by Allan Cole
Jooli laughed. “Similar to my grandmother,” she said, “but not quite the same. I think she caught the greed disease while still in her mother's womb."
Leiria shuddered. “It almost makes me feel sorry for her,” she said.
Jooli looked up at her. “Don't,” she said. “That's another thing she's good at. Making people feel sorry for her so she can gain the upper hand."
Then she returned to her work, choosing certain little packets and vials and putting them aside.
"Anyway, I was talking about the complexity of magic,” she said. “What my grandmother taught was that witchcraft was really quite simple and logical. Almost childishly so. In fact, sometimes it helps to think like a child and not let adult narrow-mindedness infect you."
She got out a small cup and started measuring various powders and liquids into it. “The first thing I learned was to truly imagine a thing. Which isn't that difficult for a young girl. It was easy to imagine a favorite doll in every detail. Or a sweet I particularly liked.
"And it was also easy to imagine things I dreamed of being able to do. Like winning the affections of a handsome boy. Or beating a bully in a wrestling match."
Leiria laughed. “I should have been born a witch,” she said. “Bullies are easy. I've whacked more than my share. But I've yet to unravel the mysteries of the male race!"
"It wouldn't have helped,” Jooli said, sharing her laughter. “When it comes to men, witches are no better at it than normal women."
Briefly forgetting her worries, Leiria asked. “What was the next thing you learned?"
"The Law of Cause And Effect,” Jooli replied as she began mixing the foul-smelling brew in her witch's cup. “Which means, quite simply, every effect has a cause and every cause has an effect. Fire makes heat. So if the effect you want is fire, you only have magically to cause heat."
She indicated the cup. “If I added a drop or two of a certain elixir I have,” she said, “we'd get an enormous bonfire.” She wiped sweat from her brow. “Although in this awful humidity I don't know why we'd want to."
Gingerly, Jooli poured the mixture into a small clay vial, then plugged it with a little cork stopper.
"And that elixir I mentioned,” she said, “leads to the next law of magic. Which is: Like Produces Like. The elixir is made from the root of a plant whose flowers are fiery red and look quite like flame. Also, the root itself is quite hot to the taste.
"Long ago some clever witch figured out that if it looked like fire and behaved like fire it might be the perfect thing to cause the effect of fire."
"It sounds easy,” Leiria said. “Although there must be more to it than that. Otherwise anybody could be a witch."
"The theory is simple,” Jooli said. “But the practice requires a special gift you are either born with or not. Also, only a few witches have really good imaginations. Which is the most important secret of magic.
"You have to be able to imagine a thing in perfect detail—break it down into all its parts and put it back together again—before you can achieve your goal."
"What about prayer?” Leiria asked. “Most people believe that if you pray to the gods and they favor you, miracles can be performed."
"Most people are also deluded fools, my friend,” Jooli said. “Because if you are depending on prayer for rescue, you might as well call in the dogs to urinate on the fire for all the good it'll do you."
Leiria nodded. “Safar's of the same opinion,” she said. “Except he thinks the gods are asleep and not paying attention. And even if they were awake, he doubts if they'd care."
Leiria's worries flooded back with the mention of Safar's name. “What about this witch?” she asked, pointing at the dead butterflies. “How good do you think she is?"
"Actually, I think we're dealing with a male witch,” Jooli said. “I'm only guessing, of course. But my guesses are usually accurate.
"As for his powers, I can't say. His spell was clever enough. He trapped Safar and probably Palimak too with it. On the other hand, this jungle is his home. And even a very weak witch—or wizard—is hard to beat in his own home."
Leiria slapped her sheathed sword. “Then it is my wish and fondest imagination,” she said, “that when we encounter this fellow it will be blades, not magic, that'll win the day. And I'm not boasting when I say I've met only one swordsman in my life who could best me.
"Except that was long ago and I've had a great deal of practice killing people since then. So I don't think it'd come out quite the same way."
