by Allan Cole
Safar fumbled the package open, gasping when saw what it contained-an old, leather bound book emblazoned with the sign of Asper.
He leafed through the book with numb fingers. It was a much larger and fuller version of the battered little volume he'd carried with him for so many years. Like the other, it was annotated in the master wizard's hand.
An even greater surprise awaited him in what Hantilia said next.
"I am kin to Lord Asper," she announced. "A direct descendant, to be exact. His great, great-oh, I can't count how many greats you'd put before it-granddaughter. That book has been in my family for many centuries. It was handed down with specific instructions for its use when a certain day came-the doom Lord Asper predicted for the world. It was my misfortune to be the one chosen by the Fates to carry those instructions out."
Safar frowned-he believed her, but some of what she said didn't quite make sense. "How could Asper know of me?" he asked. "I'm more than aware that he was wise and far seeing-but what you are speaking of would require so much specific knowledge of the future it defies imagination."
"Oh, your name isn't in the book, my dear Safar," Hantilia said. "Although if you read deeply you'll see he predicted someone very much like you."
She chuckled. "However, I think he believed you would be a demon like him. Regardless, you're getting the wrong idea. There are no details in the book on exactly what to do when doomsday comes. As you said, how could he predict all the events that have occurred? However, there is a spell in the book we were instructed to perform when trouble began.
"When I cast the spell, I was immediately stricken with a terrible malady." She shuddered at the memory. "I was unable to move from my bed for many weeks and the whole time I suffered the most horrible visions. It's a wonder I wasn't driven insane. In fact, until you rode into the grotto just now I wasn't certain if perhaps I was insane. Anyway, when I recovered I knew exactly what to do-up to and including the Spell of the Great Sacrifice, which was the most important and frightening requirement. I don't know how this knowledge was passed on to me. The point is, the knowledge was there and I felt obliged to act on the plan."
She hesitated, then said, "Strange as it may seem, as time went by and different things happened, I suddenly knew what I had to do next."
Hantilia smiled wryly. "The appearance of the Lady Felakia was my own idea. Actually, when I was ill I did see her in my dreams. She was one of the nicer visionary beings to visit me. I built on that dream to convince my followers of the rightness of the cause. A lie, to be sure. One I'm quite ashamed of and my real self is probably suffering in the hells right now for that sin. And rightly so. But I had to turn my followers into zealots. For who else but a zealot would agree to shoulder the blame for the sins of all human and demonkind-and then commit mass suicide as penance?"
Safar thought of how he'd manipulated his own people to what he believed was for the overall good. He hadn't asked them to commit suicide … although perhaps he had. Look at the situation they were all in-trapped in the Black Lands with Iraj ready to pounce at any moment. The odds were so short it was a grim joke to call it anything else but suicide. Even worse, he wasn't done with his kinsmen yet. If they survived this test he'd have to ask even more from them.
"I see from the look on your face, Safar Timura," Hantilia said, "that you have some … experience, shall I say … in matters of manipulation to achieve your own ends."
"That I do, Majesty," Safar said fervently. "That I do." He collected himself, then said, "I assume you were … uh … created by your … uh … living self, correct?"
"There's no need to spare my feelings, Safar," Hantilia said. "The real me no longer exists. And this image you see before you will vanish in a short while. But, to answer your question-Yes. She created me. I was placed here to await your arrival. The Great Sacrifice, you see, could only be performed in Caluz. Away from the machine and the Black Lands. Part of the spell's intent was to open a portal between the Black Lands to the shores of Caspan, where I was to greet you and instruct you further."
"When I first met your creator," Safar said, "she told me it was vital that I destroy the machine somehow. Was that true, or only a necessary lie?"
"It was partly true," Hantilia said. "I don't know what was going through my real self's mind, since I wasn't there. But I suspect I told you that was my desire so you would think I had a selfish, and therefore believable, motive for my actions. After all, if I had told you I planned a mass suicide to assist you I doubt if you would have listened much further."
