The Verdant Passage

NINE TIN GATES

Sadira stood beneath a portico across the street from Tyr’s gladiatorial arena. The immense structure’s high walls were supported by four stories of marble arches, with those at street-level covering short tunnels that ran into the stadium. Though the crimson sun had just risen, these entryways already swarmed with slaves cleaning the stones in preparation for the coming games. From inside the passageways echoed the creak of pulleys and a constant din of strident hammering, high-pitched and sharp.

“Can’t you at least tell me why I’m doing this?” Agis asked. He stood next to Sadira, along with his manservant Caro. “I’d hate to think I’m risking my life for the sake of a test.”

The sorceress shook her head, sending waves of rosy light dancing through her hair. “That’s not the way we work,” she said sternly. Though her statement was technically true, what it implied was not. The Alliance had not authorized her to contact the noble. Asking Agis for help was Sadira’s idea. “If you can’t convince Tithian to do as you ask, it’ll be better if you don’t know much.”

On his master’s behalf, Caro demanded, “Better for whom?”

“Better for the Veiled Alliance,” Sadira replied. “If Lord Tithian realizes Agis is trying to influence him through the Way of the Unseen, nothing will save your master.”

The shriveled dwarf looked at Agis, creasing his hairless brow against the ruddy rays of the morning sun. “You deserve to know why you’re risking your life,” Caro declared, casting a caustic glance at Sadira. “She’s playing you for a fool.”

“Agis said he wanted to help the rebellion,” the half-elf replied. “Here’s his chance.”

The dwarf shook his head. “You should tell us why-”

“That’s enough, Caro,” Agis interrupted. “I’m the one who’s taking the chances here. If I don’t need to know the reason, then neither do you.”

Caro glared at Agis, but pressed the matter no further.

Sadira took the noble’s hand and squeezed it warmly. “Be careful. When you return, don’t stop to talk to us. Walk down the street six blocks, then wait for us there. Once I’m sure you haven’t been followed, we’ll join you.”

Agis smiled. “You are careful, aren’t you?” Without waiting for a response, he set off across the street.

Sadira watched him go, hoping she was not making a terrible mistake. Two days earlier, when Agis had set her free, she had feared the noble’s generosity was a templar plot to locate the Alliance. Instead of trying to find her contact, she had taken a room and spent the night waiting for the sorcerer-king’s guards to break the door down.

Sadira had spent the next day trying to look suspicious, striking up conversations with perfect strangers and sneaking into the back entrances of a dizzying array of shops and taverns. During the whole time, she had kept a careful watch for templars or anyone else who looked like he might be following her, but had seen no one. At last she had come to the conclusion that Agis’s offer was sincere.

It was then that the sorceress had made her most difficult decision: not to return to the Veiled Alliance. Ktandeo would have bustled her out of the city immediately, giving no further thought to Rikus or to convincing the mul to kill Kalak, so Sadira had decided to accept the senator’s offer of help.

The sorceress had approached the noble in the Alliance’s name, hoping he could use his status to arrange a safe meeting between her and Rikus. Unfortunately, she had soon realized that even Agis could not organize a rendezvous without the possibility of alerting Tithian to what was happening. Nevertheless, Sadira had asked him to try. Unless she spoke to Rikus, the Alliance’s plan for asaassinating Kalak was doomed anyway.

On the other side of the street, Agis paused at an entrance to the stadium. A sour-faced templar met the noble at the open gate, a steel-bladed glaive in his hands. “You’re not permitted inside,” the man said flatly.

“I’m Agis of Asticles,” the noble replied.

“So?”

“Tithian-er, the High Templar of the King’s Works-asked me to meet him here this morning.”

The templar’s scowl deepened. “Why didn’t you say so?” he demanded, stepping aside. The man turned and called over his shoulder, “This is the one.”

Another templar, this one a woman in her mid-thirties, stepped from the shadows. “This way,” she ordered, waving him forward.

Agis stepped beneath the arch and was temporarily blinded by the stark contrast between the morning light and the shady stadium. The smell of burning charcoal hung heavy in the air, and the sound of striking hammers echoed down stone passageways opening to both sides of the corridor.

