Dark Sun: Prism Pentad 1 - The Verdent Passage (17 page)

The senator opened his eyes and looked across the courtyard. Though it was too dark to see
the sorcerer's face, in his mind Agis pictured the old man's shrewd brown eyes. Closing
his mind to anything but those eyes, he summoned enough psionic energy to create a psychic
messenger Ñ in this instance, an owl. He gave the owl feathers that matched the color of
the sorcerer's eyes and sent it flying silently toward his opponent. As the owl approached
its target, its brown feathers disappeared against the irises of the old man's eyes, then
slipped into what lay beyond.

A fragment of his intellect moving with the owl, Agis as staggered when they entered the
sorcerer's mind.

From the old man's curt manner and constant frown the noble had assumed he would find a
stormy, harsh place as violent as the Athasian desert itself, with fiery flashes of anger
and cold bolts of disdain shooting in every direction. Instead, it seemed more like a
blissful oasis on a still night, its pool filled with blue waters and its perimeter
surrounded by a forest of stalwart trees strong enough to withstand any wind. Agis was so
surprised that he hesitated before sending his owl down to claim control of the place.

In that moment, the old man realized that his mind was being invaded. Suddenly, a thousand
white shrikes appeared out of the trees and flew toward Agis's owl. Each of the little
birds screeched a tremendously loud and shrill warning call. The noble tucked the wings of
his raptor and dropped toward the pool, but the shrikes attacked, tearing at the larger
bird's tailfeathers and pecking at its eyes.

Even as Agis prepared to change his probe to something less subtle and more powerful, the
shrikes tore the owl. The noble glimpsed a beak and a handful of feathers settling over
the oasis pond, then Agis found himself staring across the murky courtyard at his opponent.

The noble gasped several times, for the battle and the loss of the owl had cost him a
considerable amount of energy. Nevertheless, though he doubted he could enter the
sorcerer's mind again, he had plenty of stamina left and there were as many ways to use
the Way as there were men who walked the face of Athas. He would find another way to
attack and try again.

“What's the bidding, Caro?” Agis asked.

“Seventy-one gold.”

From across the courtyard, the old man's sonorous voice called, “Seventy-five.”

“Eighty,” Agis replied automatically.

A murmur rustled through the courtyard. Mul gladiators could be had for eighty gold.

No response came from the other side of the courtyard. The slave girl regarded Agis with
her icy blue eyes, then cast a glance in the old man's direction.

“Are you finished bidding?” Radurak asked, directing his gaze to the old man.

“I withdraw my offer.”

To the astonishment of Agis, the voice had come from close at hand. Had Caro spoken? Agis
looked down and saw that a pair of lips had formed in the dust at his feet. There was no
nose or chin or face of any sort, just a mouth.

As the nobleman watched, the lips parted and said, “I withdraw my offer.”

Radurak's brow sank in disappointment as he looked to Agis. “Did I hear you right?”

Planting his boot square in the mouth on the ground, the senator shook his head. The mouth
tried to speak again, but all that emerged was a muffled garble. When it was clear that
the sorcerer's magical lips would not interrupt him again, Agis called, “I said
eighty-five gold.”

“A bold maneuver,” Radurak said, smiling in relief. He turned back to the old man. “Can
you match his bid?”

This time, the noble was ready to pay the sorcerer back in kind. He used the Way to create
an invisible tunnel that ended directly in his opponent's mouth. As the old man spoke,
Agis silently mouthed the words he wanted to come from the other man's lips.

“I do not have that much.” The voice was the old man's, but the words were Agis's. The
noble was particularly proud of the way the voice cracked with disappoint.

“How unfortunate,” Radurak cooed sympathetically He motioned Agis forward.

The old man started to protest, but again Agis put his own words into the sorcerer's
mouth. “Perhaps you would trust me for the restÑ”

This brought a roar of laughter from everyone assembled beneath the bridge. The sorcerer
scowled in Agis's direction, but the noble ignored him and stepped forward, taking his
purse off his belt. He found his fingers trembling with fatigue as he untied the knot. His
contest with the sorcerer was taking its toll on his energies.

The slave-girl looked in his direction, an expression of contempt on her face. She mumbled
something under her breath, then motioned for Agis to return to his place. “You'll never
lay a hand on me, spawn of a misbegotten mekillot!”

