Rhune Shadow Page 17

  “It was a sly trick,” Javan said. “It must have been. Mab died hideously. I’d wager my share of plunder it was that one’s doing,” he said, pointing at Himilco with his knife.

  Thirmida clutched the box with whitened fingertips, and there was menace in her voice. “Does Bel Ruk speak to you?”

  Javan stared at her before he slowly shook his head.

  “This is a holy moment. I need serenity in order to gather my thoughts so I can send the old Prophetess to Bel Ruk. Now you barge in here waving a dagger at my suffete. How dare you, Javan? Sheathe it this instant or I shall curse you by Bel Ruk.”

  “Cousin,” Javan whispered. “I’m doing this for you.”

  Thirmida raised the small box above her head.

  Himilco noted the ornate carvings on the sides. They were similar to the bas-relief images on the columns holding up the portico. Where had Thirmida gotten that box? Why was it so important to her?

  “Forgive me, Prophetess!” Javan cried. He sank to his knees. With a shaking hand, he sheathed the dagger.

  Thirmida studied him. There seemed to be something ominous in her eyes. Finally, she lowered the box.

  “Rise, Javan.” She spoke with greater authority, with majesty.

  That surprised Himilco. He became more curious than ever concerning whatever was in the strange box.

  Javan stood, although he averted his gaze.

  “Go outside,” Thirmida said. “Take the others with you. Make certain no one else enters until I summon you.”

  Javan opened his mouth. Maybe he wanted to tell her that a band of Gepids waited outside, among them a giant of a barbarian. Instead, Javan closed his mouth and meekly turned away. His eyes slid from Himilco as if the suffete was no longer there.

  When the door shut, Thirmida turned to Himilco. “You’d better have a good explanation for this. People told me you’d fled. I knew it couldn’t be true. Yet, you were gone. No one knew where. Dabar has spread wild tales of your Gepids slaughtering Zama clan warriors.”

  “Dabar is a liar,” Himilco said.

  “You’re wrong. Dabar has a reputation for honesty. It’s why he is chief among the messengers.”

  “There must be a demon in him then,” Himilco said. “It might have entered him after he stole from me.”

  Thirmida pursed her lips. “Where have you been?”

  Himilco bowed his head, although his half-smile remained. The black lotus billowed through his bloodstream, leaving him serene. Nothing could touch him. He was invincible, and those around him were gnats. It amused him to watch their antics. The problems of his old self were fleas that his ultimate wisdom would crush with pathetic ease.

  “I’m waiting,” she said.

  “I suppose you might object, Prophetess, but I wanted to make certain that your people were ready for the grand marriage.”

  “What does that even mean?”

  “I walked among them. I took their pulse.”

  “You should have asked me first,” she said.

  “Yes. I apologize. I was certain you would object because of your inherent goodness. You understand how jealous others can become. Javan’s actions just now prove it. I forgive him, of course. He acted out of love for you. I beg you to refrain from punishing him.”

  “Javan is my concern,” she said.

  Himilco noticed how she stroked the box as one would a cat. Some innate sense of self-preservation kept him from asking her about it.

  “We will talk about your disappearance later. Now is the moment. Bel Ruk calls for his bride.”

  “Prophetess,” Himilco said. “There is one other matter you should consider.”

  “Make it quick,” she said.

  “The people are not yet ready for you to take the old Prophetess’s scepter.”

  “I have already spoken concerning that.”

  “If you would just—”

  “I have spoken,” she said. “The matter is officially settled.”

  Despite the black lotus-laced confidence, Himilco knew a small gnawing doubt. There was something going on here that wasn’t quite right. It had something to do with the box. If Thirmida took up the scepter and shriveled into a withered corpse in front of everyone…

  I am a sorcerer-priest of Karchedon. I will have to act at the altar. If she dies…I will likely be next. And that’s something I’m unwilling to accept just yet.

