by Allan Cole
Once again Kalasariz had to surge forth to keep Rhodes from losing his temper.
Finally, after an intense internal debate with the spymaster, the king said to Clayre, “Very well, mother. I'll get you your lad. He'll be here within the hour."
As he turned to go, Clayre said, “Oh, by the by. I mentioned that I needed this boy on loan?"
"What of it?"
"I misspoke,” Clayre replied with a shrug. “When I'm done with this fellow I fear they'll be nothing left to return."
"Whatever you say, mother,” Rhodes growled.
As he exited, he made sure to slam the door.
"Such a temper,” Clayre said to herself. “Just like his father."
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
BATTLE FOR THE NEPENTHE
Queen Clayre should have had more faith in her son. Although he was no mighty wizard like Safar, he was a skilled general and a cunning adversary.
He hadn't wasted a moment of those many weeks at sea pursuing Safar and Palimak. His men were trained to the highest degree of readiness. And, after consulting with Kalasariz about Esmirian weapons and tactics, he'd come up with several tricks to stack the odds even more in his favor.
And so, as the pearly dawn crept up over the horizon, he approached his task eagerly and with supreme confidence. His first goal was to trap the Nepenthe against the coral reefs that lined the Aroborus shore.
With his ship, the Kray, in the center he spread his little fleet out windward of the Kyranian vessel to cut off any possibility of escape. Then, working in the half-light, he crammed every launch he possessed with soldiers.
Using muffled oars, the launches moved out ahead of Rhodes’ ships, trying to get within easy striking distance before they were discovered.
Although Rhodes wasn't too worried about that possibility. At Kalasariz’ urging, he'd asked Clayre to cast a spell that would fuddle the Kyranians’ minds until it was too late. From all appearances her spell seemed to be working, for as the longboats approached there wasn't the slightest sign of life aboard the Nepenthe.
To the king's immense delight, the Kyranian airship was nowhere in sight. Clayre had warned him that her spell could only creep along the water and blanket the Nepenthe and thus would have no effect at all on the sky warriors.
Although Rhodes was fairly certain the airship would show up once the battle commenced, his hope was that his main task would be completed before he had to engage the flying vessel. But even if this hope proved false he was well prepared for the airship's arrival.
Within the king, Kalasariz wallowed in the juices of Rhodes’ pleasure. In his mind's eye he saw Safar Timura led before him in chains. He imagined the elaborate torments he'd apply to Safar's body and soul. Whips and racks and bone crackers for the flesh. The sight of Safar's loved ones—the bitch woman, Leiria; the demon boy, Palimak; his mother and father and sisters—all tortured and humiliated most gruesomely, then murdered before Timura's eyes.
Kalasariz’ emotions were so intense that his joy boiled over, flooding Rhodes’ veins. Feeling his own senses sharpened by the pleasurable turmoil within, Rhodes couldn't help but laugh aloud. Fortunately, Tabusir and his other aides weren't close enough to hear, but only noticed their king's broad smile. He's in a good mood, they all thought, their own morale lifting along with Rhodes’ own spirits.
The king whispered, “Are you thinking what I'm thinking, my friend?"
And Kalasariz lied: That soon we'll be rid of your mother, my lord, and then nothing can stand in our way.
"Exactly,” the king said. “But I was also imagining some particular tortures we might apply before we kill her. She's such an awful woman. You have no idea what it's been like to be in her thrall all these years. It's kept me from being the true king I deserve to be."
Shifting focus, Kalasariz said, There's not much I don't know about imposing agony on miscreants, Majesty. When the time comes, perhaps you'd be interested in my views on that most absorbing subject.
"Oh, I would, I would,” Rhodes replied, his imagination running wild about all the things he could do to repay his mother for her hateful treatment of him.
Then he saw the first of the longboats drawing near the Kyranian ship and pulled himself back from the contemplation of such delights. If he wanted to achieve his dreams, discipline was now required.
