The Hordes of Chanakra (Knights of Aerioch)

by David L Burkhead

  A low wall around the rooftop concealed Kreg and Kaila from casual view. They had wedged shut the trapdoor giving access to the roof so as to keep spectators away.

  Kreg and Kaila passed a goatskin container back and forth, drinking the watered ale within in slow sips.

  "I hate waiting," Kreg said.

  Kaila smiled. "So you have said."

  "This is insane, you realize that, don't you?"

  "That too, you have said."

  Kreg snorted. "I guess I'm just nervous."

  Kaila nodded. "I too. How much longer, think you?"

  Kreg squinted up at the sun, which was approaching zenith. "Not too. Noon, they said."

  "Noon." Kaila peeked over the wall. "A crowd gathers. It will be difficult to pass them."

  Kreg peeked with her. "But they'll add to the confusion."

  "Aye."

  Across the square he saw a flash of light. Repeated.

  "There's the signal," he said to Kaila.

  She nodded.

  Shillond occupied a position on the far side of the square from where he could watch for the approach of the procession. His signal had nothing of magic that could reveal them to the Chanakran wizards, but came from a simple mirror reflecting sunlight.

  A few minutes later, a procession entered the square. First came four guards, as tall as Kreg but heavy with fat. Barefoot, they wore only linen tunics belted at the waist and reaching to mid-thigh. The guards carried short, heavy-bladed spears vertically in front of them. Behind them came two other guards, similarly dressed but without weapons. Instead, each of them held the end of a chain. The other ends of those chains ended in slave collars around the necks of two men. The men were dressed in rags, their hair matted and filthy and unkempt beards covered their faces. Nevertheless, Kreg recognized Marek and Keven.

  Behind Marek and Keven were four more guards, the same as the leaders, several men in long white robes, and then more guards.

  Finally, in the rear, was the biggest man Kreg had ever seen. Heavy with fat, like the guards who preceded him, but the graceful glide with which he walked told Kreg that there was muscle under that fat. He held a large curved sword horizontally before him across his upturned palms.

  The first four guards split to either side of a raised dais that surrounded a fountain. No water flowed in that fountain and Kreg wondered if it ever had. The next two, leading the King and Prince, mounted the dais. The guards after them also split to surround the dais. While the robed men in their turn mounted the dais, the two leading Marek and Keven took them to a wooden scaffolding set to one side that overhung the fountain. Rust brown stains under that scaffolding told Kreg that it had been used for executions before.

  Finally, the executioner, for Kreg could envision no other role for the massive figure that finished the procession, mounted the dais.

  Glancing out of the corner of his eye, Kreg saw that Kaila had half drawn her bow. "Wait for it," he said, fitting an arrow to his own bowstring. He concentrated on letting magic function.

  The guard who had been leading Marek shoved him to his knees at the edge of the scaffolding. Marek twisted, shaking off the hand and drove his elbow into the guard’s groin. Despite the seriousness of the situation, Kreg grinned at the King's pluck.

  One of the robed men raised a hand and the King jerked. His knees buckled and he bent, placing his upper body on the scaffold, his head hanging over the edge.

  The executioner stood over Marek and raised his sword.

  Silver fire suddenly surrounded the robed men on the dais as well as several in the crowd. Kreg and Kaila drew and loosed as one. Kaila's arrow, as prearranged, struck the executioner in the chest and he toppled into the dry fountain. Kreg's hit the silver limned man farthest to the left.

  In the moment it took Kreg to shift aim, he had noted the positions of the remaining silver-limned men and concentrated on stopping magic. The glow faded.

  Kreg's second arrow took out the next leftmost while Kaila's struck the rightmost. Another pair of arrows killed two more wizards. Kreg then concentrated once more on allowing magic. Shillond had been waiting for that moment--after three arrows--the sixth wizard erupted in a pillar of fire.

  Kreg and Kaila dropped from the rooftop before the crowd had even realized what was happening. With the wizards and their defenses gone, Shillond's spells caused guards to fall all about Keven and Marek.

