Monster Of The Maze Part 12

Ogier opened his mouth. Before he could speak the priest held up a hand and turned to stare at Blade. Blade stared back. The priest was hooded, his face cloaked but for the burning dark eyes that examined Blade and missed nothing. The priest turned back to Ogier. "You are to come alone." He stalked out.

Ogier cursed for a full minute. Blade listened and grinned. He had been a soldier himself in Dimension H. He waited until Ogier ran out of breath. Then he said, "I begin to see your plight. I was told, but now I have seen. They are arrogant, these crows."

Ogier nodded glumly. "And full of guile. And powerful and numerous. I have sought to fight guile with guile, to avoid an open break, but I think I am not the man for it. I had best fight Casta before he seduces more of my troops, whilst I still have at least half an army."

Blade had noted the priests on his way inland. At the coastal camp and at every camp on the way-always there were the priests with groups of soldiers around them to listen. The black priests talked and talked and talked.

"That is your problem. now," he told Ogier. "Mine is why Casta did not invite me to this meeting. He must know that I have returned. In minutes now he will know that I have been closeted with you. The news will be signaled to the palace-city."

"That is no great mystery, Blade. He will seek to talk to us alone, each apart, and make the best bargain he can with each. And to set us at each other's throats if he can."

Blade smiled at the warrior. "That he will never do, my friend. But still I am puzzled-why does Casta come here, to the tomb of the Izmir where he is surrounded by your troops?"

Ogier poured wine. "We have a truce. I observe such vows and, until now, he had done so. He comes at least twice weekly to the monolith. I know not why, but it must be that there is something there he needs, must have or must do, something that can only be done there. I have not inquired nor will I. I do not wish to know, for I have heard stories that chill my blood and I am not a superst.i.tious or unnatural man."

Blade remembered that living skeleton seated behind the table and fondling a skull. The eyes like dark coals aflame. He thought of Hirga and her scorn and the foul smell, and the scales littered about her bed. There was something in all this that mystified and frightened him. That was Dimension-X thinking.

There was a natural, or an unnatural, explanation for everything. Logic of a particular context, a relative frame of reference, a way of doing and seeing and understanding that made sense within its own limitations. That was Home-Dimension thinking.

Blade made up his mind.

He went to Ogier and clapped him on the shoulder and gazed deep into his eyes. "Ogier, there are some things I would ask of you. The first is that you hear me out and make no objection until I have finished."

Ogier nodded. "Ask then."

"When does the moon rise tonight?"

The General fumbled through a pile of charts on his desk. "It is late tonight-a little past the night noon."

"Good. Now, you have no objections if I kill a few priests?"

Ogier shook his head and did not speak.

"I thought not. And you have no objections if I kill Casta, the blackest crow of all?"

Ogier stared with wide eyes. "I do not object. I would like to do it myself. But how? You cannot come at him. He is too well guarded. And even an attempt on his life will begin the war I have been seeking to avert."

Blade studied the tent wall for a moment. Had that bulge been there before? He moved closer to the bulge, signaling to Ogier for silence. Dusk had fallen and the night was purpling fast. Blade drew his dagger.

He spoke loudly. "I do but jest, Ogier. We would both like to kill Casta, but it would be wiser not to. We must deal with him. Make bargains. And keep our vows at least until he breaks his."

Blade thrust his dagger hard into the bulge. There was a muted scream. The bulge slithered and collapsed and was gone. Blade raced out of the tent.

Nothing. Nothing but some blood on the tent wall and the ground. Blade cursed. Ogier, behind him with drawn sword, explained it.

"Some of the crows wear armor now under their robes. This one did. It turned your point enough."

He turned to the soldier who had been standing sentry before the tent. "You saw nothing of a black priest slinking about?"

"Nothing sires. I have only just come on duty." The man did not meet their eyes.

Ogier took his name and company and they went back into the tent.

"A month ago I would have had him flayed," Ogier grumbled. "Now I take his name and will do nothing but transfer him to dirty jobs. He has been won over by the priests."

Blade filled his wine gla.s.s. "I am right, Ogier. We must act, and with speed. I will kill Casta this night. You must make your plans accordingly."

Ogier shook his head in wonderment. "Being a prisoner has affected your thinking, Blade. The man escaped. He had heard enough. Casta will be warned and ready for you."

"I agree. But even so I must do it. There is a time for swift and direct action, Ogier, and this is such a time."

