The Eyes of Sarsis

by Andrew J Offutt

  Tiana mumbled assurances that she would do her best. Soon she had bidden farewell to her king.

  The sea breeze blew her red hair and salt spray was a fresh clean taste and scent that she loved. Glittering treasure beckoned, and danger; time was come to sail in quest of both. Of course when and if she rescued Jiltha, hers would be the awkward role of nursemaid to a willful and doubtless spoiled teenager. Well did she remember what that was like! One good aspect was she’d surely have no problem in returning the princess to the king with maidenhead intact.

  “All I need do,” Tiana muttered cheerfully, “is find any men who might prove or dare say aught to the contrary and kill them all.”

  *

  Big Rarn, ship’s cat of Vixen, prowled through the hold in a fury worthy of his mistress — as both vanity and his territorial senses approached hers. Another cat had dared to come on board his ship! Though Rarn had not yet had opportunity to slay the interloper, he’d smelled it and caught a fleeting glimpse as well. When he did find the beast, Rarn would make short work of someone’s pampered, bejeweled white pet!

  BOOK II

  The Rightward Eye:

  CRIMSON PHANTASMS

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Hartes, King of Thesia and Conqueror of Bemar, Paleran, Narf and Thunland, chose his steps carefully in his descent of the dark dungeon stair. The ruler’s clothing was ordinary, his hair grease-slicked. There was nothing about the face or form of this plump man — who had crushed whole nations under his iron foot — to catch the eye or make him stand out in a crowd of four.

  He who walked so quietly behind the king was a dweller in nightmares. The short bloated body was topped by a yellow toad’s head whose eyes were pools of dark wisdom. Since it walked on two legs, it could, for want of better term, be called a man.

  Hartes strode to a scarred oaken door banded with iron. Smiting it, he bawled out, “Zark! You lazy plagul, open this door for your master!” The king blinked then, for at his blow the door swung quietly open. “Hmp! That’s odd; Zark normally locks the door when he has a victim to play with.”

  King Hartes stepped through the doorway and glared about. The shadowy, pain-haunted room was littered with the instruments of Zark’s filthy trade: clamps and pincers; the large cradle whose inside was lined with spikes, an Iron Maiden; the pails and funnels for various water tortures, and other ugly apparati. A couple of toes strewed the floor, and the walls were darkly splashed.

  On the rack in the chamber’s center was stretched a man. His mighty limbs were distended by the evil machine.

  Tall and powerfully built was this victim, fair of hair and complexion. Welts and burns pocked his body. Icy blue eyes fixed their gaze on Hartes with primitive hatred unmitigated by any hint of begging for mercy. Hartes was uncomfortably reminded of a wolf he had recently helped slay for the sport of it; every aspect of this outsize man was that of a trapped beast. The animal had fought with intense fury to the very end, determined to wreak what harm it could before its death. Hartes saw the same mentality here.

  Not unnatural that this man reminded the Thesian ruler of a wolf; he was of that race of sea-wolves of the far north whose rapine and savagery made them a terror to the southern coasts.

  Staring at Hartes, the Norther shook his head so that the tangled blond mane flew. “Well, jackal king,” he roared, “I see you brought your pet toad to watch my ‘execution’!” He had a bull’s voice to match his neck.

  “Silence there, northish plagul! Show respect for your betters. I am still your lord. And this man is the mighty Ekron, chief wizard of Naroka.”

  “Titles, titles. I do humbly beg pardon, my lord Carrion Eater! But — why should a man under sentence of death mind his manners like you enlightened civilized folk?”

  “Because, Bjaine,” the king sighed, “I’ve come to pardon you and grant you an exalted position.” Hartes raised his voice. “Zark! Come free this man.”

  “You’re lying,” Bjaine said. “Exalted position, is it? Aye — you’ve come to laugh while Bjaine rides the one-legged horse!”

  For a moment both ruler and pirate gazed upon the bloodstained post several feet from the rack. Rising up out of the floor to a height of some four feet, the pole was three inches in diameter, and sharpened on top.

