by Dave Duncan
Rigel was too tired to bandy barbs. “You’re assuming that Saiph was his sole reason for kidnapping Izar. I know Tarf implied that it was before I sliced him open, but Tarf was in a tight place and hardly a reliable witness. The Hadar crew may have taken Izar only because his daddy wanted him. He’s their daddy too.”
“And they murdered twenty-three people for that? That seems a bit much even for a child custody dispute.”
“Please, starborn!” Talitha said. “We don’t have time or energy to waste on squabbling. Rigel, the reason we went to Spica before going on to Tarazed is that Starborn Cheleb has a way of locating people that doesn’t rely on their amulets. We went to Spica to find a hair from Izar’s head. We took one off his pillow, and Cheleb put it into a ring she gave me. That amulet is not reacting, so I know that Izar’s not here.”
“Thank you,” Rigel said. He wondered if he’d be able to straighten his legs, one at a time, if he kept a tight grip on Gruesome’s comb so that it couldn’t bite him. “So where do we try next?”
Talitha hesitated, and then said, “Let’s try Alsafi first. That’s the Phegda playground—soft beaches and surf, waterfalls and unicorn rides, all the things Izar loves. If Vildiar himself ordered this and wants to woo Izar to him, that’s where he’ll take him.”
“And if he isn’t there?”
“Hadar has his own private fortress, Giauzar. As you might guess, it has a nightmarish reputation. Escape and rescue are probably equally impossible. No outsiders are ever allowed in and the only access is by portal. I’ve never been there, so I won’t be of much help.”
“But it exists somewhere in the Starlands,” Rigel protested. “It must be within Phegda, right?”
“Yes,” Cheleb said, “and I can probably find it. But Hadar is quite capable of playing a double game and taking Izar somewhere else. A prisoner of his age would not be hard to detain. Let’s forget about Alsafi for now. We can learn if Izar is in Giauzar by flying over it.”
“If Giauzar is impregnable,” Rigel said, “you’d better tell me all about it now, so that I have some time to work out how I can break in.”
“Pffooey! No doubt Halfling Rigel’s celebrated tactical analysis will become a classic of magical lore for future generations to marvel at. First let us scan the place and establish whether or not the starling is there. If he is, we may need to negotiate.”
Rigel said, “Thanks very much!” under his breath. Would he be the quid or the quo? Aloud he added, “Let’s fly, then, Gruesome,” without specifying whom he was addressing.
Chapter 35
The sky was still dark, but the moon had gone and a first breath of morning was snuffing out the stars. All three cockatrices were exhausted. Rigel needed all his newfound skill to make Gruesome fly up the long slope of the mountain; the other two followed, but they hung farther back than they had earlier. When he reached the summit, he let his mount perch on the rocky crown and rest. He gingerly massaged his thighs, which were knotted with cramp.
The crater was astonishing, several kilometers wide and filled with velvet black shadow. What he could see of the walls suggested that they fell sheer to an invisible floor. On Earth he would have intended that “sheer” to mean “extremely steep” but in the Starlands anything might be literally true. A faint lightness in the eastern sky backlit the far rim, and a thin wind blew. Fatigue had turned his muscles to mush and his bones to lead.
The other two cockatrices landed, Talitha on his left and Cheleb on his right, a little too close for Gruesome, which hissed angrily but was too weary to make any real trouble.
“A remarkable feat of imagination,” Cheleb remarked approvingly. “Based on some earthly model, no doubt, but tweaked as needed. The rim looks too regular to appear in nature. Have we any idea of what’s inside?”
“Swamp and jungle,” Talitha said in a harsh voice. “Impassable and deadly, stocked with snakes and alligators and every other horror imaginable. So Halfling Botein told me one night when she was even drunker than usual.”
Cheleb sniffed. “From long acquaintance with Prince Vildiar, I am certain that he will not have overlooked the need for aerial defense, so allow for griffins, vampire bats, flying snakes, and such. Our mounts’ stony stares should defend us, but I am concerned about their condition. If we fly them down into that hole, they will lack the strength to fly us back out again.”
