EXILED Defenders of Ar

by Jack Lovejoy

  At the last instant, just as one horde of reptile-demons burst out of the temple, he dodged through the second horde—slithering, loping, and scuttling toward him from the opposite direction—as if they were standing still. Their cries of rage and frustration were otherworldly, like echoes reverberating out of an abyss. Everything around him in fact now seemed to belong to another world. And though his fleetness soon carried him beyond the reach of his laggard pursuers, he felt more and more insecure, nagged by increasing fears that something was wrong.

  Doubts now burdened his flying footsteps like leaden weights. A growing sense of helplessness oppressed him, seeming to whisper ever more insistently that escape was impossible, that he would never leave Shadow Island alive. Certainly he would never leave it if meanwhile something had happened to the Zanira. But what harm could possibly have come to the great ship, which he had left riding peacefully at anchor in a quiet cove? He knew such fears were irrational, and yet they oppressed him nonetheless, as he neared the trellis of silver-bright streams.

  The longboat awaited him at the base of the slope, so his angle of approach meant that the Zanira itself, anchored well out in the middle of the cove, was the first thing he would see. What he saw staggered him with horror. Giant marine reptiles, their long necks bobbing hungrily up and down as they tore away great chunks of wood and canvas, were attacking the ship from all sides. It was already too damaged to survive out at sea; there was no escape from Shadow Island, just as he had feared. He continued to stumble forward, more from inertia than with any clear intent, until he reached the top of the slope.

  And there below was the longboat, its crew calmly awaiting his return. Couldn’t they see what was happening to the Zanira? He glanced back across the eerie moon-washed landscape. The reptile-demons had given up the chase. Were they now trying to capture him by other means? Hundreds of them, in all shapes of hideousness, massed unmovingly about a mile inland, as if concentrating their malice on him alone. Even at this distance he could sense their eyes focused evilly upon him.

  Then he realized that other eyes had also spotted him, as he stood amidst the trellis of streams, at the very top of the slope. The longboat crew at once took to their oars, and Severakh beckoned urgently to him. Yet all the while he could see the giant marine reptiles tearing the Zanira to wreckage, out in the cove behind them.

  Illusion; an illusion meant to paralyze his will. That had to be the answer. Nor was it really a convincing illusion, now that he looked closer. An argosy being torn to pieces by monstrous jaws would create some noise, probably a lot of noise. But only a ghostly silence reigned below.

  He hesitated. The risk was great, but he had to know. Very gingerly he laid the Demon Sword on the ground, and released his grip, his fingers poised hardly an inch from its hilt. In an instant the world was transformed, and he reeled and almost fell beneath the weight of evil assailing him. The hideous crunching of monstrous jaws, destroying his sole means of escape from Shadow Island, plunged him into such depths of despair that he nearly surrendered himself out of sheer hopelessness.

  Then he had the Demon Sword in his hand once more, and the evil magic was again neutralized. Had he moved his hand even a few inches farther from the hilt, he might not have had the will to grasp it again. Only now did he truly appreciate the power vested in his sword, though he himself was no magician.

  What then of the force inherent in the object in his pocket?

  He could barely imagine its potential for withstanding evil—or creating it, in the wrong hands. Although, as he was no magician, it was nothing but a big shiny stone to him. Were Srana here, the whole pack of reptile-demons would surely have been sent howling back to their own dimension by now. Perhaps the Evil One was not invincible after all; nor the war against the Eastern Lords as hopeless as it had once seemed.

  But the battle was still only half won; the Khavala was not yet in the hands of someone capable of wielding its power for good. Scrambling, sliding, leaping over silver-bright streams, he descended the slope to the longboat.

  He patted his pocket, in answer to Severkh’s questioning look. The old warrior nodded a “well done,” and they scrambled aboard the longboat, and pushed off from shore.

  Ghostly illusions still assailed him, but he now recognized them as such. The only damage to the Zanira was that wreaked by the storm and the pirate attack, most of which had already been repaired, though there remained some concern about the hull.