  -26-

  Thirmida led the procession out of the gargantuan temple of Bel Ruk. Most of the watchers commented on the splendid peacock robe that trailed behind her on the stones. Few noticed how she clutched a small wooden box to her bosom. Behind her followed the attendants in white. Himilco Nara was next. He wore a scarlet robe, and a tall hat that shadowed his face. Few witnessed his bright eyes or the superior smile that might have goaded more than one Nasamon to rush up and stab him.

  The Gray Wolf in polished armor, a spiked shield and a flashing spiked helm marched next. His Gepids followed in step, resplendent barbarians. They were giants among the watching desert sons. Their exotic garb, great height and outlandishly colored hair seemed strangely appropriate. They were prisoners to Bel Ruk, a sign of the singular power of the god. They were neither Zama clan nor of the Black Knives, or Dog Brothers. None who watched need feel jealous that another tribe or clan had gained the right to guard the new Prophetess. In the rear, looking small and insignificant, strode Javan and his warriors.

  Despite the raging battle at the quays, the war-chieftain and several important sheiks lined the road to the Great Altar. Clan champions guarded their chiefs. Dabar watched too, seething with hatred against Himilco. He whispered to the war-chieftain, urged him to cut the suffete down now.

  The war-chieftain hesitated. Perhaps he wished for nothing to interfere with the coming marriage. Let the old Prophetess go to the Lord of Dragons, and, perhaps, good riddance to her. Let the new Prophetess protect a known traitor. Perhaps the war-chieftain felt that would weaken Thirmida’s position. He was a shrewd general, cunning enough to rise above other powerful sheiks. He’d risen while serving a diabolical woman with dreadful powers and uncanny oratorical abilities. Perhaps he felt there would be time enough to challenge Thirmida’s choice of suffete. In any case, he ignored Dabar’s plea.

  With great solemnity, the procession advanced on the step-pyramid. Starting with Thirmida, they climbed the steep stairs. The Gepids and the bulk of the watching Nasamons took up station at the first landing. Javan, with his warriors and noted Nasamons halted at the second. Clan champions, important leaders, the majority of the attendants and the messengers remained at the third landing.

  Only Thirmida, her chosen attendant, Himilco Nara, the war-chieftain and the handful of sheiks stood on the pinnacle of the pyramid. The old Prophetess lay on the obsidian altar. She wore the ancient skull-mask and the spotted hyena robe and gripped the dwarf dragon-topped scepter. Her chest rose and fell minutely.

  Karchedon smoldered far below. The distant sounds of battle drifted from the quays. The war-chieftain glanced uneasily in that direction. From here, the mass of war galleys waiting outside the seawall entrance seemed ominous. So did the sea. Swells lifted the huge vessels, threatening to dash them against Karchedon’s wall. Might the Tyrant seek safety in Karchedon? The Tyrant would have to if the sea grew any wilder. The war-chieftain believed it was a mistake to have come here instead of rushing there.

  The war-chieftain was dead wrong, however. For now began the pivotal moment in the Nasamon conquest of Karchedon.

  ***

  The new Prophetess stood before the black altar and its sleeping bride. The war-chieftain and the sheiks stood to her left, Himilco and the chosen attendant to her right. Thirmida remained motionless as wind stirred her peacock feathers.

  In the sky, dark clouds loomed as a feeling of impending rain grew. The wind had continued to increase and the temperature had dropped.

  Thirmida’s chosen attendant shuffled one of her slippered feet on the granite. One of the sheiks cleared
his throat.

  It had no effect, as Thirmida continued to wait.

  Himilco decided to take matters into his own hands. With drugged serenity, he gently reached for the sacrificial knife carried by the first attendant. The dark blade rested on a pillow. He’d seen that knife somewhere. He could feel its killing power. Was that the Rhune’s knife? He seemed to recall someone saying Ert had brought the knife from the Tyrant’s camp.

  As Himilco tugged at the pillow, the attendant looked upon him in wonder.

  Himilco smiled, and that seemed to calm the woman. She released her grip.

  Himilco told himself it was better this way. It would seal his importance if he handed the Prophetess the knife. He would also have a greater part in killing the hag on the altar. His smile grew. How she had threatened him only half a day ago. She had been so arrogant then. Now look at her. Lying there, about to have her heart ripped out. Who had won now, eh?

