by Allan Cole
"Dear Mother!" she cried over the chanting acolytes. "Two innocents seek your counsel. Two innocents whose presence you commanded."
Behind her, the twin-headed snake of Asper reared up from her throne, wings spreading like a cobra's hood, venom dripping from its fangs.
And the Queen intoned, "Know them, Mother! Spare them! Keep them safe! Remember our bargain, dear lady.
"Take us in their stead!"
Hantilia stared up at the heavens, waiting. Arms spread wide to embrace her fate-and the fate of her followers. For the first time in many years she felt at peace. Her mission was done. What would be, would be.
Then lightning blasted from the skies. She felt a terrible, searing pain.
And all was darkness.
And all was peace.
Leiria was thrown from her feet by the force of the blast. She hit the ground hard, breath knocked out of her. She heard people cry out-some in fear, some calling to others to ask if they were all right.
Then she could breathe again, gulping in all the air her lungs would hold. Awareness returned and the first she noticed was that the air tasted like blood-as if she were suddenly transported to a gigantic meat market, with aisle upon aisle of freshly skinned animal corpses hanging from hooks.
She groaned to her feet, ears ringing from the blast, looking around the encampment with dazed eyes, expecting the worst. To her amazement no one appeared hurt. Like her, people were climbing to their feet, patting themselves for signs of injury, or soothing crying children.
"By the gods who hate us," she heard Biner exclaim, "would you look at that!"
She turned to find him pointing at the city-or at the place where the city had once stood. Now it was nothing but a smoking ruin perched on a blasted hilltop. Only the Queen's palace still stood-towers oddly twisted and sagging.
Leiria heard someone moan and saw Khadji, who was staring at the ruins, tears streaming from his eyes.
"Safar!" he groaned. "Safar!"
Leiria felt as if her heart had been torn from her chest. She raced for a panicked horse, grabbed its loose reins and vaulted into the saddle-wrenching the poor beast's head around until it faced Caluz, then digging in her heels, spurring it forward. She was halfway up the hillside before anyone else had wits enough to follow.
Leiria was a soldier who had seen many horrors, but there was nothing in her experience to brace her for the devastation she witnessed in Caluz. Other than the palace, not one building was standing. Everything, including the strong walls encircling the city, had been reduced to waist-high piles of rubble as if a gigantic hand had flattened them. The streets were buckled, pavement hurled up in every direction, making it difficult for the horse to walk, much less gallop at the pace she'd originally demanded.
By the time she reached the palace several others, including Khadji, Biner and Sergeant Dario, had caught up with her. They all paused at the open gates, fearful to look inside. Leiria spurred her horse forward. It whinnied in fear, eyes rolling wildly, mouth frothing, fighting her so hard that she finally gave up and dismounted. The horse bolted away as soon as she dropped the reins. Leiria braced herself and walked through the gates.
At first it seemed a peaceful scene. Hundreds upon hundreds of red-robed figures were lying on the ground-limbs and clothing all neatly arranged as if they had fallen asleep. Raised on a platform in the center of the courtyard was the Queen's ornate throne, presided over by the carved Asper snake.
Slumped at the foot of the throne was the still body of Hantilia.
"Dead!" she heard Dario growl. "Ever' blessed one of 'em."
Numb, Leiria stalked forward, stepping over the robed figures, until she came to the throne and mounted the steps. She looked down at Hantilia's corpse, feeling oddly removed, as if looking down from a great distance. The Queen's features were peaceful. Smiling.
"Where's Safar?" she heard Khadji demand. "And Palimak! Where's little Palimak?"
Leiria glanced around the courtyard, picking over body after body, heart hammering at her ribs, expecting at any moment to discover Safar lying among them.
"I don't see him," she mumbled. "Or Palimak, either." She kept looking, wits dull as old brass. "And the horse," she said. "Khysmet. There's no way you could miss him!"
Someone caught her arm and she looked around and found Khadji staring at her, eyes desperate.
"Where are they?" he demanded, acting as if she were cruelly withholding information.
"I don't know," she said.
Khadji gripped her arm harder. "Do you think they're dead?"
