The Far Kingdoms

by Allan Cole

  He did not see any signal, but the woman across from him suddenly plunged a dagger into the back of her companion. The hall went mad, in a screaming welter of blood and slaughter as swords and knives cut down the Orissans. "My blade slashed before the one beside me could free her own. She fell, then the Captain was on his feet, smashing them, using a great candelabra as a club. I knew we were dead men, but it was if the people were entranced by the blood they'd spilled." He shivered. "I saw a woman, fair and blonde, on her knees ripping at General Versred's throat like she was a lioness. And then she... and the rest of them... fed."

  The men and women of the city ravened into the corpses, but seemed to have no interest or concern for those Orissans yet alive. And while this spell or whatever it was lasted, the survivors of the shattered expedition fled, grabbing what weapons and supplies they could, fled out into the storm and the night and the winter. Eerily, they were not pursued by the loathsome people who inhabited the city they called Wahumwa. "Perhaps they had all they needed," Maeen said. I thought just so, and that human flesh was not their real objective, but kept it to myself.

  There were perhaps two or three hundred Orissans who lived through the massacre. The ranking officer was Janos; of the officers, only two lieutenants survived. The long retreat began. Now the scythe swung hourly as men dropped from exhaustion, from thirst, or were captured or slain by the desert tribesmen.

  "At last there were but thirty or so of us, and Janos the only officer. We had no means of navigation but the sun and the stars, and wandered from our intended course. Finally we struck the sea, but west of the Shore People's land, on a deserted coast. Two of the men had grown up on the water, and knew how to build rafts. We lashed together a crude craft, made a small sail from what garments we could do without, and put our fate in the hands of the gods, hoping the current would carry us to Redond."

  They never reached the trading city. Instead, they were captured by a raiding galley. "They claimed to be pirates, but all of them behaved like well-trained sailors. Lycanthian navy, I guessed. Eight more of us fell in that battle. The rest of us were chained in the forepeak of the ship, and the ship sailed for Lycanth.

  "Captain Greycloak and I made a plan, and when we were brought on deck just outside that cursed bay of Lycanth, we put it in motion. The idea was for Janos to start a fight, and hope the others would join in. Since I was a great swimmer as a boy, I was to leap into the water, and strike for land. If the Captain could break free - he would go after me." Maeen sighed, shamefaced, as if somehow he had failed. "But the last I saw was the Captain being born down by guards. Then there were arrows falling all around me, and I had to swim underwater for a space."

  Maeen made his way to shore in time to see the galley pass over the great chain that guarded the entrance to Lycanth's harbor. There was nothing he could do for Janos or the others, except carry the tale to Orissa. He told of this final feat most matter-of-factly, as if the wild creatures and the roving Lycanthian patrols were not worth the notice. I guessed, after such a long and grueling journey, they might not of been.

  Maeen was finished. I poured him another brandy, and bethought myself as to what should be done next. But matters were taken out of my hands within two hours. Someone - a guard at the gates, someone in the streets, perhaps even one of my own household - had spread the word. Orissa wept, and rent its garments. There had been catastrophe in the city before of course. But never before had there been such a disaster. No survivors of the two thousand, except for Maeen. All of them, either dead, lost in the wilderness or made slaves: three Magistrates, young but highly respected; General Versred and his staff; other officers, all known for their bravery; all of the Magistrates' Own Guard except the skeleton headquarters staff and one cohort; and heaping over all of it the hundreds of corpses of common soldiers, some of the bravest, most adventurous young men of Orissa.

  Maeen was summoned before the Magistrates, and told his story. I had suggested certain omissions, such as any criticism of the late General Versred, the deadly slow pace of the expedition, or of Janos himself. Not that it would have mattered, I realized, as I listened to the anger and wails of mourning. Maeen was ordered to repeat his tale at a city gathering at the Great Amphitheater, and again the frenzy roared up. Orissa was hysterical: rumors, charges and accusations clamored across the city like flames in dry brush as to what had really happened. The flames were fed by the Evocators, with Cassini in their forefront. Not only should the expedition have been made solely by sorcerous means, the Evocators casting their presence through spells, but it was foredoomed, being led into a trap by Janos Greycloak.

