P. C. Hodgell - Kencyrath 01 - God Stalk

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God Stalk

Table of Contents

Principal Characters

Past and Present

BOOK I

Tatters of Dusk

Chapter 1

Out of the Haunted Lands

Chapter 2

The House of Luck-Bringers

Chapter 3

Into the Labyrinth

Chapter 4

The Heart of the Maze

BOOK II

Crown of Nights

Chapter 5

Winter Days

Chapter 6

Water Flow, Fire Leap

Chapter 7

The Feast of Fools

Chapter 8

Voices out of the Past

Chapter 9

A Matter of Honor

Chapter 10

The Feast of the Dead Gods

Chapter 11

The Storm Breaks

BOOK III

Shroud of Days

Chapter 12

A Flame Rising

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Chapter 13

Three Pyres

Chapter 14

Untempling of the Gods

Appendix I

The Thieves' Guild

Appendix II

The Tastigon Calendar

Appendix III

The Kencyrath

P. C. Hodgell writes:

God Stalk

P. C. Hodgell

This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any

resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.

Baen Publishing Enterprises

P.O. Box 1403

Riverdale, NY 10471

www.baen.com

Paper versions are available from

Meisha Merlin Publishing Inc.

www.meishamerlin.com

ISBN 10: 0-425-06079-9

Cover art by P. C. Hodgell

First Baen ebook, April 2007

For Mike

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with Affection and Gratitude

Principal Characters

Past and Present

In the Kencyrath

Jame: Tori: Jame's twin brother Marcarn (Marc) of East Kenshold: Jame's friend, an aging

Kendar Ishtier: Highborn priest of the Three-Faced God in Tai-tastigonanar:Jame's former tutor,

a scrollsman and Ishtier's younger Brother Ganth Gray Lord: Ganth of Knorth, once Highlord of

the Kencyrath, who was forced into exile and supposedly died crossing the Ebonbane Torisen

Black Lord: Ganth's son Gerridon, Master of Knorth: the arch-traitor who, some 3,000 years

ago, sold himself to Perimal Darkling in return for immortality Jamethiel Dream-Weaver:

Gerridon's sister and consort Anthrobar: the scholar who copied that portion of the Book Bound

in Pale Leather which the Kencyrath used to reach Rathillien

At the Res aB'tyrr

Tubain: the innkeeper Abernia: his wife Cleppetty: the Widow Cleppetania, cook and

housekeeper Rothan: Tubain's nephew and heir Ghillie: Rothan's younger cousin, the inn's

hostler and musician Taniscent: a dancer Kithra sen Tenzi: a maid, formerly of the Skyrrman

Sart Nine-Toes: a guard

From Skyrr

Marplet sen Tenko: keeper of the Skynman inn NIGGEN: his son Bortis: a hill brigand in

Marplet's pay, the sometime lover of Taniscent Harr sen Tenko: the Skyrr representative on

Tai-tastigon's governing council (the Five), Arribek sen Tenzi's political rival, Marplet's

brother-in-law Arribek sen Tenzi: the Archiem or ruler of Skyrr

From Metalondar

King Sellik XXI: Prince Ozymardien: Sellik's cousin, owner of Edor Thulig (the Tower of

Demons) Thulig-Sa: Ozymardien's pet demon, used to guard Edor Thulig

In the Kingdom of the Clouds

Prince Dandello: heir to the Throne of Clouds Sparrow: one of his attendents

In the Temple District

Dalis-Sar: a Kendar drafted as the sun god of the New Pantheon; Men-dalis's father and Daily's

foster-father Gorgo the Lugubrious: once an Old Pantheon god of rain, now a New Pantheon

god of lamentations Loogan: Gorgo's high priest Abarraden: a fertility goddess of the Old

Pantheon whose eyes Penari stole

In the Thieves' Guild

Theocandi: the Sirdan or lord of the Guild Canden: his grandson Bane: his pupil Hangrell: a

would-be follower of Bane Penari: Theocandi's older brother, Jame's master Men-Dalis: leader of

the New Faction, Theocandi's rival Dally: his half-brother The Creeper: his master spy

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Galishan: master of the Tynnet Branching District, Melissand's lover Darinby: a journeyman

Raffing: an apprentice Scramp: an apprentice from the Lower Town Patches: his sister Tane: a

former rival of Theocandi, the Shadow Thief's first victim Shadow Thief: a temporarily detached

soul used as a demon assassin by Theocandi Melissand: a famous courtesan

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BOOK I

Tatters of Dusk

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Chapter 1

Out of the Haunted Lands

THE HILLS ROLLED up to the moon on slopes of wind-bent grass, crested, swept down into tangled

brier shadows. Then up again and down, over and over until only aching muscles distinguished between

rise and descent, climb and fall. A night bird flitted overhead. Jame paused to watch it, thinking enviously

of wings. For a moment it showed clearly against the moon-silvered clouds, and then the wall of

mountains to the west swallowed it. How near the Ebonbane seemed now that night had fallen. The range

loomed over her, an immense presence filling half the sky, blotting out the stars. Two weeks of walking

had at last brought her out of the Haunted Lands into these foothills, but that in itself was no help. Clean

earth or not, this was still a wilderness. What she needed now was civilization —even a goatherd's

hut—but something, and soon.

