The Hylar rappeled nimbly down the wall until he was just above the Zhakar. Taking no chances, Ferros held a slim dagger ready as he dropped the last few feet until the rope supported him directly beside Splinter-steel. With a quick lash, loop, and knot, Ferros took the slack line hanging below him and secured the rope underneath the other dwarf's arms. The wounded mer shy;chant lord seemed dazed and listless, taking little note of the activity.
Next, Ferros grasped the steel bolt he had shot through Tale Splintersteel's arm. The loose material of the Zhakar's robe flapped around it, so the Hylar tore it away. Sinews tightening in his arm, Ferros pulled slowly and steadily. The straining power in his stocky body was obvious to Ariakas, who realized that the missile must have driven very deeply into the hardened lava.
Finally the shaft wiggled slightly, and with a grunt Ferros pulled it free, drawing a sharp outcry of pain from the formerly motionless Tale Splintersteel.
"Haul away!" the Hylar called up to Ariakas. The warrior immediately began pulling in the line, aided by Ferros walking up the wall. The dead weight of the Zhakar increased the load dramatically, but the pair finally heaved the injured dwarf over the lip of the chasm, where he sprawled, groaning, onto the plaza.
Ariakas gave Splintersteel a sharp kick on his wounded arm. "I should kill you right now," the warrior snarled. "Two times over you've earned death for your treachery!"
"Let's have a look at his face," suggested Ferros. "I can't figure why he's got to mask himself-unless he's even uglier than I can imagine." The Hylar reached down and roughly tore away the cowled robe that cov shy;ered Tale Splintersteel's head. As the Zhakar's hate-filled visage was revealed, the Hylar gasped in surprise and instinctively stepped back
"He is uglier than you can imagine," Ariakas remarked, trying to keep his tone droll as his stomach surged upward in revulsion.
Tale Splintersteel's two black eyes flashed vitriol from the middle of a mass of decayed, encrusted flesh. The dwarf's scalp, cheeks, and much of his chin had rotted away, replaced by a greenish layer of some kind of fun shy;gus. His hair was gone, except for small patches strug shy;gling to survive on the back of his head, and a few tufts of beard that managed to emerge around the scabrous growths on his face. The mouth looked like nothing so much as a moist sore, gaping open and then clapping angrily shut.
"Please!" groaned the Zhakar, reaching pathetically for his torn hood. Without a word Ferros tossed the rag back to Splintersteel, and the hideously afflicted dwarf hastily drew it back over his features.
"Are you all like this?" demanded Ariakas, remember shy;ing that every Zhakar he'd seen in Sanction had gone about cloaked and robed.
"More or less," replied the dwarf, with a resigned shrug. He no longer seemed menacing, nor even sinis shy;ter-instead, he was just pitiful.
"That's all very interesting," Ferros interrupted, "but don't we have something to do?"
"Right," agreed Ariakas. He yanked the Zhakar to his feet. 'This mold dust? Where can we get some?"
"You can't!" groaned the Zhakar. "It grows only in two places-within the fungus warrens of Zhakar, and on the skin of dwarves who suffer the plague!"
"On your skin?" asked Ariakas cautiously.
"Yes," grunted Splintersteel.
"Give me some, then-scrape it into a pouch," demanded the human, suppressing a shudder.
"It dies within minutes of removal," the afflicted dwarf retorted. "It won't do you any good."
Ariakas reflected on that information. Meanwhile, Fer shy;ros lashed the dwarf's hands behind his back, and by then the warrior had made his decision.
"Come on, Tale Splintersteel," announced the warrior. "We're going to make a call on the temple."
Chapter 15
The Ways of Shadow
Patriarch is in high Communion," Lyrelee explained. "He won't emerge before dawn."
Ariakas and the two dwarves stood before the priest shy;ess in the great hall of the temple. Tale Splintersteel, hands still bound, sagged weakly against a pillar while Ariakas pondered the news. A crude bandage around the Zhakar's arm stanched the flow of blood.
"We can't wait that long," he decided. Ariakas turned toward Ferros Windchisel. "I'm taking him into the deepest part of the temple. It's sanctified territory, and I can't bring you with me."
"What?" sputtered the Hylar. He pointed accusingly at the Zhakar. "What about Fungus-Face, here-it can't be too sanctified with the likes of him around!"
Ariakas shrugged, unmoved. "He's a prisoner-it's a completely different issue."
"Yeah, he's a prisoner-he's my prisoner! And a damned treacherous one, too. How do you know he's not faking? That he won't pop right up and stick you when you least expect it?"
"I'll come with you," Lyrelee offered.
Ferros looked at the priestess skeptically.
"She's been training me in combat for the last few weeks," Ariakas announced smoothly. "I'll be glad of your company."
"I don't like this!" warned the Hylar, furiously scratch shy;ing his arm. "That dwarf is my ticket to Zhakar."
"And I thought you were just trying to help," Ariakas replied.
"I'm waiting right here, damn it!"
"If you want-but you'll have a long stay." Ariakas, impatient, turned to Lyrelee. "Lef s go."
Leaving the fuming Ferros Windchisel, Ariakas and Lyrelee prodded Tale Splintersteel into the great hall. In silence they stalked through the inner corridors, past the red-coated guards at the gates of the Sanctified Cata shy;combs, and started down the long, straight stairway.
Ariakas employed a technique he had developed dur shy;ing previous forays into the darkness: he cast a light spell on a gem set in his helmet's front. Illumination spread through a wide arc before him, and naturally swiveled with his head whenever he looked around.
The Zhakar shuffled along ahead of them, head held down, hands lashed together at his back. Occasionally he stumbled, and once he fell. Ariakas then lifted him by the scruff of the neck, the man's stomach churning at the thought of the festering skin beneath the robe.
"Where are we going?" grunted Tale Splintersteel eventually. Abruptly the Zhakar stopped, and Ariakas almost tumbled into him. "At least tell me that much, if you want me to keep walking."
"We're going to the place where the Zhakar thief I told you about… the one who claimed he was your agent… was caught."
"I see." Splintersteel resumed his plodding pace, a little more firmness in his step.
Lyrelee, meanwhile, crept quietly ahead. The lithe young woman moved like a cat, thought Ariakas-and fought like one too, armed only with the weapons nature had given her. He found himself again studying the out shy;lines of her body through the filmy trousers and blouse. She darted ahead and whirled into the shadows of a side passage, vanishing for several seconds before reappear shy;ing and flitting across the corridor to the next branching hall.
His first impressions of her, as an exceedingly effective fighter, had become softened by a haze of allure. Now as she scouted these tunnels, the warrior's mind focused instead on the slim curve of her breast, or the tight sinew of her leg. His awakening desire burned low, but with a steady heat that must eventually consume. Ariakas fully accepted his growing passion, feeling it move him toward an imminent plan of action. As soon as they had finished with the Zhakar, he resolved, he would take her in his arms and declare his feelings. He had little doubt as to the affirmation of her reply.