He reined in his beast and dismounted, gesturing for the others to do the same. “The entrance the priest mentioned is right there, inside that collapsed tower. Find a few sturdy trees, and tie the beasts to them. From here we go on foot, and we use only the silent signals that we rehearsed.”
They picked their way down the other side of the hill, the thinning foliage providing dubious cover. Zok almost felt he was reliving last night’s failed housebreaking, that he was walking into another trap. He winced at every jangle of his armor. But they each moved as quietly as possible, even the Lockcharmer who carried his bulk with a surprising grace.
The last fifty yards before the ruined tower held no trees or thickets big enough to hide them. But there was little they could do about it. Zok’s fingers went to the amethyst collar around his neck.
Best get to it, then. He sniffed twice at Hai Hai and jerked his head toward the broken tower. She shook her head. She didn’t smell anything suspicious. Zok waved his hand urgently and they all trotted toward the tower.
The rusty cellar door was just where Gabrien had said it would be, and it was open, as he’d also said it would be. No sentries met them, no alarms sounded. Room after ruined room held stagnant air, broken stone, or earth that had encroached past the shattered walls. Except for the eerie lack of vermin, it could have been any one of the dozen ruins Zok had seen over the years. Except that he didn’t need his torch. Every room they explored, every hall they walked, was lit by a cold, flickering purple light. But there were no torches, so Zok couldn’t say where the light was coming from.
Finally they found themselves facing a large, open chamber. It was hewn from dark stone and seemed too airy and open to be beneath a ruin. It had clearly been built with sorcery. The same flickering purple light that lit the halls filled the chamber and it revealed a grim scene.
A brown-skinned girl of maybe eight years—the first living thing Zok had seen in this place—stood on a dais, shackled to a post. At her feet sat a huge chest of ebon wood and black metal. Surrounding the dais were a half-dozen men who were not men.
They were tall and thin, shrouded in black rags and mail. Their strangely stretched faces were the yellow-white of moonlight, and their red eyes shone with a dull glow. Zok felt an unnatural fear seize him as he stared, and his guts twisted up until he felt like shitting blood.
Shadow Weavers. So it was true. And they were about to perform some sort of ritual. That cannot be good.
Beside him, the Rose and the Shrike sucked in simultaneous breaths. The Lockcharmer grunted and whined quietly. Only Hai Hai seemed unaffected by the unholy sight. She stood still as stone, studying the scene with those eyes of black glass.
And then, without warning, the Weavers spun as one, their red eyes searching the room. They knew that Zok and the others were there. One of them pointed with a thin, impossibly long finger, and let out a keening scream.
Then the demon-men flew forward.
Zok raised his sword, and Menace glowed in anticipation of the fight. Hai Hai shot forward, her sabers slicing out before her. Red and blue light danced in the hands of the Eastlanders. Behind Zok, the Lockcharmer whined.
The Weavers attacked. They moved like roiling clouds, but their red eyes only seemed to see the Eastlanders. Half walking, half flying, they shot around Zok before he could even swing at them.
“Get to the chest!” the Shrike shouted. Her hands danced madly, and a wall of sky blue light appeared, cutting the Eastlanders and the Weavers off from Zok, Hai Hai, and the Lockcharmer, who was wailing like a baby.
“We will hold them!” the Rose shouted. “Get the chest open! The Diadem will destroy them all!”
Zok didn’t bother to ask how he knew this. He tried to push the Lockcharmer toward the Ebon Chest, but the big man just stood there staring at the girl in chains.
She was shackled at hand and foot, but appeared not to have been harmed in any visible way. The Weavers were soul-eaters. Perhaps they didn’t care about the girl’s body?
But it seemed the Lockcharmer did care. Zok did not like the look the man gave the girl.
“Open the chest, gimp!” Zok shouted, placing himself between the girl and the big man. “That’s what you’re here for!” Hai Hai was hacking at the Ebon Chest and fiddling with the lock, but she surely knew as well as Zok did that it was useless.
“The chest!” Zok cried again, but the Lockcharmer didn’t move.
“You... you’re a man!” the girl shouted upon seeing Zok. “You’re not a monster. Please! Please help me!” Her voice trembled, but she did not cry. Most grown men would have. Strong, Zok noted with approval.
A quick, careful blow from Menace shattered the girl’s chains. Then Zok heard the Lockcharmer shuffling behind him.
“Prize.” It was the first word the Lockcharmer had spoken in a day. He took a step toward the girl, and her eyes went wide with fear. When she caught sight of his monstrous little hands, she screamed. The Lockcharmer took another step and began giggling. “PRIZE!” He shouted it this time, like an excited child.
Zok got in the big man’s face. Menace was still in his hand. Zok had seen this kind of lust before—had learned more about it than any child should have to. He would not let the Lockcharmer have this girl. Zok decided he would kill the man, but not until the Ebon Chest had been opened.
“You fool, open the chest! The Eastlanders won’t hold out forever!” Indeed, beyond the wall of blue light, Zok saw the Rose slumped on the ground. The Weavers—there were only four of them now—closed around the Shrike.
The Lockcharmer looked down at Zok—something few enough men could do. “PRIZE!” he bellowed again, angry this time. Gabrien had teamed Zok with a madman who couldn’t control his lusts. The Lockcharmer wouldn’t be talked out of this. He would have to die.
Don’t be a fool, Zok told himself. You need this one to get out of here alive! But even as he thought it, he was flying at the Lockcharmer. The man was huge but unarmed, and with those weird hands of his, he wasn’t much of a fighter.
It was quick work. The Lockcharmer screamed, then he died. The girl looked on in horror.
Hai Hai barely glanced at Zok before her shiny eyes went to the bleeding corpse. “Are you mad? You oaf! How in the Three Hells are we supposed to get out of here now? We...”
Zok nodded once toward the girl, then looked down at the body.
Hai Hai took his meaning. She spat and began to tap her foot. “We’ll figure out something,” she said.
Zok checked the Ebon Chest. It was worth a try. He started to set his hand on the lock but looked up when he heard the Shrike scream. He did so just in time to watch her fall. Three of the demon-men still stood.
Then the wall of light was gone. And the Shadow Weavers strode toward them.
AS SOON AS those glowing red eyes were upon him, Zok heard words in his head.
They held light in their hands. They could not hear our voice. You can hear our voice.
The Great Man-Shadow shall be reborn. Be still. The Dark King will reign again. Be still. The voice seemed to come from all of them, and from none of them. It was male and female, high-pitched and low-toned.
Be still, it said, be still. The words were like a soft, long-fingered hand taking hold of his soul. And, in spite of himself, Zok felt his body obeying. His left hand fell from the Ebon Chest, and Menace dropped from his right.
A half-dozen more Weavers swarmed silently into the room like the shadows of swift-moving clouds. They massed at the foot of the dais but did not climb it.
You are better than the girl. You will be the vessel, the voice said.