But of course, the Nars hadn t left fettered fiends along every inch of the dark and silent maze. Much of the time, Dai Shan found himself exploring spaces that, with their dusty altars, and faded, flaking frescoes depicting the lower worlds, had plainly once served the purposes of spell and ritual but were simply left to inspire a forlorn feeling of abandonment.
Occasionally, despite the gulf of ages and the lack of a common language, he recognized a glyph or image connected to the esoteric disciplines he himself had mastered. He felt the temptation to linger, to try to decipher the overall message and see what secret knowledge he could obtain thereby. But that wasn t why he d come, and so he kept moving.
Moving and looking for the burial crypts that Falconer claimed were here, Dai Shan just hoped that, despite his ignorance of the customs of the ancient Nars, he d know them when he saw them. He reassured himself that there couldn t be all that many ways to lay a corpse to rest.
And indeed, he recognized the tombs instantly when a turn brought him to another pentacle mosaic painted over with hathran symbols. On the other side was an arch sealed with a wrought-iron gate, and beyond that, stone sarcophagi, and jars and urns in niches in the walls.
Very well, Dai Shan thought. I found it. I can carry out Falconer s instructions forthwith. The question is, do I want to?
On one level, the answer was, surely not. No rational man would be eager to do the bidding of an undead creature when he didn t even understand what would ensue as a result.
But it was also true that in a game of Stones, a player sometimes found himself obliged to take his turn without sensing how the opponent would respond or what overall strategy he was pursuing. One placed one s stone anyway, because the only alternative was to forfeit.
Till that point, Dai Shan had promised aid to several of the other players in the game that was Rashemen without doing too much except for facilitating the murder of the Aglarondans to assist anybody. But clearly, with Falconer making demands of him, and the berserkers of the Griffon Lodge marching on the Fortress of the Half-Demon, the overall situation was evolving, and mere pledges wouldn t serve much longer. If Dai Shan didn t make himself genuinely useful to someone, he was going to lose everybody s trust. So he would. He just had to proceed in a manner that still left room to prevaricate, maneuver, and betray.
The Shou walked around the edge of the design on the floor. He trusted the ancient hathrans arts, but still, why walk across the center of the demon cage and so make all but certain that the thing within knew someone was outside? He climbed the wrought-iron gate like it was a ladder, and then, not needing to cling with his hands to keep his balance, removed a mallet and chisel from inside his coat. Reciting the words that Falconer had taught him by rote, disclosing nothing of their meaning he hammered the first of three vertical notches.
It seemed a wooded slope like any other, until a dark, droning cloud rose from the leafless trees at the top. Some of Vandar s lodge brothers exclaimed in alarm.
They might have turned to run, too, except that the onrushing insects closed the distance before they could shake off their astonishment. Buzzing, the flies and other creatures bit, stung, clung, and crawled. As he flailed at them, Vandar was nearly unmanned by the unreasoning fear that they d crawl into his nose and ears, and he d never get them out.
Sliding and almost falling in the snow, he turned and blundered back down the hillside. It was all he or any of the berserkers could do against such an attack.
His eyes were all but closed to keep the insects out. But despite that handicap, and the swirling haze of the swarms on every side, he glimpsed flickering forms appearing and disappearing in the pale winter sunlight. And as the buzzing waxed and waned, it sometimes articulated words. He couldn t understand them, but he felt the weight of anger they carried.
He prayed the attack would stop once he and his comrades blundered off the slope. It didn t. He supposed the insects couldn t keep it up forever, but there was no way to guess just how long they d persist or how far they d give chase.
Torches! he cried, half choking on the creatures that instantly flew into his mouth. Only the Forest Queen knew how long it would take to gather wood and set it aflame with the swarms tormenting them, but if they could
This is winter! Cera cried from somewhere overhead. She and Jet had been scouting from on high and had evidently observed their comrades distress. The Keeper commands you to go back to sleep!
The sunlight shone brighter, and the insects dispersed. Had he been a weakling, Vandar might have wept with relief at their departure. Instead, he spat their bitter taste out of his mouth, scooped up snow, and rubbed it on the burning, itching bumps where he d been stung. Meanwhile, with a final beat of his wings, Jet settled on the ground.
I m sorry I didn t get here sooner, Cera said, fumbling with the harness that secured her to the griffon s saddle.
We flew down as soon as we noticed, the griffon rasped. Vandar had heard enough of Jet s inhuman speech to start to pick up emotion, and he wondered if the familiar had found the warriors plight humorous. But no, surely not. The griffon was their totem, after all.
If everyone will gather close, Cera said, swinging herself off Jet s back, I ll ask Amaunator to ease your hurts.
She recited a prayer and swung her gilded mace in an arc above her head. The pain of Vandar s tiny wounds diminished, and other men sighed as they experienced the same relief. The lumps on their faces shrank.
Is that better? Cera asked.
Vandar nodded. Much, he replied. Other berserkers grumbled the same and thanked her.
Then explain what happened, the plump little priestess said.
My guess, Vandar said, is that we trespassed on territory that is protected by some spirit or fey.
Because it s allied with the durthans?
Not necessarily. Not this far out from the fortress. I think it s likely the hill before us is a fey mound.
Other men muttered, and spat and sketched signs in the air to ward off bad luck.
We scarcely have fey in Chessenta, Cera said, at least outside the Sky Riders, but I take it you re talking about a burial mound? Sacred earth?
Yes, Vandar said. They re generally marked, too, with rings of strangely colored mushrooms or stones laid out in patterns. But with all that buried under the snow He shook his head in disgust. In large measure, it was disgust at himself.
A road led straight up the lakeshore from Immilmar almost to the Fortress of the Half-Demon. But if he and his brothers took it, everybody and his nanny goat would spot them on the march. The alternative was to swing well to the east, thus avoiding both well-traveled paths and the forbidden reaches of the Urlingwood.
But that meant traversing country Vandar didn t know particularly well, certainly not well enough to have learned the location of every fey mound and other potential hazard. Still, it was hard to shake the feeling that he d led his friends badly and they d suffered as a result.
What s wrong with you all? asked Jet.
You look like frightened kittens. This isn t tricky. If it s not safe to go over the hill, go around it.
Vandar forced a smile. That does sound like the answer, doesn t it? All right, brothers. It looks like the going might be easier on the right. Let s try that way.
They did, with Cera and Jet opting to hike along with them, and for a few paces, things were all right. Even after the healing prayer, Vandar s stings and bites still throbbed and itched a little, but it was a trivial discomfort.
Then, however, a space above his left eye started throbbing, too, and his joints ached. Queasiness churned his guts. Wondering if he was coming down with a winter fever, he heard retching behind him. He turned to see a fellow berserker doubled over, puking.