‘Otha’s bearers,’ Sephrenia explained.
‘You were right,’ Talen told her. ‘There are four doors – this one just ahead of us, another over on the far side of the room, the archway and a bigger one down at the end of the room.’
‘The door that leads out into the rest of the palace,’ Sephrenia said.
‘That’s the important one then,’ Sparhawk decided. ‘There’s nobody in these kitchens but a few cooks, I’d imagine, and not very many people in Otha’s bedroom, but there’ll be soldiers on the other side of that main door. How far is it from this door to that one?’
‘About two hundred feet,’ the boy said.
‘Who feels like running?’ Sparhawk looked around at his friends.
‘What do you say, Tynian?’ Ulath asked. ‘How fast can you cover two hundred feet?’
‘As fast as you can, my friend.’
‘We’ll take care of it then, Sparhawk,’ Ulath said.
‘Don’t forget that you promised to let me have Adus,’ Kalten reminded his friend.
‘I’ll try to save him for you.’
They moved purposefully ahead towards the torchlit doorway. They paused just back from it, and then they rushed through. Ulath and Tynian sprinted towards the main door. There were cries of shock and alarm as the knights burst into the throne-room. Otha’s soldiers shouted conflicting orders to each other, but one officer overrode them all with the hoarse bellow, ‘Protect the Emperor!’
The mailed guards lining the walls deserted their comrades at the doors and rushed to form a protective ring around the throne with their spears. Kalten and Bevier had almost negligently cut down the two guards at the entrance to the corridor leading back into the kitchens, and then Ulath and Tynian reached the main door where the two guards were desperately trying to open it to cry for help. Both men fell in the first flurry of strokes, and then Ulath set his massive back against the door and braced himself while Tynian pawed behind the nearby draperies looking for the bar to lock the door.
Berit dashed through the doorway beside Sparhawk, leaped over the still weakly moving guards on the floor and ran towards the door on the opposite side of the room with his axe raised. Even though he was encumbered by his armour, he ran like a deer across the polished floor of the throne-room and fell upon the two men guarding the door that led back to Otha’s bed-chamber. He brushed aside their spears and disposed of them with two powerful axe-blows.
Sparhawk heard the solid metallic clank behind him as Kalten slammed the heavy iron bar into place.
There was a pounding on the outside of the door Ulath was holding closed and then Tynian found the iron bar and slid it into place. Berit barred his door as well.
‘Very workmanlike,’ Kurik approved. ‘We still can’t get to Otha, though.’
Sparhawk looked at the ring of spears around the throne and then at Otha himself. As Talen had said, the man who had terrified the west for the past five centuries looked much like the common slug. He was pallid white and totally hairless. His face was grossly bloated and so shiny with sweat as to look almost as if it were covered with slime. His paunch was enormous, and it protruded so far in front of him that it gave his arms the appearance of being stunted. He was incredibly dirty, and priceless rings decorated his greasy hands. He half lay on his throne as if something had hurled him back. His eyes were glazed, and his limbs and body were twitching convulsively. He had obviously still not recovered from the shock of the breaking of his spell.
Sparhawk drew in a deep breath to steady himself, looking around as he did so. The room itself was decorated with the ransom of kings. The walls were covered with hammered gold, and the columns were sheathed in mother-of-pearl. The floor was of polished black onyx and the draperies flanking each door were of blood-red velvet. Torches protruded from the walls at intervals, and very large iron braziers stood one on each side of Otha’s throne.
And then at last, Sparhawk looked at Martel.
‘Ah, Sparhawk,’ the white-haired man drawled urbanely, ‘so good of you to drop by. We’ve been expecting you.’
The words seemed almost casual, but there was the faintest hint of an edge to Martel’s voice. He had not expected them to arrive so soon, and he had certainly not expected their sudden rush. He stood with Annias, Arissa and Lycheas within the safety of the ring of spears while Adus encouraged the spearmen with kicks and curses.
‘We were in the neighbourhood anyway,’ Sparhawk shrugged. ‘How’ve you been, old boy? You look a bit travel-worn. Was it a difficult journey?’