  Sprinting toward the fountain, Kreg drew his sword. A low jump carried him over the fallen body of a wizard to land at Keven's side. To his right, he saw Kaila vault to the top of the scaffolding and gather up the King. Not bothering to get him running, she slung him over her shoulder and leaped from the scaffolding to the ground.

  Over their heads, streaks of fire and bolts of lightning shot across the square, hitting no one, but the crowd started screaming and running.

  Kreg and Kaila dashed across the square on the heels of the panicked crowd and turned down a street where Shillond joined them.

  “Magic, Kreg,” Shillond reminded him.

  Kreg nodded as they ran. He had to prevent his magic resistance from rising. They might still need Shillond’s spells. For an instant he wished his ability extended to allowing some magic while denying others.

  They wove through a dizzying array of streets and alleys, finally coming to a stop in a side street deserted by all save a few rats that scurried from their presence.

  Kreg's chest heaved as he tried to regain his breath. "We did it! I don't believe it worked."

  "Oh, you did well," Keven said.

  Kreg turned to stare, noting that Shillond and Kaila did the same. That did not sound like Keven.

  "Yes, very well indeed. And I thank you for helping me remove those others from the council." Keven's face melted. Moments later another form stood before them where once Keven had been. "But truly, you did not expect to succeed?"

  Shillond started to cast a spell and Kreg hastily damped down his magic resistance.

  In that instant the person who stood in Keven's place said three harsh syllables. Shillond clutched at his throat and dropped to his knees. Kaila locked into immobility, her sword half-raised.

  Before Kreg could raise his magic defense again, the figure said another word. Kreg's sword dropped from numb fingers and his knees folded beneath him. His vision contracted to a tiny pinpoint of light that gradually faded to black.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Kreg woke in a dark cell, a pile of moldy straw providing the only cushion between him and the stone floor. In the distance he could hear low moans. The sour stench of mold, rot, and stale human waste burned in his nostrils. Above him a rectangle slightly less dark than his surroundings shone almost like a beacon despite its dimness.

  Kreg pushed himself to his feet. Every bone and muscle in his body ached but he did not seem to be injured beyond a few bruises. With his hands extended, he explored his prison.

  The cell was about ten feet on a side with walls of rough-cut stone mortared together. The edges of the stone blocks were rounded and the gaps between them too shallow to offer any purchase for climbing.

  Reaching up, he could not find the ceiling nor could he reach the source of the dim light. The floor under the straw, like the walls, was rough-cut stone mortared in place. A shallow trough, about a handspan wide and maybe half a hand deep ran along one wall. At the end of the trough a hole, about the size of Kreg’s wrist, pierced the floor. The hole extended as far as he could reach with his fingers.

  In one wall was a door of splintery wood bound with metal bands. With no tools save his own fingernails and teeth he doubted that he could make any impression on that door.

  He probed the wall more carefully. In spots, the mortar was crumbling. A few seconds probing revealed that the walls were still solid and offered no avenue for escape. The most he accomplished was to free a few pebble-sized pieces, not large enough use as weapons. Or were they?

  Kreg regarded his worn clothing. He tugged at the hem of his tunic and, a few
moments later, had torn loose a yard-long strip of cloth. That and the pebble-sized stones made a sling, a scant weapon perhaps and one in which he had no skill, but better than nothing.

  Kreg settled down with his back to the wall, facing the door. He laid the makeshift sling and his pebbles at this side and composed himself to wait.

  Sometime during his wait, Kreg dozed off. When next he awoke, the rectangle above him revealed itself as a window. Blue sky shone through it, dotted with clouds.

  Kreg heard a scraping sound at the door. As Kreg watched, a small metal plate at the bottom of the door that his earlier explorations had not revealed, slid upwards. A bowl slid through it and the plate snapped shut.

  Kreg snorted and glanced down at his sling. So much for his plans, such as they were, for escape.

  The bowl contained a thin gruel, neither satisfying nor tasty. It did make a start at filling his belly.

  A copper chamberpot allowed him to relieve himself. He again settled to wait. If they did not open the door to feed him, perhaps they would open it to empty the chamberpot. Or would they? Kreg considered again the probable purpose of the trough and hole and suddenly wished for water and soap.

