Dilvish, The Damned Page 6

  Sitting up, he beheld a ghostly glow above the form of the man Task. It was already fading, but he would never forget its outline.

  "Aache… ?"

  Sleep, my only friend, my dear friend, came the words from somewhere. I have but come for that which is mine. It is not so sweet as honey, but it will have to do…

  He covered over the remains of the priest without looking at him. He departed the following morning. He rode the entire day in silence.

  A City Divided

  SPRING was twisting its way slowly into the North Country, advancing and retreating by turns, retaining each day something of its gains. Snow still lay heavy upon all the higher peaks, but during the day it melted in the lower regions and the fields lay damp, the streams swelled and raced. Some new green was already evident in the valleys, and on cloudless days such as this the sun dried the trails and the air was warmed to the point of comfort by midday. The traveler on the strange dark horse, but lately up from redelivered Portaroy after the laying of his ghost legions, halted on a rocky rise and gestured to the north.

  "Black," he said. "That hill—about half a league off. Did you see something peculiar atop it a moment ago?"

  His mount turned its metallic head and stared.

  "No. Nor do I now. What did it seem?"

  "The outline of some buildings. They're gone now."

  "Perhaps it was the sun glinting on the ice."

  "Perhaps."

  They moved ahead, descending the slope and continuing on their way. On the next hill they mounted, minutes later, they paused again and looked in that direction.

  "There!" said the rider who seldom smiled, smiling.

  Black shook his head.

  "I see it now. It looks like the wall of a city…"

  "A fresh meal may perhaps be had there—and a bath. And a real bed tonight. Come, let us hurry."

  "Check your maps, will you? I am curious what the place is called."

  "We will learn that soon enough. Come!"

  "Humor me, for old times' sake."

  The rider paused, then dipped into his travel bag. He fumbled about, then withdrew a small scroll that he uncased, unrolled, and held before him.

  "Hmm," he said after a time. Then he unrolled the map and restored it to its container.

  "Well? What is the name of the place?"

  "Can't tell. It's not shown."

  "Aha!"

  "You know this will not be the first error we've found in this map. The mapmaker either forgot the place or did not know about it. Or the town is new."

  "Dilvish… ?"

  "Yes?"

  "Do I offer you advice often?"

  "Frequently."

  "Am I often wrong?"

  "I could cite instances."

  "I don't fancy the notion of spending the night in a place that is here one moment and gone the next."

  "Nonsense! It was just the angle, or some trick of the distance."

  "I am suspicious—"

  "—by nature. I know. And I am hungry. Fresh fish from one of these streams, broiled with herbs…"

  Black snorted a tiny wisp of smoke and began walking.

  "Your stomach is suddenly a big problem."

  "There may be girls, too."

  "Hmph!"

  The trail leading up the hill to the city gate was not wide, and the gate stood open. Dilvish halted before it but was not challenged. He studied the towers and the walls, but he saw no one. He listened. The only sounds were the wind and the birds at his back.

  "Go ahead," he said, and Black bore him through the gate.

  Streets ran off to the right and the left, turning with the angles of the wall. The way on which he stood ran straight ahead, ending against buildings at what might be a small plaza. All of these streets were cobbled and well-kept. The buildings were mainly of stone and brick—clean, sharp angled. As they continued along the way leading directly ahead, he noted that no refuse stood or flowed in the ditch at his side.

  "Quiet place," said Black.

  "Yes."

  After perhaps a hundred paces, Dilvish drew upon the reins and dismounted. He entered a shop to his left. A moment later he stepped back outside.

  "What is it?"

  "Nothing. Empty. No merchandise. Not a stick of furniture."

  He crossed over the street and entered another building. He emerged shaking his head.

  "The same," he said, remounting.

  "Shall we go? You know my feelings."

  "Let us have a look at that plaza first. There are no signs of violence thus far. It may be a festival day of some sort."

  Black's hooves clicked on the cobbles.

  "Pretty dead festival, then."

  They rode on, glancing up alleyways, along galleries, into courtyards. There was no activity to be seen, there were no people about. At length they entered the plaza. There were vacant stalls on two sides, a small fountain in the middle that was not operating, and a large statue of two fish near one end. Dilvish paused and regarded the ancient sign. The top fish headed to his left, the bottom one to his right. He shrugged.

  "You were right about that," he said. "Let us—"

  The air shook from the single note of a bell, swinging within a high tower off to his left.

  "Strange…"

  A youth—blond haired and rosy cheeked, wearing a ruffled white shirt and green hose, a short sword, and a large codpiece—stepped out from behind the statue, smiled, and postured with one hand on his hip.

  "Strange?" he said. "Yes, it is. But stranger still, the sight you are about to behold, traveler. Regard!"

  He gestured, sweepingly, just as the bell tolled again.

  Dilvish turned his head and drew a sudden breath. As silently as cats, the buildings had begun moving about the plaza. They circled, they advanced, they retreated. They rearranged themselves, changing positions with one another as if moving in a ludicrous, cyclopean dance. The bell rang again, and again, as Dilvish watched.

  Finally: "What sorcery is this?" he inquired of the youth.

