A Triumph of Souls

by Alan Dean Foster

  “By Gowerben’s footsteps, that’s putting the arrogant assassin in his place!” A sweaty but elated Simna ibn Sind bounded down from the rock on which he had been standing and rushed to congratulate his companion. “Maybe it’s as you say that you’re no sorcerer, long bruther, but it’s a master of unexpected gifts you are! I only wish that—“

  The herdsman whirled on his friend with a fire in his eyes that for the barest, most intangible of instants exceeded that of the black litah. Rising and descending, his closed fist caught the swordsman flush on the side of the face. The report was loud enough to reach Hunkapa Aub and Ahlitah, who with the battle won were descending to rejoin their human companions.

  Reflexively, Simna started to bring up his weapon even as he fell backward. Despite his shock, he caught himself halfway through the gesture. He landed hard on his thighs and backside. Not content with having delivered the blow, Ehomba strode forward until he was standing over the fallen swordsman. Glaring down, he shook a long finger in his friend’s face. The hallucinatory blaze that had momentarily flared behind his eyes had vanished, but he was so furious that he trembled as he spoke.

  “Never, ever, do anything like that again, Simna! Not in my presence or before my eyes, or I swear by all that the Naumkib respect and honor that I will abandon you to your infantile foolishness and let you perish!”

  Stunned, Simna lay on the ground, gaping up at his enraged friend. From the first moment of their relationship there had been disagreements, debates, and disputations. But always words, words. Never blows. The only violence had been verbal. Clenching his teeth, he sprang to his feet, the bloodied sword dangling from his right hand. In an instant he was standing with head tilted slightly back, chest-to-chest with his companion, his unwavering gaze burning into that of the herdsman. Seeing this, Ahlitah growled and prepared to spring forward, but Hunkapa Aub reached down to put a massive hand on the big cat’s rippling shoulder and restrain him.

  The confrontation lasted only a moment, but to the tense pair of onlookers, one feline and the other only part human, it seemed the longest moment imaginable. Then Simna ibn Sind stepped back and, with slow deliberation, returned his reddened blade back to the scabbard on his back.

  “You’re a brave man, Etjole Ehomba. Brave and bold and maybe, just maybe, even wise. I’ve seen you do remarkable, astonishing things. But if you think that makes me afraid of you, you’re wrong. Simna ibn Sind fears nothing living. Not soldiers, not giants, not even mystic and powerful sorcerers. And certainly not cattle farmers.” Reaching up, he touched the place on his cheek where the herdsman’s blow had landed. There would be a bruise there.

  “I consider myself a fair and reasonable man, bruther. You don’t want me to stand up for the evicted and downtrodden? Fine! I hereby relegate all my altruistic impulses to the bottom of my priorities for the duration of our partnership. In return, you’ll keep your hands to yourself. I swear, I might allow one such blow to pass without redress, but I’ll never let two.”

  Ehomba’s voice had returned to normal. He looked away. “There is more at stake here, friend Simna, than your precious pride. Remember that I have a family I have not seen in far, far too long anxiously awaiting my return, and a home to go back to. You are burdened by no such responsibilities. You carry your home with you.”

  “Hoy, and after seeing these past many months how heavily such duties weigh on you, long bruther, I know for a certainty that it was I who made the right choice in deciding how best to contrive a journey through life. Homes!” His tone grew bitter and contemptuous. “They burn down or are pillaged, or storms and Earth-shakings destroy what a man takes years to build. Children die young, and wives grow bored and find excitement in unfaithfulness.” He slapped himself on the chest. “I am a free man, Etjole! The whole world is my home, and everyone I choose to embrace is my family.”

  Ehomba’s gaze was inclined westward, down the canyon that led to a no-longer-so-distant sea men called Aurreal. It stayed focused in that direction—as well as on other things. “The world may be your house, Simna. It is not your home. As for family, I wish you a real one someday.” With a casual wave of one hand as he sheathed the apparently undamaged sky-metal sword with the other, he beckoned for his companions to follow. Hunkapa Aub fell into step on his right while the black litah ranged farther afield off to his left.

