by Allan Cole
He glanced down and found filthy leather breeches covering his legs. He raised a hand and saw something strange and gnarled and quite unfamiliar rise up-the hand of another man! And then it came to him that he was in Vister's body, reliving the moments leading to the second battle in the pass.
"Easy, Majesty," he heard Fari murmur. Voice close, but distant at the same time. "We are with you!"
"Yes, Highness," came another voice-Kalasariz'. "I am here."
"As am I, Majesty, as am I," he heard Luka say.
He looked at the mounted soldiers on either side of him. All were grizzled and filthy. Of the lowest of the low-ranking, be they demon or human. Fari and the others were among them, but he couldn't tell which was which.
He heard a clatter of falling stone and Vister's body jerked in alarm. Eyes probing here and there, every nerve screaming ambush, but nothing real to place the feeling on no matter how hard he strained his senses.
Then he heard a steady, tromp, tromp of many marching men and he twisted in his saddle, steadying his skittish horse, looking for the source of the sound. All around him the other soldiers were doing the same and the air was filled with whispered curses and clanking armor.
A great trumpet sounded-blasting through the narrow canyon and resounding off the walls.
Iraj/Vister whirled to the front, shouting and clawing for his sword when he saw the ghastly army march into view.
They were huge men, so heavily mailed they turned the pass into a solid wall of armor. Their flesh was pale, corpselike, their lips the color of blood. They had huge hollow eyes that seemed like the darkest and deepest of caverns.
He heard his companions cry out and draw their weapons. Attack orders were shouted and Iraj/Vister raked his horse's flanks with his spurs and charged straight ahead. All his sensibilities were hurled aside.
His own life became insignificant as he joined the thundering cavalcade intent on slaughtering the enemy marching towards them.
He heard a hoarse voice shout: "For the King!"
And the others took up the cry-"FOR THE KING!"
Iraj/Vister found himself shouting along with his brother warriors and for a few seconds he thought the greatest thing he could ever accomplish would be to die for his king.
And then he thought, But, I'm the King!
At that moment he smashed into the armored ranks of the enemy.
The expected shock of collision never came. To his amazement his horse swept through the densely packed enemy ranks as if they didn't exist. Helmed faces rose up to confront him. His horse, a veteran of many such attacks, lashed out with iron hooves, screaming in panic when it encountered nothing except insubstantial smoke and air.
A huge enemy warrior lunged at him with a spear. Iraj/Vister tried to knock it aside with his sword, but like the horse, his weapon encountered nothingness and he was nearly toppled from the saddle from the force of his own blow.
They're ghosts! his mind screamed as he clawed himself upright, losing his sword in the process. Ghosts!
He righted himself just as the ghost warrior's spear caught the edge of his chain vest. The spear skittered across the links and he felt the all too familiar white hot sear as a sharp point needled through the links and cut into flesh. Experience as much as fear dulled the pain and Iraj/Vister kicked through, mercilessly raking his horse's flanks.
His body was violated many times during the charge through that ghostly mass. By the time his horse was cut down he had suffered many small wounds and lacerations. He'd fought hard, yet not one of his enemies had been harmed. Every blow he struck met no resistance. The enemy soldiers seemed to dissolve as he thrust and slashed at them.
In the end he relied on his professional skill as a horseman, dodging this way and that, avoiding many of the blows aimed at him. All around him his companions were being slaughtered by the score.
Then a javelin took his horse and the poor beast squealed and folded under him. Iraj/Vister tried to roll free, but his wounds made him weak and the horse rolled on top of him. Amazingly, he found himself lying under the animal not only alive, but still mobile. Several corpses propped the dead horse up just enough so that Iraj/Vister was sheltered from the one-sided battle raging in the pass.
All desire to fight was gone. Now it was all he could do to keep from gibbering with fear and giving himself away to the enemy.
He peered through a small opening and saw the last of his mates dragged from his horse by the ghost warriors. They forced him to kneel and one giant grabbed the soldier by the hair, while another sliced off his head. The execution was so close that blood sprayed Iraj/Vister's face.
