by Peter Ponzo
"You must beat me before you leave." Her voice quivered. "I will say you freed yourself, beat me, ran away."
"I can't do that! You don't think I could -"
"Then I will die when my keeper returns," she said, simply.
"Who is this keeper?"
"Choo-lan is my keeper, and he will be angry and I will die for my misdeed."
Clayton looked about. The clearing was empty and the green forest stood but a few steps from where he stood. The clearing was bright with the amber light of day, but the verdant woods beckoned with cool shadows running to his feet. He reached out and swept up the slim girl in his arms and ran, vanishing into the green shadows.
An old woman, her arms filled with sticks of wood, her face unmoved by the sight, watched the abduction then turned and slowly walked into a hut.
*****
Gordon Chaplain opened his eyes, pushed himself to an elbow and looked across the beach all aglow in the morning light, then across the Sea of Chalma to the distant cliffs where dwelled the Dark Lord, thought of the visit of the Ghost and his miraculous escape from the Abyss, the attack of the winged beasts, then he thought of Sandy and smiled at her passion, her eager body too quick to receive him, her low cries of ardor. He rubbed the red welt on his neck.
"Sorry for that." Sandra Brickle lay by his side, a mischievous smile illuminating her face, her eyes sparkling, her robe hastily pulled about her and tied at the waist.
Gordon placed a gentle finger upon the dark mole that was on her chin, and she blushed.
"A mark of beauty," he said softly, gazing into her eyes.
"Nice of you to say it, but -"
"No, I really mean it. In some cultures, woman with beauty marks are very much in demand." He caressed her chin. "In South America, in the jungles of the Amazon, there is a tribe where the men worship the women with just such a mark. Other women are relegated to serve as beasts of burden, but those with such a badge of passion ...uh, of beauty -"
"Of passion? Did you say a badge of passion?" Sandra pulled him to her and smiled.
"Well, sort of," he said beneath his breath.
"And the beautiful and talented Sandra Brickle has such a badge of passion," she moaned, placing a kiss on his cheek, then smiling into his face. "And these teeth, somewhat misaligned, are they, too, a sign of, of-"
"Virtue, love ... uh, beauty," he stuttered. "Symmetry, uniformity describes a machine without soul or the capacity to love, but the individuality of these teeth -" He ran his finger across the smile and Sandra Brickle took his finger and sucked and pulled him to her.
"It's time to climb that mountain," said Gordon, pulling away, hoping to change the direction of conversation.
Sandra shook her head, looked wide-eyed up the steep slope. "Who lives up there?" she asked. "Can he get us out of this, this place, back to my bedroom?"
Gordon pushed himself to his feet, his pants falling about his ankles, and Sandra giggled and he quickly pulled them up to tie at his waist with a thin belt. He looked about and saw that his shirt had drifted out to sea. He grunted and began to walk to the trees which grew twisted and stunted at the base of the mountain. "C'mon!" he shouted, and Sandra rose, reluctantly, and followed.
For hours they climbed the mountain, clinging to rocky ledges, pulling themselves from wooden stump to gnarled root, and the day diminished and they rested on a ledge, bruised and weary.
"Do you know where we're going?" asked Sandra, breathing heavily, her terry cloth robe torn and streaked with dirt, her gaze directed up the face of the mountain whose top seemed hazy in a gray mist.
Gordon leaned back and spoke slowly, gasping for breath between words. "I saw, earlier, something, uh, a glow or something, maybe a cave, can't say."
Sandra squinted against the bright sky. "I can't see anything."
Gordon closed his eyes as though asleep, then he answered. "Neither can I, not now. But we'll keep going. I'm sure there's something up there, where the light came from, the bolts of light that killed those, things." He looked down and saw the dark shapes strewn across the beach, far from where the two had spent the night in each others arms. He remembered her eagerness, the inexhaustible energy, and he fell back and sighed a weary sigh.
Sandra jumped to her feet. "Okay, let's go!" she cried and began again to climb and Gordon groaned and thought of her vigor, her passion, and he was tired once more, but rose slowly and followed.
