He was astonished to note that the Godchair wasn't leaving the surface of Haven. It was headed directly east, towards one of the large islands between the continents.
A moment later the chair slowed before a large lake surrounded by hundreds of square miles of forest. There in the center of the lake was an island, and on that island was a full-sized Stonehenge.
He began to drift closer.
The old druid was in the midst of an incantation when he sensed an alien intrusion. Stopping, he turned to survey his surroundings. Nothing was in sight, but he could feel a presence growing stronger and stronger.
He switched to infrared, and then starlight vision, and still nothing. After several more attempts he tried the spirit world--and there he felt something.
Leaving his body, he could see a figure floating above, staring down at his temple. Painfully he forced his spirit upward. Very few could travel in the spirit world, and fewer yet could travel too far from their bodies.
The man in the chair was a sorcerer, and by his uniform he belonged to Jartan. Still, only those who followed the true beliefs were allowed here.
Rising before Kochanski he spoke.
"I do not permit unbelievers to watch the sacred rites. Go now before I become angry."
The sorcerer in the chair became very agitated at even being seen.
Come a little closer, the old druid thought, and I will give you the sacred wicker death. The time to light the fires under the wicker cages was very near.
Finally the sorcerer spoke. "How did you ever make such a good copy of Stonehenge?"
The old druid's heart started racing. The time he had worried about for two thousand years was here at last.
"You have seen the original?"
"Yes, yes. You are from Earth too?"
The druid gathered his strength as he drifted closer and closer.
He asked cunningly, "Know you of Caius Julius Caesar?"
"Julius Caesar? Sure I know of him."
"Assassin! I knew you would come someday," the druid screamed, leaping forward, propelling his strength into the spirit realm of the intruder.
The speed of the chair was amazing. Even as his fingers were about to close on the assassin's throat, the chair was gone.
Trembling, the old druid searched the sky but could find nothing.
Caesar had tracked him down at last. No matter. He had been ready for years beyond count.
He would let them come to him.
Kochanski got up from the Godchair severely shaken. Someone else from Earth was here, but was very dangerous. Maybe insane, too. Jesus, that was a close call.
He sent a call for Jartan over his communications crystal. No answer. Still, he was picking up some type of commotion in Jartan's main briefing room down the hall.
Heading down the hall, he saw great numbers of sorcerers going into and out of the main briefing room, all wearing looks of intense concern.
Entering, his first thought was the similarity to an overturned anthill. One group was preparing maps, another was entering figures on a great projection board, and another was working on two huge models of different worlds floating above the large horseshoe-shaped table. Jartan stood at the head of the table issuing commands and listening to reports as they came in.
Kochanski pushed his own concerns aside as he worked his way toward the god. As he passed he noted that the largest of the two floating worlds had numerous bright lights surrounded by circles of red, and that the smaller globe orbiting the larger one was seemingly covered with ice and snowfields with only one bright light and no red circles.
He stood beside Jartan for several minutes before the god had time for him.
"Kochanski, I've moved your training up. Sara and several others will be arriving shortly to give you lessons on portal travel in other dimensions. You've got a departure time of less than three days, so your life depends on you being a quick learner."
Kochanski's first thought was, My life? and then, Three days? He's got to be kidding.
"No, I'm deadly serious. One of our primary outpost worlds seems to be under attack. I'm sending a reconnaissance in force to check it out. You are the best sorcerer I have for the Godchair, so you're definitely going. I need information badly."
"Uh, Jartan, why? I mean..."
"Not now, Kochanski. There will be a briefing tomorrow afternoon when the rest of the team arrives. You'll be pleased to know that I'm sending Mark and the rest of the outlanders with you. For now, return to the Godchair. Sara and the others are preparing a training portal opening for you. You are dismissed."
Kochanski walked from the room more confused than ever. What the hell was going on?
Chapter 3
Winging in low Sarnak skimmed between the snow-covered peaks. Overhead, forward, and to either side, his escort of thirty sorcerers ranged outward, ready to react at the slightest sign of treachery.
So far it was all going according to plan. But if the roles were reversed he knew what he would do at this moment, promises to the contrary be damned.
As he swung down the side of the mountain, he felt tension knotting within him at the sight of the dozen wall crystals mounted along the upper battlements of his cousin's fortress. As agreed, they were not manned. But still, the gunners could merely be hidden.
With every sense straining, Sarnak probed for the first indicators of threat, but all was as it should be.
His lead sorcerers, following the example of the first guide, swung in over the battlements and alighted on the landing platform.
"All clear, my lord," a voice whispered through the comm link.
Sarnak looked over at the second guide sorcerer who had been flying alongside him. The path to Tor's ancient fortress was known for its difficult approach. A range of mountains nearly thirty thousand feet tall had to first be cleared; and atop those peaks were battle platforms, positioned to fire on any would-be attacker. That thought alone had sent prickles of fear running down his back.
The fortress was not built at all in the traditional sense, but rather had been carved straight into the side of a mountain, five thousand feet below the summit. Two thousand feet below the fortress was the floor of the valley, where his subjects lived, a region that could only be approached through a narrow defile.
