Monster Of The Maze rb-6 Read online

  «Can you hear me, priest?»

  «I can hear you.»

  «Then hear this. I will pass this door. I will seek you out. I will kill you. Take my advice and, since you are a priest, pray.»

  Laughter came from the tube. «I am sorry, Blade. I would not have you dead. But there is no cure for a fool.»

  Silence. Blade waited. Silence. He kicked the iron door with his foot and it swung open.

  He was in a den of some sort. Dim light came from torches all around. There was earth beneath his feet instead of stone and he trod in a mess of dung before he saw it. One corner of the den was in deep shadow. Something moved there and the sound that came out of the dark chilled his bones. A visceral, a gut-rending sound, a swallowing and bone-crackling sound. The creature was eating. Urdur?

  Blade stood uncertain. So far the thing paid him no mind. He saw skulls littered about and bones and bits of corpses here and there. Did it feed on cadavers or live men?

  He knew that he could not stand up to this horror for long. He was human. He must have at it, put all to the test, get it over with. Each moment he delayed, his courage seeped away. Blade had never known fear as he knew it now. And he had not yet seen the creature.

  He picked up a skull and hurled it into the dark corner. «Come out, Urdur! Come out and be killed.» His cry echoed around the den. Did the thing know he was there, could it understand?

  Something moved in the shadows. There was a dragging, a scrabbling sound, as though some beast pulled itself through mire. Blade ran a step toward it and halted, sword poised, swinging the head of Hirga in his left hand.

  It emerged into the light.

  The human brain-who better than Blade knew the tricks it could play. As he gazed at Urdur his memory fled back in time and dimension and he caught at a fragment from Hamlet.

  … I could a tale unfold whose lightest word would harrow up thy soul. . freeze thy blood. . make thy two eyes start. . and each particular hair to stand on end.

  Every hair on Blade’s body was risen. Death touched his neck with icy fingers. He took a step backward, then another.

  Urdur slithered toward him. It was half serpent, half dragon, with the head and fearsome teeth of a tyrannosaurus. Four-inch teeth glittering like daggers. Scores of them. Scythe-shaped claws on short, armored legs. Thick scales covered it, plates that would dent his sword-but for the underbelly. There the flesh was a putrid white, puffy and slack. The underbelly! That was his only chance.

  Urdur stopped and studied Blade with reptilian eyes. It made a gobbling sound. From somewhere high on the walls came a chuckle. Casta knew.

  It may have been the chuckle that saved Blade. That arrogant chuckle swelling into laughter. He leaped forward and hurled the blood dripping head at the creature. Urdur caught at the head with claws and began to rip it apart. For the moment he seemed to forget Blade. Small brains, Hirga had said.

  As fast as a heartbeat he was in and had severed one of the Urdur’s forelegs. He was out again. Claws grazed his thigh and the terrible fangs snapped behind him. Urdur roared and screamed, writhing. He lurched at Blade and then stopped. He began to eat his own foreleg.

  Blade circled and dashed in again. This time he had to hack three times before a hind leg came off. Clouts of thick black blood sprayed him. The serpent body convulsed as Urdur reached back with his remaining foreleg, trying to get at his tormentor. Blade struck off the foreleg and danced away. Urdur’s bellows of rage and pain filled the den. One hind leg remained. Strike that off, Blade thought, and I have won.

  Smoke spurted into the den. From a dozen hidden apertures it came thick and acrid and stifling. Blade coughed and spat and coughed again. A thick brown fog obscured his view of Urdur. Blade retreated and circled around, feeling for the wall behind him. He lost sight of Urdur. He heard the slithering and the gobbling sound and knew that the creature was after him. Urdur could move on his belly, like a snake, and the smoke did not bother him.

  Through the choking he heard Casta laugh again.

  Blade stumbled over something. A skull. He picked it up. It was large, smooth. He, fixed his fingers into the eye sockets.

  He was in a corner and Urdur had him. For the first time he smelt the breath of the thing and was sickened. Carrion stink. Urdur gobbled and slithered closer, reptile eyes gleaming. The terrible fangs made a clashing sound and the head darted at Blade. He jammed the skull into that lethal maw and heard bone crunch as the jaws snapped shut. Urdur gobbled and swallowed and roared.