  Simna dropped into his usual place close by the herdsman’s side. He was smiling once again, his mercurial nature having returned to the fore, the disagreeable incident of moments ago seemingly completely forgotten.

  “Tell me, bruther: What would you have done if the Berserker had let loose of his hammer as soon as it started to fly away with him?”

  Ehomba smiled reflectively. It took a little longer than usual for the slight upward curve of his mouth to manifest itself, but he smiled. “Why then, my friend, we would have had to slay him before he could recover from his fall. Beyond that I did not have time to think. What the wise men and women of the Naumkib have given me does not allow me to perform more than one miracle at a time.”

  Simna scratched at the slightly sore spot on his face where Ehomba had struck him. “For a man who spends his days shooing along sheep and cows, you pack a virtuous punch.”

  “It is harder to knock down a steer than a man.” Ehomba declaimed this without so much as a smile. His attention remained concentrated on the path ahead.

  The swordsman chuckled. “I only had a quick glimpse of his face before the Berserker sailed off into the sky. I wish I could be there when he finally comes down!”

  Ehomba’s tone was preoccupied, his gaze set. He strode rhythmically, easily, over the stony, pebble-strewn ground. Not far now, he told himself. It could not be much farther now. A part of him was aware that Simna had spoken, and was expecting a reply.

  “Who said anything about him coming down?”

  XXII

  The view from the sun-swept ridge was breathtaking. Below, between the mountains and the sea, a lush plain dotted with small clumps of forest and the occasional gently rising hill ran from north to south as far as the eye could see. Homes and farms filled the land in between, forming neat patterns. Fronting a broad, sand-fringed bay was a denser concentration of streets and structures, of apartment blocks and businesses, warehouses and amphitheaters, schools and parks. Like the mandibles of a beetle, coral-stone breakwaters enclosed the outer bay, creating shelter and a safe harbor for dozens of incoming and outgoing ships. Their sails spotted the water like the gulls that shadowed them.

  Etjole Ehomba stood with one foot resting on a rock, leaning forward, his right arm resting on his thigh. From the semitropical plain and sea below, a warm, slightly moistened breeze rose upward into his face, making him blink and ruffling his braids. There were times these past many months, more times than he cared to remember, when he doubted whether he would ever stand in such a spot, inhaling such a view. Yet there it was, spread out below him, benignly welcoming his arrival.

  Ehl-Larimar.

  A voice, high-spirited and characteristically confident beyond reason, sounded next to him. “Hoy, long bruther—there it is.” As the swordsman contemplated the breathtaking panorama, a flock of opalescent macaws flew past below them, cawing a raucous welcome, their wings glistening in the subdued sunlight as if coated with powdered gems. “Goyvank knows until now I was never really sure it existed.”

  “Hunkapa like.” The largest member of their party grunted approvingly. “Pretty place.”

  “Too many people.” When Ehomba glanced warningly at the big cat, Ahlitah growled irritably. “I know, I know: I can’t eat anyone. At least not until after we’ve recovered this waylaid female.”

  “We are conspicuous,” the herdsman reminded them unnecessarily, thinking out loud, “but this is another large and cosmopolitan city. A seaport as well. With luck our presence will go unremarked upon by the authorities until we have accomplished what we came for. Time is therefore most important.”

  “Hoy, since w
hen wasn’t it?” Simna commented dryly. “Myself, I’d like to take the time to linger and sample the delights a grand city like this surely has on offer, but after we’ve taken the treasure—and the lady, of course—I know how vital it’ll be for us to depart posthaste.” He winked at his lanky companion. “It was clever of you, bruther, to engage two such big and strong associates as the carpet and the cat. Either of them can haul more gold and jewels than the two of us put together.”

  “I am certain they have that capability.” Ehomba’s reply was devoid of sarcasm.

