by Allan Cole
"Kill later you!" he thundered. "First kill hate!"
He stepped over them, coming toward the road, eyes sweeping the ground for his small enemy.
Then once again the beast settled its awful eyes on Palimak. Bone cracked as its mouth opened into a ghastly grin.
"I'm going to miss you, Little Master," Gundara sniffed.
"It'll be a thousand years before we find somebody as nice as you," Gundaree added.
And the beast shouted- "Hate! You I hate!"
It stomped forward, ground rumbling under its weight and Palimak conjured up all the power he could find. The Favorites rushed to help him, squeezing out every drop of sorcerous energy, but it was only a slim trickle and Palimak felt as if he was lifting an infant's fist against a giant.
He heard someone shout his name and he turned to see a glorious sight charging toward him. It was his father and Khysmet flying across the plain, the red Demon Moon grinning behind them.
"Pa-li-mak!" his father shouted, voice stretching across the distance between them, long and slow and sweet like grandmother's taffy. "Pa-li-mak!"
And the beast said, "Hate! Kill you hate!"
An immense hand swept toward him, tarry fingers the size of ancient swamp stumps, opening wide to grasp.
Palimak closed his eyes.
Then there was a rush of sound and sensation and a hand grabbed him by the collar.
He was lifted up, but so slowly, hells it was slow! Like he was coming up from the same dreamlike depths where the giant turtle had pursued him. Someone-someone he loved, someone who loved him possibly even more-was heaving, kicking, fighting the heavy drowning weight, turtle jaws going snap, snap, snap, kicking hard for the surface.
The dream shattered and everything sped up. Real sensation returned, but in quick jerks-A rush in his ears. Snatched from the ground. Beast spitting Hate! Blistering splatter across his legs as he was snatched to safety. Then all was normal-but upside down normal-as he opened his eyes and saw the ground racing past beneath him.
It nearly made him sick.
He tried to rise, but his father pushed him down with one hand as Khysmet plunged away-contorting his body as he dodged from side to side. Palimak felt like a huge ungainly weight that shifted wildly as Khysmet avoided attack. He saw torrents of smoking oil shoot past, curl into them, then be hurled away as Khysmet changed course, bending as if he were double-jointed.
Then his father reined Khysmet in and the halt was so sudden Palimak's stomach hit an unforgiving wall.
Acid contents splashing about, then racing for his throat.
His father dropped him to the ground and he fell on his knees, spewing.
Palimak wiped his mouth and looked up. His father's eyes were bluer and deeper than he'd ever seen them. Wells of blue, dark seas of blue, so sad and all-seeing in the moment passing between them that Palimak nearly wept.
His father spoke. "Stay there, son. I'll be back as soon as I can."
He held the reins tight as spoke, steadying Khysmet who was pawing the earth, anxious to get on with it.
Then he whistled to the stallion and they whirled in their tracks and charged back to face the beast.
"Get ready," Gundara said.
Palimak fell from safety to fear so fast he thought he was going to throw up again.
"Ready for what?"
"As I see it-tell me I'm wrong if you think differently…" Gundaree said, so slow in his reply that Palimak thought he'd go mad, watching his father and Khysmet plummet toward the hideous creature. "…but in my view we have two choices."
"Run," Gundara broke in.
"Yes, we could run," Gundaree said, impatient with the interruption, but keeping his temper so he could make his point. "Running is still a very good idea," he said. "A course we've urged all along."
"I hope you tell your father that," Gundara said, "because he's going to be really mad when this is all over.
And it wasn't our fault."
"Never mind fault," Gundaree said, such an uncharacteristic statement from him that Palimak's attention was riveted. "The point is, we're looking at life and death, and who our new master is going to be if something isn't done right away. The beast is stupid. I don't mind that. We've had stupid before. But he's also really, really dirty. An affront to all civilized beings. I definitely do not want that … that … thing, for a master!"
