Scorpio Drums [Dray Prescot #42] Read online

  In contrast my lads of EYJ just got on with the job and were as smart as they needed to be to meet that particular situation. Should some fancy foreign bigwig come visiting and it was necessary to turn out a guard of honor to escort him or her, then my lads of EYJ or ESW would put on an eye-watering show that would make these parade ground soldiers of Loh look like new recruits with straw in their hair straight from the farm.

  Turning the corner of a tent and glancing back I saw the usual activity, with soldiers lounging and slaves scuttling. I turned back and there was Wa-Te hurrying towards me. He looked wrought up.

  “Drajak! Thank Hlo-Hli I have found you—the Sybli girl, Folly—”

  Now I heard the first footfall, I think. I swung about and the dark cloak of Notor Zan fell and enveloped me in blackness.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  * * *

  Chapter nineteen

  The men in black hurried us through secret narrow corridors and down steep stairs slashed sheer through virgin rock. They did not speak. They urged us on with knotted ropes. I'd come to my senses under a treefern, with Wa-Te on one side and Folly on the other. The men in black bound our wrists with ropes, and struck us with their knotted ropes, and drove us on willy-nilly. So much for Queen Satra's orders that I was not to be disturbed!

  We had been stripped naked. Now I am used to running about on bare feet, and so too was Folly. The Pachak, more used to a pair of stout army boots or studded sandals, made a few faces as stones cut him. But he was not a soft city man who never went barefoot. He could handle this.

  Every now and then we were allowed a short rest. The men in black did not talk; they did not object when we spoke together.

  “Well, Folly—tell me—”

  “The mistress. She was demented! I heard her talking to Trylon Ge-fu—”

  “That shint!” exclaimed Wa-Te.

  “Oh, yes, he is a great villain. He aspires to Licria's hand and to become Emperor of Loh.”

  “One of ten, I expect,” I said, amused.

  “You know about that?” Folly shook her head at the evil of the world. “Most of them went into the river in a weighted sack.”

  “Folly warned me, but we couldn't find you. When we did—”

  “I was as slow as a ponsho attacking a leem.”

  “Where, master,” whispered Folly, “are they taking us?”

  The rock quivered and the booming roar of the Drums smashed down.

  “There's your answer.”

  Folly shivered. Then she shook herself and lifted her chin.

  “I refuse to be frightened by a noise. As for the trylon, you ought to know, Wa-Te, that Licria merely uses him. It's the weighted sack for him when his days are numbered.”

  “Sichaz extend its Death Jungles for him!”

  Then we were knouted up and struggled on. Down and down we went.

  Now and then other parties of men in black with captives joined us. I asked Folly if there were a trade in this from the column, and she could only say that often folk were missing and none knew where they'd gone. I saw no one I knew in the new arrivals. We pressed on.

  All the men in black resembled the first one I'd seen transfixed with terror by the vorlind in the chamber where we'd met Gochert. Pallid of face, downdrooping of whiskers, with slack features and small, too-red mouths. They wore different kinds of jeweled fillets in their hair.

  These, then, I said to myself, are the folk of the Realm of the Drums.

  The noise of the Drums when they spoke did not so much grow louder as we neared as become more distinct. The sound traveled throughout this labyrinthine complex. Reasoning from that, I realized that we had not heard the drums until we'd been down for some time. That meant that someone had penetrated to the depths and aroused the sleeping men in black.

  A final sharp set of stairs brought us to a tunnel stretching left and right in a circle so that the ends curved out of sight. We went to the left and reached an iron door. Over the door a gilt statue of a xichun spread his wings, and flailed his tail and stretched out his sinuous neck. His eyes seemed to regard us as we passed under, the needle teeth ready to tear the flesh from our bones.

  Beyond the iron door the whole aspect of the place changed.

  The walls were smooth ashlar, crisp where they were not covered by tapestries. The by now familiar pearly light took on a pinkish tinge. Soon we were walking on carpets. More doors followed, each with a xichun set above the architrave. I began to prepare plans if I had to fight one.