  He was a traitor, a double agent in the pay of the Archons. He was worse, a fiend from beyond, not even human. Who, after all, had ever gone deep into the interior, beyond Redond, and found this province of Kostroma? It was Janos who was keeping Orissa from its sacred mission to join up with the Far Kingdoms. Janos's supporters would hear none of this, but their arguments that this tragedy was caused by the Evocators, who wished to preempt the glory of the Far Kingdoms for themselves and sustain their miserable theocracy was not listened to. Even Gamelan found it politically expedient to withdraw to his retreat beyond the city, there to immerse himself in the wisdom of the Other Worlds before making a statement on the terrible events.

  Once again the libels against the Antero family surfaced. We, too, were not really true to Orissa, but gave fealty only to gold coins and silver bars. One night a bravo even chanced, within my hearing, that the noble Evocators had sensed corruption within my brother Halab, which was why he died. I drove the man's teeth down his throat with the butt of my dagger and would have butchered him like a hog if Rali had not dragged me away. She, and Maeen, were now the only comfort in my life. But even that brawl was one of the few bright colors I remember. It was if all the world was cast in a gray mist, and that a veil hung between me and life. Deoce and Emilie were more in my thoughts than any of this shrilling and screaming.

  It was about this time that the Dream returned to me, the nightmare of being a tortured prisoner led by a being I now saw as Greif the Lycanthian, through strange caverns to my destruction; a fate part of me welcomed in the dream.

  I caught myself glooming at the river near dawn, watching the dark waters flow out toward the sea, and found myself thinking of how they looked gentle, like a welcoming bed to a tired man. I pulled myself back. My father might have struck me if he had been alive and had known my thoughts. No Antero had ever allowed himself to sink into this kind of self-pity. But I must do something, and do it immediately.

  As soon as the thought hit me, I knew what to do. Orissa would do nothing to save Janos, even if the city suddenly came to its senses. Very well, I would, I hastened home. I woke the household and began issuing orders. I told Rali what I intended, and she frowned. "You might be jumping into waters deeper than you think," she said, and I flinched inadvertently at her comparison. "Perhaps Janos is more precious to Lycanth... or they've so convinced themselves... than we realize."

  "I don't see that," I said. "I have never known a Lycanthian to refuse gold. And I shall instruct Janos, before ransoming, to tell the Lycanthians everything he knows. Let them mount their own expedition if they wish, and face the desert, the slavers and the carrion-eaters. Janos, as proven by his getting lost in the return journey, has but a faulty map in his mind. No other exists, save what I drew, and what I remember."

  Rali shook her head. "You are thinking like a logical man, my brother. That may lead you into trouble. When men concern themselves with the color of their flags, such as both our cities are doing at the moment, and what they see as prestige of race... all rationality vanishes. Add to that the insanity a mere mention of the Far Kingdoms is producing these days..." Her voice trailed off. "Go if you must, Amalric. But I fear for you."

  By dawn the anonymous carriage I had hired was beyond the gates of the city. In it were two chests of pure, soft gold rolls I'd taken from the vaults below our villa. Those would entrance th
e Lycanthians, even their magick-soaked Archons, if necessary. Not quite a king's ransom, but certainly sufficient for a baron or two. The gold was guarded by six of my best retainers. I wished to take Sergeant Maeen, but realized if the sole survivor to the tragedy left the city headed toward Lycanth my enemies would find the obvious explanation and have troops after us within hours.

  * * *

  The journey to Lycanth went uneventfully. I ordered the carriage and my men to remain at the last decent inn, just a day's journey from the city until summoned, and rode to Lycanth alone. I did not notice the weather, or if there were other travelers about. I was busily rehearsing my reasoning and the approach I would use to free Janos. I entered the city without incident, and rode toward the same inn we had stayed in previously. I planned to refresh myself and then begin investigating in what manner one approached the Lycanthian rulers to seek a boon. I never reached the inn.

