The fall of Highwatch

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

The scouts have returned, my lord," said Argalath. "The Gap is passable. Not easy, mind you, but passable. Our forces should depart within four days, as planned."

"They will be ready," said Guric.

Guric looked up at the archway in front of him. Dwarvish runes ran from the floor, over the curve of the arch, and down again. The splintered remains of the oak door still littered the floor inside the archway. Guric could count on one hand the number of times he'd been down in the parts of the fortress where the dwarves made their homes-and he had never been down this deep.

"But," Guric continued, "we're not leaving Highwatch before I see Valia alive again. You must complete the rite."

"My lord," said Argalath, "it is possible that the girl might be returned to us within four days." A moment's silence, then, "But she might not."

"You heard me, counselor. I won't leave Highwatch until this is done."

"Forgive me, my lord, but you must. To solidify your rule here, those houses sympathetic to Vandalar must be subdued before they have the chance to rally. And you must show your strength to the king. To allow our enemies to array against us-"

"I didn't do this to be king," said Guric, and he had to press down the urge to shove Argalath into the stone wall, again and again until he heard bones crack. "I did this for her. Without her, none of the rest matters."

"Valia will be restored to you. But unless we secure your rule here, you may find yourself branded an outlaw by summer. What kind of life will you be able to give her then?"

"I don't care how much faith you place in your acolytes. Jatara has already failed us. I won't leave Valia's fate in the hands of those savages."

"Of course not, my lord. You must lead your army into Damara, but I will stay here to finish the rite. Once Valia is alive-"

"That was not the plan!" Guric stopped walking and faced Argalath.

His plan had been simple in its brilliance. Secure Highwatch, then lead his forces through the Gap to Damara. Ride up to a city or fort with an army at his back, then come forward under flag of truce to discuss terms, with Argalath and his guard as escorts. When the city's delegation came out under flag of truce, Argalath would use his spellscar to kill all but one of them. The conniving fops would simply topple dead from their horses. Guric would then smile and inform the lone survivor that if the city surrendered and swore loyalty to him, everyone would be spared. But any who resisted would be instantly killed, just like these poor fellows.

Absurd, of course. Argalath's spellscar actually held very little power. Using it, he could move objects with his mind. But only very small objects. Anything much larger than a flagon pained him. Put wine in the flagon and it could leave him bedridden and blind for days. But he had discovered something about the human body. A blood vessel below the brain was far, far smaller than a flagon-and much more flexible. Squeeze it shut, and a man would fall senseless in moments. Keep it closed and he would soon be quite dead. A simple trick. It took very little power. But power carefully applied could prove deadly. Still, using it against even a half-dozen people at once tired him greatly. The threat of using it against an entire populace… impossible. Argalath would be hard-pressed to use it against twenty people at once, and never at a great distance. Afterward, he might well be blind for days, and scarcely able to move. But the good people of Damara did not know that. Reality and perception were two different things. As long as their ruse remained a secret-and none knew beyond Guric and Argalath's bodyguards-it gave his counselor a dreaded reputation. One they hoped to use to subdue Guric's enemies with very little bloodshed.

Guric wouldn't begin with the great castles or larger cities, of course, which were likely to have several wizards among their defenders. He'd take the smaller, outlying places at first. Those forts that surrendered would be left in peace-provided that their soldiers joined Guric's army. Those who refused… well, Argalath had other gifts besides his spellscar, and their strategy assured that the first forts they attacked could be taken with Guric's army if necessary.

The conquered would first serve him out of fear, but soon out of love. He would rule with justice and a fair hand. He would free them from the oppressive incompetence of Yarin Frostmantle and make Damara the jewel of the north, Valia by his side.

But without Argalath, it would be bloody battle after bloody battle. Guric would not be seen as a proud liberator. He'd be loathed more than Frostmantle. And if the Damarans did manage to rally quickly-not likely, but not impossible-his plan might fail altogether. If it failed, Guric could probably still lick the proper boot heels, and if fortune favored him he might come out as the new Duke of Highwatch. But Guric was done licking boots to get what he wanted.

"Our plan is secure, my lord," said Argalath. "Though I fear we must make one small change."

"What change?"

Enough of Argalath's face showed within his hood that Guric saw his smile. "Follow me, my lord."

They passed through an archway, decorated with dwarven runes. Beyond, the halls became rougher, their walls only minimally worked stone, save for the occasional rune etched into a wall or burned into a wood beam. But Guric and Argalath had left even those behind some time ago, passing through tunnels of round stone where Guric had to walk hunched over, holding the torch well away from him. No matter how he held it, the oily fumes seemed to gather around his head, as they walked into a natural cave, carved by time and water rather than hands. It was narrow, but high enough that Guric could walk upright again, and sometimes the roof rose out of reach of the torchlight. The air felt close and damp.

