Demon in the Mirror

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Demon in the Mirror Page 6

by Andrew J. Offut


  The sight of her set my blood a-boil. My passion was at such heat I could scarcely speak, much less think. For all my years, your father still has a hard and powerful body, daughter, and women look on me with pleasure. The queen did, and smiled, and she came swaying forward. Ah, it was utter delight the way those oval melons of breasts joggled and danced so tantalizingly. I burned.

  Her voice was deep, thick and sweet as honey: “Captain, wouldst care to fetch the others of thy men, that I and my girls may entertain thee all?”

  “Aye!” I assured her. “Naught could please me more.”

  “Good,” said she, “for we have been long without men. Gladly shall we tender complete hospitality. Thou mayst have us and all we possess for as long as thou wish, to do with as thou wish.”

  A cheer rose about me. A cheer rose within me! I started forward. With a temptress smile and a lifting of one fine silky black hand, she made me pause.

  “We first beg a small service,” sweetly said that island queen. “Though we be but weak women, we are at war with Serancon. ’Tis he who stole our men and reduced them to a state worse than death itself. We have made a vow to rest not till he is destroyed. Already we have reduced his power by stealing a magical leg from him. Slay him, and we are thine.”

  “Gladly!” said I, bobbing my silly head — but I had some wit about me. “You will give us both… hospitality and the wizard’s leg?”

  “Aye, handsome captain, gladly. ’Tis an ugly thing, sorcerously preserved.”

  The trek back to the beach was a blur in my mind, Tiana, for I admit I was deranged by passion. Only when the ship was under weigh could I think clearly again. I bent down to clean my boots — and shock came on me.

  Though I had run through soft moist jungle, there was neither mud nor grass stain on my boots. Instead, they were scuffed and cut as though I had run over ground covered with rough stones. The boots of those who’d accompanied me told the same story, and Machelen had something caught on his right buskin. In the glade his foot had become entangled in a vine, he said, and he’d slashed away the vine with his cutlass. Yet what I found was no vine, but a length of rope unlike any I’d ever seen. It was white, light but strong, and uncommon sticky.

  Much wonder and nervousness was in my mind when we landed at the base of the fortress’s hill. I went ashore with most of the men and a large sack of gold. Once we’d climbed the hill, I saw the valley beyond. The soil was nearly as rocky and barren as the naked rock we stood on, yet it was producing a goodly crop of vegetables. Men tended them, watering, treating those plants as a mother tends her babe. I say men…

  Susha’s loins, Tiana, those farmers were pitiful creatures, skin-covered skeletons. They spoke neither to us nor to one another, nor did they even show curiosity over us. Their eyes were… dead. We fell silent in f — in nervousness.

  Other eyes did see us. From the archer’s ports in the keep, numerous red eyes stared with a clear lust to kill. I hoisted high the sack of gold and made it clink. As I approached the fortress door, a port opened in it and a voice called out.

  “Welcome, good captain. My humble home cannot accommodate so many men, but if you wish to enter alone, we can discuss your business.”

  I opened the sack of gold and poured glittering coins on a stone for all to see, then quickly swept the coins into the sack. After I’d pointedly handed it to Machelen, I stepped through the keep’s doorway, which was open a mere crack. It slammed shut behind me and the great bar dropped.

  Before me stood a wizened old man, a bit beyond plumpness and gnarled like an old tree’s limb. I could not tell his race, for years of experiments had stained his skin into a patchwork of many colours. Whether he was originally black or white — or indeed green or purple — I cannot say.

  “You are most prudent, Captain,” said he, “to leave your gold outside.”

  “It appears that you share my caution, Serancon.” As I spoke, I was noting the men who guarded his keep.

  All were hard, strong, black warriors of the coastal tribes. I saw no human emotions on their faces and their eyes were those of a wolf pack, filled with the slaying lust and no trace of compassion. Save for the wolfish eyes that followed my every move, the warriors of Serancon’s keep were motionless as statues.

  “You admire my guardsmen,” the wizard hissed, and I saw that he looked upon me with the same smile a cobra gives a fat mouse. “They and the fieldworkers are among the proud triumphs of my art.”