  It was twilight and the streets were crowded as the Lycanthian workers made their way home, and I had to force my horse through the throng. Quite suddenly I was alone, sitting my horse on a near-deserted street, the last Lycanthian scuttling indoors.

  I heard a baying, had time to remember, and around the corner loped that obscene, hairless hyena with the face of a man; it was the creature that had ordered us to the Castle of the Archons, and then called out that young woman to her death. It sat on its haunches and regarded me. Again, it bayed, and the cry echoed across the stone buildings around me.

  Then it spoke: "Amalric Antero. You are summoned. You must obey."

  I pulled at my horse's reins reflexively, trying to turn my mount away from the caller. But a rank of soldiers doubled across the street behind me, spears leveled. A second line of guards appeared behind the creature.

  "Amalric Antero. You are summoned."

  * * *

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  THE DUNGEON OF THE ARCHONS

  I was brought to that great sea-castle just at the end of the promontory and escorted through long, echoing dank corridors, guarded and locked portals and high-ceilinged chambers. It seemed as if the only beings in this great castle were guards, myself, and that noxious creature that trotted just ahead of me. We reached an entranceway blocked only by a heavy, dark green curtain. The soldiers, without ever a command, wheeled and marched away... leaving only the Finder as my guard.

  "Amalric Antero. You are summoned," and it went through the curtain. I followed, numb, into yet another bare chamber. Everything in this room was entirely of stone: from the groin-vaulted ceiling, to the stanchions that held flaring torches; to the low riser at the far end of the room. There were two circular pedestals on either side of the riser. The creature positioned itself in front of that stage. I heard, or rather felt, a humming - as if the air itself was moving. The humming grew louder, and then I saw a shimmer atop each pedestal, a shimmer taller than the height of a tall man. The Finder abased itself. I did not.

  I suppose I should have knelt. I had and have since knelt in front of many strange gods, kings and even bandits who have given themselves lordly titles. It matters little, and frequently adds to future profit or immediate survivability. It sometimes is just a matter of common courtesy. But here, in the bowels of the Archons', I kept my feet. Perhaps I felt pride as an Antero, or, as an Orissan. But I would not kneel to these swirling mists. The humming grew louder still, then changed pitch and grew into an angry bass drone, such as might come from a nest of monstrous wasps; but nothing else happened, and then the drone stopped

  As the silence lingered, a man came out of the darkness behind the pedestals. He was quite beautiful, a term I do not generally use for males; but this man - from his softly-curled blonde hair, to his boyishly-smiling full lips, to his slender body was beautiful.

  "Lord Amalric. I had hoped our... acquisition of your minion might make you decide to come to Lycanth. I am Nisou Symeon." This then was the man, hardly more than a boy, both my father and Greif had said was the most evil of the Symeons - the clan the Anteros had warred against for three generations. Even though I was in desperate straits, I noted his face, and realized once more that only a fool judges good or evil by its beauty or ill-favor.

  I sorted through my various responses, discarding the obvious ones of fear, surprise, disdain or even bravura posturing. "Lord Symeon," I finally said. "So you have convinced your rulers that you can seize an Orissan nobleman without heed of any consequences."

  "My Lords, the Archons, needed no convincement," Symeon said. "In case you have been buried in your dreams of the past like most Orissans, you may not have noticed there is a new spirit abroad in Lycanth. It is time for us to reaffirm our historic duty and seek our proper place in the sun." I remembered Cassini's harsh verdict outside Lycanth, when he said that we should have obliterated the city and its populace, for fear they would rise once more. Even such a one as Cassini may sometimes glimpse beyond the veil.

  "Further," Symeon continued, "even if we were concerned as to any reprisal from Orissa, I doubt if it would be mounted over mischief done to an Antero. Your homeland hardly sings your praises these days." I maintained a stony countenance, and made no reply; but, he certainly was correct.

