by Allan Cole
He turned back, face dark with displeasure. “Coralean is not the sort of man who usually advises delay,” he said. “Direct action has always been his motto, as you both well know."
He jabbed a thumb at the window. “However, it's Coralean's considered opinion that this would not be a good time to undertake another expedition to Hanadu. There's too much discontent in our ranks. King Rhodes is no fool and would be certain to sniff out our weakness. Then we'd have another war on our hands."
He grimaced. “With so much disunity, Coralean fears that the outcome of such a war might not achieve the same happy result as before."
"I'm not sure we have anything to lose,” Leiria said. “It's my guess that his spies have already informed his hairy majesty that we're at each other's throats."
"Possibly so,” Coralean replied. “But to hear a thing from a spy is not the same as knowing it in your heart. Spies are notorious tellers of falsehoods. They lie for gold. Or they lie to please their master, telling him what they think he wants to hear.
"Sometimes spies do both. Fattening their purses and getting in their master's good graces at the same time. King Rhodes knows this, so he'll wait until he has absolute proof before he moves against us. And it is Coralean's view that it would be foolish for us to provide him with the proof he seeks. Let him labor for it. And if the gods are kind to us, our problems will resolved by then."
Palimak sighed. He felt like a child. Confronted by forces he didn't understand and certainly wanted no part of.
"If only my father would get well,” he said. “He'd stop this squabbling. He'd know what to do!"
Coralean studied him. Then, “Although Safar has returned to us, it's still up to you, my young friend,” he said. “You must act. We can't wait for your father's recovery. It saddens Coralean deeply to say this, but there's a chance Safar might never recover."
"But he has to!” Palimak moaned. “I can't force people against their wills any longer. I never liked doing it. And I don't want to start again."
Leiria fixed Palimak with a hard look. She said, “This is a rotten time, Palimak Timura, to develop a conscience."
"Our beautiful captain has hit the target in its tender center,” Coralean said. “The troubles we are having now with the Council are nothing compared to the evils we will face very soon."
Palimak raised a questioning eyebrow. “What could be worse than this?"
"As you know, I've just returned from negotiations with our hired fleet,” Coralean said.
"They want more money?” Palimak asked. “That's easy enough. We've plenty of gold and jewels in the treasury."
The caravan master snorted like a bull. “Of course they want more money,” he said. “Mercenaries always want more money. It's in their greedy natures to wring the sponge dry, then press it again in case there's a speck of moisture left. But our new worries aren't on account of money. Coralean has had the distasteful task of dealing with such men many times during his long, illustrious career. Sea pirates, land pirates, they're all the same.
"I reasoned with them. Thumped the heads of a few captains. Slipped their lieutenants a little gold to foster insurrection. And eventually arrived at terms favorable to us."
Leiria eyed him. “So what's the problem?"
"Waterspouts,” Coralean said.
Palimak and Leiria gaped at him. What in the blazes?
Coralean nodded. “Yes, indeed, my friends. Waterspouts,” he continued. “'The biggest damned waterspouts in all creation,’ is how one captain put it. One of them appeared right off the coast of Hanadu. According to the captain, who swears he hadn't had a drink in a week—a lie, of course, but no matter—this particular waterspout was over a mile wide. And powerful! Strong enough to pull the biggest ship under. At least, that's what the captain said."
Coralean plucked a leather-covered flask from his belt and drank deeply of the wine it contained. He handed it to Palimak, who shook his head. Then to Leiria, who nodded absently and drank as deeply as the caravan master.
"I questioned a sampling of common seamen from the other ships,” Coralean said, “and they confirmed the tale. As a point of fact, the spout forced the fleet to put out to sea for more than a week."
Coralean sighed. “Thank the gods Rhodes didn't know that, because there was a time when the blockade we have established along his coast did not exist."
"But now the fleet's back, right?” Palimak said. “So there's nothing to worry about."
