The one man stared at her through the black brush of his hair, but said nothing.
“Their tongues were cut out before they were sent from Awabath,” Kossil said. “Do not speak to them, mistress. They are defilement. They are yours, but not to speak to, nor to look at, nor to think upon. They are yours to give to the Nameless Ones.”
“How are they to be sacrificed?”
Arha no longer looked at the prisoners. She faced Kossil instead, drawing strength from the massive body, the cold voice. She felt dizzy, and the reek of smoke and filth made her sick, yet she seemed to think and speak with perfect calm. Had she not done this many times before?
“The Priestess of the Tombs knows best what manner of death will please her Masters, and it is hers to choose. There are many ways.”
“Let Gobar the captain of the guards hew off their heads. And the blood will be poured out before the Throne.”
“As if it were a sacrifice of goats?” Kossil seemed to be sneering at her lack of imagination. She stood dumb. Kossil went on, “Besides, Gobar is a man. No man can enter the Dark Places of the Tombs, surely my mistress remembers that? If he enters, he does not leave…”
“Who brought them here? Who feeds them?”
“The wardens who serve my temple, Duby and Uahto; they are eunuchs and may enter here on the services of the Nameless Ones, as I may. The Godking’s soldiers left the prisoners bound outside the wall, and I and the wardens brought them in through the Prisoner’s Door, the door in the red rocks. So it is always done. The food and water is lowered from a trapdoor in one of the rooms behind the Throne.”
Arha looked up and saw, beside the chain from which the torch hung, a wooden square set into the stone ceiling. It was far too small for a man to crawl through, but a rope lowered from it would come down just within reach of the middle prisoner of the three. She looked away again quickly.
“Let them not bring any more food or water, then. Let the torch go out.”
Kossil bowed. “And the bodies, when they die?”
“Let Duby and Uahto bury them in the great cavern that we passed through, the Undertomb,” the girl said, her voice becoming quick and high. “They must do it in the dark. My Masters will eat the bodies.”
“It shall be done.”
“Is this well, Kossil?”
“It is well, mistress.”
“Then let us go,” Arha said, very shrill. She turned and hurried back to the wooden door, and out of the Room of Chains into the blackness of the tunnel. It seemed sweet and peaceful as a starless night, silent, without sight, or light, or life. She plunged into the clean darkness, hurried forward through it like a swimmer through water. Kossil hastened along, behind her and getting farther behind, panting, lumbering. Without hesitation Arha repeated the missed and taken turnings as they had come, skirted the vast echoing Undertomb, and crept, bent over, up the last long tunnel to the shut door of rock. There she crouched down and felt for the long key on the ring at her waist. She found it, but could not find the keyhole. There was no pinprick of light in the invisible wall before her. Her fingers groped over it seeking lock or bolt or handle and finding nothing. Where must the key go? How could she get out?
“Mistress!”
Kossil’s voice, magnified by echoes, hissed and boomed far behind her.
“Mistress, the door will not open from inside. There is no way out. There is no return.”
Arha crouched against the rock. She said nothing.
“Arha!”
“I am here.”
“Come!”
She came, crawling on hands and knees along the passage, like a dog, to Kossil’s skirts.
“To the right. Hurry! I must not linger here. It is not my place. Follow me.”
Arha got to her feet, and held onto Kossils robes. They went forward, following the strangely carven wall of the cavern to the right for a long way, then entering a black gap in the blackness. They went upward now, in tunnels, by stairs. The girl still clung to the woman’s robe. Her eyes were shut.