The Mad God's Muse (The Eye of the Lion Saga Book 2)

by Matt Gilbert

  Kariana was, for once, speechless. She allowed herself to be pulled toward the door, confusion and fright vying for supremacy in her. What was Caelwen even saying? Aiul was invulnerable, and had an army of dead guards? It was madness. If it were anyone but Caelwen, she would think it was a joke. “I don’t understand!”

  “Survive now, understand later!”

  Even as Caelwen spoke, a chill wind rushed in through the open doors. The dozens of candles guttered, and most failed, plunging the room into near darkness. Screams of anguish and horror echoed briefly from the corridor outside Kariana's quarters, followed by sudden and grim silence. Well, I suppose he won't be telling me his name anytime soon, now.

  Caelwen stiffened and released her arm, moving to interpose himself between her and the doorway. “Stand behind me, Empress. Keep me always between you and him, and run the moment there is a path!”

  Kariana had no idea what was going on, but she had her doubts as to whether Caelwen's plan to sacrifice himself would make any real difference. “I can talk to him. Make him see reason, maybe.”

  Caelwen chuckled, a harsh, cruel sound. “That worked so well the last time, eh?”

  Aiul entered the room alone, striding purposefully, ignoring Kariana and Caelwen as if he were unaware of them. The mere sight of him was enough to convince Kariana that Caelwen was absolutely right, there was no chance of reasoning with him, though not for the reasons Caelwen imagined.

  That is not Aiul.

  He was covered in blood, steam rising off him like he had come from a sauna, and thin, starved practically. Mei, look at his hair! She felt her guts twist in pain to see him like this, but it lasted only a moment. It looked like him, in a shallow way, but the movement, the bearing, everything that made a man who he was besides the flesh he wore, all of that was terribly, impossibly wrong.

  He went directly to the wall behind Kariana's bed. Without any indication of effort or strain, he took hold of the brass bed’s foot board, lifted it into the air with a single hand, and hurled the entire frame aside to expose the wall. The bed landed against the far wall with a tremendous crash. Somewhere, beneath the fear and buzz in her head, Kariana winced to see it crumple. That bed had a lot of memories for her.

  Aiul moved to the center of the wall, made a fist, and punched a hole in the plaster. His arm sank in up to his elbow.

  It took several moments before she understood what he was doing, but when it at last penetrated, she found herself so choked she could barely strangle out words. “Stop!” Oh, no. Mei, no not that!

  Caelwen gave her a quick, curious glance, his attention still focused on Aiul, but said nothing. It irked her, even through the numbness of the drugs. Of course. I know nothing. Pay no attention to me. In a sudden fury, she punched him hard in the back. Her knuckles wailed on contact with his armor, but it least it got his attention again. “We can't let him take the Eye!”

  Caelwen again glanced at her briefly. “I have one priority, here. It's time for you to run!”

  Kariana's heart was pounding so hard she felt as if she might collapse. The drugs were gone. Even fear for her own skin was a dim thing. All she could remember were her father's words: “Inside this vault is the end of the world. It must stay there.”

  How can this happen on my watch? I don't want this job! I Never did! “You're not supposed to know about it! Nobody is! We have to stop him! It's my duty, Caelwen! I need you to trust me!”

  Caelwen turned and looked at her briefly, trying to keep Aiul in his sight as well. Her bodyguard seemed moved by whatever he saw on her face. Yes, Caelwen, I really am scared now. And I don't understand it either. I just know what they told me.

  Caelwen's anger softened as he turned back toward Aiul. “Very well, empress. I doubt we survive this, though.”

  “If we don't stop him, nobody survives!”

  Caelwen flashed her a look of shocked admiration before focusing on his enemy once again. “Then may we both die well today.”

  “I don't know how to die well,” Kariana muttered. “But I'll fake it, like I do everything else.”

  Aiul turned at the sound of her voice and smiled at her. Blood covered his face, now, and soaked the rags he wore. “The blood of Tasinal, the city of nothing, as promised,” he observed. He turned back to the wall and pulled his fist toward himself. The plaster deformed, cracked, then exploded outward under pressure. Half of the wall collapsed and fell to the floor in a rain of debris as he hauled a strong box through the hole. His fist had penetrated the box as well, and it hung like a hammer from his arm. Aiul peeled back the metal with casual ease, the squealing, rending sounds of tortured metal filling the room as he exposed and withdrew the contents: a thick silver chain, from which depended a single stone, a simple sphere of amber.