"Oh, you couldn't be farther off the mark, young Timura,” Coralean said. “The fleet's back. The blockade once more intact. But I fear—and more importantly those pirates fear—that new manifestations will occur. Sailors are the most superstitious of men, as you well know.
"But it seems they have reason for their nervousness. For similar waterspouts have been reported in the seas between Syrapis and Esmir. There's news that a dozen fishing boats disappeared just off Caspan. Sucked down by a waterspout, I'm told."
"But why should we worry?” Leiria wanted to know. “Waterspouts can't get us on land. And if the sea off Syrapis breaks out in them like plague rash, it doesn't matter if all the ships light out for deep water. We might not be able to land at Hanadu, but neither can Rhodes send a raiding party to our shores. Who needs ships, if Nature Herself forms a blockade?"
But Palimak immediately understood what Coralean was getting at. Ghostly fingers chilled his spine.
"It's not King Rhodes he's worried about, Aunt Leiria,” he said, his voice trembling. “Or, really even the waterspouts.” Then, to Coralean. “Isn't that right?"
Again, the caravan master sighed heavily. “Indeed it is, son of my dearest friend,” he said. “Safar predicted the end of the world long ago. He said the gods were asleep and no longer concerned themselves with human, or demon, affairs. I didn't believe him, at first.
"But look what has happened to Esmir! Despite his valiant efforts to destroy the machine at Caluz—plugging the magical breach between Hadin and Esmir—the poison has continued to spread. The seafarers tell me much of Esmir is now uninhabitable. That people are fleeing to the coast in tremendous numbers."
He pressed his hands against his temples, as if in pain. “It is my fear,” he said, “that this poison will soon spread to Syrapis. And then what will we do? The waterspouts are quite possibly the first sign of such an occurrence."
Just then they heard a rooster crow. Surprised, for it was midday, they turned their eyes to the window. Another cock joined in. Then another. Somewhere a donkey brayed and horses whinnied. Then all the dogs started to bark.
They looked at each other, wondering what was happening. Palimak opened his mouth to speak.
At that moment the earthquake struck!
There was no warning. The floor heaved under them. Coralean was flung against the window and nearly toppled out. Leiria snatched at him, pulling him back.
The floor heaved again. Leiria was hurled backward, still holding on to Coralean. They fell heavily to the ground. The massive stone fortress swayed like a fragile sailboat in a storm.
Palimak found himself lying on the floor, staring up at the ceiling as an enormous crack shot from one side of the room to the other. Stone shattered into sand and rained down on him, but he couldn't rise. It was as if a gigantic weight was holding him down. All he could do was shut his eyes against the falling debris.
He heard screams from the market place. Rock grinding against rock. Glass and clay jars bursting. Large objects hurled to the ground from great heights. Animals bawling in pain and fear.
And then, as suddenly as it had begun, the earthquake ended.
Silence hung like thick velvet drapes. The atmosphere was filled with dust, sparkling in a wide burst of sunlight streaming through the enormous hole in the wall where the window had been.
Then the silence was broken by the sound of movement from across the room. Palimak and the others turned and gaped at the sagging door, which had been half-torn from its hinges.
A w
ild-eyed figure staggered through the doorway. It was Safar.
"It's Hadin!” he cried. “It wants me back!"
And he collapsed to the floor.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
UNDER THE DEMON MOON
Kalasariz floated above the golden-tiled plain, which stretched away from him on all sides for what seemed like an enormous distance.
For the first time in what seemed like eons, the spymaster was without pain. He felt strong and confident—mind as sharp and clear as it had ever been.
He knew that he was still quite small; that the plain was actually a table, with a tiled center. And that the enormous face bent over him was that of a normal-sized human woman. A witch, actually. Who at this moment was mumbling the spell that would break the last link of the magical chains that had imprisoned him for so long.
Beside him, Luka and Fari were whispering to one another. He couldn't hear what they were saying, but he had no doubt that they were conspiring against him. Prince Luka and the Lord Fari disliked one another intensely. But as demons they were united in their hatred of all humans—especially Kalasariz, who had been their rival from the beginning.