‘Nothing unbearable.’ Martel inclined his head towards Sephrenia. ‘Little mother,’ he said, sounding once again oddly regretful.
Sephrenia sighed, but said nothing.
‘I see we’re all here,’ Sparhawk continued. ‘I do so enjoy these little get-togethers, don’t you? They give us the chance to reminisce.’ He looked at Annias, whose subordinate position to Martel was now clearly evident. ‘You should have stayed in Chyrellos, Your Grace,’ he said. ‘You missed all the excitement of the election. Would you believe that the Hierocracy actually put Dolmant on the Archprelate’s throne?’
A look of sudden anguish crossed the face of the Primate of Cimmura. ‘Dolmant?’ he choked in a stricken voice. In later years Sparhawk was to conclude that his revenge upon the Primate had been totally complete in that instant. The pain his simple statement had caused his enemy was beyond his ability to comprehend. The life of the Primate of Cimmura crumbled and turned to ashes in that single moment.
‘Astonishing, isn’t it?’ Sparhawk continued relentlessly. ‘Absolutely the last man anyone would have expected. Many in Chyrellos feel that the hand of God was involved. My wife, the Queen of Elenia – you remember her, don’t you? Blonde girl, rather pretty, the one you poisoned – made a speech to the Patriarchs just as they were beginning their deliberations. It was she who suggested him. She was amazingly eloquent, but it’s generally believed that her speech was inspired by God Himself – particularly in view of the fact that Dolmant was elected unanimously.’
‘That’s impossible!’ Annias gasped. ‘You’re lying, Sparhawk!’
‘You can verify it for yourself, Annias. When I take you back to Chyrellos, I’m sure you’ll have plenty of time to examine the records of the meeting. There’s quite a dispute in the works about who’s going to have the pleasure of putting you on trial and executing you. It may drag on for years. Somehow you’ve managed to offend just about everybody west of the Zemoch border. They all want to kill you for some reason.’
‘You’re being just a bit childish, Sparhawk,’ Martel sneered.
‘Of course I am. We all do that sometimes. It’s really a shame the sunset was so uninspiring this evening, Martel, since it was the last one you’re ever going to see.’
‘That’s true of one of us at any rate.’
‘Sephrenia.’ It was a rumbling, deep-toned gurgle more than a voice.
‘Yes, Otha?’ she replied calmly.
‘Bid thy witless little Goddess farewell,’ the slug-like man on the throne rumbled in antique Elene. His pig-like little eyes were focused now, though his hands still trembled. ‘Thine unnatural kinship with the Younger Gods draws to its close. Azash awaits thee.’
‘I rather doubt that, Otha, for I bring the unknown one with me. I found him long before he was born, and I have brought him here with Bhelliom in his fist. Azash fears him, Otha, and you would be wise to fear him too.’
Otha sank lower on his throne, his head seeming to retract turtle-like into the folds of his fat neck. His hand moved with surprising speed, and a beam of greenish light shot from it, a light levelled at the small Styric woman. Sparhawk, however, had been waiting for that. He had been holding his shield in both bare hands in a negligent-appearing posture. The blood-red stones of the rings were quite firmly pressed against the shield’s steel rim. With practised speed he thrust the shield in front of his tutor. The beam of green light struck the shield and reflected back from its polishe
d surface. One of the armoured guards was suddenly obliterated in a soundless blast that sprayed the throne-room with white-hot fragments of his chain-mail.
Sparhawk drew his sword. ‘Have we just about finished with all this nonsense, Martel?’ he asked bleakly.
‘Wish I could oblige, old boy,’ Martel replied, ‘but Azash is waiting for us. You know how that goes.’
The hammering on the heavy door Tynian and Ulath were guarding grew louder.
‘Is that someone knocking?’ Martel said mildly. ‘Be a good fellow, Sparhawk, and see who it is. All that banging sets my teeth on edge.’
Sparhawk started forward.
‘Take the emperor to safety!’ Annias barked to the barely-clad brutes squatting near the throne. With practised haste, the men inserted stout steel poles into recesses in the jewelled seat, set their shoulders under the poles and lifted the vast weight of their master from the pedestal-like base of the throne. Then they wheeled with the litter and trotted ponderously towards the arched opening behind the throne.
