by Lyndon Hardy
A dike of firm granite, Alodar thought, gradually exposed as the softer rock about it weathered away. He looked up the sheer wall towards the apex, trying to see the tarnished ring of his vision in the failing light. But the peak retreated into the soft shadows. All he could discern were a few possible handholds, barely fingertip wide, strung along the rock. He felt the urge to fling down his pack and race up the side. But it would be safer to wait till morning, when there was enough light to climb safely.
Alodar stepped back a pace, and the wind snapped at his cloak. Puzzled, he approached the tower again and the air fell quiet. He turned his back to the spire and extended his hand outward into the clearing. The breeze rippled through his fingers as if he had thrust them out of the window of a rapidly moving coach. Some sort of barrier kept out the gusts, he mused. He twisted sideways and knelt to the ground. Unfortunately, it was too narrow to make a shelter for his campfire.
Alodar walked back into the quickening breeze. He chopped a few limbs from one of the larger trees and built a small square ring of shelter on the ground. In the middle, he piled smaller branches, twigs, and dried grasses and struck his flint hopefully. To his surprise, the spark caught and held. In a few moments he had a small fire that somehow defied the wind,
Alodar ate slowly. When the sky turned black, he spread his cloak and curled around the fire. A gibbous moon rose over the crestline in the east and cast long, cold shadows on his simple camp. For several hours, he shivered with the cold and his anticipation of what the morning would bring. He knew he needed the sleep but it would not come.
Restlessly he sat up on one elbow and stared at the last flickers of his fire. Only a few wisps of flame lapped up from the glowing embers. He watched one of the flamelets suddenly die with a final puff of smoke. The kindling which had fed it slowly turned from a brilliant yellow to a dull red. Idly he turned to another spark and saw it dance along a log, lighting first one end and then another. A second glow appeared by the first; they skittered to and fro in unison.
Alodar sat up and squinted at the campfire as a third dancing ball joined the others. Cautiously, he reached for his scabbard. As he touched it, a tiny laugh cut through the silence of the night.
Alodar sprang to his feet and danced backwards, drawing his sword. The three dots jumped into the air; two flew high and the third arched over, diving for his head. He swung and missed. Peals of shrill laughter rang through the air.
He thought to knock apart the pile of wood. Before he could act, it suddenly blossomed in yellow flame. Open-mouthed, he watched as the few charred sticks sent tendrils of gold into the sky, far higher and more intense than the fire he had set at dusk. The heat burned painfully at his face. Throwing his forearm up, he retreated towards the spire.
The three sprites converged over the fire, hovered for an instant, and then dropped what looked to Alodar like the branches from one of the scrubby plants which grew nearby. The foliage fell and instantly disappeared from sight, totally consumed. The yellow turned deep emerald and then starlight blue. The heat pushed outward like Duncan's expanding sphere, and Alodar took a step irresistibly backwards.
The flickering flames took on structure. From a rounded outline grew two small, earlike flaps, long-lobed and filled with coarse hair. Over a low, slanting brow, deep-sunk eyes darted back and forth behind pockmarked lids. A high and crooked nose sat above a long, thin mouth that turned down in a malevolent sneer. The head rose with the flame; as it did, a body filled in underneath, hunchbacked and spindly, naked and tufted with hair on a scaly skin that flaked off into the fire.
"By the laws, a djinn," Alodar cried aloud. He looked up to see the imps assemble and drop more foliage into the blaze. The demon, already formed, stepped from the fire and another head began to form in his place.
The fire had to be quenched quickly, before more could pass through the gate! Wincing from the heat, Alodar lunged forward, stabbing at the demon that stood in his way.
The djinn's eyes flared open at Alodar's advance. A deep rumble spilled out from his lips. He waved his taloned hand, sideways, and a sudden blast of air caught Alodar in the chest. Unlike the wind of evening which had gusted and pushed, the blow pounded like a hammer. Alodar gasped for breath as his lungs emptied from the shock. He staggered forward one step. A second blow hit, spinning him backwards and knocking him to the ground. As he fell, the flame behind the djinn danced skywards, coalescing into a second demon.
