Chased By War

by Michael Wolff

  The dock – or rather the remnants of the dock – was found after a turn of the glass. The wooden path of the harbor disappeared into the mist. Lazarus did not bother to venture further. The planks were loose from days of termites, and against the outline of the mist Lazarus saw a half-dozen ships capsized in the water, each one floating gently as a corpse.

  “Damn,” muttered the Khatari. The harbor had been a naïve wish, after all, but the reality was still cold, still hard. He turned away to return to town when something made him turn back. Nothing had changed. The mist still roiled, the ships still slowly sank into the water, and yet there was something different. Something...something...there. This is a bad idea, came Lazarus’ first thought. Very, very bad. His next thought was: I don’t have any choice. Girding himself for the pain that would follow, Lazarus gave a breath and dived into the harbor’s murky waters.

  It hurt like hell, which was to be expected given that water was anathema to enshou. Lazarus blocked the pain, turned it aside, ignored it. All that mattered was reaching the place that his instincts were guiding him towards. Deeper he went, and deeper, until the ocean was black death surrounding him. And still he swam. His eyes, alight with magical Fire, gave him the path to descend.

  It was a simple cavern. Lazarus swam through its mouth, and, hearing gears snap behind him, saw thick tentacles shooting from the cave’s very pores to bind the water away. Lazarus broke through the water seconds later, gasping and growling at the pain of the acid water. Heaving he pulled himself atop a ledge of rock, and there he stayed for too-short minutes, gasping like a gutted fish. There better be something to this, thought the Khatari. Or else I’m going to be quite pissed.

  When his legs no longer throbbed with red lightning, Lazarus staggered himself to stand and went across the path, forcing his feet to move one step, just one more step. Deeper he went, and the world within the cave seemed separate, distinct from the waters that surrounded it. It grew larger, ledges merging into paths, dotted with pools glowing with eldritch energy. Yes, he thought. He had been right. Now to see if any of this meant proof of what he suspected.

  He turned a corner and gasped despite himself. I’m right.

  A city of light laid a stone’s throw away. Fenced by glowing seaweed, the city was caught within a mammoth dome, crackling with currents that could be nothing else than manna. Huts of pearly essence filled the ground in rows, changing color as the sea-water changed angles. Lazarus sent a small spell, a pebble compared to the quantity of spells that held the city in check, and it came back telling what he’d hoped. Life, though not the exact recipe of mortal man, but something similar, was abundant within that sphere.

  Entering the domain proved to be quite easy. At Lazarus’ advent twin broad, seaweed-made leaves pulled into the thin crevices of the rocks they were rooted to. Lazarus crept into a main hall, eyes sweeping the surroundings. He had half a mind to wield the khatars hidden inside his sleeves, but it would be rude to kill an elemental over such a petty matter as silence. He did not want to be thrown out of court before he laid a boot in it.

  “Milord?” Lazarus whirled to come face-to-face with a naked girl, her green tresses so long it hid her bosom and wound about her legs in a kind of dress. She would be beautiful, were it not for her milk-white skin. A celsius. A Frost elemental. “I have come to see your mistress.”

  “Mistress Esmeralda does not see all though who come on a whim,” said the girl. Her eyes were a disturbing black, and now they shined on the Khatari. “Even those who are as handsome as you.”

  Lazarus barked a laugh, and set forth a flame born from the shiisaa binding a thick cord of his hair resting snake-like on his shoulder. With twists of a finger the Fire fanned out, took shape, molded into the shape he so desired. The girl watched, goggle-eyed, then giggled with delight as the Fire mimicked the shape of her own face. “I think she would want to see me.”

  “I will announce your presence to milady. I cannot guarantee anything further.”

  “A chance is all I ask.” Lazarus watched her go, giving a small smile at the way she turned back and sized him up with those onyx eyes. She was a pretty little thing, but there were always some higher lords with short tempers, their wroth terrible to all and double that to the one engaging business with their servants.

