They moved on, and still the stone carvings regarded them, lips pulled back from bared teeth, and the sea of sound licked along the humped length of the crooked street, increasing in volume.

  There was no space between buildings here, although they obviously were separated by walls on the inside, for they passed numerous doors now with individual, excessively carved fronts that seemed somehow unsteady, as if about to give way and expose the bare skeletons of the struc­tures. As they advanced, an increasing number of windows opened on to the street. There appeared to be no order in their placement. They crowded one another in profusion, some just centimetres apart, others overlapping in chaotic riot.

  Often, at the periphery of their vision, the pair thought they could detect movement behind the windows, furtive and unnatural, but each time their eyes darted to the spot, it was gone. G'fand particularly seemed disturbed by this.

  The muttering continued unabated from all about them, which, unaccountably, increased the sensation they had of being watched. It occurred to Ronin then that there was a cadence to the sounds and, beyond a rhythm, melody.

  They rushed on, almost at a trot, the jangle of metal against metal all but drowned in the pulsing sound. Chanting, Ronin thought. He told G'fand, who listened through his mounting unease, and nodded. But, he said, it was nothing he had ever read about. The words, long meaningless sylla­bles, nevertheless chilled them. And as if one were the cause of the other, the shadows deepened and a cold wind blew along the street.

  The chanting was louder now, swelling like an engulfing tide, and Ronin increased their pace until they were running headlong down the lane. The Bladesman in him abhorred this flight; his training was for Combat and his immediate reaction was to turn and find the source of the chanting, which seemed somehow to be affecting their senses.

  They were running slowly, too slowly, the dark windows crawling by, the air so gluey and sticking to them that they had to cleave a path through it. And all the while the sound advanced on them from behind, rolling over them heavily.

  But through the murk Ronin realized that Combat now was time-consuming and useless. At the back of his brain a tiny voice screamed and screamed: Get out! The trouble was that it was getting softer, and he had to strain to hear it, to remember what it was screaming.

  Once or twice G'fand paused, panting, moving and - his head lifted - yes, sweet silence descended on to his aching ears.

  Old shops lined either side of the avenue, their doorways open, small-paned windows dusty and dim. Above, their signs, of scarred wood and beaten brass, creaked in the warm breeze. Higher still, where one might expect windows to be, were solid walls of fired brick and mortar, broken at regular intervals by deftly carved stonework.

  'They are not decorative.'

  'What?'

  The Scholar pointed. 'The carvings on these buildings. Those are glyphs, very old, but still - '

  'Messages?'

  'Their history, perhaps. If I only had time - '

  The avenue described a turning to the left and they followed this at a fast pace and abruptly found themselves at the edge of a vast plaza. The warm light shone unhindered here and G'fand scanned the vault above them in an attempt to discover the source. Near them now were only low buildings, but in the distance tall structures rose, their out­lines blurred in the haze.

  As they walked out into the plaza they noted that it was floored with alternating segments of deep brown and light tan stone, the former laced with chips of a mineral that caught the light and threw it back at them in dazzling pinpoints. The stones were precisely cut in shapes roughly like a triangle with its top point cut off so that it formed a four-sided figure, wider at one end. They were larger along the perimeter of the plaza and grew

  gradually smaller as the pair progressed towards the centre.

  They came upon several low wide benches of a textured sandy stone, polished along the seat, grouped in a semicircle around a low oval struc­ture. They sat gratefully down and rested for a time in the heavy molten light.

  Ronin took a long pull from the waterpipe and ate some food without really tasting it. G'fand went to inspect the oval in front of them. It was perhaps a metre in height, lidless and hollow. G'fand stooped, found a small piece of rubble, dropped it down. After a long time there came a faint splash.

  Ronin got up and joined him.

  'A well,' said G'fand. 'But judging by the water level, it has not been of much use lately.'

  The walls of the well, constructed from the same sandy stone as the benches, were covered by the same style of carving as they had seen on the avenue. G'fand sat on his haunches to get a better look.

  'Can you make anything of it?'

