Kingdoms of the Night (The Far Kingdoms) (44 page)

We didn’t wait to see who’d win the battle of wills. Instead, Janela took my hand and we descended the platform and strode toward the demon. Behind us Azbaas shrieked for our blood.

The demon saw us. He howled in delight and trotted forward, the ground shaking under his paws. But I knew no fear and whispered to Janela: “The box. Get out the box!”

But she needed no direction and was already pulling the drawstring bag from her purse. Calmly she withdrew the stone box and motioned for me to halt. Then she removed the lid and placed the box on the sand. I saw the delicate glass petal peeping up from the stone confines.

We stood our ground as the demon bounded toward us. It’s breath was hot foulness; its eyes boiling smoke and flame.

Janela raised her arms, chanting:

The demon’s lust

Is our power;

The demon’s heart

Enclosed by stone.

The demon gathered himself for a final leap. But as he did so rose-colored smoke spewed from the box. The smoke became a thick swirling cloud of enchanting sweetness. It took on the slender form of the dancer, whirling in time to the most beguiling music.

The demon froze. His bloody jaws snapped shut and his eyes seemed to grow larger and larger as he watched the ghostly figure dance.

Janela whispered. A soft breeze blew and the rosy smoke drifted over the demon. It moaned in pleasure or perhaps in pain... I wasn’t certain. That moan became a bubble of light floating out of its maw. The light hovered in the smoke, sinking lower and lower until it was scant inches over the box. Janela leaped forward, the lid in her hand. She slammed it down, trapping the light inside the box.

I looked up and saw the demon had become a mere stone idol once more. Somewhere in the heavens I thought I heard a mournful howl.

All was deathly silence as we strolled back to pavilion to confront the king — not a murmur from the crowd, not a cry from a babe.

Azbaas didn’t wait. He was striding across the arena, flanked by his aides. Behind them, soldiers hustled Quatervals and Mithraik along at spear point.

When the king reached us his features were so drawn, his eyes so blazing with madness I thought for a moment I had miscalculated and he would have us killed before I could complete my plan. He opened his mouth as if to issue the orders. But Janela held up the box and his jaws snapped shut.

“There is your power, king,” she said. “Without your demon you are nothing but a poor shaman. And a weak one at that.”

Azbaas looked at the stone idol, then at the box and licked dry lips. His hand rose as if to snatch it away but Janela gestured and the box vanished.

The crowd sighed as if one and Azbaas shivered.

“I have in mind a bargain,” I said. “Free passage through your kingdom. And if you are very kind to us perhaps we can be persuaded to return your demon.”

The king was a crafty prince. He made no empty threats of torture, knowing Janela would have loaded the magical dice so that his demon would be lost to him forever. Nor did he sputter or rage, further damaging his image in the eyes of his subjects.

Instead he said, quite mild: “Very well, you have the better of me. You shall leave at once. And we can arrange the exchange at my borders.”

Then he turned and stalked away.

A very humble Fizain had us returned to the docks where our companions waited.

I quickly explained what had happened to Kele and the others. Within the hour we had unloaded the most necessary items from the ships and were preparing for the long overland journey. A troop of our former guards stood by, glowering as I ordered Fizain to open the armory where our seized weapons were kept. Then I made him supply us with maps of Azbaas’ kingdom and we pored over likely routes for our march while the others completed the preparations.

It was nearly dark before we were ready. But I had no desire to test my hold on the king and sent Fizain to tell him that we would soon depart. A storm blew up as we waited. But we were so glad to be nearly free that we didn’t mind the wet and cold. Thunder blasted from the west and I saw an eerie glow of light on the horizon.

Janela called to me, her voice anxious. “Amalric,” she said. “They’re coming!”

I thought she meant the king. I was even more certain of it when I turned to see Azbaas and his minions coming out of the night. Fizain held a broad animal skin umbrella over the king’s head to protect him from the weather.

When he reached us, Azbaas looked all around — lips twisting in amusement.