Thin, high voices called to each other behind her. Jame caught her breath, listening, counting. Seven. The

haunts had found her trail again.

She tensed to run, then forced her weary muscles to relax. Flight would only weaken her. Besides, they

seemed to be keeping their distance, an odd thing after so many days of close pursuit. Should she finally

turn on them? They were well spread out, tempting targets for their wounded prey . . . ah, but what good

would it do to kill something already dead? She would make one last bid for life, then, Jame thought as

she started up the next slope. If only she could reach shelter before her strength gave out and they

overtook her.

Then, suddenly, there was the city.

Jame stared down at it from the hilltop, hardly trusting her eyes. It lay well below her, cradled in the

curve of the foothills as they turned to the southeast. Even from this distance, it looked immense. The

outer circle of its double curtain wall was miles from edge to edge; the inner seemed to strain under the

pressure of the buildings it contained. Gray and silent it stood between mountain and plain, a stone city

that appeared in the cold moonlight to be more the work of nature than of man.

"Tai-tastigon!" Jame said softly.

Behind her, the wailing began again, then faded away. In the silence that followed, a cricket chirped

tentatively, then another and another. The haunts had withdrawn. Not surprising with the city so near,

Jame thought, rubbing her bandaged forearm. They had followed her far beyond their own territory as it

was, drawn on by the blood-scent. She shivered, remembering that first encounter in the Haunted Lands

before the burning keep. Dazed by fire and smoke, she had turned to find a dark figure standing behind

her. For a joyful moment, she had thought it was Tori. Then she was down with the foul thing on top of

her, its fetid breath in her face.

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Jame looked at her hands, at the long, slim fingers and at the gloves hanging in shreds from them. Each

ivory white nail lay flush with the skin now, its sharp point curving halfway over the fingertip. They looked

almost normal, she thought bitterly. Trinity knew what the haunt had thought when those same nails, fully

extended, had ripped the rotting flesh from its face.

Not that that would stop such a creature for long. Even if she had killed it, nothing stayed dead forever in

the Haunted Lands, just as no one could live there unprotected without changing as the haunts, once

ordinary men, had changed. That was the curse that the Kencyrath, Jame's own people, had let fall on

the region when their main host had withdrawn from it long ago. No longer maintained by their will, the

Barrier between Rathillien and the shadows beyond had weakened. Perimal Darkling, ancient of enemies,

now gnawed at the edges of yet another world, poisoning the land, sucking health from the air. Still, it

would have been much worse if a handful of Kencyr defenders had not remained, Jame thought; it was

worse now that they were all dead. She, the youngest and last was getting out none too soon.

Or perhaps not quite soon enough. Though the Haunted Lands lay behind her, she could feel their evil

growing in her bandaged arm even now.

It had taken her some time to realize that the wound was infected. Injuries rarely took such a turn among

her people,for as a rule Kencyrs either died outright or healed themselves quickly and well in the deep

helplessness ofdwar sleep. Jame had hardly slept at all in the past fortnight. Such endurance was another

trait of her kind, but it also had its limits. She was perilously close to them now. There was some time left,

however, enough, with luck, to find help in the city below . . . if the city could provide it. There it lay,

Tai-tastigon the Great, just as the Scrollsman Anar, her old tutor, had once described it. Only one thing

was different: nowhere below was there a trace of light—not a watch fire on the walls, not a street torch,

not even the dim star of a candle in some indistinct window. All was dark, all was . . . dead?

Memory shook her. Two weeks ago she had climbed another hill, had found another mass of buildings

spread out lightless, lifeless below her. The keep. Home. But not anymore.He had called her tainted, a

thing without honor, and they had driven her out. But. . . but that had been years ago, she thought in

confusion, one hand pressed against her forehead, against the ache of thwarted memory. Where had she

been since then? What had happened to her? She couldn't remember. It was as if the frightened, outcast

child she had been had run over the hills into the mist and walked out again half-grown to find . . . what?

The dead.

But not all of them.