  “Milord?” This time Lazarus did jump. The same girl...only behind him now. Damn elementals and their tricks. It only upheld their image as child-like, when they were anything but. “Mistress Esmeralda will see you. Follow me.”

  She led him down a long path, which was odd, since Lazarus could see the biggest building – assumedly the domicile of the Mistress – on the horizon. Yet no matter how far they walked, the distance between them increased. He asked of it to the nameless girl. She only giggled and said it was a trick of the Frost manna, its motion as wild as ocean currents. Only one who knew the path hidden within the manna could travel without fear of being trapped within the maze. Sure enough, after an eternity of watching the moon-white towers and the shell-flagged roads, of eyeing men and women whose legs were completed immersed in scales and hair set in emerald banners, Lazarus stood at the dome-piercing palace he’d seen in the horizon. The sigils the double-doors he knew naught, but one in all they held some semblance of oceanic elements: the kraken, the rippling waves on wind, the fish-badge of a fisherman, and more. Yes. This was the place. Thanking the girl, Lazarus crossed the threshold.

  This inner courtyard glowed with a myriad of blues and greens, each one different as the light struck them. Here, too, were more denizens of the scaled legs, going about their business until they caught the old Khatari at the corner of vision. Lazarus could feel their eyes on his back. Now he was the interloper. He belonged here as much did a bird under the water. Eventually he came to a mammoth stairwell disappearing into the sea. No doubt it led to the palace’s inner sanctum. If that’s where I need to go. Sighing, he took his first steps upward.

  “You! Halt!” Lazarus glanced upward to see two men in shell-forged armor, wielding halberds of the same material, descending the stairs to the Khatari’s side. “No one is allowed to climb the stairwell without Mistress’ permission.”

  “She is waiting for me,” Lazarus said plainly. Silently he downed a sigh; their exchanged glances were proof enough the next few minutes were not going to be pretty.

  “Waiting for you? Why would the Mistress want to talk to a dirtwalker?”

  “How would a dirtwalker gain entrance to your realm?” Lazarus snapped back. That deflated some of their resolve. “Find another to berate. You are stalling my patience.” Again the exchanged glances, to Lazarus and back again. Without a word they separated, and Lazarus started his long ascent anew.

  Spirits wafted lazily in the air, ghouls that swirled around him to do their bidding. None of them were human; it seemed the village folk at the last post were for show. Lazarus ignored them all.

  Finally, when twilight was just settling in, Lazarus reached the top step. Not a foot away stood Esmeralda’s citadel, a place of ice eternal. The doors were embossed in runes that rounded their frames; standing in the center were twin mermaids, their glittering tails almost hypnotic upon the rocks they lounged upon. Lazarus had not taken the first step when the doors opened, swinging freely on greased hinges. Two servants met him halfway, their heads hunched almost inside their necks. The seaweed green of their hair hung down their faces like a curtain, casting an odd view against their simple linen robes. “My lord,” said two plain tones, matched word for word. “The Mistress will see you now. Please, follow us.”

  With that the twins turned and glided their way down the hall. Their feet were not touching the ground. What other shiisaa did they have? Was it even shiisaa-based, or something engineered?

  A common hall with its common decorations passed the trio by,
none of them giving a second glance, or to the next corridor, and the one after that, and so on. Lazarus was beginning to think he’d be here for the better part of eternity, when finally they entered the castle’s inner sanctum.

  This place was a patchwork job done in pearls and rubies, of emerald and azure. Never was a stone decorated, not a banner set high in the rafters. Strange to see the house of an elemental without ornaments.

  “Why hello there,” came a voice, ringing off the pearly towers. Lazarus waited for the central murals to roll to either side. Shadows sliding away as a form advanced to the balcony, gave form and dimension. Lazarus suppressed a grin, for she was a marvel of a woman’s form. Slender, she was, her waist even more so, with long legs left bare by the girdle’s strips both before and behind. When she leaned upon the banister, her white-foam silks could not contain her generous breasts. Lazarus snorted silently. Women were always dangerous. Especially beautiful women.