Alodar rose to one knee. The djinn formed a pulse of air that caught him on the chin and made him reach for the ground for balance. Alodar looked up into the eyes of the figure towering over him. Its penetrating stare reminded him too much of the eye that Kelric had awakened in the sorcerer's sphere. He felt a trickle of fear race down his spine. Instinctively, he grabbed the pouch at his side and felt the smoothness of the orb.
The demon's thick brows shot upwards into his wrinkled forehead as he saw the motion. He walked forward and extended his hand. Alodar drew his sword, but a furnace blast skittered it away. Still clutching the sphere in his left hand, he reached for his dagger with the other. The demon opened his mouth to speak and Alodar wrinkled his nose at the sudden foul stench of decay.
"An item of some interest, I surmise," the djinn said with the hint of some unplaceable accent. "It is well that I have chosen here and now to walk again among you mortals."
Alodar held his breath and said nothing as he watched the djinn approach. With lazy contempt, the demon held out a calloused palm and beckon with his knobby fingers. "The pouch, if you will," he said. "You fear already what my power can do to you. Do not chance my wrath in addition."
Alodar stared back at the distorted face. The blazing eyes bored into him, but he suppressed the impulse to flinch. He felt the prickly presence in his head, this time radiating a numbing terror rather than annoyance or pleasure. "The pouch," the demon repeated. "It is so much easier if you do not resist."
Alodar hesitated, then nodded and offered the bag temptingly. Then, as the piercing eyes flicked down to watch the transfer, he thrust out with the dagger and slashed at the demon's outstretched palm.
Thick greenish ichor oozed from the slit, and the demon leapt quickly backward with an unearthly howl of pain. "You dare to trifle so with one of my kind," he raged as he pressed his good hand about the wrist and attempted to staunch the flow. "Thus do I deal with such puny beings as you." He gestured with his injured hand and another blast of air slammed into Alodar's kneeling form.
The blow sent Alodar sprawling backwards and he tried to flatten out for the one to follow. But the current of wind curled under him and lifted him from the ground. In a frantic swirl of arms and legs, he tried to regain his balance, but the gust propelled him higher.
"I can smash you against the rock," the djinn yelled above the howl of the wind. "You will be no more than shattered bone and jellied flesh. Submit your will to mine. Even your wildest fears are but a small hint of what I can do."
The gust abruptly stopped and Alodar crashed to the ground. Groggily he climbed to his feet, trying to grasp what he must do. He was no match physically for the djinn. He could not stand his ground as he had done with the others. If he resisted, he would be bludgeoned into submission.
The last flurries of the blast fluttered around his legs, dying away almost to the stillness he had felt against the tower.
He stopped before he was fully erect and tried to remember the feeling next to the rock wall. The breeze was not merely less, he pondered. The air was still, perfectly still, as if controlled through the workings of magic. He sucked in his breath with sudden hope. And if it were magic, then even the demon blasts might be turned aside.
Alodar pushed aside speculation on the djinn's reaction if he were wrong and quickly whirled towards the tower. The wind increased and the dust danced about his feet, but with one quick lunge he pounded against the cold stone. He saw the demon's face contort with rage, and the campground exploded in a fury. Sword, the pack, logs, leaves, an
d branches swirled into a cyclone of dust and then hurled in Alodar's direction with a shriek of groaning air.
Alodar flung his arms in front of his face and hunched in anticipation. He heard a sharp crack; then what sounded like a giant bell reverberated in the night. He put down his hands and saw a pile of debris massed a few inches from his feet and the glow of the fire still dimly visible in a cloud of swirling dirt and dust. The djinn stepped forward, eyes blazing hate and talons extended. He ran his claws down the invisible barrier between them. Alodar winced from the grating screech.
"You cannot stay there forever," the djinn growled. "The hunger and thirst will only add to your fear. When you are ready to submit on bended knee, you will plead for my mercy and hope for a gentle touch."
