Sword of the Gods - Bruce R. Cordell [16]
Riltana detoured around the cemetery tunnels, which were lightly guarded by a detachment of peacemakers. She was looking for the farthest reaches of that expanse, some of which had been converted into malodorous routes for sewer runoff, despite that the ultimate destination of most of the black corridors remained unknown. Diverting the effluvia underground saved the bay between the cliffs from being the depository of the city’s waste.
Riltana had heard some of the corridors eventually opened into wider subterranean spaces. Crystal caverns, sunless seas, and fungus forests hung with sentient, carnivorous vines. She’d always assumed the stories were just that; tales told by thieves to frighten each other. Still, as she walked the tunnel, ignoring the many lesser ways and cave mouths that gave off the main passage, she wondered.
She passed one of the tunnels converted to sewer flow. The rancid, thick fluid rushed in a series of miniature brown rapids across her path. The odor of chamber pot was no less disgusting despite the fact that she’d been expecting it.
She continued onward for nearly another half hour, until she heard the muffled thunder of the Akanawater Falls vibrating through the rock. Had she been on the surface, the moiling roar might have deafened her. Down there, it was merely oppressive. She was close.
A dozen paces farther, and the dank smell of rotting fish made itself known. It overlaid the aroma of sewer … mostly. Another light, brighter than her own, glowed ahead. She doused her sunrod and stowed it with a pass of her gloves, then moved forward.
Riltana paused at the entrance of a large chamber. Several openings, including a few on the ceiling, provided entry into a cavern. The smell and humid air filled her mouth with a bitter tang. She stifled an urge to gag.
The light emanated from a crust of fungi coating the walls and ceiling of the cavity. By the horizontal lines staining the wall, it was obvious that the cavern had spent much of its past history partly and even completely submerged.
It was the Sepulcher. She’d only been there a few times before, once to fence an astral diamond, and another time to deliver a parcel. That second time she’d become lost on her way out, and had decided to avoid the place thereafter.
Then Kalkan had contracted her. Her earlier meeting with him had been in a café on the south face. She hadn’t been thrilled with the plan of handing over the scarf in the Sepulcher, but the coin was too good to squelch the deal.
Riltana entered the chamber, and saw several people had preceded her.
A brown-skinned man played alone at dice. A tiefling woman was engrossed in each throw the man made, her eyes squinting in concentration. And … orcs! Two orcs loitered along the far wall, apparently bickering over the contents of a ratty bag.
She’d seen orcs, of course, but hadn’t ever seen the beastly humanoids up close before. With their overlarge mouths, tusks, and grisly trophies dangling from their armor, they seemed like ghastly, ferocious parodies of true people.
She saw no sign of her original foul-breathed employer.
The man, an earthsoul, glanced up and saw her.
Riltana affected a jaunty wave. “I’m here to see someone,” she said.
Everyone turned and stared at her. The tiefling woman grinned.
The silence stretched, and Riltana’s stomach sank.
She said, “Do you know who I’m talking about? Did someone in a hood send you to meet me, or are you all here for some purpose of your own?”
Great. Her client had skipped out. Something must have happened to him in the last four years, and—
“Yeah,” said the earthsoul, whose szuldar lines somehow managed to appear dank as they curled across his skin. “We’re here to meet someone, on behalf of our employer. You must be the thief with the parcel.”
The tiefling woman laughed. It was the