Gary Gygax - Dangerous Journeys 3 - Death in Delhi Page 8

  Rachelle was a great judge of horseflesh.

  which was saying a lot, for Inhetep was also knowledgeable in that regard. After visiting several stables, the two finally found a pair of mounts which suited them both. At first, the dealer didn't believe that a merchant of his sort could afford such animals. He was about to walk away when Setne named an insultingly low figure, referring to the stock as "broken down." That caused the man to turn in fuiy, proclaiming the quality of his horses in a loud voice, heatedly demanding ten times their value as a counter to the figure Inhetep had offered. This was the sort of haggling the trader couldn't resist! Long and difficult bargaining ensued. It was always acrimonious. At last, grumbling and swearing that the dealer was a son of a rakshasa, for only one of such wicked parentage could ask so many thousands for spavined jades, he paid over gold. The seller seemed as angry about the transaction as his buyer, but he nevertheless ordered a grinning lackey to put bit and bridle, pad and saddles on the horses in question. Of course, the fellow gave them the oldest and worst tack he had, but in truth he felt cheated. It seemed that Magister Inhetep, even in the guise of a Hindi, could drive a sharp bargain.

  "Fine animals, Setne!" Rachelle exclaimed enthusiastically under her breath. "But the cost!"

  He was all too aware of the inflated prices being paid in Alwar, but as he had paid only about a tenth over the horses' true worth, Inhetep wasn't actually displeased. He shrugged and didn't say anything in reply, though, glad to be no longer walking. He was eager to be in the maharajah's city, ready to begin his beloved investigative work. Because the wizard-priest was immersed in such thoughts, what his companion had said to him didn't really register.

  Rachelle was familiar with his moods and knew what such behavior meant. She too thought it was high time to concentrate on the reason they were here. While it was enjoyable to take ships and wander through foreign lands when traveling for pleasure, the magis-ter's peculiar mixture of travel modes were not to the amazon's liking in this case. In truth, Rachelle had thought from the moment he had decided to take the challenge and go to Delhi, Setne should have used his heka to deliver them quickly and directly to the palace of the maharajah. She had questioned him obliquely and received answers which didn't satisfy. His levity, her teasing, were screens to mask concerns. But was he really wrong? That remained to be seen. However, she would stay especially alert just in case.

  Horses instead of a casting. This was distinctly odd. Perhaps it was simply that Setne wished to see the land. He was an accomplished horseman, and she too could ride superbly. Yet the dangers of mounted travel across half the breadth of Delhi seemed an inordinate risk compared to instant access.

  I will make a point of acquiring more skill in magickal matters when we get back home, she thought as they cantered northwards. Perhaps it is merely my lack of acumen in such regard that makes me so uneasy. Even as that thought trailed away, Rachelle doubted it.

  Inhetep set a good, steady pace for them. He alternately went from walk to trot to canter, then back to trot and walk. After a couple of hours, he signaled his companion to halt. There was a shady spot ahead; grass for grazing. They dismounted. "We are now of the warrior caste, my dear. We are Kshatriyas. I am Sahib Chandgar, you Sahibah Manasay. If need be, we'll stay with the 'vow of silence' story, but 111 say it is regarding a matter of personal honor which I cannot relate. That will suffice."

  "Are we going to keep up this pace? I hope so, Setne! At the rate we're going, we should be in Delhi city in what—two days? Three?"

  The wizard-priest shook his head. "We'll cover as much ground as we can today, but seek a company of pilgrims to spend the night with. What I learn from them will determine if we press on thereafter or proceed in company at a slower rate."

  "Well, whatever we do, Setne, don't you think that it would be better if we donned our armor and carried weapons now?"

  The magister's now-hazel eyes opened wide in surprise. "Of course! I should have said that. Sorry. It's just that I am ..."

  "It is nothing. No harm done, Setne. You're just too busy thinking about the problem of the missing jewels to think of everything. That's why I come along with you, shave-pate." Inhetep smiled ruefully and nodded. "Don't you think you should open up your magickal trunk, then?" she prompted. Again the magister bobbed his head, went to his steed, and fetched out the appropriate gear from the enchanted coffer. Rachelle donned her chain shirt, added the other pieces of armor, slung bow and quiver from the saddle, then girded herself with a sword belt. When she looked up, she was surprised to see the magister was in armor as well.