“I said, this way,” the female templar repeated, grabbing Agis’s arm and roughly pulling him forward.

They emerged onto a cobblestone terrace that ran along one side of the stadium. Far below the terrace lay a huge field of sandy ground that would have taken even a mul half a minute to sprint across. At one end of the field stood Kalak’s immense palace, with its large balcony overhanging the arena. At the other end loomed the rainbow-hued ziggurat, still shrouded beneath a web of ropes and swarming with an army of slaves.

Below the terrace, tier after tier of stone benchwork descended toward the sandy arena floor. Behind Agis rose more grandstands, with an immense balcony overhanging them. Though the senator was not fond of the sport played in the stadium, he had to admit that the structure itself was an impressive feat of architecture.

Agis’s guide led him along the terrace, stepping around several large braziers filled with glowing charcoal. Sweating smiths heated ingots of tin over the coals while others worked nearby to hammer out thin sheets of the light metal.

Just past the smiths, the templar stopped and motioned Agis into one of the entryways that led back out into the street. “The high templar will meet you in here.”

Agis stepped into the dark corridor. Although he could see a templar guard silhouetted against the light coming from the street, there was no sign of Tithian. To either side of the small tunnel, a stone stairway ascended into the inner sections of the stadium hidden beneath the grandstands. Down these stairways rolled such a din of hammering and whip snapping that his ears began to ring.

Agis walked toward the guard, thinking that the templar might know where Tithian was.

The hammering ceased. A muffled command sounded in the stairway to the left, then the clatter of chains echoed through the stones. The templar at the end of the corridor leaped into the street, barely avoiding a large gate as it dropped out of the ceiling and crashed to the ground with a deafening roar.

Agis found himself staring at a distorted, silvery reflection of himself. He walked to the gate. It was as solid as a wall, and its entire surface was covered by a layer of tin. The sheets had been so carefully joined together that Agis could not have slipped the tip of his dagger into any of the seams.

The noble heard footsteps from the stairway behind him. He turned just in time to see Tithian lead a small party of templars into the tunnel. The high templar’s beady eyes gleamed with delight, and his bony features seemed unusually cheerful.

When he saw Agis, Tithian smiled broadly and stretched out his arms in greeting. “My friend!”

The high templar walked forward and clasped his hands onto Agis’s shoulders. Instead of hugging the noble, however, Tithian spun him around to look at the tin-sheathed gate. “What do you think?” he asked, “That should keep them from burning it, shouldn’t it?”

Agis nodded. “I suppose it should,” he said. “Who are you trying to keep out?”

“In,” Tithian corrected. Behind the high templar, the jaws of several subordinates fell open. “If we were trying to keep someone out, wouldn’t we be putting the tin on the outside?”

“High One!” clucked a subordinate templar, “Is it wise to tell this to a noble?”

Tithian spun on the man savagely. “I decide what is wise and what isn’t, Orel,” he snarled, laying his arm over Agis’s shoulder. “My friend is as loyal to the king as I am.”

Agis could not help but grin at the irony of that statement.

Tithian motioned his templars back up the stairs. “Go and tell them to retract this gate. Agis and I wish to talk.”

After the templars left, Agis said, “Thanks for seeing me, Tithian.”

“It’s my pleasure, old friend,” the high templar replied, motioning him toward the terrace. “What can I do for you? Our last meeting was not very pleasant, and I’d like to make up for that.”

Agis forced himself to keep smiling, for the reminder of losing his slaves sent a surge of anger through him. Instead, he thought of two boys-himself and Tithian three decades earlier-creeping through his father’s faro field on a hot afternoon. He looked directly into the other man’s eyes and sent this thought drifting toward his mind, probing ever so gently for an opening that would allow him to slip into Tithian’s head without alerting the high templar to his presence.

The noble had chosen his attack carefully, giving it the form of a pleasant memory that both he and Tithian shared. He hoped it would serve as a hunter’s blind, concealing his presence while he guided the high templar’s thoughts in the direction he wished.

