Thambral will be none the wiser.»

Isgon's face lit up as if Blade had just announced the impending arrival of the god Ayocan himself. He even rubbed his hands together. Then his face sobered. «Are you a warrior, then, that you can train others so?»

«I have followed the warrior's way all my life,» said Blade. «When I first heard the call of the god Ayocan, I asked him if I should forswear that way, and don the robes of one of his priests. No, said the god. That is to waste the strong spirit you have fed all the years of your life as a warrior. Come forward, and put your sword into my service, and in time I shall receive your spirit with joy.» Speaking of a personal dialogue with the god was another gamble. Blade had overheard hints of such things in the temple mounds of Chiribu during his captivity. But he couldn't be sure if Ayocan was supposed to be the kind of god who appeared and spoke to men.

Apparently Ayocan was. Isgon nodded, with a look of great respect on his face. «You were wise to heed the call of the god, and we honor you for your wisdom as much as for your service this day and on future days. Many who come offering to serve Ayocan do not show this wisdom. They try to force their spirits along paths where they cannot go, and those spirits weaken. At times their spirits weaken so much that they would leave the service of mighty Ayocan if they could. But this we cannot permit.» That last sentence was a hint of the iron hand that might be lurking inside Isgon's velvet glove.

He nodded. «Then is it your decision that I may serve Ayocan as I wish, as I have said?»

«Indeed it is,» said Isgon. «Long have we wished such a sword as yourself, to wield against the enemies of the god here in Gonsara.»

«I will not be your only sword for long,» said Blade. «Find me those men that I have described, and there will be many swords to serve Ayocan in Gonsara.»

That seemed as good, an exit line as any, so Blade turned on his heel and strode toward the door of the chamber. The priests who had been escorting him had to scurry to catch him, losing some of their dignity in the process.

That was entirely all right with Blade. He wanted to get the message across that he stood in awe only of Ayocan, not of his human servants. He wanted to establish himself as a man with his own reputation, his own notions of proper ways to serve the god, and a short way with those who would deny him either. The more thoroughly he could establish that reputation, the more freedom of action he would be likely to have. Of course, he might overreach himself and end by being expelled-or even murdered. But if he didn't have reasonable freedom of movement, he would be unable to carry out his mission.

He snapped himself quickly out of this moment of philosophizing, to realize that the priests were leading him down still another flight of stairs. Familiar smells, now, the smells of the prison corridor, where the Death-Vowed and the temple prostitutes and slaves led their miserable existence. Close-packed and unwashed humanity, rancid cooking oil, smoke, a faint but unmistakable hint of the drugs. The priests led Blade along this corridor at a trot. There were only four of them now. Where had the fifth one gone?

On around a bend and along another corridor on the same level. There were unmistakable doors set in the walls. Blade's suspicions were aroused. It would be comparatively easy for the four priests to fling open one of the doors and shove him into one of the cells behind those doors.

The suspicions probably saved his life. As they were passing one of the doors, it suddenly slid open. Blade sprang back, dropping into fighting stance. But nothing came out. Instead the four priests darted through the doorway into the chamber beyond. The door rumbled shut behind them, and Blade was alone in the corridor. A second later, he heard from ahead in the dimness the unmistakable rumble of another rock-slab door opening. And a further second after that, the terrifying attack screams of the Death-Vowed split the air of the corridor.

The Death-Vowed themselves came hard on the heels of their cries. Blade had just time to notice that none of the four of them were armed. Then he had to spring clear to avoid their claw-gloved hands. He chopped sideways with the edge of his hand at a neck showing under a white mask and drove the man back. But the man stayed on his feet after a blow that would have killed practically any other opponent. Again Blade had to give way, but this time he did so in a leap that carried him out of reach of the Death-Vowed. And this time when they rushed after him, one of them came on a little faster than the other three. A man sworn to die can be careless of his own life-or simply careless.

Blade met that careless leader with a kick to one knee that stopped him in his tracks. His head in its white bat-mask went back, and he screamed in rage and pain. As his head went back, his throat was exposed. Again Blade closed, again the side of his hand chopped, and this time he heard and felt bone shatter under the blow. Choking, clawing at a throat clogged with bone splinters, the Death-Vowed reeled back against his comrades. They swung to either side of him. Now they could come on fast enough to trap Blade between them. And now Blade could also meet them separately.

