by Allan Cole
At first it was all cool greens and hot oranges, bordered with gray blues and varying shades of purple and pink. Then the image steadied and he saw the golden castle, with its towering keep, sitting in the center of a valley very much like Kyrania.
Except there was more raw orange land than ever existed in the valley of his homeland. It surrounded the castle-earth, hard-packed by hundreds of wagons and feet. Then the green farmland and pines so fragrant he could smell their sharp, fresh scent on the breeze.
And a lake, a lake as glorious as Lake Felakia in far Kyrania. Blue and cool and beckoning. The purples came from the diffused sunlight shining on a bank of coned mountains that fringed the great volcano of Hadin. The lesser purples and pinks radiated from the skies and clouds that framed the whole scene.
Safar tried to focus his eyes on the castle keep, where he knew the magical machine was housed.
Instead, against his will, his head bent back-eyes running up the sides of the volcano, where a small dark puff of smoke burst out to mingle with the white clouds that surrounded it.
Panicked, he tried to force his head back down to view the castle. But to his horror he realized Iraj had taken full control of his body. And his head bent back further to take in the airship circling overhead-pleasant music playing as if nothing had gone wrong.
He tried to open his mouth to shout a warning to Palimak. But Iraj only swallowed, forcing Safar's words back down into his gut.
Iraj, speaking with Safar's voice, said, "Apparently my problem has passed. I can see again."
Renewed hope acted as a temporary balm, easing everyone's suffering. Leiria laughed aloud, clutching Safar/Iraj's hand, murmuring, "I'm so happy, my love."
But to Safar, a prisoner in his own body, the sensation of her warm, loving touch came from far away.
And her voice seemed even more distant.
Iraj, commanding Safar's body, squeezed Leiria's hand. And, speaking in Safar's voice, he whispered,
"Let me feast them on you tonight, Leiria."
Leiria gave Safar/Iraj a startled look. Then, to Safar's dismay, her eyes flashed gladness and she smiled warmly, asking, "Are you sure, Safar?"
And Iraj replied, "Yes, I'm sure."
Then he sent a mental command back to Safar, saying, Cast the spell, brother. Before this damnedmachine gets the better of us!
Despite the growing danger, Safar hesitated. Somehow he had to regain control of his own body.
Sensing his conflict, Iraj said, Do you want to bargain with me over your friendsa€™ lives, brother?
And even if I agreed, considering our past history together, do you trust my word?
Just then Eeda gasped, swooning in her saddle. Coralean steadied her just in time. His big booming voice shattered Safar's indecision. "You must act, Safar!" he said. "Before it's too late for my Eeda!"
Iraj said to Safar, You see how it is, brother? Now, quickly, tell me what to do.
And so Safar told him to get out the little witch's-dagger, which was hidden in the right sleeve of his cloak. Then he told him to cut a large imaginary circle in the air. Iraj followed his instruction-a little clumsily since he was unused to such actions. Then Safar fed him the words to the shielding spell he'd used so successfully in the Blacklands during the march to Caluz.
In Safar's voice, Iraj chanted:
"Sever the day,
Shatter the night.
Keep at bay,
All sorcerous plight.
Bedevil the devils
Who speak in flame
And dance and revel
In the Goddess's name."
There was no outward sign of the spell's effect. Only heaving sighs of relief from Palimak and the others as the shield slid silently and invisibly into place-folding the entire Kyranian contingent into its protective cloak.
Queen Yorlain had turned her little ostrich chariot around and was coming back to see why Safar's column had stopped. Iraj leaned forward in the saddle and Khysmet obediently trotted forth to meet her, snorting at the strange feathered steeds drawing her onward.
Iraj gloried in the strong, easy movement of the stallion. A man born and bred to Esmir's Great Plains, there was nothing he loved more than a good horse. But Khysmet was more than just a horse-he was magical. Using his mental voice, Iraj said to Safar, I once dreamed I was riding Khysmet. Now thatdream's come true.