Then all became blackness.
Iraj's eyes blinked open. He felt strength flood back into his limbs and he realized he'd been returned to his own body.
He was back in the throne room, the Unholy Three standing before him, studying his reactions through conspiratorial eyes.
Iraj coughed and sat upright, squaring his shoulders. "Very informative, my Lord," he said to Fari, making his voice casual.
Fari bowed. "Yes, Majesty," he said. "Quite informative indeed."
Luka said, "Give me the right spells to fight them, my Lord Fari, and I will clear the pass by tomorrow night." Then, to Iraj, "And it is my solemn vow, Highness, that not one drop of the blood of our soldiers will be shed without just cause."
Kalasariz suddenly felt left out-vulnerable. He was a spy master, not a warrior or a wizard. He had nothing of value to offer at this most crucial moment. Then he glanced over at Vister and saw that the old soldier was no longer snoring in his chair. Instead he was quite still, his face yellow and waxen.
Just then one of the maids noticed something was amiss and placed a hand on Vister's chest. She was too well trained to cry out-possibly drawing the wrath of the moody King Protarus. Nevertheless, big tears welled up in her eyes and she began to weep.
Kalasariz saw his opportunity and took it. "I fear, my Lord," he said to Luka, "that your promise to our king came too late for at least one of our most noble heroes."
He gestured and everyone turned to see Vister slumped in his chair, the maid weeping over his body.
"Unless I am mistaken," Kalasariz continued, "the good Sergeant Vister is quite dead." He looked pointedly at Fari, who was fuming at this early betrayal of the truce. "Apparently your spell was too much for the poor fellow," he said. "Although you assured us otherwise."
"Look here, Kalasariz!" Luka snapped, "it's easy enough to criticize when one-"
Iraj cut him off. "It so happens, my Lord," he rasped, "that our brother, Kalasariz, happens to be echoing the criticisms of your king!"
He rose from the throne and went to Vister, pushing the maids away and hoisting the body up in his arms, cradling the big soldier as if he were a babe.
"This is your fault, Fari," he said to the old demon. "And yours as well, Luka," he said to the prince, "for the reasons I gave before."
Fari and Luka, reduced to the Unholy Two, bowed, spewing many fervent apologies.
"Know this," King Protarus said. "The man you see in my arms was my kinsman, my cousin. He had followed me faithfully for many years over many miles and suffered much in my service. I do not take his death lightly. Do you understand me?"
Fari and Luka assured the king they understood quite well. Kalasariz said nothing, edging to the side to separate himself from the others.
"Go then," the King ordered. "Win me my victory, but remember this man. Remember him well!"
Kalasariz added his own voice with others, saying, "Yes, Majesty! All will be as you command."
All three bowed, then crept away.
Iraj watched them go, relieved. First, that their unity had once again been shattered. Second, that for the moment his secret still seemed safe.
He looked down at Vister's dead face. "They don't know a blessed thing, do they cousin?" he said.
Then he dropped the body into the chair. "See to it that he has a proper burial," he said to his servan
ts, then strode away.
CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN
SPIES ON THE WIND
"Steady!" Biner shouted. Then: "Launch!"
The ground crew let go the cables and the airship shot into the sky-furnaces roaring, the twin balloons taut till near bursting.
Leiria's stomach lurched at the unaccustomed feeling of weightlessness. She leaned over the side, fearing she was about to get sick, then saw the rapidly diminishing figures on the ground and felt sicker still. She closed her eyes, willing the sickness to be gone. She kept them closed for a long time, concentrating on the sounds around her-Biner's shouted orders, the aircrew's reply, the pumping bellows and roaring furnaces. And finally, the oddly melodic song of the wind strumming the great cables that held the ship to the balloons.
The sudden snowstorm had delayed the launch well past the chosen hour. Biner had held everyone at ready, ground crew poised at the cables, aircrew scrambling about knocking off ice. Meanwhile, teams of Kyranian volunteers shivered in the cold as they kept the area swept free of snow.
