Dark Crusade, Kane - Karl Wagner
[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
eBook Version: 2.0 Dark Crusade Karl Edward Wagner To Bob Herford-- So, we'll go no more aroving So late into the night... Page 1 Contents Prologue I The Man Who Cast No Shadow II The Man Who Feared Shadows III Goldfish IV Shadows That Slay V Sharks VI Red Harvest VII Nexus of the Crisis VIII Origin of Storms IX The Forging X At theTowerofYslsl XI Mourning of the Following Day XII The Blooding XIII Siege XIV Treaties and Evocations XV Omen XVI Broken Sword XVII Children's Hour XVIIIDream and Delirium XIX Goddess Page 2 XX Her Lips Are Painted Red... XXI ...It Looks Like She's Been Fed XXII Let It Bleed XVIIIDream and Delirium XXIV Beneath theSeaofSand XXV Nemesis XXVI Desperado XXVIIIn the Lair of Yslsl And the hapless Soldier's sigh Runs in blood down Palace walls. William Blake,London Prologue "There's no refuge there." Page 3 "What?" The hunted man spun about, warily studied the shadows. There, in the dark corner of the buttress, a black-robed figure he had not noticed a moment before--when on failing legs he staggered toward the shadowed walls of the ancient tower. From the darkened streets down which he fled came shouts and clamour of armed pursuit. In the black silence beneath the tower, there was only the hoarse rush of his breath and the soft splat of blood as it dripped from his arm. His sword raised clumsily in the direction of the voice. "There's no refuge for you there," repeated the black-robed figure. "Not in the Lair of Yslsl." A bony hand snaked from the shadowy robe and gestured toward the black stone tower that rose into the starless night. The wounded swordsman followed the gesture, gazed upward at the dark mass of the abandoned tower. It was older than the city ofIngoldi , men said. Older even than the fortress, Ceddi, whose weathered fortifications had once incorporated the black tower. Abandoned now, the ancient tower was the subject of countless foreboding legends. But tonight guardsmen with torches and ready blades made the yawning doorway and its cobwebbed spiral stairs a welcome shelter. "What do you know, old man!" growled the hunted man. "Only that the guardsmen who followed your bloodtrail will not hesitate to search the tower. There's no escape for you in the Lair of Yslsl, and brave Orted will make this final stand with only bats and spiders to shield his back." The swordsman squared his bull-like shoulders. "So you know me, old man." "All across Shapeli men know the fame of Orted. And all Ingoldi is talking of the trap that closed upon you and your wolves today, as you dared enter the city to plunder the Guild Fair." The bandit laughed bitterly. "Not a one of the common folk of Shapeli would raise a hand against us--and one of my own men betrayed me." He stepped closer to the black-robed figure. "And I know you, old man--a priest of Sataki by your black cassock and gold medallion. I thought the Satakis stayed in the dusty halls of Ceddi, shut away from the common world." "We haven't forgotten the world beyond Ceddi," returned the priest. "Nor are we friends of those who oppress the poor to build up worldly treasures." There was surprising strength in the gnarled fingers that tugged at his bloody sleeve. "Come. We'll give you shelter in Ceddi." "Is this another trap? I warn you--you'll not live to spend the bounty you seek!" "Don't be a fool. I could have given the alarm already if I desired your death. Come. They are almost upon us. There's a way past the wall close by here." With nothing to lose, Orted yielded to the pull on his sleeve. The priest withdrew through the shadows of the tower, leading across the rubble-strewn court toward a ruined wall. A paving stone pivoted downward at the angle of the wall, and steps led downward still. The priest descended confidently. Ill at Page 4 ease, the bandit leader followed. Very little was known of the Satakis, but such rumors as there were of the ancient cult were not pleasant ones. Still, the torches were very close, and the arrows in his shoulder and side were leeching away his strength. As he entered the gloomy passageway within, the entrance silently swung shut. Orted turned to see whose hand had closed it. He sensed the priest's quick movement behind him. Then nothing at all. Sensation returned after a space. The back of his skull ached. Cold stone pressed against his bare flesh. His limbs were outstretched, immobile. He opened his eyes. Above him floated a naked man, spread-eagled in the blackness. Orted shook his head, fighting pain and vertigo. His vision cleared. He looked into a black mirror, high on the ceiling above him. The naked man was himself. He was sprcad-eagled across a circle of black stone, pinioned by thongs about his wrists and ankles. His limbs lay along grooves cut into the stone, and in the mirror he recognized the ring of glyphs carved into the perimeter. It was the same as on the gold medallion the priest had worn--the avellan cross with its circle of elder glyphs. But he was on the cross, and this was the altar of Sataki. Orted growled a curse and strained at his bonds. Even had he not been wounded it would have been useless. The black-robed figures circled about the altar looked down at him, faces expressionless blurs in the shadow of their cowls. Orted raged at them. "Where are you, you pox-eaten whoreson liar! Is this the refuge you promised! Why didn't you leave me to face the guardsmen--that would have been a clean death!" "It would have been a useless death," sneered the familiar voice. "Sacrifices are rare to find in these dismal times, and my brothers too few, too old. It has been months since we last were able to lure into Ceddi some fool whose disappearance would not be noticed. For all your life of villainy and plunder, bold Orted, your final act will be one of service. Not in many years have we offered to Sataki a soul as strong as yours!" They ignored his curses as they began their evocation. The bandit howled in rage, writhed against his bonds--but his cries could break their low-voiced chant no more than his sweat-soaked limbs could snap their fetters. Orted, a man who had no gods, called out to Thoem, to Vaul, to such other gods whose names he knew. When they ignored him, the outlaw beseeched the aid of Thro'ellet the Seven-Eyed, of Lord Tloluvin, or Sathonys, and others of the demonlords whose names are not good to speak. If they listened, they were not moved. "Our god is far older than those to whom you plead in vain!" came a mocking whisper from the priest Page 5 [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ] |