  "What we require from you," Symeon continued, "is a full and complete description of your route to the Far Kingdoms. It is axiomatic that Lycanth is the only logical power to seek an alliance with the kingdoms - especially considering the catastrophe Orissa, abetted by your underling, managed to produce from the most recent attempt to reach the Kingdoms."

  "You are quite mistaken if you think Captain Greycloak is in any way my `underling' or `compatriot.'"

  "Oh? I suppose you have merely come to Lycanth to save him out of pure altruism? And, if he is not your underling, then what?" He curled his lip. "Lover?"

  I blinked, not having been aware that Lycanthian attitudes were as backward as their buildings. It was no trouble to ignore what he evidently considered an insult. I managed a cynical grin. "Very well. What blandishments are you prepared to offer for my cooperation?"

  "I could be quite foolish," he replied, "and promise you gold, or a high position here in Lycanth. Of course you cannot be permitted to return to Orissa until there is an... adjustment between our two cities. But I shall offer you neither, not being a dunce nor thinking you one either. There can be but one prize for you... all others are valueless beside it. Actually, I need promise nothing, and my Lords the Archons would think me less than their full-hearted servant if I did. We wish to possess the knowledge you and Captain Greycloak share of the routes toward the Far Kingdoms, from coastal tides to edible fruits to annoying insects to the natives to any and all sorceries you encountered. We are prepared to use all the talents and skills of Lycanth in encouraging you to enlighten us, and have no qualms as to how or when these skills will be utilized to convince you. We also are in no particular hurry, since both my Lords and myself are aware of the... problems that can be created from an overeager questioning."

  "Such as death?"

  "That," Symeon said calmly, "or madness; or even, if the inquisitor is insufficiently skeptical, convincement of a deliberate or accidental lie. This, then, is our purpose and intent. Do you wish to comment, or perhaps make a statement of brave rejection we all may savor?" I shook my head. Symeon nodded. "Then that will be all... for the moment. All of us will know quite soon when you and Greycloak desire to speak to us once more - desire to speak with all your hearts and souls. So, if you will follow My Lords' Messenger to your quarters..." Without waiting for a response, Symeon wheeled and vanished into the shadows. At the same instant, the shimmers were gone, and the torches flared, then guttered.

  Having no options, I followed the Finder back down the echoing stone corridors. I expected to be taken to a dungeon. Instead, the creature led me to stairs - stairs that wound up and up, and then through more corridors until I guessed we were approaching the top story of the huge castle. At last the beast stopped in front of a huge U-shaped door. The beast's mouth opened: it wh
ined and I was suddenly deaf. It took me a moment to realize the spell the creature was casting had a secondary element, making it impossible for the listener to distinguish the words. Hearing returned as the door swung open. In front of me stretched the hallway of a palatial apartment. Paintings were on the walls, and the ceilings were hung in silk. I hesitated outside.

  "Enter if you are of this world, be damned if you are not," came a cry from within. It was Janos's voice. I obeyed, and the door swung shut behind me. I tried its handle, which turned uselessly in my hand, and knew the Finder had recast the locking spell. I walked down the corridor, toward the room where Janos' voice had come from. On either side were large, high-ceilinged rooms, some fitted with beds, some with couches, some intended for dining or other entertainment. If it were not for the preponderance of that dark stone the Lycanthians are so partial to, and the subject matter of the paintings, tapestries and sculptures which ran heavily to the morbid, it was an apartment I would not have been ashamed to put up my most-loved friend or most-respected guest and his retinue.

  Another surprise waited me when I entered the main chamber: Janos reclined on a richly-upholstered couch. He was surrounded by books, scrolls and tablets. In front of him was an easel, with a large paper on it that was filled with his scribblings and sketches - all obviously of a sorcerous intent. Behind him were half a dozen large, open windows, and through them I could see the lights of Lycanth and its harbor spread below us. Janos was dressed like a nobleman at his leisure, in lounging robe and silk blouse and tights. He was hardly the picture of a prisoner who had undergone torture, both physical and sorcerous. Then I noticed his face, tight, drawn, as exhausted as it had been when we reached the end of our Finding and returned to the Pepper Coast.