by Allan Cole
He drew in a deep breath. “Vipers, at least,” he said, “have a purpose that's not so different from ours. No more terrible than ours, anyway. They have to eat, they have to breed and protect their young. And they only harm us if we threaten those needs and wants."
He gestured at the corpse of one of the beasts. It was much larger than the others, its head sheared from its body and fallen to one side. Eyes glaring hatred even in death.
"That's their queen,” he said. “Queen Charize. And she was an evil thing, a hateful thing. And her purpose was something I still really don't understand."
He pointed at the open coffin. “That's Asper's tomb,” he said. “I think there's promise there. Hope there. Father said there was, at any rate. And Charize was trying to subvert it. Turn it into an evil force for her own uses."
Palimak picked up his sword, which he'd dropped while making the light spell. He advanced toward one of the cowering creatures, talons retracting into his fingers. Fangs turning back into human teeth again. Eyes transforming into something more human with each step he took.
He looks so sad now, Leiria thought. And she wondered how hard it must be for him to wear a cloak of human form after living in the steel-hard skin of a demon.
He raised the sword high. “Mercy, master!” the creature shrieked. “Mercy!"
Leiria thought she heard Palimak groan in sorrow. But perhaps it was only a result of the muscular effort it took as he brought the sword down and cut off the creature's begging. Then, without pause, he went to another and took its life. Then another, and another...
Reluctantly, Leiria retrieved her own sword and joined in the slaughter.
After she'd killed her first victim, Biner, Jooli and the soldiers joined in. But just as hesitatingly. Whereas before they had fought and killed with a will, now they just struck out blindly, trying not to look at the poor, mewling things who were their victims.
Sometimes they stopped, sick of themselves and the gods for requiring such a thing. But Palimak urged them on, saying his light spell wouldn't last much longer.
In the end Charize's underground kingdom sank in a welter of gore. A place where the Butcher King had set up market with enough corpses to feed the greatest of cities. Except no one would ever feed on this flesh, so in their deaths Charize's subjects were denied even that most basic honor. They would putrefy here. Unwanted, unneeded, and mourned only in the nightmares of Leiria and the others who would most certainly never boast of their victory in this place. Because it was mass murder, nothing more.
So went the false Sisters of Asper. And as Leiria slew her last she remembered their refrain: "We take the sin/ We take the sin./ Lady, Lady, Lady."
The words would remain with her for the rest of her life.
* * * *
Palimak could feel himself transforming. Sharp pin-prickles stabbed his skin as if he'd just been caught out in a lightning storm in the High Caravans of Kyrania. Hair like barbs in his skull. Eyes so dry it was painful to blink. The air was oppressive, crackling with energy.
He felt like he was two animals stuffed into one skin. One was cold logic: what was required, must be done. The other wanted to weep in empathy for his enemy. As he struck another scaly head from its shoulders, he thought, What if this were me?
Gradually, the softer side—the human side, he realized—superseded the first. And each killing blow became more difficult. No, that wasn't correct. It wasn't harder to kill, but it took more passion. He had to conjure up hate to power his muscles as if it were a magical spell. He had to hate these things to kill them. Invest them with all the deviltry the human world could imagine that he could deliver the blow.
And when he was done and there were no more creatures left to kill, he stood panting over the last corpse. Blood singing for more. Mind horrified at what he had done.
It was then that he realized he was fully human again. It was then that he realized he'd been fully demon before.
And on the whole, he thought, he much preferred the demon state.
Palimak mentally shook himself. Appalled at that thought. He was human, dammit! More human than demon!
Wasn't he?
Palimak buried this doubt. Triggered an avalanche of excuses and rationalizations, plummeting so quickly down that mountain of emotions that all other thought was smothered.
He looked at Leiria and saw ... what was it? ... relief? ... in her eyes. Glanced down at his hands and saw that the claws had retracted into ... normal? ... human fingers. And then the rest of him felt human as well. Body and mind. Mind and body.
