Free Dawn of the Ice Bear by Jeff Mariotte Page A

little more than two years. In that time, he had worked hard to gain his master’s favor. Al Nasir demonstrated that favor in only small ways, but each time he did the acolyte felt an inner thrill that he had pleased the powerful sorcerer. Having achieved this, having brought the crown that al Nasir claimed would help increase his power, could not fail to raise his status in the master’s eyes.
    Al Nasir had not said precisely that he would—or could—challenge Thoth Amon for position as the most powerful servant of Set in the land. Nonetheless, the acolyte thought that might be the case. There could only be two outcomes, he knew, to such a challenge. The likeliest was that Thoth Amon would smite Shehkmi al Nasir with every weapon at his disposal and render the whole compound smoking rubble. In that case, the acolyte would die in his master’s service, which would ensure him safe passage down the River Styx to the land of the dead. But the other possibility was that al Nasir would win the struggle. In that case, he would doubtless bestow great favor and blessings on the ones who had brought him the crown that had made his victory possible.
    So the acolyte allowed himself a momentary sense of accomplishment, and thought about the rewards that would follow, in this world or the next. He and his partners had been assigned a difficult task, and they had prevailed. Soon he would deliver the inlaid box into his master’s waiting hands, and his world would change forever.
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    TARAWA LED THE way into al Nasir’s huge complex of buildings. Within, silence reigned; silence and darkness seemed to fill the space inside the walls like liquid would fill a barrel. Alanya could tell that structures hulked around them, because their black shapes blotted out the stars from the sky. But she could get no sense of detail from the buildings themselves—they might have been adobe and wood, like Tarawa’s house, or they might have been gilded palaces.
    With each one they passed, Alanya’s sensation of dread grew. Surely someone must be inside these quiet buildings. Watching their progress. Measuring the threat they posed, if any. Waiting for the right moment to unleash horrible Stygian magics at them.
    But Tarawa paid the structures no mind. She had a destination, and she led the group directly there without hesitation. They came to a narrow doorway. Tarawa threw back the bolt with practiced familiarity. “This is a slaves’ entrance,” she whispered as she did so. “No one else uses it, and few even know of its existence. Often Shehkmi likes to have one or more of us visit privately, without taking the chance of running into his acolytes or other household servants.”
    â€œWhere will it take us?” Kral asked.
    â€œDirectly to the innermost chambers of his temple,” Tarawa answered. Inside the doorway, a torch flickered in a sconce on the wall. She reached up and took it down. “Which is where he is most likely to receive the delivery of the object you seek.”
    â€œIs there any way to intercept those bringing it?” he asked. “If we are not too late for that.”
    â€œPerhaps,” Tarawa replied. “These corridors pass by the more commonly used ones, and there are secret panels of which none but we slaves, and Shehkmi himself, know. I have heard that the sorcerer who built it, long before Shehkmi al Nasir’s time, had the architects and builders put to death once the compound was finished, though I know not if those stories are true.”
    Once they had passed inside, Tarawa led with her torch held high, through a corridor barely more than three feet wide. The floor was noticeably slanted, and Alanya could tell they descended rapidly beneath the surface. Conversation ceased. The eleven of them moved as quietly as they could, although the mercenaries’ mail shirts jangled as they walked, and their boots scuffed on the smooth stone