by CA Morgan
Eris sprang from his hiding place. The sword’s hilt smashed into the back of the soldier’s head and sent him crashing unconscious to the floor.
“Who’s there?” the other shouted as he struggled furiously with his vest.
Eris pivoted. His knee exploded into the other’s groin. He felt his own skin tear open as the wound from the whip followed him back to his normal form. The man gasped, his cry of pain frozen in his throat as he joined his friend on the floor, trembling in agony.
Eris, gliding like a gray shadow through the room, went to the door and cracked it open. The corridor was empty. Throwing off the turban, he stepped into the hall. He turned away from the main hall and walked quickly toward the twisting, turning labyrinth of ancient, narrow corridors made of crumbling mud brick, and down stairs of broken paving stones.
Torches, precariously held by rusty rings, flared and hissed as errant drafts from long-unused tunnels whispered by. Eris’ shadow danced like a specter on the soot-smudged walls making him feel that he was not alone in the tomb-like passageways.
He paused at the head of a flight of stairs to listen. Hearing nothing, he went down warily, the sword firmly in his grasp. Quickly down another flight, he paused at the bottom as the faint sound of shuffling feet echoed up to him. The smell of roasted meat soon followed and made his stomach growl in anticipation. He slipped into a dark corridor. The floor was covered with the dust and sand of disuse. He pressed himself flat against the wall and peered into the blackness beyond. He wondered what other horrors were buried in this accursed place.
The shuffling feet belonged to a group of serving maids taking morning rations to the soldiers above. Eris waited until they disappeared around the corner and he no longer heard their steps. Back in the corridor, he let his nose lead him to the kitchens. There, he would likely find a door to the gardens as the scraps were likely fed to the lions and whatever other beasts might be penned there.
Echoing far behind him, Eris heard the sounds of pursuit. The twisting, turning passageways muffled harshly shouted commands. There was no way of knowing how many were after him and the time for caution was over.
The smells and clatter of the kitchen grew stronger with each long, silent stride, a nearly miraculous accomplishment as Hofa’s boots gave him no end of pain. Coming around yet another corner, Eris saw the warm, orange light of open cooking fires through the doorway ahead. He paused at the entrance and quickly surveyed the room.
A score of men and women hurried here and there preparing the exorbitant amount of food required for the Sultan’s army and the rest of his household. On the far side of the room three, burly men hoisted and chopped at large shanks of freshly butchered beef.
Eris knelt and crawled under a heavy, trestle table just inside the door. If he was mindful of the people moving about the room, he figured he could cross it under cover of the tables to the far side where he espied a small iron grate.
He scurried half the distance to the grate before having to stop and wait for two women to move out of his path. Nervously, his fists clenched and unclenched as he glanced toward the doorway. At any moment, he expected to see the soldiers burst into the kitchen. Once again Eris cursed his luck and finally, after what seemed a long time, the women moved off to another task. He looked side to side and scrambled the remaining distance to the grate. The flour on the floor beneath the kneading table dusted his crimson pantaloons with white, and the flour he stirred into the air threatened to make him sneeze.
It was then he decided that even if he had to run over scorching ground or through a patch of thorns, he could no longer wear Hofa’s boots. The pain infringed on his ability to concentrate. As he raised his right foot, he noticed the leg of the pantaloons was stained with dark splotches where the wound from the whip continued to break open and bleed.
Next he turned his attention to the iron grate. It had no lock and the hinges showed no sign of rust. He hoped it wouldn’t squeak when he opened it. Quickly, he peered out in both directions, but his view was limited. He saw no evidence that it opened into the lions’ pen and felt somewhat relieved. The only problem now was Raga.
He again checked the positions of the feet in the room. Satisfied that they were far enough away not to cause trouble, he closed his eyes, found the silver path and followed it to the valley in Raga’s mind. The colors were vibrant and no longer tinged with shades of purple. Good. Raga was likely back to normal as far as sorcerers were concerned.
“Raga.” He called insistently. “Raga, where are you? Stop playing games and answer me.”