Safar grimaced. That was certainly the truth!
"However, it is no prevarication that the machine presents a dire threat," Hantilia continued.
"Regionally speaking, of course, since what happens to Esmir is happening everywhere else. From what I've been able to determine the machine is an open wound between Hadin and Esmir. If it isn't stopped, Esmir will cease to exist in not many years."
"And if it is stopped?"
"Another decade or so will be added to Esmir's span." The Queen frowned. "But it won't do more than delay the inevitable. Unless you can find a solution to the disaster destroying this world, that is.
Frankly, I have grave doubts you can succeed. When you study the book I gave you, you'll see that my ancestor, Lord Asper, had the same doubts.
"There's a chance to save the world. But a very slim one, indeed."
She gave another of her elegant shrugs. "Destroy the machine, or don't destroy it. That's up to you. You will most certainly have the power to attempt it, thanks to the Spell of The Great Sacrifice."
Palimak fidgeted on the bench. He was getting restless and a bit bored with all this talk of things that happened in the past. He was here for the future!
"When do we get to the Oracle part?" he asked. "You know, when you tell us what to do to get to Syrapis?"
Hantilia smiled. "Would now be soon enough?" she asked.
Palimak nodded. "Maybe we'd better," he said. "Gundara and Gundaree say we don't have much time. I'm sorry everybody is dead and everything. Especially you. But we're not dead and I get the idea that any minute now you're going to go-poof! And disappear. Forever, probably."
Safar frowned. Although his opinions were bluntly put, Palimak was right. Safar could sense the magical creation that was Hantilia fading in and out-growing a bit weaker with each cycle.
"How do we start?" he asked the Queen.
She nodded at the book he held in his hands. "Give it to the boy and let him open it," she said.
Safar did as she asked. Palimak held the book gingerly, a little nervous.
"Go ahead," Hantilia gently urged. "Open it, my dear."
"Which page?"
"Let the book decide," was Hantilia's only reply.
Palimak's brow wrinkled in puzzlement. "I'm not sure I understand," he said.
"Just open the book, dear one, and you'll see."
Palimak took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. But being a child he went at the task perversely, carefully choosing a point about a third of the way through the book. He tried to pull it apart, but the pages stuck together and the book insisted on parting in the center.
The boy peered closely at the pages, expecting a miracle, but seeing nothing but a few poems.
"What do I do now?" he asked.
"Read one of the poems," Hantilia answered.
He looked back down at the book, trying to choose, but the words seem to skitter across the pages.
Hantilia sensed his difficulty. "Don't try to pick one," she advised. "Just open your mind to all possibilities."
Palimak squirmed, impatient, wanting to tell her this was stupid. For not the first time, he wondered why witches and wizards didn't speak plainly. They always used such funny words that didn't really mean anything when he thought about them later. Like Hantilia saying he should "open his mind to all possibilities." How do you open a mind? It's closed up in your head, for goodness sakes. And as for
"all possibilitie
s," that was just plain silly. It didn't describe anything. Or maybe it was the other way around. Maybe it described Everything. Was that what she meant?
Suddenly, to his amazement, words took form and a poem practically leapt from the page.
"This is great!" he exclaimed. "What do I do next?"
"Read to us," the Queen said. And so he did, chanting:
"The Gods are uneasy in their sleep.
They dream of wolves among the sheep.
Brothers in greed, kin to hate,
Wolves bar the path to Hadin's gates."
As Palimak spoke the last words, red smoke whooshed up and he reflexively jerked his head back in alarm.
"It's all right, Little Master," Gundara whispered. "It won't hurt you."
Palimak nodded and sat quite still, watching the smoke curling up like a snake. Then lips formed in the smoke-full lips parting in a woman's seductive smile.