The moment the witch cast her spell, they would attack him. If Kalasariz had possessed a face, he would have smiled that thin cold smile that tens of thousands had feared for so many years.
For the spymaster had plans of his own. Plans that included Luka and Fari only in a small, but possibly delicious, sort of way.
It was a pity things had to be as they were, Kalasariz thought. Although he loathed the two demons, it wouldn't have prevented him from working with them as an equal. Unlike Luka, he'd never envied Iraj Protarus his throne. Nor had he ever shared Fari's jealousy of Safar's former title of Grand Wazier to the king.
All his adult life the spymaster had been content to remain in the background. Letting others wear the trappings of power, while he steered the course. The only person who'd ever aroused the green-eyed beast in his bosom had been Safar Timura. And that was because Safar had quite different ideas on how Iraj should rule his kingdom. Nor did Safar's plans include Kalasariz in any role—especially not that of the power behind the throne.
Complicating Kalasariz’ enmity for his rival was the strange hate/love relationship between Safar and Iraj. Before they fell out the two had been boyhood friends. Blood-oath brothers. But so what? What was a blood oath when a grand kingdom was at stake?
As the spymaster thought about these things it suddenly came to him that perhaps the reason he'd failed in his fight against Timura was because of Kalasariz’ own lack of ambition. Maybe he'd been a fool all those years being content to be the power behind the throne.
Perhaps by relying on kings to do his work, instead of acting directly on his own behalf, he'd sown the seeds of his own failure.
The spymaster started getting excited. What a new and interesting way of looking at things!
Above him, the witch shifted position and Kalasariz put these thoughts aside to be examined more fully later. He had to keep his wits about him for what was coming next.
Although the spy master's smallness prevented him from clearly making out what the witch was up to—all things were so enormous that he couldn't see past the immediate details in front of his face—he smelled burning incense and guessed she was moving to the next part of her spell.
Beside him, Luka and Fari stirred restlessly. They were silent now. Conspiracy completed, he suspected. Waiting their moment.
Kalasariz had no idea how he and the others had come to this place. When Iraj had grabbed onto Safar's magical robe-tails, Kalasariz had instinctively followed. Leaping into the trough of his sorcerous wake, carrying Luka and Fari with him.
Then Iraj and Safar had disappeared and Kalasariz had found himself hovering between darkness and light, Fari and Luka mere specks of existence floating nearby. For some reason they were even smaller than he was and quite weak. And so when they heard the witch's voice summoning them, it was Kalasariz who had answered. And it was Kalasariz who had negotiated with the witch.
She would give them substance. A place in this world. In return, they would join her in her struggle against her deadliest enemy—Palimak Timura. The three agreed most enthusiastically. For wherever Palimak was, they'd find Safar. And wherever Safar was, they'd find Iraj—their errant brother of the Spell of Four.
Iraj had broken the spell's link, condemning them to puny existences that the most insignificant insect would not envy. Their only hope was to find Iraj again and bring him under their power.
Fari, who had been a master wizard in his previous existence, had explained that this time the bond could be reformed differently. Since Iraj had violated the Spell of Four, it was no longer necessary to make him the kingly center.
"All we require is his essence,” Fari had said.
"His essence?” Kalasariz had puzzled, not certain what he meant. “How do we accomplish that?"
If Fari had owned lips, he would have smacked them. He answered, “We eat him!"
This answer had inspired the glimmerings of what Kalasariz now believed was turning out to be the greatest plan in his career.
The witch's indistinct mumbling ended. The huge head drew back, long hair stirring like a great forest in a summer storm.
"Make yourselves ready,” she commanded.
She gestured, mountain of a hand slicing downward.
But as it descended, Kalasariz whipped around to confront Luka and Fari. He had time to see them coming forward, then there was a white-hot flash that blinded him. Even so, he didn't hesitate but surged forward.