Safar remembered the dream, which he'd experienced too in that mysterious spiritual connection he seemed to have with Iraj. He said, Never mind the dream. Let me have my body back. Or I swear I'llmake you suffer for stealing it.
Iraj's answer was a sarcastic laugh. Then he reined Khysmet in as they came up to the queen.
"What is the trouble, Majesty?" Yorlain asked.
Iraj gave her a sardonic look. "You didn't mention the spell," he said, a tinge of accusation in his voice.
Yorlain's beautiful eyes widened in surprise. "But I thought you knew," she said. "Did not the great Lord Asper warn of the killing spell? And propose the protective shield that is its answer?"
Safar whispered to Iraj, Asper only mentioned the Blacklands and Caluz. He said nothing aboutHadin. Tell her you were not informed of the killing spell, but still knew how to counter it whenyou came up against it.
Although he was desperate to turn the tables on Iraj and retrieve his body, Safar realized that under the circumstances he had to cooperate with his old nemesis. And as long as Iraj was in control, Safar would have to guide his fingers as they pieced together the dangerous puzzle that was Hadinland.
Iraj gave Yorlain his most charming smile. And although it was Safar's mouth he was stretching and Safar's teeth he was flashing, his potent personality blazed through.
"I must have missed that part," he said to the queen. "At the time there were some very nasty fellows on my heels. So I only read about the shield, then ran like the Hells for cover."
Then he leaned closer, murmuring, "Visionary that he was, poor Asper must have been a very old demon. For he didn't mention you, my queen. A vision above all visions."
Swept away by Iraj's dash, Yorlain blushed and tinkled musical laughter. "Be careful, Majesty," she said.
"Or I might get a false idea about your intentions."
Iraj bowed low in the saddle. "How could I be false," he said, "when confronted with such truly wondrous beauty?"
Meanwhile, Palimak and the others had caught up with them. Leiria overheard the flirtatious exchange and was wounded to the quick. Jooli caught it as well and placed a sympathetic hand on Leiria's shoulder.
"Pay it no mind," she whispered. "He's just sweetening her up because we have need of her."
Leiria shrugged off the hand and straightened-shoulders squaring like the warrior she was. "Safar doesn't say things like that unless he means it," she whispered bitterly.
Jooli said nothing in reply, but only watched with growing disappointment and sadness for her friend as a Safar she'd never seen before preened and postured for Yorlain as if he'd suddenly gone into heat.
Palimak stared at his father, wondering what he was up to. It must be part of his plan, he thought.
Meanwhile, Gundara and Gundaree were chattering in his ear: "Beware, Little Master! Beware!" But he was still feeling shaken and a little dizzy from the effects of the killing spell and found it hard to pay attention.
He gave a cursory glance around, sending out weak magical probes that encountered nothing. Assuming the Favorites were still worrying about the spy, he muttered for them to be quiet until they had privacy to talk.
Once again, Iraj bowed low in the saddle and bade Queen Yorlain to lead the way. Then, just as the queen cracked her little whip for the ostriches to proceed, he glanced over at Leiria, catching her eyes.
He grinned hugely, then shrugged, as if to say, Life has its strange little twists, doesn't it, dear?
Safar saw Leiria's hurt through Iraj's eyes and struggled madly to regain control of his own body. But Iraj was beginning to learn the ways and weap
ons of his new position and shot a searing inward blast at his prisoner.
Safar jolted as if he'd been struck by lightning. When he recovered, he tried once again to free himself.
And the answer was another hot bolt of punishment.
He withdrew into the nest Iraj had once occupied. Nursing his wounds, while his mind ran wild with hate and half-formed thoughts of revenge.
An hour later the castle gates clanked open and Yorlain escorted the Kyranians across the bridge through the cheering crowds of her subjects.
And they all shouted, "The king has come! May the Gods save us and the king!"