  “And after we’ve made our escape, we’ll head back through these same mountains.” The swordsman was well satisfied with his imagined plan of action. “Outraged as they’ll be, the authorities might pursue us for a while, if they manage to pick up our trail, but I’ve yet to meet the soldier who’d challenge all the country we’ve recently traversed, even on pain of lashing.” He grinned at the herdsman. “Besides, they’ll have no sorcerer along to help them deal with hypnotic, swallowing salts and the eager denizens of places like Skawpane.”

  Ehomba started down the mountain. The last mountain, he knew. “First there are questions we must ask of the natives. We need to find out where this Hymneth makes his home, what sort of defenses he keeps close around him. We need to see if anyone knows of the Visioness and where she is being held.”

  “And the treasure,” Simna reminded him enthusiastically. “Don’t forget to ask about the treasure.”

  Ehl-Larimar was as attractive within as it had been from a distance, with luxuriant, carefully tended parks, clean streets, and a healthy and attractive populace. Yet beneath the overt prosperity and occasional opulence there was an eerie sense of ill-being, as if everyone, rich and poor alike, were suffering from some nonfatal but persistent malady.

  As Ehomba had hoped, while their presence was remarked upon, it caused no unusual stir among the locals. Once they succeeded in wending their way down to the harborfront, the travelers found themselves swept up in the usual swirl of commerce and industry, just another clutch of exotics in a sea of hardworking foreigners and industrious visitors. Other than the occasional curious glance, no one paid them the least heed.

  Not only did the harborfront provide the anonymity Ehomba sought, it was also among the best places in any large city to obtain information. But whenever they mentioned Hymneth the Possessed, initially cordial locals shied away in quiet terror, and even wayfarers from distant lands found hasty excuses to take themselves elsewhere.

  Eventually and by means of persistence (and the quiet, unspoken threat posed by Hunkapa Aub and Ahlitah’s presence), they learned the location of their quarry’s fortress home, as well as the knowledge that it was rumored he kept within its walls a woman of surpassing beauty who hailed from a far land. They now knew where they had to go. It was, as Ehomba put it in his pragmatically understated fashion, now simply a matter of going there.

  They found temporary lodging in a waterfront hostel that catered to visitors from the far reaches of the Aurreal, and there they slept and rested all that night and through the following day, until their second night in Ehl-Larimar brought them the darkness they sought.

  High, thin clouds obscured much of the light reflected by a quarter moon. The temperate climate of the coast allowed them to move quickly and effortlessly through the city. Once away from the harbor, urban activity began to decline. Those citizens who happened to chance upon the resolute travelers needed only to catch a glimpse of the mass of Hunkapa Aub, or the glowing yellow eyes of the black litah, to hurry on their way without pausing to ask questions.

  Toward the high, somber castle they climbed: not by the winding, stone-paved road that provided access to conventional visitors, but up a hunters’ trail that ascended from the city toward a broken peak lying between fortress and sea. This time Ehomba let the big cat lead the way, its sharper-than-human senses alert for signs of patrolling soldiers or armed citizens. Once, Ahlitah left the path between the brush and trees to pounce. His attention had been momentary diverted by an unlucky rabbit. Having never encountered at any time in its short life on the city’s outskirts a predator of the size and aspect of the litah, it was too paralyzed with fear to scream. Swallowing his snack in two bites, the unapologetic big cat resumed the ascent.

  Changing direction before the modest summit was reached, they turned slightly south and east to follow the ridgeline until they found themselves standing in the brush that grew thickly above and behind the castle. Looking down, it was easy to see that its master was the ruler of a rich and prosperous land. Turrets and battlements had been designed with an eye toward appearance as well as efficacy. Only the finest building stone had been used in the construction of the fortress. From within the keep as well as along the walls, flickering lights testified to the presence of oil lamps and torches.

  They waited there, crouched down among the concealing chaparral, grateful for the pleasant, balmy night. Owls hooted from within the dark shadows of tall trees, to be answered by nocturnal dragonets whose occasional flights provided a diversion for the tarrying travelers. Moonlight shining through their wings, they preyed on the bats that darted and dove above the treetops in search of moths and other insects, homing in on their victims with shrill, high-pitched squeaks. Between their oversized eyes and ears and long snouts lined with hundreds of thin, sharply pointed teeth, there was not much room left for the rest of their efficient but homely reptilian faces.