Before Alodar could reply, the demon turned his back and walked through the settling dust to the fire, now quiescently flickering low to the ground. Two other demons, colored and featured like the first, stood clear of the blaze, awaiting his return. They exchanged deep and guttural sounds for an instant, then stopped. Each turned his back on the other and radiated outwards from the fire, stopping and surveying the ground. Alodar watched with his back and arms pressed firmly against the spire, not daring to venture from the safety of the shield.
After several minutes, the first returned and tossed a load of pebbles and small stones into the blaze. Just as before, when fed by the sprites, the flames roared upward, this time a deep purple that blended into the blackness of the sky. The second demon reappeared, holding two head-sized blocks, and tossed them after the small rocks. The third waddled back soon after, hands cupped around a boulder easily as big around as the demon was tall. With a grunt, he added it to the blaze and stepped back to watch the flames dart out from under it.
From his vantage point, Alodar saw another shape begin to form in the fire, another head, many times human size with outlines that suggested a grotesque countenance. Alodar's eyes widened as he grasped what was happening. The imps had somehow made it possible for the three djinns to span the worlds and, powerful in mortal terms though they might be, they were bridging the gap for yet more potent demons to come.
He spun about and sprang for the first handhold above his head. He pulled one leg up to a resting place and then the other. He felt sudden pain in his arms but he shoved it aside. Without waiting, he reached for a new grip and scrambled up the face of the rock. The purchases were few and treacherous, but he did not care. Seconds seemed vital now. He could hope to succeed only if he took every risk.
Up he scrambled, not looking to see how far he had come or to judge the remaining distance. Like the enchanted fighting machine he once had been, he ignored the protests of unhealed muscles and bursting lungs. Hand over hand, in a hypnotic reverie, he drove himself toward the summit. The column narrowed and the rock on which he pressed offered fewer grips, but he did not notice. With a rush, he clambered onto the upshoot which bent to the final pinnacle.
The thickness of rock narrowed to thrice a man's breadth, and Alodar stopped and ran his hands over the stony surface. In an instant he found what he sought, the tarnished bracelet set in the stone. He pulled it. With astounding ease, a great slab parted from the monolith, swung out horizontally, and revealed stairs leading down into the tower. Alodar glanced back down the dizzying distance to the ground and caught one glimpse of a huge demon taking final form. With a last catch of breath, he plunged into the passageway.
The way was dark, and the entrance slab cut off all light from the fire below. With one hand on a wall and the other in front, Alodar spiraled down the stairs as fast as he could without stumbling. Around one circle he went, and then another. His sense of direction became lost, but he continued onwards. Suddenly he hit a level floor and staggered. The stairs had ended, and he was in a room.
Alodar fumbled at his waist for flint and steel and started a small match to glow in the darkness. The tiny flame burned dimly, but he saw what he knew was there. A stone sarcophagus carved from solid granite lay at the far end of a vault. On the wall behind hung an embrace of oil like those in the dungeon of Iron Fist. Alodar moved forward, shielding his match with a cupped hand. He tossed the last sputtering embers of his splinter into the pool, and the room burst into light.
Staring down at the stone coffin, Alodar saw a thick sheet of glass shielding the occupant from the musty air that hung in the chamber. He placed his feet against the wall and began pushing the slab from its resting place. At first, the heavy covering did not move but then, as he strained and knotted the muscles of his back and arms, it slid an inch across the stone with a grating rumble. Alodar breathed deeply and pressed the smooth edge into his palms. The glass slipped further, opening a gap between it and the stone rectangle it covered. A strange, sweet smell rose from the coffin to fill his nostrils, but he ignored it and shoved again. The slab jerked and then gathered momentum. With a final thrust, he propelled it across the opposite side and down onto the stone floor in a loud shatter of broken glass.
"Water," a voice, soft and dry, whispered up at him. "On the wall as you came in?a door to a second room."