  Noticing her look, Inhetep explained, "I actually anticipated something like this occurring. That's why I brought along this plain breastplate and the cap to hide my hairless head. With the staff turned into a lance, I believe I make a passable warrior."

  "Not bad," she admitted. "The saber is a nice touch—better than this straight blade I bear. Why didn't I think of that?"

  They covered fifty or more miles by evening, locating a big encampment of travelers in the twilight. When the two rode up and dismounted, the folk there shied away, watching them with something between suspicion and hatred. Such an attitude was not uncommon, for those horsed were undoubtedly of high caste, possibly of the nobility. Still, because Inhetep and Rachelle had no escort, the two score plus people gathered together were not quite sure. After all, armed riders could prove a big deterrent to thieves and bandits! Even with so large a number in their encampment, it was a fact of life that a pair of able, armed warriors were worth ten times their number of ordinary folk. Nobody approached them, however, but kept a distance and watched surreptitiously.

  This was obviously an organized band. "Who is the chief man of this company?" the magister called out after he and Rachelle were dismounted and had unsaddled their horses.

  After a slight hesitation, a somewhat heavy-set fellow of average height approached. "I have been voted as the leader of this company, master. We are mostly pilgrims going north to the shrines of the Punjab, although some are traveling on business. I am called Aghasur."

  "You may address me as Sahib Chandgar. My wife, the Sahibah Manasay, is vowed to silence until she has completed her own pilgrimage and paid devotion to a goddess. That is of no matter to you. However, we have decided to camp here for the night. Be grateful of our protection."

  "But of course, great sahib. Whatever you wish. We are all glad to have such exalted persons in our company."

  "In your company?" Inhetep said that in accusatory tone, for something in the fellow's eyes irked him. "That remains to be seen, Agh-asur," he went on before the man could respond. "For now see that someone brings us food for our supper—the sahibah will give the one who serves us our bowls to fill. See to that matter quickly. You may return to your place now."

  Aghasur gave a little bow, retreated as ordered. Soon he was walking about the other little knots of people, speaking to one or another, then moving on. In a few minutes, a girl of about ten came to fetch their bowls. She and her mother returned almost immediately, each carrying a full dish of rice and egg curry.

  "That looks very nice," the magister said with a smile meant to make the two less nervous. "We thank you." The woman and girl looked down, frightened despite his warmth. They then hurried away in some confusion. Inhetep handed Rachelle her portion and began to eat. The stuff was delicious. He must have looked happy.

  "No comments, Setne," the amazon hissed. "I am your guard and confidante, not your cook."

  With equal care not be overheard, the wizard-priest responded, "And you excel in your capacities." He chuckled without mirth. "When we are done, you and I will go over and personally thank that family. Perhaps we can learn a little about what things are like."

  It turned out that after initial hesitation, the magister and his companion were accepted, albeit with reservation, by the group around the fire. The woman who had cooked the food, her daughter and son, and the husband and father made up the majority. Two cousins of his
had come along. There was also one who seemed to be a stranger. Although nobody said that, he wasn't introduced. He didn't volunteer either, but instead nodded shyly, then slipped off with the excuse he had to answer a call of nature.

  "Who is he?" Inhetep asked then.

  The husband spoke. "Oh, he is a nice enough fellow. Strong and willing to help. He gathers the firewood for us, cleans the pots and dishes in return for a little food. He is a peddler. We met him while leaving Alwar yesterday."

  "You are all from that city, then?"

  "No, sahib. He isn't, nor are half or more of the others. We met on the road—some yesterday, some today—just as we met you and the sahibah."

  The magister wasn't surprised to hear that. "So, you all are going to the capital?"

  "Many, sahib, but not all, I think."

  "Aghasur seems a good leader for such a caravan. You and the others must have known him well and long to appoint him chief."