"Friend of mine,” he said, “it's time to concentrate out energies. For I do believe I already hear the sweet song of victory."
Kalasariz said, You are king and I am your glad servant. Give the signal, Lord, and let us engage the enemy together!
And so Rhodes motioned to his officers. Who passed the word down. A signalman hoisted yellow flags and the heavy-weapons crews on all three ships went into action.
With a clatter and a rumble big catapults were run out on their wooden wheels. There were ten such weapons per ship—thirty in all, with skilled crews to man each one. Once run out and anchored into place, there was the groan of twisted sinew cords as they were wound down against their counterweights. Followed by the muffled thud of catapult arms settling against thick leather pads.
The next stage, loading the catapults, was tricky. A special fiery material, based on a formula Kalasariz had passed on and which Rhodes thought of as Esmirian Fire, was kept in furnaces placed next to each weapon.
Once the material was loaded into the catapult's scoop it was necessary to fling it at the intended target as quickly as possible, or the weapon itself might catch fire.
Although Rhodes had personally drilled each crew, still there had been several accidents—something he wanted to avoid repeating at all costs once the battle commenced. And so he'd worked out a simple system of signals so that all the catapults could be loaded and fired simultaneously on his command.
When all the crews reported that their weapons were ready and only needed arming, Rhodes took his time before issuing the order. Once again he surveyed the scene. All the longboats were in position—about a hundred yards off the Nepenthe, which was still unaware of the danger. There they would wait until the bombardment was over, then they'd rush forward to board the ship and seize it.
The king looked left, then right, noting that his ships were in proper order.
"Very good,” he said.
And he gave the order to load and fire.
Immediately thirty furnaces roared into life as their doors were slammed open and the hot material inside hungrily sucked up the salty air. Then came the grind of shovels against coals as the loaders dug their wide-bladed instruments into the green-glowing mass of Esmirian fire.
Followed by a long steady hiss from each catapult as the loaders heaped the sparking emerald flames onto the wet leather pads lining each catapult's scoop.
The moment the fiery mass touched the scoops, the crew captains triggered their weapons and the huge catapult arms slammed forward.
And thirty fiery green balls arced toward the sleeping Nepenthe.
* * * *
Aboard the Kyranian ship Renor was caught in the throes of a nightmare. In his spell-induced sleep he dreamed he'd stumbled into a quagmire and no matter how hard he struggled, it was drawing him down, down, down.
What made the nightmare worse was that at the same time he sensed danger creeping up on him from the outside world. But, as with like the imagined quagmire, the more he fought to come awake the more the spell entangled him.
Nearby, Sinch and the other young Kyranian soldiers were experiencing similar nightmares. Some of them had been on watch when Clayre cast her spell and now they were slumped unconscious on the deck, twisting and groaning in fear. While their comrades who had already been asleep found themselves mired even deeper in their nightmares.
All around the ship the officers and crew were also struggling against Clayre's magic. The least influenced was Captain Brutar, who'd gone to bed so drunk that the fumes from his heavy load of liquor seemed to lessen the spell's effects.
Instead of a nightmare the pirate captain was enjoying
a dream in which Safar and the other Kyranians had been overpowered by his crew and looted of their valuables. Now he was tossing them into the sea. Pausing after each one plunged into the shark-infested waters to enjoy the humor of their frantic struggles.
He was fantasizing about holding Leiria and Jooli back for his further enjoyment when the first fireball struck the ship and exploded.
The impact hurled him out of his bunk onto his hands and knees. He remained there for a moment, fighting the alcoholic fog to regain his wits. Then another fireball hit, although this one failed to explode.
Cursing, Brutar struggled to his feet. It was then that he smelled what every sailor the world over fears the most—smoke!
He raced for his cabin door and hurled it open, practically ripping it from its hinges as he shouted, “Fire! Fire! Fire!"