Alodar raced around to the other side of the vault and spied a small bracelet, like the one on the outside of the tower. He pulled it open and saw another chamber the same size as the first, but filled with braziers, kindling, piles of dried plants, capped cylinders, liquids, and small, tightly bound chests. Just like Saxton's shop, he thought, as he spotted a flask tightly sealed with a metal cap. He struck off the neck against the wall and hurried back to the wizard, who was sitting up in his stone bed and stretching arms and fingers with a chorus of pops and cracks.
The wizard tilted his head backwards. Alodar poured the water down into the eager mouth, spilling some onto a robe of deepest jet, set with the logo of the flame. Although the musty vault suggested a sleep of centuries, the features were those of middle age. Short ringlets of light brown hair covered his head and cascaded over his ears to merge with a well trimmed goatee. Brown eyes flanked a high thin nose, delicately enscribed with tiny blue veins. The face was gaunt and pale, the hands smooth and uncalloused. The wizard was a man of vault and contemplation rather than sun and physical labor.
"Enough, enough," Alodar heard him sputter at last. "You have awakened none less than Handar, the great wizard. That I stretch and stir again is of itself a tale for the sagas."
Handar paused and stared at Alodar. "Stand closer to the light so that I can look at you better," he commanded. "But a lad, I see. Who of the others would have thought it?"
"Demons," Alodar cut him off. "Many of them below. I came for help. How you can aid I do not know, but it seemed what I must do."
"They would be the thickest here, of course," Handar said. "But the shield will keep the imps away, no matter how many."
"Not only sprites," Alodar persisted, "but djinns of power as well. And they work to bring forth even greater ones of their own volition. It was only by the smallest of margins that they did not prevent me from reaching you safely."
Handar studied Alodar intently for a moment and then shook his head. "In numbers already," he said. "Then we have cut the margin exceedingly fine." He swung one leg over the coffin wall. "Quickly, the brazier of gold and the skin of oil beside it. There is wizard's work to be done."
Alodar hastened back to the storeroom and dragged forth the requested equipment. He set a tripod midway in the room and filled the brazier that swung beneath its apex with oil from a skin hard and brittle with age.
"And now the chalk and the woods," Handar said. "Then we can begin."
Alodar fetched the gear from the storeroom. When he returned, a small fire was flickering from the now-steady pan. The wizard was standing ready with no signs of stiffness or sleep. He reached into the chalk box and rapidly sorted through the pieces; a small cloud of colored dust rose from his haste. At last he withdrew one piece and turned his attention to the bundle of wood.
Handar deftly untied the knot, sending the small sticks swirling across t
he floor. "Let me see," he muttered, holding up the rods one by one and occasionally rubbing or smelling their smooth surfaces. "Ah, ironwood and myrtle. The very ones for him I seek."
Handar turned quickly and cast the ingredients into the blaze. "Come forth, Balthazar, I command you. Awake from your idle reverie and sloth. Your master decrees after these many years a new task for his bonded servant and slave."
Alodar looked from the flame that arched between them and then into the eyes of the man he had awakened. He saw the brow wrinkled in concentration and eyes fixed unswerving on the fire. Bony arms extended forward, beckoning to the flame.
"What is happening?" Alodar asked.
"Silence," Handar ordered. "We have no time to trifle with idle curiosity. I must stretch to my limits and call up the most powerful that I dare. Do not distract me to our peril."
As Alodar returned to silence, he saw the beginnings of an outline in the center of the blaze. An orange head, eyes and ears blended with the flames, rose above a massive trunk of huge scales and thighs the girth of barrels. Up into the room it towered, cloven hooves and tail dancing in the small fire from which it sprang. Alodar looked up at the head, which now touched the top of the chamber, and shuddered. The ears were large, covering the sides of the elongated head and ending in sharp points that soared above a bald crown. The eyes were small glistening beads of black, deep sunk beneath a jutting forehead that formed a permanent frown. With each breath, tiny nostrils flared from a small bump of a nose. A mouth shaped like an inverted U cut deeply into the chin.
"So Handar, you again choose to settle your fate in rash manner after all of these mortal years. It is well that you have not practiced your art in so long a time. It will make the submission all the quicker."