Mariana slashed with the dagger; flames of Blue Fire danced, but the grisly bird showed little fear. Flapping its enormous wings, it soared high above the searing fingers, zooming back into the dark. And then the second carrion was upon them. Shrieking like some ghoul from the dimmest recesses of a nightmare, the Death-Stalker dived for the standing girl. Mariana whirled, dagger in hand, swinging the blade high above her head. The carrion flapped its wings, red eyes blazing, its beak open wide and spitting fire. These were no ordinary carrions, Mariana realized — but guardians of the sacred tower itself, cursed demons who would fight to the last to protect their Druid masters.
Again the bird roared fire: Mariana swayed and nearly fell from the hot, putrid blast. Then she lunged again with her blade, a crackle of sparks in the air as the blue flames battled with the red.
The bird pressed; she rolled on the ground, feeling a sharp sting as the carrion’s talons grazed the side of her head. A gruesome cackle spit from the parted beak. The bird was laughing at the frightened girl, daring her to come at him again.
As she parried and struck, keeping the fiend at bay, the second carrion had reappeared, zooming back down from the sky at the top of its speed, circling above.
Blue Fire throbbed in Mariana’s hand; she cut and slashed as she crawled closer to the center of the terrace where there was more room to maneuver. Then up went the scimitar again, its fires burning with greater intensity. The carrion wavered for just an instant, providing Mariana with time to regain her feet. Then she leaped up, diving at the repulsive bird with no thought for her own safety. The blade touched flesh, the carrion reared back as if in unspeakable torment. Crazed, it charged forward, and Mariana felt herself momentarily dazed by the weight of its body. She staggered and fell, eyes open wide; the bird wailed, shaking all over. And then its whole body changed color. Flames of blue singed at its innards, burning the beast from within. Vainly it tried to fly backward, its beady eyes bulging and rolling in their sockets.
The second bird screeched horribly as its companion gasped and wailed. Losing no time, Mariana held Blue Fire with both her slim hands and ripped at the oncoming carrion with all her strength. The bird’s wings tried to lift it from harm’s way — but to no avail. Black feathers roared into lusty blaze; red eyes screamed soundlessly while the searing flames incinerated it alive. While the first carrion exploded from within, the second pirouetted in the air, its beak open wide, trying to spew its devilish fire, a horrid moan rising from somewhere deep in its throat.
Then down, down it plummeted, twisting in circles as it fell toward the plaza below. Oro crawled to the edge of the ledge and peered down. He could see the frantic running of soldiers, panic-stricken and witless as the bird crashed with a tremendous thud and sent billows of blue-tinted smoke rising high into the sky. Blue sparks jumped among the Druids. A ball of blue flame ignited, and soldiers scrambled in every direction, throwing down their cumbersome weapons and running like madmen at sight of the fanning fires. Many reached the safety of the citadel’s walls, but many did not. Crying and moaning, they fell victim to Blue Fire’s wrath. Within moments after the carrion had plunged to its death, the whole of the plaza had become a fiery inferno.
Wiping her eyes, Mariana caught her breath and searched for the continuation of the steps.
“There she is!” came a loud cry. She spun to find a handful of the dreaded mutes reaching the landing. Swords flashing, sardonic smiles exposing teeth like fangs, the mutes clambered onto the terrace in a frenzied attempt to stop the girl before she could go any farther.
“Mariana, look out!” cried the hunchback.
The dancing girl whirled, cloak flowing behind. A massive fist came smashing at her, but she sidestepped the blow just in time, grabbed the mute by the arm, spun him around, and pushed.
His arms flailed, his sword dropped. Over the side he went, cavorting as he fell into the roaring fires below.
Another mute swung his broadsword. The edge of the blade clanged loudly against the wall. Mariana arched back and thrust the scimitar. Blue flame touched his garment, and he ignited into a ball of human flame.
Others were coming, making their way onto the landing. Mariana dashed to the far end of the terrace and found the row of steps leading higher. Two at a time she scrambled, Oro right behind, and the Vizier himself close on their heels.