For those who were condemned to travel on foot, the climb up and over the passes was a journey of seven or more days. Once over the mountains the traveler had to drop all the way down into the narrow valley below and then follow a tortuous path back up to the only ground entrance into the fortress. The valley itself was a steeply terraced patchwork of fields, orchards, and stone-walled villages stretching northward for nearly two hundred miles into the cold fastness of Tor's realm.
The main keep of the ancient palace, one of those fashioned by the creator Horat himself, was also built straight into the side of the mountain, atop a sheer rock pinnacle of smooth granite. The only way to enter it was by air--and a series of traps was studded through the narrow pass for an aerial approach. Crystals were mounted to either side in a latticework pattern, with only a narrow, unrestricted opening through the middle. Come in too high or too low and cross between two crystals, and the trap would be sprung as half a hundred energy bolts snapped out from the mountain, incinerating everything between them.
If one approached from down in the valley, the same trap awaited as the unwary victim started to climb the face of the pinnacle. A straight overhead approach and a spiral down would create the same response from an interlocking series of crystals that pointed upwards to their counterparts on the distant peaks.
Without the guides to lead them in, the approach would have been almost impossible to negotiate. Sarnak felt a twinge of jealousy for such a profligate use of the precious stones.
Following the lead of his first battle team, Sarnak turned sharply and came in for final approach. Once across the threshold of the fortress, he breathed an inward sigh of relief: The first part of the ordeal had been passed. Trying to
calm the tension within, he alighted on the platform.
Around him, the rest of his sorcerers turned in sharply and, as they landed, spread out in what appeared to be a protective circle.
From the shadows of a doorway that led into the heart of the mountain, a single middle-aged man appeared. Uthul's face was angular and dark, wreathed in a beard that had already gone over to grey. The resemblance was striking, and for an instant Sarnak almost thought that he was standing before his uncle Tor. Yet Sarnak knew there was one thing that Uthul had not inherited, and that was Tor's cunning.
"Cousin, what a debacle---it was a miracle you escaped at all." Uthul strode forward, hands extended sideways in the gesture of greeting.
Sarnak looked past Uthul to see a dozen sorcerers emerge, looking warily at Sarnak's surviving retinue.
"Your father died well and with honor," Sarnak said evenly.
"At the hands of that bastard Jartan," Uthul replied, with obvious emotion in his voice. "I thought no good would come of this effort--I tried to warn him. I just knew it would be a failure."
"It was my plan, you know," Sarnak said dryly.
Uthul fell silent. "Be that as it may," he finally replied. "It's a wonder Jartan has not moved straight here to burn us out."
"I think he might have other concerns right now. He knows your father is dead; he might think that's sufficient for now."
"But it's said Allic still hunts you, and won't stop once he finds out where you have fled."
Sarnak bristled inwardly at the word fled. He had been forced to make a tactical withdrawal... but there would soon be another skirmish--that is, if his hated foe survived the threat he expected was coming.
Uthul shook his head and continued. "At least, cousin, I can give you and yours shelter for awhile here in my kingdom. But I want no part of this war if it should continue. I've already sent an ambassador to Jartan indicating my desire for peace. If he should even suspect that I gave you shelter, I know his wrath would turn on me as well. I'm surprised it hasn't happened already. That is why, when you have rested, I will have to ask that you leave my realm. There are places across the sea where I am sure you can start afresh."
"Wrong, dear cousin," Sarnak said, a thin smile lighting his features. "You see, I have a surprise for you."
As the code words were spoken Sarnak stepped back.
His thirty sorcerers turned as one, hands extended.
Thirty flashes of light snapped out. Before Uthul could even whisper a cry or begin to raise his shielding, his body had already snapped into a blinding incandescence.
A single stunned sorcerer stepped out from the doorway, hurling a blast at Sarnak, who was already prepared, his shield up to maximum. The bolt flashed, causing the shield to momentarily glow. Half a dozen sorcerers turned their attention away from the charred remains of Tor's son and slammed the one defender to the ground.
Warily the other sorcerers backed up, hands kept carefully down.
Sarnak walked up to the smoking remains and drew the signet of rule off a blackened hand. He put the signet on his finger and almost languidly looked over at the terrified sorcerers.
"He made one mistake, you know," Sarnak said gently, a sad smile lighting his features. "He just should have said the kingdom was mine and all of this unpleasantness could have been avoided."
"Are there any objections to this little change in power?"
One by one the sorcerers fell to their knees in obeisance.
"Good, very good, there's been too much bloodshed today. Your pay is doubled as of now, if that will prove any additional incentive to the lot of you."
Greedy smiles lit the faces of more than one kneeling man.
Sarnak nodded knowingly. "Excellent, gentlemen, then we do understand each other. I guess it's time that I moved in and started with my work. It's said that many artifacts from Tor and even my dear grandfather Horat are hidden within. Perhaps they can be of use in the coming struggle."
With a look almost of pity, Sarnak stepped past the corpse of his cousin and started for the entrance.
"Bala."
"Yes my lord," A sorcerer with piggy features and lifeless eyes rushed to his side.
