Immediately I dropped into a crouch, my left knee touched the ground, and I gave it less area to hit. With my right hand I raised my tsincaat and leveled it to skewer anything charging at me. Then, to test whether or not it could see in the dark, I slapped my left hand against the stone behind me.
It was blind. It charged the sound.
Once I'd gone boar hunting and I took the charge of an adult male on a boarspear. Its assault dwarfed the boar's attack. My blade slid home until only the crosspiece stopped the creature from running itself all the way up my arm. It battered me back against the wall, but before I could be trapped, I abandoned my tsincaat, twisted, and raked my spurs across its upper chest as I rolled free.
I rose into a crouch, but it was gone. And it had taken my tsincaat with it.
I nearly panicked. Stronger than anything I'd ever faced before, it escaped no matter what I did to it. It did not bleed, it did not react to my attacks, and it made no noise. For a half second I thought it might be a vampire, but they are rare and so utterly evil that I couldn't imagine the Master permitting one into the Darkmaze, nor risking a single Talion's soul to try to kill it without some sort of warning about the nature of his foe.
No, this was something very special, and very deadly.
I stayed low, scurried through the maze, and called to mind all I could remember from my novice days. I stopped at intersections and strained my ears for any sound of it. I toyed with the idea of calling my tsincaat but, mindful of what I'd done to Chi'gandir, I decided against it. Besides, as far as I could tell from the fight's progress, the blade was of little use against the creature.
Suddenly, from behind, steely fingers dug into the back of my neck. They drove into my flesh like nails through soft wood. I cried out in pain but the fingers choked the sounds off. It lifted me up and twisted in a valiant effort to wring my neck. If the sweat pouring out of me by the gallon had not spoiled its grip, it might have succeeded. Instead it merely strangled me.
I knew I'd black out if I couldn't break its hold. I grabbed its wrists to take the weight of my body off my neck. Then I kicked back with both feet and smashed my spurs into its thighs and groin. I heard no reaction from it, but I felt a tremor ripple through its arms so I kicked again and it lowered me to the ground, but still did not slacken its grip.
With my feet on the ground, I let go of its right wrist and drove my right elbow back into its rib cage three or four times. I heard and felt ribs pop and grind, yet my foe did not give up. It hung on like a leech. It started to force me down, to lessen the effectiveness of my blows, but it made no sound nor gave any indication that I'd hurt it in any way at all.
The years of training I'd undergone as a novice saved me. I dropped faster than it intended and reached back between my legs for its right leg. I got a handful of cold fleshy ankle and pulled it forward as I leaned back. I hoped to snap its knee by sitting back on it. The creature anticipated the move and turned sideways so it could bend in the direction of my attack, but its defensive action broke the death grip on my neck.
I rocked forward as it pulled free and slithered its leg back behind me. I dropped to all fours and kicked back with my right leg. I hit the creature dead center with my heel, and heard more ribs pop, but again had no sign I'd hurt it. Not content to stay that close to it, I used the kick to somersault me forward and into the intersection ahead of me.
I spun, rose to a crouch, and tried to catch my breath as I prepared to take its charge. It came as it had before, as I hoped it would, in a low tackle. I grabbed it by the shoulders, rolled back and planted my right foot in its stomach. When my back was flat on the gritty floor, I pushed off and sent the creature flying into the wall across the intersection.
It hit hard, and for a second I thought it was dead because I'd heard the hollow sound made when a head hits something more solid than it is. But, like a reoccurring nightmare, the scrabbling sounds of the creature getting up on its feet again followed the wet smack. It was slower this time, though, and made some noise, so I swept forward and just started kicking.
Bones snapped with each kick, yet it kept coming. It grabbed my right leg and pulled me down. On my knees I warded its hands off and hammered it with fists and elbows. I broke both its arms in three or four different places and shattered both of its thighs before I rose and stepped away from it. Even so I could hear its fingers clawing the ground in an effort to drag its broken body after me.