Jooli's eyebrows arched. “Iraj Protarus again?” she guessed.
Leiria nodded sharply. “The very same,” she replied.
"I'd like to see that fight,” Jooli said.
Leiria smiled, but without humor. “Consider yourself invited,” she said.
Jooli rose, saying, “Enough girl talk. Let's find out what sort of stuff this witch is made of."
She went to the piled-up butterflies and placed the clay vial in the center. Next she got Leiria to help her surround the colorful mass with dry sticks, carefully placing them in the shape of a pentagram.
Then she stood and dusted herself off. “If this works,” she said, “we'll only have a few seconds to act."
"I'll get the men ready,” Leiria said.
Jooli shook her head. “The original spells trapped two people,” she said. “We'll have to strike the same balance. So I'm afraid it's down to just you and me against whatever is waiting."
"That sounds like damn good odds to me,” Leiria joked.
She called for the soldiers and filled them in on their plan. They were all disappointed at being left out of the fight. But Leiria cajoled them, stroking their egos, and told them how vital it was for them to remain here and stand guard.
"Ah, then we're expectin’ more action, right?” Sergeant Hamyr said, pleased.
Leiria clapped him on the back. “Count on it,” she said.
Then she joined Jooli at the pentagram.
"Ready?” Jooli asked, drawing her sword.
Leiria nodded and drew her own. “Ready,” she replied.
And so Jooli cast the spell.
A sheet of flame shot up, momentarily blinding them. Then the flame shattered in a soundless explosion. Bursting into thousands upon thousands of fiery bits of color. It was like all the rainbows in the world had been gathered together, then smashed apart with a giant's hammer.
Slowly an enormous face formed within the hot shower of color.
It was the face of a lion. His huge cat's eyes glared at them. And then he roared.
Leiria and Jooli shouted their war cries and charged!
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
SLAY GROUND
Safar stood frozen in the center of the arena as his own son rushed toward him—a spear aimed directly at his heart.
The arena thundered with the shouts of a savage audience urging Palimak to “Kill, kill, kill! Kill Safar Timura!” Underscoring the wild, blood-demanding chorus was the marrow-freezing roar of a mighty lion.
Caught on the horns of a nightmare dilemma, Safar was helpless to act.
The cold, outraged wizard side of him commanded self protection at any cost. Automatically digging for the ultimate, death-dealing spell to cut Palimak down in his tracks.
But in the place where all love dwells another part of him demanded the ultimate parental sacrifice—to die so that his son might live.
And then, from the narrow gulf between death and survival, came yet a third, most desperate voice: Kill him, brother! cried the voice. Kill him or all we worked for together is lost!
Safar had the sudden vision of a world strangling in its own poisons. Of corpses heaped to the heavens. Of seas turned into barren deserts littered with bleached white bones. Of howling devils fighting to suck out the last bit of marrow from life itself.
And with that vision came the nearly overpowering urge to slay his son. Ghostly commands shot through his body making his nerves and muscles twitch in reflex.
<
br /> The killing spell flooded into his mind unbidden—numbing his will to resist.
Palimak was almost on him. So close Safar could hear Gundara crying, “Stop, Little Master, stop!"
But the boy ran onward, eyes burning with murderous hate.
The heavy spear blade was only inches from Safar's heart. At the same time his killing spell coiled like a hissing cobra, ready to launch.
He had no doubt which would strike first. In less time than it took for a heart to beat, Palimak would be lying dead at his feet. And Safar would be standing over him, the bitter victor.
A man whose soul would carry the blackest mark of all: the sin of a father who had slain his own son.
But as Asper once wrote: Between thought and action lies a shadow. And in that shadow dwells the true power of choice. Of free will. The only real blessing the gods of creation bestowed on humans and demons alike. A gift to leaven the curse of this too-brief life.
So, at the last possible instant, Safar snatched up this power and used it as a bludgeon to slay the spell-cobra before it could kill his son.