  At that the fellow demured. "I hardly know him at all, great one. He is of good caste, though, and took charge when he met us yesterday. Soon thereafter, some of the other newcomers began to argue with our people. A fight almost broke out. Then Aghasur set matters straight, his associates forcing the rowdy newcomers to stop making a disturbance, to settle things peacefully and amicably. His band numbers a dozen, you see, and all seem strong and able to fight off robbers. He is a natural leader, and the ones in his company obey him. We let him become head man after ending the dispute so easily. Who could object after that?"

  "Who indeed?" Inhetep murmured agreement. Before he could say more, and as if summoned by mention of his name, Aghasur appeared.

  "Is all in order, warrior sahib? Was something wrong with the food served to you? If so I will—"

  With a forceful gesture, the magister silenced his words in midsentence. "No need for anything from you, Aghasur. I am here to thank these good folk for their hospitality. The meal was excellent." Inhetep's tone bore a sharp reproof for the chief of the travelers and praise for the humble folk with whom he now spoke.

  That made the headman babble apologies to all, issue a string of inquiries as to what service he might do to make amends, and so forth. Finally, as Inhetep stood in silence throughout the performance, Aghasur stopped his chattering. Peering up from a servile position, he watched the taller man with eyes bright in the firelight's glimmer. Was there cunning in that look, or merely hopeful expectancy?

  "You abase yourself unnecessarily. I am not angry at you. These folk here have told me you are able, a natural one to lead the company. But enough of this. I am tired, so the sahibah and I will go to our own place for the night. I am a very light sleeper, though, so at the least disturbance we will be ready with our weapons. Tonight there will no thieves creeping undetected into the encampment to pillage and harm."

  As they walked away, Rachelle whispered, "Does he fear we will assume command of the company? What is wrong with that? Who could object? I don't think I like that man. He's altogether too—" She bit off her words, for a small sound came from behind them.

  Inhetep heard it too, and he spun. Aghasur was a few paces behind them. "What do you want?" the magister barked. There was a very hard edge in his voice.

  "To thank you again, great ones. I ... I didn't mean to intrude. I leave now. Good night." He stood, looking at them, not actually moving.

  Without a word, the wizard-priest turned away, ignoring the man. Back at their little bonfire, he said to Rachelle, "That one bears watching. He couldn't have been close enough to hear you were speaking a foreign tongue, but he might have caught the sound of your voice. I'll wager he now knows I lied when 1 said you had taken a vow of silence. Perhaps master Aghasur is simply jealous of his position, wants to retain authority—but perhaps it is something else. Let us keep one eye open at all times."

  As if in response to the magister's words about being safe from robbers, Inhetep and Rachelle were attacked an hour after midnight. The amazon was indeed sleeping as if with one eye watching, and Setne had laid an alarm perimeter to alert him if anyone came near. Four men thought to crawl close enough to kill the two sleepers. Instead, their intended victims were up and smiting the would-be bandits before the quartet knew what was happening. With sword and dagger, Rachelle slew one while he wiggled on his belly. The other she cut down when he sprang up and tried to grapple with her. A party with main gauche, thrust, thrust, and double again with both blades.

  The magister likewise speared a crawling assailant, then used his long weapon to fend off the other. Seeing himself alone, the robber bolted off, but he took no more than a dozen running strides before the spear-tipped magickal staff took him in the back. He shrieked and fell, dead before he sprawled onto the ground.

  As quick as it had been, there was sufficient noise to rouse the rest of the camp. Torches were thrust into the fire's embers, whirled aloft to bring the clearing into ruddy illumination. Everyone was confused, shouting, fearful. Aghasur and his cronies were running about with clubs and daggers, ready to fall upon any other thieves. Then bedlam arose as one after another of the four corpses glowed a reddish color and vanished in a clap of miniature thunder, leaving only black, oily vapors to mark where they had been.

  "Those were the ones who tried to make trouble—the ones Aghasur put in their place!" someone cried. "That is what happens to those who serve the Lord of Tigers when they are slain!"