I shuddered and stumbled my way back toward the point where I had begun the test. I caught my breath then yelled at the door above me. "It is finished."
The door opened and a rope ladder dropped down. Wearily I climbed it and pulled myself out onto the floor of the Master's chamber. As an afterthought I summoned my tsincaat. It was clean of blood or flesh.
The Master looked at me. "Did you kill it?"
I nodded, exhausted and trembling as my body calmed down. "I broke every bone in its body. I did not wait to see if it died. It could fight no more."
The Master frowned. He looked at Lord Hansur. The Justice Lord nodded and entered the Darkmaze. No one spoke during his absence, but I had the distinct feeling I had failed. I'd been asked to kill the thing down there, and I'd destroyed it, but that was not the same as actually killing it.
There was only one way to be certain of killing anything. The tattoo on my right palm burned. I had failed.
Lord Hansur climbed up the ladder with the body thrown over his shoulder. Without a sound he laid it at the Master's feet. When the body sagged to the ground, and yellow torchlight played over the face, I recognized it instantly. Jevin had been sent out to bring this man, Rostoth ra Kas, back to Talianna alive!
I stared at the dead man and shuddered. I knew what I'd tangled with down in the darkness, and there was no way Rostoth could have put up that savage a battle. Rostoth ra Kas was just a man, and any one of the wounds I'd inflicted should have killed him instantly. He had a hole in his stomach where he'd impaled himself on my tsincaat, and I broke his neck when I hammered both hands down on it early on. Tsincaat cuts and spur slashes crisscrossed his body, and his head was misshapen from the collision with the wall toward the last.
I could make no sense of it. Everything I'd done, I'd done to a common bandit, but he survived it to keep coming. The evidence of his body utterly defied any logical explanation, and once I realized that, I knew the solution. I looked up and asked, "What enchantment? It had to have been magic, and magic cast here. Otherwise Jevin never could have dragged him back here without killing him first."
The Master looked up when I spoke, and nodded in agreement with my conclusion, but the other lords said nothing and paid me no attention at all. I suppose I should have been flattered, because they gathered around the body like Guild-masters studying a Journeyman's masterpiece. I appreciated the approving look on Lord Hansur's face, and accepted the anticipated sour grimace supplied by Lord Eric.
Lady Kalinda turned from the corpse first and walked over to me. She bowed her auburn-maned head, and I returned the gesture before she spoke. "I am impressed by your fighting ability. Any of these wounds would have stopped an ordinary man."
I narrowed my eyes and scratched at my beard. "Thank you, my lady." Those few words were high praise, and I knew a number of Warriors who would have killed for that sort of recognition. Kalinda personally taught me swordsmanship when I became a novice, and because of her able instruction I quickly caught up in skill with the other Justice novices my age.
The other lords and lady broke away from the body. The Master looked from it to me and then to each of them. "Is Nolan our agent?"
Lord Hansur made his reply first. He held his right palm up to indicate he was Sharul, then nodded his head in agreement.
The Master next looked at Fletcher ra Leth, Lord of the Archers. He was a bit shorter than me and wore his light brown hair cut very close to his head. Aside from the arrow ensign on his tunic, the bracer on his left forearm was the only indication of his branch. His blue
eyes studied me; then he nodded. "Yes, Nolan is suitable."
Isas ra Amasia, Lord of the Elites, stood silently and looked around the room. He blinked his eyes slowly and rotated his head as one of his hawks might have done. He looked from me to the body and back. He nodded.
Kalinda ra Thele was next. She smiled. She was a huge woman, powerfully built and fast in combat. She was an excellent tactician, which earned her leadership of the Warriors. "I believe Nolan is capable of destroying it. He is our agent."
Lady Cosima, leader of all the Wizards, raised a bony hand to her mouth and cleared her throat. She was tall and thin and her flesh was almost transparent, as if she did not wholly exist in this world. Her eyes were dark pits and I felt her look right through me. A silver clasp gathered her long white hair at her neck and yet did not detract from her handsomeness. She turned to the Master. "Suffice, he will."
