David Farland - Runelords 4 - The Lair of Bones

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2024-12-23 0 0 747.56KB 369 页 5.9玖币
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Lair of Bones The
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Lair of Bones The
I
Book 11
Day 4 in the Month of Leaves
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Lair of Bones The
A Day of Descent
Prologue
Struggles in the Streets
Pride blinds men to the need for change. Therefore, for a man to walk the path to true wisdom, he must
enter by the gate of humility.
--proverb among the Ah'kellah
When Raj Ahten's caravan approached the Palace of the Elephant at Maygassa, all the stars in heaven
seemed to be falling, raining down in shades of red and gold.
In the still night air, the scent of spices from nearby markets hung near the ground: whole black pepper
from Deyazz, cinnamon bark from the isles off Aven, and fresh cardamom. It was a welcome relief from
the scent of death that hung like a pall over Raj Ahten's troops. His men, princes and lords of Indhopal
dressed in their finest thick silken armor, wore rubies in their turbans and kept their heads high, swords
held out in salute. Drummers and trumpeters acted as heralds.
The army rode as victors from the south, through the blasted lands that had been decimated by reaver's
spells. The reavers, who spoke in odors, left their curses clinging to the soldiers and their mounts: "Rot, O
children of men. Become as dry as dust. Breathe no more."
Even now, the smells brought Raj Ahten a vision of the giant reavers charging over the landscape. With
their four legs and two arms, they looked something like enormous mantises. In their fore-claws, some
wielded staves carved of stone, or enormous blades, or long iron poles with reaping hooks. The earth
rumbled beneath the horde as it charged, while clouds of gree flapped and whirled above the reavers,
squeaking like bats.
At the very head of Raj Ahten's army, his men brought a trophy: four bull elephants dragged a wagon
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laden with the head of a massive reaver, a fell mage. It was an awesome sight. At four tons, the head
spanned wider than the wagon. The leathery skin grew as dark as the back of a crocodile, and the fell
mage's gaping mouth revealed row upon row of teeth, each a pale green crystal, with some of the larger
canines being as long as a child's arm. She had no eyes or ears. Along the lower ridges of her jaws, and
again atop the bony plates that constituted the bulk of her spade-shaped head, her philia--her only visible
sensory organs--swung like gravid dead eels with each jolt of the wagon.
Behind the elephants, near the head of the army, came Raj Ahten himself, the Sun Lord. He lay back on
pillows, dressed in a gleaming white silk jacket, the traditional armor of old Indhopal, as slaves carried his
palanquin. A screen of lavender silk hung like gossamer, hiding his face from his adoring subjects.
To each side of the palanquin, in a place of honor, rode four flameweavers. For now, they held their
fires in check so that only thin vapors of smoke issued from their nostrils. Fire had burned away any trace
of hair from their bodies, so that all four men were completely bald. The graceful smoothness of their
scalps hinted at their power, and a strange light glimmered in their eyes even at night, like the twinkle of a
distant star. They wore scintillating robes in shades of flame--the bright scarlet of the forge and the
mellow gold of the campfire.
Raj Ahten felt connected to them now. They served a common master. He could almost hear their
thoughts, drifting about like smoke.
His troops passed between a pair of huge golden censers where fires had burned continuously for a
hundred years. This marked the beginning of the Avenue of Kings. As soon as his palanquin reached
them, a thunderous cheer rose from the city.
Ahead, crowds had massed along the avenue to do obeisance. His people had strewn the streets with
rose petals and white lotus blossoms, so that as the elephants walked, crushing the petals, a sweet
fragrance wafted up. Sweeter to him still was the smell of scented oils burning in a hundred thousand
lamps.
The crowd wildly cheered their savior. A throng had gathered to greet him, citizens of Maygassa and
refugees from the south, more than three million strong.
Those closest to the palanquin fell down upon their hands and knees, bowing in respect. Their humped
bodies, draped in robes of white linen and rising up above the lanterns set on the ground, looked like
rounded stones thrusting up from a river of light.
Farther back in the crowd, some fought for a closer view. Women screamed and pounded their breasts,
offering themselves to Raj Ahten. Men shouted words of undying gratitude. Babes cried in fear and
wonder.
The applause thundered. The cheers rose up like fumes above the city and echoed from low hills a mile
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Lair of Bones The
away and from the high stone walls of the Palace of the Elephant itself.