  The Drums burst out with a rolling thunder; but the sound was no louder than it had been. As though this were a signal, the men in black plied their rope's ends and hurried us on.

  The smell of sulfur hung thickly on the air.

  We came out onto a ledge high above a cavern. At first it was difficult to take in all the details. A rail guarded the edge and people were filing down past it to the right. I looked over the rail. At the centre of the floor of the chamber the stone was cleared of any obstructions. A round black hole some four paces across gaped like the eye of a Cyclops. Tiers of seating were arranged in a horseshoe, the seats strewn with rugs and shawls. At the moment the stand was empty. Various small buildings stood about, columned, domed, like shrines. I looked up for a moment and saw an odd arrangement of boulders supported by an incurve of the roof. Up between the boulders a shaft appeared to go straight up; but the light failed there and details were lost.

  A dais stood to one side of the horseshoe-shaped stand, supporting a throne, with steps leading up to it. A larger platform on the other side held broad tiered steps. There were no rugs there.

  The ledge which we descended curved around and when we reached the bottom further details became apparent. Naked men and women of various races were pushed forward into a compound, railed in. To our immediate left lifted the throne. Under the larger platform a door was now visible, presumably leading back into a tunnel through bedrock.

  There were many people crowded in so that Wa-Te put his tail around Folly and I put my arm about his shoulders. We did not feel like being separated just now. The stinks of sweat and fear rose in a miasma.

  A woman wearing a black robe with a huge yellow xichun emblazoned across back and front stepped out from under the throne. She picked the mallet up from its brackets under a bronze gong. She hit the gong. The metallic sound, so different from the roar of the Drums, convinced me that the gong was not the origin of that gigantic noise.

  As the reverberations gonged away to silence, men and women emerged from the door under the platform. They split left and right and climbed the steps to fan out along the terraces. They remained standing. They were dressed in black gowns, emblazoned with the xichun, and they carried Lohvian longbows.

  At the same time people began to fill the seats of the horseshoe. These were dressed in a motley of colors, robes of varying cut. All had the yellow xichun somewhere about their clothing. They were talking and laughing, very animated, and many had goblets and parcels of sweets with them.

  “Quite a day out for them,” observed Wa-Te.

  “I must say I don't care for all this.”

  “I think,” began Folly. Then she said: “I will not think what I think!”

  After a wait, marshals in black led out two naked men into the area between the arms of the horseshoe. That expanse was sanded.

  A deep silence fell. From the rear of the throne dais emerged a procession. Everyone was clothed in black except for the glittering figure all in gold. He walked along with his arms extended and supported by helpers. His face held all the old look of absolute authority I so much detested, as hard as the stone about him. On his head blazed a crown of many jewels, diamonds, emeralds, sapphires. There was just the one red gem. It coruscated from the centre of the crown, lustrous, scintillating, blood red.

  So there was the object for which we'd come all this damn long way!

  The gong sounded again. The two naked men advanced towards each other and began to wrestle. One ha
d some skill, the other had not. Very soon the skilled forced the unskilled down and so held him trapped in a lock.

  Two men in black whipped the two men up. The man who had lost the fight stared with pale hopeless eyes. One of the men in black struck him through with a sword and he fell, his blood staining the sand. He was dragged away. The victor looked about. Men in black surrounded him. He was lifted up horizontally and in a twinkling, as the gong crashed out, he was run towards the hole in the floor and hurled in. His shriek of mortal terror howled up, dwindling in eerie echoes.

  The fellow in gold with the ruby of the Skantiklar in his crown held up a hand. Silence fell. We waited. Presently the fellow gestured.

  Two more men were thrust out onto the sand. They looked at each other, and shook their heads. They were twins. It was clear to all that they would not fight each other.

  A woman with a red patch across her black gown emerged from under the throne. She held a slate in her left hand. She looked up at the fellow wearing the crown. Some of her words were lost; but I caught: “...at least four more, majister...”

