Kingdoms of the Night (The Far Kingdoms)

by Allan Cole, Chris Bunch

  Then stillness. A shudder of cool air. I could breath. But I couldn’t move. I heard Janela groan beside me.

  Ba’land stood over us. His fangs parted in a yellow sneer. Then he turned away as if we needed no further attention.

  I could see two guards slumped against the throne, blood leaking from their wounds. King Ignati sat frozen on his throne, his son beside him with a drawn sword.

  Ba’land laughed when he saw it. It was a thick and liquid sound like the effluent in a sewer.

  I heard the rasp of many taloned feet and demon soldiers came out of the gloom to join their master.

  Ba’land gestured and the sword was ripped from Solaros’ grasp and clattered to the floor.

  “Now, shall we discuss my requests,” he said to the King, “in a more reasonable manner?”

  Ignati was silent. He looked very old and weak. He clutched at his son’s hand.

  “My first request is this,” the demon king said. “On Creator’s Day you will kindly sign whatever I put before you. And in honor of the improved relations between our realms you will bring these two to the ceremonies. Where I request that they be sacrificed. Furthermore, until that day — which I believe is only a few months off — you will hold them and their comrades under a guard of my choosing. And if they should escape I promise you the penalty will be severe.

  “You see, my interest in peace is such that I want to end any possibility of future conflict between us. The sacrifice I plan will assure not only that Lady Greycloak and Lord Antero can no longer trouble us but it will also seal the way against any other mortal upstarts who might attempt to follow.”

  He glared at the two royal figures who still did not speak. I saw the Prince glance down at his sword, weighing his chances.

  Ba’land gestured and the sword flew across the room and was caught in his talons.

  “Also, I mustn’t forget,” he said, mildly, “your recent military preparations. I want one thousand of your finest troops to be present that day. They are to be appear disarmed, disrobed and in chains. At the proper moment I will use them for the final blessing. A thousand heads should do quite nicely, I think”

  Ba’land turned, mocking, “Isn’t that so, Tobray?”

  The chief wizard’s mouth gaped open but before a word could be said Ba’land flung the sword at him. The blade tumbled in its flight, glowing with magical life, then pierced the wizard’s arm, going through it and the stone wall behind him — pinning the wizard to it.

  Tobray groaned but he did not cry out. I saw blood flow from lips from his effort to prevent it.

  “Well, Majesty,” Ba’land said. “What do you think of my requests? Will you require them to be carried out like the wise monarch you are?”

  Ignati, too weak from shock to answer, shook his head — no.

  His son spoke for him. “You saw his reply. If our deaths is the result of it, so be it. But I tell you this, Ba’land: once we are dead you had best flee as quickly as you can for our subjects are certain to revenge us. And if you escape their resolve for war will only be greater.”

  “I see you still think there are choices,” Ba’land said. “I’d best put that notion to rest.”

  He gestured and Ignati suddenly jerked forward. Another gesture and the King screamed. His chest bulged out, his kingly robes swelling.

  The Prince jumped forward but Ba’land struck him down. The King’s awful shrieks echoed through the chamber, then his heart burst through the cloth and flew into Ba’land’s claws. The demon king squeezed it and the king’s cries grew more terrible still.

  Ba’land held out the heart for the Prince to see. Solaros gaped at it from the floor.

  “Here is your father’s life,” Ba’land said. “Think quickly now. You can accede and I’ll restore it. Or you can continue to refuse in which case I shall—”

  Again he squeezed and again Ignati cried out.

  “We agree,” the Prince gasped. “Now please, don’t torment him any more.”

  “Are you certain?” the demon king asked.

  Another squeeze, another scream.

  “I’m certain,” the Prince wept.

  Ba’land bowed. “If that is your Highness’ wish,” he said.

  He walked slowly to the throne, smiled down at the suffering Ignati then placed the heart back in his chest. He blew on the bloody hole and in an instant all signs of the wound and even the tear in the garment were gone.

  Ba’land patted the King. “I’m glad you finally see things my way,” he said.

  He turned to Yasura. “See that my wishes are carried out,” he said. He pointed at us. “Especially concerning those two. Until I return I do not want to have to think of them again.”

  His servant bowed and as he did so darkness swirled about Ba’land. He drew it on him like a cloak... and was gone.

  * * * *

  So for the last time I became the prisoner of a king. But this was no savage king like Azbaas or despotic wizard monarchs like the Archons who once ruled Lycanth.

  Ignati is a civilized man who shrinks from pain and bloodshed. Despite his many faults he loves his son. And his son loves him.

  Because of this love we and a thousand others will die.

  I do not suffer physical torment in these last days. They’ve locked us up in our chambers and I’m assured by Quatervals and Kele — who were allowed to stay with us as servants — our company is well-cared for under similar confinement.

  Demons guard us day and night. Demon hounds sniff us for signs of sorcerous work several times a day.

  There is no hope of escape.

  It took a long time for Janela to recover from her ordeal. But she’s well now and tells me daily not to despair. And I say yes, my love, I know the old wives’ adage about life and hope. And I pretend to take comfort so as not to cause her more worry.