The day faded into twilight and the dark shadows ran ragged down the mountain as they crawled to the entrance of the cave. It was cold and fine powdery snow lay about. They had seen the cave earlier, from farther down, glowing in the shadows, then it had vanished in the mist, then appeared once again. Now they lay exhausted at the entrance, breathing heavily, legs still hanging over the edge. It was Sandra who first saw the shimmer of light from the dark interior, nudged Gordon, then crawled into the cave, then stood and peered into the black depths. When Gordon looked up she was gone.
Then she screamed.
CHAPTER 15
Mountain of the Golden Tower
"Look! Over there!"
It was Thomas Barclay, standing on the lip of the cave, staring across the grassy plains, to beyond the blue hills. The sky was dark with cloud and he had not seen such darkness in Sharlain for it grew quickly and was of a shape more defined than a cloud, like an arrow that pointed at the mountain where they stood. Peter and Gloria Jacobs joined him and watched as the cloud approached. Below them, on the grassy plain, several thousand soldiers gathered, behind rows of heavily armored tanks and trucks bristling with rockets: the army of Man, come to defeat the Dark Lord. They could see the dragon, Freckles, hovering above the army and they knew that Charlie was on the dragon, but they could not see the small figure so they looked once more at the approaching cloud. Soon the army would move in just that direction, across the plain, around the blue hills, following the River of Monash, avoiding the great desert, until they had reached the narrows where they would cross the river and attack, through Filope, across the Woller Trench, to the Land of Woller.
It seemed hopeless.
Charlie had described in detail the course of the River, the deep trench of Woller, the volcano that held the Dark Lord. Gloria had insisted that she use her amulet to land in some more convenient location within Sharlain, but the commander had laughed. His troops could cross any river, any trench, negotiate any desert or mountain. Gloria had tried demonstrate her ability to chose the site of her entry into Sharlain, but with little success. The best she could manage was to enter on the grassy plain at the base of the Mountain of the Golden Tower, and that is precisely where the marines were now assembled.
And all watched the black cloud approach.
"The Beasts of Filope approach," came the whispered voice from within the cave. Thomas was the first to respond.
"Hey! Ghost! Are we glad you're here, that I guarantee."
"Good day, Thomas Barclay," answered the Ghost of Chalma, the luminescent glow willowy within the darkness, rising into the figure of the elegant woman that Thomas had hardly been able to keep from his thoughts. Now he bowed and smiled and held out his hand as though to guide the wispy shape into the light at the lip of the cave.
"Beasts of Filope?" asked Gloria. "And they're coming here?"
The shimmering figure of Chalma stayed in the shadow and spoke softly. "Eba-evin has gathered all his armies, the Beasts of Filope, dragons of Monash, armies of Woller and the black horsemen, the warriors of Wilo-ard, and he comes now to engage in battle with the army of Man."
"We'll give him a royal welcome!" cried Thomas, pointing to the plains below. "See that, Ghost? Them's our army and we'll blow ol' Eby right outta the sky, that I guarantee."
The ghostly figure wavered and began to dissolve, a voice only remaining, saying: "I will help as I can, but the forces of Eba-evin will not easily be beaten."
Then Thomas was staring into the blackness of the cave for the Ghost
had vanished.
*****
"Sergeant Blake, keep those tanks in a straight line!" Captain Schroeder barked into his communicator, his eyes riveted to the dark cloud approaching. "Get their distance, set the guidance control to auto, fire when ready!" He stepped back and watched the rocket launchers rise against the glowing sky.
The officer by his side grunted. "I still don't believe this," he mumbled. "They look like flying dragons, but they carry no weapons, not that I can see." He lowered his field glasses and stared at the Captain. "They don't stand a chance." He paused, then added: "Wait till I tell this to the boys back home. They'll never believe me."
The barrage began with a scream of rockets, rising with tails of smoke, wavering momentarily then screeching straight and true toward the approaching cloud now distinguishable as individual objects against the amber horizon. They waited for the explosions to follow, the inevitable violence, the black bodies falling from the sky, the screams of anguish, but the rockets veered off to the right, toward the desert, vanishing in the haze of midday.