And there was blood everywhere he looked. Blood that he had spilled.
He felt sick and wanted badly to flee from this place.
Then he threw his sword away. By the Gods, he didn't want that blade in his hand anymore! It felt filthy. Defiled. And he was glad to be rid of it.
He also badly wanted to get out of this chamber. To seal its horrors off from the rest of the world with the largest boulder he could find.
A small voice chattered in his ear. “The coffin, Little Master,” Gundara said. “Remember Asper's tomb."
And Gundaree added, “That's why we came here, wasn't it?"
Mind swirling with weariness, Palimak turned to face the tomb. The light spilling out was so hot and bright that he had raise a hand to shield his face. He was vaguely aware that Leiria and the others were watching him; probably wondering if he were possessed, so forced were his movements. But he didn't have the strength to voice reassurance.
He made a weak gesture, but the light only barely dimmed. It was still too hot to approach and he didn't have the strength to make a better spell.
"I'm hungry!” Gundara announced. It sounded loud in his ear, but Palimak knew from experience that the others couldn't hear.
"Me too,” Gundaree added. “I want something sweet to eat. Like some honey cakes."
"With syrup all over them,” Gundara put in. “Yum, yum."
"I don't have any honey cakes on me at the moment,” Palimak said, too tired to worry that his human friends would think he was talking to himself. He patted the pocket where he kept their treats. “Maybe some currants. But that's it."
"They probably have pocket lint on them,” Gundaree sniffed. “I hate lint!"
"Besides,” Gundara said, “currants give me gas. You can't imagine what it's like living in a stone turtle when you have gas all the time."
Palimak couldn't help but grin. In the middle of all this blood the twins remained true to form. They were safe now, that was all that mattered. Base needs came first, bless their greedy little souls.
"I'll get you some honey cakes when we get back to the airship,” Palimak promised.
Gundara sighed. “All right. If that's how it has to be. I guess we can't do anything else."
"But I want doubles,” Gundaree insisted. “You have to promise doubles. Plus some really old cheese. Smelly as you can get it."
"Doubles it is,” Palimak said. “And all the smelly cheese you can eat."
Once again he gestured, but this time he felt a surge of extra power from the Favorites. The light dimmed until it was bearable enough for him to look at the coffin straight on.
He clumped up the steps, boots heavy, feeling like he was walking through mud. But as he advanced up the stairs the Favorites were giggling to themselves, as if they had a great secret. Palimak figured they had something up their sleeves to get further promises of treats.
Then he was at the coffin.
He peered inside, expecting to see the mummified remains of the demon wizard, Lord Asper.
Instead a man, wearing the very same robes Asper had been entombed in, stared blindly up at him.
And the twins chorused: “Surprise, Little Master! Surprise!"
It was his father...
Safar Timura!
Palimak blinked, stunned.
Then Safar's eyes came open. His lips moved, forming words.
In a haze of unreality, Palimak leaned forward t
o listen.
"Khysmet,” Safar whispered.
Then a hand came out, gripping Palimak's tunic and drawing him down with surprising strength.
And Safar said, insistent, “Where is Khysmet?"
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
THE WITCH QUEEN
It was near the end of day when the king's spies brought him the news. Rhodes hurried out to his castle's seaward wall and clambered up onto one of the big ship-killing catapults that defended this portion of his fortress.
According to his spies, Palimak and his party had left the warrens of the Idol of Asper and were now carrying a strange burden to the airship.
The catapult—hewn from the largest timbers in Syrapis—made a difficult climb for a man of Rhodes’ bulk and he gasped curses at his underlings. But the curses were really directed at himself for the sloth that had turned his once muscular body into such a wheezing mass of fat.
This was the reason, he thought, that Palimak and the Kyranians had been able to best him. He'd not only allowed his body to become larded, but his mind as well. He'd grown lax—and by example had allowed his subjects to become lax. His own mother had belabored Rhodes when he was a prince for his lazy tendencies.