The only thing that came back to him was a disturbing silence. He wondered if something had actually happened to the crafty sorcerer. Mentally, he took a few more steps into the valley and stopped by the stream. Imposing his own thoughts on Raga’s, Eris imagined one of the large rocks by the stream being picked up and tossed into the deepest part of the stream making a resounding splash. Instantly, in his mind, Eris had the sensation of rolling queasiness.
“Raga! Damn you!” Eris paused to listen. “I know you can hear me. If you ever want to see this gem again, you’d better answer me. I’m sure there is not less than a score of soldiers on my trail.”
“I hear you, Eris.” Raga finally responded, but he sounded faint and distant. “I’ll be waiting, just tell me where.”
“North wall where the gardens are and you better be there. Now! Why do you sound so far away? Never mind. The soldiers are coming and they won’t stop until they have my head!”
Eris quickly exited the trance and shook off the annoying dizziness. He pulled back the grate’s latch and it swung open silently allowing him to poke his head out. To the left it was clear, but to the right a sleepy tiger raised its striped head. Nearby two others dozed in the warm, morning sun.
He looked across the pen and saw the gate to the green yard chained and locked. “I’m as good as dead now,” he muttered angrily.
Every moment he hesitated brought the soldiers nearer the kitchen. He made his choice. If he was fated to die this day, then he would rather the swift kill of the tiger over the slow torture of men.
With fluid, unhurried movements, Eris crawled into the tigers’ pen. Just as he pushed the grate back into place, he heard the soldiers burst into the kitchen. Shouts arose over the din of pots and platters crashing to the floor as the soldiers scoured the room.
Slowly, in a crouched stance, Eris crossed the pen to the gate never taking his eyes off of the striped cat, which began to regard him with ever-increasing interest. As Eris reached the gate, the tiger sat up and yawned with a low growl that wakened the other two. Instantly, they were all alert and eyed him suspiciously.
Eris reached out and grasped the lock. He gave it a quick glance. It was old and rusted, but it could be deceptively strong. Grasping the hilt of the sword firmly in his right hand, he smashed it into the lock’s top. It held. The tigers growled and got to their feet. Their great paws moved silently over the packed earth and their furry bellies nearly touched the ground as they crept slowly, ever closer to him.
Eris’ stomach knotted and he clenched his teeth. He dropped the lock. He didn’t want to feel the savage, tearing fury those paws hid beneath their soft fur. The hard muscles of his arm and shoulder suddenly contracted as if on instinct and he struck a blow to the lock that made the gate’s hinge pins hum in their fittings.
Eris tugged and the lock snapped open. He quickly pulled it free of the gate and threw it at the first tiger attempting to scare him back. The animal ignored the effort and pounced. Eris heaved against the gate and ducked low as the tiger leapt for him and ended up in the yard. Its snarling growl exposed its sharp, fanged teeth. Eris scrambled into the grass and shoved the gate closed, keeping the other two penned. Scrambling to his feet, he ran and then pulled up short and hit the ground again as the tiger leapt over him. The beast suddenly yowled loudly, strangely. Its body twisted unnaturally as it flew through the air. A quick glance told him all he needed to know. The slim li
ne of an arrow’s shaft protruded from the side of the animal’s body.
“Idiot!” a soldier shouted. “The Sultan will have your head for killing his tiger!”
The shouted words were lost on Eris as he raced away from the wounded animal that loped with only slightly less speed after him. Leg muscles strained, lungs heaved, and his feet seemed to not even touch the grass as he ran for his life. He ran not knowing if at any moment a feathered shaft would bring him down like the unfortunate animal. He dared not look back, but instead concentrated on the shadow of the rope Raga had thrown over the wall. He was temporarily out of range of the Sultan’s archers, who, fortunately for him, were not so skilled. Then he heard the sound he had hoped not to hear, padded paws and snarling were again closing in on him. The two, uninjured tigers were right behind him.
Nearing the wall, Eris hurled the sword over the top. Without breaking stride, he ran up the wall as he grabbed the yellow rope with both hands, and hand over hand, step over step, his bare feet were scuffed and scraped as they found purchase against the rough plaster, his momentum driving him upward.
