The Gods Awaken

by Allan Cole

  But the king's fixation with the mural was so strong that Kalasariz couldn't tear his own mind away.

  He felt Rhodes’ vocal chords open and once again experienced the rumble of the king's voice.

  "What happened to the horse, mother?” Rhodes asked, finger lifting to point at the mural.

  Queen Clayre turned her head to look. Nothing caught her attention, much less caused her any surprise. She turned back to her son.

  "What horse?” she asked.

  Kalasariz felt the king's heart quicken. “I saw a white stallion there,” he said, still pointing. “Right in front of the black mare. It was rearing up on its hind legs."

  The queen snorted impatiently. “I've lived with that mural my entire adult life,” she said. “And there was never a white stallion in it."

  "But I only saw it a few days ago!” Rhodes protested.

  "You were imagining things,” Clayre replied. “It comes from drinking too much. Which I've warned you about many times. It doesn't do for a king to lose his wits to wine."

  Rhodes opened his mouth to argue, but Kalasariz moved in. Never mind the horse, he advised. We can talk about it later.

  The king suddenly relaxed. “I'm sorry, mother,” Kalasariz heard him say. “I was obviously thinking of a different mural."

  But in his mind was a blazing image of his mother tied to a stake, flames leaping up around her as she writhed in agony.

  Very good, majesty, Kalasariz thought-whispered. A most appropriate image. And I'd be pleased to help you make that dream come true. But only at the proper time, hmm? We have other business to attend to first.

  As if she had been listening in, Clayre said, “We have pressing business to attend to, my son. Business I think you will quite enjoy."

  With a flourish she placed a small wooden container on the table. It was made of some kind of rare dark wood—polished and giving off a pleasing scent. It had hinges made of white gold, with a tiny lock also of white gold.

  "I made this two years or so ago,” the queen mother said, eyes narrow as she poked something into the lock—a minuscule key, Rhodes supposed. “About the time you lost your first battle to the Kyranians.” Her voice dripped with accusation.

  The king flushed at the humiliating memory. The Kyranians had presented a much smaller force than had the Syrapians. But as Rhodes and his army had marched into the valley the Kyranians had occupied, the airship had appeared overhead.

  It was Rhodes’ first experience of aerial bombardment and on nights when memory of the incident kept him awake until dawn, he recalled in vivid and frightening detail the fire raining from the sky. The screams of his men set ablaze. The smell of burning flesh. The shock of realization that his army had turned tail and was running down the hill. Men hurling their shields and weapons away in their haste to escape.

  "It wasn't my fault,” he muttered.

  "Of course it wasn't, my son,” Clayre said, waving her hand airily, as if the notion had never entered her head.

  Then her voice hardened. “I can understand it happening the first time,” she said. “There was the surprise of a new and mighty weapon. But it kept on happening, didn't it? Every time you faced Palimak Timura in battle. It was the same old story. He'd draw you into a trap. The airship would show up.

  "And once again the Kingdom of Hanadu would suffer a humiliating defeat because the king was too stupid—or too cowardly—to come up with a solution."

  Rhodes burned with fury and embarrassment. Kalasariz said nothing to soothe him, curling himself up in a little ball of indifference just beneath the king's heart. Wisely staying out of the confrontation.

  Clayre opened the box and took out a strange multi-colored object. She placed it on the golden tiles in the center of the table.

  Rhodes puzzled over it for a moment, then realized it was a diorama of the Kyranian stronghold. It was a perfect replica, from the forested peak it sat upon to the old stone fortress his spies had identified as the place where Palimak and his key people were ensconced. Below the fortress was the village proper, market place in the center, slant-roofed homes spread out on either side.

  Rhodes studied the terrain with a professional military eye, searching out the weak points.

  Then his frown deepened. “If this model was made two years ago, mother,” he said, “then how have you managed to put in details my spies didn't map out until several weeks ago?"