“The amulet is detecting Izar,” Talitha said, her voice rising an octave. “He is here.”
Cheleb said, “Mmph! Its range is not great, so he must be close. I wish I knew how deep this was.”
“A hundred meters at most,” Rigel said. “I can see stars reflected on open water.”
“I can’t.”
He was tempted to tell her she needed glasses but contented himself with a sympathetic sigh.
Talitha said, “So can I. You must be at the wrong angle. A meter is about a pace, right Rigel?”
“A starfolk pace, yes. Can I make this stupid reptile walk forward, starborn?”
“Try putting its head down a little and squeezing its comb.”
The cockatrice squeaked in protest at that treatment, but did lurch forward a few steps, to the very brink of the cliff.
If Izar was close, he had to be almost directly below the watchers, probably on an island fortified against black-lagoon monsters. Yes, there was a light down there! It shone brighter than any star, flickering as if it was partially blocked by foliage. This was the time at which servants would begin to stir and light lamps.
“Izar will know how to open a portal to Alsafi?”
Talitha said, “Yes, but… Why? No, Rigel! You mustn’t—”
“We’ll meet you there, then. Do not follow me, or you’ll give the game away.” Before his nerve could fail, he dragged Gruesome’s comb back and the brainless cockatrice jumped off the cliff for him. “Meissa!”
He bent his steed’s neck over at an impossible angle to make it descend in a tight spiral. He was undoubtedly slobbering crazy, but was his madness intended to rescue Izar from this horrible place, impress Talitha, or just to get back at the acid-tongued Starborn Cheleb? As he spun downward like a falling leaf, an exhilarating rush of air and adrenaline drove out all thoughts of motives. The ride was better than any roller coaster. Had the ancient partnership of Saiph and Meissa ever charged into a madder adventure than this one?
The crater wall was not as close to vertical as he’d expected, and the light was farther away, which made keeping it in sight all the more vital. Twice he lost track of his beacon, and twice he found it. By the time he realized that it came from a brightly lit window reflected on water, he knew that his way to it led through a clump of trees. There was no way that an aircraft with Gruesome’s impressive wingspan could get through there, but by then it was too late to do anything but hope for the best.
The cockatrice was either too stupid or too exhausted to put up much of a fight. It made a weak effort to veer right, an even weaker feint to the left, and finally just folded its wings and went in like a missile. The lighted window that had attracted Rigel’s attention—there were two more to the left and one to the right—overlooked a tiny, stagnant pond enclosed in a dense tangle of trees, undergrowth, creepers, and swamp. His only hope of survival was a small platform under the window, perhaps a boat dock, and it was not nearly large enough for the cockatrice to land on.
Gruesome hit the water at a forty-five degree angle and bounced. The tricky part is dismounting, Chelab had said. Rigel hurtled free, turned a complete somersault, and belly-flopped into the explosion of water that his mount had raised. Had he landed on his feet or made a respectable dive, he would have undoubtedly died on the snarl of trunks and branches under the surface, or been caught up in it. He scraped his knees and shins as he struggled to find footing, but there was no footing, only rot and tangle. The fetid water was too shallow for swimming and God alone knew what might be lurking in it. He was a couple of meters away from the edge of the dock, but a man could drown
in much less water than that.
He had certainly not landed unobtrusively. Water and debris from the impact had sprayed the side of the building; his struggles to reach safety required a great deal of thrashing and were in full view of the window. Gruesome was splashing too, and its screams were easily the loudest noises Rigel had heard it make all night. It sounded as if something was attacking it, and he didn’t even want to think about the kind of beasts that preyed upon cockatrices. Having lost his basilisk mask in the chaos of his landing, he dared not turn around to see.
Just as he gripped the edge of the dock, a door opened, and a man stepped out, with the light behind him. He wore nothing but a towel around his hips and shaving soap on his face. He had starfolk ears but was obviously a halfling. His name was not apparent.