  Why my watch? The question felt rhetorical, now. Because mine is the weak one. The pounding in her temples was a familiar thing now, the natural response to impotent rage and being stupid enough to act anyway. I'm already dead, just like the Southlanders. I wish I could remember the name of their god. He would be good to call on, now. I'll just have to hope he hears me anyway.

  “My brothers cannot help you, now,” Aiul said absently as he held the necklace up, as if verifying it was genuine. Kariana saw Caelwen's attention on her waver briefly, and took her chance. She lunged forward, a near-bestial cry on her lips. Then I'll help myself, you fuck!

  Caelwen tried, but she had timed it well. She easily avoided his attempt to restrain her and charged Aiul like a bull, crashing her shoulder into his back at full speed, fully intending to knock him flat. To her shock, the impact felt more like she had ran at a statue or a mighty oak, rather than a man made of flesh. Her charge ended with a sudden, painful, bone-jarring stop that rattled her teeth in her head and set her reeling. Kariana swayed briefly, then staggered backward, arms pinwheeling. Aiul took no notice of her as she fell to the floor in a heap, cracking her head soundly on the floor for good measure.

  Kariana saw the rest of it through a red haze. Caelwen rushing forward, Aiul seizing him about the throat and holding him up like a rag doll. Caelwen fought against it, swinging his blade, but it was useless. Aiul plucked the weapon from his hand and tossed it aside. I‘d miss you, Caelwen, you stuffy old soldier, if we had any hope of surviving. Don't feel bad. We never had a chance. At least we tried.

  But what was this? Aiul was talking to him. Well, as victor, one sometimes needs to pontificate before killing, I suppose. It’s only proper. But that didn’t seem to be what was going on. She could almost make out the words, but there was an annoying humming in her ears, the perfect match for her blurred vision and splitting headache.

  Suddenly, she understood what was being said, though not so much through sound as from impact, as if she were being beaten with the words. She felt rats gnawing at her bones, and the scritch-scritch sounds of their teeth forming words in her mind: “And so the Eye of the Lion entered the world of men once more, to wake the Sleeper. This is how the world ends.”

  The assault of words tore into her mind, too much too withstand. As she watched Caelwen tossed aside like a child’s toy, her vision faded from red to black.

  Chapter 4: Commandos

  Ahmed’s vision returned slowly, a gradual brightening from black to bloodshot orange. He opened his eyes, found himself staring directly into the sun, and quickly closed them again. He was warm now, and for a moment, it seemed all would be well. Then he tried to draw a breath.

  His body seemed to move of its own accord. He hurled himself onto his stomach, the claws of a hundred cats scraping at his lungs and his belly. He heaved and vomited seawater onto the sand beneath him. It seemed as though he were filled with it.

  Shouts arose around him. “Ahmed lives!” “Liar! He is dead as stone, I saw him!” “Dog! Come and see!”

  Ahmed recognized Sandilianus’s sharp features as the soldier knelt beside him. Sandilianus nodded and gave him a smile. “So he is. I am glad to be wrong.”

  Ahmed, fai
rly busy trying to breathe, simply nodded a response.

  Another shout. “Ho! Tahir is dead!”

  Ahmed, still unable to speak, managed to struggle to his feet as Sandilianus called out in an incredulous shout, “What? How is he dead?”

  Sandilianus charged toward where Tahir lay on the sand, surrounded by four of the crew. Ahmed followed as quickly as he could. One of the men was trying to explain what had happened. “He called to Ilaweh, and then he dropped dead.”

  Sandilianus gave the man a quizzical look. “Tahir called to Ilaweh? You are certain?”

  The crewman nodded, and Sandilianus shook his head in wonder. “Then we can guess why he is dead. He must have hit his head, and hard. It’s the only way Tahir would be talking to Ilaweh!”

  The others nodded and murmured agreement, and Ahmed nodded too. It was easier than speaking his true thoughts. In his heart, Ahmed felt Sandilianus had the right of things the first time. I was dead, and Tahir alive. Somehow, Tahir had taken his place. That is madness!