Safar instantly recognized that smile. He'd first seen it as a boy, except Iraj had been with him then. He leaned closer as the lips opened to speak. Safar heard a woman's voice say:
"There is a veil through which no sage can see. For there is no lamp to light the fates. Yet knowthat in the place where the heavens meet the hells-good and evil, foul and fair, life and death, areall coins of the same value. Spend them wisely, seekers, or spend them foolishly, it makes nodifference to the sleeping gods. But do not hesitate, do not stray from your path. And rememberabove all things-what two began, three must complete."
The smoke vanished and the book snapped shut.
Safar looked up at Palimak, expecting to see wonderment on his face. Instead, the boy was sneering.
"If I ever make one of those things," he announced, "I'm going to figure out how to make it talk so people can understand what it means."
Serious as the moment was, Safar couldn't help but laugh. "If you ever do, son," he said, "you'll have witches and wizards with fists full of gold lined up for miles to buy one minute of your oracle's time."
"Maybe," Palimak said absently. Then his eyes brightened. He started to say more, but Safar made a signal and he stopped, looking over at Hantilia.
To the boy's surprise her form had faded so much that she was nearly a shadow. In a few moments she would be gone.
"I have one other thing to tell you before I go, Safar Timura," she said.
"Go on, please, dear lady," Safar said.
"You will need ships to sail to Syrapis," she said. "So you must travel to Caspan next. There is a friend waiting for you there who can help.
"But do it immediately. Haste is of prime importance. I can't stress that too much.
"You have three days at the most to make your arrangements and return to Caluz for your people. The portal will be closed after that."
"Who is this man?" Safar asked.
"He's called Coralean," she said.
Safar reacted, surprised. But before he could ask more, the Queen turned to Palimak.
"Answer me quickly, dear one," she said. "I have little time left. Back at the palace … Did my temporal presence tell you about your mother?"
"Yes," Palimak said, trembling.
Hantilia smiled. "Good," she said. "Good."
She raised a hand of farewell, barely visible now.
"Wait!" Safar shouted. Hantilia's form steadied. "What about the lady? The Spirit Rider who led us here? Who is she?"
"Lady?" Hantilia said, eyes widening in surprise. "I know of no lady."
And then she was gone.
CHAPTER TWENTY NINE
CORALEAN'S BARGAIN
As beautiful as Caspan had seemed from a distance, up close it was a horror. It was late afternoon when they reached the city. Plague bells were tolling and there was an awful stench of death rising from the great ditch encircling the city's walls-a sure sign even routine burials had been abandoned. The gates were wide open and people with the wild looks of refugees were streaming out, their belongings piled onto carts or on their backs. The walls, which had appeared so pristine white from the hills, were a filthy gray, marked further by crumbling stone and breaks in the wall due to civic neglect.
Palimak shuddered. "Do we have to go in there, father?" he asked.
"No, thank the gods," Safar said. "Coralean never liked city life. Too many people spying on you from alleys, is how he puts it."
They traveled a few miles more until they came upon a magnificent villa built on a hill that overlooked a graceful bay. In the dying sunlight Safar could see scores of white sails sitting off the coast and he idly wondered why so many ships were anchored in the same place.
As they approached the villa's gates-closed and barred against the coming night-Palimak suddenly said,
"Look out, father!"
Before he could react a hard voice rang out from behind them. "Hold, stranger!"
Startled as he was, Safar knew better than to whirl around to see who was challenging them. He reined Khysmet in and sat quite still, whispering to Palimak that he shouldn't move a muscle. He heard heavy boots moving toward them, estimating by the sound that he was being confronted by at least half-a-dozen men.
Then three heavily armed thugs came into view, sidling up on either side. A crop-eared man grabbed Khysmet's reins while the others spread out, crossbows cocked and ready. Behind them, Safar could hear the other men cock their bows.
The scar-faced thug spoke to the others. "If the bastard moves, kill him! Don't wait for orders."
"What about the boy?" one of the men asked.
Crop Ear shrugged. "Kill him too."
Then he turned to Safar. "Talk," he commanded. "And you'd better make it good. We've got some graves down the bottom of the hill dug specially for liars."
