They were moving through the tunnel from the palace to Dahakon’s estate. Nakor had walked into the palace while the bulk of the garrison was marching to the docks. He had entered the outer courtyard carrying an empty box, while Anthony carried a sack of apples. Before the guard could challenge them, Nakor asked for directions to the kitchen, saying they were bringing part of a shipment of food that was delayed.
The guard had looked slightly confused, but nothing about the two of them looked remotely threatening, so he gave them instructions. They hurried off. Nakor went right past the kitchen entrance and around the side of the palace until he found an unguarded door. They had deposited the empty box in a side corridor, and Nakor carefully put the bag of apples into his trick rucksack before leading Anthony down into the lower levels and to the tunnel that led under the river.
Reaching the stairs up to Dahakon’s estate, Nakor said, “Do you understand what you’re to do?”
“Yes, I mean no. I know what you’ve told me to do, but I don’t have any idea what good it will do.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Nakor said with a grin. “Just do it.”
They reached the heart of the estate without seeing another living person. It was several hours after nightfall, and Anthony knew that if all went according to plan, Calis and the rescuers would be inside the estate within the next two hours. Their job was to ensure that the magician and his soul-drinking lady didn’t interfere.
They made their way through a series of dark halls, dimly illuminated by a single lamp at each intersection, and at last Nakor led Anthony into the chambers used by Dahakon. The young magician shuddered at the decaying bodies on the wall, then stood in open-mouthed amazement at the sight of the motionless magician sitting on a chair, eyes staring sightlessly into space.
Nakor went over to Dahakon and said, “He’s still busy.”
“Pug?” asked Anthony.
Nakor nodded. He fished out the lens he had taken and said, “Look through this.” Anthony did, and Nakor said, “They battle. I think Pug could win easily, but it might mean trouble for us. Better to keep this one out of the way.”
“So that’s what’s going on,” said a voice from behind them.
Anthony and Nakor both spun around to find the Lady Clovis standing at the door, her eyes narrowed as she regarded the two intruders.
Then recognition transformed her face. “You!” she shouted.
Nakor’s eyes widened, and he said, “Jorna?” He gaped as she nodded, and he said, “I thought it was you. You’ve got a new body!”
The woman moved forward and Anthony swallowed hard. Everything about her screamed at him on a level so basic he had to force himself to remember she was the evil power behind every horrible event that had occurred to those he loved. Every death, every minute of suffering, every loss of friends and loved ones was authored by her. Still, the sway of her hips, the inviting parted lips, the heave of her bosom, the deep black eyes—all called to him, and he felt his body respond.
Then Nakor said, “Stop that silliness!” Reaching over to Anthony, he pinched him hard on the arm.
Anthony cried out and his eyes teared from pain. Instantly his desire for the woman vanished. Nakor said, “Those smells you use to trap men stopped working on me a hundred years ago, Jorna.” Nakor then pulled an onion out of his bag and jammed his thumb into it. He stuck it under Anthony’s nose and laughed. “My friend can’t get excited with his eyes watering and his nose running.”
“I’m the Lady Clovis now,” she said, looking down at Nakor. “You haven’t changed much.”
Nakor shrugged. “You used to be a troublemaker, but nothing like this. When did you join with the snakes?”
She shrugged. “When they gave me a way to keep my youth.” She walked away and displayed her body to good advantage, like a practiced courtesan showing herself to her master. “I was getting old….What name are you using now?”
“I am Nakor.”
“Nakor?”
“Nakor the Blue Rider!” he said with pride.
“Whatever.” She shrugged, and Anthony was forced to breathe deeply the fragrance of the onion to keep his wits about him as he watched the rise of her breasts, barely hidden by the skimpy vest she wore. “It doesn’t matter. The business that brought me here is at an end; I may stay for a while and keep Valgasha on the throne, before I leave him to the none-too-tender mercies of the clans. But when my friends finish their business, I shall leave.”
“What are they offering to one of your powers?” asked Nakor, moving slowly toward Anthony. “You have riches, or you did when I last saw you. You have talents. You know a lot of tricks. You look young.”
