Sword of the Gods - Bruce R. Cordell [82]
The red glints in the firesoul’s szuldar snuffed out and his eyes widened in fear. He said, “But we’re pledged to the Eye—”
“Don’t be an idiot. You can serve the Eye just as well as food for the pit. Perhaps better.”
Food for the pit? thought Demascus. He imagined some sort of toothed hole in the earth.
Whatever the pit was in reality must have been similarly upsetting, because the two genasi responsible for the buzzing boxes gathered up their stack and walked away down the hall to the left, which was the direction the tall watersoul had wanted them to go.
Lieutenant Leheren suddenly stepped out into the hall.
“Son of a piss-pickled leech,” hissed Riltana. Demascus had to agree. Being impulsive was his job. But there was a time and place for impulsive, and demon cult headquarters wasn’t it. Unless she had a plan …?
“You there,” said Leheren, her voice ringing with authority. “Please explain what I just witnessed.”
The watersoul did a double-take. Then he apparently tried to swallow his tongue, but finally settled on a bronchial cough.
Leheren put her hands on her hips and glared at the man, waiting him out.
“Should we join her?” Chant whispered, who was so close Demascus could feel the man’s breath on his neck.
“No. I expect she’s trying to pretend she’s part of their cult. Revealing ourselves will just muddy things.”
As the man got control of his coughing, he went down on one knee and bowed his head. He said, “Please accept my apologies; I didn’t see you there. Where did you—”
“That’s not important,” said Leheren. “Your name’s Yuriel, isn’t it? I remember seeing you around.”
“Uh … You’ve learned my name?” said the watersoul, his voice breaking into a quaver.
“Yuriel! Focus! What’s going on with those bees?”
Yuriel glanced in the direction the other two cultists had gone, as if wishing he was with them. He swallowed and said, “A minor misunderstanding, nothing serious. One of the outlying salvage teams hadn’t gotten the word that we’re off bees.”
“For the pit,” said Leheren, not quite making it a question.
Yuriel’s hands shook and he nodded. Damn. What was the pit? The lieutenant couldn’t press the man too much on that point, or he’d become suspicious.
Leheren said, “Stand up.”
The watersoul cringed.
Demascus marveled. The man was terrified of Leheren. He must assume that because her position was high in the Firestorm Cabal, the same held true in the secret cult. Apparently those high in the cult didn’t treat their inferiors well.
“I said stand up, Yuriel! I want you to do something for me.”
The watersoul scrambled to his feet.
“That’s better,” said the lieutenant. “Now, answer me this; is Lieutenant Jett Var down here?”
“I think so.” Yuriel gestured toward the exit to the hall where the two bee-toting genasi had wanted to go. “Down near the pit. Dealing with the secondary collapse.”
“Secondary collapse?”
Yuriel gave Leheren an odd look.
Oops, Demascus thought. Apparently the lieutenant should have known about that. He tightened his grip on his sword.
Leheren just continued to stare at the watersoul, waiting.
“Ah,” said Yuriel. “The ceiling came down on half the brig. The Motherhouse is still settling. We’re still digging out what’s left, looking to see which sacrifices survived. But you must know that because …”
“Of course I do,” said Leheren. “Now get out of here. I need a moment of peace, and your presence annoys me.”
“Yes … Lieutenant,” said Yuriel. The watersoul watched Leheren for an instant as if for a reaction. Then he gave a slight bow. It wasn’t with nearly the deference he’d first shown, Demascus thought. Should he charge out of the niche and run the watersoul through? The man suspected Leheren wasn’t one of the converted!
Too late. Yuriel took off down the hall so fast he was almost skipping. A few instants later Demascus heard a door slam.
Leheren glanced at the recess where Demascus and the others were keeping out of sight. “Come on,” she said.
They emerged and scanned the hall. Empty, he thought. But if he was forced to fight, at least