  This had to be one of the most delicious moments of his life. Himilco savored it as he held the sacrificial knife. He replayed his humiliation in her tent. The circle of skulls—wouldn’t it be glorious to hollow out her skull and nail it above a door in the temple? That was a splendid idea. Every time he became moody, he need merely look at the skull, chuckle to himself and realize that he, Himilco Nara, was the cleverest man in Karchedon. These desert dogs would dance to his tune. If he played this right, it wouldn’t be long before he ruled these smelly ruffians.

  Himilco began turning toward Thirmida. He noticed two sheiks glancing at the clouds and at one another. The war-chieftain seemed to have lost interest in the proceeding as he studied the distant quays.

  Himilco didn’t care as he took a step toward Thirmida. She still stared at the old Prophetess.

  Himilco paused, cherishing the moment. A strong gust of wind blew against him then. He shivered at the cold, and he flinched as an even colder droplet hit his cheek. Maybe it was time to get on with the killing.

  Clearing his throat seemed too prosaic, so Himilco proffered the pillow holding the knife. It was then he noticed that Thirmida stared at the old hag with a strange fixity. She didn’t seem to notice that her hair blew around her face. With a stir of unease, Himilco studied her eyes. She did not blink. She almost seemed hypnotized.

  Cautiously, he stepped even nearer. “Prophetess,” he whispered.

  She gave no indication of having heard him.

  He shoved the pillow and knife closer than seemed proper, so that it was practically in her face.

  “Thirmida?” he asked.

  As Thirmida clutched the strange wooden box to her bosom, she kept staring at the old Prophetess.

  Maybe she’d lost her courage for the deed. Did it suddenly seem wrong to her?

  “You’re the new Prophetess,” Himilco whispered encouragingly. “This is a great act you’re about to perform. Bel Ruk loves the old Prophetess. He yearns for her to become his wife. You’re doing her a wonderful favor.”

  Thirmida began to tremble.

  “No,” Himilco said, using a gentle voice. “You mustn’t fear, my girl. This is a good deed.”

  The trembling only became worse.

  “Thirmida,” he said. He reached out as if to touch her.

  Lighting slashed across the sky. Immediate thunder vibrated against Himilco’s bones, causing him to stagger back. The others cried out in fear.

  Thirmida moved at last. With trembling fingers, she unlatched the box, opening it. She took out a smooth metal ball the size of a child’s head. Straining—was it heavy?—she let the box fall and used both hands, raising the object above her head.

  Himilco squinted. There was something vaguely familiar about the ball, although he had never seen it before. It was smooth, metallic—

  The suffete’s mouth sagged open. Strange vibrations swirled across the ball’s metal surface. He’d seen such swirling before. It had been on the fifty-ton obsidian cube in the inner sanctum in the Great Temple of Bel Ruk. What did the metal ball have in common with the cube?

  Suddenly, the ball glowed with an eerie radiance. The radiance encompassed Thirmida, creating a nimbus of power glow around her. That caused her hair to stir as if with static electricity. The glow became more intense.

  Himilco could hear a hum that came from the ball. At that moment, a beam shot outward from the glowing ball and projected into the air just above them. A shimmering outline of a head appeared. It had red eyes that watched them, scanning the gathered throng.

  “I am Bel Ruk,” the head intoned with words like gongs.

  Everyone cried out in terror, even those on the first, second and third landings. On the first landing, the Gray Wolf and his Gepids fell prone before the glowing image. On the second and third landings, Nasamons lay stricken. Here at the pinnacle, the chosen attendant, the war-chieftain and the sheiks thrashed as if someone had lit them on fire. Only the drugged Himilco and the glowing Thirmida remained on their feet.

  “Hear my words,” Bel Ruk said. “I am postponing my marriage with the Prophetess. Instead, she will continue to goad you to action. I now elevate her to the station of Judge of the Nasamons.”

  The red eyes looked upon the Prophetess in her skull mask. Still lying supine, she levitated from the altar. Then, she rotated until she floated above it as if standing. It was strange, Himilco noted vaguely, but the wind did not stir her spotted hyena robe.

