by Allan Cole
Iraj gathered all his strength and flung himself forward, humping madly like a hunted worm.
He must escape. He must reach Safar.
Crying: Safar, Safar! Wait for me, Safar!
CHAPTER FOUR
THE BARBARIAN QUEEN
King Rhodes hefted the sack of gold in his big fist. “For another one of these,” he rumbled, “you can be king of all Syrapis for all I care."
His bearded jaw swung open like hairy gates to make a yellow, broken-toothed smile. “'King of kings’ is a title I've been hearing bandied about lately. If that's what you want, I won't stand in your way."
Rhodes was playing to his subjects, who laughed in appreciation at their king's jest, crowding closer to the platform so they could hear every word of the exchange.
Palimak snorted. “They tried that in Esmir,” he said. “Didn't work."
There were angry mutters in the crowd. They didn't like Palimak's rude retort to their king.
Rhodes dug thick fingers into his beard to scratch at some irritation. “Clever answer,” he said. He jerked a bejeweled thumb at a scrawny-looking nobleman at his side. “Only the other day I was telling my minister—Muundy here—what a clever young prince you are. Setting a fine example for me and my brother kings to follow."
Palimak couldn't help but notice the contrast between the rich stone set in the thumb-ring and the grime under the king's nails. He warned himself mentally to proceed with great care. It would not be wise to underestimate this man. Of all the kings of Syrapis, Rhodes was the biggest, the meanest, the most barbaric.
And yet he had more than mere cunning glinting behind those rheumy eyes. He was also obviously well-informed by his spies. His hinted knowledge of Palimak's past troubles with Iraj Protarus was firm evidence of that. One thing Palimak had learned, however, was that the only way to deal with Rhodes was from strength.
As Coralean—that canny old caravan master—liked to say, “Rhodes is either at your feet or at your throat."
"That's kind of you to say so, Majesty,” Palimak replied, not bothering to hide his sarcasm.
He turned to Leiria, who was standing easy by his side, thumbs hooked over her belt. “When we get home,” he said, “remind me to see about setting up a special school for the kings of Syrapis. We'll start with classes on regular bathing and grooming."
Leiria made a thin smile. She was barely conscious of the exchange, eyes flickering here and there for signs of danger.
Outwardly, Rhodes didn't take offense at Palimak's abuse. He guffawed, slapping a meaty palm against a thigh as thick as a pillar.
"What's the matter with you Kyranians?” he said. “Don't you like a good smell? A man's smell?” He frowned, pretending concern. “I worry about you, young prince. You bathe more than is healthy for you. Why, if you aren't careful, you'll catch a chill and die on us. What a pity it would be for you to let out the ghost so young. Just when we're getting to know and love you."
Palimak grinned sarcastically. “And my gold,” he said. “You seem to love that as well."
Rhodes’ heavy brows beetled into a frown. Another buzz of anger went through the crowd. Leiria shifted, deliberately letting her chain mail rattle in warning.
A stranger to King Rhodes’ court, Leiria reflected, would've thought Palimak's impertinence foolishness of the first order. After all, the two of them were the only Kyranians on the platform with the king. And that platform—the same one they'd seen from the air not long before—was surrounded by hundreds of the king's subjects, who filled the open courtyard from wall to wall.
It was certainly an intimidating mob. Like their king, they were filthy. Food stains spotted their garments, some of which were actually quite well-made beneath the dirt. They were a large people; even some of the women were nearly six feet tall. The men sported fierce tattoos on their faces and many of the women had sharp filed teeth. Leiria suppressed a shudder.
It was rumored that Rhodes and his subjects were cannibals, although there was no real evidence of this. There was no doubt, however, that they collected the heads of their enemies. Many wore belts festooned with shrunken skulls, decorated with colorful ribbons worked into the hair.
At any other time this mob would have charged the platform and ripped Palimak and Leiria to shreds.
Leiria glanced upward. Circling overhead was the great airship. Bowmen lined the rails, arrows fixed and ready to fire. They were magical arrows, specially constructed by Palimak—with the help of Gundaree and Gundara—to strike and horribly burn any target they hit.