Then there'd been a brief respite as the sun broke through, revealing a small patch of blue sky and Biner had launched the ship.
Now Leiria was crouched on the steering deck, wishing for all the world that she could be somewhere else. Anything, even a charging horde of demon cavalry, would be better than this. At least she'd be on nice safe ground.
"I know what yer thinkin', lass," she heard Biner say. "That if the gods meant yer to fly, they'd a provided yer with the belly for it."
Leiria opened her eyes to find the dwarf standing next to her. She nodded weakly. "I would have thought wings," she said, "or at least a few pin feathers. But you're right. Whatever god made birds must've started with the belly."
She groaned to her feet, forcing herself not to look over the edge. "I think I'm going to live," she said.
"Although I'm still not sure if I care."
Arlain came up, carrying a steaming mug. "Thith'll do the trick," she said. "Ith an old balloonitht cure for air thickneth."
Gratefully, Leiria drank. It was delicious-a thick, forthy elixir heavily laced with brandy. Her queasy inner world suddenly settled.
"Oh, that's much better!" she said. "My stomach's practically cheering."
"It's usually much smoother than this, lass," Biner said, taking her elbow and leading her over to the big ship's wheel.
"Here," he said, putting her hands on the wheel. "This'll give you somethin' to hold onto." He pointed to a mountain ridge off in the distance. "Keep her headed that way," he said.
Then to her great surprise and alarm, he bounded down the gangway to berate a lazy crewman.
"Wait," she cried, "I don't know how to-"
She bit off the rest as the dwarf vanished below. And she thought, if Biner wasn't worried, steering the airship couldn't be that difficult.
Leiria concentrated on the ridge, moving the wheel whenever the nose of the ship veered away from it.
At first she tended to oversteer and the ship yawed widely from side to side. She kept expecting someone to come running to push her aside and take the wheel. When no one came she soon forgot about everything else but steering the ship and quickly saw the way of it.
The combination of Arlain's elixir plus having something useful to do gradually did its work, and before she knew it, Leiria was actually enjoying herself. The air was clean and bracing and there was an incredible sense of freedom that came from floating so high above the earth. They were sailing just above a thick cloud cover, blue skies and a bright sun, mountains stretching away in every direction as far as she could see. At least that's how it appeared for a time. About a half mile from the ridge Biner had aimed her toward, it began to dawn on her that something was wrong.
Instead of fleeing as the airship approached, the horizon grew closer. The sky in that direction was still blue, but the blue seemed more … solid was the only description she could think of. But not hard, like metal, but soft, like … like … some kind of cloth. And now that she thought of it, the cloth was moving …
billowing … as if an immense window had been left open and the wind was pushing through the curtains.
Biner and Arlain must have sensed something was up, because they both came running up on the deck.
As Biner took over the wheel, Leiria pointed.
"Look," she said. "Through there…"
She was pointing through the gap of what she thought of as "curtains." Biner cursed and Arlain covered her mouth in alarm. Glaring through the opening was the familiar, evil face of the Demon Moon.
The sight of their old celestial enemy was driven home by the heavy throbbing of a huge machine and the whiff of the foul air of the Black Lands.
"No use cryin' over spilt air," Biner said grimly. "Besides, we were half expectin' it ever since we started on this little spyin' trip."
"I thirtainly wath never exthpecting that again!" Arlain said, jabbing a claw at the leering moon.
"Thomebody thould of warned me!"
"And then what would yer have done?" Biner said. "If we'd of spelled it out real plain-so we could be sure yer were scared sandless. I mean, Safar told us we were livin' in a false Caluz. That outside that little valley was the real world. Which is where we gotta go if we're gonna do any worthwhile eagleyein'."
"I know that," Arlain sniffed.
"So, if we'd a painted a picture for yer," Biner went on, "and made sure yer knew we'd be in the Black Lands again, complete with Demon Moon and crazy sorcery, what would yer have done, lass.
Decided not to go?"