  The golden-clad arms lifted. Pale hands moved in a mystic gesture. The man's eyes were like live coals, burning upon the two men. The change that overcame them was frightening in its rapidity and intensity. One moment they were staring at each other with brotherly love, the next their faces evinced the most intense hatred. Snarls broke from them. They leaped at each other, and they fought like maniacs—men possessed.

  Their fists were knotted about each other's throats. So they gripped and choked. One twin must have been a fraction stronger than the other, a tragic fraction. One man collapsed and the other staggered away, hands to his own throat, retching. As before, the loser was struck through and the winner hoisted and hurled down the black shaft.

  Again silence fell.

  The woman wearing the red patch consulted her slate. She looked up at the throne and shook her head. Once more the gong crashed out.

  This time two naked women were thrust out onto the sand. I did not care to watch, and so took more notice of the details of this hell hole.

  The platform to my right contained bowmen, and no doubt they would take delight in shafting any poor crazed wretches who tried to run for it. The steps leading up to the throne on the left had rugs scattered upon them.

  The woman with the slate and the woman with the gong stood just to the side. Just what title that fellow up there called himself, I couldn't know. But I bet it was a real fancy string of pomposity. As for the crowd lolling on the horseshoe shaped benches, they struck the most incongruous note in this place of barbarity and terror.

  A couple of husky fellows wearing the black gown and the xichun symbol with crossed swords embroidered in yellow below it stood just below the High One in his throne. These two carried swords, not the Lohvian lynxter but an interesting double-curved sword rather like a kris. Their faces looked dull and doughy with good living. The notion was borne in on me that I'd have to do something sharpish if this imbroglio wasn't to be the end.

  I heard Folly whisper: “The beasts!” When I looked back the fight between the women was over. One had been struck through and the victor was being hurried to the pit.

  “The trouble is,” said a distinguished-looking man standing nextto Wa-Te. “We have no way of knowing what lies in the pit. Is it a dreadful death? Or is it an escape? Certainly, having a sword stuck through you is final enough, by Amintal the Benevolent!”

  We agreed and the argument over which was preferable spread through the prisoners. We stood, as I say, near the left hand side, by the throne; prisoners were picked out from anywhere at random, it seemed, and the next pair of women were selected from the far side by the platform of bowmen.

  The fact to remember here was that this was a scene that rightfully belonged some five hundred seasons ago. Then the City of Eternal Twilight was not a Lost City of Chem. It had trading links all over Loh. There was no difficulty in finding people, no mystery how all these folk came here.

  The distinguished-looking man added to that by saying that he wished, now, by Amintal the Benevolent, he'd never ventured here after treasure. Like many of the prisoners he appeared unnaturally calm. I, too, felt a numbness between my ears. He finished: “As true as my name is Nath the Thirsty, I am a strom and yet this creature on his throne ignores me.”

  The women struggled together, breast to breast, and I looked away.

  Wa-Te said: “I think the sword will be the easier death, Drajak. Should we be chosen to fight, I shall kill you with sorrow and joy.”

  “I, too, believe the shaft to be a hideous death. Therefore, Wa-Te, I shall most certainly defeat you.”

  “Ha!” he said, firing up in that Pachak way. “We'll see!”

  When the girl who had triumphed was hurled down the pit the silence fell. I could feel the expectancy in the air, the sizzle as of lightning through rain, the pulse of blood loud in my head.

  The woman with the slate gestured and two more men were driven out by the marshals, to fight, and to lose and lose. The man who had won let rip a shriek of animal fear as he went headfirst into the pit. This time the silence pressed down like a leaden helmet.

  I felt prickles all over my skin. Folly put her arm about my waist, and I reciprocated, and the touch of her skin vibrated in my fingertips. We all waited on the verge of some great catastrophe.

  A red light grew in the pit. At the moment when the red light began to glow, the people sitting in the horseshoe, the bowmen and the people by the throne, gazed upwards. Instinctively, I glanced up. A shaft of light, a sparking, sizzling, flaming bolt of fire smashed up from the pit. It made no sound. Silently it licked its flame upwards. The tip of the flame struck that odd shaping of boulders high in the shaft.