  “I am told you are the most skilled brewer of poisons in the world.”

  “An unjust rumour! Men refuse to understand subtle distinctions — I do not deal in mere poisons. I neither make nor sell aught that can slay man or beast. Elixirs I create and sell, medicines that ease the way men fit into their society by destroying this or that tiny… weakness in them.”

  “Weakness?”

  “Aye! For example,” said the paunchy pruneface in his splotchy robe, with the excitement of pride on him, “the typical farm worker is lazy and inefficient and eats much of what he grows. My workers work, and never rest or eat. So long as one keeps them from salt, they are faultless labourers. The usual soldier is full of qualities that limit his usefulness: an instinct for self-preservation, initiative that interferes with obedience to commands and, too often, a conscience. One of my elixirs is a medicine that removes such unfortunate deterrents, filling him too with desire to obey — and a bloodlust. Many proprietors of pleasure-houses find that girl-stealers draft them recruits who are pretty enough, but emotionally unsuitable. They have silly ideals of chastity or of faithfulness to their lovers, or are simply too fastidious to receive many of the paying customers to their bodies. No matter! A mere drop of my elixir and these misfortunate qualities are washed from their brains, leaving only uncaring indiscriminate passion!

  “Good Captain, tell me of your enemy, and why he is a problem. I will solve it in a way far more effective than crude killing. One of my clients feared to invade a neighbouring country because its general was a great warrior. He wished to slay the general, not seeing that a new leader would be nearly as brave and strong and but take the other’s place. I gave my client an elixir that made the general a coward.”

  “Fascinating, good and brilliant Serancon!” I told that monster. “I, however, am come only to purchase the right leg of Derramal. You have seen my gold. Suppose we trade on these terms: remain you within your keep, whilst I rejoin my men. Place a table in the doorway, and on it we shall make the exchange.”

  The wizard agreed. Soon I faced him across a table. My men were behind me, ready for treachery, and backing him were the fiends he had created. When I placed the gold on the table, he set down both the ugly leg and two goblets of purest gold.

  “Such a transaction calls for a sharing of wine,” he purred. “Choose the goblet you prefer and I myself shall pour.” He showed me a stoppered decanter.

  I indicated one of those admirable cups, and he poured wine into it, then into his goblet. When I pushed the sack to his side of the table, it blocked his view of the goblets for a moment, and gold clinked. Then were we raising our cups to each other in hail. We drank. Ah, excellent vintage!

  Serancon smiled. “As you came up the hill,” he said, for my ears only, “I recognised you as Caranga, a man noted for his skill at detecting poisons. Indeed, you fulfilled your reputation, for when you switched goblets I scarcely could detect it.”

  I gave him a sweet cobra’s smile right back. “Ah, but had I really switched the goblets, you would never have known.”

  He stared, and fear came into his eyes like a stain on water.

  Smiling and with an eye on his men the while, I said, “When you asked not my name, Serancon, I was sure you knew who I was. Thus you would logically expect a switch — and so you put the poison in your own cup, true? Ah, I see it is! Serancon, you have outsmarted yourself and got a dose of your own foul… medicine! And surely no man deserves it more.” I waited for him to fall dead.

  Instead… the
light of intelligence flickered in his eyes like a candle in the wind — and then died! “That was very clever, master,” said he. “Now how may I serve you?”

  Oh but I was elated! A fine elixir indeed! Taking the leg of Derramal and my gold, I replied, “Your master requires that which removes the ability to lie.”

  “Readily,” said he, “though I must warn that it is effective only for a few hours, master, nor can it be given with food or drink.”

  “Then how is it used?”

  “By air,” he said, handing me a vial. “As you see, it is a dry powder. Put a little in — ah, that kerchief about your neck, and raise it to your nose. It will make you sneeze, and thus spread it several feet. This method is impossible to detect, the only disadvantage being that you yourself can say only truth for a few hours afterward.”