  G'fand frowned in concentration. 'Uhm, well, it is quite a sophisticated language - more than our own.' He pointed with a forefinger. 'You see here, judging by the relatively infrequent repetitions, the glyph range must be enormous.' He shook his head sadly. 'Give me, oh, twelve or fourteen Sign and the right texts - although I suppose I could make do without - given more time, and I might be able to read this. Now - ' But he was still excited and would not leave the side of the well

  until Ronin, deciding that it was time to move on, spoke to him.

  He looked up then, reluctantly, and seemed about to say something, when a movement caught his eye and he motioned to Ronin.

  Off in the distance, three or four animal-like shapes moved among another grouping of benches. At first Ronin thought that they would move in another direction, but then the breeze freshened and he knew that they were downwind, and if the animals had not noticed them by now, they soon would.

  The animals came out from under the benches, started hesitantly towards them. There were five of them, four-legged, long muzzles, dingy yellow fur, matted and dirty. They crept closer, and now he could make them out clearly: long forelimbs, hind legs short and thick with bunched muscles, so that they appeared to be crouching as they moved. Squat necks merged into wide powerful-looking shoulders. Their snouts were all mouth.

  As they approached from the far side of the well, they spread in a rough semicircle. G'fand stood. He could see their eyes now, hot lemon circles with tiny black pupils.

  Ronin slipped his sword from its scabbard. 'Take the right side.'

  At the same instant, they stepped from behind the cover of the well.

  Black lips drew back from blood-red gums to reveal long curving fangs, blackened, wet with saliva, set in triple rows. The animal nearest Ronin yawned nervously, its jaws hinging open to an scraping the air, great jaws snapping, eyes rolling. Jerking his left hand, raking the dagger through the thing's insides, knowing his right arm was useless as long as the animal was on him, and still it writhed desperately against him. Then some­thing smashed into his side and all the breath went out of him. Flesh came off in strips and he crashed to the stone tiles of the plaza.

  On the right of the well, G'fand faced two animals. Nervousness and exhilaration combined within him. Both hands on his sword hilt, he feinted to his right, swung to the left, catching a beast in mid-spring, opening its chest and deflect­ing somewhat its body. At the same time, he did his best to keep out of the second animal's way.

  Ronin had reflexively let go of the dagger. Still he sprawled in the black blood and slime of the dying animal. Pain raced along his side and dimly he wondered how the blow had got through the mail corselet. He turned on to his back and saw the beast - the third one - poised to smite him again with its powerful forepaw. He struggled to get up as the animal crouched low, recognized that there was no time, and channelled all his energy into a mighty two-handed cut. He did not have the leverage that he would have had on his feet, but it was timing and swinging sword and arms as one, using the pivot of his wide shoulders as the power base. The beast leapt at him, so close that he felt the warm puff of fetid breath as the enor­mous jaws swung wide, heard the thin whine of the talons ripping the air before his head. He swung from right to left, the blade whistling for an instant before it struck the hide, bit into flesh, and Ronin leaned his torso to the right, using the added leverage as the blade cracked the beast's spine and the carcass danced lazily, black blood pumping in spurts, fluttering in the air like funereal lace. The animal toppled in a twisted heap to the paving.

  G'fand could not concentrate on both so he ignored the wounded one, attacking the second beast. He knew it was a mistake when he felt the weight of the first one crash on to his back. He staggered, went to his knees, his vision a blur. Then, miraculously, the thing was off him and he felt lighter than air, springing up and slicing into the neck of the advancing second animal with his bloody blade, oblivious to the impact of its fore-paw against his shoulder, swinging again and again even after the creature ceased to twitch.

  After a time he was dimly aware of a hand on his shoulder, and he turned, staggering slightly to see Ronin standing over the animal he had wounded and forgotten about, the one that had almost killed him. He saw then that Ronin was grinning and he knew that even through his tired­ness, his spent exhilaration, he was returning it.

