Khan’di’s uprising had begun.
Before long, however, the noise and activity were left behind. The hillman led his charges out of the harbor district and up into the hills behind the old city wall.
Gabria glanced up as they hurried through the darkness and was surprised to see the sky was clouding over. Lightning flickered far out over the sea. She hesitated. A strange feeling teased the edges of her senses, but whatever it was, it was too faint for her to recognize. Putting the feeling aside, she hurried after Athlone.
The hillman was leading Gabria and her companions up the southern end of the Redstone Hills, a place where the steep slopes were weathered by harsh seas. Deep gullies slashed down between the hills, and rock-strewn crags reared up over the stony vales. Not many people came up into the hills, for the inhospitable slopes made traveling difficult. Only the ancient tribes lived in the rugged lands, raising their half-wild goats, unimpressed by the vast city that lay at their feet. And only the hill tribes knew the extensive honeycomb of caves and passages that riddled the heart of the hills.
The night was completely dark by the time the party came to a narrow ravine about half a league behind the city wall. Clouds had totally obscured the moon and stars; the only illumination came from the distant lightning and from the torches and fires in the city below. The travelers turned to look back at Pra Desh and were surprised to see rivers of torchlight flowing up the streets toward the old city. The mobs were on their way to storm the gates.
Gabria knew the success of this part of Khan’di’s plan depended on the Fon’s army; if enough men mutinied, the gates could be seized and held open, and the citizen mob would spend their rage against the palace. It was too difficult to see what was happening around the barracks and walls, but it seemed obvious from the noise and the blowing horns that there was a great commotion going on. Gabria could only pray that Khan’di’s plot was proceeding as hoped before she followed her companions down into the night-dark ravine.
They stumbled along the rocky bottom for a time before the hillman came to a stop in front of a huge fallen boulder. The massive piece of granite was half-buried in the side of the ravine and camouflaged with brush and rock debris. Without a word, he began to pull the brush away to reveal a narrow, black hole behind the boulder. Quick as a squirrel, he darted in, leaving the others standing outside.
“Is this it?” Gabria asked suspiciously.
The old man poked his head out and waved angrily for them to follow him. One at a time, the warriors, Gabria, and Treader squeezed through the hole. Tam kept her hand glued to Sayyed’s, but she followed without a complaint or a whimper into the pitch-black cave.
The party crowded together. The cave was barely high enough to allow them to stand upright and so lightless they could not see the walls, the floor, or each other’s faces. No one dared to take a step.
Suddenly a tiny light flared in the back of the cave, where the hillman crouched over his flint and steel. To everyone’s relief, he lit several rush torches and passed them on to the men, then he gestured again and vanished into the darkness.
“I think I’d rather be back in the warehouse,” Bregan said, staring up at the low-hanging ceiling.
Athlone gripped the warrior’s arm as he started after the old man. “So would I,” he said. “So would I.”
In single file, with Athlone in front and Bregan bringing up the rear, the party followed its silent guide down into the depths of the earth.
Not far away, in a small, dark room beneath the palace, the Fon stood with her back against a wall, watching Branth through narrowed eyes. She was not certain he was ready to attempt the spell again. She would have preferred to wait a few more days to summon the gorthling and launch her army at Portane, but only a short time ago she had received word that a mob had risen in the streets and was marching toward the palace. The army, the soldiers she herself had levied, had betrayed her and opened the city gates to the rabble.
She gritted her teeth, and a snarl of hatred twisted her thin mouth. Oh, heads will roll for this treason! The streets will run with the blood of traitors, she swore to herself. Already the mob and the rebellious factions of the army were fighting the guards still loyal to her. The battle raged in the streets near the palace, too close for complacency.
The Fon slammed her palm against the wall. It was that damned Khan’di Kadoa’s doing. She could sense his hand in this treachery. She should have disposed of that conniving vermin before this, but he had the support of the powerful merchant guilds and she had not been ready to face them in an outright confrontation.
Well, after this night the Kadoa family would cease to exist and the merchant guilds would come groveling. This night she would have her gorthling.
In front of her, Branth leaned over the big, leather-bound tome on the table and emotionlessly recited the words of the spell. An aura of power was building around him. Even the Fon could see the faint greenish glow. Yet the man seemed unaware of anything but the book and the small golden cage on the table before him.
His voice intoned unceasingly through the long, complicated spell. In the light of the small lamp the Fon could see a sheen of sweat on his forehead, and a faint trembling begin to shake his frame. Then, to her delight, a tiny pinhole of light appeared, hovering in the center of the cage. She knew from reading the book that the pinhole was an opening to the immortal world of gods, dreams, and powers unlimited. Slowly Branth straightened and began the second part of the spelclass="underline" to widen the door and call a gorthling out of his realm.
The Fon watched impatiently. She wanted to rip the hole wider with her own hands and snatch the gorthling into her domain, but she had learned enough to know the evil creatures were dangerous and had to be handled with care and cunning. She curbed her frustration and watched as the hole began to open bit by bit. When the hole was a handspan wide, Branth suddenly stopped.
“What’s the matter, you fool?” hissed the Fon. “Go on!”
Branth appeared to struggle within himself, ready to say something. His mouth worked, and his hands tightened into fists. “No,” he groaned between clenched teeth. “Not this.”
The Fon stepped forward, her eyes blazing. “Do it!” she screeched.
The exiled chief blanched. The days of drugs and mind control slowly destroyed the feeble vestiges of his will. Like a living corpse, he turned back to the tome and the cage.
As he resumed the spell, the green aura grew brighter. The magic about him increased, widening the hole of light in the cage. The light grew so dazzling that the Fon had to shield her eyes.
She blinked once before she saw it.
A small, wizened face peered through the hole. The Fon held her breath. Branth had lost control of the creature at the same point during his previous attempt at the spell. This time, however, he did not fail. He chanted the incantation, slowly drawing the gorthling out of his world and into the cage.
The creature came cautiously. He climbed out of the hole one limb at a time and finally crouched, snarling, in the corner of the cage. Branth said a command, and the hole of light snapped shut.
The Fon’s eyes took a moment to adjust to the faint light, then she stared in horrified fascination at the thing in the golden cage. The gorthling resembled a small, incredibly ancient monkey with long, twisted limbs and the face of a mummified child. The Fon suppressed a shudder as the creature turned his inhuman eyes toward her. Before he could look her in the eyes, she turned away and snapped to Branth, “Put the collar on the thing.”
This was the most dangerous part of the spell, for the sorcerer had to put a collar of gold on the gorthling in order to properly control him. However, the tome stated in no uncertain terms that the gorthling could not be touched by human hands. The Fon did not know why, and she did not want to find out.