Called down into the dark. 'Quick! Stormy!' No answer.
Cotillion was at his side. 'Stormy? That wouldn't be Adjutant Stormy, would it? Pig-eyed, hairy, scowling-'
'He's now a corporal,' Kalam said. 'And Gesler's a sergeant.'
A snort from the god, but no further comment.
The assassin leaned back and studied Cotillion. 'I didn't really think you'd answer my prayer.'
'I am a god virtually brimming with surprises.'
Kalam's gaze narrowed. 'You came damned fast, too. As if you were… close by.'
'An outrageous assumption,' Cotillion said. 'Yet, oddly enough, accurate.'
The assassin drew the coil of rope from his shoulder, then looked around, and swore.
Sighing, Cotillion held out one hand.
Kalam gave him one end of the rope. 'Brace yourself,' he said, as he tumbled the coil down over the pit's edge. He heard a distant snap.
'Don't worry about that,' Cotillion said. 'I'll make it as long as you need.'
Hood-damned gods. Kalam worked his way over the edge, then began descending through the gloom. Too much climbing today. Either that or I'm gaining weight. His moccasins finally settled on stone. He stepped away from the rope.
From overhead a small globule of light drifted down, illuminating the nearest wall, vertical, man-made, featuring large painted panels, the images seeming to dance in the descending light. For a moment, Kalam simply stared. No idle decoration, this, but a work of art, a master's hand exuberantly displayed in each and every detail. Heavily clothed, more or less human in form, the figures were in positions of transcendence, arms upraised in worship or exaltation, faces filled with joy. Whilst, crowding their feet, dismembered body parts had been painted, blood-splashed and buzzing with flies. The mangled flesh continued down to the chamber's floor, then on out, and Kalam saw now that the bloody scene covered the entire expanse of floor, as far as he could see in every direction.
Pieces of rubble were scattered here and there, and, less than a halfdozen paces away, two motionless bodies.
Kalam headed over.
Both men lived, he was relieved to discover, though it was difficult to determine the extent of their injuries, beyond the obvious. Stormy had broken both legs, one above the knee, the other both bones below the knee. The back of his helm was dented, but he breathed evenly, which Kalam took for a good sign. Quick Ben seemed physically intact – nothing obviously shattered, at least, nor any blood. For both of them, however, internal injuries were another matter. Kalam studied the wizard's face for a moment, then slapped it.
Quick's eyes snapped open. He blinked, looked round, coughed, then sat up. 'One half of my face is numb – what happened?'
'No idea,' Kalam said. 'You and Stormy fell through a hole. The Falari's in rough shape. But somehow you made it unscathed – how did you do that?'
'Unscathed? I think my jaw's broken.'
'No it isn't. Must have hit the floor – looks a little puffy but you wouldn't be talking if it was broke.'
'Huh, good point.' He climbed to his feet and approached Stormy. 'Oh, those legs look bad. We need to set those before I can do any healing.'
'Healing? Dammit, Quick, you never did any healing in the squad.'
'No, that was Mallet's task. I was the brains, remember?'
'Well, as I recall, that didn't take up much of your time.'
'That's what you think.' The wizard paused and looked round. 'Where are we? And where did that light come from?'
'Compliments of Cotillion, who is on the other end of that rope.'
'Oh. Well, he can do the healing, then. Get him down here.'
'Then who will hold the rope?'
'We don't need it. Hey, weren't you climbing the Moon's Spawn? Ah, that's why your god is here. Right.'
'To utter the demon's name is to call him,' Kalam said, looking up to watch Cotillion's slow, almost lazy descent.
The god settled near Stormy and Quick Ben. A brief nod to the wizard, one eyebrow lifting, then Cotillion crouched beside the marine. '
Adjutant Stormy, what has happened to you?'
'That should be obvious,' Kalam said. 'He broke his legs.'
The god rolled the marine onto his back, pulled at each leg, drawing the bones back in line, then rose. 'That will do, I think.'
'Hardly-'
'Adjutant Stormy,' Cotillion said, 'is not quite as mortal as he might seem. Annealed in the fires of Thyrllan. Or Kurald Liosan. Or Tellann.