  Bel Ruk’s eyes deepened to a crimson color.

  The Prophetess lifted the dragon-skull scepter.

  “She sleeps,” the awful voice said. “If she should awaken, she will wreak fierce vengeance as the judge of Bel Ruk. It will be a dreadful day, my children, when she opens her eyes. Therefore, serve me diligently so you may postpone that day.”

  Himilco wanted to clap his hands over his ears. It wasn’t the booming voice, it was the shrieking hum from the metal ball. Thirmida’s hands had begun to shake as the ball vibrated faster than ever.

  “You will build me a pyramid of skulls,” Bel Ruk said. “Each sacrifice must die on a specially constructed altar of dressed stones. My executioner will remove the heart of each sacrifice and burn it as an offering to me. The skull pyramid will be a monument to my glory. You will slaughter a third of the Karchedonians. The rest will serve as my slaves. They will build you implements of war. With them, you will ride out in conquest, bringing me more sacrifices.

  “Listen well,” Bel Ruk boomed. “There is only one Prophetess. She watches from her perch above the altar as your Judge. I name the holder of the Sphere of Nyssa as ‘the Oracle.’ She will speak my words to you. As a sign of her elevation, she shall wield this.”

  Thirmida’s right hand released the glowing ball. It made her left hand shake harder. She clenched her right hand, opened it and clenched again. A glowing outline appeared in her hand first. Then, she held onto a staff with a golden dragonhead with twin rubies for eyes.

  The dragonhead lowered until it was inches from Himilco. Himilco watched, frozen in horror, quaking inside.

  “This man is the slave suffete of Karchedon,” Bel Ruk said. “He will only be below the Oracle in authority. He shall become chief of my executioners, those who rip out the hearts of the sacrificed ones.”

  Bel Ruk gazed over Karchedon. Fantastic bolts of lightning jagged from the clouds, exploding into the giant galleys before the harbor entrance. Sonic booms deafened them as the sky began to pour heavy drops of rain.

  As the rain sizzled against the glow, Thirmida lowered the metal ball. Abruptly, the beam quit. The ear-piercing hum ceased. Instantly, Bel Ruk’s head disappeared. That caused the glowing to stop, yet his presence lingered.

  Thirmida collapsed onto her knees. She shivered as the raindrops began to reach her. Despite that, she held onto the dragonheaded staff and the metal ball. With great slowness, she deposited the ball into the wooden box, closing the lid. At that point, the terrible presence of Bel Ruk departed.

  The old Prophetess still floated above the altar. The rain could not touch her. T
hat surely meant a god-spell protected her from harm.

  Himilco saw it all and was afraid. He was very afraid.

  PART III

  SULLO THE SAGE

  Nine months later…

  -1-

  Elissa waited in the dark at the top of a high wall of firestone.

  She wore black garments and a black cape and carried a short black blade at her side. Nine months of relentless searching, of false starts, false leads, sudden ambushes and tantalizing hints of a terrible secret that involved Karchedon and her dear departed father, had brought her to this place at this pregnant and deadly time.

  She’d had too many near misses and too many grim brushes with death in various seaports…they had taught her altogether too many things over these past months. She was much wiser than she had been. The Rhune troubadour would have been proud, she was sure of it. She had learned secret things that seemed preposterous. She had also heard tales of the terrible jihad that had burst out of Karchedon nine months ago.

  The hope was that in some way she could find Sullo. She’d been searching for him for quite some time. She hoped that Sullo could give her information that would help her destroy those who had destroyed Zarius Magonid, and who deliberately destroyed the Karchedon she had known. Most of all, she wanted to pay back the traitor Himilco Nara with a length of cold steel in his steaming black heart.

  From atop the perch on the firestone wall, she had been listening to the street sounds. Elissa now heard soft footfalls in the darkness, hunters moving as quietly as they could across the cobblestones of the street.

  With great patience and hardly any noticeable motion, she turned her head a fraction of an inch at a time. Once positioned correctly, she strained to pierce the gloom with her Rhune-sharpened senses.