And as he braced for the thrust of the spear blade, he whispered, “I love you, Palimak."
Then a hot, searing shock smashed into his body.
A thousand painful colors exploded in his brain.
He had a brief sensation of falling and then he collided with the ground.
Soft, leafy ground.
The moist smell of humus and rotting things.
Familiar voices murmuring in his ear.
Safar raised his head, bewildered that he was still alive. And he saw that he was back on the jungle trail. Sergeant Hamyr and the other Kyranian soldiers standing above him.
And a few away was the unconscious body of Palimak, the spear still gripped in his hand.
* * * *
Leiria saw the red dirt crashing up at her. She twisted in mid-air and tuck rolled to her feet, sword slashing at a blurred claw reaching for her throat.
She felt the sword strike hard iron, then slip and bite into soft flesh. She heard a lion's soul-satisfying roar of pain and danced to the side as another iron claw lashed out at her.
But then her heel slammed against a ridge in the ground and she toppled backward, twisting to keep her sword arm free and falling heavily on her side.
The iron claw rang as Leiria parried the next blow. But her fall had left her in an awkward, indefensible position. She caught a glimpse of her opponent as he rushed in, roaring in delight at his advantage.
From the shoulders down he was human—a near-giant clothed only in a loin cloth, which bulged as if he were equipped like a bull. His bare torso rippled with slabbed muscle. His arms and legs were thick as trees. Heavy iron claws were gripped in each mighty fist, one of which streamed blood from her initial blow.
From the neck up he was a lion. His huge cat's eyes glowed with fury. His powerful, spine-snapping jaws were spiked with whiskers like steel cables. All framed by a bristling yellow mane that fanned out like mighty wings.
As the claw came down she rolled to the side just in time and the hooks buried themselves in earth instead of in her flesh. But her back was exposed and she kept rolling, desperately trying to get out of the lionman's long reach.
Then Leiria heard Jooli's shrill war cry pierce the air, followed by the lionman's howl of surprise, and she exploded to her feet—back still exposed but turning, shifting her sword to her left hand so that she could draw her long-bladed knife.
In fighting position once more, Leiria saw Jooli fling herself to the side to avoid the lionman's charge. Blood ran down his bare back, gory evidence of Jooli's lunge to rescue Leiria.
Shouting her war cry, Leiria raced to join her friend and soon they had the lionman pinned between them.
Big as he was, fiercely strong as he was, he was no match for the two warrior women. Only his long reach and ferocity kept them from closing in for the kill.
Gradually, they wore him down. First Leiria would lunge, forcing the lion man to face her. But then she would backpedal as he charged, fending off his blows.
At the same time Jooli would dash in and attack his exposed back. And the positions would be reversed, with Jooli backpedaling as Leiria sprinted into striking distance.
The battle raged for an hour before a strangely silent crowd of savages. They only gaped as their king streamed blood from a dozen wounds, his roars growing weaker with each timed attack.
Then the lionman stumbled and went to his knees. At that moment, Leiria thought she had him. She lunged at the lionman, blade aimed like a spear at his exposed neck.
But it was only a feint and he suddenly exploded upward. She still would have had him, would have buried her sword in his chest, but the lionman had escape—not continued battle—in mind.
He dodged to the side, then bounded away, racing for the big double gates at the far side of the arena.
Leiria and Jooli went after him. Although he was amazingly fast for his size, they were faster and were soon closing on him.
As he neared the gate the lionman roared an order. Leiria saw the gates swing open and thought he was going to try to escape outside.
Instead, she heard bellows of rage and she dug her heels in to stop her headlong charge, shouting a warning to Jooli at the same time.
Both women halted, moving together for protection. Jooli had time to say, “What in the hells?!” and then six strange figures burst through the open gates to join their king.