Eric ra Imperiana, Lord of all Lancers, wore his salt-and-pepper hair in the mane style—head shaved except for a strip down the middle where the hair is grown long like a horse's mane. He stood shorter than me and had a stockier build, but he did not run to fat. Though I admired his ability at strategy and tactics, I did not really like him as a man. He was utterly intolerant of insubordination, which made sense when dealing with a strictly military unit, like a Lancer company. However, his view of order often bled over and resulted in many justice or Elite novices being punished for actions he did not like, even though the novices were not under his jurisdiction.
It was no secret: Lord Eric did not like me. He turned to the other lords and ladies. "You all seem to forget that Nolan did not kill the thing. Lord Hansur did. If we send Nolan are we going to send Lord Hansur to finish the job?"
I clenched my jaw and forced myself to breathe in and out slowly. Justices are the only Talions below the rank of lord who go through the Ritual of the Skull and have the ability to pull a soul from its host body. Most other Talions view this ability as a "magic death touch," and have little idea of the responsibility that comes with the death's-head tattoo. I felt angry that I was being criticized for not using the tattoo when my instructions were so vague.
I was proud that my first line of attack was not to pull the soul from a victim; a sword cut struck in anger can be healed, but a soul pulled in error cannot be replaced. In addition, using the tattoo takes time and concentration. The battle with Rostoth left me short of both, and even if I'd thought of using the Ritual on him, I doubt I would have there in the heart of the Star.
I saw the others turn and look beyond me, so I shot a glance back over my left shoulder. His Excellency, Lord of Services, filled the doorway. He was as tall as I, yet was twice my size. Black robes swathed him, and his black hair was combed back to accentuate his widow's peak. Despite his obesity no one questioned his brilliance and iron-willed dominion over everything that organized the Talions.
"My Lord Eric does have a point," he began. "Still the delicate problem we are faced with does call for the reexamination of facts that point yet again to Nolan. Only Nolan, with his grasp of the local dialect, can adequately disguise himself in this situation. Similarly he has area knowledge that will make his background seem real enough."
Lord Eric's nostrils flared. "We have others from that region. I have two men from that locale who could fill that role, and can be trusted." He glared at me. "Trusted to follow and execute orders; and who know when something is dead!"
His Excellency smiled. "Granted, but could they grow their hair out in three days? Can they actually kill the thing, or could they merely do to it what Nolan has done here?" Lord Eric started to reply, but His Excellency cut him off. "And have they the skills needed to pass for what we want them to be, or would our carefully constructed deception collapse when you were unable to give them direct orders?"
His Excellency crossed from the doors and stood amid his peers before the Master's dragonthrone. "No, Lord Eric, Nolan is the only obvious choice for this job. He has the skills and abilities. He had the background and knowledge. And he has motivation...."
Listening to the discussion made me very uncomfortable. I knew, had I not been there, the words they used would not have been any different, and everything said seemed to speak of at least one previous debate, but my presence made me a focus for Lord Eric's discomfort. He had to know I would say nothing of this argument when I left, but my just being there while His Excellency trapped and crushed him as he, Lord Eric, might trap and crush a group of rebels with a Lancer company, had to irritate him. And while I certainly enjoyed the praise His Excellency seemed to heap upon me, I knew well enough that he could turn on me and savage me in an instant if it suited his enigmatic purposes.
The conversation lapsed and silence drifted in to fill the space. Lord Eric calmed himself and bowed his head. "I yield to the wisdom of the Master and my assembled peers. The Hamisian Justice will be our agent."
The Master allowed himself a thin smile. "I thank you for your agreement. Those who wish to stay while we inform Nolan about his mission may do so, the rest of you are released." Only His Excellency seated himself in a huge chair—the only one suited to supporting his bulk in the whole room—and Lord Hansur departed for the Shar Chamber. The others headed for the door, having recognized the Master's invitation as courtesy only, but then Lord Eric stopped at a chair and sat. Only Lady Cosima seemed to notice, and she rewarded his action with a blazing glare, but she left the room nonetheless.
