The Deacon inhaled slightly, closed his physical eyes, and drew in his mind the outline of the First Rune of Sight, Sielu. Using it to look through human eyes could drain his strength, but he was not using it on them in this instance. Instead, he spread his net far wider and far lower.
In the tiny brains of the rats that lived here there was a flickering memory. A large shape, slipping and sliding in the dark had disturbed them. She had screamed and sent the rodents squeaking in annoyance. Then more shapes. The rats did not like the smell of these ones—they reeked of danger and the sharp tang of the Otherside. Not that rats really knew what that place was, but their natural instincts were well attuned to survival—like all living creatures, except Deacons, they fled it.
Merrick could make out no details of the pursuers that had disturbed the rodents, since what they had seen was in a very limited range—boots, and trailing cloth—however, Merrick was able to tell they had traveled up the pipe to the west.
It was the opposite direction than everyone else in Orinthal was taking, so it was not that his mother had been enthralled by Hatipai. “What lies west of here?” he asked the guards.
The lead one, whose burly frame nearly filled the storm-water pipe, shrugged. “The valley the palace is built on runs out and becomes nothing but desert.”
“And this pipe?” Merrick pressed.
Another, shorter guard seemed glad to offer what he knew. “It flows into the irrigation ditches, I think.”
Merrick didn’t want to tromp through fig and date plantations as night drew in, but they had no other choice; that was the way his mother and her mysterious pursuers had gone.
Holding Sielu in his mind gave him a disconcerting fractured vision through the rats’ perspective, but it also meant there was no way anyone would shake him off. Merrick steadied himself for just a moment on the wall of the pipe and then led the way deeper and west.
The guards followed silently, their concern a dim impression on the Deacon’s senses. Holding the rune while keeping his Center open was tricky and not something recommended by the tutors at the Mother Abbey. It was akin to rubbing your stomach and patting your head while walking—but Merrick did not want them to run into the pursuers without warning. He had a feeling that would be a very bad idea.
The pipe began to flare wider, and other tunnels began to join onto this main one, though the smell was damp and tinged with the odor of rot. The guards’ footsteps echoed and splashed. Suddenly every one of them irritated Merrick.
He turned and hissed over his shoulder, “Gentlemen, please . . . a little stealth if you can!”
The guards grouped together and by going single file managed not to splash in the overflow quite as badly. It wasn’t their fault that they were used to guarding doorways rather than engaging in covert pursuits.
“Thank you,” Merrick managed. His mother had always taught him politeness in any situation—and it seemed particularly appropriate in this one.
Together they traversed another few feet, until an unexpected warm breeze wafted over Merrick’s face. He jerked to a halt. The pipe suddenly had a branch, but this was different from the others they had already passed.
The rune Sielu was no longer needed, for there were absolutely no rats here. Dropping it, the Deacon checked with his Center; it wasn’t just rodents, there were no animals at all in the area around this new opening.
As the guards waited at his back, Merrick examined this new pipe. The breeze comg out of it was indeed warm—not cold like the other junctions. The brickwork too was different. Unlike the ancient bricks they had been traveling past, these were bright red and very, very fresh.
“Someone has been doing a few renovations,” the Deacon commented, running his hand lightly over them. These were different from the original bricks in another way; he could feel no hint of a maker’s impression on them. They were wiped clean as effectively as a clever murderer would clean a knife. Yet here again was the handprint of his mother, just a few more specks of her blood. Maybe it was a son’s imagination, but he could almost smell Japhne’s fear.
“Keep your rifles primed,” he whispered to the guards, “and your blade loose in its sheath.” If Hatipai was heading to her Temple, then someone else must be pursuing his mother, and few of the unliving ever bothered to hide their tracks like this. Only humans were this crafty.
Merrick Chambers had not forgotten his dreams nor the whispers in them. They had not tried to hide themselves. They wanted him to make the connection. The circle of five stars was an echo from an Order supposedly many generations dead—the Native Order.
He could not shake the feeling that it was not just his mother who was being led.
This new direction was not one any sensible person would take. He knew it. The guards knew it. It mattered little; they still had to go forward. After taking a long breath, one a diver might suck down before heading for the deep, Merrick led them into this new tunnel.
Immediately he knew the tunnel was more than it had appeared to be. His Center, which he had kept open, twisted, and for a terrifying moment everything went black. Panic washed over Merrick—he was being suffocated, scrambling for life and tumbling through space.
Then just as quickly it was over. The Deacon spun around, but all of the guards were still behind him; their eyes were wide and terrified in the lamplight, as Merrick knew his own to be.
The opening to the main pipe was right behind them, but Merrick’s Center could travel no farther than the doorway. They were now a very, very long way from the tunnel beneath the palace—certainly more than a few strides.
Dael licked his lips before he dared use his voice. “Honored Deacon, what just happened?”
Merrick closed his eyes for a second, orienting himself in the world again, feeling his place in it. What he found made no sense; they had not only moved hundreds of miles, they had moved hours—well into the belly of night. It was something that might have been achieved by cantrips and weirstones, but he had seen none at the entrance to this tunnel.
Letting his guardsmen know how this surprised him would do them no good. “We are no longer in Chioma—we have moved.” The men shifted, but in a testament to their character and training, did not break for the doorway, which did seem only inches off. “This means nothing—we are still going after the Lady Japhne.”
“Yes, sir!” Dael spoke up, and the Deacon was so grateful he could have shaken the man’s hand right then.
Instead, Merrick merely nodded and took the lead into the darkness. What had felt like warm air when they’d been in Chioma was now freezing. The change had to be a result of the power used to create the gateway.
What was more disturbing was how little his Center was bringing him. Merrick did not mention it, but the darkness was just as deepound his senses as it was around the guards.
Merrick was as shocked as the guards when the void suddenly came alive, but he had no way of telling with what, because the first men to go down were those three carrying the lanterns. Around him he heard something moving; to his confused ears it sounded like wet laundry flapping on the line. The guards screamed only a few feet away; the sound echoed in the pipe before it was cut off with a choked gurgle. His first thought was to draw his sword, but he dared not strike without knowing where their attacker was. In the confusion they could all kill one another.
Apparently the guards had not considered that. They raised their rifles and fired about, punctuating the darkness with bright flares that burned Merrick’s eyes, now used to semidarkness. He strained his ears to hear past the sound of angry, frightened men and the reports of gunfire. Merrick spun around, aware that other guards had their steel drawn and were laying about them in the pitch black. The ice-cold tunnel now smelled of blood, gunpowder and panic.