by Allan Cole
What a sin that had been. Even though she'd whispered to him during their embraces that she didn't mind if he was thinking of another.
Regret upon regret as he recalled what a friend she had become. Sacrificing everything to save him from Iraj. Not once displaying jealousy about Methydia, nor especially about Nerisa, the little Walarian thief who had grown into the love of his life.
What had been wrong with him? Why hadn't he realized that Leiria was above all others?
Such a sin. Such a sin. So extreme the gods would never forgive him.
And then he thought, but the gods are dead!
And that was followed by-Every woman I've ever loved suffered tragically for knowing me.
I'm not worthy.
This is why I've been condemned to dance eternally to the deadly music of Hadin.
And then he feared that at any moment he would suddenly hear the harvest drums resume their throbbing and once again the wild spellsong would compel him to dance, dance, dance. Palms slapping naked chest. Bare feet pounding the sand. On and on while a thousand others danced beside him. The beautiful harvest queen leading them on.
And the volcano ready to erupt!
But after a while, when nothing happened, he dared to wonder if somehow the cycle had been broken.
Then one day the stranger who looked like Palimak bent over Safar, pressing cool cloths on his forehead. The smell of healing incense tickling his nose. The stranger whispered words of affection, asking if there was anything he required.
He tried to speak, but his lips were numb. There was something very important he needed to say. But the words wouldn't come.
The stranger said, "What is it, father? What do you require?"
Maybe this was Palimak. Although it seemed unlikely, because the Palimak he remembered had been quite small. But the terrible yearning in his heart pushed him past these doubts.
So he answered, "Khysmet! Where is Khysmet?"
And he lapsed back into unconsciousness.
The Council of Elders had not met for several years. In fact, the last time they'd been together had been in Esmir when Safar had cajoled them into entering the Blacklands. For a long time, dire circumstances-such as a dead run to escape Iraj Protarus-had prevented such a gathering of Kyrania's most prominent men.
An attempt had been made to bring that traditional ruling body together after they'd landed on Syrapis, but Palimak had blocked it. A youthful witness to their endless, and, in his view, foolish debates, he'd decided to dispense with that form of village government the first time the question had arisen.
Supported by Coralean, that canny old caravan master, as well as by Leiria and the other members of the Kyranian army, he'd not so gently pushed them aside. Forming instead a loose counsel of advisers, which included Biner, Arlain and the other members of the circus troupe.
Constant warfare, plus an unbroken string of victories, had kept the Elders quiet. These men-who'd once tried to exile Safar and Palimak-held little standing with the other villagers. And those who had occasionally dared to contest Palimak's will had found themselves in a very small minority.
Once in a great while Palimak had even used the force of magic to compel the Elders to obey his commands. Actually, it wasn't so much obedience as a sudden, magically induced desire on their part to follow where he led.
At first he'd been ashamed of these tricks. His father had drummed into him the value of village democracy, where all views were accounted for and compromises made. On the other hand, when he and Safar had separated in Caluz, another message had been delivered. It was up to Palimak, his father had said, to lead the Kyranians to safety while he remained behind to confront Iraj.
And when Palimak had pleadingly asked what he should do if they refused, Safar had answered harshly,
"Then make them!"
So that was what he had done, from that moment on the Esmirian shores of the Great Sea when they had all demanded to wait for Safar's return. And Palimak, believing his father dead, had cast the greatest spell of his young life, forcing them to wait no longer and flee to Syrapis.
Since then his guilt had subsided. Now he had become accustomed to being their prince. Practically a king-although never in the history of Kyrania had its people been ruled by royalty. So when Foron, the chief of the Elders, had come to him demanding a meeting, he'd been quite irritated. Who needed these stupid old men?
But what could he do when even his grandfather, Khadji, supported Foron's request?
And so three days after they'd borne the ailing Safar to New Kyrania, Palimak convened the Council of Elders to let them have their say.
He'd expected only long windy speeches praising their native son Safar Timura and welcoming his return to the bosom of his people. Perhaps a declaration of a special feast day to celebrate it.
But that was not how it had turned out.
Masura, leader of the loyal opposition, spoke first. "I'm a blunt man," he said, "so I won't shilly-shally around the point. Which is this: The miraculous return of our beloved Safar Timura-your stepfather
– proves what I have always suspected. That you have been lying to us all along!"
The young man made note of the way Masura underscored Palimak's questionable status as Safar's adopted son. He reflected briefly on Masura's hypocrisy; this man had not only opposed Safar but had been the leader of the group trying to exile him.
"I really think we should use words that aren't so incendiary," Foron said, in minor admonishment.
"Accusations of lying are a bit strong, if you ask me."
Palimak said nothing, only raising an eyebrow at Foron's weak defense. In the past he'd always been a strong supporter of the Timuras and certainly no friend of Masura.
Then Foron turned his gaze on Palimak. "However, in Masura's defense," he said, "I must admit there is understandable concern about certain things."
"Such as?" Palimak asked.
"You told us he was dead!" Masura accused, voice shaking with emotion. "You convinced us to abandon him in Esmir. Lies! All lies, which has now been proven!"