"But how? I have just said it-Casta will be warned. You will walk into a trap."

"That is part of it," said Blade. "If I go alone-and I will-he will let me get so far before he closes the trap. I have seen a side of Casta that you have not, and I think that he does not really want to kill me yet. I have knowledge that Casta yearns after. He would have me prisoner, broken and weak, perhaps tortured, but he wants me alive and able to speak. He will let me into the tomb of the Izmir. It will pleasure him. So long as he thinks he has the upper hand and can take me any time he chooses."

For a long time Ogier did not speak. Then: "I would not have you do this, Blade, but I cannot stop you. If you can kill him it will be a boon for Zir, though I think you had best kill the Princess Hirga also. And I will have to act in unison with you and pray for luck."

Blade eyed him. "You advise against it. I listen and I discard that advice. I go. And you, no matter your misgivings, are with me?"

Ogier put his sword on the camp desk. He laid his hand on it at the hilt. "By this weapon I swear it. Come success or death. It is time. I have taken enough from that crow."

"Then come to my tent for an hour, Ogier, and we will whisper. It is quieter there and less suspect. Pick us a guard of six men you can trust."

"I think I can find that many," the General said dryly. "The crows have not yet corrupted all of them."

It was full dark when Ogier left Blade alone. Blade bade him take the guard with him. "I will not need them. From now on I act alone and involve no other man. See that you keep your promise to care for the woman, Valli."

"I will keep it."

"And care for her child, if she has one. I think she will."

"That also, Blade. Things will change in Zir if I come to power. No more babes will be strangled."

"Then farewell, Ogier. If I do not see you again, and I may not, I tell you true that you are a man and a soldier."

"Goodbye, Blade."

They clasped hands a last time and Ogier was gone. Blade retired to his pallet. The moon would be late tonight and he need not begin the venture for an hour or so.

He did not try to sleep. He sought to concentrate, to make the crystal work and establish contact with the computer, but it refused. He soon gave it up. Janina was in the way.

Blade closed his eyes and saw her again, glowing and gleaming, beckoning from the ledge. He became aware of a physical reaction. His groin was taut and hurting. In his mind she changed from diamond to flesh, warm and soft and inviting. Her b.r.e.a.s.t.s were full and firm, and she leaned to trail her pink nipples over his face.

"Blade! Come to me, Blade."

The words came sibilant into the tent. Blade started up on his cot. Sweat beaded his face and crawled in his beard. She had spoken. Across all the miles and the water and again the miles she had spoken, had called to him.

Real or phantom? He no longer could be sure. Janina. He must go to her.

Project DX, the computer, Lord Leighton, the six previous forays into Dimension X, they had all conspired to work this schizophrenia, to tear his brain in half. The brain operation, the implanting of the crystal, had been the last straw. Blade knew now that he was a bit mad. Insane. Crazy. He laughed. He did not care. Reality was what you made it, what you said it was, what things meant to you.

He was like a madman who knows that he is mad and also knows that in madness there is a deal of sanity.

Janina. She called him again and for a moment she was in the tent and this time it was he who beckoned her to his bed. She would not come. She held out her arms and stood looking at him and the tent filled with her radiance. Then she vanished.

Blade groaned and got off the pallet. No more. Not now. Janina sapped his will and his strength and he had need of both this night. He began to make his preparations. It did not take long. He stripped naked and buckled his swordbelt on. He wore high-laced buskins. He donned a plumed helmet and slid his left arm into the straps of a small circular s.h.i.+eld with a boss of sleek metal. Nothing else. He was ready. But for the ball of twine.

He hefted the twine in his hand. Stout enough. He smiled to himself. Casta would let him into the maze-he had no doubt of it, for the High Priest was sure of himself. And Blade, with the aid of the twine, would let himself out.

Chapter 15.

An hour before moonrise, Blade was at the east entrance to the towering monolith that was the Izmir's tomb. The night was dark and windless, and all about on the plain the campfires blazed, but no torches burned over the arched door and no black priests guarded it. Casta knew he was coming. He was making it easy for him.

For a moment he lingered in the arch. A glow of torches filtered up the ramp from the central rotunda. Nothing moved. No sound. Blade drew his sword and went down the ramp.

The great central chamber brooded in dim, guttering light. The stink of the torches filled it. Blade watched the dark gates that opened from the chamber like wheelspokes. Nothing in there. Nothing he could see.