Raj Ahten grinned. The deed pained him. He had taken many wounds in the Battle of Kartish, wounds
that would have killed any lesser man, and some of those were to his face. He lay back on his silken
pillows, reveled in the gentle sway of his palanquin as the bearers marched in step, and watched the
frightened doves circle above the city, floating like ashes above the light.
It seemed the start of a perfect day.
Gradually, something caught his attention. Ahead, people bowed to do obeisance, but among the
humped shapes one man remained standing.
He wore the gray robes of the Ah'kellah, the judges of the desert. Upon his right hip, his robe had been
thrown back, revealing the handle of his saber. He held his head high, so that the black ringlets attached to
his simple iron war helm cascaded over his shoulders and down his back. Wuqaz? Raj Ahten wondered.
Wuqaz Faharaqin come to fight at last? Offering a duel?
The humble peasants nearby looked up at the judge fearfully from the corners of their eyes, and some
begged him to fall down and do obeisance, while others chided him for his deportment.
Raj Ahten's palanquin came up beside the Ah'kellah, and Raj Ahten raised his hand, calling for his
procession to stop.
Immediately, the pounding of the drums ceased, and every man in the army halted. The crowd fell
silent, except for the bawling of a few babes.
The air nearly crackled with intensity, and the thoughts of the flameweavers burned into the back of
Raj Ahten's consciousness. Kill him, they whispered. Kill him. You could burn him to cinders, make an
example of him. Let the people see your glory.
Not yet, Raj Ahten whispered in return, for since his near death in the battle at Kartish, Raj Ahten's own
eyes burned with hidden fires now. I will not unveil myself yet.
Fire had claimed his life, had filled him with a light divine yet unholy. His old self had burned away,
and from the cinders had risen a new man--Scathain, Lord of Ash.
Raj Ahten knew most of the members of the Ah'kellah. It was not Wuqaz who stood before him.
Instead, his own uncle on his father's side, Hasaad Ahten, barred the way.
Not Wuqaz, Raj Ahten realized with palpable regret. Instead, his uncle had come on Wuqaz's mission.
Raj Ahten had taken thousands of endowments of Voice from his people, endowments that came from
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Lair of Bones The
fine singers, from great orators. He spoke, and let the power of his voice wash over the crowd. In a tone
sweeter than peach blossoms, as cruel as a blade of flame, he commanded, "Bow to me."
Everywhere among the crowd, millions prostrated themselves. Those who were already bowing
flattened themselves further, as if to become one with the dust.
Hasaad remained standing, anger brimming in his eyes. "I come to give you counsel, my nephew,"
Hasaad said, "so that your wisdom may increase. I speak for your benefit."
By phrasing his words thus, Hasaad made certain that all in the crowd knew that he spoke by right.
Custom dictated that even Raj Ahten, the high king of all the nations of Indhopal, could not kill an elder
relative who sought only to counsel him.
Hasaad continued, "It is reported that already you have sent word, ordering your troops on Rofehavan's
border to march to war." Hasaad shouted his words, so that they rang out over the crowd, but with only
two endowments of Voice, Hasaad's words could not convey the emotional appeal that Raj Ahten's did.
"The reavers have laid waste our fields and orchards in all of the Jewel Kingdoms. Our people face
starvation. Do you think it wise to send more men to war, when they could better spend their time
gathering food?"
"There is food in Rofehavan," Raj Ahten said reasonably, "for those strong enough to take it."
"And in Kartish," Hasaad said, "you have sent a million commoners to work the mines, hauling blood
metal from the earth so that you heap upon yourself more endowments."
"My people need a strong lord," Raj Ahten said, "to defeat the reavers."
Hasaad asked, "You have heaped the strengths of others upon yourself for many years, claiming that
you only seek to save your people from the reavers. Now the reavers are vanquished. You have already
claimed victory over the lords of the Underworld. But it is not victory over reavers that you want. When
you have stolen Rofehavan's food, you will force their people to give endowments." His voice grew thick
with accusation.
Burn him now, the voices of the flameweavers sputtered.
"Two battles we may have won against the reavers," Raj Ahten answered in a tone that suggested grief
at being questioned in so callous a manner, "but a greater battle remains to be fought."
"How can you know that?" Hasaad demanded. "How can you know that the reavers will attack again?"