Palimak glanced at Khadji, expecting some support from his grandfather. To his dismay, he saw the old man nod in sad agreement.
"It's true, my grandson," Khadji said. "We all protested. But you insisted."
"And that's another thing," Masura broke in. "Why was it that a boy was able to insist on anything? And why did we just nod our heads and shuffle on board the ships, leaving our beloved Safar behind?"
"You didn't leave him behind," Palimak pointed out. "We found him here in Syrapis. I found him, actually.
So you have no point."
"It was the work of some devil," Masura insisted. "I just know it was. How else do you explain your …
unusual … influence over us. You wave a hand and everyone does your bidding."
He leaned closer, face dramatically lit by the traditional council fire. "Perhaps I spoke in error," he said, a wide sneer greasing his face. "Maybe it wasn't some devil's work-but a demon's work!"
He glanced around at the others, smiling grimly when he saw they had taken his point-Palimak's status as a half-breed.
"I say there should be an investigation," he said. "A special committee appointed by the Council of Elders to decide once and for all if this … this … demon's spawn … has possessed us. To make us do terrible things, such as abandon our dear friend, Safar Timura."
"That's not unreasonable," Foron agreed. "Eliminating certain insulting terms, of course. Such as a€?demon's spawn.a€™ Palimak is one of us, despite his background. We should treat him as such."
"He's a good boy," Khadji said. "He's always been a good boy. I can attest to that." The he sighed.
"However, there are certain questions I have myself."
He glanced at Palimak. "No offense, my boy." Then back to the council. "I'll support an investigation-as long as it's not biased, of course."
The others murmured … of course, of course. And before Palimak kne
w it Foron was lifting up the white kid's-leather sack that held the voting markers. He upended the bag and dozen or more tiles spilled out; half were black, indicating a no vote, while the other half were white, meaning yes.
Palimak's blood went to high boil. He'd had enough, dammit! Betrayed by his own grandfather, by the gods! Although a small part of him whispered there was some truth in what they said. But to the hells with that! He'd done it for their own good, hadn't he? Only doing what his father had asked.
On his shoulder, the speck that was Gundara whispered in his ear, "We're ready, Little Master. Just say the word!"
Palimak's fingers stole into his pocket, touching the bit of magical parchment he kept there for just such emergencies. All he had to do was withdraw it, toss it into the council fire and a heady smoke would fill the room, making the men insensible. Then, with the help of his Favorites, he'd cast the spell that would make them pliant to his will and he'd send them on their way.
The spell would make them forget the confrontation. And he could easily create some clever bit of fiction to fill the gap in their memories. Such as the festival honoring Safar, the arrangement of which he'd originally thought was their purpose.
Then sudden self-disgust rose in his gorge. And his hand was empty when he yanked it out of his pocket.
He got to his feet.
"Go right ahead," he said. "Have your investigation. I'll abide by the will of the majority."
Ignoring the shock on their faces and the mutters of surprise that swept the room, he stalked out of the chamber.
It's up to my father, now, he thought. And with that thought a feeling of immense relief washed over him.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
THE CALL OF HADIN
Leiria watched Coralean pace the room, big bearded head bent in concentration as he listened to Palimak explain what had happened at the meeting of the Council of Elders. She could hear quarrelsome voices outside, coming from the market place.
Normally, the disputes would be about the prices and quality of the goods being offered. But now-although the exact words weren't distinct-she knew the voices were lifted in heated debate about the future of the Kyranians in Syrapis.
Since Safar's return and Palimak's abdication of responsibility, politics had reared its head, showing its ugliest face. Everyone seemed to have their own strongly held opinions, with no views shared in common.
It was minority against minority and as a result the only rule was that of chaos.
When Palimak was done, the wily caravan master sighed deeply and shook his shaggy head. "Coralean is not a man who easily passes judgment on another," he rumbled. "But I must confess, young Timura, that all you have told me is deeply troubling to this weary old heart." He thumped the massive structure that was his chest.
Then he fixed Palimak with his fierce eyes. "But, my headstrong friend," he went on, "it is with the greatest regret that I must tell you that a grievous error has been made. And I fear it is you who have committed it, though it pains me to point out the mistake.
"You should never have allowed the Council to convene, young Palimak. Failing that, you should have used all your wiles to prevent the outcome of that meeting. I blame myself for not being here to advise you. But, alas, I was busy with those pirates who call themselves ship captains."
"But what the Elders suspect just happens to be true," Palimak replied, voice weary from lack of sleep.
"I did force my will on them before. I did use magic to make them see things my way. Not once, but many times."
He looked over at Leiria with sad eyes. "I even did it to you, Aunt Leiria," he said. "You would never have left Esmir if I hadn't cast a spell on you. You'd have waited there until the hells turned to ice before you abandoned my father to the Fates."
"I know that," Leiria replied. "And I can't say your actions don't bother me when I think on it. However, we now know Safar never would have showed up. The wait would have been futile."
"But he wasn't dead," Palimak said. "I was wrong."