‘Adus!’ Martel commanded, ‘keep them off me!’ Then he too turned and herded Annias and his family along in Otha’s wake as the brutish Adus pushed forward, flogging at Otha’s spear-armed guards with the flat of his sword and bellowing unintelligible orders.
The hammering at the locked doors became a booming sound as the soldiers outside improvised battering rams.
‘Sparhawk!’ Tynian shouted. ‘Those doors won’t hold for long!’
‘Leave them!’ Sparhawk shouted back. ‘Help us here! Otha and Martel are getting away!’
The soldiers Adus commanded had spread out to face Sparhawk, Kurik and Bevier not so much to engage them as to prevent their entering the arched doorway that led back into the labyrinth. Although he was in most respects, profoundly, even frighteningly stupid, Adus was a gifted warrior, and a fight of this nature, involving as it did a simple situation and a manageable number of men, put him in his natural element. He directed Otha’s guardsmen with grunts, kicks and blows, deploying them in pairs and trios to block individual opponents with their spears. The concept implicit in Martel’s command was well within Adus’s limited grasp. His purpose was to delay the knights long enough to enable Martel to escape, and perhaps no one was better suited for that than Adus.
As Kalten, Ulath, Tynian and Berit joined the fight, Adus gave ground. He had the advantage of numbers, but his Zemoch soldiers were no match for the steel-clad knights. He was, however, able to pull the bulk of his force back into the mouth of the maze where their spears could serve as an effective barrier.
And all the while the rhythmic booming of the batteringrams continued.
‘We’ve got to get into that maze!’ Tynian shouted. ‘When those doors give way, we’re going to be surrounded!’
It was Sir Bevier who took action. The young Cyrinic Knight was bravery personified, and on many occasions he had demonstrated a total disregard for his own personal safety. He strode forward, swinging his brutal, hook-pointed lochaber axe. He swung not at the soldiers, but at their spears, and a spear without a point is nothing more than a pole. Within moments he had effectively disarmed Adus’s Zemochs – and had received a deep wound in his side, just above the hip. He fell back weakly with blood streaming from the rent in his armour.
‘See to him!’ Sparhawk barked to Berit and lunged forward to engage the Zemochs. Without their spears, the Zemochs were forced to fall back on their swords, and the advantage shifted to the Church Knights at that point. The armoured men chopped the Zemochs out of their path.
Adus assessed the situation quickly and stepped back into the archway.
‘Adus!’ Kalten bellowed, kicking a Zemoch out of his way.
‘Kalten!’ Adus roared. The brute took a step forward, his pig-like eyes hungry. Then he snarled and disembowelled one of his own soldiers to give vent to his frustration and disappeared back into the maze.
Sparhawk whirled about. ‘How is he?’ he demanded of Sephrenia, who knelt over the wounded Bevier.
‘It’s serious, Sparhawk.’
‘Can you stop the bleeding?’
‘Not entirely, no.’
Bevier lay, pale and sweating with the breastplate of his armour unbuckled and lying open like a clamshell. ‘Go on, Sparhawk,’ he said. ‘I’ll hold this doorway for as long as I can.’
‘Don’t be stupid,’ Sparhawk snapped. ‘Pad the wound as best you can, Sephrenia. Then buckle his armour back up. Berit, bring him along. Carry him if you have to.’
There was a splintering sound behind them in the throne-room as the booming continued.
‘The doors are giving way, Sparhawk,’ Kalten reported.
Sparhawk looked down the long arched corridor leading into the maze. Torches were set in iron rings at widely-spaced intervals. A sudden hope flared up in him. ‘Ulath,’ he said, ‘you and Tynian bring up the rear. Shout if any of those soldiers breaking down the doors come up behind us.’
‘I’ll just hold you back, Sparhawk,’ Bevier said weakly.
‘No you won’t,’ Sparhawk replied. ‘We’re not going to run through this maze. We don’t know what’s in here, so we’re not going to take any chances. All right, gentlemen, let’s move out.’
They started down the long, straight corridor that led into the labyrinth, passing two or three unlighted entrances on either side as they went.
