Only then did it occur to him that Lyrelee was acting rather strangely, considering that they moved through the inviolate reaches of their own temple. She scouted the next passage ahead of them before striding back in long, silent steps.
"What is it?" Ariakas asked, seeing the concern etched on her narrow face.
"I don't know," she replied, glancing quickly behind her. "It's just-something feels wrong."
"What threat could be down here?" pressed the warrior, disappointed in her reply. "What do you mean: 'feels wrong'?"
She confronted Ariakas frankly, while Tale Splinter steel's hood followed the back-and-forth of conversation "I've noticed it a few times before… a sensation of being watched, spied on."
"You've never seen anything suspicious down here- signs of an intruder?"
"None of us has," replied the priestess. "But even the high priest has had the same feeling-that there are eyes in the darkness, watching … waiting."
The warrior was irritated. The high priest had cer shy;tainly not indicated any such disquiet in his presence. Ariakas certainly didn't feel any strange sensation, and his acute sense of danger had saved his life many times.
"Let's go," he commanded. "If there is a threat, the worst thing we can do is stand still and gape at our sur roundings."
She flashed him a look of surprise and, perhaps, hurt. But Lyrelee turned unquestioningly toward the deep tunnels, leading them on through the maze that Ariakas only vaguely remembered from earlier treks with Par-kane. Lyrelee turned into another passage while the war shy;rior and prisoner, about ten paces behind, continued forward. Ariakas watched the intersection expectantly, but the priestess did not emerge.
Tale Splintersteel halted, and Ariakas went around the Zhakar, the great sword held in both hands. The warrior cast a quick glance at the prisoner, seeing that the robed figure remained bound and still, though the hooded eyes watched his advance with interest.
Tension tingled through every nerve in the warrior's body. He silently cursed the woman, suspecting that nothing more than her unease affected him. Still, when she had not returned for a space of ten heartbeats, he began to feel real concern. Ariakas, nearly to the corridor, looked back. The dwarf hadn't moved.
The warrior whirled around the corner, sword raised for battle. The light from his helmet-gem spilled down a winding, narrow passage. He saw no sign of Lyrelee. Then, something moved at the limit of his vision, a shad shy;owy flicker partially concealed by the curving walls of the naturally eroded cavern. Ariakas leapt forward, feet pounding along the floor as he raced to investigate.
He didn't see the net until it had fallen from the ceil shy;ing, wrapping him from the tip of his sword to the soles of his boots. Ariakas tumbled to the floor, and then something jerked on a line, contracting the strands around him. His helmet toppled off of his head, tipping in the net so that the gleaming gem shone directly in his eyes. Everything beyond the tight enclosure was pure blackness.
And silence.
His attackers moved with uncanny stealth, passing through the darkness like a soft breeze. After an initial second of thrashing, Ariakas lay still, trying to ascertain something, anything, about the ambushers. He caught a scent of pungent, wet fur, like a hound's after the dog has run through a brackish fen. Strong hands tugged on the ropes securing the net, and Ariakas felt it constrict even more tightly. Trying to move, he found that he could barely even kick his feet.
"What?"
He heard the word, spat indignantly by the voice of Tale Splintersteel. In the next instant the Zhakar cursed, and then his voice was muffled. Mutely Ariakas raged- so close to success, and now to be thwarted!
Straining to penetrate the silence, he heard a pattern of low, deliberate breaths, and recognized the cadence of one of his training exercises from the temple. Lyrelee! Judging from the sound, the priestess was nearby, though she was obviously reluctant to call out. He heard scraping on the floor, and deduced that she, too, had been ensnared in the folds of a net.
Gradually he twisted his helmet around, casting the illumination of the gem. away from himself. True to his deduction, the gleaming light revealed Lyrelee, trussed like a rolled roast of meat in folds and coils of netting. Her own eyes met his for a moment before she turned away from the light and resumed her silent, deliberate struggle to escape.
Ariakas no longer heard anything from Tale Splinter-steel or their captors. They were gone. Judging from the captive's exclamation of surprise, the Zhakar hadn't exactly been rescued. But if not, why had he and Lyrelee not been taken? Or harmed, for that matter? The two had simply been trussed up, with embarrassing ease, and left to squirm to freedom-long after Tale Splintersteel had been spirited away.
Ariakas seized the hilt of his sword and began to saw the blade back and forth over several of the cords in the net. The material proved surprisingly tough, resisting the razor-sharp blade for the better part of a minute before Ariakas severed the first strand. Cursing silently at the time-consuming task, he started on the second strand, and then the third, and the fourth.
By this time his muscles had begun to cramp up, and sharp pain racked his spine because of the uncomfort shy;able position in which he found himself. He paused in his struggles, leaning around to get a look at Lyrelee- and was surprised to see that the priestess had almost broken free. Somehow, by flexing her arms around to her back, she squirmed through the coils. Ariakas gave up his own nearly fruitless struggles in the hopes that soon she could help him.
Her hands emerged from the top of the net, and then the collar of coils slipped down her forearms, past her elbows, and tangled around her head. With a few twists of her neck, the priestess drove her forehead out of the narrow aperture. The rest of her supple body followed quickly.
As soon as she was free, she sprang to her feet and then dropped into a crouch, looking back and forth through the corridor. Seeing nothing, she darted to Aria-kas's side and began working at the net with deft fingers. Within a few minutes she had loosened the knots, and he was able to pull slack line through the constricted mouth. Careful not to scrape the edge of his sword on the floor, Ariakas crawled forth and stood, his body creaking in pain and stiffness.
"Well done, priestess," he said, impressed.
"Did you see who attacked us?" she asked.
He shook his head. "Just some movement in the shad shy;ows-and a smell. Something like wet fur."
"I saw even less," Lyrelee admitted ruefully. "Though I, too, remember the smell." The priestess fell silent for a moment, obviously reflecting. "Have you ever heard of the shadowpeople?" she asked, finally.
"Only the word itself. Wryllish Parkane seems to think they don't exist. I assume they have something to do with this attack?"
"Only speculation," she said. "They're said to lurk in caverns and caves throughout the Khalkists. Very reclu shy;sive folk, though reputedly harmless. They'll go to great lengths to avoid being seen."
"What makes you think of them now?" he inquired.
"Only this," she responded. "They're supposed to be covered with fur."
Ariakas reflected on that news for a moment. "Do you know of anyone who fights with nets?" He was still amazed at how effectively they had both been neutral shy;ized by the meshwork ambush.
"That's new to me," she admitted. She looked at one of the tightly webbed objects. "I don't even know what it's made out of-look, it's not hemp."
Ariakas saw long fibers woven into a tight spiral. The material was smoother than either hempen rope or wool. When he pulled at one of the narrow strands, the mater shy;ial dug into the flesh of his hands, but absolutely refused to break. "It's plenty strong, whatever it is. I'll take this one back with us as a sample. But first, to business."