"Jeesuz! What the hell happened!" Captain Schroeder was yelling, his voice hoarse, beads of sweat running freely down his brow.
"Heat-seeking missiles, not much good against those flying horses!" someone shouted.
"Fire the laser-guided missiles!" Schroeder screamed.
Almost immediately another barrage of rockets rose unsteadily from the plain and headed in ominous rows toward the approaching horde. Then, points of light flashing on the horizon, then the staccato of exploding rockets.
"That's better," grunted Schroeder. "Okay, let's march!"
And the trucks began to roll forward, and the tanks, their great guns swinging about, then the rows of troops trotting behind, casting but little shadow on the grassy plain bathed in the brightness of day..
Thomas Barclay had seen the missiles explode amidst the black horde, then the divergence of the beasts, the splitting of the black cloud into thin streams approaching like giant pincers. He stood in silence and watched as the dragons fell upon the troops, bright flashes rising from the army below and striking the winged beasts, the shattering sounds of gunfire, the hoarse screams of rage as the dragons were hit and fell, the wave upon wave of beasts, falling then rising with the broken bodies of Man in their jaws. Then, against the ochre horizon, another horde approaching, the armies of Woller and of Wilo-ard.
"God amighty," Thomas gasped. "There's too many of 'em. They fall like flies, but there's more, always more. Now look. Foot soldiers, there, in the distance. I don't know if we're gonna win this one."
"We've got to get more troops here," shouted Gloria. She rubbed her sweater and spoke the words: Borgo-nom achewan. No-nopawno agerwan and Peter Jacobs spun around to grasp his wife before she could vanish, but she stood there, still.
"What happened," shouted Thomas Barclay. "You ain't gone!"
Gloria stared down at her sweater. "The amulet! It's gone!" She moaned, a pained and woeful moan. "I must have lost it, somewhere."
"Oh God," muttered Peter. "Now we're in big trouble."
There was little they could say, and they watched as the day grew dim and the light waned and the shadow of the mountain lengthened across the plains and the battle continued, black beasts dropping upon the army of Man, rockets rising in screams to meet the warriors of Arden and of Woller, and everywhere, cries of pain.
*****
Clayton ran for some time, the slim body of Choo-lai clinging to him, her head against his chest, her eyes closed, her legs wrapped about his waist, until he collapsed by a small stream. Together they drank deeply of the Stream of Life and felt refreshed and Clayton again swept the girl into his arms, but she spoke in a soft voice and said: "I can run. You are tired. Together we must find our way to Dragomir. They will help us."
Clayton stared at the small brown face with shining eyes, the green curls that hung to her waist, the slim body with clinging silken gown. "Dragomir? Who will help us?" he asked, panting.
"The Miriens, for they are good and gentle people and will not harm us, but will give us food and drink and -"
"But you're their enemy, aren't you? I mean, aren't the Ardens enemies to the Miriens?"
Choo-lai lowered her head and spoke softly. "Yes, but they will help."
Clayton waited for a moment, then they began again to move through the green forest, eventually coming out onto the desert which lay between the kingdoms of Wilo-ard and Dragomir. Without hesitation they marched onto the hot sands, watching carefully the sky for signs of black and winged creatures. When the heat of day subsided and the sky grew dark, they saw the fires on the horizon, the flare of rockets, and they continued throughout the night until, when the first light of a new day greeted them, they were standing by the bubbling waters of the stream as it gushed from the desert sands at the base of the blue hills. They could hear the sounds of battle beyond the forests of Dragomir and Clayton knew that the Dark Lord was engaged in a great battle with the forces of Man, and, falling to his knees, he prayed that Man would triumph.
When he looked up he saw the rows of little men lined against the edge of the forest, swords raised and glinting in the early light. Choo-lai was bowing deeply, her hands held before her, her head down, muttering: Gooda-wan Mirien-su nepawno.
A small warrior marched forward, his sword held before him, until he stood over the girl, sword then raised. Clayton leaped up and ran to the Mirien who appeared about to strike the girl, then Clayton stopped. The small man grunted a word, lowered his sword gently upon the shoulder of the girl, grunted once more, then turned to Clayton.