"My pyromancer has seen it in the flames," Raj Ahten said, waving his hand toward Rahjim, a
flameweaver riding to his right. "A great battle will flare up, more fearsome than any that we have ever
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Lair of Bones The
known. Reavers will boil from the Underworld like never before. I go now to Rofehavan--to win food for
my people, and to fight reavers in my people's behalf. Let every man who has access to a force horse ride
at my side. I will lead you to victory!"
Cheers arose from the multitude, but Hasaad stood defiantly.
How dare he! Raj Ahten thought.
"You are a fool," Hasaad said, "to persecute the Earth King's people. Your rapacity is endless, as is
your cruelty. You are no longer human, and as such, should be put to death like an animal."
Raj Ahten ripped back the veil that hid him from the crowd, and a collective gasp arose. The wizard
fires in Kartish had seared every hair from his head, leaving him bald and without eyebrows. The flames
had also burned away his right ear and scalded the retina of his right eye, so that now it shone as pale as
milk. White bone protruded in a cruel line along his lower jaw.
The crowd gasped in horror, for Raj Ahten's visage seemed the very face of ruin. But he had taken
thousands of endowments of glamour from his subjects, giving him a beauty ethereal, as overwhelming as
it was impossible to define. In a moment, the gasps of horror turned into "aaaahs" of admiration.
"How dare you," Raj Ahten roared, "after all that I have suffered for you. Bow before my greatness!"
"No man can be great who is not also humble," Hasaad intoned in the calm, dignified manner common
to the Ah'kellah.
Raj Ahten could not let his uncle continue to stand against him. He would seek to sway the crowds
after Raj Ahten left, when the power of Raj Ahten's voice became only a memory.
He smiled cruelly. He could not kill Hasaad, but he could silence him. He begged his followers, "Bring
me his tongue."
Hasaad grabbed the hilt of his sword. His blade nearly cleared its scabbard, but one of Raj Ahten's
bowing servants yanked Hasaad by the ankles so that he went sprawling forward, and then faithful
peasants leapt on the man, ending a brief struggle. Someone wrenched Hasaad's head around, while
another man pried his teeth open with a dagger. There was a flow of blood, a clumsy cut.
In moments, a sweet young girl came skipping up to Raj Ahten, bearing the bloody flesh in both hands,
as if it were a gift given with great respect.
Raj Ahten pinched the warm tongue between two fingers, showing his own disrespect for the gobbet of
flesh, then tossed it to the floor of the palanquin and covered it with his slippered foot.
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Lair of Bones The
The peasants remained piled upon Hasaad, so that he could not breathe. Raj Ahten tapped the side of
the palanquin twice, ordering the procession forward. "To the stables," he said. "I ride to war."
As his procession made its way toward the Elephant Palace, a knot of men dressed in black watched
from the shadows of a darkened bedroom, in the uppermost chambers of an inn. Their leader, Wuqaz
Faharaqin, said softy to the others. "Raj Ahten will not abandon the ways of war, and his people are so
blinded by his glamour that they cannot see him for what he is."
Wuqaz felt within himself. For long years, he too had been blinded by Raj Ahten's glamour. Even now,
he fought the urge to bow before the monster, along with the rest of the crowd. But Raj Ahten had tipped
his hand. He'd slain his own men in an effort to murder the Earth King, including one of Wuqaz's
nephews. For that murder, Raj Ahten would have to pay. Wuqaz hailed from the noble tribe of Ah'Kellah,
the judges of the desert, and his own language had no word for mercy.
A young man whispered, "How can we stop him?"
"We must rip the veil of glamour from him," Wuqaz said.
"But we have tried to kill his Dedicates," one of the men said. "We can't get into his castles."
Wuqaz nodded thoughtfully. A plan took form. In Kartish, the reavers had cursed the land. For
hundreds of miles around, the plants had died, promising famine in the southern provinces.
This had forced Raj Ahten to move most of his Dedicates north to the Ghusa, a mighty fortress in
Deyazz. According to conventional wisdom, no one could hope to break down its huge doors or climb its
towering walls.
"Let us go to Ghusa," Wuqaz told his men. "Raj Ahten's greatest weakness is his greed. I will show you
how to make him choke on it."