"I don't know that either," Leiria said.
One moment Safar and Palimak were falling toward a ghastly death and then there was a great clap of thunder and suddenly they were trotting along the rocky floor of a huge cave, dazzled by the sunlight streaming through the entrance. There was the sound of bursting waves and a shallow river of foamy water rushed into the cave, hissing around Khysmet's legs as he splashed toward the light.
The light broke across them as they exited the cave and they found themselves traversing a peaceful beach-a cool, salty breeze blowing, while overhead gulls wheeled in clear blue skies, crying for their supper.
Khysmet was the first to recover. He snorted in surprise, then shook his head in delight at still being alive and trotted through the foamy surf toward a distant spit of land jutting out into a rolling ocean.
Palimak came out of his shock, peering out at ocean. "Is this real, father?" he said, voice croaking in wonder. "Or are we still in the Black Lands?"
Safar laughed and gave him a hug. "What a son you are!" he exclaimed. "One minute we're facing certain death. The next, we appear to be safe. And the first words out of your mouth are-'is it real?'"
Palimak flushed happily at the compliment. But his eyes were drinking in the vision of the rolling seas and gently crashing waves. A child of the mountains, he'd never experienced the ocean before.
He shook himself-not unlike Khysmet. Still the vision of an endless rolling horizon persisted, beckoning to him, calling with the voice of the gulls.
Again he asked, "Is it real, father?"
Safar threw back his cloak to catch the fresh breezes. "Real as can be, son," he said.
Palimak sighed relief. Then he frowned. "But where are we, exactly?"
Safar studied their surroundings-the ocean was to their left and to the right was a vast range of green mountains hugging the coastline. He mentally correlated what he could see with his memory of the maps Coralean had given them.
He pointed south at the mountains. Two peaks commanded the center of the range. "As near as I can tell," he said, "Caluz-and the Black Lands-are beyond those peaks." He nodded at the vast ocean to their left. "And that's the Great Sea," he added. "It could be nothing else. Near as I can tell, some magical way has been opened between Caluz and the sea."
The boy was only mildly surprised. He was still young enough so it didn't seem so strange that they'd been transported hundreds of miles.
He studied the vast oceanic distances for a moment, then said, "And Syrapis is somewhere out there?"
"Yes. I believe so."
"But it must be very far. How do we get there?"
"The same way we got here, son," Safar answered. "Magic."
Although his manner was sanguine, Safar was just as surprised as the boy. From the very beginning, he hadn't been sure what to expect. Even if he had let his imagination run free, he would never have dreamed such a thing could happen. He peered ahead, studying the small peninsula they were heading toward. A powerful wave of sorcery was emanating from that direction, pulling at them-urging them onward.
Safar was certain that the Oracle was waiting for them there.
Then Khysmet perked up his ears. He whinnied and quickened his pace. Up ahead, riding off the land spit, was a sight that made Safar's heart jump-a glorious woman with long ebony limbs and flowing hair trotted toward them on a spirited black mare.
The woman waved at them. Her laughter w
as sweet music floating on the ocean breezes and Safar forgot all caution.
"Do you know her, father?" Palimak asked.
"Yes," he answered, voice husky. "I know her."
Khysmet broke into a gallop and they skimmed across the sandy beach toward the woman.
Palimak felt a scratching in his pocket. Then Gundara spoke up: "Little Master! There's something you should know. I hate to contradict Lord Timura, but everything he's said about this place is wrong!"
"None of this is real, Little Master." Gundaree added. "Can't you feel it? We're inside the machine! And Lord Timura doesn't know it!"
At that moment the light suddenly dimmed and a freezing wind blasted off the seas.
And it began to snow.
Part Four
Spellbound
CHAPTER TWENTY SIX
IRAJ AND THE UNHOLY THREE
The first attempts on Caluz were a disaster.
Iraj sent one hundred hand-picked men and demons into the pass and not one returned. He sent a hundred more, setting up a throne post at the entrance-guarded by his toughest and most loyal troops-so he could closely observe everything that happened.