He watched as the intruder in the grandiose bronze helmet tried to climb out of the mire, and a sword appeared in his hand. “Halfling Rigel!” he said. “How nice of you to drop by! We were warned you might. Hey, Graffias, come and see what—”
At that point he made the mistake of looking up to see what else was paddling in his pond. He toppled forward as majestically as a tyrant’s statue pulled down by a mob, hit the edge of the deck with his knees, and pitched headfirst into the water. Gruesome’s shrieks of pain stopped abruptly as whatever was attacking it dragged it under the water.
Without any recollection of having done so, Rigel had left the water and relocated himself on the planking. Looking down to see if he could rescue the petrified halfling, he was just in time to watch toothy jaws close around the man’s legs, and a tentacle encircle his neck. Whoever he was, he disappeared into the depths in a swirl of dark water, leaving behind nothing more than a few bubbles. Rigel quickly glanced around for a harpoon or a boat hook, but there was no need for boats on a pond smaller than a suburban bathroom. The stage was a fishing platform, not a jetty. A heap of rods, stools, and baskets indicated that fishing must be part of the entertainment package available at Giauzar.
“What’s the matter?” said a voice from the interior. Rigel scrambled to his feet and dove behind the open door as yet another halfling emerged from the building. He wore jeans, surprisingly, and from the rear looked entirely human, except that he was projecting his name, Graffias. He said, “Hassaleh? Hassaleh!”
From behind him, a soft voice said, “Do not look around, Graffias Halfling. I have Saiph and any sudden movements or cries for help will send you to join Hassaleh in the monsters’ banquet. Now take one step forward.”
Graffias had gone as rigid as a marble column, but one step would put him right on the edge of the deck. One more… He said, “No!” hoarsely, and then cried out as a sharp point drew blood close to where his left kidney was busily trying to refill his suddenly voiding bladder.
“That is Saiph,” the voice reminded him. “I didn’t say you were to step off. I don’t intend to kill you, but I will if I must, and you will have no chance against Saiph. Now take another step forward, then turn around.”
Graffias obeyed. From the front, with the window light on him, he still looked passably human, having nipples and ears more human than Rigel’s own. He would not have been notably tall even on Earth, but he had his father’s beetling brow and elongated features. He seemed young—young enough to be bullied perhaps.
“You look quite a lot like your daddy,” Rigel said.
The kid licked his lips. “Thank you, Halfling Rigel.”
“I didn’t mean it as a compliment. I know Imp Izar is here and I am going to rescue him. If you help me, I will not harm you.”
“Hadar will feed me to the polliwogs.” Graffias’s crooked smile was a commendable effort, but not convincing.
“If you let him. You have a golden opportunity here. Electra is back, so if you help us escape, and then testify against Hadar and his wolf pack on the Star, she will reward you beyond your wildest dreams.”
“I will!”
“That was a very quick surrender,” Rigel said suspiciously.
“I mean it!”
“I suppose if I had Saiph at my throat and polliwogs at my ass, I might be eager too. You swear you will help me rescue the imp?”
“Yes, I swear. I tried once before to get out! I don’t want to be one of them, Rigel. I really, really don’t! Do you know what Hadar does to people he considers losers?”
Rigel really, really did not want to know. “Where is Izar?”
“In the larder, er… I mean the jail.”
“How far away is it, and how far from there to the portal?”
“Not far.”
“How many men… How many people are here?”
Graffias paused, and then said, “Seven. Six now, after what you did to Hassaleh.”
“I didn’t do anything to him. It was an accident. I wish I had more faith in your arithmetic. Is Hadar here?”
“I don’t think so, Rigel. He often comes through at about this time, though, to give us our orders for the day.”
“So you really don’t know how many people there are here?” It was disgustingly easy to bully people when you had Saiph’s authority.
“Not exactly.” Graffias swallowed nervously. “At least six, counting me. We’re only one step away from anywhere in the domain, sir!”