Then she took them to the castle keep and Safar had recovered enough to marvel as the huge, iron-bound doors yawned wide to admit them. These were the very same doors, he thought, that Asper had said he'd knocked on without reply.
The old demon wizard's words echoed in his mind: "… Know that Asper knocked at the Castle Keep,But the gates were barred, the Gods asleep."
The first thing he saw when the doors swung open was a wide courtyard. Straddling that courtyard was an enormous stone turtle. Flames exploded from its horny mouth. There was a great open grate in its belly and heavily muscled slaves were shoveling whole cartloads of fuel into the furnace within.
Safar noticed that the fuel was similar to the magical stuff the airship's engines used. But just then wild magic suddenly blasted through and he was forced to quickly repair, then strengthen the shield.
One part of his brain noted that he could act without Iraj's cooperation-perhaps even without his knowledge. But the other, larger part focused on a hellish emanation from the Keep itself.
Yorlain whispered orders to her aides, who rushed to open the final barrier-an enormous iron gate with bars as thick as a man's thighs, armed with sharp, spear-like points.
And as they were cranked up, heavy chains rattling against unseen gears, Safar saw a long dark tunnel. A blaze of light, no larger than his palm, winked at the other end.
Yorlain waved them through, getting out of her chariot and walking beside Khysmet.
As they moved into the darkness, both Iraj and Safar heard Yorlain say, "There are those who claim this was once the mightiest fortress in all the world. A thousand years ago, when the last kings ruled, it survived a legendary siege that lasted twenty years or more.
"Ten thousand demons hammered at these gates, but to no avail. If I recall correctly, Lord Asper himself led the last charge and was turned back with terrible casualties."
"What war was this?" Iraj asked. And Safar listened closely for Yorlain's answer.
"My scholars tell me it was an ethnic war of sorts," the queen replied. "Hadin was once populated by people of many races. Also, there was a large colony of demons who lived peacefully among us for centuries. Some say the demons were once so plentiful that one of the ruling pair of kings was a demon.
"I don't know if that's true, since it was so long ago that only the tales survived. There are no records.
Regardless, when the slaughter reared its head everyone who was not exactly like…" She hesitated, trying to put genocide into passable words. Then: "Well, people without dark hair and dark eyes were condemned and executed as enemies of the state. Of course, the demon king had long since been executed, so that was no bother to these barbarians.
"Then it came time to cleanse ourselves of the demons. It was about then that Asper came to our shores, warning of a cleansing of the entire world. Not just of demons … or of people like us … but of all living things.
"Naturally, no one listened. We all believed the gods were on our side, just as the demons claimed the gods were with them. Asper, of course, said the gods were asleep and we were all doomed.
"But the words of an old wizard don't amount to much when beings want blood, so everyone turned against him. And they drove him away during the long siege that the demons mounted against the humans.
"In the end, the defenders of the castle keep not only prevailed, but sallied forth to engage the demons in several decisive battles."
Sighing, Yorlain shook her head. "If you traveled throughout Hadinland you wouldn't have to ponder long on the result of those battles. For you would not find a single demon on any island throughout the continent. We killed them all and praised ourselves as saints for the killing."
During Yorlain's history lesson, Iraj's military brain drove him to inspect the tunnel's defenses. Here and there were patches of diffused light coming from above and he looked up to treat himself-and Safar-to a view of heavy grates with enormous iron pots set on swivels hanging over them.
Safar needed no explanation from Iraj that in wartime these pots would be filled with boiling oil or molten lead that could be tipped over to scald and kill anyone daring this passage.
Along with Iraj, he also took careful note of the series of gates spread along the tunnel. Smaller than those barring the entryway, but not by much, these gates were cranked up as they approached. Just beyond each gate were other windows of diffused light, with hot pots guarding them.
It took little imagination to see their purpose. Invaders would be tricked into sending troops into the tunnel. Gates would be slammed shut on each side, trapping them for the boiling oil or molten lead.
Finally, they came out of the tunnel into pure high-mountain light. Yorlain led them around a deep pit that had been constructed only a few yards away from the entrance to the fortress.
