‘In a way,’ the man answered stiffly. ‘A service for a service.’
‘This being?’
The fellow was very uncomfortable. Obviously not used to explaining himself, he cleared his throat and said, ‘I have something I wish to place in the Deadhouse.’
‘It’s not some kind of damned storage closet,’ Dancer snorted, going to a small table to pour himself a glass of wine.
Kellanved was slowly shaking his head in thought. ‘Well … it sort of is, actually. And in return?’
‘In return I shall serve you.’
Dancer spluttered on his drink. He eyed the swordsman, wiping his shirt front. ‘You, serve us?’
Dassem’s eyes narrowed, as if he’d detected some sort of insult. ‘My word is good…’
Kellanved raised his hands placatingly. ‘Please do not misunderstand. We do not doubt your word. It is just that … our goals may not be aligned.’
‘I care nothing for your goals. I will serve you.’
Dancer eyed Kellanved, raising a brow.
The mage tapped his walking stick to the floorboards, rocked back and forth again. ‘Well, this is all very hypothetical anyway. We may not even be able to re-enter the House.’
Dassem took hold of the door latch. ‘Then let us see.’
Kellanved and Dancer exchanged glances once more and Dancer shrugged. The mage pointed his stick to the door. ‘Very well…’
* * *
Dassem led them to the edge of town. Here, at an old dwelling constructed of flat fieldstones, he brought out a bundle and laid it in a cart. A bearded old man in rags lived in the shack, and kept bowing to Dassem the entire time.
When they left, Dassem pulling the cart, Dancer couldn’t help glancing back. The oldster was on his knees in the dirt, hands raised in prayer.
‘An adherent of Hood,’ Dassem explained.
Kellanved led the way to the House. Dancer brought up the rear, behind the cart. His neck kept itching as it did when he was under observation and he turned his head to see a slim young lad in dark clothes following them at a distance. He frowned, but continued on, glancing back every so often to keep track of the young fellow. He didn’t like the smug smile on his face – as if he were privy to some amusing secret known only to him.
At the House, Dassem gently picked up the fat roll of blankets and carried it in both arms. Kellanved opened the little iron gate. They walked up the stone path, Dancer in the rear. When Kellanved paused on the broad landing before the door, Dancer looked back and saw the pale lad at the fieldstone wall. The smile was gone. He appeared rather sour now.
As Kellanved hesitated, Dassem reached in past him and took the latch. To Dancer’s great surprise it lifted, and the swordsman pushed open the door. Kellanved entered, while Dancer came in last. As he closed the door behind him, he glimpsed the pale lad’s scowl.
Dassem gently laid the roll down in a side room just off the entrance hall. Dancer and Kellanved watched, curious. He drew back folds of the rolled blankets to reveal the head and face of a young Dal Hon girl, her eyes closed, her hair a sweaty mess, to all appearances asleep.
‘What’s this?’ Dancer asked.
Dassem did not look up from the girl. ‘Someone I swore I would protect.’
‘She will be safe here,’ said Kellanved, and Dancer was quite surprised by how serious the mage sounded.
With the back of his hand, Dassem eased the girl’s sweaty hair from her face, nodding. ‘So I was assured.’
Dancer was going to ask who in the Abyss had assured him of that when the mage brushed his hands together, announcing, ‘Good. So, we have an accord?’
Kneeling next to the girl, the swordsman bowed his head. ‘We have an accord.’
‘Excellent. You will accompany us, then. We have an … errand, of a sort, to run.’
Dancer eyed his partner in open suspicion. ‘What’s this?’
Kellanved was grinning. ‘You’ll see…’
Shadows now came swirling up about them and Dancer raised a warning finger. ‘I told you! No sudden damned—’
The three disappeared, leaving dust motes and a few dried leaves and needles to swirl about the sleeping girl. After a time, heavy footsteps sounded and the armoured colossus appeared in the arched entryway. The helmed head lowered as it regarded this strange new visitor.
* * *
The first thing Tayschrenn became aware of were his hands and feet – they prickled abominably. Next, his arms and legs registered their agonizing reawakening, and he groaned. Or thought he did.
His chest suddenly flinched and his back arched. The pain was transporting; every nerve in his body was aflame. Now he was certain that he screamed until his throat was raw.
Then he slept the sleep of tortured exhaustion.
Noise awoke him next; the heavy dragging and brushing as of something very large moving over stone and dirt. Whispering reached his ears and he strained anew, listening.
‘He’s awake,’ a male voice said from the dark.
‘Yes, yes,’ a female voice answered, impatient and dismissive.
He decided to ask them what was happening. He drew a breath and exhaled, moving his tongue and trying to speak. All he heard was a dry rasping and animal-like growling.
‘He’s dying,’ said the male voice. ‘Isn’t that him dying?’
‘No, it’s not,’ answered the female voice. ‘Water,’ she commanded, ‘water for our guest.’
A short time later water suddenly poured over his face from the total darkness and he gasped, spluttering, trying to swallow without drowning.
‘Enough water!’ the female voice commanded once more. ‘I apologize,’ she said. ‘We get so few visitors down here.’
‘Where,’ he managed, croaking, ‘where am I?’
‘Far below your island, little man. Very far indeed.’
‘Who … who are you?’
‘What?’ the man answered, incredulous and angered. ‘Who among all the ancients do you think?’
‘Now, now,’ the woman said. ‘He is disoriented after his ordeal. Light, I think. Let light be our answer.’ Multiple hands clapped, brusquely.
While Tayschrenn watched, straining his eyes in the absolute black, tiny pinpoints of a greenish-bluish light blossomed to a glow. Here and there, all about, they multiplied by the thousands and thousands, until he made out an immense cavern, vaulted far above and boasting many tunnel entrances, and facing him two giant snake-like entities, each emerging from a different tunnel, titanic, each as large in scale as the tower of a fortress to him. One bore the upper portions and features of a human male, the other a female.
And Tayschrenn, the sceptic and doubting scholar, forced his agonized and punished limbs to move, and he rose to his knees, bowing before the pair, murmuring in awed reverence, ‘D’rek…’
‘Well, I should think so,’ huffed the male portion.
‘Thank you,’ said the female, and she clasped her tiny hands together. ‘Now, our time is short. We spare you, Tayschrenn, as your sentence was unjust. We are not without mercy, as you see.’
He bowed again, touching his head to the floor before him, and discovering it to be a sea of writhing beetles, roaches, centipedes and silverfish.
He attempted to disguise his shudder of revulsion.
‘We shall send you back to the temple,’ said the male.
‘Yes,’ nodded the female. ‘And we ask that you carry a message. A warning.’ Her voice hardened as she continued, ‘Elements within the priesthood are advocating new directions for the cult and we are not pleased – is that clear?’
Tayschrenn bowed once more. ‘Quite. I am honoured by your trust, and—’
‘Yes, yes,’ the male cut in. Aside, to the female, he murmured, ‘He cannot remain much longer.’
She nodded. ‘Indeed. Tayschrenn, the chemicals injected into your system are abating and you must go. Frankly, the atmosphere here within this cavern is poisonous to you, and so we shall dismiss you. Farewell, and good luck.’