  Blade leaped high over the head and sprawled alongside the snake body. He felt the coldness of scales, fought off terror and revulsion, and forced his hand deeper, farther down until he felt the end of scales and the beginning of bloated flesh. There! There if at all. Hurry! Urdur was turning, arching, the fangs searching again. Blade guided his sword with his fingers into the soft flesh, put both hands to the hilt and thrust in, twisting with all his strength.

  Urdur bellowed and threshed about. He rolled over Blade, near crushing him, and the touch of that foul flesh on his face set Blade to screaming. He hung on, forcing the sword deeper and deeper, twisting it savagely, hacking back and forth to enlarge the wound. Blood engulfed him. Cold blood clotted his face and gouted his chest and stank in his nostrils and mouth. Still he forced the sword in. Still he slashed and cut and backed.

  Urdur died atop Blade. With a last effort Blade wrenched himself from under the great body and thought to rest a time. He bled and he hurt and he was near to dying of fatigue. He forced himself to his feet. No rest. He glanced around the den. No smoke now and no laughter. Casta was gone. Blade sought a way out of the den, found none and, for a moment, was frantic. Every moment counted. If he lost the priest now ….

  He forced himself to calmness. The corner where Urdur had been feeding when Blade entered the den! He went poking back into the shadows, treading in slime and filth, and found an opening in the wall. It was a grille, hinged and held fast by a chain. Blade raised his sword and struck with fury and desperation. He broke the chain and his sword as well. He kept the hilt, with three inches of broken steel, and leaped through the sagging grille. He was in a tunnel that led straight on. Torches burned at intervals. Blade ran, his breath sobbing in his lungs. He came out into a wider passage and turned to his left and there was the leather curtain. Casta’s lair.

  Only now did he take thought and slow his approach. He halted and stared back at the passage, at the arching cavern beyond. Nothing moved and no sound came. Where were all the crows, then? Had they deserted Casta in his greatest need?

  He remembered. Of course-Ogier! The General had kept his vow and was implementing the plan they had worked on together. Ogier was on the attack. He was drawing off the black priests.

  Blade pushed the curtain aside and entered the High Priest’s chamber. It was the same. The table, the fire, the skulls and animals and charts. It was deserted. No priest.

  Blade went to the fireplace and stooped. The ashes were still warm and they had been scattered. The grate was bare, the embers and ashes raked to the sides. He wedged his broken sword into the grating and lifted. It came away to disclose a black hole. Large enough for a man his size, easy for the scrawny Casta. Hirga had told him the truth.

  He still had his dagger. He drew it now and, with the broken sword in his other hand, let himself down into the hole. His feet found iron rungs set into the stone and he climbed down into a round, bricked-in room. There were two sconces and but one torch. Blade took it and bent to peer into a tunnel that led away from the bricked room. Far away he saw the spark of a torch. Then it was gone.

  Blade thought a moment, then he flung his torch away. He would go in darkness and take his chances. He moved into the tunnel, hands and weapons outstretched, and began to feel his way along as rapidly as possible. It was easier than he had reckoned. The air was good, pure and chill, and the tunnel appeared to run straight. Blade stepped up his pace and, when the tunnel bent at last, he saw the torch spark once more ahead of him. He
had gained.

  The torch halted and hovered in the dark air. Blade halted also. Casta was listening for pursuit. He could not know that Blade was after him, not with certainty, but he would suspect and he might guess that Blade would show no light. Blade waited, catching his breath. After a minute the torch began to move again.

  He gained steadily, running on tip-toe, stopping each time the torch did. The tunnel began to narrow and the air grew fresher, to smell of dust and grass and flowering things. They were nearing the Plain, were now in fact beneath it, and the opening could not be far off. Blade ran.

  Blade came stealthy as the death he was. Casta did not hear him. The High Priest was halted at the foot of a ladder, holding the torch to peer upward. But for the torch the darkness was absolute; Blade was buried in shadow. Quickly, quietly, careful that they not meet and chime, he shifted his weapons. The dagger in his right hand now, ready for throwing. Blade brought his hand back a bit behind his right ear. He whispered out of the gloom.