Agis's foot struck an invisible obstacle, and he found himself sprawling face-first into
the dust. He barely managed to tuck his heavy purse of gold away before his body struck
the hard ground.

More than a few of his fellows made lewd comments suggesting Agis should wait until
returning home to think about what he was going to do with his prize. The noble accepted
the jibes with good-natured humor, then gathered himself up.

The sorcerer's voice called, “I found a few more coins, Radurak. My bid is raised to
ninety gold.” The old man glanced at Agis, gesturing at him as if motioning him away.

Agis stood, calling, “Ninety-five!”

The bid elicited a puzzled look from Radurak.

The elf frowned, then asked Agis,
“Have you ever seen Ral and Guthay dance a two-time jig?”

“What are you talking about?” the noble demanded.

This time, the elf scowled angrily.
“You should walk on your hands to Gulg.”

With a sinking heart, Agis realized the sorcerer had cast another enchantment on him.
Whatever anyone said to him reached his ears in the form of utter nonsense. Judging from
Radurak's expressions, the reverse was also true.

The elf motioned Agis back to his place, then invited the sorcerer forward. When the noble
did not obey immediately, two tall tribesmen stepped forward to enforce their chief's
order. Agis decided he would accomplish nothing by arguing in his present stateÑexcept,
perhaps, starting a fight. He reluctantly retreated, then watched the old man shuffle
forward.

As the sorcerer moved into the torchlight, Agis saw the old man's purse bulging beneath
his tabard. A last desperate idea occurred to him. He slipped his empty hand beneath his
cloak and imagined it disappearing from the end of his arm, calling on the Way to make it
happen. A sharp pain sliced through his wrist, and then he felt nothing below the wrist.

The old man paused in front of Radurak, reaching beneath his tabard. Keeping the stump of
his arm beneath his robe, Agis reached toward the sorcerer's gold. Once again calling on
the Way, he visualized his hand appearing beneath the old man's cloak, clasped onto the
purse. Suddenly he felt the heavy bag in his hand, just as if his hand were still attached
to his own armÑsave that there were many yards of numbness between his forearm and his
fingers.

The sorcerer untied his purse strings. Agis jerked on the leather sack, at the same time
ending the expenditure of psionic energy which kept his hand separated from his wrist. The
feeling below his wrist returned to normal, and he now held a heavy sack of gold clenched
in his fist.

As the purse was ripped from the sorcerer's hand the old man spun and pointed a thickset
finger at Agis.
“You'll find that water from the black well tastes best,”
he snarled.

Agis shrugged at the nonsensical words. Still holding the old man's purse beneath his
cloak, he raised his eyebrows at Radurak. Before the elf could respond, the sorcerer said
something to him, pointing an accusing finger at the noble.

While the old man was turned away, Agis took the opportunity to stand body-to-body with
Caro and slip the purse he had just stolen to the dwarf.

Of course, what the old man said made no sense to Agis, but he was counting on the
legendary greed of elves to do his arguing for him. Since there was no gold in the old
man's hands, the noble hoped Radurak would dismiss him quickly.

As Agis had anticipated, the elven chief shrugged at the sorcerer's complaint, then
motioned Agis forward.
“Bring me the lungs and kidneys of your favorite goat”

Without taking the chance of a reply, the noble went to the elf's side. He counted out
ninety-five gold coins while the other nobles left the slaveyard with their purchases.
Once Agis had paid the full amount, Radurak had his assistants bring the slave-girl
forward, offering her hand to the noble with the words, “
Take this woman to the nearest mountain-top. The moonlight there will be good for her
skin.”

The half-elf cast a dismayed glance in the sorcerer's direction. The old man angrily
regarded Agis for several moments, then turned to the slave and said,
“In the faro fields are whopping great windows.
For now, you'll be safe with him.”

Agis breathed a sigh of relief; the second half of the old man's comment made sense.
Apparently the spell had been a short-lived one and he could now hear and speak normally.
He stepped toward the old man. “Before you goÑ”

The sorcerer cut Agis off by jabbing the tip of his cane into the noble's chest. “The
answer is no,” he spat. With that, the old man turned sharply away and stepped out of the
makeshift slaveyard.