  As we returned to Vixen, it occurred to me that Serancon’s elixir was certainly effective for eliminating initiative — for lack of orders, his bloodlusting guards had done naught while I slew and robbed their master.

  I held grave suspicions about the women on the other side of the island, but there was no question of not returning to them; a good captain as you know does not beg for mutiny! Nor would mere fears stop me, in view of the queen’s promise of complete hospitality. The men shared my eagerness though not my doubts. Most of the asses wanted even to go unarmed ashore, so that I was forced to appeal to vanity. We must look our best, I told them, and that of course meant armed as befits brave strong men…

  The sun was turning the sky orange as we reached the glade once more. The smile the queen turned on me would have melted ice. She came to me, swaying her tantalizing body to my hungering eyes. That rich honeyed voice asked had I slain Serancon.

  “Aye,” said I smiling, “I tricked him into drinking one of his own medicines.”

  “How brave and clever thou art, O handsome warrior from the sea. Come, I shall entertain thee while thy men and my girls disport themselves. As thou seest, we have prepared soft beds of leaves and grass.”

  I saw! “Lovely. Oh — business before pleasure! The leg of Derramal?”

  She led me around a great thick tree and I saw a crude stone altar bearing the ugly leg. I had brought a knapsack, that I might carry the legs and have both hands free. As soon as the leg was in the sweet sack, I put my neckerchief to my nose and sneezed, directly at her.

  The transformation was instantaneous and horrible. The great “tree” was a rearing chunk of leprous stone. The altar remained. No more was this lush verdure, but barren rock strewn with stones, surrounded by a great network of white rope — an enormous spider’s web. My men were not dallying with lovely maids in leafy bowers, but were being enwrapped in cocoons by spiders five feet tall. My beautiful queen was a monster, a great hairy spider no less than eight feet in height. Eh? Seven, then. It moved obscenely toward me. Enormous compound eyes flashed like thousand-faceted gems. Now that deep soft voice was a monstrous obscenity.

  “What be the matter, my darling? Thou seemst disturbed…”

  My answer was in my sword. Faster than I can write it, the blade smashed into that hideous head. Green ichor splashed burning on my arm. The queen’s mandibles snapped inches in front of my face Then, with a convulsion that hurled me several feet, she died with a great tremble of huge hairy legs.

  I sprang up, for there was work for my steel. Those of my men who were free were fighting for their lives. At equal odds we might have prevailed, but too many were cocooned ere the battle started.

  We took a bloody toll, by Susha’s scarlet nipples, but one by one those abominations pulled us down. The monsters evaded close combat, where our swords gave us the advantage. Instead, they squirted sticky ropes of web stuff at us and, when a man was helplessly entangled, they pounced to paralyze him with their venom. The victims were wrapped alive, whether to be eaten later or to serve as food for hatching spiderish eggs, I know not. I shudder now, daughter; then I was too busy.

  The sun had set in the sweet scarlet of blood and now growing darkness increased our plight. Ah, what a thirst-quenching of sharp blades was there! And what a falling and web-envelopment of men…

  Suddenly, a clot of scrawny black figures appeared, carrying torches. They sang a mournful low chant, but they fell on the spiders like Drood’s own demons. With Serancon removed, the zombies in his fields had found salt! Now the wretches realised their true condition, and they’d come seeking and dealing death. The poor creatures asked the favour of death in a way not to be ignored — they seized spiders and tore off their loathsome legs!

  To survive, the spiders must slay the Undead. This was not easily done. Their paralyzing venom was without effect, while torches burned their sticky web ropes. Zombies wrapped in webbing would set themselves afire and clutch a spider to their burning bodies so that both were consumed in a grisly funeral pyre. The stench was ghastly, staggering. I saw godsent opportunity for me and my men to escape.

  We bore up all our fallen comrades we could, and fled. Twice had I to return to the scene of that awful battle of abominations to gather the rest of the crew. Never have I been amid such horror. Blood and ichor spattered like water in a storm and roiling smoke carried the stench of burning flesh and spider-stuff. Twice during those returns I was attacked by spiders; I slew them with pleasure. When a zombie attacked me, though, I dodged and held my steel. If I killed or hurt him, I thought, his fellows would see me as an effective source of death and fail upon me. He harried me for a few minutes, during which I but dodged. Then he went off seeking a foe who would fight back.