The tigers leapt for him. Their sharp claws tore at the voluminous folds of his pantaloons that hung down from his driving legs. He topped the wall and knelt, panting on its breadth. He looked down at the snarling beasts leaping against the wall and glanced to the other side to see how far he had to drop. An arrow flew over his head.
“Get down!” Raga shouted as the arrow clattered on the flagstone near his horse.
Quickly, Eris surveyed the streets leading to and from their position. For now they were clear, except for the merchants pushing their carts.
Eris quickly wrapped the rope around part of the wrought-iron defensive structure and slid down the rope just as a handful of shafts whistled by very close to where he had crouched. The length of shortened rope ended quickly and dust coated his bare skin as he rolled through the fall and came to his feet. He grabbed up the sword and swung into the saddle.
“The streets are clear as far as the north gate,” he said, kicking his horse into a gallop.
Raga urged his horse forward to match Eris’ pace. “Likely we’ll still have to fight our way through.”
“It’s a good weapon I’ve got here,” Eris said over the clatter of hooves pounding on stone.
“You’ll have to get rid of it. Yours is in the pack behind you.”
“Not on your life, sorcerer. This weapon will fetch a handsome bag of gold.”
“Not if you’re dead it won’t. Remember the curse.”
“To Riza’s Pits with the curse! I’ll have something from this place for my trouble. Ready yourself. Soldiers ahead,” Eris warned.
There was no time for Raga to protest as the northern portal of Reshan loomed wide open before them. Alerted to trouble by the speed at which they approached, four guards hurried to stretch themselves across the opening with swords and shields ready.
“Draw your sword, Raga,” Eris shouted, seeing the sorcerer still unarmed.
“I’m not a swordsman, and without my stones, not very good with the bow either.”
Eris glared at him. “At least draw it for show. You were good enough with that bow when we met.”
“Things have changed,” Raga said. It was then Eris noticed a certain lack of vitality in him. Even the sword, which was light by battle standards, seemed too awkward and heavy for him to handle.
Eris’ frown deepened when he glanced beyond Raga and down a side street and caught sight of a mounted contingent riding hard down the narrow way.
“I hope these horses have it in them. We're going to have to outrun them across the dunes,” Eris said and positioned himself more in front of Raga. “Stay close behind me.”
Eris reached behind and pulled out his broadsword and gave the horse free reign. He shoved his feet firmly into the stirrups and pressed his knees as needed into the sides of the animal to keep it on course. He raised himself from the saddle and rested one sword on each hip.
The four soldiers closed rank. One suddenly screamed as a feathered shaft pierced his leg and he fell clutching his thigh. Eris hoped it was Raga’s. The three remaining men stood their ground. The morning sun glinted on poised swords and shields in a frozen moment of deadly anticipation. Then Eris was upon them. His powerful arms raised and drove the weapons downward. Swords and shields shattered and flesh parted from bone. His horse hurled itself at the man in the middle.
The guards fell away in a tangle of twisted limbs and spraying blood. The horse faltered as it trampled the center man and stumbled on the stone pavers.
Eris gave a sharp whistle that directed the horse to run. The animal attempted to rear and pulled free. It hooves found purchase on the sandy road and bolted for the empty, yellow dunes that stretched to the horizon.
“Leave the sword, Eris!” Raga shouted, pressing his horse to catch up. “Don’t spoil a good escape by dying now!”
“We’re not safe yet.” He saw the Sultan’s horsemen rapidly approaching the gate. “Get that nag of yours moving!”
“If not for yourself, then for a superstitious old man,” Raga pleaded, catching up to him.
Eris thought for a moment he heard sincerity in the sorcerer’s voice, but gave him a disgusted glance anyway and looked at the priceless weapon in his hand. He tried not to think of its value when he dropped it into the sand.
“We’re in trouble. They’re gaining on us. These horses aren’t used to running in this damned sand. They’re moving the bowmen to the front. How far does this stretch of sand go?” Eris asked, glancing back at the small army in full pursuit.