"And he wasn't in Esmir, either, was he?" Leiria said. "It was in Syrapis that we found him. There's no doubt in my mind that if you hadn't forced us to come to Syrapis, inspired us to defeat Rhodes and the others and then led us into that horrible chamber, we never would have found him. Don't ask me how he got here. I'm no sorcerer, so I couldn't say."
Palimak smiled bitterly. "Well, I am a sorcerer," he said, "and I can't tell you, either."
He gestured at the immense coffin crammed into one side of the tower room that he used for his quarters.
"The first time I looked inside I saw the remains of a demon. There was no mistaking that corpse for anything but. Not just his looks, but the sheer size of him."
Palimak shook his head. "I've never seen a demon so large," he said. "Besides that, the demon looked exactly like the pictures and statues of Lord Asper. So that's who I think was in there. Not my father, but mummified remains of Asper."
Coralean stroked his beard. "You've said that the next time you looked Asper was gone and instead you found the ailing body of my dearest friend, Safar Timura: correct?"
"Just as you say," Palimak replied.
"A mystery indeed," the caravan master said. "One designed to confound even one such as Coralean. A man who has seen more things than most."
He turned to Leiria. "How is our Safar?" he asked. "Has his condition improved?"
She brushed away the sudden moisture in her eyes. "No, it hasn't," she said.
For three weeks, Leiria had helped Safar's mother and sisters nurse him. Spoonfeeding him broth, which he instinctively swallowed without ever regaining consciousness. Bathing the body she knew so well; except it was uniformly tanned from head to toe, which was most odd. It was as if he'd been naked under a hot sun for a long time. Also, other than what grew on his head, he was completely hairless. His face, his chest, his limbs, his groin.
Then, not long ago, he'd started to sprout a beard. But instead of coming in dark, like the hair on his head, it was golden. Since Safar had always kept his features smooth she'd shaved him, puzzling over the yellow hairs.
Also, his eyebrows and the hair on his head seemed lighter. Although that might have been from the sun that had toasted his skin. Stranger still, this morning, when she'd given him his sponge bath, she'd seen a little golden nest of hair beginning to form in his groin.
She'd wanted to ask his mother and sisters about it. But Leiria had never been Safar's wife, only his former lover, so she hadn't managed to summon the nerve to ask such an intimate question of the prudish Kyranian women.
"There's no need to mourn, my beautiful Captain," Coralean said. "Safar will be back with us in spirit as well as body soon enough." He tapped his head with a strong, thick finger. "Coralean knows it here." He thumped his chest. "And here."
"He's spoken a few times," Leiria said. "So that gives me hope. Except he always says the same thing."
She shook her head. "He keeps asking, a€?Where's Khysmet?a€™ I wish could answer him. I keep thinking-if I could suddenly produce Khysmet he'd recover. But of course, that's a hopeless task. The last time we saw Khysmet was with Safar in Caluz. My guess is that he was probably killed when Safar destroyed the Idol of Hadin."
She paused, reflecting on the enormous explosion they'd all witnessed from the distant shores of the Great Sea. She shuddered. "Nothing could have survived such a calamity," she said.
To her surprise Palimak said, "I'm not so sure of that. My father did." He paused, thinking. Then, "I told you what happened in Charize's chamber. How, when all seemed lost, what I thought was my father's ghost engaged those monsters. But it wasn't a ghost, was it? Because we later found my father alive in Asper's tomb."
"Yes, yes, but we were talking about the horse," the caravan master said, displaying rare impatience.
Palimak sighed. "The whole incident all seems like a terrible nightmare now. So I can't say for certain.
But it seemed to me that during the battle I heard Kh
ysmet. You all know that trumpeting sound he made whenever there was a fight?"
Leiria and Coralean nodded. They remembered it very well. Especially Leiria. She couldn't count the number of times she'd followed that wild cry into always-victorious battle.
"Well, that's what I heard," Palimak said. "Or maybe it's what I wanted to hear. I can't say."
"Are you telling us there's more to this mystery?" the caravan master asked. "Poor Coralean's brain, agile as it is, has not been able to unravel the knot of Safar's sudden resurrection, much less these other things you suggest."
"If you did hear Khysmet," Leiria said, "where is he now? Where did he go?"
Palimak groaned in frustration. "I don't know," he said harshly. "But every day that goes by, I wonder if I didn't make a big mistake by not searching Hanadu for him, instead of leaving so quickly."
Always a woman of action, Leiria said, "Let's return to Hanadu and see. It's stupid sitting around here wondering about something we can't prove unless we go there in person. And if we do find Khysmet, maybe Safar will recover."
Angry shouts echoed from the market place. Coralean peered out and saw the Elder, Masura, haranguing the villagers. His words weren't distinct, but they were obviously causing a heated debate.
People were jabbing fingers at one another, defending whatever stand they had taken.
He turned back, face dark with displeasure. "Coralean is not the sort of man who usually advises delay,"
he said. "Direct action has always been his motto, as you both well know."
He jabbed a thumb at the window. "However, it's Coralean's considered opinion that this would not be a good time to undertake another expedition to Hanadu. There's too much discontent in our ranks. King Rhodes is no fool and would be certain to sniff out our weakness. Then we'd have another war on our hands."