The tunnel spread into a large chamber, points of stone dripping water from a high ceiling, and warped mounds of age-old rock, wet with condensation, reflecting Guric's torchlight into a thousand motes of light. A path snaked its away among the rocks, and when Guric looked down he saw that it was not gravel on which he trod, but the dust from precious stones-rubies, emeralds, sapphires, diamonds, and bloodstone. They were walking on the treasure of a dozen lords.

The path ended at a stone arch set amid the opposite wall. Hundreds of runes and images decorated the cut stones of the arch support, and on either side were two statues, each twice his own height. Their bodies were stout, their hands large. Guric thought they might have once been dwarves, but their features had been defaced, the stone hacked away, and newer runes painted in a dark substance covered them. Guric could read none of them, but he recognized the style of these new runes from some of Argalath's rites in which he had taken part.

"What was this place?" said Guric.

"A temple of sorts, I gather." Argalath turned, and the smile he gave Guric sent a chill down his spine. He motioned for Guric to go inside. "We have found better uses for it."

Beyond the archway, all was darkness. Guric held his torch in front as he ducked into the tunnel. The ceiling was several feet above his head, but something about the feel of the darkness made Guric instinctively hunch over.

Jewels of every color sparkled along the walls and ceiling. Gold, silver, and other precious metals had been inlaid into the stone, highlighting sculptures of dwarf heroes. But on the floor, rats squealed and scurried away from the torchlight, bugs crunched under Guric's boots, and with every step he waded through a thickening stench. He could hear Argalath following, but he kept his eyes forward, afraid that at any moment a cloud of bats might surge out of the darkness or the stream of rats might decide to brave the torchlight.

"Not much farther, my lord," said Argalath.

Guric ground his teeth. How many times had the man said that already?

"Gods, Argalath, what is that reek? It smells like-"

The light washed over a demon, standing in the middle of the tunnel, and Guric started. The thing stepped forward, and Guric saw that it was not a demon after all, but one of Argalath's special Nar. The man's head was shaved in a fashion uncommon to the Nar: completely bald save for a topknot, in which were knotted bones and teeth. His face had all the expression of a death mask. Bare from the waist up, his torso and arms were covered with inks and scars of leering eyes and tongues slathering around sharp teeth. The red and green inks had looked very much like scales in the torchlight, which was why Guric had first taken him for a demon.

The Nar bowed and said, "Ka bar khorluk."

Shielding his eyes from the torch, Argalath stopped beside Guric and said, "Ka bar khor," followed by a long string of words that Guric could not follow.

The Nar answered, then turned away, the darkness swallowing him.

"All is ready, my lord," said Argalath.

They walked on, and within a dozen steps Guric could see light ahead. Low and purplish, like the dying light of evening. Another scent mixed among the stench. Smoke that smelled of spices.

The tunnel turned to the right, and beyond, Guric's torch was no longer necessary. The tunnel ended and opened into a vast stone chamber, lit by coals burning in braziers so large that he could have bathed in one. The coals piled high within them glowed sickly purple and gave off a scent that seemed sweet but still tickled the back of Guric's throat, threatening to make him gag.

But the light they cast, though it seemed weak-so much so that even Argalath did not flinch-went very far, lighting up a chamber in which a hundred people could have milled with room to spare. Carvings and symbols decorated every wall, and the five columns of natural stone that joined the floor to the ceiling at least fifty feet above them had been left unmarred, though fine bits of gold wire had been wound around them in intricate, interlocking patterns so that they seemed to have been dressed in metal lace.

On the far side of the room was an altar half the size of Guric's council table. Two dwarf-sized statues flanked it, and one three times the height of a man looked down from behind, but all three had been hacked, defaced, and smeared with soot and a darker, wetter substance.

The Nar guard that had startled Guric stood just inside the room with four others that might have been brothers to the first. So alike were they in dress, build, and the designs etched into their skin that Guric would not have been able to tell one from the other.

Beyond the Nar, the stone floor sloped down into a sort of bowl, and Guric gasped at the sight. It was a charnel house. Bodies had been torn and spread apart. All of them human. Broken bones, shredded skin, flesh, and offal lay everywhere. Rats and other vermin crawled over the remains.

But other corpses, whole corpses, stood among them, looking at Guric.

"Behold your new army," said Argalath.