The passage drove deep into the earth, its stone walls dressed and smooth, far more finely finished than anything in Churnazh’s palace. Arched side passages intersected it at intervals, and the faceted chips of mosaics glittered between them in the torchlight. Things of horror ruled those mosaics. Bat-winged nightmares stormed through screaming warriors, snatching them up, snapping off heads and limbs with chitinous jaws and pincers like battle-axes. Other shapes, more obscene still, slithered through opulent temples, hungry eyes afire as they crept and flowed and oozed toward altars where maidens fought their chains in shrieking terror. And above them all, half-hinted and half-seen like some hideous cloud, stalked the huge, flame-eyed scorpion, and on its back was a manlike shape that trailed horror like waves of smoke.
The central hall led onward to a larger chamber, circular and domed with natural rock polished to mirror brightness. Torchlight danced about them like a globe of swirling blood, and double doors, carved with the same images which had haunted the mosaics, loomed before them. Tharnatus thrust them open and went to his knees, then to his belly, as the sweet stench of incense rolled out over him, and Harnak fell to the floor behind him.
The prince lay motionless, disfigured face pressing the stone, until Tharnatus rose once more. The priest gazed down at him, then touched him with a booted toe between his shoulders, the gesture of an overlord to a servant.
“Rise, My Prince,” he intoned. Harnak rose and bent to kiss the hand the priest extended, then straightened as Tharnatus gestured him into the inner sanctum that proved not all gods had chosen to ignore the hradani.
The sickly-sweet incense was stronger, drifting in thin, eddying clouds, and the Scorpion of Sharna, god of demons and patron of assassins, crouched above them. The enormous sculpture towered over a stone altar, carved with blood channels and crowned with blood-encrusted iron manacles that gaped empty . . . for now, and Tharnatus and Harnak knelt side by side to press their foreheads to that hideous stone before they rose once more.
“So, My Prince!” the priest said more briskly as they completed their obeisance. “How may the House of the Scorpion aid one of its own?”
“You’ve heard the stories, I suppose?” Harnak knew he sounded surly, and surliness towards a priest of Sharna was dangerous, but his shame goaded him. Tharnatus regarded him in expressionless silence for a long moment, then let it pass. Harnak was heir to the throne of Navahk; even Sharna’s anointed could allow an occasional edge of disrespect when the Demon Lord had his pincers deep in a future ruler.
“I have, My Prince-assuming you refer to those concerning a certain palace servant and a prince of Hurgrum.”
“I do.” Harnak folded his arms, and his scarred and broken face was grim. “Between them, the slut and Bahzell-” he made the name a curse “-pose a threat to me and to my position. They must be eliminated.”
“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.