  “By the Cud and by the Back,” Hartes said, “I swear I have come here to pardon and to free you.”

  Bjaine, blinking, thought on that. “What, uh, persuaded you of my innocence?”

  Hartes snorted. “Bjaine, Bjaine! I doubt you will ever understand the ways of civilized men! I — ”

  “I hope not! I might begin to act the same way, if I understood!”

  “Um. Yes. I knew you were innocent of the charge when I sentenced you to be broken on the rack and ride the horse.”

  “Oh,” Bjaine said equably. “Now condemning an innocent man I can understand! Even uncivilized folk do that, sometimes.”

  Hartes shook his head, smiling. “My sister, dear Luquila, accused you of trying to rape her.”

  “Anybody who’d believe that would suck eggs in the henhouse!”

  “Precisely, Bjaine, and I would not. Had you possessed the wit to plead guilty and beg mercy — ”

  “Plead? Beg!”

  Hartes sighed, glanced at Ekron, continued as if he’d heard nothing: “ — on the grounds that her great beauty inflamed you, why then I’d have ordered you flogged and let it go at that.” Hartes raised his voice above Bjaine’s laughter. “I would not waste a useful man for my sister’s vanity. But Bjaine, Bjaine! You denied it! In front of my entire court and council you stated that a charge even of attempted rape was absurd for — how charmingly you put it! — ‘for when I want a woman I take her and there’s naught she can do save to enjoy it!’ Now I might have passed over your calling my royal sister a liar, Norther. But not your saying that she is so ugly she frightens gryphons and no man would want her unless he was blind and leprous!”

  “‘s true,” Bjaine said, and shuddered at thought of Luquila’s face.

  “You claim that what truly happened was that you ordered the royal princess to fetch you wine. When she naturally did not obey, you beat her! That shocked my court and council, Bjaine — naturally. Then you proceeded to discourse at length on the natural superiority of men over women, whose place is to serve man, while every man has the right and duty to beat any woman to teach her her place.”

  “So I did. I’d said so plenty of times before, and you laughed and never disagreed!”

  “True … but what you did and said day before yesterday was in public, and was a direct public insult to my sister’s birth, and her royal blood — and thus my blood.”

  “Ah!” Bjaine’s blue eyes brightened and stared ingenuously at the king. “I see. Was you I insulted, then. Now I understand. If Bjaine apologized, Hartes, I would apologize now. As I don’t, though … I still don’t understand why you have come here. With ole hop-toad, there.” Bjaine winked at Ekron. “K’gung !” he said, in a fair imitation of a large frog.

  Ekron stared levelly at the bound Norther and slowly blinked — from the bottom up. Bjaine’s eyes widened still more. He was about to invite the wizard to repeat that fascinating act, when Hartes answered his question.

  “I would put my hand in any cesspool to extend and protect my empire,” Hartes said, low and intense. “I pardon you because I need your services.” Again the king glanced around. “Zark! You lazy pig, where are you?”

  Bjaine smiled boyishly. “I doubt whether he hears you. He is entertaining a lady.”

  “What? I pay the knave to work at his trade, and he dallies with whores? I’ll have that Narfese plagul rocked in his own cradle!”

  For the first time, the wizard spoke. “I fear, my lord king, that rocking Zark would be … somewhat redundant.” He gestured at the Iron Maiden.

  With a start, Hartes took note that the device was closed. Normally it stood open, displaying its spiked interior to impressionable subjects of Zark’s art, to be shut
only when occupied. Now it was both closed, and leaking scarlet at its base. Hartes started to speak; instead he stood open-mouthed.

  With a sudden muscular effort that was hardly credible even to staring eyes, Bjaine stretched himself even farther — and slipped his wrist-chains off their hooks. Apparently the chains at his feet had never been secured to anything at all, for he stepped forward unhindered. He bowed to the ruler, very slightly.

  “How may I serve the lord king and what will he pay?” As he spoke, smiling so boyishly, he reached behind the rack to draw forth a long and shining sword.

