Andre Norton Super Pack. Andre Norton
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Kepta’s Second Prisoner
The green mist enveloped Garin. He drew into his lungs hot moist air faintly tinged with a scent of sickly sweetness, as from some hidden corruption. Green motes in the air gave forth little light and seemed to cling to the intruder.
With the Ana pattering before him, the American started down a steep ramp, the soft soles of his buskins making no sound. At regular intervals along the wall, niches held small statues. And about each perverted figure was a crown of green motes.
The Ana stopped, its large ears outspread as if to catch the faintest murmur of sound. From somewhere under the earth came the howls of a maddened dog. The Ana shivered, creeping closer to Garin.
Down led the ramp, growing narrower and steeper. And louder sounded the insane, coughing howls of the dog. Then the passage was abruptly barred by a grill of black stone. Garin peered through its bars at a flight of stairs leading down into a pit. From the pit arose snarling laughter.
Padding back and forth were things which might have been conceived by demons. They were sleek, rat-like creatures, hairless, and large as ponies. Red saliva dripped from the corners of their sharp jaws. But in the eyes, which they raised now and then toward the grill, there was intelligence. These were the morgels, watchdogs and slaves of the Black Ones.
From a second pair of stairs directly across the pit arose a moaning call. A door opened and two men came down the steps. The morgels surged forward, but fell back when whips were cracked over their heads.
The masters of the morgels were human in appearance. Black loin cloths were twisted about them and long, wing-shaped cloaks hung from their shoulders. On their heads, completely masking their hair, were cloth caps which bore ragged crests not unlike cockscombs. As far as Garin could see they were unarmed except for their whips.
A second party was coming down the steps. Between two of the Black Ones struggled a prisoner. He made a desperate and hopeless fight of it, but they dragged him to the edge of the pit before they halted. The morgels, intent upon their promised prey, crouched before them.
Five steps above were two figures to whom the guards looked for instructions. One was a man of their race, of slender, handsome body and evil, beautiful face. His hand lay possessively upon the arm of his companion.
It was Thrala who stood beside him, her head proudly erect. The laughter curves were gone from her lips; there was only sorrow and resignation to be read there now. But her spirit burned like a white flame in her eyes.
“Look!” her warder ordered. “Does not Kepta keep his promises? Shall we give Dandtan into the jaws of our slaves, or will you unsay certain words of yours, Lady Thrala?”
The prisoner answered for her. “Kepta, son of vileness, Thrala is not for you. Remember, beloved one,” he spoke to the Daughter, “the day of deliverance is at hand—”
Garin felt a sudden emptiness. The prisoner had called Thrala “beloved” with the ease of one who had the right.
“I await Thrala’s answer,” Kepta returned evenly. And her answer he got.
“Beast among beasts, you may send Dandtan to his death, you may heap all manner of insult and evil upon me, but still I say the Daughter is not for your touch. Rather will I cut the line of life with my own hands, taking upon me the punishment of the Elder Ones. To Dandtan,” she smiled down upon the prisoner, “I say farewell. We shall meet again beyond the Curtain of Time.” She held out her hands to him.
“Thrala, dear one—!” One of his guards slapped a hand over the prisoner’s mouth putting an end to his words.
But now Thrala was looking beyond him, straight at the grill which sheltered Garin. Kepta pulled at her arm to gain her attention. “Watch! Thus do my enemies die. To the pit with him!”
The guards twisted their prisoner around and the morgels crept closer, their eyes fixed upon that young, writhing body. Garin knew that he must take a hand in the game. The Ana was tugging him to the right, and there was an open archway leading to a balcony running around the side of the pit.
Those below were too entranced by the coming sport to notice the invader. But Thrala glanced up and Garin thought that she sighted him. Something in her attitude attracted Kepta, he too looked up. For a moment he stared in stark amazement, and then he thrust the Daughter through the door behind him.
“Ho, outlander! Welcome to the Caves. So the Folk have meddled—”
“Greeting, Kepta.” Garin hardly knew whence came the words which fell so easily from his tongue. “I have come as was promised, to remain until the Black Throne is no more.”
“Not even the morgels boast before their prey lies limp in their jaws,” flashed Kepta. “What manner of beast are you?”
“A clean beast, Kepta, which you are not. Bid your two-legged morgels loose the youth, lest I grow impatient.” The flyer swung the green rod into view.
Kepta’s eyes narrowed but his smile did not fade. “I have heard of old that the Ancient Ones do not destroy—”
“As an outlander I am not bound by their limits,” returned Garin, “as you will learn if you do not call off your stinking pack.”
The master of the Caves laughed. “You are as the Tand, a fool without a brain. Never shall you see the Caverns again—”
“You shall own me master yet, Kepta.”
The Black Chief seemed to consider. Then he waved to his men. “Release him,” he ordered. “Outlander, you are braver than I thought. We might bargain—”
“Thrala goes forth from the Caves and the black throne is dust, those are the terms of the Caverns.”
“And if we do not accept?”
“Then Thrala goes forth, the throne is dust and Tav shall have a day of judging such as it has never seen before.”
“You challenge me?”
Again words, which seemed to Garin to have their origin elsewhere, came to him. “As in Yu-Lac, I shall take—”
Before Kepta could reply there was trouble in the pit. Dandtan, freed by his guards, was crossing the floor in running leaps. Garin threw himself belly down on the balcony and dropped the jeweled strap of his belt over the lip.
A moment later it snapped taut and he stiffened to an upward pull. Already Dandtan’s heels were above the snapping jaws of a morgel. The flyer caught the youth around the shoulders and heaved. They rolled together against the wall.
“They are gone! All of them!” Dandtan cried, as he regained his feet. He was right; the morgels howled below, but Kepta and his men had vanished.
“Thrala!” Garin exclaimed.
Dandtan nodded. “They have taken her back to the cells. They believe her safe there.”
“Then they think wrong.” Garin stooped to pick up the green rod. His companion laughed.
“We’d best start before they get prepared for us.”
Garin picked up the Ana. “Which way?”
Dandtan showed him a passage leading from behind the other door. Then he dodged into a side chamber to return with two of the wing cloaks and cloth hoods, so that they might pass as Black Ones.
They went by the mouths of three side tunnels, all deserted. None disputed their going. All the Black Ones had withdrawn from this part of the Caves.
Dandtan sniffed uneasily. “All is not well. I fear a trap.”
“While we can pass, let us.”
The passage curved to the right and they came into an oval room. Again Dandtan shook his head but ventured no protest. Instead he flung open a door and hurried down a short hall.
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