  The moon had passed its zenith and was waning toward morning when Ehomba shifted from the one-legged herdsman’s stance in which he had been resting. “It is time,” he declared simply. Taking the point from the black litah, he led the little company toward the castle.

  Their initial impressions of its superior design and solid fortifications were confirmed by close inspection as they sidled in single file along its back wall. Nowhere could they find a loose stone to dig out, or a hole through which to squeeze. High above, serene sentries paced their posts, never thinking to look straight down. Why should they? Who would dare to try to sneak uninvited into the fortress of Hymneth the Possessed, and, more to the point, who would want to?

  It was Simna ibn Sind, more familiar with castles and imposing stone structures than his tall friend, who suggested they try the storm drain. Large enough to allow all of them passage, even Hunkapa, it penetrated the foot of the castle wall near its western edge. An iron grating blocked ultimate ingress, but though well blacksmithed, it had not been designed with an intruder the size of Hunkapa Aub in mind.

  Lying sideways in the opening and bracing his feet against the interior wall, their shaggy companion gripped one of the bars of the grate in both huge hands and pulled, intending to remove the bars one at a time. Instead, there was a muted grinding noise as the entire grate came away in his fingers. Hasty inspection revealed that, as might be expected of iron that had spent much time standing in water, the footings of the bottom bars were rusty. Not rusted through, but no longer possessed of their original strength, either. That was important, because it had allowed Hunkapa Aub to remove the grate quietly as well as quickly.

  With Ehomba still leading, they took turns crawling through. The drain opened into a grooved, stone-faced flood-control channel that ran the length of a spacious courtyard. Thus concealed below ground level, they were able to approach close to the back of the keep itself without being seen.

  Approaching whistling forced them to halt, trapped with little more than the shadow of the building for cover. If they were discovered here, inside the main wall but outside the keep, they would have no choice but to retreat back the way they had come, knowing that the castle’s defenders would subsequently be alert to any further encroachment and thereby making a renewed intrusion far more difficult. The whistling intensified and grew nearer. Simna silently removed his knife from his belt, only to have Ehomba put one hand on the swordsman’s wrist and a long finger to his lips.

  Around the corner sauntered a member of the household staff. Enjo
ying the windless, invigorating night air and oblivious to his immediate surroundings, he was on his way to work in the castle scullery when he blundered into the travelers. Stepping forward in a single stride, Ehomba put his right forearm around the man’s neck and pulled, lifting and squeezing at the same time. In utter silence, the startled kitchen aide reached up with both hands to claw at his assailant’s forearm. His eyes bulged and his lips worked, but, devoid of air from his lungs, no sound emerged.

  Slowly, as if he were falling into a deep and gentle sleep, his eyes closed and his flailing hands and twitching body went limp. Without ever removing his forearm from the man’s neck, Ehomba gently lowered him to the ground. Simna stepped forward to whisper admiringly.

  “That’s a fine move for a peaceful herdsman to know.”

  “Sometimes it is necessary to restrain a frolicsome calf from hurting itself.” Almost invisible in the shadows, Ehomba moved forward, his sandals barely whispering across the courtyard flagstones. “There was no reason to kill him. He will sleep until morning and wake with nothing worse than a sore throat.”

  A grinning Simna silently sheathed his knife. “It’s a kindly invader you are, long bruther. If all my adversaries were as considerate as you, I’d have fewer scars in embarrassing places.”

  “So you would if you had led a more restrained life.” Finding a wooden door, the herdsman tried the iron latch. It opened at a touch, with an agreeable absence of noise.

  They were in.

  It was a storeroom of some kind, piled high with crates and containers of household goods. Though virtually pitch-black inside, there was among their company one for whom poor light and even the near absence thereof posed no obstacle. Following close behind Ahlitah, they made their way through the storeroom and into a hall beyond.