He went to the third door from the left, thinking back. He had made a point of remembering it. It was through this door that the priest had conducted him on his first and only visit to Casta. Blade moved on. Not this time.

He paused at each entrance, stood silent and sniffed the air. He was near to completing the circle when he found it. The foul odor. It came faint but unmistakable-the stink of dead meat and ordure and something else that he could not identify. Blade moved into the pa.s.sage.

On a last thought he had attached a dagger to his belt. And carried a second in his hand. He drove the spare dagger into a crack between stones and secured the end of his twine to it, testing both dagger and twine. Firm. He began to explore along the pa.s.sage, sword thrust before him, unreeling the twine as he went. Ahead of him a torch glinted in a sconce.

He went a little beyond the torch and peered into the dark. No more torches. He went back and lifted the torch from its iron ring and now had to sheathe his sword again for lack of a third hand. He stepped on briskly, holding the torch high and letting the twine out behind him.

Light flashed overhead and then was gone. Gone before he could raise his eyes. A panel in the stone ceiling had been opened and closed. They knew where he was.

The sound behind him was a minor avalanche. Stone crashed down. Blade tugged at his line. It came easily to him, lax and supple. Useless. He reeled it in until he held the frayed end in his hand. So much for that. He cast the ball of twine away and drew his sword. With torch in left hand, held high, and the sword ready in his right, he proceeded.

A wind began to sweep through the narrow pa.s.sage. A hot wind with the cry of tortured souls behind it. The wind rose and gusted at him, not now, a scalding wind rising in fury. It bore small particles of somethings-and?-that scoured his face and body and threatened his eyes. Blade bent his head and plodded on into the wind. It howled at him and buffeted him and then, in an instant, died away. Somewhere off down the pa.s.sage a baby cried piteously and a wolf moaned. His skin crawled. He went on.

The pa.s.sage began to circle, to twist around and around in ever narrowing spirals. Blade began to feel dizzy, a vertigo near overwhelmed him and he lay on the cold floor, pressing his face against it.

There was a jetting sound from all around him, high on the walls. A hissing as something was spurted into the pa.s.sage. The foul odor vanished to be replaced by the sweetest smell he had ever known. It lulled him and soothed his senses. He felt the need of sleep. And he must breathe deep-he must.

Blade cursed and jabbed the swordpoint into his leg.

Again and yet again. The pain gave him strength to hurry on.

The corridor ceased to twist. It straightened and ran far into darkness. And ended. Stopped. Blade approached the edge and peered down into the darkness. Nothing to see. He thrust the torch into the void and shadows mocked him. He retreated from the edge and considered.

Ten feet beyond the pit the pa.s.sage continued. For some thirty feet it ran, then ended in a short transverse corridor. Three doors opened off the corridor and over each gleamed a torch. The doors were high and narrow, of metal, with a ringbolt set into each. They seemed to wait, the doors, gleaming and reflecting the torchlight in their s.h.i.+ny surfaces.

Blade looked at the pit again. Ten feet. Easy enough. He drew back a little into the pa.s.sage and did knee bends to limber his muscles. On second thought he went to the edge again and threw his torch across. It lay sparking and smoking on the far side. Blade went back and took a deep breath and ran.

As he began to run he saw the torch move. It lay on the far edge and it was moving! The ledge there was retreating.

Too late to stop. Blade ran and leaped with all his pent-up anger to lend him strength. The ledge slid away from him. He reached it with his toes, struggled desperately for balance and fell forward with a sobbing cry. Another inch or two and he would have failed the leap.

The door moved beneath him as the ledge slid back to its original position. Blade lay and caught his breath and considered that Casta had never needed Thane. He had master builders of his own. Or had Thane known of this? Had Thane built it? And, had he lived, would he have warned Blade of it, explained the perils and how to thwart them? Blade would never know.

He approached the three doors.

They were s.h.i.+ny and smooth and bore no inscripture. In these imperfect mirrors he saw himself and it gave him pause. This naked, brawny giant, scowling, with sword in hand and s.h.i.+eld on arm, was not like any of the Blades he had ever known or had ever thought to become. This image was of a savage, a barbarian, a shrewd and cunning warrior no better than the men he sought to kill. He snarled at the man in the door and the man in the door snarled back.

Blade began to laugh. Loud, harsh laughter. He smote his sword on the s.h.i.+eld and brayed with laughter. It echoed down the pa.s.sage and from the abyss behind him.