Abruptly, Jame swung down her pack and began to burrow through it, throwing its contents right and

left until only three objects remained inside: a book wrapped in old linen, the shards of a sword with the

hilt emblem defaced, and the small package that contained her father's ring, still on his finger. Tori, her

twin brother, had not been among the slain. If he had escaped, as she desperately hoped, let him call her

honorless when she put sword and ring in his hands for she would accept such a judgment from no one

else. "No, my lord father, not even from you," she said in sudden defiance, looking back the way she had

come.

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Far to the north, green sheet lightning played across the face of the Barrier. A wind was rising there that

would topple the keep's burnt-out towers and whirl their ashes southward —after her. Jame paled at the

thought. Hastily, she shouldered the pack and set off down the hill toward the city, trying to fix her mind

on the hope that Tori had come this way before her, but all the time tasting ashes on the wind.

* * *

A LONG, GENTLE SLOPE stretched from the edge of the hills to the first out-work, an earthen

bulwark of alarming size but overgrown with feather weed and breeched with many deep fissures. On the

other side, the land ran down at an increased angle to the foot of the outer curtain. To the right, a ramp

made of rubble work ascended to a gate set high in the wall. This structure and the half-ruined bulwark

suggested a city once heavily fortified but now secure enough to neglect its own outer defenses. Perhaps

this confidence had been misplaced, Jame thought as she trudged up the ramp. Perhaps those proud

towers seen first from the hill and now so close at hand were nothing but shells, gutted and empty, the

home of rats and moldering bones. Anar had not said so, but then neither had he mentioned the unnerving

lightlessness of the city. The gateway rose dark and vacant before her. Nothing moved there but the

weeds between the paving stones as they nodded in the wind.

Inside, the land again dropped sharply away, this time into a broad, dry moat. A bridge spanned it. Jame

crossed and found the city gates on the far side gaping open without a guard in sight. She entered the

city.

At first the way seemed clear enough. The avenue was broad and straight, lined with high walls set with

many iron-barred gates. These opened into private courtyards and gardens, all dark and deserted. For

several blocks Jame walked along this open way, and then the road disappeared under the remains of a

gatehouse set in an ancient wall. On the other side lay the great labyrinth of Tai-tastigon.

Within six turnings, Jame was utterly lost. The streets here were laid out like an architect's nightmare,

swerving drunkenly back and forth, intersecting at odd angles, diving through tunnels under buildings and

sometimes ending abruptly at the foot of a blank wall. Nor were the buildings more reassuring. Tall,

narrow, pinched in aspect, they presented face after withdrawn face to the street, each one locked and

sealed into itself, all indifferent to anything that passed before them.

Jame prowled on, more and more ill at ease. The wind whimpered about her, rattling grit in the gutter,

setting a wooden sign to creaking fitfully overhead. There was still no trace of light, no sign of life; and yet

the more she saw, the more convinced she became that this was no citadel of thedead. There were

indications of age all around her, but little of decay. Occasionally she even saw a flowerpot on a high

window ledge and once a banner restless in the wind, showing golden patterns to the moon. Clearly, if

the people had left, it had been very recently; but if they were still here, they were deliberately keeping

very quiet.

Or then again, perhaps not. As she rounded certain corners, the wind bore, or seemed to bear, not only

dust and scraps of paper to dance about her feet, but snatches of sound. Several times she stopped

short, straining to catch a thread of song or chant distorted by distance; and once far, far away, a voice

laughed or cried, impossible to tell which, before it too dissolved into the rush of the wind. Was anyone

really there? Something like the patter of small, running feet made her start more than once, and a dozen

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other lesser sounds niggled at her attention, but not one ever quite emerged from the harping of the wind.

Nerves, Jame told herself at last, and went on.

Her thoughts kept returning to the city gate, now far behind, standing open to the Haunted Lands, to the

coming storm. If only she had barred the way, but how—and against what? Her arm throbbed. Strength

was leaving it, would soon leave her. It was foolish, of course, to think that a closed gate could shut out

the wind; and as for the haunts, surely they had withdrawn. There was nothing else out there to follow

her, she told herself firmly. Nothing. It was only because the pursuit had been so long, so bitter, that she

felt even now that she was not free of it.

Then the sound of falling water reached her, and she went forward eagerly into a small square where a

fountain played merrily by itself. This was the first clear running water Jame had seen in weeks. She

welcomed its coolness as she scooped it up with one hand to drink, then splashed more on her heated

face. Her arm also felt hot. Gingerly, she unwound the makeshift bandage, hissing with pain as skin came

away with the cloth. Beneath, the teeth marks still showed clearly, white-rimmed against a darkness that

had spread out from them like some kind of subcutaneous growth. Her fingers twitched briefly. There

was still life in them, but it was no longer entirely her own. Jame swallowed, tasting panic. She had

suddenly realized that if the healing process was delayed much longer, she might have to choose between

her arm and the living death of a haunt. Oh for the chance to sleep, but not here, not out in the open. She

must find shelter, must find . . . light?