  You noticed perhaps my expression of endearment. It was not a slip of the quill. She is my love. And I suppose we both knew it was inevitable from the start.

  I do not long to recast those wasted days and nights when we stayed apart. For it would not have been seemly if we had come together before. It would spoiled our partnership in this grand adventure. It would have soiled our embrace with guilty thoughts about Janos and betrayed friendships and a whole score of other confusions, such as — was this love or was it a man’s most petty means of revenge?

  I don’t recall the very moment we came together, for my recollections mix up all the other moments when it nearly came to pass.

  I don’t even know if it was day or night. But I believe I was writing in this journal. Janela’s hand fell on my shoulder and I turned to see what she wanted. She had a cup of wine for me in her hand and a smile on her face but when our eyes met the smile vanished and I found myself plunging into those dark depths.

  Then we were at the jungle pool where Janela and the other women had bathed. Instead of turning away I swept her up and carried her to a soft bank where we made love until the fireflies came out to taste the perfumed night.

  And then we were in that chaste bed in Irayas, pretending we were lovers to foil Modin’s unseemly plans. Except this time I was young and Janela’s hand crept down and found my strength. She laughed and threw off the covers and mounted me — riding me like a wild plains woman, her dark hair lashing about like a mane.

  She has been Omyere and Deoce to me all in one. Our love making has been full of fire and spirit but it’s also been tender and dreamy with magical pipes playing songs that speak just to me. And yes, she’s even been Melina once or twice. With smoldering eyes and teasing caresses and thighs that part at a touch.

  Mostly she’s been Janela. All mystery and smoke with a laughing woman behind that witch’s veil. A woman who transports us in our lovemaking to places that are free of all care. We’ve made love in mountain vales. Run through the snow to warm geyser springs. Crept under forest bowers and shed our clothes. Lay spooned in a hammock on a gently swaying ship where the waves and the winds made the motio
ns for us.

  Once she even conjured a pitcher of warm wine and honey that we dribbled on each other’s bodies then sipped it off until only lover’s musk remained.

  But I treasure most of all the lazy times after we’ve made love when we talk of far-flung lands and people and their dreams. For to speak with Janela is to converse with a woman who has sought and found the riddle to the stars. Why the moon shows only one face and what will the sun be when it’s fires die out.

  Once she reminded me of Solaros’ comment about the Old Ones who said they’d found a door to a more perfect world and fled there, never to return.

  “I think I know how to open that door, Amalric,” she said.

  “Then open it at once,” I said. “And we shall flee after them.”

  Janela shook her head. “There’s more involved,” she said.

  “Such as?”

  “To begin with,” she said, “there’s a small thing required. Like death.”

  “So?” I said. “Ba’land is going to kill us anyway. Why give him the pleasure?”

  “That’s the other small thing,” Janela said. “We’d have to rid ourselves of Ba’land before it would work.”

  “So much for a grand escape into an afterlife,” I said, only half in jest. “But what of it? I’d probably be disappointed. I’ve seen two Far Kingdoms after all and neither one measured up to their mythical reputations.

  “To tell you the truth, Janela, if weren’t for our manner of going and the mess the world will be in when we depart I wouldn’t mind ending my life right now. Even without something so enticing as a perfect other world attached. I’m old. Even in a young man’s body, I’m old. I’ve had enough of this life. My only regret would be leaving you. Ending this most enchanted of affairs. I’ve climbed the mountains. I’ve seen the desert stars. I’ve sailed ships to nowhere and come back.

  “It’s time for a rest, I think.”

  Janela didn’t answer.

  “Have I offended you?” I asked. “I’m sorry if I did. I was only speaking my mind. Sometimes that’s not such a wise thing to do.”

  Janela wiped away a tear. “You didn’t offend me, my love,” she said. “I’m only sad that I can’t give you the ending you wish.”

  I hugged her, saying, “Nothing to be sad about. Besides, I’ve got the journal to finish. It’s taking longer than I thought but I must make certain nothing is left out.”

  I looked over at the desk where the pages I’m writing on now were heaped in the corner — waiting for this addition. “Creator’s Day,” I said, “is nearly here. And now that I think of it it’s best if I continue writing until the last possible moment. What if the one event I missed was the key to Orissa’s rescue? It’s not likely. But if it were so it would make me a most unhappy ghost.”

  “Oh, you’ll be a wonderful ghost, Amalric,” Janela said. “Quite sexy, too. I’ll have to watch out for all the women ghosts who’ll want to get you in their clutches. And you’ll be walking about all confident, commanding with a look, praising with a smile. And you’ll never know it’s your body they want when they say, ‘Yes, my Lord.’ And ‘No, my Lord. And ‘Thank you so much, my Lord, for your kind words.’”

  “I think I’m being mocked,” I said.

  Janela pointed a finger at breast, eyes widening into great round innocence. “Me?” she said. “Mock the great Lord Antero? Not I sir. Not your sweet Janela. Not your-“

  And I kissed her to make her shut up.

  * * * *

  I began this journal shortly after Janela’s recovery.

  The two of us, plus Quatervals and Kele talked for many hours about the situation and realized we must warn Orissa at any cost.