It was a race that could not be lost. Her lungs were bursting, her heart pounding so fast that it made her dizzy. All around the clouds and mists were thickening and the wind was howling like never before. Harsh rain began to fall, so heavily that she could not see. Her feet clattered on the metal steps, leading her on and upward into the sky itself. And behind, like a plague of locusts, came the wizards and mutes, the Dwarf-king, and the Vizier.
“They’re gaining on us, Mariana!” wailed Oro fretfully, glancing over his shoulder and seeing yet another awesome mute leading the charge. The mute hurled a javelin; the spear sailed inches past Mariana’s head, and she hunched her shoulders as she fought her way forward against the wind.
The Vizier called upon every devilish god he knew; upon the demons of hell, upon the black spirits that walk the earth in the shroud of Darkness, upon the flying demons whose souls had been damned since the world’s creation.
Pain shot like arrows through Mariana’s mind: the pain of the tormented, the pain of affliction brought upon her by the magic of the Seeds of Destruction. Desperately she clung to her sanity even while these demon spirits called on her to submit her will to their own, to hurl the blade back down, to throw herself into the abyss and greet her peaceful death in the arms of the black gods below.
Reeling, feeling the weight of the magic bear down as never before, she felt every step as a new agony. And she could plainly hear the Vizier’s dark voice calling to her, extolling her to give up now, to join him in the service of Evil.
She shook her head violently, fighting off wave after wave of willingness to turn back. I believe! she cried again and again in her thoughts. She thought of Ramagar; she thought of the Prince whom she had loved more than a brother; of her grandfather, the haj; and of all her friends whose very lives depended on her now. But more than all this, she thought of the fate of the world, and the knowledge of what would happen to it should she weaken and give in to the wizard’s calling.
And Blue Fire raged in her hand. She stared at the blade, drawing both strength and courage from its power. And up, up she fled, blocking from her mind the thousand laughing devils intent on destroying her soul.
The steps seemed never-ending, twisting and winding along the sides of the tower, taking her where no man or woman of Good had ever gone before. The clouds were so dense now that even the scimitar itself gave hardly enough brightness for her to see. It was growing steadily colder, colder even than those long nights on the Vulture when the ship first sailed into the far North. And a lashing, driving wind screamed like the devils themselves.
“Look ahead! Look ahead, Mariana!” Oro was calling.
She drew herself from her thoughts, and clinging to the banister she dared to lift her head and gaze up.
The steps ended at a broad platform with low, crenellated walls, a circular terrace that hugged the very pinnacle of the tower. She gasped and shut her eyes, crying with the realization that they had almost reached the top. If only she could make it just that much farther …
The whish of a sword brought her back to reality. Behind her, Oro was bravely grappling with another surging mute. The wizard had all but pinned the hunchback against the wall, and was trying to throw the little man over the side.
Mariana jumped back down three steps. Blue Fire danced; the mute staggered back, his weapon clattering down, and put his hands to his eyes, screaming soundlessly. Oro pushed with all his waning strength, and the mute dropped clumsily into the clouds, where the raging wind began to toss his body about.
Pulling up the shaking Oro by his tunic, Mariana took his hand and led him to the edge of the terrace. The rain ha
d mysteriously stopped, the wind ceased to howl. It was a grim world; she could see nothing below, nothing above, save for the clouds themselves and the cold mists swirling around her. Turning her attention to Oro, she saw that a strange look of calm had overtaken the hunchback. The figures still racing up the steps were distant, and Ore seemed to pay no heed to the coming Dwarf-king and his Grand Vizier.
“Guard the steps,” she snapped, turning to hurl the scimitar.
Oro shook his head. “No, Mariana. This is the end of the road for both of us.”
Her dark eyes narrowed suspiciously. “What are you talking about?”
He held out his hand. “The blade, Mariana. Give it to me.
“Are you mad?”
A cruel smile parted his lips and she recoiled. “I’ve planned for this moment ever since I first saw the scimitar. It’s mine. It belongs to me — and no one can stop me, not even you!”
“You are insane!” she cried.
“Do you think I’ve traveled half a world to see you throw away such a priceless jewel? To see it lost forever here, in such a forsaken land?” He chuckled. “No, Mariana. I will take the scimitar from you —”
“And do what, you fool? What good is it to you now? The Druids will only kill you for it!”
