The Dark Remains - Mark Anthony [122]
It was when they were forced to traverse a newer—and still actively used—section of the sewers that their trek turned more nightmarish. They waded through dark water that came up to their knees, so that Aryn’s gown floated out around her. It was not the only thing floating in the water. And things swam in it as well. More than once she saw sleek, wriggling forms fleeing the circle of light cast by Durge’s torch. The stench was fierce and relentless, so that breathing was torture.
When Aryn dared to cast a thread out to the Weirding, she sensed no human lives nearby, only the rats in the water. She supposed those who dwelled beneath Tarras and knew its ways had no need of symbols to find the temple of Geb. The signs were for visitors only, and no doubt by intention led through the most unpleasant ways. Aryn was certain none of the followers of Geb frequented this tunnel themselves.
At last the passage ended, and they had trod dryer ways, soon coming upon a cavernous, echoing space that could only be the temple of Geb. Tiled columns rose to a vaulted ceiling that was lost in shadow despite the flickering light of hundreds of candles. Weathered boards and crates were arranged into makeshift benches before a rude altar atop which stood a wooden likeness of Geb: a thin man with the head of a rat.
Unfortunately, their journey to the temple proved to be far from worth the smell and trouble. Few of Geb’s followers were in the temple. Most had fled deep into the sewers, fearing hunts and reprisals now that their god was no more; that was why Aryn had sensed so many lives hidden in the tunnels. Without a god to protect them, there was nothing to stop others from doing what they wished with the city’s outcasts. Sympathy blossomed in her heart. These people had little enough to begin with; now even that had been taken from them.
My lady, Durge had said in a hoarse whisper, I think it is best if we leave now. I do not believe we are … wanted here.
Sympathy had drained from Aryn, replaced by dread. Quickly she reached out with the Touch. Yes, there were eyes upon them again. Angry, suspicious eyes. She grabbed Durge’s hand, and together they hurried back the way they had come.
By the time they reached the streets of Tarras, they were so filthy and reeking that people scrambled to get out of their way. Aryn knew her gown was ruined, and the only other garment she had was far too heavy for the warm climate of Tarras. What was she going to do?
Despair turned to elation when they stepped into their room at the hostel and discovered that Melia had bought new clothes for all of them.
I had a feeling you might be needing these, she had said, her small nose wrinkling.
Aryn had soaked for at least an hour in the marble tub in the bathing chamber, sprinkling flower petals and scented oils in the deliciously warm water. Now she felt fresh and light in the dress Melia had bought for her: a gauzy confection of sky-blue fabric that, for all the manner in which it flowed about her, was surprisingly modest and simple to move in. Lirith wore a similar dress of bright yellow, a striking contrast to her dark skin.
Aryn’s spinning did not go unnoticed.
“I believe that gown suits you, sister,” Lirith said.
Aryn curtsied low. “Why, thank you, sister. And may I say that you look lovely in yours.”
Lirith smiled, but the expression was fleeting, and she turned her head to gaze out the window. Was something wrong?
Before Aryn could ask, the door to the bathing chamber opened, and Durge stepped out. At least she thought it was Durge.
The knight had shed his customary heavy gray tunic and instead wore the new attire Melia had bought for him: a pair of billowing, sea-green pants that were gathered at the waist and ankles, and an open vest of dark purple. He tucked a dagger into a black-leather belt slanted across his hips. However, it was not really his clothes that made