Palimak saw his father closing on the beast, the huge, hideous figure turning to fix on them.
"Soooo, if we're not going to run-" Gundara began…
"…Which we still advise-" Gundaree poked in…
"…We might consider helping the Master," Gundara completed.
And the beast shouted, "Hate!"
Palimak saw Khysmet rearing up, hooves slashing the air, bolts of lightning cracking out. He saw his father reach behind him, scrabbling at the saddle, then plucking a javelin from its sheath beneath the cantle lip.
As his father reared back to throw, he saw the javelin tip flare. The flare leaped to join the crackling fire from Khysmet's hooves, shooting up toward the beast.
Palimak dug down, clawing past layers he never knew existed, finding untapped reservoirs of magical power. The effort took everything the boy had and he fell to his knees.
"Now!" the Favorites shouted in chorus.
The beast was reaching for his father when Palimak cast the joining spell.
He was so empty he had no mind, no soul of his own. Everything was focused on the spell. He leaped onto the spell's back, clutching as tightly as he could, magical winds buffeting his face. Palimak collided with his father's spell, burst through the walls, then was swept onward and upward at a heart-stopping speed.
Then he entered a never-never state where he was floating like a high meadow moth on a spring wind.
He could see all the parts of his father's spell, a wondrous flock of soaring birds with more colors, it seemed, than there were rainbows in the world to make them.
Palimak turned, relaxed and lazy, still speeding along, but feeling easy about it. Time to think. Time to consider. Time to marvel at the complex beauty of the spell, but marveling more at the elegant simplicity of its core.
His father's spell made him feel as if he'd just lost his childhood. Everything before this moment had been a game. A silly little boy amusing himself.
Now he could see what real magic was. See it and admire it through the eyes of an adult. He was confounded and excited at the same time. Tone deaf at one moment, acute musical hearing the next, with all those magical notes spurting out like a harp played by a madman. But then it all made sense. He could see it, hear it, feel his bones throb with it.
Magic as it should be.
And he thought: So that's what it's like to be a wizard!
His father shouted a warning and Palimak kicked away just in time, spirit self plunging back into his mortal form. Then he was a small boy again, watching the white hot spear sink into the beast's face.
It thundered agony, grasping the magical spear between both mighty hands. The beast heaved, screaming louder still, then there was a great blast of light and the beast exploded into flames. The force was so great it hurled Palimak away and for a moment he thought he was his spirit self again, flying with the sorcerous winds. Then he struck, landing heavily on his back, the air knocked out of him.
He fought for breath, desperate to get up, to get moving before the beast struck back.
Then he found his father standing over him and relief rushed in along with returned breath and he shuddered in all the air he could hold. Safar knelt beside him, trying to smile to cover worry and feeling his limbs for signs of injury.
When Palimak could speak again, he asked, "Did we get him?"
Safar glanced over his shoulder at the scattered pieces of the beast. Hot tarry lumps, big and small, with white bits of shattered bone showing through.
He turned back. "We sure did, son," Safar said, scooping him up. "As good as any pair of wizards could."
Pa
limak grinned weakly, proud to be included. A moment later he was aboard Khysmet, nestled against his father and they were riding slowly after the caravan-back in order now and climbing the hill.
He was tired but his mind was abuzz with all kinds of thoughts and possibilities roused by his experience.
"I want to learn to be a real wizard, father," he said. "Like you."
"I've already been teaching you, son," Safar said.
Palimak frowned. "Maybe so," he said. "But I don't think I've been listening real well." He sighed.
"There's so much to know," he said, thinking of the elegance of his father's spell. "So I'd better hurry and learn before I get too old."
Safar chuckled but didn't answer. Then a sudden thought struck Palimak and his eagerness turned to dismay.
"I think I'm going to be in big trouble," he said.
"I kind of doubt that," his father said. "You're the hero of the hour, son. You saved the caravan."
Palimak shook his head. "But I had to do something really bad," he said. "I was mean to my grandfather."