  Yet it felt true.

  Perhaps I hit my head, too. He decided that it would be best to take stock of himself before doing much else, especially contemplating insane notions. Save for the water left in his lungs, which was still forcing itself from him every few moments in fits of ragged coughing, he was reasonably whole. His shoulder ached from where he had bashed it against the cabin door, and he had plenty of bruises and scrapes, but these were nothing. No broken bones, no gashes or anything requiring treatment, certainly.

  With a start, he remembered Brutus’s papers and the charge he had lain on Ahmed’s shoulders. Ahmed reached inside his shirt and sighed his relief to find the oilcloth bag just where he had placed it. As he pulled it out to examine the contents, something hard and heavy fell from his shirt.

  He bent to retrieve it and wiped sand from its surface. It was metal, covered in years of calcified accretions, but clearly artificial. It was difficult to see what it had once been, though it seemed it might have been a depiction of a face. There was a hint of a nose, a mouth, perhaps an eye. But it was strangely proportioned, if so.

  The sword Brutus had given him had also, miraculously, made the journey to shore. Ahmed had stuck it in his belt, and Ilaweh had been kind. Ahmed took the blade and carved at the deposits on the lump of metal, gradually clearing the surface as best he could with such a tool. He was pleased to see that his guess had been correct. It was a face, or at least half of one, the right side of a tiny lion’s head, mouth open in a roar, empty eye socket staring at him in blind fury. Likely, there had been a gem there, once. The side in the middle was smooth, with no sign that there had ever been a left side at all. But why make half a lion head?

  Ahmed shrugged. Might as well ask why it ended up in my shirt, for all the good it will do. He held it up to the sun, examining it, trying to work out what sort of metal it was. It shone like gold, but it was far too hard. Even steel did not scratch it.

  He tucked the piece into a pocket. It would make a nice souvenir, a memoir he could show to his children some day, and tell them of the time he had sailed the ocean, been shipwrecked, and almost drowned. For now, he had other matters to attend. He checked the integrity of the papers in the oilskin pouch, then called out, “Everyone, assemble. I have orders given to me from Brutus before he perished.”

  Sandilianus shot him a curious look. “So you are in charge now, boy?”

  Ahmed held up Brutus’s sword. “If you wish to question it, I will show you who is a boy.”

  Sandilianus chuckled and raised an eyebrow in surprise. “You would go steel with me over it?”

  Ahmed considered a moment, then lowered the sword. “Fists.”

  Sandilianus nodded. “Wisdom is good in a leader. Swords or fists, I would destroy you like a child, but I would be wrong to do it. You are Yazid’s second, and if what you say is true, Brutus’s now, as well.”

  Ahmed ground his teeth. “If? You accuse me of lying? I nearly died with him!”

  Sandilianus waved a hand dismissively. “I accuse you of nothing, but you protest much. That makes me wonder.” He cocked his head to one side and smiled, balling his hands into fists again, as if considering accepting the challenge after all. “What mission did Brutus give you?”

  By now, most of the others had gathered around and were listening. Ahmed looked about, but saw little faith on their faces. Sandilianus was the key, then. He alone would determine how things went.

  Ahmed raised the sword again, overhead, on display. “Brutus gave me his papers and this blade. The papers, he charged me to return to Prince Philip. The blade, he gave to me as my own.”

  “Why would he do that, abandon his duty and turn it over to you?”

  “He was trapped. The water was rising, and he did not want to drown. He told me to stop behaving like a woman and do what I had to do.”

  Sandilianus slapped his knees and laughed out loud. “You speak truth, then. Those are surely Brutus’s words.”He raised his open hands for all to see, and the battle was over, the tension between them evaporating into nothing.“So that is why he gave you the sword, eh?”

  “Aye.”

  Sandilianus nodded respectfully at this. “And how does it sit with you? Have you ever killed a man before?”

  Ahmed found he could not quite meet Sandilianus’s gaze, and his throat felt swollen and thick. “Bandits and such, yes. But never a man I knew. I did not like it. I did what I had to do.”