  Kreg soon lost track of the days. To pass the time, he exercised, performing calisthenics as active as the room would allow. Despite his efforts, he grew weaker. The single bowl of gruel a day did not suffice to maintain his vigor. Soon Kreg had nearly given up on the exercise. He no longer had the energy to continue.

  Left to his thoughts, Kreg had time to ponder. Why did no one come to question him, or at least to gloat? Kreg did not know. He sat alone in his cell.

  In deep depression, Kreg considered his options. Escape seemed impossible. Neither the hatch at the bottom of the door nor the window above would pass his body. The door was secured--locked, barred, or bolted he did not know, nor did it matter--from the other side. If those outside did not open the door he could not pass through it.

  He could not leave this room. He could go nowhere.

  Kreg froze. If he remembered something Shillond had said, there was one place he could go--without leaving this room. A desperate gamble--Shillond had specifically warned him against trying it--but what other choice did he have? He took one of the pebbles he had pried loose and scratched a rough pentagram on the floor.

  Standing in the center of the pentagram, Kreg licked his lips once, and said, "Four walls--black." He traced out a great square with his hands. Next, he traced the lines of the pentagram. "Magic circle--white." He held his hands overhead. "By the power of Eranah." He lowered his hands to his sides. "A journey-disk of light."

  Nothing happened. Then, chagrined, Kreg concentrated on allowing magic and repeated the incantation.

  Almost to Kreg's surprise, despite Shillond's warning, the lines of the pentacle began to glow with a dim, yellow light that swiftly grew brighter. When it reached the brightness of the larger of the two moons the light spread, filling the gaps between the lines. Kreg stood on a disk of light.

  The features of the cell blurred together until they merged into a formless, gray mist. The mist darkened gradually, first gray, then purple, finally black. The blackness seemed to stretch forever, an impenetrable nothingness in which the pentacle, now an isle of light, floated.

  Out of the blackness a spot of red, the color of freshly spilled blood, glowed. It grew as it neared the pentacle, or perhaps the pentacle neared it, Kreg still could not tell. The spot of color grew closer, resolving into the form of Baaltor.

  "Well, human," its voice boomed. "You have returned to me."

  Kreg swallowed and said, "I come seeking answers, Baaltor."

  Baaltor laughed. "Answers? There are no answers. Since you come alone, I surmise that you seek magic of your own."

  Kreg gulped. He had not really thought what he would do once he arrived. "Well enough," he said at last.

  Baaltor laughed again. "Know, oh human, that I am permitted when one returns before me to use such force as would have bested them before. Since you come before me a second time, I may now destroy you with ease."

  Kreg said nothing.

  "Behold," Baaltor waved and an image appeared. It took Kreg a moment to realize that it was him, so wasted was the image. Another image appeared next to it: Kreg, in the full blush of health. "Had you gained in strength, you might have chance against me, but see how far you have fallen. As it stands, you are nothing, an annoying gnat buzzing about my head, fit only to be swatted."

  Kreg opened his mouth to speak, but Baaltor continued. "However, you amuse me. Instead of destroying you, I will make you a bargain. I will send you back to the world that is your home. Is that not a better fate for you? Should you challenge me and fail, your soul shall drift at the edge of my realm, drift alone, unseeing, unspeaking, unhearing, until one of Them should chance by to reclaim it. Alone in the darkness between worlds for who knows how many ages, aware that entire endless time. This truly is torment you cannot possibly imagine. Only then will you then go on to your final fate as decreed by...Them."

  For a moment, Kreg could see himself back in his apartment, comfortable in his reclining seat. His bookshelf to one side to read about the exploits of others from the safety of his home. To the other side, his bow should he like to amuse himself again in safety. A refrigerator full of food. Heat or cool air at the touch of a finger. Security. Safety.