  Finally, I and the crew were safe aboard Vixen. We pulled up anchor and sailed into the night, and not one of us but knew he was lucky to be alive. Call her but the goddess of savages or no, I hurled no less than two coins of gold into the sea, with thanks to Susha the Voluptuous. And tried to put from mind and loins memory of how that monster spider had first appeared…

  How that sweet war between the zombies and the spider women ended, I know not. Whoever was the victor, I much doubt that Serancon’s Isle will be a healthy place to visit. ’Tis well. The people who come to buy Serancon’s elixirs — his “medicines” — will now receive precisely what they deserve.

  As for me, my elixir of the grape has run out, and I am weary and ready to retire.

  At least the spiders kept me so busy that my hours of enforced truthfulness were no inconvenience…

  6 Riding the Thunder

  To the north a towering mountain range marks the end of civilisation and the beginning of Greenwood. Just south of the main range, the mountain Erstand rises to proud height. Ice-clad, its perpendicular slopes are unscalable; no man has ever ascended to its summit. Nevertheless, in a cairn on that summit rests the right arm of Derramal.

  — the map of Lamarred

  *

  From Woeand, Tiana rode north toward the mountains that divided the world and challenged the sky. As she approached Mount Erstand that rose like a mighty gate before the fortress of the main range, her mount entered dense forest. Within an hour she came afoul of the Woodlings, nor was it an occasion of pride for her.

  There was no warning. One moment she was alone in the coolth and shade of the woods; in the next, six of the weirdly painted men were on her. She was shamed and galled; it was debasing so to be taken without inflicting so much as a scratch on her captors. In disgustingly short order, two of the silent men were carrying her along like a slaughtered deer; hair streaming down to sweep the forest floor, she hung head-and-bottom down from a pole to which her wrists and ankles were thonged.

  Caranga was right about the value of my knowing woodcraft, Tiana thought. How ignominious!

  Though it strained her neck, she watched her captors closely. Survival, she knew, depended on her finding a means to outwit them.

  Little was known of the Woodlings — for the simple reason that any who met a Woodling raider must slay or be slain. Nothing was known of their homeland north of the mountains save that — at least when viewed fro
m afar — it was lush and green. None had seen it up close, and returned to report.

  Few, indeed, dared travel this near the Woodlings’ lair.

  Parties of raiders from Greenwood, conversely, ranged far to harass their neighbours. Strangely, Woodlings did not steal. They but slew. That was a further problem for Tiana, for most men could be outwitted by an appeal to their greed. Indeed, she mused as she was borne along, she might not be able to converse with these feather-wearers at all; thus far she’d heard not a single word from any of her captors.

  Perhaps they’re mute. Who knows? — But more likely it’s part of their woodcraft to make only the totally necessary sounds.

  Their captive swinging like a sack of meat, the strange men glided in eerie silence through the darkly shaded forest. Even up close they were nigh invisible; the men of Greenwood painted their obscenely naked bodies brown and green to match the forest.

  Tiana wondered what they planned to do with her. She gritted her teeth. They’ll use me, of course. Who could resist? An annoyance, that. It was one of the problems of being a woman. She put it out of her mind; of considerably more menace was the fact that these men’s teeth were filed. Cannibals, surely. Well, we’ll see. They underestimate me, else they’d have slain me at once. The village must be far. All I need do is wait for an opportune moment — and think very positively about there being one!

  Her possessions, including both Derramal’s hands, nestled securely in the pack on her mule. He was cheerfully following, not so clever after all. The Woodling chief had appropriated her weapons. She eyed his nakedly churning backside, and the scabbards swinging at his side. If she could regain her rapier, she was confident of slaying these silent green-and-brown men in a fair fight — fair meaning she’d not be taken by surprise; they would. Once weapons were out and death heavied the air, there were no rules; none at any rate that Tiana of Reme adhered or admitted to.

 

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