He saw nothing, but he heard more than enough to ice even his shape-changer's veins. There were trumpets and challenging shouts, the clash of weapons, screams from the wounded and a chorus of ghostly groans as his fighters breathed their last and shed their souls. Then all was silence.
There was movement at the mouth of the pass. Through narrowed eyes Iraj saw a lone figure stagger out.
It was a man, bearing his weight on his spear, dragging the remains of a shattered shield behind him. It made Iraj glad the sole survivor was human. One of his own, as a matter of fact, from the make of his costume-spurred boots and baggy breeches, short bow over his shoulders, scimitar at his waist. An old soldier from Iraj's homeland on the Plains of Jaspar.
Iraj was deeply affected by the sight of the battered soldier. Old emotions, human emotions, emotions that had been long absent in his heart, surged into the light. First pity welled up, then homesickness, then guilt for allowing one of his own to be so mistreated. Iraj bolted from his throne and went to his kinsman, guards and servants scampering to keep up.
When he reached the soldier the man stopped, wavering, confused at having his way blocked. His eyes were wild, his face a bloody mask and when he finally noticed Iraj he shrieked and threw up his ruined shield to protect himself, spear point rising to counterstrike. Iraj jerked back, easily avoiding the spear.
But then all his speed was called for as his guards leaped in to kill the man for daring to threaten the king.
Iraj sent two big demons sprawling from the force of his blow.
"Hold!" he shouted, freezing the others in place. His retinue goggled at him, desperately trying to decipher the king's intent. He ignored them, turning back to the old plainsman.
"Pardon, Cousin," he said gently as he could, "but you seem to be without horse." Meaning, in the argot of Jaspar, that the man was in great difficulty.
"Monster!" the man shouted, stabbing at the air with his spear. "You took my horse but you won't take me!"
Iraj brushed the spear aside and grabbed the man by the shoulders. "What's wrong with you?" he barked. "Have you gone mad?"
Then he saw his own reflection in the man's eyes-a great gray wolf rearing up-and he knew the reason for the man's fear-why, he'd called his own kinsman "Monster!"
Iraj concentrated, making his form as human as possible, and the old soldier suddenly recognized him.
The man fell to his knees, babbling. "So sorry, Majesty! Didn't mean to … I must've been mad to think …
But it was awful, Sire! Bloody, awful! Nothin' but ghosts in there, I tell you! Nothin' but ghosts. You can't get a hand on 'em, much less a good poke with your spear…"
The man broke down, tears making a bloody track on his face. He shook his head. "I'm … I'm … I'm sorry, Majesty. I have failed you!"
Iraj was powerfully moved by the sight of one his most faithful and long-serving kinsmen brought so low.
Then the man drew himself up-turning from shambling wreck to a proud old soldier.
"Give me the knife, Cousin," he demanded, plucking at Iraj's belt for the curved knife hanging there, "so I can end my shame!"
Iraj let him take it, but as the soldier shifted his grip to plunge the knife into his heart he stayed his hand.
"This isn't necessary, my friend," he said. "You are not at fault this day! No failure can be laid at your feet." Iraj thumped his chest. "It is your king's doing, Cousin," he said. "Blame no other."
The man sagged in relief and Iraj caught him, slipping the knife from his hands and returning it to its sheath. He steadied the soldier, turning him toward the great pavilion that housed his traveling court.
"Come," he said. "Let us eat and drink and boast of the deeds of our youth. And when you recover your horse, your strength, we can talk about what went on this day."
The two of them-Iraj nearly carrying his charge-moved toward the pavilion. Without being ordered, servants ran ahead to prepare an impromptu banquet for the king and his new companion.
Iraj paused at the entrance to speak with his aides. "Send for the Lords Fari and Luka," he ordered.
"And that bastard Kalasariz, if you see him about. Probably hiding under some rock is my guess. Tell them their king wishes to speak to them immediately!"
The aides rushed off to do his bidding. Iraj looked down at the old soldier, who seemed to be recovering somewhat.
"What is your name, my friend?" he inquired. "What do the other men of Jaspar call you?"
"Vister, Majesty," the man replied. "Sergeant Vister at yer service!" He tried to draw himself up in salute and nearly toppled over.