"We must go now for the forces of Eba-evin are in battle with your people, and we must help. The Ghost of Chalma guides our way."
Without another word the small man spun about and marched to the others assembled, and together they walked resolutely into the woods. Clayton ran to catch up, stopping to pull Choo-lai to her feet, but the girl would not move.
"Choo-lai! Come on, we must go too!" he cried.
"No, for I am their prisoner and I must stay."
"Prisoner? Can't you see? They've already left. You're free to go where you please."
"No," she answered simply. "I must stay."
Clayton looked at her, then at the green forest wherein vanished the troop of small men, then again at the young girl kneeling on the sand.
"What did that little man say to you?"
"He said I am now in the land of Dragomir and, if I stay, I am a prisoner to them." She looked at Clayton, a single tear falling slowly from her eyes filled with fear. He shook his head, then turned to follow the Miriens. When he reached the forest he turned again and shouted to Choo-lai.
"Go to the cave, in these blue hills, and ask the Miriens to give you food and water! I'll be back as soon as, as soon as -"
But he knew not when, or if, he would be back. Then he ran into the cool green forest and when Choo-lai looked up he was gone.
*****
The battle continued throughout the night, the valiant army of Man now completely encircled by the armies of the Dark Lord, tanks and trucks crushed beneath a horde of dead beasts, soldiers weary, rockets ineffectual at such close range. When morning came several of the tanks had been cleared of bodies and now formed a row of armor behind which the remaining marines stood.
"When I give the word we'll crash through, to the mountain. We'll gain the higher ground and fight these bastards from there!" Captain Schroeder raised his arm, fired his revolver, and the tanks rumbled forward, but were met by a host of fierce Arden warriors who ignored the awful casualties inflicted by the guns of Man and marched over their dead, lances tipped with metal raised, advancing.
That was when Captain Schroeder first heard the cries of anguish from behind the line of Ardens. "Something's happening," he shouted. "They're turning about, running away. Follow the bastards!"
And they followed and the Ardens were trapped between the army of Man and the savage
attack of the Miriens, arrived from the forest of Dragomir, swords glinting in the light, cries of victory rising from their ranks.
"Look at that! See those little guys! Let's go!"
And the Ardens turned again and fled from between their enemies and Schroeder ran forward and swept the first small Mirien into his arms, kissing him. "I love you, you little devil!" he shouted.
"Looks like we've won this skirmish, but hardly the war."
Schroeder spun on his heel to see Clayton Chaplain, bleeding from the cheek, the small sword in his hand dripping with blood.
"Are you, uh, their leader?" asked Schroeder.
"Hardly. Just a passerby," answered Clayton, smiling weakly.
At that moment a great spotted dragon fell among them and Schroeder jumped back, raising his revolver, but the Mirien he had kissed leaped forward and flung his sword so that it struck the gun and it fell from Schroeder's hand. Freckles bent his great head to the ground and a small dwarf dressed in white robe, now spotted with blood, slid to the ground and was greeted with cheers from the army of Miriens gathered there.
Challia er Woller au Potria
Challia er Woller au Potria
The cheers continued until Charlie raised his hand, then the small men gathered about their leader and together they marched toward the waiting army of Woller.
"Jeesuz!" cried Schroeder. "Who in hell is that little guy in white? I don't believe any of this."
"You'd better believe it." Thomas Barclay was standing by his side. "That's Charlie, chief of the little people and a great fighter, I guarantee. Just you watch."
Gloria and Peter were running to greet Clayton.
"Oh Clay!" shouted Gloria, leaping into his arms. "How did you get away? Where have you been? When did you -"
"Whoa! When this is all over I'll tell you everything. But now, I think we've got a battle on our hands. The Miriens have gone to do battle with the army of Woller." Clayton looked around quickly. "Is Gordon with you?"
Gloria frowned, her head falling to her chest. "Clay, I'm sorry. Gordon is being held in the Black Abyss. I'm not even sure that he's alive."
But they had little chance to contemplate the fate of Clayton's brother for the Woller battle cry rose in a crescendo, the flutes of war wailing before the advance of the army. As far as the eye could see spread the armies of Woller.