  I pray to all the gods who seem to have forsaken us that in this journal a means will be found to stop King Ba’land from unleashing the demon hordes on our world.

  It has taken many generations to rise from the ashes the demons left behind the last time they fell upon us. I fear if it occurs again they will make certain that recovery is not repeated.

  Most of our world is still in darkness. Only in Orissa and a few places like it has savagery been shed. Left to our own devices we could create a world that would humble even the Old Ones in its enlightenment. For as we have learned in Tyrenia the Old Ones were sadly lacking in many areas. They slew and looted and enslaved to make their kingdom. They jealously guarded their magical secrets so they would have power over all.

  In the end it was the Old Ones who were to blame for humanity’s defeat. When the demons came the Old Ones had only their own resources to fall back upon. The rest of the world had no means to aid them. And the Old Ones abandoned their fellow mortals with little concern about what would happen to them, until finally they’d given up all except one last redoubt they could claim as a realm.

  The place so aptly named The Kingdoms of the Night.

  When I am done with this journal Quatervals and Kele will carry it away. We have found a means for them to escape but I will not detail it or name the Tyrenians who will assist us to guard against retribution if our two companions are captured.

  The reprisals their escape may cause should not be too severe. Ba’land will think them too unimportant to waste his energies upon. Which is not what would happen — as the demon king warned — if Janela and I joined them.

  We plan for our friends to stay behind when we are all called to the sacrifice. Janela will use magic to cover their absence. Quatervals and Kele will depart after the slaughter when the demons are certain to be intoxicated with all the gore and misery they caused.

  And may Te-Date grant our friends’ wings to speed home with the news…

  …The day we dreaded has arrived. These will be the last words I write to you, my dear Hermias.

  I promise we shall go bravely to our fates. Know that King Ba’land’s only satisfaction will come from our deaths. He will not hear one man or woman in our company weep or beg for mercy.

  This we have resolved. This we have sworn.

  I hear the demons in the hall.

  I hear the creak of their harness, the rattle of their weapons and the scraping of talons on the floor.

  They are coming for us.

  Farewell, my dear nephew.

  Farewell.

  BOOK III

  Beyond Tyrenia

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  THE RETURN

  My dear Hermias. As you can see from these pen scratchings I still live.

  Before I enlighten you on how this came to be I beg you to reward Pip and Otavi handsomely. They have gone through much with us and will have endured much more to deliver this addendum to my journal.

  I presume you have already made Captain Kele and my faithful Quatervals as rich as any two such brave hearts could ever possibly dream. I urge you to do the same for the pair who carry my final message to you. Otavi’s family has given us long and honorable service. And Pip, genial rogue though he may be, has made the difference many a time when all the odds seemed weighed against us.

  Others of our company should be trickling home soon, although I cannot say as yet who and how many they may be. But I’ve told everyone to seek you out when they return to Orissa and you would see their lives are made comfortable and that they get credit for the grand part they played in history.

  You may have drawn the conclusion in reading thus far that I don’t expect to return myself. If so, you are correct.

  These words — added to the journal you have already received — are my parting gift to the world.

  A world I shall soon leave.

  * * * *

  When last I wrote the demons were at our door. And I was scribbling hastily lest some crucial detail be left out. As far as I can tell I was successful. But much followed that will open even the most skeptical eyes to the greatness of Janela’s achievements.

  And how much more can still be achieved.

  * * * *

  I thought I had seen every twist in every road Fate could possibly scratch out. I
thought I had been flung as high as any giant could manage and borne to depths as low as the Dark Seeker can carry us and still hold life.

  So much for an old man’s arrogance.

  We were bathed and dressed in our best when the demons came. I chose a military look to show my defiance, although there might also have been a phantom motive involved — such as literally girding my loins for the coming ordeal.

  Janela wore a scarlet tunic over black leggings and her favorite boots. And in her hat was a graceful, blood-red feather to match her tunic.

  When she put on her jewelry she held back two bracelets. These went to Quatervals and Kele.

  “There’s a spell on them that will hide you when the demons arrive,” she said. “When I signal think only of darkness. Concentrate on the night and all the shadowy things that night holds and the demons won’t see you when they enter. Not only that, but their thoughts will be turned away whenever they attempt to think of you. So your absence from our ranks will not be missed.”

  They put them on as she directed but the whole time she talked they hung their heads and mumbled their replies — as if they were ashamed.

  “If these are our final moments together,” I said, “can’t you manage cheerier faces? Do you want my last thoughts of you to be those sour and wrinkly gourds I see clinging to the end of your necks?”

  Quatervals grumbled and Kele muttered as my first attempt missed its mark by many lengths.

  So I uncorked the last bottle of Orissan brandy we had brought with us and poured all around.

  “Try a little of this magic,” I said. “If you drink enough you’ll be as blind as the demons.”

  A good administrator must lead by example so I drained my cup and filled it again to the brim. Janela laughed and followed suit.

  Very grudgingly, first Quatervals and then Kele drank.

  “Drink, drink,” I urged, gently pushing at the bottom of Quatervals’ cup until the last drop had flowed between his lips.