  He pointed at the turreted gatehouse guarding the entrance to the fortress. “That's where Palimak has set up his command post and sleeping quarters. Two years ago it was in ruins. And my spies have only just reported its reconstruction."

  The witch queen chuckled, in that maddeningly condescending manner she had. “Either my spies are better than yours, my son,” she said. “Or your spies work for me first—and you—second."

  Clayre gave him an amused look. “If I were you I'd decide in favor of the former, because the latter would only put you to unnecessary anguish and work. This is not the time to dispose of all your spies, you know. You'd have to train a whole new crew."

  Another chortle. “And you still wouldn't know if they were yours or mine."

  Rhodes lost all patience. “What exactly do you want, mother?” he snapped. “All my young life you said your greatest desire was for me to be king. But now that I'm king you seem to do everything to subvert me."

  Clayre pretended to be shocked at his charges. “Me?” she mocked. “Subvert you? My only son? My heart's desire?"

  She placed an insincere palm across her shapely bosom. “Why, I only want what is best for you. I have no other ambition but to see you become king of all Syrapis. Is that not our family's destiny? A destiny I have sought from the moment I learned the story behind that painting?"

  She indicated the mural of the mounted king and princesses. The gesture took some of the heat out of Rhodes. Clayre supposed it was because of the strength of her argument. Actually, it was because Rhodes had remembered the white stallion.

  Where had it gone? Dammit, he hadn't been drunk when he'd first spotted it! His brow wrinkled as he wondered if his mother had commanded one of her artist slaves to paint the horse out, just to bedevil him.

  Kalasariz stirred. Something was going on. Rhodes was thinking about that horse again. And what was this about mural-painting slaves?

  Clayre asked, “Do you recall the tale, my son?"

  Rhodes shrugged. “Yes, mother,” he said. “I remember it very well."

  "Even so, perhaps I should tell it again to refresh your memory,” she said. “And also for the benefit of our new friend who resides within you."

  But to Kalasariz’ disappointment, Rhodes chose this time to dig his heels in. “If you please, mother,” he said, “let's leave it for another time. I've much to do, what with the earthquake. Besides, I'm far more interested in what you intend to accomplish with that."

  He pointed at the diorama. “How will it help in our fight against Palimak Timura?"

  Clayre frowned, clearly irritated at her son's impatience. Then she shrugged, “Very well,” she said. “I'll leave the story for another day. As for that model, I'd intended to use it as a focal point for a spell I cooked up with Charize. A bit of magic that would cause the Kyranians no end of trouble and more than a few deaths. With luck, it might have even resulted in the rather gruesome demise of Palimak Timura himself."

  The witch queen sighed. “But Charize's own death put paid to that plan. As I said before, alone I don't have enough magical strength to perform the necessary sorcery."

  She smiled. “But that was yesterday's disappointment. Today, the sun is shining brightly and our hopes are reborn. For now we not only have the assistance we require, but a whole new plan to bedevil our enemies."

  "When do you want to start?” Rhodes asked, assuming correctly that his role as host to Kalasariz meant his presence would be needed.

  Clayre motioned at the table. “I'm never one to put off a devilish deed that needs to be done,” she said. “S
o why don't we begin now?” She gestured for him to approach the table.

  Rhodes obediently moved forward. Then he hesitated. “There's only one thing,” he said.

  "And that is?” Clayre asked.

  "Have you forgotten your granddaughter is being held hostage by the Kyranians?” He pointed at the model. “What if this spell endangers Jooli?"

  The witch queen raised an eyebrow. “Do you really care?” she asked.

  Rhodes shrugged. “Not particularly,” he replied. “She's always been more of a bother than she's worth."

  "My sentiments exactly,” Clayre said. “As granddaughters go, she certainly lacks a certain ... well, reverence.” Her attention returned to the model. “Now, let us begin."

  And she started to weave her spell. Inside the king, Kalasariz wriggled with delight. It was good to be back on a winning side again.

