When they were gone, Bez leered at Aoth. Well, what do you say, Fezim? Partners?
Aoth shifted his grip on his spear. His mail clinked. It s something to consider, he replied.
Come on, said the captain. I don t understand everything you and these lovely ladies accomplished in Chessenta this past year. I don t know how anyone could make sense of all the stories. But it seems to have involved unraveling mysteries and secrets, and that s what s needed now. No one will ever stop these undead until we know how and why they re rising.
True enough, said Aoth. That s what my friends and I can cook for the feast. What do you have to contribute?
Surely that s plain, Bez replied.
You left your company in winter quarters; I brought mine. This is likely to come down to real battles, not just skirmishes in the woods, before it s over. When that happens, you want to stand with your fellow professionals, not alone, or with a pack of crazy barbarians.
Aoth smiled. You may have a point, he said.
I ve already seen how well crazy barbarians stick to a plan. Equal shares, even though there s a whole shipload of you and only three of us?
Of course. Bez said, thrusting out his hand.
Aoth didn t grasp it. He simply nodded. I ll let you know if I decide to take you up on it, he said.
The skyship captain s eyes narrowed. Are you joking? he asked.
No, replied Aoth. Because I remember Turmish, too, although not the way you claim to. And I ll partner up with you again if I think it s necessary, but not until.
Bez snorted. Suit yourself, Thayan, he said.
Hold a grudge. You ll regret it when I fly off with all the griffons. That s assuming some wraith or ghoul hasn t torn you apart before then. He and his men turned and stalked away.
Aoth turned and cast about. Vandar! Wait! he called, as he started toward the berserker and his lodge brothers.
So we are going to partner up with him? Cera asked, scurrying after him.
If he ll have us, Aoth replied. And much as he dislikes me, I think he will. What happened in the grove shows we can help each other.
Even though he and his folk are crazy barbarians? Cera asked.
Better mad and wild than treacherous, he said.
Uramar scrutinized the hieroglyphs on the limestone wall. Some of his broken selves, the ones who were scholars of esoterica, were interested. They picked out symbols they recognized the names of Abyssal powers and Infernal personages, mostly and muttered as they speculated on the meanings of those they didn t.
He suspected they d keep at it all day if he allowed them to, for it was the first Nar tomb complex he d visited. He and his fellows had mostly begun by waking durthans and other wise Rashemi who d perished in recent times. Those recruits had in turn helped them locate older ruins, barrows, and sunken, overgrown graves.
Of course, that wasn t the only way to find the resting places of the dead. A person could explore unmapped portions of the deathways and see where they led. That, as he understood it, was how his fraternity had discovered the new land in the first place. But it was a dangerous undertaking.
A frantic Stop! reminded him that his current methods weren t entirely safe, either. He pivoted, and his scarred, mottled hands shifted his greatsword into a middle guard.
A few paces ahead, four zombies had been breaking down a wall that brought the downward-sloping passage to what Nyevarra was sure was a premature end. The stroke of a pickaxe had knocked away plaster, but, by pure luck, left the wavy seven-armed sigil beneath unmarred.
Another blow certainly would chip it. Nyevarra did not content herself with snapping a command at the zombie to make sure that didn t happen. She grabbed its gray, slimy forearm and hauled it backward.
Short and solidly built like most Rashemi, Nyevarra had been a durthan. She still wore the robes and silver mask that had denoted her status, although the former were rotten and moldy; the latter, black with tarnish. Always somewhat unpredictable, Lod s magic had brought her back as a vampire. It was a condition she generally relished, although she d been briefly distraught when her former familiar had appeared and instantly attacked her, and she had had to destroy the thing.
Uramar hadn t blamed her for feeling upset. The telthor s reaction to her rebirth really didn t seem fair, considering that the wretched thing had been a bat. Or the spirit of a bat, or whatever.
As Uramar reached her side, he took another glance around, making sure none of the zombies showed any sign of taking another swing. For, while no member of the Eminence was truly mindless, the mute and sluggish things came close.
What is that? he asked, indicating the symbol with a slight inclination of his blade. He thought he already knew, but she was the expert on the mystical arts of the land.
A trap, she said, confirming his guess. If we disturb it, something bad will happen. Given that the Nars great art was demonbinding, I imagine a fiend will spring forth and attack us.
So how do we proceed? he asked.
You and the zombies stand back, she replied.
I m going to try to call the spirit forth under my control. I ll offer it freedom in exchange for a promise to leave us alone.
All right, said Uramar. Go ahead.
The operation took a little while. First, Nyevarra removed a stone from one of the pockets of her robe and scratched an elaborate geometric figure, composed mainly of interlocking triangles, on the floor. Both the rock and the lines it made glowed a sickly blue. It was the first actual light he d seen since descending into the vaults, for the undead didn t need it to find their way.
She stood in the center of the design she d created. Swaying, she crooned a chant that sent echoes whispering through the dark. Some of the carved symbols on the walls pulsed with phosphorescence. Despite its stupidity, a zombie shivered, and tears of sludge oozed down its slack, rotting face.
The trap symbol expanded. Suddenly, a creature resembling a huge insect burst from nothingness to thump down on the floor.
Its body was no bigger than a mastiff s, but its sets of spindly, many-jointed legs and three pairs of droning membranous wings nearly filled the corridor from wall to wall. Serrated mandibles gnashed and clicked above its cluster of bulging black eyes, and its several tails, each tipped with a curved stinger, coiled and lashed about.
Uramar had seen many things that the average mortal would consider horrible and hideous, including his own lopsided patchwork form reflected in a glass. And such things generally failed to disturb him, as they would not disturb most undead. But the demon, if that was what it was, seemed somehow overwhelmingly, even transcendently, vile. Everything about it shocked and sickened. The ugliness that made him strain just to keep his eyes on it. The buzzing that scraped at his nerves. The acidic stench that burned his nose, filled his mouth with a foul taste, and made his stomach churn.
Some of his souls simply couldn t bear the fiend s presence. They snapped and started screaming. But fortunately, most were resilient enough to allow him to ignore the clamor.
Two of the zombies, however, succumbed to the demon s influence. They fell down, thrashed, and pawed and swatted at themselves.
Uramar tensed when Nyevarra s knees buckled, and she too appeared on the verge of collapse. But she croaked a word of power and straightened up again.
Are you all right? he asked, raising his voice to make himself heard above the droning.
Yes, the vampire said, and you should be, too. I have the demon penned between the sigil on the wall and the one I drew. It s an ekolid, by the way. A lesser obyrith.
Lesser, said the demon, its psychic voice stabbing into Uramar s mind, is a strange word for one of you paltry undead to apply to me.
We re the ones who have you caged, Uramar said.
For how much longer? the demon replied. Your barrier and the witch are one and the same. I push, she has to push back. And so she exhausts her strength.