  “I — I do not understand,” Hartes stammered.

  “I believe I do,” Ekron said. “Your torturer underestimated our friend here. In consequence, Zark is in the Maiden’s embrace. Bjaine, doubtless expecting you to come and witness his horse-ride, laid himself on the rack with his sword hidden to hand. A most clever ruse, and trap.”

  This time the smiling Norther’s bow was more profound.

  “B-but Zark had four strong assistants!” Hartes protested.

  The ruler’s voice was weak, for he realized the gravity of his situation. He was unguarded. He had previously admired this warrior’s stature and mighty physique — as he might have admired a caged beast. Now the beast was free. Its claw was of steel, and three feet long. Though Hartes was no short man, his head rose just above the corded plates of muscle that swelled the Norther’s broad chest. And Bjaine’s bright blue eyes stared down at the king.

  Yet those eyes contained, not hatred, but calm speculation. Hartes had wondered at the seeming rule that all Northers had to be unconscionably tall. Now he wondered if they were all barbars after all. Civilization was as a patina on this man, and when he spoke, his words were smooth. Suddenly he did not seem so manipulably stupid. And his grin was that of a wolf.

  “True enough,” Bjaine said, “there were four assistants. And do not forget the three Thesian army guards, lord King! One of them thought it would be humorous to torment me with my own sword. Those are his toes, there, and his ugly little organ is lying about someplace. I fear your Kingness will be at some small expense to replace those men. But — no use weeping over cracked eggs. Let us discuss the service you want of me, and my payment.”

  The yellow toad of a man spoke in a calm and buttery voice. “I am told a session on the rack can create a … great thirst?” From within his robes he produced a wine pottle which he deftly unstoppered and put into the Norther’s eager hands.

  Bjaine handed it back. “After you, topaz.”

  He watched while the wizard tilted up the container. Once his Adam’s apple moved, Bjaine snatched it away. “Here, not all of it, you damned greedy Narokan toad!” And without a word of thanks, Bjaine drained the leather-clad pottle in a few mighty swallows. “Ahhhhhhhh.”

  “Now, my friend from the far north, it is well known that you handle a ship better than almost anyone asea.”

  “Hmp! No almost about it.”

  Ekron asked, “Be it true you spent some time among the Kroll Isle pirates?”

  “Oh, aye. Bjaine knows the Isles and their defenses well.”

  “Good. We want you to lead a raiding party. Within Storgavar’s keep are two things we want. For me there is a chest of jewels which includes the Left Eye of Sarsis. For King Hartes there is Jiltha, throne princess of Han.”

  “Why should you want to rescue an enemy’s daughter?” The king smiled thinly. “As I said, I want to extend my empire. If I add Jiltha to my harem, King Hower will have two choices. He could announce that the marriage is invalid, that his daughter is dishonored. That’s equivalent to telling the girl to commit suicide. Hower is too soft to do that. He will recognize the marriage and accept me as the lawful heir to his throne.”

  Bjaine laughed. “That’s as good as a cannibal I once knew. He claimed to inherit a farm because he’d eaten the owner! Well. How soon can you have a ship and crew ready? Treasure seldom remains in one place long, you know, and I’d hate to reach the Krolls only to find someone had robbed them first.”

  “The Stormfury is already provisioned,” Hartes said with some smugness, “and a picked squadron of Imperial Dragons is boarding her, in addition to the best of crews. All have instructions to follow your orders.”

  The King of Thesia felt ready to join the Thespian’s Guild. Having managed to maintain a calm front, he was now relaxing, sure the barbarian would not be difficult. Doubtless the giant was angered by the abuse he’d taken, but like any other sensible man he put his ambition ahead of his feelings.

  Again Bjaine laughed, and shook his head so that dirty, sunny hair flew. “Well then King, there’s only the matter of my recompense, and I sail.”

  “I said an exalted position for you, and I meant it: the throne of Paleran. A rich land, but rebellious. I need a man to rule it with a hand of iron. Bring me the Princess Jiltha, alive, and you shall be King over Paleran.”