“Will they?” he barked cunningly. “I think not, Mariana. The scimitar will make me a king. Yes, even here, should I choose. You forget that the Vizier covets it, too. What price would these wizards not pay me to possess it themselves, eh? I could return home the richest man in the world. A king, with all the finest wealth in my hands. Gold, jewels …” He smiled a wicked smile, and Mariana knew that his treachery had at last surfaced. She had been a fool to let him come; she should have let Ramagar have his way long before they reached these shores.
“And what about Speca?” she flared. “What about Aran and the bondage that awaits the North?”
Oro sneered. “What care I about such trivial matters? I did not make them slaves. If they are unhappy, let them rise up themselves. I did not come to save the world, Mariana. Only to enrich myself. And now, I give you a choice: come with me, as my bride, or stay here and die …”
“You pig!” she hissed. “Death is a far better choice!”
A dark scowl crossed the hunchback’s features. Snapping his fingers, he said, “Very well, if that’s the way you want it. But I have no more time for games. Give me the scimitar — now!”
The dancing girl gulped and stepped slowly backward, wielding the dagger in front of her. “If you take just one step, I’ll kill you,” she vowed. “I don’t want to do it, but I will if you force me.”
Oro laughed. “Ah, but have you forgotten? I, too, know how to call upon the blade’s powers. When the Prince told the secret, I was there as well. Listening, practicing. So you see, the scimitar cannot harm me — any more than it can harm you. Now hand it over!”
Mariana flashed a dark smile of her own. “Never! Come and take it!”
The fire was blazing at its height as the hunchback lunged for her. As they grappled, his hands firmly around her wrists, the Vizier and the Dwarf-king reached the foot of the steps, and stared frozen.
Oro screamed when the girl bit his hand; he wrenched her away, and she stumbled against the crenellated wall. Oro slapped her arm, and the scimitar fell to the ground. As Mariana reached to sweep it up, Oro’s fist slammed against her face and she went sprawling backward in a daze.
“It’s mine!” chortled the hunchback. “Mine, at last!” And his stubby fingers grabbed at the hilt.
“Do not touch it!” commanded the Vizier, quickly slipping onto the terrace.
The hunchback paid no heed; repeating the secret words, he scooped up the dazzling dagger and laughed aloud at the realization that indeed he knew the secret; and now that it was in his hands there was no need for him ever to give it up. Why should he? He could have this spindly Vizier and his ugly, demented liege at their knees right this moment if he chose.
“Get back!” he shouted to the Vizier. “Get back or I’ll throw it!”
Slyly, recognizing the look of greed, the Vizier pretended to do as asked. “Put your prize down,” he said in a low, commanding voice. “Place it on the floor and I shall give you anything you ask. Rubies, diamonds, gold. Women … beautiful, exotic priestesses for your everlasting pleasure. Prolonged life among us as a deity. Yes, we shall make of you a deity. Every wish shall be a command …”
Oro smiled thinly. “That’s not enough. I want an army. A fleet of ships to conquer my own lands … And I want knowledge of all the Dark Arts …”
The Vizier nodded; signaling for the Dwarf-king to hold his place, he took a single step. “All that and more shall be yours. By the powers of Darkness, by the Shrine of the Spirits, I swear this to you. Now put down the scimitar …”
Lulled by the soft, compelling voice and the allure of riches, Oro wavered. Mariana listened while the Vizier continued to make promises, and with her mind still reeling she crawled in the shadows of the wall, inching her way forward until, unnoticed, she was almost at Oro’s back.
The hunchback, meanwhile, held a nervous hand on the blade. “Then we have a bargain, you and I?” he said.
The Vizier nodded solemnly, even as from the comer of his eye he saw his liege carefully slip closer to the excited hunchback. “Everything you want is yours for the taking,” assured the Vizier. “Everything you want …”
“And I can have the girl? She won’t be harmed?”
“The girl, too. I promise …”
Oro gleamed in the darkness. “Then here. Take the — ooof!”