There was a slight sting, then another, as he engulfed first Luka, then Fari.
Thunder boomed and he felt an enormous weight crushing downward. The weight eased. Became ... normal? He opened his eyes and found himself staring into the glittering eyes of the witch. They were at his level.
The spymaster looked down and saw he was kneeling on the table. The golden-tiled center almost completely covered by one knee.
He was gripped by a delight so fierce it verged on hysteria. For a moment he considered stepping off the table and removing the witch before she became too much of a bother.
Then he thought better of it. From the negotiations, she hadn't seemed the type to leave an opening.
"I can put you back the way you were with a snap of my fingers,” Queen Clayre warned. “So I wouldn't move too quickly, if I were you."
"I wouldn't dream of it,” Kalasariz said with a smile.
The queen grimaced. “Where are the others?” she asked.
Kalasariz covered his lips as he burped politely. He said, “I ate them."
The queen frowned at him a moment, head turning to one side, ear cocked as if she were listening. The frown turned to a smile. Then a laugh.
"Oh, that's very good,” she chortled. “You've consumed your enemies, but they still exist inside you. They're your slaves now. With no will of their own."
"We didn't get along very well,” Kalasariz replied. He hesitated, then decided it was best to be truthful. “Circumstances forced us together. But when you were working your spell I got the rather strong impression that they were planning to end our partnership."
"But you acted first,” Clayre said.
"It seemed the prudent thing to do,” Kalasariz said.
He glanced about the room, noting with mild surprise that everything was in disarray. Chairs were knocked over. Broken glass and clay jars were scattered across the rich carpets, which were also stained by spilled liquids. A shelf of books had been dumped over. And everything was covered with a thick, fine dust.
"What happened here?” he asked.
The queen shrugged. “Nothing to concern yourself about,” she said. “Just an earthquake.” She waved a dismissive hand. “I was anxious to work the spell, so I didn't bother getting a few slaves in to clean the mess up."
Kalasariz thought this was a very interesting admission. Obviously, time was of the essence to the witch. I
t was a good thing to know. If she was facing some self-imposed deadline, then he could drive a harder bargain.
"What exactly is it you want me to do?” he asked.
"Help my son regain the royal mantle he deserves,” she replied.
The spymaster smiled. “You've certainly come to the right person for that,” he said.
* * * *
Palimak sat by his father's bedside all that night. Safar's breathing was labored. Sometimes he would twitch and moan. But mostly he was still, dragging in each breath, then letting it go in a long sigh as if there were a heavy weight on his chest.
Twice he became suddenly rigid, the pulse in his throat visibly throbbing. He'd whisper, “Khysmet!” And then his body would relax and the labored breathing would begin anew.
Outside, even the nightbirds and insects were silent. Everyone and everything had been exhausted by the earthquake. Fortunately, no one had been killed and although many had been injured, those injuries mostly consisted of cuts, scrapes and minor bruises. The damage to the buildings was spotty. Some walls had collapsed in the fortress and several homes had been destroyed.
However, the earthquake had arrived at a lucky time. It had been a fine day and most of the Kyranians had been outside. Now everyone was so weary from cleaning up the debris and treating the injured that they were fast asleep.
Palimak studied his father's sleeping form. The Demon Moon was shining through the window, bloody red light pooling on Safar's chest as if he were horribly wounded.
He thought about his father's sudden appearance in the doorway after the earthquake. His wailing cry that Hadin wanted him back. Instinctively, Palimak knew these were not the mad ravings of a sick man. If someone had asked him what Safar had meant, he couldn't have answered. Not precisely, at any rate. But he strongly sensed that Coralean's report of the waterspouts in the Great Sea and the desolation overcoming Esmir had something to do with it.
As did the earthquake.
For the eighth time that day, he withdrew the Book of Asper his father had entrusted to him when they had parted three years before. He placed the book's spine in one hand and let the pages fall open as they pleased.
