Dark Sun: Prism Pentad 1 - The Verdent Passage (19 page)

Tithian tucked Sacha under one arm and went to the half-elf's body. “Where would you like
me to cut him?” he asked the head.

“The throat” Sacha said anxiously. “Prop his feet up. The blood will flow more freely.”

Tithian placed the bloated head near the dead templar's throat and did as his ancestor
instructed. He left the dagger lying on Gathalimay's barrel-shaped chest.

Kalak gripped Tithian's arm and led him to the base of the pyramid, squeezing the high
templar's elbow painfully. “You saw the shaft leading down from my arena into my tunnel?”

Tithian nodded. “Yes, my king.” His arm began to throb beneath Kalak's grip.

“Good. During the games commemorating the completion of the ziggurat, you must place this
obsidian pyramid over the shaft you passed, but only when the last match of the day
begins. Make it look like part of the contest.”

Tithian studied the enormous structure with an eye toward moving it. Teleporting the
pyramid would require more magic than the king had granted him, but he thought he could
shrink it just long enough to move it. “What about the throne and the balls?” he asked.
“Should I place them in the arena as well, Mighty One?”

“No!” Kalak hissed. His long fingernails broke the surface of Tithian's skin and drew
blood. “Don't touch anything else. The globes and the throne stay here with me!” “As you
command,” Tithian replied evenly. “Forgive me for asking. Is there anything else?”

Kalak nodded. “When the last game begins, I want you to lock all the gates to my stadium.”

“Until when?”

“Don't worry about opening them,” the king said. “You'll need to make special preparations
so they can't be burned down.”

“How long will we keep the gates closed?” Tithian asked. “It won't be an easy matter to
provide food and water for forty thousand people.”

“You won't have to feed them,” Kalak said. “Just keep them inside.”

Tithian frowned, puzzled by the unusual order. “Perhaps it would help if you could tell
meÑ”

“You don't need to know anything else, High Templar,” Kalak snapped. He glared at Tithian
from beneath his aged brow. “All you need to know is that I want the gates closed and the
spectators kept inside.”

“Yes, Mighty One,” Tithian replied, looking at the floor. Clearly, Kalak had more in mind
for the games than celebrating the ziggurat's completion. He suspected that whatever it
was, it would not be pleasant.

“We'll need a security force to keep the spectators in their seats after my games end,”
Kalak continued. “I've placed Larkyn in charge of that. You are to coordinate with him
regarding how the gates are sealed, but don't question anything else he wants done. Is
that clear?”

“As you wish,” Tithian replied. He was not happy to learn that this particular task had
been given to someone outside his sphere of influence. The high templar wondered how many
other similar, regrettable assignments the king had made.

Kalak flicked a wrist at the trapdoor, and it clanged open again. “From what I heard of
the conversation with your spy, it appears you're having trouble discovering the plan
being hatched by the feeble sorcerers in the Veiled Alliance.”

Tithian took a deep breath, then said, “They won't disrupt the games. You have my word,
Mighty One.”

“I don't want your promise,” Kalak replied sharply. “I want them dead.”

“Yes, my king,” Tithian said as calmly as he could. His heart was pounding so hard that it
muted his words in his own ears.

Kalak studied his servant for a moment. “These sorcerers are as wary as jackals,” he said.
“Perhaps it is time to offer some bait to lure them into the open.”

“Into the open, Mighty One?”

The king nodded. “Use that simpleton senator, Agis of Asticles. You're his friend, are you
not?” Kalak said. “Think of something the Alliance wants and offer it through him.”

“He has no connections with the Veiled Alliance!” Tithian protested.

“Do not lie to me, Tithian. Agis has more of a connection to Those Who Wear the Veil than
anyone within your grasp. Besides, the good senator participated in an open revolt against
my servants,” Kalak replied, narrowing his eyes to dark slits. "Use him or kill him!'

Tithian bowed his head. “Yes, my king.”

Kalak studied Tithian for a few moments, then nodded. “Good. Now, who else knows about my
tunnel?”

“Only the guard I left at the other end,” the high templar replied.

Kalak smiled. “Have him lay the bricks back over my door when you return to the ziggurat.”