  "Just so," was the reply. "Sorcery indeed—and it is in the process of rearranging the city into the form of a maze about you."

  Dilvish shook his head to the accompaniment of another bell note.

  "I am impressed by the display," he said. "But what is its purpose?"

  "You might call it a game," said the youth. "When the bell completes its song, several strokes hence, the maze will be laid. You will then have an hour until it strikes again. If you have not found your way out of town and away from here by that time, you will be crushed by the buildings' rearranging themselves once more."

  "And why the game?" Dilvish asked, waiting out another tolling before he heard the reply.

  "That you will never know, Elfboot, whether you win or lose, for you are only an element of the game. I am also charged to warn you, however, that you may find yourself under attack at various points along whatever route you may choose."

  The buildings continued their dance to the sound of the bell.

  "I do not care for this game," said Dilvish, drawing his blade, "and I've a mind to play a different one. I have just elected you to guide me out of here. Refuse, and you'll part company with your head."

  The youth grinned, and reaching upward with his left hand, he seized a fistful of his own hair while drawing his blade with his right. Brandishing the weapon on high, he brought it down in a fast, hard stroke against the side of his neck. It passed through.

  His left hand rose, holding his severed head—still grinning—high above his shoulders. The bell tolled again. The lips moved.

  "Did you believe you dealt with mortals, stranger?"

  Dilvish frowned.

  "I see," he said. "Very well. Deal with him, Black."

  "Gladly," Black replied, and flames danced within his mouth and filled his eye sockets as he reared in time with another bell stroke.

  The face on the severed head showed a look of sudden surprise as an electrical quality came int
o the air between them. Black's hooves lashed out, crossing in an unhorselike movement as he fell forward, striking the figure to the accompaniment of a sulfurous thunderclap that drowned out the next note of the bell. A scream escaped from the being before them as it vanished in a rush of fire.

  The bell tolled twice again as Black recovered his footing and they stood regarding the charred cobbles. Then there was silence. The buildings had ceased their movements.

  "All right," Dilvish said at last. "You told me so. Thanks for your action."

  Black moved in a circle then, and they regarded the new arrangement of streets that led from the plaza.

  "Any preferences?" Black inquired.

  "Let's try that one," said Dilvish, gesturing up a sideway to the left.

  "All right," said Black. "By the way, I've seen that trick done better."

  "Really?"

  "I'll tell you about it another time."

  They headed up the cobbled way. Nothing moved about them.

  The street was narrow and short. Buildings crowded them at either hand. There was an abrupt turn to the right, then to the left again.

  "Sst! Over here!" came a voice from their left.

  "The first ambush," muttered Dilvish, turning his head and drawing his blade.

  A small, dark-eyed man with a pleasant smile, his long gray hair tied into a topknot, his hands raised to shoulder level, empty palms facing outward, watched them from within a doorway. He had on well-worn gray garments.

  "It's all right," he whispered sharply. "No trick. I want to help you."

  Dilvish did not lower his blade.

  "Who are you?" he asked.

  "The other side," came the reply.

  "What do you mean?"

  "This is a game, whether you like it or not," the small man said. "It is between two players. The other side wants you to die in here. Mine only wins if you escape. The other side is responsible for the city. I am responsible for outwitting it."

  "How do I know whether you are telling the truth? How can I tell which side is which?"

  The man glanced down at his shirtfront and frowned.

  "May I lower one hand?"

  "Go ahead."

  He dropped his right hand and smoothed the baggy garment over his breast. This exposed the emblem of a fish, swimming toward his right. He pointed to it.

  "He of the fish that swims to the right," he said, "is the one who wants you out of here safe. Now test my words. Two more turnings, and you had better look for an attack from above."

  At this the man leaned backward against the door and it gave way. He closed it behind him, and Dilvish heard the bar drop.

  "Let's go," he said to Black.

  There were no sounds other than those of Black's hooves as they made the first turn. Dilvish rode with drawn blade, eyes searching every opening.

  The second turning led through an archway. He slowed and studied it before continuing on. They passed beneath it and started up the narrow street. They passed a latticed door letting upon a small courtyard. Dilvish looked low as well as high but saw nothing. Then he heard the sound of metal grating upon stone somewhere overhead. As he glanced upward, he cried, "Back! Back!"

  His mount reversed motion without turning, moving quickly, as a cataract of steaming oil descended and struck the stones before them. Dilvish only glimpsed the figures on the rooftop to his right.

  There came a terrific crash that echoed and reverberated about them. Looking back, Dilvish saw that a massive barred gate had been dropped from within the archway. The pool of bubbling oil continued to flow, spreading toward them.

  "I won't be able to keep my footing on that," Black said.

  "That door, to the right! Break through!"

  Black wheeled and crashed against the latticed door. It fell apart, and they were through it and into a small flagged courtyard, a tiny dry fountain at its center, another wooden door at its farther end.

  "You cheated!" came a voice from above and to his left. "Were you warned?"

  Dilvish looked up.