  The only thing troubling him was that Rhodes didn't seem very enthusiastic. Was it because of this Jooli person? The one Kalasariz guessed might be the king's daughter?

  If so, perhaps his reluctance was understandable, even though Rhodes plainly disliked his own child. Although Kalasariz had little empathy for people stricken with parental love, he had a professional understanding of that all-too-human malady. The spymaster had relied on it many times as a lever to get his own way.

  Then he caught a stray thought from Rhodes. And, dammit, he was still wondering about that horse! That's the trouble with kings, Kalasariz thought. They can't seem to keep their minds on the job at hand. Important tasks. Like killing people!

  A blue light formed over the model of the Kyranian stronghold. Tiny figures began to appear. Men and women. Children and animals. And then the figures came to life!

  Clayre said, “One thing I noticed about Palimak and his friends when they were visiting Charize was that they absolutely hate and fear rats."

  She placed a cage next to the now-living model of the Kyranian stronghold. Inside was a large gray rat. She poked it with a long needle and it squealed in pain and fury.

  Clayre laughed as it attacked the bars of the cage. “I'll give them rats,” she said, “like they've never seen rats before!"

  And then she opened the cage and the enraged rodent leaped onto the model.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  HORSE MAGIC

  Leiria watched the crowd of angry villagers march up the hill from the market place. She leaned easily on her spear, smiling as if they were only a few friends coming to call for dinner, instead of an unruly mob in the making.

  She whistled a casual little tune. Behind her Renor and Sinch took her signal and slipped through the gatehouse entrance. They shut and barred the door. As planned, they would take up position inside in case things really got out of hand and the crowd took it into its minuscule group mind to break through.

  Besides herself, she had only Coralean—who stood at her right—and five other soldiers loyal to Palimak.

  "I think we can manage well enough,” she said to Coralean. “There's only a hundred or so of them."

  "Sometimes there's profit in violence,” the caravan master said. “Although, as all who know Coralean would confirm, I loathe to engage in that sort of business. Unless, of course, there's no other way of conducting one's affairs. After all, a good family man must consider the well-being of his wives and children. And only the greatest liar in the world would cast doubt on Coralean's dedication to his family."

  Leiria nodded at the approaching crowd. “Do you see any profit there?” she asked.

  Coralean stroked his beard, considering. Then he shook his mighty head. “They have nothing of value,” he said. “Only their own foolish thoughts."

  Leiria sighed. “I'm afraid this is turning out to be one of my least favorite days,” she said. She glanced up at the empty sky. “I wish Biner and Arlain were here with the airship,” she said. “That'd sure keep this group peaceful."

  The circus troupe had taken the airship out on a routine surveying expedition. There were no decent maps of Syrapis and Leiria had been intent on filling that gap since their arrival on the island. Unfortunately, the latest mission had coincided with what appeared to be turning into an uprising.

  "It is probably for the best they aren't here,” Coralean said. “Our Kyranian friends hold the circus folk in awe. And if Biner was forced to act against them on our behalf, they'd lose all influence over them."

  He shrugged his massive shoulders. “Only two people can truly help us in these circumstances. Safar, who is ill. And Palimak, who is unavailable."

  When Leiria had risen this morning she'd found a note waiting for her from Palimak. He'd said he was involved in a long and dangerous job of spellcasting. Under no circumstances was anyone to disturb him or enter Safar's room.

  Leiria had checked the door to the room and found it barred. She'd smelled the faint scent of magical incense and ozone wafting through the crack under the door. She knew from things that Safar had said in the past that if she ignored Palimak's wishes, it might result in the deaths of her two friends.

  Then she'd received a much more disturbing message from Masura—who'd apparently overthrown Foron as chief of the Council of Elders. The new headman said that he and the other villagers demanded an immediate hearing. Since she didn't dare disturb Palimak to get help, she'd politely asked Masura for a delay.