"Be sure the body receives a proper burial."
"As you wish, my lord." and the sorcerer started to turn away.
"And Bala--one other thing. Before taking care of that, go into the private living chambers. My cousin had a wife and three small children. I would think they would prefer to join their dearly departed loved one. No sense having resentful rivals about the place."
A grin of evil delight crossed Bala's features as he motioned to several of his companions and scurried away.
"Too bad," Sarnak whispered to himself, "these family squabbles can be such distasteful affairs."
The meeting Allic had called was winding down to a close.
After the encounter with the demon Kultha in Sarnak's office, Jartan had ordered a complete investigation and sent two of Allic's sisters, Storm and Leti, to assist.
This time the search had been conducted with crystal-shattering sonics and several more traps and escape holes had been detected and dismantled. A fair portion of Sarnak's old fortress was now in ruins, torn and blasted by the thoroughness of the investigation.
The sorcerer in charge of the last area searched was completing his report, and everyone was starting to shift restlessly. It had been a long meeting and it was time to wrap it up.
Finally Allic raised his hand and said, "Thank you, Faltre." The sorcerer stopped and sat down.
Allic continued, "We are all agreed, then, that there are no more portal openings of sufficient size to be any danger here?"
There was a murmur of agreement and Leti spoke up, "I'm amazed that Sarnak could even set up what he did, much less have more than one. The years of effort to construct such a trap and the sheer power he had stored there merely to keep it in standby mode is incredible."
"Leti and I will leave at first light tomorrow for Asmara," Storm continued. "I'll report everything that's transpired here to Jartan. We can assume for now that the danger in this region is past."
"It's an old rule of war," Ikawa said quietly, "that when an enemy is stirred it might be long before he goes back to sleep. Perhaps this find here is only part of a puzzle to be unraveled, and indicates a broader plan. It could even mean that Sarnak's attack fits into someone else's designs."
Allic nodded approvingly at Ikawa's comment. On several occasions in the past, this outlander's military insight had been proven. He had learned to take any advice from this quarter with utmost seriousness.
"That will be in our report as well," Allic said. "Now, is there any other business to attend to?"
The assembly looked to each other without comment.
"Fine then, it's been a rough couple of weeks here. Let's all take the rest of the day off and try to relax a bit."
Allic looked over at Storm and Leti and smiled.
"I am certain that you two have some catching up to do with a couple of gentlemen on my staff," and his statement was met with chortles of delight from all the Americans and Japanese present.
"At least cut down on the thunder tonight," came a disguised voice from the back of the room, that was obviously Walker's. "I got my beauty sleep to catch up on."
Leaving the conference room, the group followed a narrow passageway out to a private garden Mark had never seen before, so vast was the palace and citadel complex. Though bizarre in its arrangement, Mark found the garden to be fascinating in an uncomfortable sort of way. When he had been a boy, an uncle returning from Florida had brought back a Venus's-flytrap for him. The plant had delighted him, and what he saw now rekindled those memories. Several of the plants had a strange beauty to them, with open fronds, bloodred in color, that emitted a musky cloying scent. Some were obviously traps, with viselike jaws a foot across gaping wide open. In the center of the garden was an open orchid several feet in diameter, dark yellow in color and wafting a lavenderlike
scent to the breeze.
Curious, Mark started to draw closer.
"Don't," Storm whispered, coming up to his side. She picked up a clump of dirt and tossed it towards the orchid. With lightning speed half a dozen tendrils snaked out, slamming into the dirt clod, pulling it straight into the heart of the flower, which closed like a steel door slamming shut.
"Jesus," Walker gasped, looking nervously at the deadly plant.
"The tendrils are armed with poison barbs," Leti announced. "You're paralyzed before you even hit the ground, then it simply digests you. If you're lucky it starts feeding on you head-first, killing you fairly quickly. Otherwise it will slowly feed on you for days, and you're still alive, feeling everything but unable to move, or even use your shielding."
"The bastard probably kept these for the poisons." She pointed around the garden.
"And for entertainment," Allic said coidly. "Those cadonna can take a hand off as clean as a razor. You can still find them in several of the wilder places on this world; usually we destroy them on sight. It's just like Sarnak to have a garden like this. I should have destroyed them the day we took this place."
With a snort of disgust Allic brought his hand up. A slash of light snapped out, sweeping across the garden. Horrified, Mark watched as many of the plants writhed upon the ground, like snakes that had been cut in half. A sickening stench filled the air and the party drew away.
Following Storm's lead, the group left the smoldering garden, looking nervously about. Gradually the party split up until Mark suddenly realized that he and Storm were alone. At the end of a winding path, Mark was amazed by the splendor of the view before him as the edge of a sheer cliff dropped to a broad lake hundreds of feet below.
"There is a certain stark beauty to the place," Storm said, dangling her legs over the edge of the cliff.
Mark had to nod in agreement. The mountains that surrounded the inner citadel of Sarnak's former realm had the sharp, desiccated look he had seen before in southern Arizona and New Mexico. Their angles were like razor edges against the late afternoon sky, presenting a vivid contrast of dark blue against brown and gray.
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