Barbarian though he might be, Rhodes had a good mind and a natural instinct for strategy, plus an unerring eye for spotting his enemy's weaknesses.
He was also blessed with formidable strength and speed, especially for someone so large. At birth he'd been over fifteen pounds, which would have made for a difficult delivery if his mother had been a normal woman. But she came from a race of overly large people—not quite giants—and Rhodes’ entrance to the world through her wide hips and iron womb had been rather routine. If passing a cart horse could ever be called routine.
This combination of superior size and mental acuity had made Rhodes an easy winner over the other petty kings and queens in Syrapis. That was what had made him lazy, he thought. It had been too easy. And when Palimak and the Kyranians had arrived he had not been prepared for their new forms of warfare.
Rhodes finally reached the top of the catapult and peered over the walls to see what his enemy was up to. Across from him, hovering over the little island that was home to the Idol of Asper, was the airship. Not for the first time, envy gripped him as he gazed on that remarkable machine.
It was this magical device, he thought, that had been the key to the Kyranians’ many victories over him and his royal Syrapian cousins. If only he had been blessed with such a thing the tale might have had a different ending. The humiliating scene in the courtyard two days before would not have happened. Instead it would have been Palimak and that bitch warrior woman of his who would have suffered the shame of defeat.
He lapsed momentarily into a reverie in which the two of them were being dragged before his throne to be condemned to the nastiest agonies that Rhodes’ best torturers could devise.
Rhodes brought himself up short. No time for imaginary pleasures. He must be stronger than ever before. He must spy out his enemies’ doings and look for the weakness that might deliver them into his hands.
He saw the tide was turning below. Waves were already beginning to wash over the island. In an hour or so there would be no dry ground. An hour after that the idol itself would disappear beneath the creamy froth of the waves.
He gestured and an aide handed him a spyglass. Rhodes peered through it and made out Palimak directing four soldiers who were swaying up a large, mysterious object. What in the hells was it?
He adjusted the focus, following the object up as it rose in the net that enclosed it. Was it some sort of box? And what was that carving on the lid? Then he realized it was shaped like a coffin. If so, it was a very big coffin indeed. Large enough to hold a man twice Rhodes’ size, that was for certain.
Once again he studied the carving on the lid. Just before the coffin came level with his eyes, he realized what the carving was. It was a demon! Not only that, but the demon's face had the same features that were carved into the stone idol.
It was none other than Asper! He was certain of it. Then the coffin rose out of sight and a moment later the airship crew were muscling it over the rails to the deck.
Heart thundering, mind whirling with questions, Rhodes swung his glass back down to the island. Two men were carrying a stretcher down the stairway that descended from the idol's head. On the stretcher was a tall man, dressed in black robes. Rhodes couldn't tell if the man was conscious, but he noted with interest how tenderly his stretcher bearers treated him. A man of importance, no doubt. A man beloved.
This impression was underscored when he saw Palimak and the woman general rush over to the stretcher. Palimak gripped one of the man's hands. While Leiria bent over to kiss him. Then the stretcher was placed in a net, which was swayed up to the airship.
Rhodes followed its progress, then nodded with satisfaction when he saw the dwarf who captained the airship and his first mate, the exotic dragon woman, personally assist the crew in getting the stretcher aboard. Whatever the identity of the man, he was obviously of enormous importance to the Kyranians.
Rhodes had never seen him before, but that in itself didn't mean anything. There were many Kyranians he had no knowledge of. What gnawed at him was that his spies had never brought him word of someone of such obvious importance. Did the Kyranians have a secret leader? Someone of far greater importance than Palimak, whom everyone had been led to believe was the supreme commander of the Kyranians?
Was this fellow, the object of such respect and affection, the secret power behind Palimak's throne? The reason why one so young could perform so many remarkable feats of warfare and magic? If so, what had happened to the mystery man? Why was he in the stretcher, obviously ailing or injured?