Yes! Jame sprang up, staring. On the other side of the square, under a shuttered first story window, was

a bright line. She crossed over to it and scratched on the window-frame. The light at once went out. All

the other cracks, she now saw, were stuffed with rags from the inside. In fact, every nearby door and

window was similarly secured. If this was true throughout the city, then the people were indeed here after

all, but they were in hiding, barricaded inside their homes. Therefore, whatever it was that they feared,

that all of Tai-tastigon feared, was out here in the streets—with her.

Jame stood very still for a moment, then cursed herself with soft vehemence. Fool, to have let her

attention wander. For the first time since entering the city, she opened all six senses fully to it, and what

they told her chilled the fever heat in her veins: shewas being followed—no, stalked—and it had nothing

to do with the Haunted Lands or the keep, whatever she had done there. No, this threat was new, and its

source already far too close for comfort.

Then the pattering sound began again. Before, confused with distance, it had woven in and out of her

hearing; now it was rapidly growing not so much louder as more distinct, like the approach of rain over

hard ground. Jame couldn't tell from which street it came. When the noise seemed almost on top of her,

out of the corner of her eye she glimpsed something white running close to the ground. She spun to face

it, but already it had gone to earth. In the sudden silence, a pair of yellow, unblinking eyes stared at her

from the deepest shadows of the street that led eastward.

A cat, Jame thought with relief.

She had actually taken a step toward the thing when she saw the cracks. They were coming toward her

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down the moonlit side of the roadway past the yellow eyes, shoving some cobbles apart, uprooting

others. At first their progress was slow, almost tentative; but as they entered the square, the multitude of

small cracks abruptly combined into five major fissures, which lunged forward, splitting everything in their

path.

Jame backed up rapidly. She neither knew what would happen if one of those cracks opened under her

feet nor particularly wanted to find out. Turning, she fled westward.

The quick footsteps followed her, and after them came the crack of cloven stone.

She took refuge in a doorway. There were the eyes staring at her from across the street, and the lintel

over her head split in two. She fled again. The labyrinth should have been her ally, but turn and twist as

she would, she could not lose her pursuer.

Then, suddenly, the eyes were ahead of her.

Jame darted down a side street and skidded to a stop. Before her, in the shadow of an ornate gateway,

lay a broad, inky pool of water that stretched from wall to wall. She was about to splash across it when

something huge surfaced with an oily gurgle. For a second, moonlight glistened on a broad, leathery

back, and then it was gone again.

From behind came the sound of splitting rock. It had almost overtaken her. Swallowing hard, Jame

stepped back and waited. A moment later, as the water again broke open, she sprang forward, one foot

coming down on the sleek back, the other on the far shore. The fissures, however, plunged straight into

the pool. For a heartbeat nothing happened, and then the waters went mad. Spray lashed the walls,

soaked Jame as she shrank back into the archway. For an instant, she thought she saw a huge, blind

head rearing up, gape-jawed against the moon, and then it was gone. The water gurgled down into the

cracks. The pool, it seemed, had been all of an inch deep.

Across the wet cobbles, Jame once again met the yellow stare. For a moment their eyes locked, then the

thing turned and rapidly pattered away. It ran not on paws but on small fat hands like an infant's, and no

shadow kept pace with it on the moon-washed pavement.

When it was out of sight, Jame turned to regard the gateway. It was set in a high wall, which extended a

considerable distance in both directions and appeared to set off an entire district from the rest of the city.

Beyond the gate, the shadows cast by overhanging buildings lay black and unbroken across the way until

far ahead faint lights appeared suspended in the gloom. The air that breathed in Jame's face was heavy

with incense. She hesitated, then drawn by those distant lights went warily forward into the shadows.

It was not as dark inside as she had expected. Here the buildings fit together like a gigantic puzzle-box,

interlocking in the oddest ways and yet each standing by itself with no shared walls. Moonlight filtered

down from above. This, in addition to her excellent night vision—the racial legacy of far dimmer worlds

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摘要：

GodStalkTableofContentsPrincipalCharactersPastandPresentBOOKITattersofDuskChapter1OutoftheHauntedLandsChapter2TheHouseofLuck-BringersChapter3IntotheLabyrinthChapter4TheHeartoftheMazeBOOKIICrownofNightsChapter5WinterDaysChapter6WaterFlow,FireLeapChapter7TheFeastofFoolsChapter8VoicesoutofthePastChapte...

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