The shadow of a sentimental smile formed on Tithian’s lips, and Agis knew he had made contact. He did not press the probe any farther, giving the high templar’s mind time to adjust to its presence.

“With all of your duties, it must be difficult to attend to your lands,” Agis said casually.

“It can be difficult at times,” Tithian replied.

“Perhaps I can help you.”

Tithian raised an eyebrow. “How?”

Inside Tithian’s mind, the high templar’s subconscious noticed the memory Agis had planted and began supplying its own details. Young Tithian’s auburn hair was suddenly pulled into a short pony-tail, for he had just turned twelve and won the right to groom himself as he pleased. Agis’s own black hair was cropped almost to the point of baldness, much shorter than he had ever worn it, and his ears stuck out at an embarrassing angle.

The sweet scent of faro blossoms filled the noses of the two boys, for it had rained that year and all of the spiny plants boasted at least one of the huge red flowers. Short swords with obsidian blades appeared on the boys’ hips and crossbows in their hands. They were near the top of the gentle hill that separated the fields from the irrigation pond, hunting varls.

Agis suppressed a shudder at this memory. Not realizing how important the scaly slugs were to the orchard’s health, his father had sent him to hunt them at every opportunity. It was a wonder there had been any trees left when the estate finally came into Agis’s hands.

The young Tithian, standing near the top of the hill, suddenly dropped to his belly and motioned for Agis to do the same.

To the men standing in the gladiatorial stadium, all of this occurred in the blink of an eye. It was the moment Agis had been waiting for.

“Let me manage your fields,” the noble said to his old friend. “I’ll make them as fertile as mine.”

At the same time, from behind the screen inside Tithian’s mind, he sent out a single, compelling message: That is a wise suggestion.

Tithian’s subconscious continued to unfurl the memory. The young Agis called and asked what was wrong. Tithian silenced his friend with a finger to the lips, then peered over the top of the hill toward the irrigation pond.

Here Tithian’s memory diverged widely from what Agis remembered. The noble recalled lying on his belly in the dirt with the hot sun beating down on his back for what seemed like an eternity. He had heard a faint rustle in the faro ahead, but had not even caught a glimpse of what caused it. Agis had cocked his crossbow and waited, wondering what danger his friend had seen lurking in the fields ahead.

Tithian’s memory was different. In the high templar’s mind, be was peering over the hilltop. His eyes were fixed on Agis’s curvaceous sister Tierney as she swam nude in the pond.

The noble didn’t know whether to be angered or amused at the memory. In all the years since, Tithian had never revealed what he had really been watching over the top of the hill.

In the stadium, the high templar asked, “And what do you get in return for managing my fields?”

The tone of the question was amiable, but cautious. Of course Agis had no intention of telling the high templar what he really wanted, which was the opportunity to arrange a meeting between Rikus and Sadira.

“The use of your gladiators for part of each week,” he replied. “As kind as it was to leave my women and children, they can’t keep the scavengers out of the fields. In a day or two each week, a few gladiators could kill enough thieves to eliminate the need for field patrols, and it would be good practice for them.”

Returning to Tithian’s mind, the memory became more familiar, though it still varied slightly from what Agis recalled.

Suddenly three bony gith scampered through the faro, each clutching a sackful of stolen needles in one four-fingered hand and a huge spear in the other. Through Tithian’s memory Agis saw himself jump up and fire his crossbow, killing the leader. Young Tithian reacted more slowly, for his attention had been fully absorbed by the beautiful young woman right up until the moment he’d heard the scavengers.

Tithian struggled to bring his crossbow to bear. Agis drew his sword and charged the second gith as it dropped its needle sack. Tithian inadvertently triggered his weapon. The quarrel shot straight for his friend’s head. Agis swung his sword, separating his target’s skull from its neck. The momentum carried him off his feet, and Tithian’s bolt sailed over his head. The quarrel took the last gith square in its bulging eye.