“As you wish,” the high templar nodded. "And after he's done that, I'll kill him
personally.

“Yes Tithian,” Kalak said, looking back to his obsidian pyramid with an eerie smile. “We
must keep my tunnel a secret.”

Tin Gates

Sadira stood beneath a portico across the street from Tyr's gladiatorial arena. The
immense structure's high walls were supported by four stories of marble arches, with those
at street-level covering short tunnels that ran into the stadium. Though the crimson sun
had just risen, these entryways already swarmed with slaves cleaning the stones in
preparation for the coming games. From inside the passageways echoed the creak of pulleys
and a constant din of strident hammering, high-pitched and sharp.

“Can't you at least tell me why I'm doing this?” Agis asked. He stood next to Sadira,
along with his manservant Caro. “I'd hate to think I'm risking my life for the sake of a
test.”

The sorceress shook her head, sending waves of rosy light dancing through her hair.
“That's not the way we work,” she said sternly. Though her statement was technically true,
what it implied was not. The Alliance had not authorized her to contact the noble. Asking
Agis for help was Sadira's idea. “If you can't convince Tithian to do as you ask, it'll be
better if you don't know much.”

On his master's behalf, Caro demanded, “Better for whom?”

“Better for the Veiled Alliance,” Sadira replied. “If Lord Tithian realizes Agis is trying
to influence him through the Way of the Unseen, nothing will save your master.”

The shriveled dwarf looked at Agis, creasing his hairless brow against the ruddy rays of
the morning sun. “You deserve to know why you're risking your life,” Caro declared,
casting a caustic glance at Sadira. “She's playing you for a fool.”

“Agis said he wanted to help the rebellion,” the half-elf replied. “Here's his chance.”

The dwarf shook his head. “You should tell us whyÑ”

“That's enough, Caro,” Agis interrupted. “I'm the one who's taking the chances here. If I
don't need to know the reason, then neither do you.”

Caro glared at Agis, but pressed the matter no further.

Sadira took the noble's hand and squeezed it warmly. “Be careful. When you return, don't
stop to talk to us. Walk down the street six blocks, then wait for us there. Once I'm sure
you haven't been followed, we'll join you.”

Agis smiled. “You are careful, aren't you?” Without waiting for a response, he set off
across the street.

Sadira watched him go, hoping she was not making a terrible mistake. Two days earlier,
when Agis had set her free, she had feared the noble's generosity was a templar plot to
locate the Alliance. Instead of trying to find her contact, she had taken a room and spent
the night waiting for the sorcerer-king's guards to break the door down.

Sadira had spent the next day trying to look suspicious striking up conversations with
perfect strangers and sneaking into the back entrances of a dizzying array of shops and
taverns During the whole time, she had kept a he might be following her, but had seen no
one. At last, she had come to the conclusion that Agis's offer was sincere.

It was then that the sorceress had made her most difficult decision: not to return to the
Veiled Alliance. Ktandeo would have bustled her out of the city immediately, giving no
further thought to Rikus or to convincing the mul to kill Kalak, so Sadira had decided to
accept the senator's offer of help.

The sorceress had approached the noble in the Alliance's name, hoping he could use his
status to arrange a safe meeting between her and Rikus. Unfortunately, she had soon
realized that even Agis could not organize a rendezvous without the possibility of
alerting Tithian to what was happening. Nevertheless, Sadira had asked him to try. Unless
she spoke to Rikus, the Alliance's plan for assassinating Kalak was doomed anyway.

On the other side of the street, Agis paused at an entrance to the stadium. A sour-faced
templar met the noble at the open gate, a steel-bladed glaive in his hands. “You're not
permitted inside,” the man said flatly.

“I'm Agis of Asticles,” the noble replied.

“So?”

“TithianÑer, the High Templar of the King's WorksÑ asked me to meet him here this morning.”

The templar's scowl deepened. “Why didn't you say so?” he demanded, stepping aside. The
man turned and called over his shoulder, “This is the one.”

Another templar, this one a woman in her mid-thirties, stepped from the shadows. “This
way,” she ordered, waving him forward.