These, plus the other spell weapons Biner and the crew were armed with, were the only things that kept Leiria and Palimak safe. Rhodes knew from painful experience that any threatening move on his part would bring instant and massive retaliation from above.
Rhodes caught Leiria's glance and his eyes instinctively flickered upward, then back again. She noted a brief, uncontrollable twitch of fear.
Then the king recovered, placing a hairy paw of mock sincerity across his broad, mailed chest. “Here is the truth, young prince,” he said to Palimak. “Spoken straight from this old heart. Despite our ... ahem ... difficulties in the past, I now find myself thinking of you as the son I never had."
Leiria saw a dangerous glow in Palimak's eyes: she knew he was thinking of Safar and was offended by Rhodes’ remark. Sometimes she almost forgot how young Palimak really was. And with youth came a quick and deadly temper.
She broke in before things took a bad turn. “Pardon, majesty,” she said to Rhodes, “but there seems to be something missing here.” She looked pointedly around the platform. “Such as the matter of the hostage we agreed upon."
Rhodes turned surly. “What has this world come to?” he grumbled. “Not to trust the word of a Syrapian king! I see no reason for this hostage business. You have my personal pledge that this truce and all of its terms will stand."
"And one of the key requirements of those terms,” Leiria said, “was that you would provide us with a hostage."
She turned to Palimak. “Apparently, King Rhodes still doesn't think we're serious, my lord,” she said to him. “It's my advice that we leave now and allow him more time to reflect."
Palimak eyed the king. “Is that what you want?” he asked. “If you need more thinking time, I'm certainly ready to grant it. Meanwhile, the blockade will stand."
The blockade he was referring to was one of the main things that had forced Rhodes to the bargaining table. Coralean was at this moment standing off Rhodes’ main port with a small but well-armed fleet of mercenary warships. Effectively bottling Rhodes’ ships up and cutting off all trade with the outside world.
Rhodes sighed heavily. “Very well,” he said. “If you insist.” He turned and rumbled orders to one of his aides.
A few moments later there was a loud yowl—like someone had just been foolish enough grab hold of a tiger's tail! This was followed by a firestorm of shrill curses and threats.
Palimak heard someone rail, “Get your hands off me, you sons of flea-ridden curs! I'll claw your filthy eyes from your heads and your lying tongues from your mouths!"
Then he gaped as two red-faced soldiers stumbled onto the platform, dragging a biting, kicking, scratching bundle of fury between them. The men's faces and arms were dripping blood from wounds they'd already suffered in the struggle.
It took Palimak a full minute to realize that it was a woman, not a howling animal, that they were hauling before the king.
And what a woman she was! Easily as tall as Leiria, sinuously muscular like a great cat, tawny hair like a lion's and glittering diamond-hard eyes. She was half naked—someone had obviously tried to force her to dress and she wasn't having any of it.
The rich clothing, inlaid with gems and gold bead, had been ripped to shreds by her struggles, revealing an impressive expanse of shapely limbs. Only a narrow breast band and a scanty loin cloth guarded her modesty from full public view.
Not that she seemed to care. The woman was
so angry, so bent on getting at the soldiers to rake them with her dagger-like nails, that the remains of her clothing were practically falling off her. Finally, after what seemed like a small eternity, the soldiers wrestled her over to the throne.
King Rhodes lumbered to his feet, drawing himself up like an angry bear. Palimak barely restrained a gulp. He knew Rhodes was big, but, by the gods, he hadn't known he was this big! Seven feet, at least. With shoulders as wide as a freight wagon.
"Stop this, daughter!” Rhodes thundered. “How dare you humiliate me in front of our friends."
Instantly, the woman ceased her struggles. But there was no fear in her as she quickly straightened up. She glared at the soldiers, who swallowed hard, gingerly let her loose and backed away.
The woman lifted her head to meet Rhodes’ eyes, and sniffed imperiously, saying, “Balls to your humiliation, father dear! Balls, I say!"