“Fifty leagues, more or less,” Raga answered and looked over his shoulder
“These horses will never make it that far at this pace. Give me your bow. Maybe I can take down a few and slow them up a bit.”
“That’s only if you manage to hit one of the lead horses. Besides, shooting at such an awkward angle, you’ll never get enough draw on the bow to make the shot count. I think I have a better idea. I don’t know if it will work, but it may be our only chance. Give me the gem,” Raga said and held out his hand.
Eris hesitated.
“We’re as good as dead if you don’t,” Raga said, reading Eris’ hesitation.
Eris reached under the mass of gold chains and wrapped his hand around the gem. He gave a quick tug and the chain snapped apart. He placed the gem into Raga’s outstretched hand.
“Here, take the reins and don’t look back until I tell you,” Raga warned as the red stone subtlety pulsed and shimmered as it lay in his palm.
Slowly, with deliberate purpose, Raga closed his fingers one by one around the gem. The red glow intensified until his hand appeared as a fiery coal. His bushy beard and eyebrows wavered on his face like tiny flames on a log. Sweat beaded on his forehead and dripped off his nose. His eyes were screwed shut in intense concentration.
Eris shivered and tired to deny that he felt Raga’s magical force rising around them. He tried not to look at Raga’s hand glowing brighter still. He knew without a doubt that the magic he had seen Raga work before was going to pale in comparison with what was about to happen. He tightened his grip on the reigns of both animals.
In the distance, the sound of a roaring wind, a storm, he didn’t know what, but it grew louder and rushed closer and closer. A tremendous heat built behind them, yet Eris shivered with cold for his uncontrollable fear of Raga’s enormous power. Closer still, the roaring heat approached, and like a monstrous smithy’s forge, sucked in enormous amounts of air. A great wind arose and the sand whirled violently on unpredictable eddy currents. Heat and fire increased in temperature and blasted across a vast expanse of sand. Red light flashed with a brilliance that made Eris squeeze his eyes tightly closed. Waves of intense heat washed over them and the horses screamed with fear. As quickly as it had come, the roar continued apace and rushed off into the distance until there was naught but a low, rolling thunder and the heat dissipated rapidly to mix with the he
at of the rising desert sun.
The glow of Raga’s hand faded and the sorcerer began to topple from his saddle. Eris grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and struggled to keep the portly sorcerer in the saddle and the terrified horses running in the right direction.
Daring to look behind, Eris saw their pursuers still riding full-force out of a cloud of dust. Suddenly, the horses squealed and men and animals collapsed into a pile of flailing limbs and twisting bodies.
“By the gods, Raga, what did you do?” Eris’ voice was hushed in awe at the sight. The riders from the rear flanks spread wider in an attempt to avoid the wailing pile-up, but didn’t realize their plight until their mounts slid, faltered and their flailing bodies were added to the screaming, moaning chaos. It was a sight he didn’t pretend to understand. Gently, he gave Raga a shake. “What did you do?”
“Glass,” Raga answered in a voice Eris barely heard.
“Glass?” Eris repeated, puzzled. He watched as the last riders, unable to stop their charge, and with nowhere to go, went down in the same manner as the first. Neither man nor beast escaped unscathed from the pitfall of Raga’s sorcery.
“Sand and heat,” Raga explained, exhausted, and leaned heavily against Eris for support.
Eris understood. The cold he felt earlier intensified and a deep shiver shook him. Tiny bumps of fear, bordering on panic broke out along his forearms. At the sight of Raga’s flesh touching his, he felt a queasy sort of loathing, a sense of deeply buried terror twist deep in his stomach.
Raga’s words that echoed in his mind, may not work. The result exceeded an understatement. He hated to think what Raga could do when he knew his plan was going to work.
“Damn him,” Eris swore between gritted teeth and tore his gaze from the men behind them.
He let the horses run wild and full-out to expel their terror, and his. In that way, he put a respectable distance between them and the cavalry. Eventually, satisfied that the soldiers were too far behind, and likely too injured to give chase, he slowed the lathered horses to an easy trot.