  Coursing the millrace waters still swirling offshore, they were carried many miles to the south before they at last broke forth into the open sea. The breeze was easterly, but they could not have retraced their course home even had the wind been more favorable. Three claws above the horizon would not give them the longitude of Namakhazar, and they set sail and headed due north. What lay there, far west of the realm of the mrem, was as legendary as the Shadow Islands themselves. But only a coasting voyage would now get them home.

  Would it get them home in time? Was Srana still safe at Ravarbal? Had the great city of Ar fallen? Branwe fretted all the next day, and for several days thereafter; never for a moment did he succeed in curbing his impatience, and volunteered for all the most vexing jobs, below deck or aloft, as if that would somehow get them home sooner.

  Severakh was no less anxious, but he had fought too many campaigns over too many years to fret needlessly about events over which he had no control.

  Also, he had a sounder, grasp of grand strategy. The three moons would not triangulate again for nearly two years. Until that time, whatever remained of the Khavala would be out of reach of the Evil One, and the war won and lost with whatever powers of magic now existed in the world.

  He himself was more concerned about the marshaling of armies—the true concern of a warrior—and about the deteriorating condition of the hull.

  Flames and Shadows

  “OF COURSE there’s a blockade, you idiots!” snapped Severakh. “Why in three moons do you think I anchored so far from the city? We stole the biggest ship in Namakhazar right out from under their noses. Don’t you think it’s been missed by now? Or that the murdering fiend who sent everything from dragons to bandit gangs to kill us just may have guessed where we’ve gone, and why?” He looked disgustedly from Cajhet to Shimsham, then back again. “Why is it that whenever I need the best mrem for a job, I have to send the worst?”

  Only a single moon stood in the night sky; the second would rise just before morning; the third had already set. Not a glimmer of light shone aboard the Zanira. Its sails were patched, its stays spliced and respliced, and though its hull wallowed dangerously low in the water, Severakh had at last called his pumping crews, who had so valiantly kept them afloat on rough seas and calm, back up on deck. His catapults, which again and again had repelled attacks by wreckers and shore pirates during the long coasting voyage home, would not avail him against the entire enemy fleet, should they discover him here, he had also relieved his catapulters of duty. A new ordeal awaited them all, and his crew needed as much rest as they could get before facing it.

  He had in effect beached his ship in this rocky inlet where even a scout ship would hardly dare to follow him, the mouth of which was guarded by treacherous reefs and breakers, agitating the surf to froth. The Zanira, daughter of the polestar, had sailed her last glorious voyage.

  “Now listen to me, the pair of you.” Severakh gave Cahjet and Shimsham each in turn a meaningful look. “The tangletides are at ebb, and the breeze favorable, so the longboat I’m sending you in should reach port well before morning. Shimsham here knows the city—”

  “Know it like the fur on the back of my own hand.”

  “—so he’ll be able to get you safely through the streets. Your mother—” he searched Cajhet’s face, but found no hint of fluffy pink dressing gowns, “—should be able to give you the latest news. Or contact whichever of your half-brothers or -sisters is most likely to have the inf
ormation we want. Ample moneys were left on deposit with them. I believe they can be trusted to organize and supply an expedition back to Ravarbal. Just bring me the news.” He gazed thoughtfully across the rocky inlet, its dark waters mottled with foam. “If Ar has fallen, we may have to make other arrangements. Guerrilla resistance; perhaps try to rally the western city-states, if they too haven’t been overrun by now. But there’s really no point in speculating without data. Bring me the news.”

  “Yes, sir.” They both saluted, each with his own secret plans for indulging himself in the licentious port city of Namakhazar.

  “I couldn’t eat another salt fish if I was starving,” whispered Cajhet, as he and Shimsham clambered aboard the waiting longboat.

  “The very thought makes me thirsty,” added the latter with a grin of anticipation. “I’ve seen some demons of my own, this trip. I’ve earned me a good fling.”