Agis stepped beneath the arch and was temporarily blinded by the stark contrast between
the morning light and the shady stadium. The smell of burning charcoal hung heavy in the
air, and the sound of striking hammers echoed down stone passageways opening to both sides
of the corridor.

“I said, this way,” the female templar repeated, grabbing Agis's arm and roughly pulling
him forward.

They emerged onto a cobblestone terrace that ran along one side of the stadium. Far below
the terrace lay a huge field of sandy ground that would have taken even a mul half a
minute to sprint across. At one end of the field stood Kalak's immense palace, with its
large balcony overhanging the arena. At the other end loomed the rainbow-hued ziggurat,
still shrouded beneath a web of ropes and swarming with an army of slaves.

Below the terrace, tier after tier of stone bench work descended toward the sandy arena
floor. Behind Agis rose more grandstands, with an immense balcony overhanging them. Though
the senator was not fond of the sport played in the stadium, he had to admit that the
structure itself was an impressive feat of architecture.

Agis's guide led him along the terrace, stepping around several large braziers filled with
glowing charcoal. Sweating smiths heated ingots of tin over the coals while others worked
nearby to hammer out thin sheets of the light metal.

Just past the smiths, the templar stopped and motioned Agis into one of the entryways that
led back out into the street. “The high templar will meet you in here.”

Agis stepped into the dark corridor. Although he could see a templar guard silhouetted
against the light coming from the street, there was no sign of Tithian. To either side of
the small tunnel, a stone stairway ascended into the inner sections of the stadium hidden
beneath the grandstands. Down these stairways rolled such a din of hammering and whip
snapping that his ears began to ring.

Agis walked toward the guard, thinking that the templar might know where Tithian was.

The hammering ceased. A muffled command sounded in the stairway to the left, then the
clatter of chains echoed through the stones. The templar at the end of the corridor leaped
into the street, barely avoiding a large gate as it dropped out of the ceiling and crashed
to the ground with a deafening roar.

Agis found himself staring at a distorted, silvery reflection of himself. He walked to the
gate. It was as solid as a wall, and its entire surface was covered by a layer of tin. The
sheets had been so carefully joined together that Agis could not have slipped the tip of
his dagger into any of the seams.

The noble heard footsteps from the stairway behind him. He turned just in time to see
Tithian lead a small party of templars into the tunnel. The high templar's beady eyes
gleamed with delight, and his bony features seemed unusually cheerful.

When he saw Agis, Tithian smiled broadly and stretched out his arms in greeting. “My
friend!”

The high templar walked forward and clasped his hands onto Agis's shoulders. Instead of
hugging the noble, however, Tithian spun him around to look at the tin-sheathed gate.
“What do yon think?” he asked. “That should keep them from burning it, shouldn't it?”

Agis nodded. “I suppose it should,” he said. “Who are you trying to keep out?”

“In,” Tithian corrected. Behind the high templar, the jaws of several subordinates fell
open. “If we were trying to keep someone out, wouldn't we be putting the tin on the
outside?”

“High One!” clucked a subordinate templar, “Is it wise to tell this to a noble?”

Tithian spun on the man savagely. “I decide what is wise and what isn't, Orel,” he
snarled, laying his arm over Agis's shoulder. “My friend is as loyal to the king as I am.”

Agis could not help but grin at the irony of that statement.

Tithian motioned his templars back up the stairs. “Go and tell them to retract this gate.
Agis and I wish to talk.”

After the templars left, Agis said, “Thanks for seeing me, Tithian.”

“It's my pleasure, old friend,” the high templar replied, motioning him toward the
terrace. “What can I do for you? Our last meeting was not very pleasant, and I'd like to
make up for that.”

Agis forced himself to keep smiling, for the reminder of losing his slaves sent a surge of
anger through him. Instead, he thought of two boysÑhimself and Tithian three decades
earlierÑcreeping through his father's faro field on a hot afternoon. He looked directly
into the other man's eyes and sent this thought drifting toward his mind, probing ever so
gently for an opening that would allow him to slip into Tithian's head without alerting
the high templar to his presence.

The noble had chosen his attack carefully, giving it the form of a pleasant memory that
both he and Tithian shared. He hoped it would serve as a hunter's blind, concealing his
presence while he guided the high templar's thoughts in the direction he wished.