Siyun had employed the “You of Honourable Youth,” although he looked to be no older than Harsan. The latter was careful not to let his irritation show and replied carefully, “I am here because I have done some introductory study of the Llyani language.”
The other turned away, picking a path between the crosslegged scribes, pencases, and documents that littered the stained floor matting. “Many have come and many have departed, all at the whim of some exalted high priest or other… You’ll probably be forgotten here for years-and then be hauled forth to deliver a report you hadn’t known you must prepare.”
This was unpleasant news. Harsan said, “I thought my- mission-was of some interest to somebody. Else why summon me all the way from Do Chaka?”
“How did you conclude that? — Oh, because someone told you that the high lords of the temple had seen fit to squabble over the Llyani relics with certain other mighty temples I could name? And the bickering ending with them being made as open as a prostitute’s parlor, all sorts of people wandering in to poke at them, and a handful of Legion bravos standing about picking their arses to boot?”
Harsan had heard none of this and admitted as much.
“Never mind, then. Keep out of the way of the priests of the Lords of Change. Give no information and leave nothing written for them to read!” They were out of the Hall of the Diffusion of Radiance, moving down a zigzag corridor. “The soldiers won’t bother you. They play at guarding the relics, play at Den-den, and play with our girl acolytes who bring them their food. I’ve laid a wager with one of the rogues that both he and I will be here to celebrate the Five Feast Days at year’s end together. Once the great lords have settled their wrangling, it’s easy to mislay the likes of us until we’re all ready to board Belkhanu’s barque for the Isles of the Dead.”
Now they passed through a stout wooden door, descended a winding stone staircase, and emerged into a high vaulted room. This was lit by tiny brass oil lamps, set near clever ducts that took the smoke up through the massive heart of the temple above. They must now be well below the level of the pyramid that supported the upper structure.
Two men wearing only light Firya — cloth kilts sat crosslegged on the flagging. An oblong Den-den board lay between them and a heap of counters beside it. A jumble of armour and rolled sleeping mats proclaimed this room to be a temporary guardroom. Siyun saluted the two soldiers, who muttered greetings in return. He then picked up an oil lamp from a niche beside the door, lit it, and plunged off again into another dim passageway. This was constructed of massive stone blocks, hand-hewn and fitted together with the meticulous precision of the ancients. Moisture ran from the walls and trickled silently along a runnel in the centre of the floor.
The corridor wound downward, turned, branched, went down more stairs, and emerged into another lamplit chamber. Two more guards sat on their haunches by the door. These were attired in blue-lacquered Chlen — hide breastplates, the flaring shoulderguards of the Tsolyani regular army, and kilts like those of their comrades above. Two crested helmets bearing the insignia of the Omnipotent Azure Legion lay in a comer, and curved, scallop-edged swords leaned against a wall. One rose to greet Siyun, who said a word or two in reply and jerked a thumb at Harsan. The other guard seemed lost in some revery of his own.
They passed through into the chamber beyond, where a table stood covered with a grey cloth. On it lay the golden hand and the map symbol. There were other items as welclass="underline" three roundish lumps of crumbling red rust, a rod of some silvery-blue metal perhaps as long as a man’s forearm, and a heap of manuscript leaves. These last were obviously fragile with age, mouldering, stained, and rotten.
A glance took in all of this. Then Harsan’s gaze shifted to the other occupant of the room and he stared.
It was a Pe Choi.
But yet what a Pe Choi! Instead of the sleek, dully-gleaming black nudity of the Pe Choi of Do Chaka, this specimen was decked out in an odd-fitting copy of a human’s kilt, a gorget of Chlen — hide all chaised and set with twinkling blue stones, and- most ludicrous of all-a hat! Rising up between the delicate grey-shadowed ear-ridges was a loaf-shaped bonnet of embroidered cloth-of-gold, a style currently fashionable among the young aristocrats of Bey Sii.
Harsan repressed a wild impulse to laugh, then a strong surge of revulsion. No Pe Choi of the Chakas would ever have worn this foppish travesty of human costume! This was a parody, a caricature. It was like the Kiini — bird a trader had once brought to the monastery; it had been garbed in a tiny grey priest’s tunic and black skullcap, and the man had made it say preposterously pontifical things in its shrill little voice.
Siyun was saying, “I can’t pronounce his name, but this is a priest of our Lord Thumis’ Cohort, Ketengku. Here is priest Harsan, the language scholar we were told to expect.”
The Pe Choi minced forward on his two powerful rear legs, articulated tail swaying in unconscious imitation of a dandy’s walk. “I am Chtik p’Qwe, Scholar Priest of the Fourth Circle.” He spoke almost perfect Tsolyani with only a trace of a whistle to mar the sibilants. “I have heard that you come from near my home in Do Chaka?”
Harsan had not yet recovered from his surprise and could only nod in affirmation.
Siyun said indifferently, “I leave you to your tasks. Our great Tunkul — gong can be heard even at these depths, so you’ll probably know when it is dinner time.”
The two were left to stare at one another. The Pe Choi almost certainly sensed Harsan’s distaste and reticence and was the firsi to break the silence.
“Since our two temples are so close, we may find it profitable to work together. I can show you what my techniques have uncovered, and you in turn can aid by analysing the writings.” He bent his long oddly-jointed neck closer to Harsan. “Two more will return-they are gone to the midday rituals at their own temples. They serve the Lords of Change, and we are told to be wary of them. They are here only upon the direct permission of the Imperium, as you may have heard by now.”
He led Harsan to the table and pointed to the relics. “This is a religious icon, a hand of gold made in imitation of that of some more ancient idol, named Tga’a Nmemsu, ‘the Man of Gold.’ ” Harsan gave no sign that he had heard of this before. “Next, there is a map symbol showing the Empire of Llyan of Tsamra. It cannot be used without certain devices now lost to us, and indeed, which we did not know still were workable as late as Llyani times.” The map symbol? Kurrune the Messenger must have run hard to carry it back, or perhaps he had sent it by some other courier.
Chtik p’Qwe picked up a blob of rust. “These lumps also contain artifacts, but their iron caskets have rusted away. The manuscripts are in Llyani, but in a difficult and cryptic hand- perchance you can help there. And this rod may be a power source, similar in function to the ‘Eyes’ made by the servants who preceded Llyan’s empire, even as he precedes ours. I have not been able to puzzle out its use, and mayhap its force is now gone. As with similar devices, it probably drew upon the energies of the Planes Beyond, which fill the gaps between each bubble of reality.”
“I have studied only the rudiments of that theory,” Harsan murmured.
“It is so? The ‘Layers of Reality’ were my specialty in our temple, and I submitted a treatise upon the topic as my Labour of Reverence for the Fourth Circle.”
“I fear I am not so far advanced.” He felt uncomfortable. “No matter. I shall explain.” The Pe Choi raised a thin hand in unwitting imitation of the statues of Feshmu’un, Tutor of the Gods, the Ninth Aspect of Thumis. “What we perceive is only the exterior of reality, like the bark upon a section of Mnosa- root. Beneath the bark run the fibres which contain the sweetness. Thus it is here: below the surface of the world we see, touch, smell, taste, and feel there are networks of invisible forces. Where these come together they create ‘nexus points,’ and there the power is stronger, mightier. Where no force lines run, there are ‘bare’ areas in which no sorcery operates. Long before Llyan of Tsamra the ancients learned to ‘reach through’ to this network with instruments and shape this power to their needs. Their wisdom created devices which pull, push, focus, and mould this energy to many purposes.”