Iraj steadied him. "Let's get a few drinks in you, Cousin Vister," he said, "before you try that again."
As they strode into the pavilion the first few flakes of snow began to fall. Then the flakes became a flurry and the skies turned pewter gray. The snow fell harder-flakes the size of small pillows drawing a blanket of white across the stark terrain. Even the Demon Moon became diminished-an orange grin peering through the gray. Soon the entire encampment was buried in snow and the soldiers were turned out to dig paths to the tented barracks and clear the main road.
Fari and Luka arrived at Protarus' headquarters but were denied entrance while the King supped with Vister. Finally Kalasariz arrived, shivering in the cold despite the thick fur cloak he wore. He was surprised when he saw the two demons cursing and stomping about in the snow.
"What's the difficulty?" he asked. "Is the King in one of his foul moods again?"
"Who can tell?" Luka grumbled, horned brow made pale green by frost. He snorted twin columns of steam in the frigid air. "Foul or fair, all his moods seem for the worst these days."
Fari gestured at the Caluzian Pass, where several of his demon wizards were huddled miserably by the entrance tending smoking pots of magical incense.
"From what I can gather," the old demon said, "all our efforts have been brought to a massive halt so our master could talk over old times with some lowly sergeant." He shrugged, miniature avalanches of snow cascading from his shoulders. "It's a pity, really. All this snow is a great help to us."
Kalasariz frowned, then realized how much better he'd felt since the snow started. No more constant battering of wild Black Lands spells.
"I thought perhaps you had come up with some new shield," he said to Fari.
The old demon snorted. "Who has had the time for such experiments?" he said. "No, it's the storm that's doing it. As near as I can tell the snow blocks-or possibly even blinds-the machine at Caluz."
"Which means the devils inside that pass," Luka broke in, "ought to be ripe for the plucking. It's my guess that one more attack ought to knock them loose."
Kalasariz cocked an eyebrow, amused. "I assume you've told the King this," he said.
Luka barked laughter. "No, my Lord," he said, making a mock
bow. "We were waiting for you to bless us with your esteemed presence. You seem to be in the greatest favor with our Lord and Master these days. We thought you could tell him for us."
Kalasariz grinned. "And wouldn't that make me the prince of fools," he said. "Especially when I know for a fact that neither of you are sure who exactly is opposing us in that pass."
"I really must speak to you at length someday," Fari said, "on your spying methods. Not even the flies in the latrines escape your notice."
"That's true," Luka said. "Sometimes I think you can see up our arses."
"Now you've guessed my secret," Kalasariz joked. "The flies are in my employ."
All three of them laughed-forming a temporary bond in this rare moment of shared humor.
Fari was old enough and wise enough to recognize opportunity first. "Let's speak honestly for a change, my brothers," he said. "Or should I call us the Unholy Three." He chuckled. "I've heard that name for us bandied about in the ranks. Rumor has it that the King himself calls us that behind our backs. However, no matter the intent of the fellow who originally coined the term, I think it fits us all quite well."
"The Unholy Three," Kalasariz murmured. Then he smiled. "I like that. I think we should keep it."
Luka snorted. "Forget the game playing, my Lord," he said. "Call us what you will. But please … get to the point."
Fari was careful not to take offense. "Very well," he said. "I'll dispense with pleasantries and reach down for the final sum of our woes. In a few minutes the King will call us before him. How shall we advise him?"
"How can we advise him," Kalasariz said, "when we don't know what's happening in that pass?"
"We do know it isn't Safar Timura or his Kyranians who are killing our soldiers," Fari said. "All my castings at least show that."
"Then Timura must have an ally," Luka said. The careful tone of the others had made him feel awkward.
Unpolished. Definitely not royal. So he tried to be as smooth and diplomatic as he could when he said-"I know that's so obvious it may make me seem foolish to say it. However, knowing such a thing and understanding what it means are not the same. For instance, the King believes Lord Timura chose Caluz for his destination because he wants to form an alliance with the Oracle of Hadin." He shrugged. "This could be true. However, I've never heard of an Oracle with an entire army at its disposal."