  “My Lord Lazarus. How wonderful it is to have your presence in my hall.” She glided down the stairs, her fingers tapered delicately to the banister. Her hair was the dark green of seaweed, glimmering with bits of shell. Her flesh was the myriad blues of the morning ocean, shimmering from one shade to another. Beautiful. Lazarus forced the thought away. It was not a time for ogling.

  “My lady. I have come for your aid.”

  “Of course you have. Who doesn’t among our circles want my aid?” At the bottom of the stairs she flashed a smile of ivory teeth. “Although I must say I wouldn’t have expected an enshou to make the journey here. It must have been torture.”

  “Nothing I haven’t dealt with before.”

  “Indeed. Your exploits are legendary, milord. Those not shrouded by rumor, I should say.” Now a foot was all that separated them. Lazarus stood his ground. Elementals are dangerous, came the reminder. Especially beautiful, elemental women.

  “Milady, I require only one thing.”

  “Only one?” Lazarus felt the seduction flashing from onyx eyes, purring from wicked promise. “I shall strive to provide, milord. You only need to ask.”

  “Your invitation to the Banquet.”

  All pleasantness dropped from her face. “You ask much, milord.”

  “I would not have asked if the situation weren’t dire.”

  “No, you would not.” She met him with hot, hungry eyes. “It is yours. But not without a price.”

  Lazarus laughed. To hell with the rules. He would show her how strong he was. Peeling away her robe, Lazarus gently bore her to the floor, and for a long time the pearl towers rang with the sounds of passion.

  After, Lazarus stirred and smiled as Esmeralda shifted aside him. The Khatari would have gone by now, but Esmeralda would not let him leave. The celsius had not known a man for centuries, and she seemed in a race to make up lost time. She was a savage little bit, this one. Still, there were duties to follow, promises to keep. “Esmeralda,” he whispered, changing into clothes as he spoke. “Esmeralda, it is time.”

  “Stay.” Somehow, she worked into his arms, her head cradled upon his chest. “Stay with me. Our children will be many and strong. You will have anything you desire. Anything.”

  “I cannot. There are many who are risking their lives on my behalf. They count on me. I cannot fail them.”

  Slowly she stepped back from his embrace. “If you stay, I will make you immortal.”

  “You cannot give what is already granted.” Lazarus collected his shiisaa, then turned to the celsius queen. “I have to leave, Esmeralda. I have paid the price.”

  “Very well.” From her coiled green hair Esmeralda produced the Banquet invitation. “The Banquet is serious business, my lord. I would hate to find myself banished because a guest in my stead left chaos in his wake.”

  “You have my word that will not happen.”

  “The great Lazarus and his word. Very well. At the dock, there will be a ship to carry you to the Banquet. Think of it as a farewell gift.”

  “I shall.” The guards led Lazarus through a labyrinthine maze with such quick ruthlessness than the Khatari doubted he could remember the myriad paths with its constant twists and turns. The three were moving so fast for so long that finally the trek was over Lazarus found he had walked a pace ahead of their destination. Seething with frustration the old Khatari marched back to his escorts and gave a growl so deep, so primordial the guards took a step back, fear painted on their faces. Good. It would never do to let one make others think of weakness.

  When they finally reached the harbor, Lazarus glanced at the ship, then glanced again. The ship was made of crystal. Deck, standard, crow’s nest and sails glimmering like diamonds. Lazarus heard the rhythmic thumping that was a slaver beating a tune for the oarsmen to match. He bristled like a wolf in defiance. He naught meant to change a detail in a futile attempt to change history, but still the idea of oarsmen as prisoners sickened him.

  With a grunt Lazarus realized two men were heading straight for him. Distance lessened carved their figures against the frozen twilight. They were amphibian. One was green; the other, blue. The blue-man’s scales glittered in time with his stride, occasionally obscured by the gold-chased black cloak that draped his frame. Of weapons, Lazarus could only see two hilts jutting from the thing’s shoulders, both large and wrapped in silver wire. A distaste came to the Khatari’s mouth. This, he felt, would bring him all too closer to the danger that hunted him like a blood-jawed hound.