  There, on a small third-floor balcony, stood a man very similar in appearance to their informant, save that his hair was bound back with a blue head strap and on his shirtfront was the emblem of a fish swimming to his left. In his hands he bore a crossbow, which he raised then and sighted.

  Dilvish slid down from Black to his right and crouched. He heard the quarrel strike upon Black's metallic hide.

  "Through the other gate before he can set it again! I'll follow you!"

  Black rushed ahead, not even slowing as he hit the gate. Dilvish sprinted after.

  "Cheating! Cheating!" came the cry from behind him.

  The street beyond ran in both directions.

  "To the right," said Dilvish, mounting.

  Black hurried off in that direction. They came to a fork. They took the left-hand way, which ran slightly uphill.

  "It might be worth risking a climb to the top of a high building," said Dilvish. "I may be able to see the way out."

  "Not necessary," came a familiar voice from his right. "I can save you the time and the effort. You've already found one shortcut—back there. It is not very far now."

  Dilvish looked into the eyes of that first topknotted man, fish emblem facing to his right. He stood behind a low window, only an arm's distance away.

  "But you must hurry. He is already rushing his forces to the gate. If he gets there first, it's all over."

  "He could simply have guarded it from the beginning and waited."

  "Not permitted. He can't start there. Take the next right, the next left, and two rights. You will come through an alleyway into a wide courtyard. The gate will be on your left and open. Hurry!"

  Dilvish nodded and Black raced off, swinging to the right at the next corner.

  "Do you believe him?" Black asked.

  Dilvish shrugged.

  "I must either try it or take a terrible chance."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Use of the strongest magic I know."

  "One of the Awful Sayings you learned in Hell, against the day you meet your enemy?"

  "Aye. There's one of the twelve to level a city."

  Black turned left, cautiously, then proceeded on.

  "How do you think it would fare against a sorcerous construct such as this?"

  "For raw power, it is unequaled by earthly magics—"

  "But there are no warnings. You never get a second chance if you make a mistake."

  "I need not be told."

  Black halted at the next corner, peered about it, continued.

  "If he was telling the truth, we're almost there," he whispered. "Let us hope we have beaten the other player. And the next time, put more trust in your maps!"

  "Aye. Here's the turn. Carefully now…"

  They rounded the next corner. There was a long alleyway with light at its far end.

  "So far it looks as if he spoke true," Black whispered, slowing to soften the sound of his hooves.

  He halted as they neared the alley's end, and they looked out upon a courtyard.

  The man they had left on the balcony stood in the middle of the yard, smiling in their direction. In his right hand he held a pikestaff.

  "You pressed me hard," he said. "But my way was shorter—as you can see."

  He looked to his right.

  "There is the gate."

  He raised his staff and struck it three times upon the ground. Immediately the flagstones about him were raised like trapdoors and figures rose up from out of the ground beneath them. There were perhaps two-score men there. Each bore a pikestaff. Each reached across with his left hand, grasped his hair, and raised his head from his shoulders. All of them laughed then, as they replaced their heads, gripped their pikes with both hands, and started forward across the yard.

  "Back!" said Dilvish. "We'd never make it!"

  They fled up the alley and turned to the left. They heard the pikemen enter it behind them.

  "Other streets ope
ned upon that yard," said Dilvish. "Perhaps we can circle."

  "Another street…"

  "Go left!"

  They turned.

  "Another."

  "Right!"

  The way opened upon a square at a crossroads, a fountain at its center. Pikemen suddenly entered from the left and from directly ahead. From behind there still came the sounds of pursuit.

  They bore to the right, took another right after a short distance. Farther up the street, a gate fell into place before them. They turned left into a long, arcaded area skirting a garden.

  "Cut across the garden!" came a voice from behind a row of shrubs. "There's a gate over there!" The other small man stood, pointing. "Then remember, two lefts and a right, two lefts and a right—all the way around!"

  Black's hooves tore through the garden as they headed for the gate. Then he reared and came to a standstill, as the note of a single bell stroke vibrated through the air.

  "Oh, oh," said the small man with the topknot. A building on the left rotated ninety degrees, backed up, and slid off down the street. A stone railing shot away. A tower edged forward. The second small man entered the area and stood beside the other. He was smiling. The first was not.

  "Is this it?" Black asked, as an outhouse shot by, passing beneath an arch that was striding toward them.

  "I'm afraid so," said Dilvish, straightening and raising both arms over his head. "Mabra, brahoring Mabra…"

  A great wind came down, and within it was a wailing. It spun about without touching them with anything but a chill, and a smoky haze sprang forth from each building.

  As Dilvish continued to speak, sounds of cracking and splintering began, followed shortly by the crashes of falling masonry. Somewhere a bell tower tottered and plunged, a final raucous booming emerging from its bell as it descended to shatter upon a rushing shop or residence.

  The ground shook as the wailing rose to an ear-splitting howl. The buildings faded within their cloaks of mist. Then came a crack like a hundred lightning-riven trees, and the wind died as suddenly as it had risen.

  Dilvish and Black stood upon a sun-swept hilltop. No trace of the city remained about them.

  "Congratulations," said Black. "That was very well done."

  "To which I must add my own" came a familiar voice from behind them.