Iraj glanced inside the pit and both he Safar saw its purpose. A nest of pointed iron spikes was set in cement in the bottom. Gray, frosted demon skeletons were impaled on many of those spikes. Safar didn't have to hear all of Yorlain's words to know that the ancient bones dated back to the great siege.
At last they came to the keep proper. Iraj dismounted and led Khysmet inside, hooves echoing in the vast interior.
It was then that Safar experienced the strongest blast of machine magic. There was a rumble and a whirl that tore him from his center.
Yorlain said something, but he couldn't make out her words. And the magical storm was so intense that even Iraj was shaken. Eyes moving toward the source, carrying Safar's vision with them. Then fixing on a huge pentagram made of golden tiles.
Like Claire's table, Safar thought. And then that thought was ripped from his mind.
For the magic emanating from the pentagram was so powerful that all his senses were confounded. It was as if a thick fog had descended. A painful fog containing many barbs and poisoned hooks like a deep-sea devil fish.
Once again, he strengthened the shield spell. Putting all his energies into it. Wishing he had Palimak, or even Jooli or Eeda to help. But buried within Iraj he was barred from all contact with them.
Then he got the shield up, took scant notice of the fact that Iraj had also been injured by the spellblast, and concentrated on the colorful work painted within the pentagram.
It was an eight-pointed wind-rose. And on each directional spear was painted the form of one the major gods. Safar sent mental commands for Iraj to investigate.
To his surprise, Iraj caught his sense of urgency and let his eyes sweep from familiar figures such as the Goddess Felakia and the rest. Eyes moving onward, from one god or goddess to the other, until they came to rest on a wide red spear that was turned inward, pointing to the center.
And painted on that spear blade was the exotic, six-faced form of the lady from the hells.
The Goddess Lottyr.
Each face was more beautiful and yet more malevolent than the next. Painted flames shot from every mouth.
And as Safar looked at them through eyes that Iraj had provided he saw the flames bubble and move.
A terrible searing blast shot through Iraj, who moaned and shrunk in his own boots from the fiery assault.
Safar felt it too, but quickly turned the attack back against its origin.
Somewhere in the gloom of the castle keep he heard a ghostly shriek.
Then the assault ended. But he knew it wasn't for long.
&nbs
p; He mental whispered to Iraj, This is the center. The center to the Hells. And it is through here thatwe must attack!
Iraj asked, How much time do we have, brother?
And Safar replied, Almost none at all.
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
THE TEMPEST
That night, thick black storm clouds gathered over Hadin. At first they scudded in a few at a time, then they arrived with increasing frequency until even the face of the Demon Moon was obscured.
King Rhodes landed his forces in that darkness, crossing from his island hideout to Hadin on longboats with muffled oars. He ignored Safar's nine ships, which were anchored in the little bay. Tabusir had assured him that all but a few Kyranian troops had left the ships to march with Safar and Palimak.
When Rhodes mounted his planned attack on the castle he also knew he'd have nothing to fear from the pirate captains. Once they saw which way the battle went, they'd be clamoring to join Rhodes in return for a few purses of gold.
As soon as Rhodes hit the beach, he sent shock troops forward to secure the road and silence any stray soldiers or farmers they encountered.
Meanwhile, his longboats returned to the island and began the onerous task of hauling the portable siege engines to the shore.
His mother arrived with the last group, hissing curses at her slaves as they clumsily loaded her magical table onto her royal litter. All the gilded decorations had been daubed with lampblack so they wouldn't glitter if struck by a chance beam of light.
"That's my favorite litter," she complained to Rhodes. "And now you've ruined it with your stupid soldier tricks. You're going to have to commission me another one when we return home."
"You're the only one of us who's not walking, mother," Rhodes pointed out. He'd left all the horses behind for transport after the siege was in place. "You're the one who insisted on bringing your litter along. Plus six useless slaves to carry you!"