“All right, take me to Izar now. Don’t forget that the deadliest weapon in the Starlands is right behind you, held by the man who used it to kill Tarf, Muscida, and Adhil yesterday. Understand?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Not your lord, your friend. Remember whose side you are on now. Lead the way.” Rigel wished he didn’t sound so much like a bad action movie, but that was probably because his plan was utter madness. On the other hand, fortune favored the bold and wasting time trying to think up a better idea would just give the rest of the Vildiar gang more time to wake up.
Graffias opened the door. Rigel followed him into a very large communal bathroom. The fixtures were of semiprecious stone and the fittings of gold, but those were probably no more difficult for a mage to imagine than ceramic and chrome.
Beyond that lay a wide corridor of thick, soft carpet, richly decorated walls, and intricately carved doors. Rigel had been expecting some sort of dank dungeon in the depths of the infamous Giauzar crater, but nothing was too good for Hadar and his brethren. A few doors farther along, a passage led off to the left.
“That’s the way to the mess,” Graffias said. “We may be seen. You’ll have to trust me.”
“If I hear one squeak, I’ll kill you deader than Tarf. I swear I will.” Rigel distrusted his own oath even more than he distrusted his guide’s, but he stopped at the corner. Graffias walked across, looking to see if there were any watchers. On the far side, he halted and turned.
“It’s safe.”
Rigel crossed. The three steps it needed took hours.
“Do you trust me now?” Graffias asked, eyeing him earnestly. He had blue eyes and blond hair, blue at the roots. He must have extroverted recently.
“Not yet. Keep going.”
They reached an open door. Again Graffias halted.
“This is my room. There’s no one else in there.”
Rigel told him to keep walking, and followed close behind him. As he went past, he glimpsed a large, luxurious, but not very tidy, bedchamber. The corridor led to a dead end, and there Graffias stopped at a door like all the others.
“The imp’s in here. There’s no guard with him, as far as I know. I’m just a trainee, and they don’t tell me much. All I get is orders.” Graffias was either the finest actor in the universe, or he was terrified half out of his wits. His jeans were soaked, and he stank of urine.
But Rigel couldn’t be very fragrant himself, fresh from a swim in stagnant swamp water and a long ride on a cockatrice. “Any magic? Locks? Booby traps?”
“Not that I know of. Stars! I’m doing my best for you, halfling!”
“Open it and go in, then.”
Rigel followed him through. There was no luxury in
this room, just bare stone walls and floor, bars on the windows, a slop bucket, and a metal bedstead with a flock mattress. Rigel left the door ajar, and waited a moment to make sure it would not try to close by itself, locking him inside.
Then he went across to the boy asleep on the bed. A brass chain connected his wrist to the headboard; all his amulets had been removed, but otherwise he seemed to be unharmed.
Graffias said, “He’s been like that ever since we…”
“Since what?”
“Since he was brought here,” Graffias finished, his face aflame with guilt.
“I meant it when I promised you a royal pardon,” Rigel said. “But stand farther back, just so I don’t get nervous. Izar? Wake up, Izar, it’s Rigel.”
The imp’s ears twitched and straightened, and then his iridescent eyes opened and blinked.
Izar smiled sleepily. “Knew you’d come! I told my self it mustn’t wake up until it heard your voice.”
Chapter 36
It felt good to be a hero to somebody, even a child. Rigel swallowed the lump that had just appeared in his throat. “That’s what friends are for. The first thing we need to do is get that chain off you. Sit up. Hold your hand here.” He arranged the imp’s wrist so that the chain was draped over the top rail of the bedstead. “Now close your eyes for a moment.” Saiph cut the metal like wax.
The clang made Izar jump. He inspected the two links attached to his manacle. “Doggy! Oo, Rigel, I really need to go pee!” He swung his reedy legs over the edge of the bed. “It was so horrible what—” his voice trailed off in a wail.
“It’s all right!” Rigel said quickly. “Halfling Graffias is on our side now.”
He was so far, anyway.
“But he was shooting arrows!” Izar said shrilly. “He shot Baham! And Narwhale and—”
“But now he’s helping you escape, so he’s all right. I’ll explain later, but do your pee quickly, because we must hurry.” Rigel dearly wished Izar had not made those allegations just yet.