  In contrast, the green one was stark, hurried on matchstick legs, and wore nothing but a breechclout. Yes, this one would not pose any danger; he was the lesser of the two. The manacles on wrists and ankles announced that point quite nicely.

  “I am called Reza,” said the blue lizardman. The hood Lazarus did not catch draped the mutant’s face in slivers of shadow. “Who among you is called Lazarus?”

  “I am,” said the Khatari calmly. A great feat, considering the lizardman was a good head taller, if not two.

  “You. Come with us.” Reza turned without seeing if the Khatari was following, while the nameless green lizardman clung to Lazarus’ boots.

  Irritation prickled Lazarus’ skin. It was bad enough, having a man who all but said his disgust of mortal man. To be singled out by such a man was doubly worse.

  “Come, human. Mistress said to take you to the isle; we will take you to the isle.”

  Lazarus took this with a flat face. An enshou would be better suited to help. Better than any celsius could do, anyway. Reza, not seeing the fear he was accustomed to seeing in so many others, whirled and marched onto the deck.

  The green-scaled slave quailed in fright. “I would not anger Master Reza, milord. His wroth is terrible.”

  “Let me worry about his wroth,” replied Lazarus, then paused. “What is your name?”

  “I have the honor of being named Melanie, milord.”

  That stopped the old man cold. “I thought you a male.”

  “Milord is not incorrect.”

  “But you have a female’s name.”

  “Yes milord.”

  The ship shuddered as it breached the ocean surface. Lazarus glanced side-to-side, seeing a row of green at either side. Lazarus sighed. I am not a hero. That did not stop him from ascending the deck, though. Nor did it stop him from facing the whip-armed slaver. “There are fine currents about. We will use them.”

  The slaver did not bother to aim his spit. Lazarus sized the man up: big, burly, with muscles hard and calloused from a lifetime of undersea travel. There was no trucking to this man; he was used to people giving way before him. Lazarus sighed. This was not going to be pleasant. A left hook bent the slaver double; then an uppercut launched the man overboard.

&nbs
p; “What the hell are you doing, human?” roared Reza.

  The boy, Lazarus decided. It was the boy’s influence, changing him like this. “The winds will serve us to the island.”

  “You think you are man enough to mock me? You are weak! You are –”

  Lazarus decided not to waste time on pleasantries. This time his fist smashed Reza’s snout so hard all his teeth came spraying out in gobbets of blood. For a moment, Reza swayed, then tumbled to the poop deck. A knot of lesser lizardmen sprang into view, their scaled lips trading unsure whispers between them. “I suggest –” Lazarus paused to let the Fireball expanding over his flat palm, “– we use the currents to our advantage. After I leave, the ship will be yours.” The lizard-men got busy unfurling the sails. But there were other matters to deal with. “Melanie.”

  “Yes, milord?” Melanie had become very important very quickly; he was the link between man and lizard. “You sure you will find who you’re looking for, milord?”

  “I have no choice.” Every minute away from the boy was a minute closer to his death. It was imperative that the Khatari find him first. And for that, he needed the Banquet. “You must be careful, my friend. Soon as I step on shore your kinsmen will try to kill you.”

  “Me? Forgive me, milord, but I think not. Melanie is somebody now. They wouldn’t dare.” He puffed up like a bullfrog at the last.

  I hope you’re right, my friend. Lazarus thought. I hope you’re right.

  XLIV

  “Poor little orphan boy. Are all of your toys broken?”

  He was a child, and somehow that was wrong. He looked up to see a figure with his face masked by a cloud of fog. There was not a hint of cold, yet his bones shivered as though he’d been dumped naked in the dead of winter. “I’m not an orphan. My...my father...is a great man!” His throat was slick with honey; the words struggled from the lips.