The high templar’s memory of the event surprised Agis. For the last twenty-five years, the senator had believed that his life had been saved by a well-timed and skillful shot. Nevertheless, Agis was experienced enough in the Way that the discrepancies would not interfere with his plan. The noble sent the message he had come to plant in Tithian’s head: Say yes. Loan Rikus and Neeva to Agis.

Before his old friend could voice the agreement the noble hoped to hear, a female templar stepped to Tithian’s side with a message. As she whispered into her superior’s ear, Agis tried to listen from behind his memory screen. He heard a faint echo of the woman’s voice saying something about an urgent message. The thought passed too quickly for him to grasp, but he didn’t send a probe after it. The more active he became, the more likely it was that Tithian would detect his presence.

“You’ll have to excuse me for a moment, my friend,” Tithian said, moving down the terrace. He spoke with the woman for several moments, pausing once to give his guest an apologetic shrug.

Agis waited patiently, maintaining his presence in the high templar’s mind by slowly adding to the memory: Tierney appearing at the top of the hill, now dressed in a fleece robe and proclaiming the two boys her saviors; the young Agis telling her how Tithian had spotted the gith from the hilltop, and describing the incredible feat of marksmanship that had saved his life.

The messenger continued to speak with the high templar for several moments. Tithian’s expression grew concerned, but Agis resisted the urge to expand his presence in his old friend’s mind. It was simply too risky.

When Tithian returned, he said, “My thanks for your offer, Agis, but my farm manager has been with me since I inherited the Mericles estate. He’s not as good as you, of course, but I have no need to boost my land income. I’m sure you understand. It would be a shame to put out a loyal retainer.”

Inside Tithian’s mind, Agis found his memory screen isolated by a vast plain of silent, white emptiness. Whatever the woman’s message, it had put the high templar on the alert, and he was now carefully suppressing his memories. For a moment, the noble worried that Tithian had somehow detected his presence, but realized this could not be. If that had happened, dozens of templars would be rushing to arrest him.

“I didn’t mean to imply that I would take your man’s place,” Agis said. “I intend to show him better ways-”

Tithian raised a silencing hand. “He’s quite touchy about his expertise,” the templar said, taking Agis’s arm and walking him toward the ziggurat. “I’ll have a young gladiator sent to your estate as a gift. He should keep the scavengers off your land.”

Agis locked eyes with the high templar. “This has nothing to do with your farm manager,” he said, changing approaches. “You just don’t trust me.”

As he spoke, he sent a black snake of guilt slithering across the empty plain around his probe. Soon, the noble saw a mountainous form looming on the horizon. It was a flat-topped pyramid with sides as black as night and as smooth as ice. With a start, Agis realized that the pyramid was something Tithian had seen recently, something that weighed heavily on his mind.

Glassy black balls began rolling off the pyramid, threatening to crush the snake-probe. Grimacing at the energy it required, Agis attached wings to his serpent, and it lifted off the white plain. For a moment he wondered if the avalanche had been a counterattack from Tithian. When the balls reached the bottom of the pyramid, however, they kept going without regard for the fact that they had missed him. A black shaft appeared in the plain, and the balls rolled into it. Agis dropped his winged snake closer and saw that the hole was lined by obsidian bricks.

A boiling mass of memory came shooting out of the shaft. Agis found himself staring into the sunken black eyes of a small, haggard man wearing a golden diadem-Kalak. Fearing Tithian had lured him into a trap, Agis turned his probe away and flapped its wings with all of his flagging strength.

The snake started to carry him out of Tithian’s mind, but the noble paused when Kalak’s voice spoke in a conversational tone. “You saw the shaft in my tunnel?”

Agis turned his probe in the pyramid’s direction. He saw the king’s shriveled form standing next to the obsidian structure. Kalak ran his gnarled fingers over the glassy surface, his eyes fixed on Tithian, who now stood before him. It was not a trap, but another memory.

Tithian nodded. “Yes, my king.”

“Good. During the games commemorating the completion of the ziggurat, you must place the obsidian pyramid over the shaft you passed, but only when the last match of the day begins,” Kalak said. “Make it look like part of the contest.”

“What about the throne and the balls?” Tithian asked. “Should I place them in the arena as well, Mighty One.”