  «Casta.»

  The priest had just begun to climb. He halted and turned slowly, the hood falling away from his skull of a face. He peered into the shadows. «Blade?»

  Blade laughed and flung the dagger.

  It took Casta in his skinny throat and stood out behind one ear. Casta screamed and there was a spray of blood. He loosed his hold on the ladder to pluck at the dagger, and fell. He still lived as Blade went to him and stared down. The black eyes, coals burning in that skeleton’s face, defied him. Casta tried to speak through the gushing blood.

  «Fool you, Blade-fool-we could have. .»

  When he was dead, Blade picked up the body and tossed it over his shoulder and climbed the ladder. The trapdoor had earth on it and a flower bed. Blade shouldered it aside and stood on the Plain. The moon was up and stars shone, and everywhere there was a great running and shouting. Hundreds of torches traced patterns over the Plain. Blade dropped the body and stood there, breathing deep and enjoying the night, until a troop of infantry approached. They were carrying something on spears, and as they drew near Blade saw the shaven heads of priests. A bad night for the black crows. Blade hailed the officer in charge of the troop.

  The man recognized him and saluted. He was polite and obviously puzzled. He stared at the body of Casta, which lay face down. Blade turned the body with his foot and the officer gasped. «It is Casta! The blackest crow of all. But how is this, Prince Blade? I do not under-«

  Blade silenced him. «No matter. Do what you will with the body. See that General Ogier learns of this. How does it go on the Plain?»

  The officer smiled. «It goes well. As planned. We have taken prisoner the crows who would surrender and killed those who would not. We are now sealing every entrance to the monolith-if there are any left in there they will stay a long time.»

  Blade led him to the trapdoor in the flower bed. «See that this tunnel is sealed as well. A few blocks of stone will do it.»

  «Aye, Prince Blade. It will be done.»

  Blade nodded and turned to go. The officer spoke quickly. «Will you not rest, sire, and have food and new clothing? You are covered with blood and look as if you had fought an army. I will give you an escort to the camp, for there are still a few of the crows lurking about. I beg of you-«

  Blade smiled and shook his head. «I beg of you, lad. A favor. Tell General Ogier for me that I will not see him again. And tell him that I intend to steal a horse this night-steal it or beg it or borrow it. I have nothing to pay with. And tell him this also-that he keep his word about the woman Valli. You have that?»

  «I have it.»

  «Repeat it back to me word for word.»

  When the officer did so he turned to reprimand a soldier who out of curiosity, and the sight of Prince Blade, had edged near to listen. When the officer turned back, Blade was gone.

  Chapter 17

  Janina.

  Her call was incessant, and everywhere he looked she beckoned. Blade-Blade-Blade-Come to me. Come to me.

  He knew his obsession, grasped the reality of his mental state, and was powerless. She was but a diamond image in a mountain, but to him she was so real that he loved, he rutted, for her.

  Blade swam the channel at night, coming to the Hitt shore just before dawn and hiding in a rock-strewn ravine until night came again. Several parties of Hitts passed nearby and he caught enough of their talk to learn that he was still sought. They were searching the coastal areas for him. Good. The last thing they would expect was that he would make for the place of Kings and Queens.

  It took him three days, traveling only at night, to reach the high plain on which the mountain of diamonds stood. In all that time he did not eat and drank only brook water. He had cast off his armor for the swim and wore only shirt and kilt, bore only a sword and dagger he had borrowed from a Zirnian officer. Just before dawn on the fourth day he slipped into the mineshaft. He had not expected guards and found none. No Hitt would dare come near the place unless in time of official ceremony.

  He found fire stones and struck them to tinder and lit a torch. He crawled through narrow passages and came to the diamond face and gazed into it and saw a thousand Blades staring out at him. Grim-faced, unshorn, starving and light-headed, weird and wild of visage, he stared back and laughed. He lifted his hand in salute.

  He found the opening in the face and followed the passage which he and Galligantus had trod alone. Blade sweated now and his breath came short. Soon he would see her again. She was waiting. Janina.