Safar grinned down at the man. "It sure is good to see your ugly face again, Gitter," he said. "And I notice you still have one ear left. You're either a better thief than you used to be, or you've made good your promise to end your evil ways."
Gitter jerked back. Then he peered closer at Safar, an ugly smile slowly spreading across his face as recognition dawned.
"Ease off, lads," he ordered the men. "And, you, Hasin, run and tell the master Lord Timura's come for a visit."
"I once believed that Coralean was the luckiest man in the whole history of Esmir," the caravan master rumbled. "I thought that when the gods coined luck they must have kept back the fattest purse for Coralean's glorious arrival to this world."
He raised a crystal goblet in toast. "But now I know that I, Coralean, who has prided himself these many years for not only being lucky, but also on being rarely wrong in his judgment, was most grievously in error. You, my friend-not Coralean-won the fattest purse of all."
Safar clinked goblets with him. "Thank you for the words of hope," he said, "but I fear that when it comes to luck … I'm down to my last few coppers of the stuff."
They were taking their ease in Coralean's spacious study, which sat atop a specially built garden tower looking down on the bay. It was night. From the huge window Safar could see a forest of ships' lights playing on the waters. It was a peaceful scene, an idyllic scene, marred only by the face of the Demon Moon peering through a high cloud cover.
Both he and Palimak were bruised from the big man's hearty embraces of welcome. Coralean had then ordered his wives to see his visitors were fed, bathed and massaged with soothing oils. Palimak had fallen asleep during his massage. Now he was peacefully slumbering in a soft bed with silken sheets and perfumed pillows-the finest bed he'd known since he was a babe in Nerisa's luxurious care.
Coralean refilled Safar's goblet, then topped off his own. "I must confess I had grave doubts this meeting would ever occur. In fact, if I had any worthy competitors left, I would have suspected them of concocting a wild plot to diminish Coralean's hard-earned fortunes. Consider, my friend. A fellow in red robes and fiendish eyes shows up at my gates with news of your imminent arrival. It had been so long since I had heard anything of you, I thought you dead."
"We've been s
tranded in the Black Lands for quite awhile," Safar said.
"So you've told me. That also explains why I've heard nothing about Iraj Protarus' progress. It was as if his whole army had disappeared from the face of Esmir while hunting you. An impossibility, of course.
Which gave Coralean hope that Safar Timura still survived. Otherwise our good king would be marching through these streets at this very minute, proclaiming victory over the evil Lord Timura."
"Which is why you listened to Hantilia's courier," Safar said. "Otherwise, Gitter would have planted him in your little garden of liars at the bottom of the hill."
Coralean grimaced. "What a world we live in, my friend, where a gentle man-a man who is loathe to kill a flea, who is, after all, only going about his honest purpose-could be forced to condone such deeds."
Safar buried a smile. Coralean was not a casually brutal man, but he had not made his great fortune by avoiding bloodshed. Many a new caravan track had been opened by Coralean over the years-all well-marked by the heads of bandits-and other enemies-stuck up on posts.
"But to return to our wild-eyed stranger in red," Coralean said. "He was not a man I would normally take seriously. I would have given him a few coins and sent him on his madman way. However, when he presented me with a bag of gold-a gift from his queen, he said-well, I felt obliged to listen. I'd never heard of this Queen Hantilia, but the payment was so unnecessarily large I thought only royalty could be that foolish. I think the crowns they wear are to blame. They squeeze their heads so tightly there's no room for common business sense."
Safar chuckled. Then, "I still find it amazing you believed him. If someone-even if it were the royal personage herself-told me that a fellow hunted in every corner of Esmir would show up at my door, dragging a thousand people behind him, I'd have declared them insane to their face and called in a guard to escort them from my presence."
Coralean stroked his beard. "Is it really a thousand, Safar?" he asked. "You really did manage to carry away your entire village? All of Kyrania? Without fatalities?"