Legacy of Steel Page 13

  In the morning, Massard was back in the tent quarter, looking no worse than usual. He said nothing to Sara beyond a barked order for breakfast and generally ignored her while he took the talon on another cross-country run.

  Sara was slowly getting stronger from the frequent endurance runs, and she could now keep up with the younger men and women without as much difficulty. Her new strength gave her more time to think as they jogged over the barren and frost-cracked ground, but try as she might, she couldn't think of a good solution to her problem with Massard. If only he would have the courtesy to fall into a bottomless fissure somewhere out on the valley floor.

  That afternoon the talon was sent to the ruins of the temple of Darkness to help with the excavation. Several other talons joined them, and Derrick explained to Sara that every squire and knight in Neraka came at least once a month to work on their queen's temple.

  "Why?" Sara asked. "The walls of the upper temple are gone. What do they hope to find below?"

  He cocked an eyebrow and confessed, "I don't know. They've never told us."

  Nor did anyone mention a reason this time. The officer in charge, a Nightlord in gray robes, sent them off to sort through the rubble hauled out of the buried corridors the slaves. Sara took one quick look over the wall at the • deep cavern where the slaves still trudged out with their large buckets full of debris. Little had changed. The draconians in charge of the slaves looked like the same ones as before, and they cracked their whips with equal force. The slaves still moaned their monotonous cry.

  The young squires, Sara, and Massard hurried on to the pile to get to work. They sorted rock into more piles, the small bits for use as filler in rock walls and foundations, the larger pieces for construction. Anything that was not rock was immediately turned over to the Nightlord for inspection. Whether it was a piece of bone, a jeweled necklace, or a hunk of armor, he examined it all minutely and placed it carefully in wooden crates for later study. It was tedious, backbreaking work.

  In the brief moments when Sara had a chance to straighten her back and pay attention to things around her, she noticed Massard was staying rather close to her. He did not try to speak to her or look at her; he just kept a watch on her presence. It was disconcerting, and she found herself looking over her shoulder time and again to see where he was.

  If the squires noticed any abnormal tension between their officers, they did not comment on it. They worked hard through the afternoon, although Jacson spent more time cracking jokes and entertaining his companions than moving rock.

  When evening filled the city with gloom, the Nightlord dismissed the talons from their labor. Weary and sore, the recruits marched back to their quarter to rest and eat before standing their watches. Instead of retreating to his tent or going to the nearest tavern as usual, Massard sat down on a stool near the cooking fire and continued his sidelong observation of Sara.

  "I wish he'd go away," Marika whispered to the older woman as they cooked strips of meat over a makeshift grill. "What's he staying around for?"

  Sara could only shrug. She wished he'd leave, too. She Wanted to search his tent or follow him somewhere to catch him doing something his superiors would frown upon. He had to be spending a small fortune at the taverns in Neraka, certainly more than he earned. So where was he getting the coins? Other blackmailing schemes? Illegal deals? She hoped fervently he was up to something. But she couldn't do anything—even make a pretense of collecting the fifty steel coins—as long he watched her like a guard dog.

  Massard's presence dampened the entire evening for everyone. They were not accustomed to his dour, frowning company. Their conversation died to silence, and they sat shooting curious and disgruntled looks at his broad back.

  Quickly they ate their meal and went about their business, leaving Sara to bank the fire and put the cooking equipment away. Finished at last, she went to her tent and tied the flap tightly behind her. Only then did she hear Massard retire to his own tent, and even though she listened for movement from his tent most of the night, the knight officer did not come out again until dawn.

  The next day repeated the previous one almost exactly, except by evening Sara had blisters on her blisters, a permanent cramp in her back, and an intense desire to throttle Massard. He hadn't let her out of his sight the entire day. Now she had only one night and a day left, and she was no closer to solving her problem. By now the squires were starting to wonder about Massard's strange behavior and Sara's unspoken tension. Derrick, then Kelena, asked her what was wrong, and she had to pretend ignorance, an act she was sure Derrick, at least, did not believe.

