The Black Road d-2 Page 9

  "But you said if a demon was involved," Raithen said, "it was all truth once."

  "I said it was based on something that was supposed to be the truth," Lhex replied. "But so many stories have been told since the Vizjerei started supposedly summoning demons from other worlds. Some of the stories are based on incidents that might have or might not have involved demons, but many are total fabrications. Or a story has been fractured, retold, and made more current. Old wives' tales. Harsus, the toad-faced demon of Kurast-if he even existed-has become four different demons in the local histories. The man who taught me history told me there are sages at work now trying to piece together different stories, examining them for common links that bind them and make only one demon exist where two had stood before."

  "Why would they bother with something like that?"

  "Because there were supposed to be other demons loose in the world according to all those simpleminded myths," Lhex said. "My teacher believed that men spent so much time trying to name the demons in mythology the better to hunt them down instead of waiting for them to act. To pursue their quarry, the demon hunters need to know howmany demons were in our world and where to find them. Sages research those things." The boy snorted. "Personally, I think demons were all named so that a wise and wizened sage could recommend employing demon hunters. Of course, that sage would get a cut of the gold paid to rid a place or a city or a kingdom of a demon. It was a racket. A well-thought-out scary story to tell superstitious people and separate them from their gold."

  "Kabraxis," Raithen reminded, growing impatient.

  "In the beginning years," Lhex said, "when the Vizjerei first began experimenting with demon summoning, Kabraxis was supposed to be one of those demons summoned over and over again."

  "Why?"

  "Because Kabraxis operated the mystical bridges that stretched from the demon worlds to our world more easily than many did."

  "The Black Road is a bridge to the Burning Hells?" Raithen asked.

  "Possibly. I told you this was all a story. Nothing more." Lhex tapped the drawing of the elliptical lines threaded through by the solitary one. "This drawing represents the power Kabraxis had to walk between the Burning Hells and this world."

  "If the Black Road isn't the bridge between this world and the Burning Hells," Raithen asked, "what else could it be?"

  "Some have said it was the path to enlightenment." Lhex rubbed his face as if bored, then smothered a yawn.

  "What enlightenment?" Raithen asked.

  "Power," Lhex said. "Is there anything else that the legends would offer?"

  "What kind of power?"

  Lhex frowned at him, faking a yawn and leaning back comfortably against the wall behind them. "I'm tired, and I grow weary of telling you bedtime stories."

  "If you want," Raithen suggested, "I can have Bull come back and tuck you in."

  "Maybe I'll get his other ear," Lhex suggested.

  "You're an evil child," Raithen said. "I can imagine why your father shipped you away to school."

  "I'm willful," Lhex corrected. "There is a difference."

  "Not enough of one," Raithen warned. "I've got gold enough that I can do without your ransom, boy. Making the king pay is only retribution for past indignities I've suffered at his hands."

  "You know the king?" Lhex's eyebrows darted up.

  "What power can Kabraxis offer?" the pirate captain demanded.

  The river current shifted Barracuda again. She floated high, then slithered sideways a moment before settling in. The rigging slapped against the masts and yardarms above.

  "They say Kabraxis offers immortality and influence," Lhex replied. "Plus, for those brave enough, and I can't imagine there being many, there is access to the Burning Hells."

  "Influence over what?"

  "People," Lhex said. "When Kabraxis last walked this world-according to the myths I've read in the philosophy studies I did-he chose a prophet to represent him. A man named Kreghn, who was a sage of philosophy, wrote about the teachings of Kabraxis. And I tell you, that was a very ponderous tome. It bored my arse off."

  "The demon's teachings? And it wasn't a banned book?"

  "Of course it was," Lhex answered. "But when Kabraxis first walked this world then, no one knew he was a demon. That's the story we've all been told, of course, and there's no proof of it. But Kabraxis was better thought of than some of the demons of legend."

  "Why?"

  "Because Kabraxis wasn't as bloodthirsty as some of the other demons. He bided his time, getting more and more followers to embrace the tenets he handed down through Kreghn. He taught his followers about the Three Selves. Have you heard of that concept?"