Chapter 1
The Mouth of the Underworld
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Lair of Bones The
Rofehavan has always been bounded by the sea to the north and to the east, by the Hest Mountains to
the west, and by the Alcair Mountains to the south. In an effort to assure that no war was ever waged over
a desirable piece of land, Erden Geboren reached a concord with kings of Old Indhopal and the elders of
Inkarra. He set the southeast border of his realm, where the three great realms met, in the most
undesirable place on earth: at the opening to a vast and ancient reaver warren called the Mouth of the
World.
--from A History of Rofehavan by Hearthmaster Redelph
"Milord, there you are," someone called. "I was growing worried. We've been waiting for hours."
Averan woke. She recognized the voice of The Wizard Binnesman. She found herself in a wagon bed
filled with sweet-smelling hay, new from the summer fields. For a pillow she used Gaborn's rucksack
filled with chain mail and leather padding. All of Averan's muscles felt heavy and overworn, and her eyes
were gritty. She lay with her eyes closed. Yet almost by instinct she reached out for her staff, her precious
staff of black poisonwood. She touched it, felt the power in it surge beneath her hand.
Gaborn answered, "I hurried the best I could. But the horse was on its last legs, so I turned it loose and
left the driver to care for it."
"So, the Earth King pulls a wagon to save a horse?" Binnesman scolded gently, as if worried that
Gaborn might be pushing himself too hard. "Even those with great endowments have their limits--both
horse and man." Binnesman laughed. "You look like an old farmer, hauling a load of rutabagas to
market."
"It was only thirty more miles," Gaborn said. "And my cargo is far more valuable than rutabagas."
Averan found herself startled to greater wakefulness. She had been sleeping so soundly that she hadn't
been aware that she slept in a wagon, much less that the Earth King himself pulled that wagon by hand.
Binnesman offered, "Here, let's hitch up my mount."
The wagon came to a complete halt as the wizard got off his horse and unsaddled it.
Averan sneaked a peek upward. Overhead, stars arced through the heavens as if intent upon washing
the earth in light. The sun would not crest the horizon for perhaps an hour, yet light spilled like molten
gold over the snowy peaks of the Alcair Mountains. To Averan it seemed that the light was sourceless, as
if it suffused from another, finer world.
The heavenly display fooled even the animals. Morning birdsong swelled over the land: the throaty coo
of the wood dove, the song of the lark, the jealous squawk of a magpie.
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Lair of Bones The
Close by, knobby hills crowded the road and the dry wheat growing along their sides reflected the
starlight. Leafless oaks on the slopes stood black and stark, like thorny crowns. A burrow owl screeched
in the distance. Faintly, Averan could smell water from a small stream, though she could not hear it
burble.
She watched the steady rain of stars. The bits of light came arcing down in different directions, creating
fiery paths against the sky.
"So, Averan is well?" Binnesman asked softly.
"It was hard for her," Gaborn answered. "She stood before the Waymaker all day, holding her staff
overhead, peering into the monster's mind. Sweat poured from her as if she were toiling at a forge. I was
afraid for her."
"And has she learned the way to, to this...Lair of Bones?"
"Aye," Gaborn said. "But I fear that the lair is far in the Underworld, and Averan cannot describe the
path. She will have to lead us--that is, if you will come with me."
"If?" Binnesman asked. "Of course I'll come."
"Good," Gaborn said. "I'll need your counsel. I don't want to put too much burden on a girl so young."
Averan closed her eyes, feigning sleep, and took guilty pleasure in listening to them talk about her. She
was but a child, yet in all the world she was the only person who had ever learned to converse with
reavers, mankind's most feared enemy.
Gaborn had recognized that she went through an ordeal to see into the mind of the Waymaker, but even
he could not guess how painful it had been. Her head ached as if a steel band bound it, and she felt as if
her skull might split on its own accord. Hundreds of thousands, perhaps millions, of scents crammed her
mind--scents that gave her the names of places and passages in the Underworld, scents that in some cases
had been handed down from reaver to reaver over generations. In her mind's eye, Averan could envision
the reaver tunnels in the Underworld, like vast arteries connecting the warrens. There were tens of
thousands of tunnels, leading to mines and quarries, to ranches and hunting grounds, to egg chambers and
graveyards, to deadly perils and ancient wonders. Given a lifetime, Averan could not have mapped the
Underworld for Gaborn.
Even now, she feared that she could not retain so much lore. The brain of a human is a tenth the size of
that of a reaver. Her mind couldn't hold so much knowledge. She only hoped that she could recall the way
to the Lair of Bones.
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