“No!” Kalak hissed, scowling as though he would kill the high templar. “Don’t touch anything else. The globes and the throne stay with me!”

“As you command,” Tithian replied. “Forgive me for asking. Is there anything else?”

Kalak nodded. “When the last game begins, I want you to lock all the gates to my stadium.”

“Until when?”

“Don’t worry about opening them-”

In the memory, Kalak’s form stopped speaking in midsentence and faded away. Tithian faced Agis’s flying snake, then the black pyramid rose off the white plain and sailed toward him. Now completely certain that the high templar had discovered his presence, Agis changed his snake to an arrow and shot across Tithian’s mind like a bolt of lightning.

An instant later, he broke contact with the high templar.

“A man in my position can trust no one, not even his friends,” Tithian said, continuing the conversation where it had left off only a moment earlier.

Agis was in no condition to follow Tithian’s words, for he had all but exhausted himself inside the high templar’s mind. He stumbled and nearly fell, then felt his friend gripping his arm to prevent him from tumbling into the seats below.

“Easy,” Tithian said. “I wouldn’t want you to fall.”

Agis blinked several times. “Thanks for your concern,” he said, only a little sarcastically. When he glanced to both his right and left, he saw no sign of the guards he had expected the high templar to summon.

“Why aren’t you arresting me?” Agis demanded, still leaning against the wall ringing the terrace.

“Why should I?” Tithian asked, giving Agis a forbearing smile. The templar pulled the noble away from the wall, then gently turned him so that he faced the immense ziggurat. “Tell me, Agis, why do you suppose Kalak is having that thing constructed?”

“You’re the one who’s building it,” Agis said bitterly, recalling all his slaves whom the high templar had confiscated. “You tell me.”

Tithian shrugged. “If I knew, I would,” he said warmly. “The king hasn’t even told me what it’s for. I’ve shown you all that I know, and frankly, it scares me.”

Agis rolled his weary eyes. “Save your pathos for someone else,” he said. “I know you better than that. The only life you’re concerned with is your own.”

“Even to me, the possibilities of what Kalak’s plan might mean are horrifying. What does he need forty-thousand people locked in a stadium for?” Tithian countered. “Of course, if I wasn’t going to be one of the forty-thousand, it might be less horrifying, but that’s hardly relevant. I’m in this along with everyone else.”

Agis frowned. “What are you saying?”

Tithian raised his brow in a satiric look. “I think you’re intelligent enough to figure it out-and if not you, then certainly your friends who do not like to show their true faces in public.”

Though he was shocked to discover that Tithian knew of his tentative association with Veiled Alliance, he tried not to show his surprise. “Assuming I do know someone who might be interested in Kalak’s plans, why did you show me the pyramid, and why do you want the king’s enemies to find out about it?”

Tithian took Agis’s arm. “I want to survive,” the high templar said, guiding the noble toward an exit. “To do that, two things must happen. First, Those Who Wear the Veil must tell me where they hid their amulets. If I don’t find the last one soon, Kalak will kill me. Second, they must stop whatever the king has planned for the games. I’m going to be there, too. I’ve seen no reason to think he intends to spare his high templars.”

“And what will you do in return?”

“Anything I can without getting myself killed,” Tithian answered. “To start with, I’ll allow Sadira to speak with my slave, Rikus-but only after I’ve recovered the amulets.”

Agis stumbled. Though it was difficult, he refrained from asking how Tithian knew of Sadira. Obviously the high templar had a spy-either close to him or high in the ranks of the Alliance.

“Apparently you’re still fatigued from the exercise of your powers,” the high templar said, chuckling at Agis’s clumsiness. He paused at the gate through which the noble had entered the stadium. “Would you like to use my litter for the trip home?”

“No offense,” Agis said, “but I’d rather crawl on my hands and knees.”

As the noble stepped into the tunnel, Tithian caught him by the arm. “By the way, there’s one thing you should know about my proposal.”

“What?”

“It isn’t a truce,” Tithian said, releasing the noble. “Watch yourself.”