  Raithen shook his head. His mind buzzed steadily, gainingspeed as he tried to figure out what Buyard Cholik was doing seeking out remnants of such a creature.

  "The Three Selves," Lhex said, "consist of the Outer Self, the way a person portrays himself or herself to others; the Inner Self, the way a person portrays himself or herself to himself or herself; and the Shadow Self. The Shadow Self is the true nature of a man or woman, the part of himself or herself that he or she most fears-the dark part every person struggles hardest to hide. Kukulach teaches us that most people are too afraid of themselves to face that truth."

  "And people believed that?"

  "The existence of the Three Selves is known," Lhex said. "Even after Kabraxis was supposedly banished from this world, other sages and scholars carried on the work Kreghn began."

  "What work?"

  "The study of the Three Selves." Lhex grimaced as if displeased at Raithen's listening skills. "The legend of Kabraxis first developed the theory, but other scholars-such as Kukulach-have made our understanding of it whole. It just sounds better couched in terms that led the superstitious to believe this was one of the bits of wisdom we needed to save from the demons. Fairy tales and mechanisms to define social order, that's all they were."

  "Even so," Raithen said, "there's no power in that."

  "The followers of Kabraxis reveled in the exposure of their Shadow Selves," the boy said. "Four times a year, during the solstices and the equinoxes, Kabraxis's worshippers came together and partied, reveling in the darkness that dwelt within them. Every sin known to man was allowed in Kabraxis's name during the three days of celebration."

  "And afterward?" Raithen asked.

  "They were forgiven their sins and washed again in the symbolic blood of Kabraxis."

  "That belief sounds stupid."

  "I told you that. That's why it's a myth."

  "How did Kabraxis get here?" Raithen asked.

  "During the Mage Clan Wars. There was some rumor that one of Kreghn's disciples had managed to open a portal to Kabraxis again, but that was never confirmed."

  Has Cholik confirmed it? Raithen wondered. And did that trail lead here, to the massive door that is located beneath the ruins of Tauruk's Port?

  "How was Kabraxis banished from this world?" Raithen asked.

  "According to legend, by Vizjerei warriors and wizards of the Spirit Clan," Lhex replied, "and by those who stood with them. They eradicated the temples to Kabraxis in Vizjun and other places. Only wreckage of buildings and broken altars remain where the demon's temples once stood."

  Raithen considered that. "If a man could contact Kabraxis-"

  "And offer the demon a path back into this world?" Lhex asked.

  "Aye. What could such a man expect?"

  "Wouldn't the promise of immortality be enough? I mean, if you believed in such nonsense."

  Raithen thought of Buyard Cholik's body bent with old age and approaching infirmity. "Aye, maybe it would at that."

  "Where did you find that?" Lhex asked.

  Before Raithen could respond, the door opened, and Bull stepped inside.

  "Cap'n Raithen," the big pirate said, holding a lantern high. Concern stretched his features tight. "We're under attack."

  Only a few steps short of the pirate about to scream out, Darrick leapt into
the air. The other two pirates who had been playing dice reached for their weapons as Darrick's feet slammed into the pirate's head.

  Caught by surprise and by all of Darrick's weight, almost too drunk to stand, the pirate flew over the steep side of the riverbank. He didn't even scream. The hardthump told Darrick that the pirate had struck the wooden deck of the ship below instead of the river.

  "What the hell was that?" a pirate called out from below.

  Darrick landed on the bare stone ground, bruising his hip. He clutched his cutlass and swiped at the nearest pirate's legs, slashing both thighs. Blood stained the man's light-colored breeches.

  "Help!" the stricken pirate yelled. "Ahoy the ship! Damn it, but he's cut me deep!" He stumbled backward, trying to pull his sword free of its sash but forgetting to release the ale bottle he already held.

  Pushing himself up and drawing the cutlass back again, Darrick drove the pirate backward, close to the riverbank's edge. He whipped the cutlass around and chopped into the pirate's neck, cleaving his throat in a bloody spray. The cutlass blade lodged against the man's spine. Lifting his foot, Darrick shoved the dying man over the riverbank. He turned, listening to the splash as the pirate hit the water only a moment later, and saw Mat engaging the final pirate on guard at the supply station.