  Somehow he did not doubt the demon. Against that, Kreg could only place the invisibly small chance of his being able to accomplish anything here. And yet, Kaila, Shillond, the others, all were doomed. Doomed unless he could somehow accomplish something. Would Kreg gamble his hope of eternity against the minuscule chance that he could help them? He decided he would. "I say no. Commence the challenge. I stand ready." Kreg spun his sling about his head, waiting for the first of Baaltor's warriors to appear. He hoped to take its weapons before it vanished. Maybe the weapons would not vanish with it if Kreg held them. Maybe.

  "Know, oh foolish mortal," Baaltor said, "that many have come before me after years of study and in the full blush of their youth. Many have faced me in challenge. Few have returned to sunlit lands. Come, my offer remains. I will return you to your world and you may forget what transpires here. In truth, what concern is it of yours? These are not your people. Why should it matter to you what happens to them, especially as you have no power to affect matters?"

  Kreg set his lips into a thin line as the demon spoke. Whatever the demon thought, whether he should or should not care about the people of this other world, about his friends, about Kaila, he did care.

  "No, demon," Kreg said. "I reject your offer."

  "One last time," Baaltor said. "This time I offer you a gift. I was watching as you fought on the wall of doomed Norveth. I was able to snatch the shade of your squire Bertan before That One and his chariot could spirit it away. I have it now within my grasp. It is within my power to restore him to you. I can restore him to life and send the two of you to your world. There he will not be in danger of having his life cut tragically short by war. A pleasant life he would have, would he not? Even the poor of your world know wonders of a like to make the wizards of this world marvel. This is my final offer. For your sake, for his sake, accept it."

  A new vision filled Kreg's head. A larger apartment with a second bedroom, Bertan's bedroom. Bertan off to school, learning math and science, not warfare. Bertan safe. Bertain alive.

  The sling ceased its whirling as Kreg sank to his knees. Bertan? Restored to life? How, Kreg wondered, could he reject the offer. Kreg felt sick anew at the thought of Bertan's death and it was his fault. His fault.

  Kreg closed his eyes and pictured Bertan in his mind; Bertan attacking Dahren; Bertan naming him traitor. Again, he saw himself holding Bertan in his arms, the look of gratitude that had crossed Bertan's face when Kreg told him that he had got Dahren.

  Kreg's head snapped up. Bertan would not thank him. Not if the price of his restoration was any chance at restoring Aerioch. "No, demon. I reje
ct your offer and I reject you. Now quit stalling and begin the challenge."

  Baaltor roared. Flames licked out from his mouth and swirled around Kreg, but not touching him. "The challenge is over, mortal, and you have won. By the laws I must grant you a modicum of magic and answer fully for you three questions." The demon leaned close, baring man-long teeth. "Ask well for no more will I answer."

  Kreg thought. Three questions. He considered carefully so as to use those questions to give him the most information.

  "When I first arrived," Kreg said. "Someone placed a curse on me. And yet you, the source of magic, did not know me when Shillond brought me here. How could that be?"

  The demon did not seem at all pleased at that question. "Very well. The High Mage of Chanakra sensed your arrival. The power that brought you was not my magic so I was not aware of your presence. Your arrival was a threat to the High Mage and, as is the way of magic, he could see. It was he who cast the minor curse upon you so as to bind you to impotence until he could take a direct hand. And it was he who set watchers on you until you were spirited away by that fool Shillond. Such small magics do not draw my attention and it was only later when I knew to look that I saw them. When again the High Mage turned his powers in your direction you were too well-shielded against his magic and too far for more direct means to destroy. Thus, he came to me and when he had won his duel, I spoke to him the strategem that would bring you to him as well as rid him of certain enemies on the council."

  Kreg nodded. That explained many things. "During our challenge, you seemed to know a lot about my world. If you did not know of my arrival how could you have known that?"

  Baaltor laughed. "That is a foolish question. While I am forbidden from taking a direct hand in the affairs of the world, unless bid by one who fulfills the ancient rituals, I can see what I will. I watched you. And with you as a mirror, I was able to look into your world. A truly marvelous place. It is such a pity that my power will not extend thence. Now I have answered two of your questions. I warn you, your newly acquired magic will avail you naught if you do not seek a spell with your third."