"Don't be thilly," Arlain said. "Of courth, I'd thtill go! I haven't been flying in yearth! You couldn't have kept me off thith airthip with a whole army of Demon Moonth!"
She sniffed. "But it thirtainly wouldn't have been impolite to warn me!"
"Listen," Leiria broke in. "I don't know you all very well. Maybe this little bantering between you is just your normal way of facing a dangerous situation."
She indicated the flowing curtain, which they were moments away from sailing through. "But while you've been talking, we've getting closer to that!"
Biner frowned at her. "So? That was the plan, wasn't it, lass?"
"Yes," Leiria said. "But we weren't supposed to do it naked!"
Biner slapped his forehead. "Damn! I fergot!"
He shouted orders and several big crewmen raced to break out several large kegs. It was a little too late, however, because they were just knocking the tops off the kegs when the airship sailed through the curtains and suddenly they were sweeping over a bleak landscape-a frozen plain pierced by huge, tortured black rock formations.
As they entered the Black Lands Leiria was wracked with sudden pain. Every joint and muscle ached and her head throbbed as if she'd been stricken by some dreaded plague. She heard Biner and Arlain moan and the harsh wrenching sound of a crewman coughing up his breakfast.
Safar had warned them about entering the Black Lands without a shield to protect them from the wild spells. He'd even provided them with the means to make one-the contents of the casks the crewmen had been opening.
Leiria forced herself off the steering deck, going down the gangway step by agonizing step, feeling as if she were carrying a heavy load of hot bricks on her shoulders.
She stumbled over the crewmen, who were writhing about the main deck, clutching their heads and calling for their mothers. When she came to the first cask she almost broke down, falling to her knees and cracking her head on the rim. Somehow she found strength and pulled herself up, blood streaming down her face from a cut. She dug out her tinder box, feeling like an old arthritic woman as she tried to light it.
Finally it caught, and she threw the entire tinder box into the cask, hurling herself backward just in time as flames and smoke exploded up and out.
Leiria stayed flat on her back, watching the smoke curl under the air bags, then flow around the sides until both balloons looked like immense white clouds. Gradually, as Safar's shield too
k affect, she felt better. For the second time in less than two hours, she thought she felt well enough to care if she lived.
She clambered to her feet, muttering, "Damned flyers! Not a brain in their heads!"
The crewmen were also recovering and she set them to work tending the casks. They were to wait until the first barrel burned out, then light the next, and so on until someone told them to stop.
She returned to the steering deck, expecting to find Biner and Arlain waiting with shamed expressions and many apologies.
Instead she found them intent on the scene below.
Leiria's eyes widened when she saw what they were looking at. Beneath them was an immense army, drawn up under a thick steaming blanket of snow.
She heard camels bawling and the racket of armorers pounding out dents in shields.
Rising out of the center of the encampment was a snow-covered pavilion topped by a waving banner-the Demon Moon with the Comet rising.
Iraj had finally caught them!
CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT
THE ORACLE SPEAKS
"We're inside the machine, father!" Palimak shouted. But Safar had sensed the wrongness a moment before the boy's warning.
The air became very cold and gulls shrilled warnings overhead. The breeze coming off the sea carried the sudden stink of sorcery. Ahead of him the Spirit Rider wheeled her horse and charged away. Instinctively he knew this was no tease, no game of seduction in a dark wood.
He dug his knees into Khysmet and the horse leaped after the black mare. Both of them knew the threat came from behind-not ahead. Snow started to fall, then Palimak cried out his warning-"We're inside the machine, father!" Putting words to the half-formed thoughts in his mind.
There was a loud crash! behind them-so heavy it shook the ground.
Safar glanced around and saw huge white jaws reaching for them. Khysmet surged forward just in time, the jaws clashing together on emptiness. Safar turned his head away, but the creature's huge eyes-burning with the blue fires of some icy hell-caught his. He felt numb, his strength drained away by sudden cold. It took all his will to force his eyes away from the creature's and his strength flooded back the moment he was facing forward again.