“Are we far enough away from the place you practiced your spells? I don’t like scorpions, and I certainly don’t like them when they’re that big.” Ireheart was remembering a particular example they had met the night before. The pincers of a giant scorpion would surely grab a warrior and slice him in two, complete with his armor, and the huge sting would stab right through instead of poisoning him. No, he really did not want to meet one of those.
“This is exactly where I conducted my experiments.” Franek laughed. “But there’s nothing left of them now. I didn’t want them to take over and destroy the town. Of course, I may have overlooked some of their young.”
“Charming,” said Slin, taking his crossbow in his hands.
The Zhadar, watching their progress from on high as he leaped like a rock-ape from one stone to the next, reported that he could see a settlement at the end of the ravine they were marching through. He came back down to join them. The company followed his instructions and took one more turn in this confusing maze of intersecting clefts.
There was no question: In front of them lay a town.
But part of it was under a huge sand dune and stood empty and abandoned. The low, flat-roofed buildings, painted white against the sun, all looked intact but there was no sign of life in the streets.
Franek turned to Tungdil, flabbergasted. “Less than forty cycles ago there were forty thousand people living here! I swear!”
“Lot-Ionan is not just out to get you but plans death for everyone connected to you, I expect,” said Ireheart. “Vicious old man-he’s working out his grievance.”
“What a fool!” Franek’s display of anger did not seem simulated. “They weren’t to blame!”
“Does the town have a well?” Tungdil asked, indifferent to Franek’s fury.
“Yes…”
“Then let’s get there.” Tungdil set off, the group in his wake. “Be prepared for absolutely anything. Lot-Ionan, or whoever has done this, will be expecting Franek to turn up sooner or later.” As he walked he drew his weapon, Bloodthirster, and his lips moved in silent prayer.
Ireheart felt the familiar, enjoyable tension creeping up his spine. With his crow’s beak in his left hand he kept constant watch on their surroundings. Please, no giant scorpions. Together with the humans he kept to the edge of the road, while the watchful Zhadar whooshed past, using the house roofs and side streets, on the lookout for any ambush or trap.
Franek led them through the alleyways to a small square measuring ten paces by ten; the houses roundabouts were tiny. The remnants of old market stalls lay tumbled on the flagstones, many of which were cracked or broken. Others showed deep ruts. Ireheart observed the scene. Something massive crashed down here.
Slin bent down and picked up a golden bracelet. “Will you look at that?” he said, showing it to the others. “It was just lying there!” He examined the piece with expert eyes. “This is a splendid example of a goldsmith’s craft. I would say it’s worth about four hundred gold coins.”
“This used to be the jewelers’ market,” said Franek, going over to the fountain in the middle of the square. He tasted the water that came splashing out of a stone pillar to collect in a basin. “It’s safe. The source of this water can’t be got at to poison it. At least, it would be terribly difficult. It comes from a very long way down underground.”
“Could probably be done by magic, though?” Ireheart continued to scan the windows of the houses.
Franek filled his drinking pouch. “No, I would have noticed.”
“And how would you have done that, clever clogs?” Ireheart was not going to be fobbed off so easily.
“I’m a magus, so I have an instinct.” He indicated Coira. “Get her to check it out if you don’t believe me.”
The maga, who like Rodario and Mallenia was suffering from bad sunburn, came closer and pretended to pronounce a spell. She had to rely on the judgment of the famulus, because she did not want to waste the last of her magic on apparently trivial matters. Her already limited powers were waning further, at any rate, evaporating like water in the heat of the sun. She was desperate to reach the magic source in the Blue Mountains and steep herself in it before her deformed arm rotted away. Looking at her, Rodario was aware she was keeping up a pretence, deceiving the dwarves as to her state of health. “There is no magic contamination,” she announced.
Franek looked triumphant and superior, Ireheart gave in and everyone started to fill their flasks.
Tungdil told Slin to put the bracelet back. “It’s not yours. Perhaps the townspeople will come back and they’d call you a thief.”
One of the Zhadar up on the roof called out a warning. Barskalin turned to the one-eyed dwarf and interpreted. “They’ve spotted some bodies. He says they look as if a butcher has been at them. The flesh has been scraped off and the bones smashed. Judging from the state of the cadavers they think it must have happened about ten orbits ago.”
Franek went and sat down in the shade, joining the other humans. “Lot-Ionan has no army. It could perhaps have been bandits that did this, but my feeling is that Lot-Ionan, or maybe Bumina, sent a magic creature to kill them or drive them all out of the town.” He turned to Coira. “You’ll have to be more on your guard. Do us a discovery spell, so that we’ll know if we’re safe.”
“Yes. Do that,” Tungdil urged her. “I don’t want to walk into an ambush so close now to our goal. You’ll be able to see more than the Zhadar can.”
Coira was about to object, but her curiosity got the better of her. Tungdil knew very well that she had practically no magic left at her disposal-why was he making such a demand? Did he have no idea at all how much effort casting such a spell would involve? “I’ll do it from up there,” she said, nodding to Rodario to accompany her into the nearest large house.
They climbed the steps, going up two floors to stand on the whitewashed roof of a building that gave them a good view of the whole settlement.
“Are you really going to do it?” the actor asked her.
“Yes,” she lied. “It’s to protect all of us.” She waved her arms about, closed her eyes once, then opened them and turned round three times on the spot. “I don’t feel anything. We’re safe, but nevertheless we should hurry. I’m uneasy. I’ll tell Tungdil so, before he decides we should camp here.”
Rodario took her hand. “I’m glad to see your hand is still in its rightful place.”
“For a while, at least. But I shan’t be able to do much more.” She smiled at him and they returned to the others so that the maga could make her report to the high king. She made no secret of her feelings of disquiet about the place. “Have you noticed the vultures are missing? It’s unnatural. They only come down to feast if they know they won’t be disturbed.” That alone, she argued, was reason enough for departing swiftly from the town.
“That may be so. But it’s you, maga, in particular I’m thinking of when I order a rest stop.” Tungdil, over by the fountain, commanded the Zhadar to investigate the neighboring houses, and to move in if they found no danger. “The day is too hot for us to march on and, anyway, we are close now to the Blue Mountains. I’ve agreed with Barskalin that we should travel at night and rest by day. That way we should avoid being seen.” He collected water in his open hand and washed his face; a droplet hanging from the eye patch shimmered gold in the light. “As there are no magic traps there’s no reason we shouldn’t remain here for a time. Right?”
Coira hesitated, then nodded. “No reason not to.” She went back into the house with Rodario, her conscience pricking her. Her right arm was burning and throbbing: Not a good sign.
Curiosity got the better of Ireheart, Slin and Balyndar, overcoming their professed intentions and their common sense.
They wandered round the streets, ready for combat, searching abandoned houses for signs of recent occupation. The Zhadar were protecting the group at the jewelers’ market and the three dwarves felt strong enough to see off any attacks by robbers or wild animals.