  Mat's cutlass sparked as he pressed his opponent's guard. He penetrated the pirate's guard easily, hesitating about drawing blood.

  Cursing beneath his breath, knowing that they had precious little time to rescue the boy and that they didn't know for sure if he was aboard the ship waiting below, Darrick stepped forward and brought his cutlass down in a hand-and-a-half stroke that split the man's skull. Acutlass wasn't a fancy weapon; it was meant to hack and cleave because shipboard battles on vessels riding the waves tended to be messy things guided mostly by desperation and strength and luck.

  Blood from the dead man splashed over Mat and onto Darrick.

  Mat looked appalled as the pirate dropped. Darrick knew his friend didn't approve of the blow dealt from behind or while the pirate had already been engaging one opponent. Mat believed in fighting fairly whenever possible.

  "Get the barrels," Darrick urged, yanking his sword from the dead man's head.

  "He didn't even see you comin'," Mat protested, looking down at the dead man.

  "The barrels," Darrick repeated.

  "He was too drunk to fight," Mat said. "He couldn't have defended himself."

  "We're not here to fight," Darrick said, grabbing Mat's bloody shirtfront. "We're here to save a twelve-year-old boy. Now, move!" He shoved Mat at the oil barrels. "There's plenty of fair fights left down there if you're wanting for them."

  Mat stumbled toward the oil barrels.

  Thrusting his cutlass into his waist sash, Darrick listened to the hue and cry taken up from the ships below. He glanced at the top of the stone steps carved into the side of the overhang.

  Maldrin had taken up a position at the top of the steps. The first mate held a war hammer with a metal-shod haft in both hands. The hammer took both hands to wield, but the squared head promised crushed skulls, broken bones, or shattered weapons.

  " 'Ware arrows, Maldrin," Darrick called.

  A sour grin twisted the first mate's mouth. " 'Ware yer own arse there, skipper. Ain't me gonna be goin' after that there boy."

  Darrick kicked a barrel over onto its side. The thick liquid inside glugged. Working with haste, he got behind the barrel and used his hands to roll it toward the riverbank's edge. The downward slope favored the rolling barrel.

  After he got it started, he knew he couldn't have easily stopped the barrel's momentum. Giving the barrel a final shove, he watched it roll over the edge and disappear. He stopped at the edge, teetering for a moment, and gazed down, spotting the falling barrel just as it smashed against the ship's deck below. Wisps of fog slid over the deck, but silvery patches showed through where the whale oil reflected the lantern lights of the pirate guards on watch.

  Another smash caught Darrick's attention. Glancing to the side, he saw that Mat had succeeded in landing an oil barrel on the other cog. Pirates ran out onto the deck and lost their footing, skidding across the wooden surface.

  "Oil!" a pirate cried out. "They've done an' rolled a barrel of oil onto us!"

  Hustling back to the stacked barrels, Darrick kicked over two more containers and started them rolling for the riverbank. The thunderous clatter of the wooden barrels slamming against the stone surface echoed around him. He took up one of the lanterns the men on guard had carried.

  Mat joined him, grabbing another lantern. "Them men down there, Darrick, they ain't going to have many places to run once we up and do this."

  "No," Darrick agreed, looking into his friend's troubled face, "and we aren't going to have much running room, either, once we have the boy. I don't want to have to look over my shoulder for those ships, Mat."

  Nodding grimly, Mat turned and sprinted for the riverbank.

  Darrick paused only long enough to see the rest of the crew from Lonesome Star racing from the mountainside. "Help's coming, Maldrin," he shouted as he ran for the river.

  "I got what I got here," Maldrin growled.

  At the edge of the river, Darrick marked his spot, judged the rise and fall of the cog on the river current, and threw the lantern. Protected by the glass, the flame remained alive and burning brightly in the lantern. It flew, twisting end over end till it smashed against the ship's deck in the center of the spreading oil pool.

  For a moment, the wick sputtered and almost drowned in the oil. Then the flames rose up across the oil like an arthritic old hound rising for one last hunt. Blue and yellow flames twisted into a roiling mass as they fed on the wind as well as the oil.