  The sailors piloting the longboat also seemed to anticipate a spree. But the fact that they had not yet received their wages, and wouldn’t until Severakh and his men were beyond the reach of reprisals, ensured their good behavior—and discretion. They knew the coastal waters, the peculiar tides and hazards, and slipped unseen into the harbor of Namakhazar before the second moon rose.

  The ships at anchor, or moored along the docks, were only small merchant or fishing vessels, and surprisingly few in so commodious a harbor. Somebody was indeed determined to intercept the returning Zanira, perhaps, even desperate, to pay the costs of so massive a blockade. Every ship of significant tonnage in Namakhazar seemed to be out at sea.

  “All the better for us, eh, lads?” whispered Shimsham, and there was laughter up and down the thwarts.

  “Our first stop is the Tangletide,” said Cajhet, “and maybe our last—tonight.” And there was more laughter. “There it is now, on stilts over the water. Hear the music, lads? You know what that means.”

  The dancing she-mrem and regular female patrons at the Tangletide also knew what it meant to greet sailors returning from a long voyage, and soon they had all vanished into neighborhood bedrooms. Shimsham alone never left the bar, where he presided for the rest of the night—and many, many nights thereafter—with a goblet in each hand.

  “Never thought I’d make it,” he was heard to mutter over and over again. “Twice to the Shadow Islands and back again. Did I ever tell you about the beautiful island she-mrem I met on my way home? Here, youngster, I believe it’s your turn to buy the drinks. Now gather around, and I’ll tell you about the night I first met Tamani....”

  Meanwhile Cajhet was being hugged and groomed until he was dizzy by the overjoyed Kizzlecosh, to the delight of the grisly patrons she usually terrorized. The first thing he had noticed upon entering the Tangletide was how much her new collection of ears, tacked up in neat rows behind the bar, had prospered since his departure.

  “Oh, my little Cajie-wajie, I’m so happy to see you safe and sound,” she cried again and again, hugging him passionately.

  She had evidently thrived here at the Tangletide, if her increased robustness was any indication. But there was also a tender look in her eyes, and Cajhet too had been at sea a long time. He poked a playful finger into her massive bosom, and winked lecherously. Her bawdy laughter rang through the tavern, and soon they too had vanished for the night. A bedroom is as good a place as any for getting the latest news....

  “I’ve kept my ears open for you, you dear little Cajiewajie,” Kizzlecosh said affectionately at the breakfast table the next morning.

  Cajhet winced, afraid she was going to hug him again. Her unflagging exuberance all through the night—hour after hour after hour—had left him nearly delirious; his eyes were puffed and bloodshot, his fingers trembled, and he had trouble concentrating. But she certainly had prepared a savory breakfast for him; the table fairly groaned with bowls, platters, cups, trenchers, and chafing-dishes of rich and succulent delicacies. Despite his soreness and love fatigue, he soon found his strength returning. In fact, he began to wonder with apprehension if that was exactly why she was feeding him up with such gusto.

  “They escaped Ravarbal just in time, no thanks to Haggie.”

  She bit the air with her sharp, powerful teeth. “He won’t stab me in the back again, but there are other spies lurking all over Namakhazar these days. They even tried to quiz me, but I set ‘em in their place right off, so now they steer clear. Maybe you notice the ear with the white tuft at the tip, fourth from the right, in the bottom row?”

  “It looked beautiful, love,” said Cajhet, “and it does you proud.”

  “Yes, I must say myself it does look nice there,” she conceded. “Anyways, they don’t bother me no more, or even stick their noses inside the Tangletide.”

  “Or their ears?” he winked.

  She bellowed with laughter. “Oh, Cajie-wajie, you are a darling. But I know you’re on a serious mission—I’m so proud of you—and I found out all I could. Messengers were sent from the Yozgat, believe it or not. Remember what I told you about them, and got you to detour around their territory? Well, it seems your folk have actually taken refuge there. How they managed it, I don’t know, but they couldn’t be safer.”

