“It feels like something terrible’s about to happen.”
The sheer level of destruction was the only thing that saved Max. The roaring built in his head as the weight of the collapsed wall ground him into the rock, the water surged over his face, he tried to move his hand in a gesture of power but the rubble held it pinned in its place. Then, suddenly, with an abrupt slurping sound, the water ebbed.
Max coughed, a desperate racking cough, sucking dusty air into his lungs against the pressure of the debris on his chest. The impact of the rubble on the sewer had opened a chasm in the facing stones, letting the water and sludge drain away into a cavity in the earth. And not a moment too soon, either. Max’s mind began to clear.
Far overhead, he felt a terrible presence lift - the Death was taking off. Shaa must have been able to do something. That would be a great (if temporary) help to Max and the rest of the neighborhood, but implied nothing good about Shaa’s own probable state. The Death was still in the vicinity, too - Max could feel him out there somewhere, radiating his mad anger - and somebody was still going to have to deal with him. Unless another useful person unexpectedly showed up to take on the job, that somebody was going to have to be Max; at least he’d have to try. Of course, Max had a more immediate problem: the first thing he had to do was get out of the building before he got crushed or fried from the approaching fire, or both. He might be able to blow the rubble off with magic. If he was able to manage that, though, it would drain his already stretched power reserves most of the way to nothing. That was not a very appealing status in which to think about facing a Death.
Wait a minute - Max thought he heard something upstream in the sewer, something that wasn’t just the sound of subsiding temple. It might be a guard - it probably was a guard - but he figured even that was worth a try. “Hey!” Max yelled. “Who’s out there? Somebody’s alive in here!”
Shadows moved through the rubble in the rough shape of a person, thrown toward him by the light of the leaping flames. “What?” Max heard vaguely.
“Get me out of here, you nincompoop!” From the direction of the person, Max saw a sparking spray of different light, the source long and solid - the form of a sword. “You with the sword!”
The wreckage settled with a groan, wiping out the reply. Max wasn’t sure, but he thought the man was starting to tear at the rubble. “What?” Max yelled. “Say that again!”
“Were you the guy upstairs?”
“Yes, I was upstairs! Were you the one who ambushed Oskin Yahlei?”
“Yeah,” the voice said reluctantly. It was growing stronger. A clatter, a rumble, and the wood shifted further. A beam started to bend itself across Max’s right knee.
“Hurry up out there or I’m going to crack a leg!” Max said,
“I’ll working as fast as I can.”
“No, you’re not Use the sword, idiot.”
“The sword?”
“Yeah, the sword, the sword in your hand. A powered sword like that thing’ll slice through solid rock.”
“Oh.” The light swung wildly, making a full bass whining sound that turned suddenly to the screech of ripping wood.
So the guy didn’t know how to use his own sword. Not that surprising, actually, considering the trouble he’d been having with it before. “Come on, already!”
“Let me concentrate, will you? There’s fire coming down my neck!”
“Yeah,” Max said, “mine too.” A small pile of wood chips stirred just above his head and slid onto his face.
Max shook his head, eyes closed, and most of the wood fell off. When he opened his eyes again. a new hole had opened on his left, and in the hole was a hand. “Oh-kay,” Max said. “This is more like it. Nice to see you. Just hold up that large beam on your left and I’ll try to ease out of here.”
“Not so fast,” the guy said. “If I let you out, you’ve gotta help me too.”
“What do mean, I’ve got to help you?”
“I’m in big trouble. I’ve got this problem with Gash -”
“I don’t believe this,” Max said. “Don’t tell me about your big trouble! Whatever it is, your big trouble is worth about half a thought at the moment after the mess you’ve started.”
“The mess I’ve - hey, do you want to get out of here or not?”
“Look, idiot, this is all your fault.”
“What are you talking about? It was the gods. When gods start meddling around -”
“Don’t give me that! The gods are always everybody’s convenient excuse for things they’ve screwed up by themselves.”
“Yeah, sure. The only free will I’ve had lately is whether to cooperate with Gash and maybe die or try to walk out on him and certainly die.”
The fire was burning closer, and the beam was settling further onto his leg. The help Max was getting from his protection field wasn’t going to last indefinitely. Max glared out at the guy, lying full-length along the twisted path he’d cleared, his form silhouetted against the fire and lit from the side by the glow of the whining sword. Max took a breath and forced himself to speak calmly, “You let him out. You know who I’m talking about, the Death in the ring, and you let him out. The first thing you’re going to do after you get me out is help me get him back under control before he pulverizes your city. Then I’ll help you with whatever your problem is. Got it?”
“Okay,” the guy said quickly, “that’s a deal. Let me hold that beam.” He reached to his left along Max’s leg, got his arm under the wood, and started to strain at it. The pressure lessened. Max had freed his left arm while they were arguing: now he’d managed to squirm it down the narrow passage to grab a handhold against the rocks. He pulled with his left hand and pushed with his right, felt his legs slide, catch, slide, and hold up at the foot.
“One more time,” Max said. The man heaved, a warning rumble sounded from above, Max gave a pull and a twist and a forward scramble, and then he was free of the hole and scraping along past the guy and then out of the guy’s passage entirely into the open fiery air. Behind him the debris was visibly settling. Max spun, got the guy by the foot, and yanked. The guy came free with a “Yeow!” and Max shoved him to his feet. Over their heads was a solid curtain of flames.
“This way,” the guy said, “down the sewer.”
The water level was climbing again, now over Max’s ankles. “Downstream,” Max said. “Here, look.” He scrambled onto the pile of debris. Next to the wall of the sewer the pile was lower, with the flames above them and still off to the left. Favoring his right leg and fending off the wall with his right hand, Max clambered onto the rubble and looked ahead. Fifteen feet further down, the roof of the sewer resumed, unbroken, with a clear hole underneath it for entrance. Max took a breath and charged. Flame fanned him on the left, wood and stone shifted beneath his feet, and then he was sliding through the hole into the open space of the sewer. The sewer bed was thick with mud and sludge but only a slowly rising trickle of water was making it past the jam upstream; steam rose from the walls from the heat of the fires overhead. There were, Max was glad to see, no zombies in sight. The tunnel ran a gentle downward course as the north hill sloped down toward river level, and a hundred feet or so further along was an access cover. Max stopped underneath it.
The guy pulled up next to him. “Who are you?” he said.
“Max,” said Max. He looked back up the access shaft, then paused. There was something else strange about this guy … he concentrated, closed his eyes, and then suddenly he had it. Max put his hand up and touched one finger to the guy’s temple.
“What are you -”
“What is your name?” Max said, using the Voice of command.
A shudder ran up the guy’s body. He made a gargling sound in his throat. “I -,” he said, “I, uh, I - augh!” His head flopped to the side and started to jerk.