“I look young, but I’m not,” she said, and almost spit the words at Nakor. “I must kill two or three lovers a year just to age normally, five or six more to remove a year from my looks. Do you know how difficult that is when you’re supposed to remain faithful to the most powerful magician in the area? Dahakon was too useful to get him angry, and he may have been stupid in some significant respects—”
“His taste in women?” volunteered Nakor.
She smiled. “That’s one example, but he was cunning; he kept me under watch most of the time. This has been a very difficult decade for me, Nakor. Fidelity was never high on my list of virtues.”
She patted the motionless magician upon the head, almost affectionately. “Have you noticed that those who spend too much time playing with dead things seem to lose their perspective? Dahakon can do amazing things with dead people, but they tend to be such boring company, no imagination whatsoever, you know.”
“What did they offer you?”
She laughed. It was a rich sound, almost musical in tone. “Immortality! More: eternal youth!” Her eyes were wide and Anthony thought perhaps she was also mad.
Nakor shook his head. “You believe them?” He shook his head. “I thought you smarter than that. They want more than you can ever give them.”
The woman said, “Do you claim to know what their ultimate goal is, or is this some feeble attempt to get information from me?”
“I know what they’re doing. You don’t, or you would never have joined with the Pantathians. Pug knows what they’re doing, too.”
“Pug,” she said with violence. “The inheritor to the mantle of Macros. The greatest magician of our time.”
Nakor shrugged. “Some say. I know he could have ended this farce in a minute.” He pointed to Dahakon.
“Then why didn’t he?”
“Because we need to find out what the Pantathians are doing, again. So we can stop them. If he kills Dahakon, you run and take the prisoners somewhere else. Or maybe he comes here himself, so you and Dahakon kill the prisoners to keep him away. We still don’t know the plan.” Nakor winked. “Instead he keeps Dahakon busy, while we come and get the prisoners, figure out the plan then defeat you.” His tone was almost apologetic. “Nothing personal.”
She shook her head. “I would let you live, for old times’ sake, if I could, but I can’t.”
“Don’t make us hurt you,” warned Nakor.
She laughed. “How?”
Nakor pointed to Anthony, who barely kept himself from trembling and stood with his eyes watering and nose running, looking at Nakor.
“He is the true inheritor of the mantle of Macros!” said Nakor dramatically. “He is Macros’s son!”
The woman looked at Anthony. “Him?”
Nakor said dramatically, “Anthony, we must neutralize her. Unleash the fury of your powers!”
Anthony nodded. That was the phrase Nakor had told him would mean he was to use the small pouch. Clovis began incanting a spell, and Anthony felt the hair on his arms and neck stand up at the conjuring of fey powers. He recognized the phrases, and knew she was erecting a protective barrier against a mystic attack. He also knew that he possessed nothing close to the skills or strength to breach such a protective spell.
Suddenly she stood encased in a nimbus of silver light. Ant
hony reached inside the bag and thumbed the small paper device Nakor had given him, then threw it hard against the floor. A column of black smoke erupted, filling the room quickly.
“What is this?” cried Clovis. She began chanting again, and Anthony knew she called on dark forces to come and destroy Nakor and himself. Praying fervently that Nakor knew what he was doing, he opened the pouch and threw it hard at Clovis.
She put up her hands as it passed through the silver barrier around her, interrupting her chanting. It struck her in the face, and she was enveloped in black powder. All three froze a moment, then she sneezed. She opened her mouth to speak, and sneezed again, her eyes tearing as she sneezed a third time. She coughed, as if choking, and sneezed violently. Anthony sneezed, too.
The woman tried to speak, to begin her spell again, but she couldn’t stop sneezing. Nakor reached into his rucksack and pulled out a large cloth bag. He reached back and swung as hard as he could, striking the woman on the back of the head with it.
She collapsed into a heap.
Anthony blew his nose to clear it, and with eyes watering, he said, “Pepper?”