"He'll forgive you," Safar said. "Whatever it was."
"He wouldn't listen to me," Palimak went on. "So I put a spell on him and made him do what I said."
Safar looked down at him, his eyes unfathomable. Palimak thought he even looked a little sad. Then he saw a glitter in the depths.
"When I was going to wizard's school," Safar said, "they had a special class for first year acolytes called
'The Ethics of Magic.' Naturally, it only lasted a week, and no one ever attended." He snorted humor. "In fact, it was the only class at the Grand Temple of Walaria where students were expected to cheat. You could buy the tests from the teacher for six coppers. Four if you were on scholarship."
"Did you cheat, Father?" Palimak asked. "Did you buy the test?"
"I confess I did, son," Safar said. "I didn't have any choice. The master of the course didn't attend either and the only way you could take the test was to buy it with a set of answers. But I did feel guilty about it.
And I suppose that's the best you can do. Keep a good, healthy sense of guilt at hand."
"And then still do what you think have to do?" Palimak asked, troubled at this new and very difficult world being revealed to him.
Safar squeezed his arm. "That's the closest to the truth that I can get," he said.
"But what about the gods?" Palimak protested, thinking of the lessons he learned at the Temple in Kyrania. "Don't they tell you that one thing is right, and another thing wrong?"
"I've never had one tell me," Safar said. "Only their priests. And priests are no more honest than the rest of us. Maybe even less, since there's so much temptation about when you make your living from sin."
Palimak was amazed. Each level of this larger world obviously became more complicated and confusing the higher you climbed. Or maybe he was going down. Maybe to know wasn't up, but down, down, and then down some more. All the way down a long flight of dark stairs that descended forever.
He looked up at the boiling skies of the Black Lands and the grinning Demon Moon.
"What's wrong with the gods, anyway?" he said, a little angry and self righteous. "Can't they see? Can't they warn you? Are they asleep or something?"
Palimak felt his father suddenly tense up. What had he said wrong? Then Safar relaxed.
"I'll tell you a riddle," he said. "When you figure it out, you'll know as much as anyone in the world about what the gods are up to."
"I'm good at riddles," Palimak said. Then he frowned in exaggerated demonstration. "Go ahead," he said.
"My riddle machine is all the way on."
And so Safar recited the Riddle of Asper:
"Two kings reign in Hadin Land,
One's becursed, the other damned.
One sees whatever eyes can see,
The other dreams of what might be.
One is blind. One's benighted.
And who can say which is sighted?
Know that Asper knocked at the Castle Keep,
But the gates were barred, the Gods Asleep."
Palimak listened closely, setting his sharp little mind to work on the pieces. But no matter how hard he tried, the puzzle refused to make itself clear. Finally, he gave up.
"I suppose you have to think about it a real long time," he said.
"I suppose so," Safar answered, dry.
"Do you know the answer, Father?" he asked.
Safar shook his head. "No I don't son," he said. "No I don't."
Then from overhead came the cry of many bats and Safar looked up to see that the black swirling cloud was still there. Except now the bats seemed more excited than before, shrieking and flapping excitedly as if suddenly disturbed.
"What's wrong with the bats?" Safar asked.
Palimak yawned, exhaustion suddenly overcoming him. "Nothing, Father," he said. "It was never the bats!"
He fell asleep, but Safar kept his eye on the bats as he rode along, wondering at their odd behavior.
Far away at the edge of the Black Lands, four giant wolves prowled a hilltop. A great spellfire swirled in the center of the hill, shooting off sparks and spears of flame. The wolves paced about the fire, sometimes on all fours, sometimes on hind feet, growling and grinding their teeth.
Their huge glowing eyes were fixed on the heart of the spellfire, where an image of the Black Lands wheeled about. They were looking down from a great height, gaping crater to one side, a wide track running along it. They could see the blasted remains of the beast. And far up ahead the lights of a caravan were winking on, curving up a long hill.