While they left I crossed the room, closed the trapdoor to the Darkmaze, and rolled the carpet back over it. The Master gave me leave to get a chair, so I did. I did not assume it would work, but in an effort to put Lord Eric at ease, I selected a chair that sat slightly lower than the one he chose.
Once I'd seated myself, the Master began. "Nolan, what you faced down in the Darkmaze was not Rostoth ra Kas. It was a nekkeht. A nekkeht is an undead creature. You are the first Talion of your year to know of nekkehts and, in fact, there are no Talions within five years of your age who are aware of their existence. This information is very secret and you will not share it with anyone."
The Master's last command burned into my brain. He used the Call. It is a technique taught all Justices and lords to allow us to focus our voices very specifically. At my level of skill I could use it to discipline Tadd or direct bystanders away from a criminal, but I could not compel behavior or force someone to act against his will.
The Master, however, is far more skilled than I ever hope to be. By using the Call on me the Master literally made it impossible for me, even under torture, to reveal anything I was about to learn. That impressed upon me the gravity of the situation and importance of the information. The Master also honored me by sharing this information that was not known by Talions even five years my senior.
The Master allowed my eyes to clear, then continued. "During Shar you release into the Skull the lives of those you have taken through the Ritual. Those lives are trapped in the Skull to, among other things, prevent hauntings and, as some believe, to delay rebirth. The souls are trapped for a time until the Skull wishes to release them or when we need them. "Early on we discovered that trapped souls lost their identity—literally forgot who they had been—but did not lose their vitality. We call these rhasa souls. Wizards studied the phenomenon for centuries to learn how and why this happened. The only answers they came up with were these: the length of time it takes for a soul to be cleansed is linked to the age of the person who lost it, and the life force of an animal and a sentient creature do not differ."
I understood what the Master was telling me only because I likened it in my mind to a shirt that gets bleached. Without stains, dyes, or designs, a shirt is a shirt. The number of washings needed to get a shirt clean might differ with the age or filthiness of the shirt, but in the end it would just be a shirt. That was simple to comprehend.
The difficult part was realizing this explanation concerned souls. I knew what it felt like to draw a soul from a body, but my impressions of each soul differ
ed. Still, stripped of the memories, I could imagine them being the same. Even so, the suggestion that Talions had studied and manipulated something most religions held sacred disturbed me.
My feeling of dread increased as the Master continued. "Our first attempts at using souls were directed at healing wounds and curing diseases. Progress was spotty and frustrating because of the utterly unpredictable results. Some patients did well for a short time, but then the energy evaporated and left them exhausted and worse off than they had been before. Worse yet were the cases where the soul used was not wholly free of personality and the patient would go mad as two minds competed for one body."
The Master paused to drink from a goblet on the small table at his right hand. I felt sweat slicken my back and roll down my temples. Growing up in Talianna I heard many rumors about deep, dark secrets that were supposed to be held in the strictest of confidence, but of this soul-play I'd heard nothing. I glanced over at His Excellency, but I could not read his face or even begin to guess what he was thinking. I felt as if I was being initiated into a conspiracy I wanted no part of at all.
The Master wiped his lips with a white cloth and spoke again. "Wizards experimented with dead animals to see what effects the introduction of a rhasa soul would have on dead tissue. They discovered the animals became strong, quick, and easily trained. Because the soul was not natural—not bonded to them at birth—the creatures died again within days, but during their new life they were very powerful indeed."
I gnawed my lower lip. I guessed at what was coming next, and it set my teeth on edge. I knew most of my revulsion with anything that sounded even close to necromancy came from childhood fears of jelkom and the horrible things they could do with dead bodies. Part of me realized those stories were just that, stories, and my childish fears embarrassed me. On the other hand I'd just fought something that was dead, and I couldn't kill it, which lent new, adult credence and validity to the things I'd learned to worry about as a child.