Nakor sneezed. “You can’t conjure if you’re sneezing. I knew if she expected some magic attack, she would neglect to protect herself from the obvious. She was always preoccupied with great things and neglected the common.” He measured the distance, then hit her hard again with the bag. “She will be unconscious for a while.”
“What did you hit her with?”
“The bag of apples. Hurt, I bet.”
“Do we leave her?” asked Anthony.
“We couldn’t kill her if we tried. If we cut off her head, it’ll just irritate her more. If she thinks we ran away, she’ll be upset, but she imagines her side has already won. She’ll have no reason to follow us unless she finds out we’ve stolen one of her ships.”
He looked around the room, handed the bag of apples to Anthony, and said, “If she stirs, hit her again.”
He ran into the other room, Dahakon’s study, then returned with a brown-stained knife.
“I thought you said we couldn’t kill her,” said Anthony.
“We can’t. But we can inconvenience her.” He went to where Dahakon sat and slashed the magician’s throat. A faint line of crimson appeared along the skin, but no blood flowed. He then used the knife to cut some cords from the curtains, which he used to bind Clovis hand and foot. Nakor threw the knife to the floor and said, “Let’s go. Calis and the others should be with the prisoners.”
They hurried from the chambers and Anthony said, “What did you do with Dahakon?”
“If he breaks off his fight with Pug, he’ll have something to keep him busy. Preventing himself from bleeding to death will keep his mind off us for a while. I can’t count on his being as pragmatic about these things as Jorna—Clovis, I mean. He may come after us anyway.”
“Where do you know her from?”
“Back in Kesh, years ago.”
“You were friends?”
“She was my wife.” He grinned. “Well, sort of. We lived together.”
Anthony flushed. “You lived with that murderess?”
Nakor grinned. “I was younger. She was very pretty, and very good in bed. I didn’t look for the same things in a woman when I was a young man that I look for now.”
Anthony said, “How did you recognize her?”
“Some things about people don’t change. When you’ve gotten better at doing tricks, you’ll find you can see the true person, no matter what form they put on. It’s a very useful thing to know.”
“I think if we live to tell of this, you should return to Stardock and teach some of those tricks.”
“I might teach you some, then you can go back to Stardock. I don’t like that place.”
They reached the hall that led to the courtyard and found a dead servant lying on the floor. Nakor looked at him as they passed. “She was busy before she found us.”
Anthony turned his head away. The man was nude, and his body was shrunken, as if every drop of fluid had been sucked from his flesh. The stink of black magic filled the air, and Anthony found himself deeply disturbed at the rush of desire he had felt in the woman’s presence. His respect for Nakor’s ability to resist it doubled.
They approached the walled court where the prisoners were being held, when Nakor stopped. “Look,” he whispered.
Two figures huddled in the darkness, barely seen from where Anthony stood. Nakor signaled and Anthony followed.
They moved quietly and crept up behind the hiding figures, and suddenly Anthony felt a rush of heat and a tingling in his body. “Margaret!” he gasped, and the two figures leaped to their feet.
Margaret turned and her eyes opened wide. “Anthony?” she asked, then in two steps she flew into his arms. Sobbing with relief, she said, “I have never been so happy to see anyone in my life.”
Abigail came to stand next to the young magician, and touched him on the arm, as if to see if he was real. “Where are the others?”
Nakor said, “They should be freeing the other prisoners. Come along.”
Anthony held Margaret tight, and was loath to let go of her. He forced himself to, and stepped away. “I’m pleased to see you’re safe.”
She looked at him with tears in her eyes. “Is that all you can say?” She reached up, put her hand behind his head, and kissed him.
He stood motionless an instant, then embraced her again. When they parted, she said, “How could you touch me every day for months and think I’d not feel what you were feeling?” Tears ran down her face. “I know you, Anthony. I know your heart and I love you, too.”
Nakor brushed a tear from his own eye, and said, “We must go.”
He took Abigail by the arm and guided her toward the enclosed courtyard. The sound of hammers on metal rang out, and when they entered the court, they saw the mercenaries hard at work breaking the shackles of the captives.