But immediately beneath them, trotting along the track after the wagons, was the sight that had them growling with delight, shape-changer's hunger stoked into hot-bellied pain.
It was Safar Timura, riding a magnificent horse, carrying a sleeping Palimak in his arms.
Then Timura looked up-staring right at them. It was so sudden they were startled and drew back, growling warnings as if Safar's image were about to attack.
The image became clouded and confused as their spell concentration weakened.
"Kill him!" they snarled. "Kill his brat! Kill his bitch woman!"
The creature who was Iraj Protarus recovered first, roaring at the image, "Enough! I've seen enough!"
And the image shattered.
Safar's hackles prickled as the huge black swarm of bats suddenly broke apart. Their cries were wild, hysterical, as if they had been asleep and now danger had suddenly awakened them.
Then, just as quickly as it began, the hysteria ended and they formed up again and flew off in an orderly fashion. A great long, blunt-tipped arrow aimed out of the Black Lands.
Safar shivered and at the same time Khysmet quickened his pace.
The hunters were out and it was time to get off the road.
Iraj paced the edge of the hill, staring out into the Black Lands, scarred snout moving this way and that as he searched the barren plains.
In the background he could hear his spell brothers howling orders and his great army muscling into life.
Demon steeds shrieked and clawed at one another as their masters booted them into formation. Humans threw their shields over their shoulders and settled their battle harness and weapons for the march.
Cooks and supply men were scattering the campfires and loading the wagons. Demon and human whores fought each other for space aboard those wagons, slapping or comforting frightened children and kits, depending on their temperaments.
Iraj ignored all this, searching the glowing skies beneath the Demon Moon. The wait seemed interminable. His anger and blood lust grew by the minute.
Then he saw it-the huge cloud of shrieking bats, streaming out of the Black Lands.
His senses exploded into exquisite life and he howled in joy at the sight. Then the bats were overhead, wheeling about the sky, once, twice, three times. Then they flew off again, heading back the way they had come.
Like an unleashed bolt Ir
aj charged forward, bounding down the hill after them, howling for his prey. His spell brothers charged after him, fanning out to sweep up anything and everything in their great snapping jaws and deadly talons.
Behind them came Protarus' army. The first elements had already topped the hill and were pouring down the other side. They were led by five hundred mounted demons, their spears making a deadly forest, their battle cries ululating across the lightning blasted terrain.
Within moments the whole plain was swarming with men and demons-led by the four immense wolves who were their masters.
It was a juggernaut aimed straight at Caluz.
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
DARK PARADISE
After a year of desperate flight and miserable camps, the Kyranians fell into the embrace of Caluz as if it were the softest and deepest of pillows. They were warmly welcomed, with hundreds of people and demons streaming out to greet them with gifts of choice food and delicious drink and all manner of clothes and goods to replace their trail-worn things.
Queen Hantilia provided them with a large, lightly wooded field to make their temporary home and supplied them with every luxury imaginable, until soon the field seemed more like a pleasure camp for royalty enjoying a few weeks in the bracing outdoors. They settled into colorful pavilions filled with thick carpets and pillows. Cheery cooking fires were scattered among the pavilions, each with tables and benches so the Kyranians could imagine they were at home, gossiping and sharing leisurely meals.
Portable bath houses were set up along the river and the Kyranians reveled in an orgy of hot soapy baths, soaking away months of grime in steaming kettles big enough to hold a family. Then they all donned their new clothes and strolled through the trees, or along the nearby river bank, feeling clean and without care.
Special attention was paid to the soldiers and horses hurt in the encounter with the beast. The Queen sent her best healers to treat them with magical herbs and ointments and soon they were up and about, injuries fading, enjoying their new home as much as the rest.
Every day was a glorious day in Caluz. The sun always mild, the nights pleasantly cool and the remarkable absence of the Demon Moon made everyone feel as if a large weight had been lifted.