  There it was. The wide ledge, the chasm, the gallery beyond people with the diamond images. Blade stepped to the brink of the abyss and held out his torch. He stared down and laughed.

  «How do you fare, Galligantus?»

  He made his way along the ledge to where she waited a little apart and on her plinth near the edge. She glittered, she gleamed and sparked, her magnificent body drank in the torchlight and shattered it and refracted it in a thousand glorious colors. Janina.

  She smiled at him across the chasm. Her arms reached out, she beckoned.

  Janina spoke: «You have come at last, my heart. I am glad. I have waited so long. I have waited a thousand years, Blade. I can wait no longer. Come to me.»

  Blade laughed and waved the torch. «Be patient a little longer, my love, my Janina. I come.»

  As he made his way back to where the chasm was narrowest the crystal came to life in his brain. For days it had been trying to get through and Blade had fended it off, had refused to concentrate or listen, had fought off the computer impulses. Now they were too strong, so strong that it was as if Lord L, in minuscule, was within his brain case and shouting.

  Teleportation attempts a failure this time. . unforeseen problems. . prepare return to Home Dimension at once. . bring what you can ….

  Blade refused to concentrate. He would not answer. He would not go. What did they know, those fools back in HD? He had found Janina and he did not intend to leave her. She was calling him even now, her voice sweet, low and melodious. «Come to me, Blade. Hurry-hurry.»

  Fools! But not Blade. Not any longer. He would never go back. Never back to the blood and the agony and the tears, the stupidity and the greed, the pain and despair and aging, the lust and inhumanity, disease and death. Not Richard Blade. He was too clever for that. Who needed Home Dimension? Janina had waited a thousand years; he had gone into hell six times; now they had found each other and it was enough. Forever it would be enough.

  He found a crevice and wedged the torch into it. He ignored the throbbing signals in his brain. He went to the abyss and calculated the leap again. Fifteen feet, give or take a few inches. Once over there would be no returning. Loth Bloodax had made the leap back, but Blade knew that he could not do it. Nor did he want to. He would remain with Janina.

  Janina. From down the gallery she called softly. «Hurry, Blade. Hurry.»

  Blade backed off and measured his run. At its widest the ledge was thirty feet deep. That much run, no more, and if he faltered he w
as lost. He went a last time to peer down into the pit. Nothing. Nothing but depth and murk and silence.

  The crystal fought through.

  Aware your intent … forbid it … prepare to return HD at once. . your mental condition unsatisfactory. .

  Pain slashed through his head. Blade sank to his knees and groaned. He fought to his feet and with an enormous effort blanked out the computer impulses. Oh no they didn’t! They were not going to cheat him at the last moment.

  «Come to me, Blade. Hurry.»

  He began to run. He had dropped his swordbelt and his feet were bare. He ran leaning forward, head down a bit, sure-footed, faster and faster and faster.

  He leaped. With a last push of his legs he flung himself out and over the abyss. He soared over darkness and the microsecond it took seemed to Blade an eternity. He floated, arms outstretched, fingers tensed into talons, waiting ….

  He was going to fall short.

  His reflexes were faster than his brain. His hands relaxed and he let his body go limp. His forearms struck the ledge and for a moment he hung by elbows alone while his fingers sought for a fissure, a hair-line crack in the stone-anything.

  Blade began to slip. One elbow scraped off the ledge. His weight was dragging him down. His fingers found nothing but smoothness. He tensed them again, hooked them, trying by sheer strength to make his hands and wrists support him. His other elbow slipped off the ledge.

  The fingers of his right hand slid into a crack and held. He dangled. The fissure was so minute that only his nails and fingertips supported him. Blade strained. Blade willed all his great strength into his right hand. He sought frantically with his left for another handhold.

  He found it, deep and life-saving, wide enough to let his hand slip in and get a firm purchase. With a moan of pain he relaxed his right hand. He dangled for yet another moment, gaining breath and new strength, then lurched up and got his right elbow over the rim. A moment later he was on the ledge, amidst the gallery of Hitt kings and queens.