  Cajhet was meanwhile wondering how he himself might remain safe here in Namakhazar, for the duration of the ensuing conflict. Ar had not fallen, and he knew what that meant for all those under the command of the redoubtable Severakh. Some snug berth well behind the lines, perhaps something like his old job in Kazerclawm, with regular hours, not too much work, and plenty to eat and drink. That’s what he really hoped for right now, He was wondering how much influence his mother still had with Severakh, when Kizzlecosh said:

  “I’ve already sent for the messengers from the Yozgat. You looked so cute this morning—snoring and drooling on your pillow—that I didn’t want to wake you. I know you had a long voyage. You must have been tired.”

  “Yes,” he said drily, “riding the billows can be exhausting.

  But what’s to become of you, love? It looks like there’s a lot of hard work and danger ahead of me,” he added, hoping it was in fact all behind him.

  “I’m coming with you,” she cried. Then, seeing his startled look: “Unless you don’t want me any more.”

  “If you’re not coming, I’m not going.” He made the best of the unexpected development. “We wouldn’t be here at all, without you. I don’t care that much”—he snapped his fingers “for what old Severakh himself says about it. Let him court martial me for desertion. You go, or I stay. That’s my final word on the matter, and I’ll stand by it, whatever the consequences.”

  The fond look in her eye reminded him of the many fond looks she had given him last night, but he was reprieved by a jangle at the front door.

  He naturally believed that the two messengers who now entered the apartment were Yozgat, as did Kizzlecosh herself—to their later dismay. The Mamlock messengers had been given certain questions to ask, which only those really under the command of Severakh could possibly answer, and Cajhet had no trouble satisfying them about his identity. After some probing questions of his own, he informed them in turn about the successful voyage to the Shadow Islands, and they left Namakhazar inside an hour with the news.

  Nor did it take Cajhet much longer to conclude arrangements with influential half-brothers and -sisters for supplies; even a shady deal to salvage the Zanira, before it was discovered by scout ships. All the arrangements had in fact been concluded—and paid for in advance—by Severakh, before his first departure from Namakhazar. Cajhet had only to give the word.

  The second departure from the neighborhood of the licentious port city was as clandestine as the first. Kizzlecosh did not bother to give notice at the Tangletide, she just failed to show up for work one night, and a full week passed before anybody could be certain that she was not coming back again. Then the barkeeper found himself vexed once more by nightly brawls and disorder,
as his grisly clientele lost all concern for their ears, and it was not long before the Tangletide had regained its old reputation as the scuzziest dive on the waterfront.

  •

  Srana opened her eyes. Though quartered in the strange seclusion of the female barracks, in a remote mountain valley, among the warrior Yozgat, she had been sleeping with all the soundness of youth and good health—until something alerted her danger sense, which never slept. But what? The Eastern Lords, the Evil One himself, would not dare attack so bellicose a folk, at least until they could marshal overwhelming force against them—something they would be unable to do so long as the great city of Ar still stood.

  No, the danger was nearer at hand, more individual, more sinister. Like all the dwellings of the Yozgat, her quarters were sparsely furnished and without adornment; privacy was the only concession granted her. She listened, but could hear nothing ominous. Without stirring her bedclothes, she slowly turned her head.

  For an instant she had the uncanny feeling that she was reliving the night when all her troubles began, the night when her grandfather died so valiantly in flames so that she might live. Once more a shadowy figure stood in the doorway of her room, but this time her danger sense warned her that it was an enemy. It was hooded; its dwarfish stature alone revealed it as a Yozgat.

  Then she realized that the hooded figure was creeping slowly toward her. Only one moon now stood in the sky; a lone pallid beam slanted down through the single window at the far side of the room. All else lay in shadow. But her eyes were keen, even in the dark, and she saw clearly the steel claws the figure wore strapped to its wrists.