  Sara retired early to her tent that night, and even her frustration could not keep her awake. She slept soundly until Derrick woke her to take her watch late in the night.

  The young man held up his small hand lamp and flashed his crooked grin when she came out, yawning and stretching. He nodded toward Massard's quiet tent. "Sounds like the old man isn't back yet."

  Sara came wide awake. "Back?" she snapped. "Back from where? When did he leave?"

  Derrick was startled by her intensity. "He left just before my watch. I don't know where he went. Probably a tavern, since he went to the city. Why? What's going on?"

  She put her hands on his arms and looked up at his worried face. "Something I need to take care of alone, Derrick. Go to your tent and get some sleep. I'll see you in the morning."

  He eyed her suspiciously, but a squire could not question an officer, even a junior one. "Be careful," he said at last. "Massard is dangerous and unpredictable."

  Sara was surprised by his insight and pleased by his concern. She pushed him gently toward his tent, then she collected her sword, dagger, and a slender blade she tucked in her boot. She slipped on her black cloak and struck out into the dense darkness.

  14

  She should have reported to the officer of the watch. He would be expecting her shortly, and her absence would be seen as dereliction of duty, an offense the knights punished harshly. But Sara did not believe Massard had gone to a tavern. It was too late, for one reason, and for another, she hoped fervently he had slipped away to do something he shouldn't. It was worth the risk to her to look. The trick would be finding him in the maze of streets and alleys both outside and inside the walls.

  She had a bit of luck at the main gate. The officer of the watch at the walls was the young Knight Officer Targonne, who was a frequent guest at General Abrena's dinners. Sara had impressed him considerably by her actions to stop the assassin's knife, and he had altered his opinion of her age-worn abilities.

  "Massard?" he replied to her query. "Yes, I know him. He went through perhaps an hour ago. Bundled in his cloak and reeking of spirits." The young man lifted his nose disdainfully at the memory. "He headed up that way, toward The Broken Barrel."

  Sara gave him her thanks and walked up the road toward the notorious tavern. The Broken Barrel was one of those places where the patrons went for the brawls as much for the brews. There were usually more broken heads than broken barrels in the decrepit old place.

  Despite the late hour, there were still some customers in the tavern when Sara poked her head in the door. She quickly scanned the drunken faces and ducked out again before someone saw her. Massard was not there.

  How far could he go in an hour? Where did he go?

  Sara studied the street in both directions and saw nothing more than a couple of draconians walking into a distant building and a gully dwarf poking through a pile of trash. She heard rats scuttling in the alley behind her. A few lights gleamed in the windows of the crowded tenements.

  She began to walk slowly along the street, keeping her eyes open and her ears attuned to the night noises around her. She nearly walked past the gully dwarf, then changed her mind and paused beside him.

  The furtive creature saw the black-cloaked figure and backed away warily. "No hurt, no hurt," he croaked at her in Common tongue. "I only look for food."

  "Don't be frightened," Sara said softly.
"I'm just looking for a friend. I thought he might have passed by here a little while ago. A big man, a knight like me. He has a beard and walks hunched forward."

  The gully dwarf peered at her face through the darkness. "Huh! Friend of yours, is he? Poor friends you have. He came. He kicked me. I hope he falls in privy!"

  Sara couldn't help but chuckle. "To be honest, so do I. Did you see where he went?"

  "Bad friend," the gully dwarf muttered, wrinkling his flat nose. His long, scraggly beard drooped down his chest. "When he kick me, I follow to see if I could help him down a privy. But he go in that shop, the one with three hands on sign. He not come out yet."

  "Thank you," Sara said, and she gave him a copper coin for the information. She left him gleefully stuffing the coin into a ratty bag by his feet, and she hurried along the street to the shop he described.