  "No!" somebody contradicted. "That is what the secret enfor—" A companion shook the speaker, silencing him. Those two looked at each other a moment, each with fear plainly etched on his countenance. The moment broke, and it affected the whole company. As if a pall had fallen over them, all went off quietly, no longer interested in what had occurred. Yet it seemed to Rachelle and Inhetep that many of the folk glanced their way, gave small nods, or flashed brief, thankful smiles before closing into insular knots.

  "You brought this upon yourselves!" Aghasur accused as he and his followers came to confront the two. "Perhaps it would be better for all if you left this company."

  The magister stared at the fellow. Aghasur managed to meet his gaze for some time before his eyes shifted aside. "Never speak to your betters in such manner, you insolent cur!" Inhetep said in a flat voice which carried across the clearing. "We will decide when to stay and when to leave. We have just decided to stay, so take your pack and get back to your fire. When morning comes, I'll settle with you."

  Aghasur and his men slunk away. "I knew he was trouble," Rachelle whispered. "Hell be back later." But Instead, he and his cronies were gone when the sun rose. To her great satisfaction, the remaining folk seemed relieved, begged Setne to take charge, and the magister agreed.

  All was relatively ordinary for the next two days. Each morning they traveled northward. They passed farmers, herdsmen, merchants, travelers, and pilgrim bands going the other way. Handfuls of fellow pilgrims and like travelers joined their company. At the end of the first day of Inhetep's being chief, their number surpassed what it had been before the death of the killers and the desertion of Aghasur's dozen. The original group was confident, happy. By the second day, there were nearly two hundred to be shepherded. Now and again one or another of the band would tell Inhetep, sotto voce, "We are with you," or "Your secret is safe," or even, "Death to the Black One!" He made no sign he heard. He said nothing of the strange comments to Rachelle.

  She had her own words to speak. "You are a natural leader, Setne," Rachelle told him that night. She was only half jesting when she next said, "When we get back home, you should consider becoming a hatia and govern a district— better still, forget a mere sepat and think of being lord of one of Pharaoh's three lands!"

  The wizard-priest looked at her, gave his head a slight turn of negation. "This role is one I dislike. I do it because there is something hidden, something malign which I think will crawl from its slimy darkness soon so I can see it."

  "Aren't we going to reach Delhi city tomorrow?"

  "Thus we must watch with special
care tonight, my dear."

  She gave him a grim smile. "You mean yet another night of watchfulness, Setne? I haven't let my guard down since boarding the Blue Cloud."

  "Be even more alert," he told her. There was compassion in his voice, but she couldn't doubt that the magister was most serious. "Tonight is the only time for that lurking menace to slither forth to gather us in. If I am not mistaken. it will strike this night."

  In that he was not mistaken. When it occurred, though, the attack didn't come in a creeping manner. It was heralded by a wailing cry which froze the blood of any victim not asleep. There was a silent rush of menacing figures. It was impossible in the confusion of moonlight and shadow to tell how many thugs were there. More than half a hundred, perhaps twice that number, and one at least was capable of using potent heka. Whatever casting he sent at them, both Inhetep and Rachelle were suddenly themselves again. That is, their Hindi disguises were gone, and for the few heartbeats' time the change required, neither could do aught but stand dazed, feeling the effects of the transformation.

  "Thugs!" he managed to shout to Rachelle. "Stranglers of Kali!"

  There was no free passage for the attackers, however. In a mere matter of heartbeats after the time the practitioner among the crazed stranglers activated his casting, Magister Inhetep had triggered one of his own dweoiners. There appeared a sudden smoking arc as a hundred separate sparks winked into being.

  For a second these motes glowed, in the next they brightened into a multi-hued array of blossoming fires, and but a second after that each began its dance.

  A flight of them whizzed high in angry amber lines, making sounds as hornets do. Others fluttered like butterflies with wings of flame. There were a dozen bright blue serpentine paths traced along the ground, and violet arcs as if grasshoppers were alight and on the move. Bright green embers jumped toward the on-rushing attackers as might insane frogs bent on meeting the assailants in midair. Some spi-raled aloft to spin and spit scintillating jets, which whirled crazily as their erratic flight carried them outward from the wizard-priest who had invoked them, while silvery and golden balls bounced and rolled forth in a determined fashion. Then, finally, all hell broke loose.