When he stumbled up on the bridge it took him a long, bleary-eyed moment before he realized that no one was rushing to answer his call. To his amazement he saw one sailor curled up at the base of the ship's wheel, sound asleep. Not far away was the officer of the watch, also asleep.
Brutar lumbered around, seeing several other sailors scattered about the main deck, all sleeping fitfully. Then he saw smoke and fire raging near the center mast, green flames licking up the thick spar toward the sails.
He was too stunned to be angry. Never in his life had he seen such a sight. Slovenly pirates that his men were, no one had ever fallen asleep on watch and lived to tell the tale. To his further amazement he spotted several of the young Kyranian soldiers slumped on the deck, also unconscious.
What in the hells was going on?
Then Brutar heard a loud whoosh! from above and he looked up to see a large green fireball arc over his head to plunge, hissing and steaming, into the sea.
It was then that he became aware of the line of longboats moving toward the Nepenthe, all filled with heavily armed soldiers. In the distance he saw three familiar ships drawn up, and firing on the Nepenthe with huge catapults.
The ships, he immediately realized, were from the fleet he'd left back in Syrapis many weeks before he'd begun this ill-fated voyage.
Brutar did what any right-thinking pirate captain would do under the circumstances.
He ripped the white shirt from his back and ran to the rail, waving it frantically at the approaching soldiers.
"Ahoy, the longboats!” he shouted. “We surrender, gods dammit! We surrender!"
* * * *
In what had to be the twentieth time in less than half an hour, Biner shaded his eyes with a broad palm and peered out over the waving green sea of treetops that was the Aroborus jungle.
And the same three questions chewed at his mind like a dog nipping uselessly at fleas. Where in the hells was Safar? Had he found Palimak? And, finally, when would they signal him to pick them up?
He kept telling himself that the constant worrying only made the hours drag on like a closely-watched sand clock, where time was measured by each slow-falling grain.
Safar hadn't really been gone that long, after all. He'd only spent yesterday afternoon and the night in the jungle. It was unlikely that he'd have searched for Palimak in the darkness. Instead he would have made camp until morning. And, now that dawn had broken, Safar, Leiria and the others were probably only just now grabbing a quick bite before resuming the search.
Logical as this line of thinking was, it did nothing to dispel the sense of dread that had been with Biner all through the night. It was one those feelings he'd learned to trust long ago. As the circus ringmaster it was up to him to make certain that all the equipment was as safe as possible. And that all of his people were healthy and concentrating on their performances.
A loose wire could send an acrobat like Arlain plunging to her death. Something as small as a toothache could break someone's focus during a particularly dangerous feat, with disastrous results.
Superb performers like Kairo tended to hide their ailments—the show must go on, and all that—and it was up to Biner to spot their weaknesses and then convince them to drop the most dangerous portions of their acts.
And then there was the audience—Biner's most important responsibility. Improperly tended fires could set the tent ablaze. Poorly constructed viewing stands could collapse. Children had a tendency to get lost in the marvelous confusion of the circus and then turn up in the most perilous situations.
As Methydia always used to say, if there were a weight hanging from a frayed rope or an untended hole in the ground, a child was certain to wander into the danger zone.
Also, there were always the rowdies, petty criminals and sometimes even cut-throats who preyed on Biner's guests. Which in his mind was the definition of an audience: honored guests to be protected and welcomed into his home, Methydia's Flying Circus.
And so Biner had spent a fretful night worrying about that vague feeling of unease he'd always heeded in the past. He'd driven everyone crazy, snooping about the airship, seeing that everything was just so. Several times he'd roused the crew to repair things that could have waited until morning.
But mostly he'd paced the deck, peering endlessly into the night, searching for some sign of Safar. Chilled by the knowledge that his sense of dread had never failed him before. Wondering fitfully what would go wrong.
As always, when the answer finally came it was from an unexpected direction.
Arlain's voice rang clear in the early-morning air. “Biner! Over here!"
He whirled about and he saw her standing in the aft section of the airship. She was waving furiously at him, smoke hissing from between her teeth—a sure sign of agitation in the dragon woman.