Abigail saw a familiar figure and cried, “Marcus!” With a leap over two pallets, Marcus hurled himself at the girl. He swept her up in his arms and kissed her deeply. Then he put her down.
The normally taciturn Marcus said, “I thought I’d never see you again.” He threw his arm around Margaret and kissed her on the cheek. “Or you.”
Nakor said, “Save your hellos for later. We have to move quickly. How long?”
Marcus said, “Another ten minutes. There were tools stored there”—he pointed back to the door that opened into the hall surrounding the courtyard—“but there were only two chisels.”
“How are the prisoners?” asked Nakor.
At those words, Anthony’s character as a healer asserted itself; he reluctantly disengaged himself from Margaret and moved to look at the captives. After examining a pair of them, he said, “Get them to drink as much water as you can, but slowly. Make them sip. Then we have to get them to the boat.”
He moved among them until he came to the statue. A strange itch struck him like a force, and he called, “Nakor?”
The little man hurried over and looked at the statue. He circled it and was about to reach out to touch it, when Anthony said, “Don’t!”
Nakor hesitated, then nodded. Turning, Anthony shouted at the prisoners, “Did any of you touch this?”
A man nearby said, “No. The changelings did.”
“Changelings?” asked Nakor.
“Those snake things.” The man coughed. “They kept us chained up here with these walking snakes. They kept changing until they looked like us—those of us who didn’t die,” he said bitterly. He seemed to be a young man, but his eyes were dark pits, and his face was now lined beyond his years. His hair was streaked with premature grey. “They all came and embraced that thing and uttered some sort of vow in their obscene language. Then each of them stuck its forearm with a long needle and rubbed it on the statue.”
“Where did they take those of you who died?” shouted Anthony, showing near panic in his face.
The man pointed t
o a door opposite the one Calis had used to enter the square. “Over there. They took them through there.”
Anthony hurried to the door, leaping over a pallet to reach it. He pulled on the handle, and found it locked. To Marcus he said, “Can you force this?”
Marcus hurried over with hammer and chisel and hacked at the lock plate. In a few minutes it fell away, and Anthony shoved past the burly mercenary. Marcus stepped back and covered his mouth. “Gods!” he shouted, then turned his head and retched.
Anthony yelled, “Nakor, bring a light. Everyone else stay back.”
Nakor hurried, took a torch from one of the mercenaries, and joined Anthony. In the hollow of the wall, bodies lay, both human and the lizard creatures who had been their matches. The humans were grisly corpses, but it was the lizard creatures that captured Anthony’s attention.
They were bloated, blackened things, with cracked skin that oozed pus and blood. Lips were split and green, while eyes were blackened raisins in their sockets. What could be made of their features showed they died in agony, and their hands were claws without nails, worn bloody trying to scrape their way through the stone wall. The effect was all the more horrifying in that some were totally alien in aspect while others showed various stages of humanity in their distorted features.
Anthony whispered, “Do you sense it?”
Nakor said, “I sense something. Something dark and evil.”
Anthony closed his eyes, and incanted. He waved his hands in the air, summoning magic to him, then suddenly his eyes opened, wide enough so that Nakor could see whites completely around the blue irises. “Get out,” he whispered hoarsely.
Nakor hurried out of the hall, and Anthony came after. To Marcus and Calis he said, “Get everyone out of here, then burn this place.” With an authority in his voice none of them had ever heard before, Anthony said, “Burn the other buildings: the outbuildings, the stables, the kitchens; burn the main house as we go through. Burn everything!”
Marcus called, “Get everyone out!”
The last prisoner was carried out of the square, and a torch was tossed on top of the decaying bodies. In another area of the hollow square, some lamp oil and rags were found and were tossed onto the fire. Marcus directed the mercenaries to light torches and start firing the other buildings. Within minutes they heard the loud whoosh as the dry hay in the abandoned stable began to burn. Then the kitchen and workers’ quarters were torched and men were sent to start fires in the outer apartments of the main house.
The King's Buccaneer Page 51