  The boulders swung across and clashed together, and then rebounded. Through the cavern, dinning in our ears, the sullen reverberations of the Drums rolled sonorously.

  The flame soared up, striking the boulders, smashing out the roar of the Drums. The tip of the flame recurved, spread, descended from the shaft's opening to spread out in a net. That fire had changed. Throughout the gossamer of flaming filaments danced golden motes, sprites of energy that sparked and scintillated dazzlingly. The whole vibrant mass of light descended upon the horseshoe of seating and upon the bowmen's platform and on the throne.

  The people there were galvanized into frenetic action. They danced in abandon, flung their arms and legs about, their mouths open and gasping as though they greedily drank wine from a spouting fountain. They were drinking the flames! Their faces shone, sweat poured from them. Crazy scenes were being enacted everywhere among the people in bright clothes. Those in the black robes, drinking in the flames, remained more sober. I caught the immediate idea that they took it in turns, thus to guard, thus to imbibe—imbibe whatever it was they were drinking from the flames!

  With a last tremendous clang from the Drums, the flame died.

  No one could speak. The silence now was the silence that falls upon a stricken battlefield after all the wounded have died.

  The woman in the red patch with the slate was the first to rouse herself. She adjusted her clothing, and then commanded the gong mistress to strike. The gong note rang out peremptorily.

  The holiday-attired people, the king's procession, the bowmen, all descended and marched off. The marshals and guards before the prisoners changed over. We waited, without food or drink. Strom Nath the Thirsty licked his lips. “These rasts buy their pleasures dearly!”

  I said: “I think, doms, it is time we thought of escape.”

  “If we don't get somewhat to eat and drink soon,” said Wa-Te, “I, for one, won't have the strength to lift my feet.” He was, as we all knew, exaggerating. But there was an ugly truth in what he said.

  The bowmen returned to their platform, the merry-makers crowded the horseshoe, and the damned procession re-appeared, with the golden form wearing the ruby of the Skantiklar in his crown. I glared on him with some disfavor.


  The gong clamored out demandingly.

  Marshals were advancing to the far side of the sanded area to pick the next pair of combatants, so we over here could breathe again. The smells were not helped by the perfume everywhere floating into the still air. That damned flame that created the Drums had not been hot—at least I'd felt no heat from it. People sweated from fear, the prisoners, and expectant enjoyment, the holiday crowd.

  Down on the edge of the sanded area a man walked along looking at the prisoners. He passed by a marshal and the marshal took no notice of him. This figure wore a plain gown of a crimson hue, and carried a varnished staff. He wore a turban which balanced perfectly on his red Lohvian hair.

  I felt—well, I tell you, by Zair, I felt emotion course all through me! Deb-Lu-Quienyin walked on by and he did not look up; he was looking at the front row of prisoners. Presently he walked back and disappeared. Out on the arena two men fought, and died, and one was shafted by a sword and the other was just shafted.

  I said to Wa-Te: “When we make our break do not be surprised if we receive unexpected help.”

  “Oh?”

  “You recall those lads with yellow jackets?”

  “I should welcome them with open arms!”

  Folly said: “Oh, yes, please!”

  Wa-Te clicked his tongue and said: “You call them lads. They're the toughest bunch of hard men I've ever met.”

  “ESW would question that, Wa-Te!”

  “What—?”

  But I was not listening to my comrade. I was staring at the sanded arena and the marshals shepherding two girls out. The women had their arms about each other's waists. They walked closely together, leg striding for leg, heads touching. The marshals tried to pull them apart and, somehow, two marshals were lying on the ground, rolling over and over.

  Rope's ends thwacked down and I jumped at each blow. The women were torn apart and turned to face each other. They stood, defiantly, one foot braced before the other, arms crossed. One of those girls had forearms deeply pitted—but there were many granules still filled with bindles.