‘Shouldn’t we check those?’ Kalten asked.
‘It’s probably not necessary,’ Kurik said. ‘Some of Adus’s men were wounded, and there are blood-spatters on the floor. We know that Adus at least went this way.’
‘That’s no guarantee that Martel did,’ Kalten said. ‘Maybe he told Adus to lead us off in the wrong direction.’
‘It’s possible,’ Sparhawk conceded, ‘but this corridor is lighted, and none of the others are.’
‘I’d hardly call it a maze if the way through it is marked with torches, Sparhawk,’ Kurik pointed out.
‘Maybe not, but as long as the torches and the blood-trail go the same way, we’ll chance it.’
The echoing corridor made a sharp turn to the left at its far end. The vaulted walls and ceiling curving upward and inward gave the twisting passages that oppressive sense of being too low, and Sparhawk found himself instinctively ducking his head.
‘They’ve broken through the doors in the throne-room, Sparhawk,’ Ulath called from the rear. ‘There are some torches bobbing around back in the entryway.’
‘That more or less settles it,’ Sparhawk said. ‘We don’t have time to start exploring side passages. Let’s go on.’
The lighted corridor began to twist and turn at that point, and the spots of blood on the floor suggested that they were still on the same trail Adus had followed.
The corridor turned to the right.
‘How are you bearing up?’ Sparhawk asked Bevier, who was leaning heavily on Berit’s shoulder.
‘Fine, Sparhawk. As soon as I get my breath, I’ll be able to make it without help.’
The corridor turned to the left again, then to the left again after only a few yards.
‘We’re going back the same way we came, Sparhawk,’ Kurik declared.
‘I know. Do we have any choice, though?’
‘Not that I can think of, no.’
‘Ulath,’ Sparhawk called, ‘are the men behind us gaining at all?’
‘Not that I can see.’
‘Maybe they don’t know the way through the maze either,’ Kalten suggested. ‘I don’t think anyone would visit Azash just for fun.’
The rush came out of a side corridor. Five spear-armed Zemoch soldiers dashed out of the dark entryway and bore down on Sparhawk, Kalten and Kurik. Their spears gave them some advantage – but not enough. After three of their number had been felled to lie writhing and bleeding on the flagstone floor, the other two fled back the way they had come.
Kurik seized a torch from one of the iron rings in the wall and led Sparhawk and Kalten into the dark, twisting corridor
. After several minutes they saw the soldiers they were pursuing. The two men were fearfully edging their way through a stretch of the passage, each one of them hugging a wall.
‘Now we’ve got them,’ Kalten exulted, starting forward.
‘Kalten!’ Kurik’s voice cracked. ‘Stop!’
‘What’s wrong?’
‘They’re staying too close to the walls.’
‘So?’
‘What’s wrong with the middle of the passageway?’
Kalten stared at the two frightened men clinging to the walls, his eyes narrowing. ‘Let’s find out,’ he said. He prised up a small flagstone with his sword-point and hurled it at one of the soldiers, missing his mark by several feet.
‘Let me do it,’ Kurik told him. ‘You can’t throw anything with your armour binding up your shoulders the way it does.’ He prised loose another stone. His aim was much more true. The rock he had thrown bounced off the soldier’s helmet with a loud clang. The man cried out as he reeled back, trying desperately to grab some kind of hand-hold on the stone wall. He failed, however, and stepped onto the floor in the centre of the corridor.
The floor promptly fell open under him, and he dropped from sight with a despairing shriek. His companion, straining to see, also made a misstep and fell from the narrow ledge along the wall to follow his friend into the pit.
‘Clever,’ Kurik said. He advanced to the brink of the gaping pit and raised his torch. ‘The bottom’s studded with sharpened stakes,’ he observed, looking down at the two men impaled below. ‘Let’s go back and tell the others. I think we’d better start watching where we put our feet.’
They returned to that torchlit main corridor as Ulath and Tynian joined them from the rear. Kurik tersely described the trap which had claimed the two Zemochs. He looked thoughtfully at the soldiers who had fallen here in the corridor and picked up one of their spears. ‘These weren’t Adus’s men.’