This warning from the necromancer did not ease Kentril's concerns in the least. If even Zayl found Ureh's ghosts unsettling, then the sooner the band made it through the gates, the better.
So far, though, the phantasmal figures had done nothing, did not even seem to notice the intruders. And while the flute continued to play, its song growing stronger with each passing moment, it, too, had caused the fleeing group no actual harm.
"There's the gate!" Albord shouted. "There's the—"
He got no further. As one, the mercenaries froze, the blood draining from their faces as they beheld the way to safety… a way open to them no more.
Yes, there indeed stood the gate, but not as they had left it. Now the drawbridge stood high, and the gate itself had been bolted shut. Worse, a throng had assembled before it,a throng of pale, spectral forms with drawn faces and hollow eyes, the ghostly inhabitants of the shadow—enshrouded kingdom. The hollow eyes turned as one toward the treasure hunters, stared at Kentril and his companions with dreadful intensity.
Above the music, the light laughter of a man continued.
FIVE
Zayl held up the ivory dagger, at the same time muttering something under his breath. The dagger flared bright, and for a moment, the unearthly horde seemed to back away. Then, as if galvanized by some unseen force, they surged forward, moving in determined silence toward the small party.
"That should have worked," muttered the necromancer in an almost clinical tone. "They are ghosts, nothing more… I think."
The horrific throng seemed to swell further with each second. They did not stretch forth grasping hands toward the fighters, did not in any visible way show menace, but they kept coming, more and more of them. Their eyes never strayed from Kentril's band, never gave any indication but that they sought to reach those before them.
No one wanted to know what would happen when they did.
One of the mercenaries finally broke, turning and fleeing back the way the group had just come. Captain Dumon swore, yet he could think of no other course of action. Waving his sword high over his head, he ordered the rest back as well.
Weapons clutched tightly—although what use against fleshless horrors blades might be no one could say—the treasure hunters retreated into Ureh in quick fashion. Even Zayl and the Vizjerei ran, Quov Tsin remarkably quick for one of his size and age. Behind them, seeming barely tomove yet somehow more than keeping pace, the legion of pale figures followed.
"At the next street, turn left!" Kentril called to the others. If memory served him, that way led to one of the watchtowers. If they could gain entrance to it, then they could use it to climb over the wall. Two of the men still alive carried rope, certainly enough for them to reach the ground outside.
But as they approached the intersection, movement from down the very path Kentril had chosen made the mercenaries pause.
More of Ureh's forgotten inhabitants approached from there, their faces as hollow and wanting as those behind.
"They're comin' from ahead, too!" shouted Albord, pointing.
True enough, more filled the street before them. Kentril glanced right. Only in that direction did no ghastly horde yet confront the party. Only to the right did any hope of escape remain.
Beside him, Zayl murmured, "What other choice do we have?"
With a wave of his hand, Kentril led the way. At every moment, he expected them to be cut off, but, despite his concerns, their path remained clear as they went along.
Not so any of the side avenues. When two of the mercenaries broke away from the rest and tried to take one, spectral figures materialized from the shadows barely inches from the startled men. The fearful pair quickly returned to the group. Curiously, although the new ghosts also gave pursuit, they, like those already behind, neared the fleeing party but never actually came within reach.
The necromancer said it first. "We are being led, captain. We are going exactly where they want us."
Kentril knew what he meant. Even the slightest indication of variance in the party's route summoned forth scores of additional silent, horrific shades, but none that ever actually caught any of their prey. No, so long as themercenaries continued on the path designated, the ghosts only kept pace.
But what, the captain wondered, awaited the intruders at the end?
Past tall stonework shops they fled. Past narrow, elegant homes with domed roofs and walled entrances the band ran. In many, lamps and torches flickered, and now and then voices could be heard, but the few times Kentril managed a glance into one of the structures, he saw no sign of life.
And throughout their perilous flight, the flute continued to play the same, never—ending tune. The jovial laugh of the unseen man would now and then join in, seeming to mock the efforts of the harried company.
Then the weary mercenaries found the path ahead cut off by more of the ghastly throng. At first, Kentril did not understand why, but then he saw the narrow alley to the left, a dark, uninviting place that went on seemingly forever. The captain quickly surveyed the rest of his surroundings for some other recourse, but only the alley offered any chance.
"That way!" he shouted, pointing with the sword and hoping that he had not just made a terrible mistake.
No unblinking, ghoulish forms materialized to block their way. One by one, the men slipped into the narrow passage. Kentril kept the sword ahead of him at all times, aware of the foolishness of the act but feeling some slight comfort despite that knowledge.
"They're still behind us, cap'n!" shouted the last in line.
"Keep following me! There has to be an end to this! There has to be—"
As if reacting to his very words, the alley abruptly gave way to a vast, open plaza. Kentril paused just beyond the end of the alley, staring at what he could not recall having seen at all during the first few days' scavenging.
"We couldn't have missed this…" he whispered. "We couldn't have…"
"By the dragon!" gasped Zayl, now behind him. When Kentril glanced at the necromancer, he saw that Zayl's mouth hung open in outright awe, a sight in some manner nearly as startling as what lay before them.
A massive hill—in actuality a huge outcropping of Nymyr itself—rose up in the very midst of Ureh. The hill itself Captain Dumon did recall, of course, and even then he had wondered why the inhabitants would have chosen to build their kingdom to encompass a several—hundred—foot—tall mound of pure, black rock. Yet not only had they chosen to include it in their plans, but someone had successfully carved out an entire stairway leading up to the very top.
And there, looming over all else, stood what had so ensnared the eyes of all. A magnificent stone edifice with three spiral towers and a high wall of its own overlooked not only Ureh but the countryside far beyond. In shape it reminded Kentril more of the castles from back home, tall, jagged, cold. Fierce winged figures guarded the gate through which any had to pass even to reach the outer grounds. Where the black hill upon which it stood melted perfectly into the shadow cast by the mountain, a faint aura seemed to surround the peculiar white marble from which the keep had evidently been built.
Kentril blinked twice, but the hint of light surrounding the regal structure remained. A bad feeling rumbled to life in his stomach.
"The palace of Juris Khan!" whispered Zayl. "But it vanished with him—"
"Juris Khan's palace?" Quov Tsin barged through the stunned group, battering larger, more able fighters with only the staff. He stepped to the front and surveyed it as best he could from his low position. More than a hint of avarice tinged his voice as he muttered, "Yesss… what better place to look? What better place to look?"