The Balintol Cycle II

Chapter four

Chapter fourThe door opened onto a courtyard. The slanting rays of the twin suns fell in ruby and emerald across the northern wall. Shadows bathed the rest, the courtyard was not overlarge and the walls were three storeys tall, pierced with small dormitory-like windows. The impression I had, from this place and from Veda’s map, was that it formed a wing of the main building.

The party ahead were just about to enter a door opposite, and a girl coming out shrank away. She was a Fristle and she wore a neat yellow apron over her simple clothes. I followed.

There were eight guardsmen in the audo, the section being commanded by a dwa-Deldar. They went into the building. The Fristle serving girl gave me a little half-bow of the head, half-curtsey as we passed. Having some knowledge of the way these places were run and disciplined, I felt it prudent to give no friendly acknowledgement.

Inside the door a blackwood staircase led up. The walls were lath and plaster, daubed here and there with an ochre paint. Among the mingled odors of dust and polish there lingered the strong after-scent of cheap perfume.

These rooms, then, were the living quarters of the female servants of Dokerty’s temple.

So — what would a sub priest be doing here?

Hyslop’s clothes proclaimed his rank. Bluff — yes, that was the way of it. A few hints, a haughty mien, and I might just get away with it. If I didn’t — well, eight guardsmen, none of whom was from any of the more renowned warrior races of diffs, would have to be disposed of — sharpish, by Krun, very sharpish!

At the next landing I peered cautiously around to see the dwa-Deldar pushing open a door along the near side of the corridor. His men took the girl in and, shortly, came out again. The door was closed, a man posted to stand guard, and the audo began to march back again towards me. I marked the door. Then I ran silently back down the stairs and out into the courtyard.

Spinning about, I stood for a moment, and began slowly to walk towards the open door. The Deldar came out first, saw me, and for a fraction of a second a tiny smile moved his lips. So it was going to be all right, thank Zair!

“Notor!” he barked in true Deldar fashion. So these jumped up priests of Dokerty gave themselves the name of lord, did they? I half-lifted a hand.

“Deldar!”

He went off with his men and without looking back I sprinted up the blackwood stairs.

By this time I felt totally committed to this foolish and harebrained behavior of mine. Now I’d have to see the hand played through to the end.

Mind you, I could quite clearly see how ridiculous all this was. There might be any number of explanations for the girl’s condition. She might have fainted at work. Yes; but why should the soldiers have dragged her along so callously? Anyway, she was a Hytak, and the Hytak women are known as being tough as well as nice-looking.

Very often I know in this my narrative I fail to give the race of a person among the splendid array of Kregen’s diffs. But people are people, and do not assume everyone I mention is apim, Homo sapiens sapiens like me.

The guard on duty looked up as I approached. Again, that small, secret smile fleeted across his face. I went to walk past boldly, not deigning to notice him. He continued to look at me, and barked: “Notor!” in a swod’s imitation of a Deldar’s bull roar.

This made my attempt to press the vital spot under his ear difficult. He jerked back from my hand. His face showed shock; but all the same he snatched at his sword hilt. So I had to hit him.

This I did, and he pitched over. I caught him as he fell and eased him to the floor. He’d be out for long enough, I hoped, for me to complete this hazardous, stupid, completely nonsensical mission with which I’d saddled myself.

The door opened easily. The room was a bedroom c*m sitting room, cheaply furnished. The girl lay on the bed. They hadn’t even bothered to throw a coverlet over her naked body.

Her eyes opened as I approached.

“Who—? What—?”

“It’s all right,” I said in a voice I tried to make calm and reasonable. She scrabbled up and huddled back, her hands to her breast. “I’m not going to hurt you. You are in trouble, I can see.”

“Go away!” She husked it out, and she began to tremble.

Opaz knew what she was imagining. Something dreadful, of that I could be sure. I tried to smile. “I’ve come to help you.”

Hoping that some normal action might calm her down, I looked around the tawdry room. A tunic hung over the back of the only chair and a skirt lay neatly folded on the seat. These garments I handed to her and, after a moment’s hesitation, she put them on. As for underclothes, that was up to her. “I want to help you. How are they going to punish you?”