  It was there on her left, a new wooden building and one of the few of stout construction. Its shutters were closed, and the door, when Sara tried it, was firmly locked. The sign above the entrance showed three red hands in the form of a triangle and read "The Red-Handed Pawnshop."

  Figures, Sara said to herself. The front of the shop was totally dark, but when she checked the sides of the building, she noticed a slip of light shining from one of the rear windows. She slipped noiselessly down the side alley and found a crack in the shutter of the window. When she applied her eye to the crack, she could see two men sitting at a worn table in what looked like an office. The men were drinking from flagons and engaged in a spirited conversation. Although she could not see the second man well enough to identify him, she recognized the first man immediately. She had found Massard.

  Her excitement rising, she pushed closer to the window and tried to hear what the men were saying. It was difficult to hear them because they were across the room and the stranger had his back to Sara. She only caught a few words: "Nightlord"… "artifacts"… "good prices." It was enough to send her curiosity soaring.

  Then Massard picked up a bag lying on the floor near his feet. He tipped it over and dumped the contents on the table in front of the strange man. A number of items of different sizes spilled out. Sara strained to see what they were.

  The stranger moved his oil lamp closer to the objects to examine them, and the light gleamed on their surfaces. Outside, Sara's mouth fell open. She knew at least one of those items. She had found it herself that afternoon in the rubble removed from the temple and had given it to Massard to pass on to the Nightlord. She could not mistake it, a silver armband decorated with a geometric pattern of lapis lazuli. The other things appeared to be equally as interesting: a delicate silver cup, a tattered pouch full of rolled scrolls, some bits of armor, and a dagger encrusted with jewels.

  The stranger looked pleased. Massard sat back and smirked.

  Sara grinned. So that's what the old thief is up to.

  She heard a sound behind her. Then something very hard hit her on the back of the head.

  The first sensation she became aware of was a throbbing pain in her head. The second was of being carried by her arms and legs.

  She heard a voice mumble through a thick fog, "Let's dump her in the ruins. The horax will dispose of the body."

  She was dreaming. Surely this was a nightmare. It had to be.

  She felt hands on her ankles and on her arms. Her body jerked and swayed. She heard footsteps pad on stone.

  Suddenly she was falling. She hated dreams about falling. They always ended with a sickening crunch, and she'd wake in her bed sweating and panting. This time was different. This time she landed with a sickening crunch, and she woke to find herself on a dirt floor in total darkness.

  Terror jolted her back to reality. Her first compulsion was to freeze. She could see absolutely nothing around her, no walls, no floor. She could not even see her own hands. She huddled on her stomach where she landed and felt panic build within her like the nausea rising in her stomach.

  Somewhere, far in the distance, she thought she heard footsteps that quickly faded away. A heavy silence closed in on her. No! No! her consciousness cried. Don't leave me here!

  But she knew it was already too late. Whoever had dropped her in this black hole had already left. She was alone.

  She lowered her pounding head, too terrified to move. She wanted to scream, but some subconscious knowledge kept her quiet. There was danger here, wherever here was. She vaguely remembered hearing someone say something, something about… what?

  In frustration, her fingers dug into the loose dirt and gravel under her. She paused and ran her hands through the dirt again. The feel of that crumbled earth and broken rock felt familiar, and the familiarity jolted another memory loose in her aching mind. The voice had said "ruins." That was it! They had dumped her in the ruins!

  Ever so carefully Sara eased to her knees and reached her hands outward in a circle around her body. Far to her right, her fingers brushed a stone wall. Her breath came out in a sob of relief. It was something substantial in the endless darkness, a solid barrier against her growing terror. She scrambled close to the wall and pressed her back against it. With the comforting stone behind her, she could let her whirling thoughts slow down into some semblance of sense.

  She put her pounding head between her hands. A large lump, sticky with blood, lay under her hair on the back of her head. Nausea still roiled in her belly. She took several slow, deep breaths and tried to think through the waves of dizziness that rolled through her.