She quickly and somehow regally pulled her tattered clothing around her. Making the rags seem like a royal gown.
"I am being treated like a slave hauled to market.” She ran strong, slender fingers through her hair. “Worse than a slave, actually. Slaves have some value, after all. In this kingdom, it has become quickly apparent, a queen has no rights or dignity at all!"
Rhodes face went from purple to its normal drink-induced flush. He turned to Palimak and Leiria, grinning hugely and with relish.
"Allow me to introduce you, noble ones,” he said, so mildly polite that they might have been at a fine dinner party, “to my daughter, Queen Jooli.
"Your hostage!"
Leiria coughed, recovered, then dipped her head. “Pleased, I'm, uh, sure."
Palimak could only stare. His entire vocabulary was stuck somewhere in the vicinity of the huge lump in his throat. Leiria jabbed an elbow into his ribs.
"Uh, yes,” he croaked, “hap ... uh ... happy to ... uh...” The rest was lost.
To Palimak's dismay, Jooli whirled about to confront him. She studied him, piercing gaze taking him in from toes to crown. Palimak suddenly felt very small and very young. Much like a minnow about to be swallowed by a large female-type fish.
At the same time a little voice whispered in his ear. “Beware, little master. She's a witch!” It was Gundaree, reduced to a flea speck on his shoulder. The moment he heard the Favorite's warning, Palimak felt a spark of sorcery leap across the space between Jooli and himself.
"So, you are to be my captor,” Jooli said, in a voice dripping with belittlement.
Before he could react, she turned back to Rhodes. “What's happening, here, father?” she asked, equally sarcastic. “Have you been defeated by a child's army? Or is this one of your rude jests?"
Nonplused, Rhodes shrugged. “Just do what you are told for a change, daughter,” he said. “Certain terms were required. And I met them. My honor is at stake here."
Eyes still on her father, Jooli stabbed a long finger at Palimak. “Bugger your honor, father,” she said. “You can't really expect me to go with him!"
Rhodes snorted. “We've gone over this before, Jooli. As my eldest child, you are in line to succeed me. On the other hand, I'll be damned if a woman will ever take my throne."
He gave her a beseeching look. “Why wouldn't you marry any of the good and honest princes I've brought to your chamber, seeking your favor? It would've been so much simpler that way."
"They were all either boors or cowards, father,” Jooli said. “What's worse, they were stupid. You expect me to confer a kingship on stupid men? And simper in their shadows, dropping dim-witted children by the dozen like a brood sow?"
Leiria struggled for self control. She felt like an unwanted witness to an intimate family fight—which this definitely was—and wanted no part of it. She wished mightily that Coralean were here. The wise old caravan master would've shut these people up with a few well-chosen phrases.
Palimak, although old in mind, was too young and out of his element for this sort of thing. Hells, Leiria knew she wasn't up to it and she was not only pushing the three-decade mark, but had been lover to a great king and in love with a mighty wizard. Plus a soldier commander in countless wars.
Rhodes brushed his hands together—a rare washing, if only by air. “I'm done with you, daughter,” he said. “I've finally found you a duty you can't shirk. Your kingdom requires this sacrifice. You cannot refuse it!"
Jooli drew herself up and Leiria could tell by the narrowing of her eyes that she was about to skin her father alive verbally. It was time to stop this nonsense. There was much more important business ahead than their damned family squabble!
Leiria drew her sword—the distinctive rasp of metal riveting everyone's attention. Her steel-soled boots rang as she stomped forward, blade extended, point aimed directly at Jooli.
"What's this!” Rhodes shouted, taking a step forward. But at the same moment he looked upward at the hovering airship and all those drawn bows and hesitated.
Jooli fixed Leiria with a fierce glare. “Am I to be assassinated before my own father?” she growled. Brave as her words were, she still shrank visibly before Leiria's determined approach.
Leiria swung the blade back as if to strike, then smoothly slid it forward, turning it from razor edge to flat passiveness. She stopped the sword just short of Jooli's heart.
"Do you, Queen Jooli,” she said with all the solemness she could muster, “swear to give us your royal oath that you will give yourself over to captivity? And that you will not attempt to escape, or conspire to escape, while you are in our custody?"