She did not cry very much. As she sobbed out her story, I dragged the unconscious guard in and tied him up with strips of the bedclothes. She reacted to this. But, rather cruelly, I suppose, I considered the fact of the guard being dealt with in so summary a fashion made her see she was committed. She had not cried out for help, that was for sure.

As I listened I realized with sinking feelings of mingled horror and despair that I’d made a right leem’s nest of this.

Oh, yes, by Vox! How I’d completely made a stupendous mistake! All the same, this Renata was now my responsibility. Despite what she was, I had to get her out of the temple.

“And they’re going to send my darling Sando up to Winlan.” Her voice choked up with despair. “And they want to send me to Tolindrin. Oh, what can I do? They’ll beat me, beat me terribly.”

What a confounded i***t this Dray Prescot was! Here he was, out of his own bravado committed to rescuing a young woman who at the command of His Highness through the Prism of Power, would turn into a raging monstrosity of an ibmanzy!

Then, at a stroke — as they say in Clishdrin — she solved the problem for me. Well, to be honest, not solved it entirely but, as it were, shuffled it off for the time being. Put it in cold storage until, later on but as soon as possible, I could solve the whole issue for good and all.

“If you really want to help me,” said Renata in her soft, breathy, frightened voice. “Then take me to my darling Sando.”

To my relief, Sando, she said, was not in the temple at the moment but had gone to visit his parents in the city. He didn’t know as yet, so Renata thought, that he was to be separated from her. The priests hadn’t yet physically punished her for her refusal to go to Tolindrin. They had browbeaten her and exhausted her with their constant orders and mental manipulations and threats.

Now she had materially recovered. She clearly hadn’t thought through the way the course of this imbroglio might go. All she could think of was her darling Sando. Once in his protective arms everything would be alright.

The recumbent guard began to stir. It was time, then, to make a move.

“Put this on.” The cloak was parti-patterned in a dark red, a dark blue and a light green. I did not care for the effect and it seemed to me that this particular cloak would be easily recognized. Renata, however, had no other cloak. She did have a brown cape. This was the garment I told her to don.

Like many women who have been through an ordeal, and who find themselves continuing in the aftermath of betrayal, ruin or loss, Renata talked. She chattered. Once started, the floodgates were opened and the words poured forth in torrents of abuse and reproach. On and on she went all the time we went down the stairs, she with a bag containing essentials, out the door, across the yard, through a wooden gate in the wall into another smaller yard. Opposite stood an archway of cut stone within the brick wall.

She interjected into her monologue a few words to tell me this was a tradesmen’s gate. A bored looking Fristle in an ill-fitting guard’s uniform, carrying a spear, lolled against the wall picking his teeth with a black fingernail.

Not aware of the internal social structure of this infernal temple, I felt it wise to assume that it was not usual for a priest to be seen leaving this back gateway with a serving wench. The decision to act the part of an overbearing and domineering nasty kind of fellow with the guard was automatic. This would be the way they carried on in this deplorable place.

Renata’s brown cape had no hood. The rain had eased to a light drizzle so that there was an excuse for her to pull her scarf up and let it drape down half concealing her face.

The guard made an attempt to straighten up as we approached.

Giving him a hard stare of habitual authority I rapped out: “Well?”

Renata turned her head away and down. The Fristle jumped to open the small wicket in the main gate. I went through first and Renata trailed on after. A mytzer-hauled cart was just then hauling up and the Relt driver climbed back up to his seat when he saw the guard. He waved and the guard, shrugging, started to open the gates. Renata and I faded into the drifting lines of drizzle.

She said nothing and we splashed along trying to avoid the puddles. Letting her be the guide we walked as fast as I thought circumspect towards her darling Sando’s parents’ house. Poor Renata! I might thus shuffle her off from the immediate problems besetting me. She would remain a part of the greater problem — the almighty greater evil — of these damned ibmanzies. As I say, poor Renata!

A thought dreadful in its implications occurred to me.

My Val! Because of the horrific seriousness of the threat of these demons from hell I ought to strike Renata down dead right now. Better yet — I should wait until we met her Sando and then kill them both. Just butcher them as soon as possible before they had a chance to turn into insane monsters.

I felt the simple face I was wearing harden into an executioner’s mask. Of course, I couldn’t do it. Could I?