Once again he took out a knee with a kick. One man disabled, he turned to the second. The man rushed him, Blade went down, rolling on his shoulders and bringing both feet up. His feet smashed into the Death-Vowed's chest. Blade heard the crack of ribs and a moment later the crack of a skull as the man was hurled back against the wall.

Now Blade rolled hard to the left, taking the last attacker's legs out from under him. The man went down and was still struggling to rise when Blade leaped on him and chopped him across the back of the neck. He stopped trying to rise, and a moment later stopped moving at all. The last living Death-Vowed, the one with the smashed knee, was leaning back against the wall. There was no way for his eyes behind the bat-mask to show a plea for the mercy he did not get.

The whole affair could not have lasted more than a minute at the most. Even Blade, accustomed to the deadly speeds of hand-to-hand combat, found that nightmarishly quick. He had barely managed to work up a sweat, but he found his breath coming fast, as much from nervousness as from the physical exertion. If the attack had been treachery by Isgon, something more would surely follow it.

Blade stood there in the dim corridor for another minute, senses alert and muscles ready to respond to any new attack. Then the rumble of the door from the end of the corridor came again, and three figures came out of the shadows toward Blade. It was Isgon, accompanied by two of his assistants.

Blade relaxed-slightly. The smile on Isgon's face at least suggested good will. But it was only a suggestion.

«You are indeed a warrior,» said the priest. «I had not believed that any man could do what you have just done. You have passed the test set for you.»

Blade nodded and kept his voice cool. «And if I had not passed the test?»

Isgon shrugged and pointed to the Death-Vowed on the floor by way of an answer. «There was a man who slew many of the Holy Warriors at the last High Sacrifice in Tzakalan. A strong spirit, one Ayocan would have loved. But King Hurakun pardoned the man, so for the moment he is beyond our reach. Did you perhaps in your life as a warrior encounter this man?»

Blade managed to avoid breaking out in a cold sweat while Isgon was saying this. He also kept his eyes fixed on the other's face, once more watching for any signs of hidden motives. He couldn't find any. For the moment he would have to be content with that.

So he shrugged and said, «Not that I know of. There are many strong warriors one meets in a life of war. Some are friends, some are enemies. One cannot remember them all.»

«True,» said the priest. «But there can be few such as you. If you can teach as few as a hundred men to do half of what you have done here today-well, Ayocan will have here in Gonsara a mighty force of Holy Warriors. A mighty force indeed. Not even the Supreme Brother in Tzakalan will possess or command such a force.» There was a glint in Isgon's eyes as he said this. Once more Blade had to fight back a grin. The chief priest was obviously ambitious to make the cult of Ayocan in Gonsara as independent as possible from the Supreme Brother in Chiribu. If Blade could help him in those ambitions, he would be helping to provoke a split in the cult. And «divide and conquer» was a good way of dealing with any enemy in any dimension.

«I will not promise anything for the moment,» said Blade quietly. «First I must see what kind of men I will have to train. But I will teach them everything they are able to learn. This I swear by mighty Ayocan and by my own honor as a warrior.»

Isgon grinned. «Indeed, and I will not now ask you for more. Come with me, and I will show you to your chambers.» The priest turned and motioned Blade to follow him.

Blade did so. But as he did so, he saw a fast-vanishing flicker of movement in the dimness farther down the corridor. It disappeared so quickly and silently that Blade could only make out that it was small, slight, and wearing a dark robe.

A spy? And if so, for whom? Was somebody keeping an eye on Isgon? Somebody higher up in the cult of Ayocan? Blade would not be surprised. Blade knew that if he himself were the Supreme Brother of the cult, he would certainly be keeping a close watch on the Gonsaran temple mounds.

Well, there was nothing he could do about it now. He was committed to aiding Isgon in creating a local force of Holy Warriors. And he was further into the confidence of the local cult than he had ever expected to be. For the time being he would let matters rest there, keeping his eyes and ears open.