  They wiped their wet weapons on the matted pelts and, leaving the corpses where they had fallen, went across the vast plaza, reluctant in the end to leave it, to plunge back into the midst of narrow streets, dark and confined: the recesses of this enigmatic city.

  They worked their way down a crooked alley-way, turned right, then right again. They were in a section of the city containing low rambling houses with some space between them. As a result, this area was divided fairly evenly into square blocks. It was lighter here, though not as light as in the plaza, and for once the streets appeared to run quite straight.

  They saw small animals, some looking much like the rodents of the Freehold, others bearing no resemblance to any creature they had encountered before. But all seemed small and likely presented little threat to them.

  Occasionally they spotted large slitted eyes peer­ing out at them from a dark doorway or a back alley, but there seemed to be no aggressiveness in the stares, only fright. G'fand commented on this, his spirits high, but Ronin was unaccountably worried by what lurked in those eyes. He tried to shake off the feeling, reasoning that they were now quite near the house of glazed brick. Yet it contin­ued to grow.

  Ahead lay the last few turnings. It was deathly still. The small skitterings and occasional chatter of the animals had ceased. In the abrupt absence of sound, he fancied he heard the chanting from the Dark Section. But there was nothing on the air.

  They moved around a corner and, at last, caught sight of the house of glazed brick, its canted copper roof glowing in the late light. For a long moment they drank in the sight. G'fand gave a short cheer and Ronin smiled. Then they went down the street, Ronin leading the way.

  Ronin, intent on his goal, had just passed a doorway, oversized and gaping blankly, when he simultaneously smelled a sickly wet stench and felt a wave of coldness at the back of his neck.

  He drew his blade, spun, its tip catching the light, saw G'fand slammed against the doorframe as he was whipped into the interior of the building. A muffled scream brought him up short as he hurtled through the doorway.

  G'fand had not even had time to withdraw his sword. His arms were pinioned at his side. A huge shape gripped him, its dimensions ill defined. Ronin rushed the shape. He had a flashing glimpse of hooded orange eyes, a protrusion, black and strange underneath, and then his sword swung into the thing.

  He grimaced as needles of fire raced up his arms like vibrations. His fingers went numb and only by pulling with his free hand on the hilt was he able to disengage the blade. Immediately, the pain subsided.

  He panted, wiping the sweat from his eyes, peered into the gloom. The hulk took on some form. It was at least three metres high, with muscled truncated legs terminating in some form of clawed paw or hoof. The light was too dim for Ronin to be sure. A thick and sinuous tail whipped from the rear of the body. The thing's outline kept changing, pulsing like a heartbeat. Then its head swivelled and he saw its face. His breath was a sharp hiss through clenched teeth. His skin crawled.

  It had long slitted eyes with narrow inhuman vertical pupils that pulsed with the creature's outline. Two irregular gashes in the flesh served as nostrils. Underneath yawned a mottled hideous beak, wickedly curved and honed, a stunted rigid tongue throbbing grotesquely.

  G'fand still struggled feebly in its terrible embrace. Ronin lunged, slashing with the sword. It sank into the scaly flesh and again he gasped as the agony raced through him. He pulled free, swung again and again. And sound came from that frightful maw, a swift ululation, and he knew that it had not been harmed by his attack. G'fand was limp now within the thing's grasp, and cold sweat broke out on Ronin's face as, heedless of the paralysis weakening his arms, he attacked once again.

  Alien orange eyes blasting out of the darkness, and the air became thick with the fetid stench of the thing, clotting in Ronin's throat so that his stomach heaved and his lungs laboured as he put all his strength into the arcing blade that clove the air again and again, ceaselessly, and he was a machine now, a machine of death and destruction, the adrenalin pumping through his veins holding against the pain. He ground his teeth, his muscles jumped as he pushed them to their limits. And still the creature stood before him, the shell of its beak working.

  His vision began to blur and he was dimly aware that his reflexes had become slowed. Something thick and heavy was moving towards him; he felt the hot wind of its approach, but the connections refused to work and he could not move away, and it whipped into him, rough and scaly, along the side of his head, and his body was thrown vio­lently forward. He fought desperately for balance, lost, reeled into a wall. Just before unconsciousness came, he thought the creature looked towards the recesses of the interior, then he dropped down an endless stairwell into pitch-blackness.