  “Why thank you, Kingness. That is a most generous offer. But Bjaine did have his heart set on the payment given me by the cannibal I mentioned.”

  “Above a crown? What payment was that?”

  “There is but one payment for a blood insult: my dears, I am going to take your heads.” Bjaine took a pace, the great sword coming up. “So sorry you are allergic to blood, wizard.”

  “But — I offer you a throne!”

  “Bjaine does not sell himself to be tortured, Hartes, even for a throne.”

  The Norther’s sword caught the torchlight and reflected on his face; it seemed the personification of Drood, lord of demons. King and mage stood motionless. The former was quite unmanned by this eventuation, and ready to kneel. Ekron, strangely, seemed amused. The sword’s blade was a flash of lightning as Bjaine whipped it high — and dropped it to ring on the stone floor. Bjaine followed, toppling stiffly like a great tree struck by lightning.

  Ekron chuckled at Hartes’s amaze.

  “The wine, of course, was drugged,” the toadish mage said in his soft voice. “I am proud of the drug, a most unusual one. The victim feels nothing until he makes any violent motion, at which point he is instantly and completely paralyzed. Naturally I am immune.”

  With a grunt, and then another, the wizard turned over the Norther’s huge body. Beads of sweat stood forth on Bjaine’s brow and his eyes were blue fire.

  “I know you can hear me,” Ekron said. “You are going on this mission and … I am taking a small guarantee that you will return Jiltha and the box of sorcerous gems back to us.”

  Kneeling beside his victim, Ekron removed various small jars and phials from his robes. “Yes, yes … good … I have all the staples I require. The only perishable needed for the spell is a cup of blood from a freshly murdered man. Hartes, do be a good fellow and fetch me such. You should encounter no difficulty, since from our bearish friend’s account there should be no less than eight corpses secreted here and there.”

  An angry reply died in the king’s throat and he swallowed the curse. He resented being first-named and treated as a fetch-boy. Yet he was also aware of the realities of power in the present situation. He moved off on his grim task, taking the tin cup used to water — or more usually to taunt — this place’s temporary residents. Ekron, smiling down at the stricken Norther warrior, held before his eyes a small bottle of black liquid.

  “Ink,” he said equably. “The formula is a mite unpleasant and some of its properties odd, but it is essentially ink like any other.”

  First showing the prostrate man a brush, he commenced to draw on Bjaine’s stomach. “Damn these muscle ridges! These marks are far from indelible. If you have care, they will last a reasonable time — long enough for you to complete your mission and return to us with the dear princess and the valued chest.”

  Just as Ekron finished the drawing, Hartes returned with the cup of blood, not quite cold. Appearing more than ever a great yellow toad, the Narokan mage added to the blood from this jar and that phial. He stirred, muttering, and painted a few strokes on the
muscular stomach of his human canvas. Again he added arcane ingredients to the blood, muttering words Bjaine could not distinguish. For the Northman could hear, and feel. When he tried to focus on the mage’s voice, however, it remained an impossible blur.

  Bjaine stared up at the Narokan. He was sure it was no longer a resemblance he saw; the wizard was a great fulvous toad. In its black robe it squatted crouched beside him. Making obscene noises while pointing with its hand-like forepaw. The torchlight paled. It seemed to shiver while whispers hissed from the shifting shadows. Bjaine knew the stones beside him formed an outside wall, beneath the very earth. Nevertheless he heard a knocking, as if something on the other side of that wall sought admission.

  From the toad’s horrid throat croaked a single clear word: “Come.”

  What came was total darkness, and Bjaine thought he was falling into an abyss. If someone wearing white gloves, he felt, was to hold a ball of snow an inch from my eyes, I’d not be able to see it ! He strove to move. He could not.

  And then the dark was gone. Again the chamber was lighted and normal in appearance — as normal as could be such a place of torturous horror. Ekron was only an ugly misshapen man in a voluminous robe. Bjaine discovered that he was able to move, though he was weak as a child of civilization. And Hartes was staring at Ekron with horror-filled eyes.