They were nearly as tall as he, but with broader shoulders and wider backs. From the neck down they were men. But above they sported the mighty horned heads of fighting bulls. They were all armed with huge spiked clubs as thick as a ship's main mast.
The bullmen fanned out around their king. Then, with him in the center, they advanced—their bellows echoing across the arena.
Suddenly, the crowd came to life. They cheered wildly, then took up the chant:
"Kill them! Kill, kill, kill!"
Jooli said, “Looks like we're in for a long fight, sister."
Leiria smiled, then said, “On my signal, we go for the king, agreed?"
"Agreed!"
And so Leiria gave the signal and they charged.
* * * *
Safar forced a brandy-laced potion through Palimak's lips and he came awake, choking and sputtering. When his son had caught his breath, Safar gave him the flask and he took a long swallow.
Palimak closed his eyes and shuddered as the restorative did its work. When he opened them again relief flooded Safar's veins as he saw sanity had returned.
The young man was pale and shaken from his ordeal. Then, with a start, reality took hold.
He embraced his father, saying, “Thank the gods you found me!"
Moved by the sight of father and son reunited, the soldiers scraped the ground with their boots. Sergeant Hamyr wiped away a tear with a battle-hardened hand.
Then Palimak drew back. “I had a terrible dream, father,” the young man said. “I was in this arena. And a man with a lion's head gave me a spear. And you were on the other side of the arena and the lionman—"
"It wasn't a dream, son,” Safar broke in. “But never mind that. We have things to do. And they have to be done in a hurry."
Palimak was horrified. “Do you mean it was real?” he asked, voice quivering. “Did I really try to—"
Once again, Safar interrupted. “Please, son,” he said. “It wasn't your fault. And we can discuss the whole thing later and I'll prove to you that it wasn't. Just take my word for it right now. All right?"
Palimak nodded weakly. “All right,” he said.
"We have to get back to that arena immediately,” Safar said. “Leiria and Jooli are in grave danger. Do you understand what I'm telling you?"
Again, Palimak nodded. “I understand,” he said.
Safar helped him to his feet. He motioned to Hamyr who stepped in to belt a sword about Palimak's waist. Then he gave him a tunic and a spare pair of boots which the young
man hastily pulled on.
"Are you hungry?” Safar asked when he was dressed.
Palimak shook his head. “I couldn't eat,” he said. “I'd get sick to my stomach.” He motioned at the flask, grinning weakly. “But maybe some more of that."
Safar gave the brandy to him and he drank it down. When he was done he drew in a deep breath, then squared his shoulders.
"I'm fine now,” he said.
Safar turned to the soldiers. “Leave your packs here,” he said. “Just take your weapons. And the moment we get there, don't stop to think. Or look around and wonder where in the hells you are. Just fight, all right?"
The men all said they understood.
However, Sergeant Hamyr made bold to ask, “Pardon, Lord Timura, but can you tell us exactly who we'll be fightin'?"
Safar chuckled. “The enemy,” he said.
Hamyr nodded, smiling. “Ah, the enemy. That's good to know. Thanks, me lord."
"You're welcome, sergeant,” Safar said.
Then he led them down the path to a large black patch that had been burned into the ground by Jooli's spell.
It hadn't taken him more than a few minutes to figure what she'd done and he was quite impressed with her feat. Her action had not only saved him and Palimak, but had also pointed the way for Safar to work some magic of his own.
The spell she'd cast had also weakened the witch's portal so much that he'd be able to return to the arena with Palimak and the entire squad of soldiers. Plus Leiria and Jooli would be able to remain with them, adding two excellent swords to the fight.
Especially Leiria's blade, he thought fondly. She's worth half an army all by herself.
Meanwhile, Palimak was studying Jooli's magical spoor. Gundaree and Gundara also whispered interesting hints in his ear.
After a moment he turned to Safar, saying, “I see how the spell goes together, father. Let me help you."
Safar clapped him on the back. “Sure you can, son. The more we can put behind this, the better,” he said.