“I see you are ready, my dear Lord Antero,” he said.

“Ready enough,” I replied. “Now, here’s what I propose we do when we reach your borders...”

The king waved me to silence with a lazy hand. “Oh, that won’t be necessary,” he said. “It appears you’ll be my guest a bit longer.”

Magical thunder blasted again from the west and now I knew what Janela’s warning had meant.

The king laughed. It was a most evil sound. “Your son was right,” Azbaas said, “when he told me you were old and weak.”

My heart wrenched. The king said, “We’ve been in communication, you see. Lord Modin of Vacaan and your son, Cligus Antero.”

The king shook his head. “At first I didn’t trust them. They made such wild claims. I thought I’d have my fun with you and your pretty little witch. Then when they arrived I’d have new guests to entertain.”

He made a mournful face. “But such was not to be.” Another chuckle. “However, after your display in the arena their offer sounded much more real — and attractive. Also, the more I pondered the more it was apparent I had nothing to fear from a man who cannot control his own son.”

Azbaas sneered. “As for the demon — keep him. I don’t have such a great need for him, now. Your friends have offered me a much better trade. If I turn you both over to them they’ve vowed to deliver what I desire most. And that, of course, is power. More power than any wizard has ever held in this wilderness. Power over all my enemies.” He looked me full in the face. “Power,” he continued, “from fair Tyrenia. From The Kingdoms of the Night.”

He pointed to the glow on the horizon. “Cligus and Modin are sweetening the bargain as we speak. To show good faith they are attacking that great soggy bitch Queen Badryia. They’ve promised to deliver her to me by morning.

“Then you can join me on my royal barge and sail out to congratulate your son.”

In my rage I imagined Azbaas had miscalculated by allowing us to rearm. Very well, I thought. If I am to be a corpse the king could join me on my pyre. I signaled the attack and drew my dirk. I launched myself at Azbaas. But the king laughed and lightning crashed between us. I found myself on my knees in the mud. I had been robbed of all strength and the rain became hot needles of fire in my flesh. I heard moans of pain as Azbaas’ spell overwhelmed my companions.

The king spoke, his voice a great roaring in my ears: “As you can see, they’ve granted me a few more powers already. To show their generosity, they said. Actually, we both know better. The real reason was to make certain I could hold you captive.”

He stooped and plucked my dirk from the mud. He touched the tip next to one of my eyes. “I wonder if they’d object to my delivering you blind?” he mused.

Nearby I heard Janela moan. It was as piteous as the others and I knew we had lost. She moaned again but this time I realized it wasn’t a mindless gasp I heard but words meant for me.

“Think of the feather, Amalric,” she was saying. “Think of the feather!”

The king heard her as well. The dirk was withdrawn as he turned to ask: “Feather? What feather?”

And I remembered the golden plume Janela had snatched from Azbaas’ robe. The image shimmered up in my mind and I felt Janela’s spirit joining me, weakened by the spell at first but growing stronger as we bore down with our combined wills.

We thought of the rare creature that was the victim of the king’s vanity. With that the feather became a small golden bird. And then we made it larger — large as an eagle, with an eagle’s hooked beak and an eagle’s sharp talons. It gave an angry shriek and spread its wings and I heard Azbaas shout in surprise as the bird leaped from our minds and sped toward him.

The king’s spell vanished and I struggled up to see him grappling with a huge golden bird. Azbaas screamed for help but Fizain and the soldiers were too stunned to move. The bird became twice the size of a man. Its wings were thunder as it rose in the air, carrying the king in its claws. Higher and higher it soared, Azbaas’ cries growing weaker. The bird suddenly let loose and the king screamed his last and plunged to the ground.

The soldiers scattered as the bird dived after the corpse, caught it once more in its talons and soared off into the storm.

