“I see.” Tharnatus gazed up at the scorpion above the altar, and his tone was thoughtful, even chiding. “You should have brought the girl here for your sport, My Prince. Had you done so, no one would ever have known. You might have enjoyed her far longer, and she could have fed the Scorpion when you were through. Now?” He shrugged, and Harnak flushed but kept his own voice level.
“I’ve brought the Scorpion many a feast, and I’ll bring Him more. But this slut was officially a ward of the crown. I thought it best her body be found rather than vanish and raise possibly dangerous questions.”
“Yet the course you followed led only to a different peril, did it not?” Harnak nodded unwilling assent at Tharnatus’ raised eyebrow, and the priest continued seriously. “My prince, such pleasures are your right, both as prince and servant of the Scorpion. But it is fitting neither for you to deny your brethren their pleasure nor the Scorpion His due, and you must be wary. You will never be fully secure until you rule Navahk in your own right. Until then, not even He can guard you from death if your actions lead to discovery.”
“Aye,” Harnak agreed in a sulky tone, “yet if the Scorpion had struck Churnazh down when first I asked, I would already wear the crown.”
“You know why that was impossible,” Tharnatus said sternly. “Your father’s guards are too alert to guarantee the dog brothers’ success, and we dare not disclose our own presence by sending a greater servant. If the dog brothers had tried and failed before the war, suspicion must have fallen upon you, and he would have had you killed. If we strike him down now, while his alliances are weak and disordered, we risk giving all of Navahk to Bahnak of Hurgrum, and Bahnak will be our mortal enemy so long as he draws breath.”
Harnak bent his head once more with a guttural sound of frustrated agreement, and the priest touched his shoulder.
“Be patient, My Prince.” He made his voice gentle. “Your time will come. Indeed, but for your own . . . involvement, we might attempt Churnazh now and lay the blame upon Bahnak or his son, trusting the thirst for vengeance against Hurgrum to hold the alliances together. As it is, we can but do our best within the possibilities open to us, and we shall. The Scorpion rewards His faithful well.”
Harnak nodded again, less choppily, and Tharnatus slapped his arm.
“Very well, My Prince. Tell me exactly what you wish done.”
“I want the sluts and Bahzell killed,” Harnak said flatly. “They have to die if the tales are ever to dwindle away, and until the tales do, my chance to take the throne is small.”
“Agreed.” Tharnatus furrowed his brow and pursed his lips. “Yet it isn’t enough that they simply die, is it, My Prince? The women-” He waved a hand in dismissal. “All we require of them is silence, but Bahzell . . . we must prove his death, not simply remove him.”
Harnak’s ears twitched agreement, and the priest frowned once more. “Nor, I think, should we involve a greater servant in this. I doubt Bahnak guards the wenches as well as his own family, in which case the dog brothers can deal with them whenever we wish, perhaps even make it seem an accident. Yes,” he nodded, “that would be best-an accident that points no fingers at you. And to help with that, it would be as well to wait a time, I think.”
“I want them dead now! ” Harnak snarled, but Tharnatus shook his head.
“Patience, My Prince. Patience and stealth, those are the virtues of the Scorpion. It may be unpleasant, but you must endure it for a time longer. Think, My Prince. If nothing befalls them for weeks, or even a few months, few minds will leap to the conclusion that you had them killed. If you wanted that done, would you not have acted sooner?”
Harnak grunted, then jerked his head in assent.
“So,” the priest went on after a moment, “that leaves Bahzell, and in order to slay him, we first must find him. Not, I think, too difficult a task. The Scorpion’s least servants can find him even in deepest wilderness, in time, yet I doubt we will require their services. A hradani in other lands should be easy enough for the dog brothers to track without the Church’s aid, and if he’s found a place for himself far from Navahk or Hurgrum, so much the better. He’ll feel more secure, unthreatened and unwary until the dog brothers can take him. And,” Tharnatus smiled unpleasantly, “he is an outlaw, with a price on his head. What more reasonable than that someone should return that head to Navahk to claim blood price, and so prove his death to all the world?”
“He won’t die easy,” Harnak growled, one hand pressing his ribs. “I’ll not deny I thought him a weakling, but that’s a mistake I won’t make twice. In fact, I’d feel safer sending one of the greater servants after him.”
“Come now, My Prince!” Tharnatus chided. “He’s only one man, and any man is mortal. The dog brothers can deal with him-and the Scorpion’s servants are not to be squandered on tasks others can accomplish. We may use each of them but once for each blood binding.”
Harnak clenched his jaw, then sighed, for the priest was right. Sealing a demon to obedience was a risky business, even for the Church of Sharna. A single slip could-and would-spell the grisly death of the creature’s summoners, and such exercises of power were difficult to hide from those with eyes to see. Fortunately, there were few such eyes in hradani lands, where even Orr and his children were looked upon askance, but it would take only a single misstep to spell the destruction of this temple, for the hradani had not forgotten the Dark Gods’ part in the Fall of Kontovar. Harnak’s own cronies would cut his throat if they even suspected to whom he’d given his allegiance, but that was a risk he was willing to run. The secret power of the Scorpion had smoothed his way more than once, and the rituals that raised that power fed other, darker hungers.
“Very well, Tharnatus,” he said at length. “Let it be the dog brothers. And let it be soon. I’ll wait for the sluts, if I must, but I want that whoreson’s head to piss on in front of my father’s court!”
“And you shall have it, My Prince,” the priest murmured, then raised his head and smiled as a sound echoed down the hall behind him. He and Harnak turned to the open doors, and the sounds grew louder-and terrified. Pleas for mercy and the desperate, panting sounds of struggle floated through the doors, and then two cowled priests thrust a twisting, fighting figure through them.
The girl was young, no more than fifteen or sixteen, just ripening into the curves of womanhood and clad only in a thin white robe, and her arms were bound behind her. Her ears were flat to her skull, her eyes huge with panic, as she fought the binding cords, but there was no escape, and a dozen more priests and worshipers followed into the temple.
The captive’s pleas died in a strangled whimper as she saw the huge scorpion and the altar it crouched above. She stared at them, terror gurgling in the back of her throat, and then she threw back her head and shrieked in horror as her captors dragged her kicking, madly fighting body forward.
“As you see, My Prince,” Tharnatus purred through her hopeless screams, “your business here tonight can be mixed with pleasure as well.” He reached into his robe to withdraw the thin, razor sharp flaying knife and smiled at the crown prince of Navahk.
“Will you stay to share our worship?”
Chapter Twelve
Patchy frost glittered in shadowed hollows, but clear morning sunlight touched the city’s stone walls to warm gold as Kilthan’s wagons creaked and rumbled towards Derm. The road sloped steadily down to the city’s colorful roofs, the Saram River swept around its western flank in a dark blue bow, gilded with silver sun-flash, and the final line of rapids and cataracts foamed white less than a league above the bustling docks. The sails of small craft dotted the Saram’s broader reaches below the city, lush farmland stretched away from the river in both directions, and the mighty, snowcapped peaks of the Eastwall Mountains towered far beyond it.