Mariana’s strong push caught him off balance. Oro heaved against the wall and the girl sank her teeth deeply into his wrist. The scimitar fell.
“Stop her!” shouted the Vizier. And the demented Dwarf-king, bejeweled in his finery, leaped past the shaken hunchback to grab the quick-stepping woman. Mariana thrust the blade forward; it caught the fringes of the king’s garments, and all at once his whole body exploded into flame. Screaming in pain, flailing his arms madly in the air, the Dwarf rushed to close his hands around Mariana’s throat — but Oro stood between them. As Mariana ducked and the Vizier looked on aghast, the Dwarf-king hurled himself mistakenly against Oro and the two of them entwined into a single ball of searing blue fire. Struggling to break free, Oro pressed back at the depression in the low wall. The king, out of his mind and in agony, tore at his burning hair and pushed them both forward until they slipped from the precipice.
“Mariana, help me!” cried Oro, his hand groping to find hers as the king dragged him down. Frozen to her place, the dancing girl watched stunned as both men fell, a burning heap together, down, down into the clouds, a flaming torch of flesh, to smash upon the marble plaza below.
Mariana spun to avoid the grabbing hands of the Vizier.
She ran to another part of the wall, holding the dagger high and drawing back her arm.
“Don’t!” thundered the Vizier. “You can’t! You can’t!”
“I can and I will!” rejoined the shaken girl. And she aimed the scimitar high, just as the Prince had instructed, and hurled Blue Fire with all her ebbing strength and courage.
“You fool!” cried the Vizier, his hands to his face. “You don’t know what you’ve done! It’s the end, the end of us all!”
Mariana was crying, and she laughed through her tears. Now she was prepared for anything, even death. The burden had been lifted from her shoulders forever.
The air became suddenly still; there was no longer even a breeze. Mariana stared out into the pervasive void. Above, the clouds still hung in the black sky as though nothing had happened. The glow of the dagger had vanished, become lost in the oblivion of the Eternal Darkness, and for a moment she wondered if its powers had been too pitiful to battle the poisoned air of Evil.
But then it happened; slowly at first, but frightening and awesome. Thunder rumbled in the distance; lightning cracked. The mists began to swirl. And from somewhere above t
here came a glow, dim at first but steadily brightening, a blue glow that worked its way along the edges of the sky and slipped thin fingers among the clouds. Then there were crackles of electricity and red sparks snapped through the atmosphere.
White-knuckled, Mariana clutched the wall, holding her breath as the wind roared once more, only this time with the force of a hurricane. The Vizier held out his arms and fell to his knees in sobs. The tower itself began to shake, and when the thunder boomed it seemed the whole world swayed with it.
Across the sky dark colors were ripping; blue fire lashed among shadows. Roar after terrible roar filled her ears until Mariana could no longer stand it. Stones loosened in the walls and tumbled down. The bedrock tower had begun to crack, huge fissures forming among the stones and rippling downward back to the earth.
Crying, Mariana shielded herself and waited for the granite to crumble around her. The Vizier was writhing on the floor, calling out to his gods of the Darkness, his lips dark and trembling. It was as if the earth itself were exploding. Mighty lightning bolts struck again and again, crossed swords in the sky, weapons of anger, furiously charged and pelting the land with terrible retribution.
Rock crumbled everywhere. Mariana threw back her head and stared out into the multicolored sky. The battle was hotly contested. Good against Evil. Faith against damnation. The foul and disgusting civilization of the Druids would surely come to an end. And even should fair Speca herself be tossed beneath the sea, Mariana was sure she had done the right thing.
With a shattering crash of lightning one side of the terrace split before Mariana’s startled eyes and caved in completely. Still lost in his anguish, the Vizier was hardly aware when the ledge gave way and loose stones came crashing over his head. Then the balcony buckled and Mariana saw him tossed into the air, his crimson eyes wide and fearful, his shrieks piercing the night as he was thrown into the raging vortex. Singed by the ravishes of blue fire and the devilish scarlet flame he himself had spawned, he tumbled ever downward to a fiendish grave.
The Thief of Kalimar; Captain Sinbad; Cinnabar Page 42