  Sandilianus rose to his feet, still nodding. “Then Brutus chose well.” He turned to the rest of the men, looking them over, daring them to defy him as he called over his shoulder, “What are your orders, sir?”

  Ahmed felt the mantle of leadership settle upon his shoulders as if it were a physical weight. It was heavier than he had expected, no longer theory, second guessing and ‘if I were in charge’ swaggering.

  First, I must take stock of what I have. He counted the faces. Nineteen men, plus himself, an army of twenty. How many were Brutus’s men, and how many were sailors? It doesn’t matter. They are all Xanthians. “Our goals are simple. We must survive, and we must find a way home. We have neither supplies nor a ship. We have no money, and so we cannot pay. We have no friends, and so we cannot borrow. How many are armed?” Ahmed was pleased to see all but one arm raised high.

  Sandilianus laughed out loud. “Bashir, you fool! How many times have I told you, better to lose your dick than your blade!”

  Bashir grinned sheepishly. “Better to lose my blade than drown, eh? I had to hack through a wall to get out, and the blade stuck.”

  Ahmed chuckled at this, remembering his own narrow escape. “Then you will use a club for now. There are plenty on this beach to be had.” Laughter rippled through the men at this, and some of the men kicked at wreckage from the ship to accent the point. Sandilianus nodded in approval.

  Ahmed waited for the chatter to die down before continuing. “We go to war of necessity, not enmity. We will harm no one unless we must, and we will take nothing we do not need. As soon as it is dark, I, Sandilianus, and three men of his choosing will scout. I saw lights from the sea last night. There is a town nearby. For now, we salvage everything we can from the wreckage. If we are to go to war, we will need shields. One for every man is the least I expect by nightfall. Ilaweh willing, we'll find some armor and javelins, too.”

  The men were eager to be led, once they had accepted a leader. They fell to the task of scavenging with gusto. By the time the sun hit the horizon, they not only had arms and armor for one and all, but had rounded up food for dinner and a even recovered Bashir's lost sword. The most pleasant surprise, by far, was the discovery of a spyglass. Tahir had managed to salvage one, and they discovered it when they buried him in the sand.

  Ahmed, Sandilianus, and their men set out shortly after dark. Ahmed was grateful indeed for Sandilianus’s help. The man had a knack for direction. He found the small fishing town in an hour, where Ahmed might have taken the whole night. This is another lesson of le
ading: you are not smarter than your men.

  Sandilianus pointed toward a small, sheltered beach a few miles in the distance. “There, I think. According to the natives a hundred leagues back, it is called Brust, though I wouldn’t even trust that much. We paid them good coin, and the dogs led us onto a reef.”

  Ahmed raised an eyebrow at this. “Did they tell us to go north or south to avoid it?” he asked, though even as he spoke the question, he knew the answer.

  “South,” Sandilianus groused. “And that is what we did....” He trailed off a moment, started to speak, then paused with his mouth open, eyes wide with sudden understanding. “The old map…and the Nihlosians called us Southlanders! They reckon north and south opposite of the way we do, don’t they?”

  “Aye. I think it is so.”

  Sandilianus’s face grew suddenly haggard and pained as the realization sank in. “ And we might have saved our brothers had we realized it.”

  Ahmed shook his head vehemently. “I think not. If you must blame someone, then blame Brutus.”

  Sandilianus gave him a scowl. “So we’ll blame the dead man? Convenient.”

  “I told Brutus for months that Ilaweh wanted us to stay, but he would not hear of it. I warned him just last night that it was dangerous to defy Ilaweh’s will, that it could turn ill for us if we forced him to intervene. Now we see the truth of it.”

  Sandilianus rubbed at at his eyes a moment and heaved a great sigh. “Do you speak truth, Ahmed, or do you say this just to make me feel less guilty?”

  Ahmed laid a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “I swear to you in the name of Ilaweh, it is true.”

  “Then let us do his will.”

  Ahmed observed the town through the spyglass, he and his party lying low in the grass of a nearby hill. It was a village of a few hundred, perhaps a thousand, mostly primitive buildings of straw and mud, with some larger places built from rough-hewn logs, nothing terribly unusual. But the people! They were the same small, brown men he had seen in Aviar! “This should be easier than we think. These people are cowards by nature.”