  "Fire!" a pirate yelled.

  A flurry of action filled the ship's deck as the piratesgathered from belowdecks. Only a skeleton crew remained aboard.

  "Save those ships!" another pirate roared. "Cap'n Raithen will kill ye if'n these ships go down!"

  Darrick hoped all the ships burned down to the waterline. If they did, he knew there was a chance Captain Tollifer would be able to sail Lonesome Star to Westmarch and return with more ships and warriors in time to catch Raithen and his crew crossing overland to wherever the pirate captain had left his main flotilla.

  Glancing to the ship Mat had dropped the barrel on, Darrick saw that it had caught fire as well. Evidently Mat's barrel had caught the wheelhouse, too, giving the flames the reach they needed to get into the sails. Fire blazed along the main mast, threading up through the rigging in a rush.

  "Mat," Darrick called.

  Mat looked at him.

  "Are you ready?" Darrick asked.

  Looking only a little unsure of himself, Mat nodded. "As I ever was."

  "Going to be me and you down there," Darrick said. "I need you to stand with me." He hurried toward the middle of the riverbank, aiming himself at the middle ship, stretching out his stride.

  "I'll be there for you," Mat answered.

  Without pausing, Darrick took a final step at the edge of the riverbank overhang, hurling himself toward the cog's railing, hoping he could make the distance. If he fell to the ship's deck, he was certain to break something. Escape would be out of the question.

  Even as Darrick's hands reached for the rigging, fingers outspread to hook into the ropes, the riverbank overhang shattered, shrugging off a section of heavy rock that dropped toward the burning ships and the whole one.

  "Under attack from whom?" Raithen demanded, turning toward the door. Automatically, he started walkingtoward the door. His head was so filled with the sheer impossibility of the attack that he didn't recognize the rustle of clothing for what it was until it was too late. He turned, knowing Lhex had chosen that moment to make his move.

  "Don't know," Bull said. "They done went an' set fire to the cogs on either side of us."

  Fire? Raithen thought, and there wasn't a more fearsome announcement that could be made aboard a ship. Eve
n if a vessel were holed, a crew might be able to pump the hold dry and keep her afloat till they reached port, but an unchecked fire quickly took away the island of wood and canvas a sailing man depended on.

  As close to Bull as he was and with the announcement so new, Raithen's and the big man's attention was on each other, not the boy. Lhex was up behind Raithen in a twinkling. As the pirate captain turned to grab the boy, the young captive bent low, stepped in hard against Raithen to knock him against Bull, and was through the door before anyone could stop him.

  "Damn it," Raithen swore, watching the boy speed through the darkness in the hold and run for the stairs leading up to the deck. "Get him, Bull. But I'll want him alive when you bring him back."

  "Aye, cap'n." Bull took off at once, closing the distance swiftly with his long stride.

  Raithen followed the pirate, his left hand tight on his sword hilt. Already he could see the bright light of a large fire through the cargo hold above them. Gray tendrils of smoke mixed with the fog clinging to the river.

  He'd been right. Someone had trailed them for a time through the Gulf of Westmarch. But was it other pirates, or was it the king's navy? Were there only a few men out there, or was there a small armada choking down the river?

  The ladder to the main deck quivered and shook in Raithen's hands as Bull climbed it. He was at the bigger man's heels and had just reached the top when the riverbank'soverhang cracked and sheared off thirty feet above them. He gazed upward in disbelief as sections of the overhang plummeted down like catapult loads.

  A huge granite block dropped onto Barracuda's prow. The impact cracked timbers and tore sections of railing free. Barracuda rocked as if she'd been seized in a fierce gale.

  A lantern tumbled loose from the hand of a pirate who had been knocked from his feet. Skidding across the wooden deck, the lantern swapped ends several times before disappearing over the ship's side.

  Gaining the deck, keeping his knees bent to ride out the violent tossing of Barracuda fighting her mooring ropes, Raithen looked at the other two ships. Both cogs were fast on their way to becoming pyres. Flames already twisted through the rigging of the port ship, and the starboard ship wasn't far behind.