Motioning Caro to come forward with the sorcerer's purse, Agis started to follow. “At
least hear me out.”

The noble was stopped by his new slave. “My name is Sadira,” she said, stepping in front
of him.

Agis tried to move around her, but she once again blocked his way. Fixing her icy blue
eyes on his, she added, “I don't know why you bought me, but I assure you, it was a waste
of good gold.”

Kalak's Treasure

Tithian and three subordinates stood in the lowest room of the ziggurat, staring down at
an iron trapdoor that had once been hidden beneath two layers of bricks. The low-ranking
templars had discovered it a few hours earlier, while searching for the last of the Veiled
Alliance's hidden amulets.

“Go ahead” Tithian said, motioning to the door.

One of the assistants, a half-elf named Gathalimay, kneeled on the floor. He released the
lever holding the circular door closed, and it fell open with a loud creak. Gathalimay
took a torch and peered into the darkness below.

“It's a tunnel!” he called.

“We'd better see where it leads,” Tithian said.

He ordered one of the templars to stay behind, then took the other two and descended into
the tunnel. They found a circular, man-sized corridor running eastward beneath the
gladiatorial arena. It was lined with bricks of black obsidian that made the strange
passageway seem supernaturally gloomy and dark.

“Who dug this, the Veiled Alliance?” asked Stravos, a wiry, gray-haired human.

“We'll see soon enough,” Tithian said, motioning his two assistants forward.

After walking a time in the strange corridor, Gathalimay stopped and looked up. Above his
head rose a small shaft, also lined with obsidian. He held his torch close to the cavity,
but they could not see the top.

“Where does that go?” he asked.

“There's only one place it can go,” Tithian replied. “We're underneath the fighting floor
of the arena. It must lead to a trapdoor concealed under the sand.”

The half-elf glanced around. “We aren't near the prop room for the games, are we?”

Tithian shook his head. “We've gone too far. Those chambers and the shafts that lead up to
the arena are closer to the middle of the field.”

“Why would the Veiled Alliance build a shaft like this?” asked Stravos.

“What makes you think the Alliance built it?” Tithian countered, motioning him and
Gathalimay forward. “We're heading toward Kalak's palace.”

A short distance later, the tunnel ended. In the ceiling hung another trapdoor with a bas
relief of the Dragon's head molded into it. The beast's sunken eyes seemed fixed on
Tithian's face, and its jagged-toothed muzzle gaped open as if ready to seize anyone who
attempted to open the door.

Despite his curiosity, Tithian was tempted to leave the trapdoor closed. He had no doubt
that they were somewhere beneath Kalak's Golden Tower, which meant the tunnel could only
be a secret passage connecting the palace and the ziggurat. He doubted that the king would
be happy to know it had been discovered.

Unfortunately, he and his men had only recovered one of the two amulets that remained
secreted in the ziggurat. He could not afford to ignore the possibility that the other had
been planted in this tunnel or on the other side of the door Besides, Tithian was curious.
As the High Templar of both Games and the King's Works, it seemed suspicious to him that
Kalak had not mentioned this secret passageway. He wanted to find out as much about it as
he could.

Tithian stepped away from the door and motioned to the half-elf. “Gathalimay, give Stravos
a lift so he can open the door.”

Stravos's wiry face went ashen.

“We'll have a look around and cast a few detection spells,” Tithian said, more to reassure
himself than the human templar. “If the last amulet isn't there, we'll close the door and
forget we ever saw this place.”

Gathalimay created a stirrup with his pudgy hands, then Stravos swallowed hard and stepped
up. When the gray-haired templar released the latch, the rusty door fell open with a loud
creak. Dim white light shone down into the tunnel.

Tithian motioned the man through the doorway, then passed his torch up and followed
himself. As Stravos reached down to help Gathalimay through the trapdoor, Tithian lifted
his eyes to examine their surroundings.

He saw that they had come up facing the wall of a gloomy chamber. Suddenly a melon-sized
globe of yellow-green light appeared in front of him. The sphere hovered four feet off the
ground, a fuzzy, undulating, indistinct ball of glowing haze shaped vaguely like a bald
head with a sagging chin.