  She realized now she was in the ruins of the old temple—that blasted shrine so aptly named the Temple of Darkness. Just knowing that eased much of her fear. The lord mayor had said the work crews had only excavated a few of the lower levels. If all else failed, she could just sit here until daylight when the slaves returned to their labors.

  But even as part of her mind took comfort in that, another scrap of memory intruded into her thoughts. There was something else the strange voice had said, something about a… horax? The name sounded vaguely familiar; she just couldn't remember why. Her head was still dazed from the blow, and her mind seemed slightly out of focus.

  She inhaled deeply and began to take stock of her situation. The air was very cold and smelled of dust and old stone and dank mold. She realized her cloak was gone and her sword, too.

  Her hand suddenly grabbed for the thong around her neck. Cobalt! If she could summon him, he could help her out of this hideous darkness. But the thong and the dragon scales were gone, and a burning sensation at the back of her neck told her it had been torn off.

  She slumped against the stone, feeling terribly alone and vulnerable. Horax… a doubt nagged at her. What was a horax?

  The cold began to penetrate her uniform, and she shivered. What she wouldn't give for a cup of tarbean tea and a light.

  Sara dug her fingers into her knees. This was ridiculous. Why should she sit here the rest of the night and slowly freeze to death while Massard sat in his warm tent, counted his money, and laughed up his sleeve? That son of an ogress had done this to her, and by any god that still paid attention to Krynn, she was not going to let him get away with it! She had to get out. She had to confront him with his crimes and make him choke on his own arrogance.

  She lifted her hands above her head and felt her way up the wall until she was standing upright. If there was a ceiling to this corridor or room or whatever she was in, it was beyond her reach. Keeping her hands flat on the wall, she extended her senses outward to seek any clue she could find that could help her find a way to go.

  Slowly small details nudged into her awareness. There were tiny sounds she had not noticed before: the steady drip of water far away, the scuttling of a rat's feet on stone, and a very faint rattle, as if a bit of gravel had slipped loose and rolled down a slope. She also felt a slight movement of air on her right cheek. And where there was moving air, there had to be some sort of opening.

  With infinite caution, she inched her way along the wall to her right, one tiny step at a time. Each time she mo
ved, she extended her fingers and her foot forward to feel the stone ahead. It was slow going, but at least she felt as if she was doing something.

  After a while, Sara decided she must be in a corridor. The wall was very straight, and there was no feeling of space around her. The air continued to waft gently past her, moving sluggishly through the blackness. She gritted her teeth and pushed blindly on.

  After what seemed a very long time, Sara's fingers found the edge of a door and the end of the corridor. She felt all around the opening and discovered it was an arched entrance into an open space. Keeping her fingers on the stone wall, she stepped into the chamber.

  Her eyes, so accustomed to the Stygian darkness, nearly passed over the faint luminescence. She blinked and looked again, and there it was, a ghostly blob of pale greenish light. Then she saw another and another scattered across the floor and walls of the large cavern. A largish patch gleamed like a will-o'-the-wisp on the wall several steps beyond her hand, so she edged over to take a look.

  To her surprise, the phosphorescent gleam came from a round growth of lichen that clung to the wall like thick gray moss. The patch came off easily in her hands and lay on her fingers, softly glowing. Excitedly she looked around for more and found two other patches growing within her reach. She peeled them off, too, and fastened them into a ball with the leather thong from her hair. Their combined light barely lit the floor by her feet, but any light was a joy after the impenetrable blackness of the corridor.

  She made her way across the floor of the chamber and added two more glowing clumps to her ball. At last she had enough illumination to take a look around.

  The slaves had obviously done some extensive work in this room. The floor was cleared of almost all the fallen rock and debris, and only a few large pieces remained. The ceiling had been shored up by timbers in several places, and any artifacts and bones had been removed. Best of all, to Sara's mind, there was an obvious trail of booted prints leading through a layer of dust on the floor to a second entrance on the far side of the chamber. Her head-bashing friends, no doubt.