Quickly, Biner tied off the ship's wheel, then raced down the gangway and across the deck to where Arlain stood.
"What is it?” he asked.
She pointed a long talon at the shimmering gray of the distant sea. “I thaw thomething, Biner!” she lisped, great eyes wide with concern. “Thomething really, really thtrange and thcary!"
Just then a huge green fireball lofted high into the air—hanging at the airship's height for a second—then flaming downward like a meteor in a crisp mountain sky.
"Did you thee it!” Arlain cried. “There it ith again!"
Biner gaped at the sight, wondering for a bewildered moment of indecision if both he and Arlain were suffering from delusions because of their worry for Safar and Palimak.
Then another green fireball arced high. And another. And another.
Realization sunk in. “It's the Nepenthe!” Biner bellowed. “Someone's attacking the Nepenthe!"
And he sprinted back to the bridge, shouting orders to the crew.
Moments later the airship was turned about and they shot off for the Nepenthe, magical engines steaming and boiling at their greatest heat.
* * * *
Jooli hacked at the thorny barrier with all her might. But, just as before, every barbed vine she cut was immediately replaced by several others, shooting off the main branch.
Beyond the barrier was the beach and freedom from this awful jungle.
At least the spiders haven't reappeared, she thought, as she hacked once more at the thorny vines.
Then Safar shouted, “Get back!"
She leaped away, fingers instinctively clawing madly at her hair, thinking that the huge spiders had returned after all.
But then she saw Safar loft a small clay jar into the air. It smashed just beneath the vines. A sheet of flame shot up, scorching the underbrush. Light from the outside world burst in. Then, to her dismay, she saw new vines inching forward to cover the exit to the beach.
In a calm voice, Palimak said, “It's working father. One or two more might do the trick."
And then she noticed just how thin and weak the new growth was. Palimak squatted and started mixing another batch of blasting elixir, while Safar fished a second clay jar from his pack.
Their flight through the jungle had been maddeningly slow. Scores of spells had been hurled at them. But each time eit
her Safar, Palimak or Jooli had cast counter-spells, blocking their force.
Once a troop of enormous apes had threatened them, but Sergeant Hammer and the Kyranian soldiers had quickly driven them off with a barrage of arrows, backed by curses as heated as the obscenities the apes had voiced.
But then night had fallen. Just as Biner had surmised, they'd decided to camp out until first light. Leiria had suggested that perhaps they ought to signal Biner to lift them out, but Safar had been opposed.
Gesturing at their bound captive, King Felino, he said, “Someone very powerful is supporting this fellow. Let's call her Queen X. Although I suspect from the spoor that ‘queen’ is a lesser title. Maybe a minor deity. Maybe not. Time will answer that. However, it's my guess that if we involve the airship before we escape this jungle we'll be giving our Queen X an opportunity to work even greater magic."
He grinned down at Felino, who was tied securely to the large litter they'd used to drag him through the jungle. He was also securely gagged with a dirty strip of rag torn from Sergeant Hamyr's breech cloth. An indignity the good sergeant had insisted upon. The gag was to keep their prisoner from shouting orders to any of his minions who might have followed.
"Isn't that so, Felino?” Safar said. “Isn't she just waiting for us to let down our guard? And wouldn't she just love to cast her spell-net over the airship?"
Felino could only grunt through the gag. Muffled as his response was, it didn't take a great deal of imagination for Jooli to recognize several filthy expressions.
"My, my,” she said. “Such language from a king."
Leiria burst into earthy laughter. “I've known some kings better than I like to admit,” she said. “And this fellow is nothing when it comes to royal curses."
Her jibe silenced King Felino for the remainder of the night. A silence he'd maintained when dawn broke, poking silvery beams down through the close-set trees.
The remainder of the trip to the thorny barrier had taken surprisingly little time. This was in the nature of journeys, Jooli thought. Slow to get there, quick to return.