"This is ridiculous,” Jooli protested.
"Swear it, daughter!” Rhodes thundered.
Queen Jooli made a dramatic sigh. “Oh, very well,” she said. She placed her hand on the flat of the sword. “I so swear,” she said. She glowered at Leiria. “There, you have my parole. Are you satisfied?"
For just a moment, Leiria imagined she saw a glint of amusement in Jooli's eyes. And she wondered, was this all an act? If so, for what purpose?
Palimak finally found his voice. “We'd better get you on board, your highness,” he said to Jooli. “I have other business with your father."
He signaled to Biner and immediately a large basket, dangling from a strong cable, began its descent from the airship.
"But what about my belongings?” Jooli said. “My clothing and personal things aren't packed."
"We'll provide you with clothing,” Palimak said.
"But my crossbow and my sword,” Jooli protested. “I can't leave them behind."
For some reason Palimak wasn't surprised that Queen Jooli so valued her weapons. He nearly relented, then remembered Gundaree's warning. If Jooli were a witch, the last thing Palimak wanted was a chance for the queen to slip sorcerous supplies into her baggage.
"You won't need them,” he said.
Before Jooli could protest some more, the basket—tended by a burly crewman—was resting on the platform.
"Get in, your highness,” Leiria said with no attempt at ceremony.
Jooli sniffed, then walked toward the basket. But before she climbed in, she turned to King Rhodes. “You're going to be very sorry for this, father,” she said.
And then, assisted by the crewman, she climbed into the basket, which was raised swiftly away. There were sounds of amazement from the crowd as they saw the king's daughter disappear into the hovering airship.
In control again, Palimak swung about to address Rhodes. He slipped another bag of gold from his tunic, holding it out so the king could see.
"Before we leave,” he said, “there's one other thing I want to do. And I willing to pay for it handsomely."
Rhodes’ eyes glittered greedily at the proffered sack of coins. “Ask away,” he said. “I'm sure we can come to some agreement."
CHAPTER FIVE
THE MAGIC STALLION
The black mare pranced maddeningly just out of reach as Khysmet thundered after her across the darkening plain, heart and loins charged with must.
A
bove, gray-knuckled clouds gathered in immense lightning-charged fists. A fierce wind drove him on—so heat-charged that long blue sparks flew off his snowy back. Beneath his hooves the cloud shadows rolled past like fast-moving waves.
Behind him poured a great herd of wondrous horses, including the fifty mares who were his wives. On this magic plain he was the king of the stallions and none dared stand in his way. He'd killed attacking lions with his mighty hooves, scattered packs of jackals intent on making a meal of his colts, humbled stallion rivals for his four-legged harem.
Nothing could be denied him on this marvelous plain that spread a thousand miles between two great mountain ranges. Nothing, that is, except for the fabulous black mare who refused to acknowledge his claim on her.
The mare had appeared only a few grazing periods before:
She came like a dream—just at twilight when the insects were rising in a thick buzzing mist off the sweet grasses. Birds and bats wheeled through those clouds crying joyously as they feasted on the fat insect bodies.
Khysmet was about to shrill the signal for the herd to move to the sleeping area he'd scouted earlier in the day: a little valley—cupped between four low-slung hills—that he could easily defend against night stalkers.
But then a cloud radiant with colorful insect wings parted and the mare pranced through.
As soon as she saw him she stopped.
Steam blew through her tender nostrils as she whinnied a greeting. Then she wheeled around and looked at him enticingly over her graceful shoulders.
Khysmet neighed in astonishment, rooted for a moment by the audacity of the strange mare. Then he dimly recalled her. They'd met in the Other World, where Khysmet had once lived with his master.
Except then the mare had been ridden by a tall woman as beautiful in human terms as was the mare to Khysmet's equine senses. He'd sensed her human beauty because upon spying the woman his master had suddenly tensed, radiating a rich musk of desire. A desire just as fierce as the heat lancing Khysmet's loins as he examined the mare.