  The headman, however, was evidently so intent on a confrontation that he'd sent back a note refusing her request. He'd even had the temerity to threaten herself and Coralean with immediate expulsion.

  The result of this heated exchange of paper was presently being played out in the mass march on Palimak's headquarters.

  Leiria heard a faint scraping noise and turned to see Jooli climbing out through one of the fortress's windows. The royal hostage dangled by her fingertips for a moment, then dropped lightly to the ground. She casually brushed herself off and strode over to join Leiria and the others.

  "You shouldn't be here, majesty,” Leiria said.

  "Just call me Jooli,” the young queen said. She nodded at the crowd coming up the hill. “This doesn't look like the best time to stand on court formalities."

  Leiria looked at her through narrowed eyes. “Whatever I call you,” she said, “the point is that you are supposed to remain in your quarters. We're responsible for your safety."

  Jooli chuckled. “How safe will I be if your friends have their way? I doubt if those people will honor any agreement you have with my father."

  "She does have logic on her side, Captain,” Coralean pointed out.

  "I'm also bored to tears,” Jooli put in.

  She stretched her long arms and worked her shoulders, getting the stiffness out of her muscles.

  "I could use a bit of exercise,” she said. “And I thought perhaps your fellow Kyranians would provide it."

  Then she indicated Leiria's sword. “Loan me your blade,” she said, “and I'll stand with you."

  Leiria hesitated. Queen Jooli had mystified her from the very first meeting. She clearly despised her father. Had been instrumental in freeing Palimak and Safar from the monsters in the cavern. And had spent her short term as a hostage acting more like one of Leiria's warrior companions than the daughter of their greatest enemy.

  At that moment Leiria realized she'd grown to like Jooli. And was possibly even beginning to trust her.

  She drew the sword and handed it over. “Have at it,” she said.

  Jooli smiled, took the sword and gave it a few experimental swings. “Nice balance,” she said. Then she turned to face the villagers, who were nearing the top of the hill.

  Naturally, Masura was leading the crowd. But Leiria noted with extreme interest that only four other members of the Council of Elders were present. Foron, the ousted former headman was notably absent. Obviously, Masura's victory was far from unanimous.

  Then she heard a commotion and saw another group approaching the crowd—angling in from a path that village boys used when taking the goats to pasture.
It was a much smaller group, but it included Khadji Timura, Safar's father, and Foron. Several other influential villagers were also present.

  "With fortune,” Coralean observed, “wiser heads might prevail."

  Jooli snorted. “If not, I'd be happy to lift a few of the stupider ones from their shoulders."

  Leiria said nothing. The prospect of killing people she'd fought beside and had lived with for several years was depressing, to say the least.

  The two groups met. Although she couldn't make out what he was saying, Leiria caught the gentle sound of Khadji's voice. A renowned potter, Khadji had been much respected long before his son's accomplishments had won him so many honors. Foron joined in, as did the others, and the conversation grew animated—much hand-waving and point-making gestures.

  Then Masura's voice rose above the others. “We're through listening to the Timuras! I say we drag Palimak out here and make him answer for his crimes!"

  There was a roar of approval from Masura's followers. They shoved Khadji and the others aside and continued their march up the hill. The crowd was working itself up, shouting oaths, sliding over into mass hysteria.

  "Get ready,” Leiria warned.

  And there was a creak of leather battle harness and a rattle of metal as her people braced for the onslaught.

  * * * *

  Queen Clayre chuckled at the scene before her—the tiny figures of Foron's mob charging toward Leiria's small group.

  "Well, well,” she said. “Apparently we have some new friends among the Kyranians to assist us. It's so much easier to make magical mischief if people hate each other!"

  King Rhodes’ attention was riveted on the drama unfolding in the model of the Kyranian stronghold. He'd never realized the Kyranians were so divided. By the gods, if only he had a few troops present, he'd wipe them out with ease!