The closeness of this encounter with a potential ibmanzy made me realize afresh and with greater impact the vital necessity of finding and disposing of this Opaz-forsaken Prism of Power. Doing that would remove the threat from Renata and her Sando. That was the only proper course of action.

Mind you, if it came to another and more frightful course, then my duty would constrain me to it. No doubts of that, no doubts whatsoever, by Krun.

The Maiden with the Many Smiles beamed down all streaming pink radiance and rosy shadows as we walked along the rain-shining streets. An interestingly evil idea occurred to me. A tempting idea, a fascinating prospect of hoisting these Dokerty cultists with their own varter. By the Black Chunkrah! What a beauty!

Once we had the Prism of Power in our possession, why, then, why not use it to turn all the infected victims in Prebaya, in Caneldrin, into ibmanzies?

The idea was evilly fascinating. And right out of the question. That would heap more fuel onto the smoldering beginnings of the fires of destruction due to break out in the sub-continent.

Veda hadn’t known how many people had been infected with the ibmanzy potential. A goodly number, she felt sure. She also did not know what date had been set for their use. That didn’t surprise me, by Krun. The chief priest of Dokerty, the thin nosed and thin lipped cramph they called His Highness, probably didn’t know either. Only one person would know that. The one who would decide the date herself. Oh, yes, the high and mighty regent, C’Chermina, would know and decide the time for her schemes to ripen.

The regent wished to conquer both Tolindrin in the south and Winlan in the north west. The distances to be covered were considerable. No doubt some of the potential ibmanzies would be transported by lifters, the airboats able to make the journeys in good time. But I was willing to wager that the majority of them would travel overland. Some might go by sea. The result was the same; some time had to elapse before C’Chermina’s plans would be in place.

In that breathing space we had to act.

Just before we reached our destination I decided that to call the poor people who had gone through the painful initiation ‘ibmanzies’ was technically incorrect. They would become ibmanzies when the demons took over. They’d been infected by devils. A good name for them would be infectos. When we were admitted to the house and Renata clasped Sando with a thankful sob, I reflected that this couple of infectos, like all the rest, were doomed. Doomed, that was, unless somehow I could lay my hands on the Prism of Power.

Sando's parents were out. He was surprised that a priest should so blatantly go against the dictates of the temple, and looked decidedly frightened. Renata showed that whilst she might not be another Veda she still retained her spirit. “I do not think he is a priest, Sando. But he has helped us. We do not know to whom we are indebted.”

I told them my name was Larghos Nath H’Harmen followed by a truly comet-like tail of syllables, ending with sturboin. I said I habitually used the Double and that, yes, I was a priest of Dokerty who had lost all faith in His Highness.

Sando, too, had no memory of the agony of his initiation. Like Renata, he recalled the experience as a divine revelation. They had no conception of the destruction His Highness and C’Chermina planned for them both.

I could only wish them well, say the remberees and depart.

Back at The Harland Lifter I shifted back into my own clothes retrieved from the bottom of the chair and then I dug out poor old Hyslop from his crockery cupboard. He was fast asleep. All the same, I pressed under his ear sufficiently to keep him out for the time it took to strip off his bonds and dress him in his own clothes. The tablecloth and curtain cords went back from whence they came. Then I splashed some raw wine over his face, draped him across the table, assumed a similar drunken pose myself, and waited.

I heard him move and exclaim: “Wha—? Where—?”

So I sat up, swaying somewhat, and said: “You’re a good fellow, Hyslop. But when you went out—”

“Went out? Me!”

“Oh, aye. You came back and didn’t say what had happened. There was a girl in it, I believe. Then you went to sleep. I’ve been here all alone, as it were.”

His amazement was a joy to see. Damned Dokerty drunk!

In the end he convinced himself. Mind you, by Krun, I wasn’t particularly concerned over what he believed or didn’t believe. He went off, swearing he’d had a marvelous time, although not altogether remembering the whole. We called the remberees and walked off in different directions as She of the Veils threw down her rosily golden radiance across the still rain-drenched streets of Prebaya.

So what had I accomplished? Nothing! A great round fat zero. Very depressed I trailed off to the embassy. There had to be a way for a bold gallant adventurer to break into the temple and steal the Prism of Power. There had to be. I would just have to start all over again. As to the bold gallant adventurer bit, I, Dray Prescot, felt nothing like that at all, nothing whatsoever like it, by Krun!