The laughter ended. Blade approached the middle door. He put out a hand and touched the burnished surface. The door moved easily. Opened. Into nothing.

Blade looked down. Blood-colored fire burned far below, and there was no smoke and only a sound of weeping. No heat. These were cold fires. Zero fires. And the weeping, as he listened and knew, was the sound of centuries of grief and stupidity, of mistakes and cruelty, of death triumphant over life, of loss of hope, of desolation beyond desolation.

Tears blinded him and he rubbed them away and jerked his head to clear it. He closed the door. Illusions, yes, but how done and how skilled he could only marvel at and admit ignorance. And something else-he had been careful not to underestimate Casta, and yet he might have done so. He had not bargained for all this. Blade knew then, really knew, that this could be his death. He went to the left door and opened it.

Thunder blasted his ears and lightning forked livid over a far vista. Black rain sluiced down, and in the rain marched column after column of skeletons, wending their worm-like way through witch trees. There was a great mound of skulls. The black rain turned red. Blood. Blade set his jaw and pushed a little way into the room, holding his hand out to the scarlet rain. Nothing. His hand was dry, unstained. He retreated and closed the door. Illusion. But how? He was near ready to believe.

Now the door to the right. The moment he pushed it open he sensed that this was the door he was meant to enter.

A short pa.s.sage led to a blank wall of stone. There was another door with a square peephole cut in it. Light glowed through the orifice. Blade advanced and peered through the opening. Yes. This he was meant to see.

There was a square room. In the center of the room a bed. On the bed, naked, lay the Princess Hirga. She lay with arms and legs flung wide, her taut peaked b.r.e.a.s.t.s rising and falling, her eyes closed. If she sensed his presence she made no sign.

As Blade watched she began to fondle her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, stroking and kneading. Her fingers toyed with her nipples. Her mouth fell open and he saw the moist tongue protrude and glisten and a worm of saliva rolled from her lips. She began to moan. "Come to me. Hurry-hurry-Come to me."

A travesty of the words Janina had spoken to Blade in fantasy. And not meant for him. Blade watched, narrow-eyed, and his scalp twitched. Not meant for him. Hirga had raised herself and was glancing around the chamber, impatient, looking, waiting. For what? Who?

First the odor. The stench smote Blade like an unclean fist.

The smell of death and s.h.i.+t and something worse than either.

It came. Whether from the floor or the walls he could not see, but it filled s.p.a.ce that had been empty. It was there.

It stood near the bed and regarded the naked Hirga with eyes set deep in a face that was both animal and human. Horns curled from its forehead and it sprouted scales instead of hair. Silvery platelike scales covered its body. It had the b.r.e.a.s.t.s of a woman and the phallus of a man. The legs were short and crooked and ended in hooves. Cloven. It stood and glared at Hirga and slowly moved toward the bed.

Hirga held out her arms in welcome. Blade, sweating from every pore, watched her face. He had never seen such terror writ on a human face, or such antic.i.p.ation. Hirga groaned and her eyes rolled as she beckoned the creature to her. It was slow, advancing a step at a time, making no sound.

It came at last to the bedside and stopped. Hirga clasped her hands in supplication. Blade shuddered and tried to close his nostrils. The odor was obscene.

The phallus. It had been limp and dangled to the creature's knee. It was thick, a meaty sausage covered with tiny scales. It began to swell, to grow, to gain rigidity and strength until it jutted enormous and threatening. Blade understood then, knew why no mere man could satisfy Hirga. The High Priest sent this thing to her, controlled her by means of it, and Hirga was addicted, like an addict crying for heroin. As she was crying now, sobbing and writhing on the bed and, her face wild, reaching with both hands for the giant phallus.

The creature moved swiftly. It mounted Hirga and thrust in. She screamed. She lifted her knees high and clasped the foul thing to her and screamed. The creature made no sound, only thrust and thrust that gigantic phallus into her, deeper and deeper. Blade marveled that she was not torn apart.

Gradually her screams subsides into groans. Soft moans. The thing was fully ensconced in her now and moving with a rhythmic beat. On and on and on. Hirga's eyes were open and staring. She drooled. Her belly pulsated and her nates quivered. Where there had been terror, fear, antic.i.p.ation, there was now a growing ecstasy. Her face reddened and tears ran from her staring eyes. Blade, Blade the voyeur, looked down at his own p.e.n.i.s and saw it iron hard. He cursed himself.