  How beautiful it looked, so far above him. Freed by the distance, floating warm and safe. Watching the pale amber light striking obliquely so far away, his detachment was complete. The stippled pat­terns wavered in the uncertain light. How nice to be lying here at the bottom of the well, watching the world through the distant oval window, dreamily, drifting. He thought idly of rising up and climbing towards the smoky brightness, but he felt too tired. Alone, adrift.

  And then he blinked and it broke apart like a bubble rising through water to the surface. He stared blankly at the circle of amber light thrown against the ceiling. He blinked again and full awareness swept over him.

  He tried to sit up. Too fast. Made it halfway before his head pulsed with pain. He edged himself along the floor until he put his back against a wall. He sat like that with his head in his hands, relaxing his muscles through force of will, allowing the ache to flow out of them.

  He looked for G'fand, found him stretched out on the floor two metres away, deathly pale. Drag­ging the body slowly over and it felt like two kilometres. Feeling faint breath still within the chest, unstrapping the waterpipe, feeding him

  water so that he choked a little and the lungs began working more fully. Only then did Ronin gulp thirstily at the pipe. He felt immediately refreshed and went to retrieve his sword.

  When he returned, G'fand was sitting up. He rubbed his palms across his face. 'Frost, I feel like I've been crushed,' he whispered. 'Is that thing gone?'

  Ronin helped him to his feet. 'Yes. Are you dizzy?'

  G'fand waved away his support. 'No. No.' He walked slightly stiff-legged to the doorway, leaned against it. 'The end of our journey. After all this, I trust that the scroll we seek lies within.'

  The house of green-glazed brick beckoned in lazy quietude. It stood at the end of the street, a cul-de-sac, and it was unusual enough in this city of unusual architecture to command the entire area. For one thing, it appeared to be many-sided. For another, the sides sloped inward as they rose, so that the second storey was smaller than the first. The glossy bricks were of singular construction: they showed no age; the house looked as if it might have been built last Cycle for all the wear visible.

  There were no windows on the sides that faced them. A giant wooden door banded in thick iron strips dominated the front side of the house. Broad steps of black stone with pink and gold veins' running through it, polished to a high sheen, led up to the door, which, they saw now that they were close to it, was in fact a slab of red copper.

  Perhaps a trick of the oblique light had caused it to take on the appearance of wood.

  A ring of black iron, twisting in an endless circle, formed the handle of the door. Ronin grasped it firmly and, putting his shoulder against the copper slab, pushed inward.

  There came a soft dry click, as distinct and close as the sound of an insect in a field of high grass on a quiet summer's day, and the door opened.

  The odour of spices greeted them, pungent and ingrained in the air as if someone had lit a fragrant fire of aromatic leaves and green twigs and kept it burning for many Sign.

  They were in a long high hallway, the ceiling an arch above them, the floor a narrow path of dark polished wood planks laid straight down the centre. Open spaces, deep and dark, between the floor and the walls on either side, gave them the feeling of being suspended in space.

  The hallway terminated in three doors of a peculiar polished wood with deep-red grain, banded in beaten brass. Glyphs were carved into each door. Ronin turned to G'fand. 'Can you make anything of these?'

  G'fand studied each door. 'I lack the knowledge to be sure. But - ' He peered again at the glyphs. 'Try the third one.'

  Turning the burnished brass handle, Ronin found that it opened easily enough.

  The first level consisted of six rooms. Thin, exquisitely woven rugs covered the floors, small dark wooden cabinets stood against the walls, which were hung with tapestries of singular manufacture depicting the hunting of strange and gro­tesque creatures, the paying of tribute to ornately costumed men and women who appeared to be some kind of Saardin. Upon the carpets were numerous low tables of glass and brass within which resided myriad small treasures of cut jewels, ivory, and faience. There was no sign of age, not even a trace of dust.

 

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