A spark of hope flared in Rhodes’ chest. If his suspicions were correct—and the man was their secret leader, then his weakened state might weaken the Kyranians as well.
He lowered the spyglass and quickly clambered back down the catapult. Excitement made the return trip much easier. Rhodes needed advice to take advantage of this vulnerability—assuming that's what it was.
And the best person who could provide it was his mother, Clayre, the beautiful witch queen of Hanadu.
Later, Rhodes would berate himself for not tarrying a bit longer on his catapult perch. If he had, he'd have seen his daughter, Jooli, unfettered and armed, making her way out of the idol's entrance and hurrying down the stairs. And he might have wondered why the Kyranians were allowing their hostage such freedom.
* * * *
Aboard the airship, so many tears of joy flowed at Safar's miraculous return that they would have filled an ocean.
"He'th alive!” Arlain sobbed, smoky rings issuing from her dragon's mouth. “Thafar hath come back to uth!"
Biner honked emotion into a kerchief, then knuckled moisture from his eyes. “Methydia would be so happy,” he said, “to see the dear lad with us again."
Renor and Sinch, mere striplings when the exodus from Kyrania had begun but full-grown young men now, knelt by the stretcher, crying unashamedly.
"If only Dario could be here,” Renor said. “He always insisted Lord Timura was still alive.” Dario, dead two years now, had been the grizzled warrior who had trained and drilled all the young men of Kyrania.
Soon all the other crewmembers and soldiers were kneeling around the stretcher, sobbing prayers of thanks to the Lady Felakia—goddess patron of Kyrania—for returning Safar to them.
In the background, Elgy and Rabix piped music, while Kairo did a little dance of happiness, tossing his head from one hand to the other.
Leiria and Palimak clutched each other, sobbing uncontrollably.
During all this, Safar was quite still. Eyes closed, breath coming in little gasps. Oblivious to everything around him.
Then a breeze came up, making the airship's lines buzz. Leiria shivered, feeling the sudden cold, and broke out of the cocoon of happiness.
"Let's get him into the cabin,” she sai
d. “Before we make him sick with all our affection."
She and Palimak picked up either end of the stretcher and carried Safar into the luxurious main cabin that had once been the quarters of Methydia, the long-dead witch who had created the airship and circus. And who had been Safar's lover.
Jooli, a total stranger to Kyranian affairs, watched from the outskirts of the little crowd, wondering about this man who was the cause of so much love and unashamed emotion.
The only thing she was sure of was that whoever he might be, the fellow was an immensely powerful wizard. Even unconscious, exhausted and ailing, the magical rays radiating from him were so intense that her own sorcerous abilities were nearly overcome.
He must be a good man, she thought, otherwise these people would not be so overjoyed. If he were a tyrant—like her father—they might have abased themselves, but only out of fear. Except, powerless as he now was, they would have been more likely to have cut his throat before he regained cruel consciousness.
An act Jooli had seriously contemplated herself upon occasion, when she'd come upon her father in a drunken stupor.
Then, just as the stretcher disappeared into the cabin she caught a strange eddy in the magical waves the man gave off. It was something not so good and not so kind and certainly not worthy of adulation. She tried to sniff it out, locate its source. It seemed to come from the mysterious wizard. But for some reason she couldn't fathom, it was also apart from him.
Something ... not evil ... not exactly that, at any rate. But redolent of fiery ambition and greedy hunger.
Then she lost the scent and by the time the cabin door closed Jooli wondered if it had been her imagination. Nothing more than a cynical reaction to all that outpouring of love.
She sniffed the air one more time and found nothing amiss. Jooli shrugged. Yes, that was it. Only her imagination.
A moment later Biner thundered orders and the crew rushed to the lines and the engines.
Then Biner cried, “Put some muscle into it, lads! The folks at home will want to hear this glad news! Safar Timura is with us again! By the gods, from here on out it'll be, ‘Damn everything but the circus!"