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Authors: Alan Burt Akers
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seven
In the cavern of beauty
The shimmering manifestation of the Wizard of Loh Deb-Lu-Quienyin beckoned us on toward a gargoyle-crowned opening, black and ominous, jagged in the wall of the cavern.
We’d traversed a considerable quantity of corridor since our meeting with the Kanzai Warrior Brother. The women complained — very naturally — yet it was as obvious to them as to us that we had to keep moving and find a way to escape from the Coup Blag.
Old Deb-Lu’s turban was straight upon his head and he did not need to lift a hand to prevent the absurd headgear from toppling. His face looked grave.
Faintly, no louder than a distant whisper of wind, the sound of rushing water filtered through that gap of dark and evil aspect.
“The women need to rest up again, Jak,” called Nath. He marched at the back, shepherding the females along much as a ponsho-trag shepherds along his flock of woolly ponshos. He carried two of them, more or less comfortably, and it was clear to Seg and me that he was forming an attachment.
Just how wise or foolish that was down here in this magical maze remained to be seen.
“I don’t like the look of old Deb-Lu,” said Seg, in a quiet voice.
“There’s trouble up ahead, that’s for sure.”
“Better to have everyone rest up first, then.”
“Aye.” I called back to Nath. “We’ll take a breather, then, you Impenitent.”
“Quidang!”
The women flopped down and stretched out on the bare stone of the floor, grateful for the rest. Nath deposited his two with care and then stalked up to join Seg and me.
The girl with the pale shapely body and dark frizzy hair who’d hurled the knife at the Kanzai also walked up. She made a grimace of distaste that revealed the cruel sharpened teeth.
“Well, men, if we must go forward let us get on, for the sake of Mayruna the Perforater!”
“You would leave your friends here?” demanded Seg.
“Not my friends, man, of whom there are few left. These other frail fools, yes, of course.”
Rashly Nath the Impenitent burst out: “Your Perforater is not to my liking, woman!”
She gave him a look, an upward, slanting, calculating look that seemed to strip away skin and flesh.
“That is very true, man. Mayruna the Perforater is not to your liking in this world or the other.”
With what I hoped was a nicely judged amount of acerbity, I said: “We cannot push on yet, young lady. When the women are rested, we will see what that water ahead brings us. Is that clear?”
She opened her mouth and I haven’t the faintest idea what she might have said. I cut in sharply.
“So it would be less foolish of you to go and rest now, like the others.”
She had retrieved that flung knife so contemptuously disposed of by the Kanzai adept. Her brown fingers twitched once in the direction of the knife’s hilt, and then she puffed her cheeks, turned away with the frizzy hair glinting with the crystal overhead lights. Dust and dirt matted the hair. She said nothing and went back to drop down and find what comfort she could from the hard stone floor.
“Keep an eye on that one, Nath,” said Seg in his serious way.
“Aye, Horkandur, aye. I don’t fancy her knife tickling between my ribs.”
“She has friends here,” I pointed out.
“If, Bogandur,” said Nath, “they are all like her it will be exceedingly interesting.”
Seg pursed up his lips. I could sense something had been worrying away at my blade comrade, and now, without showing the slightest impoliteness to Nath by not taking up his comment and introducing a fresh, he said: “We have been spared the visitation of monsters and unwholesome beasties lately. Yet I fancy the Witch will not let us go without taking a last crack at us. Yes?”
“Indubitably,” said Nath, who was fond of the word.
“Aye,” I said. “And with all these women along—”
“My point, precisely.” Seg’s fey blue eyes showed a bright merriment. “Our ferocious lady friends of the Rumay
In the cavern of beauty
The shimmering manifestation of the Wizard of Loh Deb-Lu-Quienyin beckoned us on toward a gargoyle-crowned opening, black and ominous, jagged in the wall of the cavern.
We’d traversed a considerable quantity of corridor since our meeting with the Kanzai Warrior Brother. The women complained — very naturally — yet it was as obvious to them as to us that we had to keep moving and find a way to escape from the Coup Blag.
Old Deb-Lu’s turban was straight upon his head and he did not need to lift a hand to prevent the absurd headgear from toppling. His face looked grave.
Faintly, no louder than a distant whisper of wind, the sound of rushing water filtered through that gap of dark and evil aspect.
“The women need to rest up again, Jak,” called Nath. He marched at the back, shepherding the females along much as a ponsho-trag shepherds along his flock of woolly ponshos. He carried two of them, more or less comfortably, and it was clear to Seg and me that he was forming an attachment.
Just how wise or foolish that was down here in this magical maze remained to be seen.
“I don’t like the look of old Deb-Lu,” said Seg, in a quiet voice.
“There’s trouble up ahead, that’s for sure.”
“Better to have everyone rest up first, then.”
“Aye.” I called back to Nath. “We’ll take a breather, then, you Impenitent.”
“Quidang!”
The women flopped down and stretched out on the bare stone of the floor, grateful for the rest. Nath deposited his two with care and then stalked up to join Seg and me.
The girl with the pale shapely body and dark frizzy hair who’d hurled the knife at the Kanzai also walked up. She made a grimace of distaste that revealed the cruel sharpened teeth.
“Well, men, if we must go forward let us get on, for the sake of Mayruna the Perforater!”
“You would leave your friends here?” demanded Seg.
“Not my friends, man, of whom there are few left. These other frail fools, yes, of course.”
Rashly Nath the Impenitent burst out: “Your Perforater is not to my liking, woman!”
She gave him a look, an upward, slanting, calculating look that seemed to strip away skin and flesh.
“That is very true, man. Mayruna the Perforater is not to your liking in this world or the other.”
With what I hoped was a nicely judged amount of acerbity, I said: “We cannot push on yet, young lady. When the women are rested, we will see what that water ahead brings us. Is that clear?”
She opened her mouth and I haven’t the faintest idea what she might have said. I cut in sharply.
“So it would be less foolish of you to go and rest now, like the others.”
She had retrieved that flung knife so contemptuously disposed of by the Kanzai adept. Her brown fingers twitched once in the direction of the knife’s hilt, and then she puffed her cheeks, turned away with the frizzy hair glinting with the crystal overhead lights. Dust and dirt matted the hair. She said nothing and went back to drop down and find what comfort she could from the hard stone floor.
“Keep an eye on that one, Nath,” said Seg in his serious way.
“Aye, Horkandur, aye. I don’t fancy her knife tickling between my ribs.”
“She has friends here,” I pointed out.
“If, Bogandur,” said Nath, “they are all like her it will be exceedingly interesting.”
Seg pursed up his lips. I could sense something had been worrying away at my blade comrade, and now, without showing the slightest impoliteness to Nath by not taking up his comment and introducing a fresh, he said: “We have been spared the visitation of monsters and unwholesome beasties lately. Yet I fancy the Witch will not let us go without taking a last crack at us. Yes?”
“Indubitably,” said Nath, who was fond of the word.
“Aye,” I said. “And with all these women along—”
“My point, precisely.” Seg’s fey blue eyes showed a bright merriment. “Our ferocious lady friends of the Rumay
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