* * * *

No one opposed us as we marched through the city. All the king’s soldiers had vanished and his citizens slammed their shutters and barred their doors when we passed their homes. The storm had ceased and a bright moon lit our way. There was only the creak of harness and the stomp of our boots to hint of human life, although when we left the docks the people in the caves broke out of their prisons and swarmed down the rocky paths to freedom.

Before we set out we’d fired our ships and Janela had used a few drops of my blood to cast a seeking spell. When last we’d seen the
Ibis
and her sisters they were fully engulfed in flame and sailing away — manned only by the spell — to confront, and hopefully cause much grief to Cligus’ and Modin’s fleet.

There was no one at the city’s rear gates when we reached them. They were sealed by sorcery so we fired them and then dragged them off their hinges.

We marched along the rough board road that led past the amphitheater where we had confronted Azbaas. We followed it all night, followed it until it became a wagon track and followed the track until morning.

We camped where the track intersected a broad, rubble-strewn road. Posted along the road were the demon head markers.

Somewhere ahead, we prayed, that road ended at Tyrenia.

For the first time I wished I’d been traveling with just a handful of men, even though I knew a small party could not have made it so far. But a dozen or so would have been easier to disappear into the countryside with, instead of the nearly seventy I had to worry about.

At least we’d found the demon-marked way that led to Tyrenia, although that would increase the likelihood of discovery. Once Cligus and Modin found that track they would assume we were on it and wouldn’t have to waste time sweeping the land for our traces.

I estimated our pursuers numbered between three and five hundred men, although I hoped they’d been decimated in their journey upriver by the crocodiles and every species of plague imaginable. That many troops would move more slowly than mine, even though I knew they were elite forces, and I also assumed there’d be some confusion and delay passing through Azbaas’ city.

Quatervals exercised what craft he could to conceal, having everyone travel barefoot for a few leagues, since he’d observed most folk in this country went unshod, so our tracks wouldn’t stand out. Beyond that all we could do was travel as fast as possible, always heading toward the mountains.

The way was overgrown — it had been some time since many people had traveled this way. I wondered if perhaps the jungle folk avoided the remnants of the road as being gods-cursed or just as likely because it led in no direction that interested them, moving east away from the lake into the mountains.

The road had been built by skilled engineers with much time, workmen and resources. It ran nearly straight for the mountains, not curving around foothills or taking the easiest path. They had carved into the hills and crossed rivers with either low, arched stone bridges or else with paved fords built up from the river bottom so water rushed over them no more than a foot deep. Several times the road disappeared into tunnels but I refused to chance them, fearing not only cave-ins but confrontations with creatures who might have chosen them for dens. Since we were afoot it was a simple matter to find our way cross-country to where the track emerged into the open once more.

The forest thinned as we climbed up into the foothills — although it blocked more than a momentary view of the mountains ahead — and there were still no signs of the rocky formation we so desperately wanted to sight.

Five days from King Azbaas’ city Janela chanced a passive sensing spell that required little more than anointing her eyelids and ears with an unguent and putting herself into a light trance. In a few minutes she returned to us and reported.

There was dark magic behind us, she said, but it still seemed distant — as if Cligus and Modin had stopped in the city. That was good news, although she cautioned me not to rely upon it too heavily. What simultaneously concerned and drew her was the feeling of dangerous forces ahead, swirling, waiting. Dangerous or not we all hoped and prayed they were a sign that we were nearing Tyrenia. We pressed on.

Despite her report, our party remained cheery. Of course all the sailors complained about being afoot but that was normal. Beran suggested we ought to keep sharp eyes about, looking for wild horses to capture so we could travel more comfortably. I shuddered at the thought. For reasons I’ve never been able to fathom seafarers have a great affinity for horses and all think they are at least potentially half-horse, half man. My own feeling is they are less able than they believe. I hardly fancied the idea of seeing my happy wanderers scattering across the landscape on stampeding horses, flinging our baggage away as we went. That might be one way to conquer Cligus — if he came on us in such a state he and the rest of his murderous crew might well expire of laughter.