by Allan Cole
As soon as Rhodes hit the beach, he sent shock troops forward to secure the road and silence any stray soldiers or farmers they encountered.
Meanwhile, his longboats returned to the island and began the onerous task of hauling the portable siege engines to the shore.
His mother arrived with the last group, hissing curses at her slaves as they clumsily loaded her magical table onto her royal litter. All the gilded decorations had been daubed with lampblack so they wouldn't glitter if struck by a chance beam of light.
"That's my favorite litter,” she complained to Rhodes. “And now you've ruined it with your stupid soldier tricks. You're going to have to commission me another one when we return home."
"You're the only one of us who's not walking, mother,” Rhodes pointed out. He'd left all the horses behind for transport after the siege was in place. “You're the one who insisted on bringing your litter along. Plus six useless slaves to carry you!"
Clayre sniffed. “Some people would think you'd show more gratitude to me,” she said. “After all, it's my magic, not your precious army, that will defeat Safar Timura."
Kalasariz knew hand that she spoke the truth. Clayre had spent hours with the Lady Lottyr casting spell after spell to pave the way for the battle.
He whispered from within: Please, Majesty. Promise her anything to shut her up! You're never going to have to deliver, remember?
Rhodes took the advice. Sighing, he said, “Very well, mother. You'll get your new litter as soon as we return home."
"Nothing shabby, now,” Clayre warned. “You know how tight-fisted you can be."
"Spend what you like,” Rhodes said. “I'll give you a blank warrant on the treasury."
Clayre's eyes narrowed suspiciously and Rhodes realized he'd gone too far. “But half the cost will have to come out of your allowance,” he hastened to say. “So don't go wild with the design."
Clayre's suspicions vanished. Rhodes’ caveat was much more in character. For a flickering moment she'd wondered if her son had matricide on his mind. But on reflection, that didn't make any sense. To be sure, Rhodes had no love for her. Just as she had none for him. However, they did need each other. One held the hereditary crown, the other the magical means to secure it.
"Don't cheapen your gift by bargaining with me about its price,” Clayre said. “I'll pay ten per cent, no more."
"Twenty,” Rhodes said.
Clayre shook her head sadly. “You are so mean-spirited,” she said. “Just like your father. But for the sake of family peace, I'll agree."
The Queen Witch had her own murderous designs. She'd discussed her hateful son with Lottyr, who had promised to aid her when the battle with Safar Timura was won. Further lessening her suspicion was her own good mood: Many magical tricks had been planned to confound the great Safar Timura.
All she had to do was bear with this barbarian lout who called himself her son for another day at the most, and then the tables would be turned once and for all!
Through the king's eyes, Kalasariz observed Clayre's shifting moods. He knew what she was thinking. He'd had his own private discussions with the Goddess Lottyr and was well aware of the Queen Witch's plans and the agreement she'd made with Lottyr.
But what neither she nor Rhodes realized was the Goddess had ambitions of her own. Ambitions that only Kalasariz could satisfy at this most historic moment.
He laughed to himself, thinking how surprised Rhodes and Clayre would be when they joined Fari and Luka in his belly.
Then he had only to capture Iraj and he'd no longer be the power behind thrones, but the throne itself.
King of Kings. Lord and master of Lottyr's worldly realm. For a single, spine-chilling moment he recalled an old Esmirian saying he had once been fond of quoting: “The deadliest poison ever made came from a king's laurel crown."
But then he dismissed this once-favored saying as nonsense. It was only a thing he used to repeat to soothe his pride when Esmir was ruled by fools like Iraj Protarus.
And as Rhodes massed his troops and organized his siege engineers the spymaster dreamed of powers he'd never held before.
Forgetting another most pertinent Esmirian saying: “When the king's spy plots his own coronation, he must first conspire against himself."
* * * *
In the Castle of the Two Kings, Safar's warning of impending doom shook Iraj from his kingly posturing. A man of many flaws, he'd been momentarily overcome by his weaknesses.
After a long time of being denied even a human body, he'd reveled in his power over women. Never mind that Leiria believed he was Safar—and it was Safar whom she loved—he'd been anxious to master her with his lust. Never mind that Queen Yorlain thought him her handsome savior, he'd been overcome by the idea of adding another queenly notch to his bedstead.
Once he'd been a man—a princely warrior of the Great Plains—whose very smile and ardent looks could bring women into his bed like nubile mares trotting over the hills to the wild stallion's trumpeting call.
Then he'd been a shapechanger, a creature bound by an evil spell, whose lust could only be slaked by murder and blood. As a great wolf he'd delighted in the carnage of the harem of victims he'd kept. But in those rare moments when his human side had crept in, he'd despaired at all the torment he'd caused.
And yes, on occasion he'd even condemned himself for his betrayal of Safar, his blood brother and friend. But those moments were so rare, so fleeting, that they were easily replaced by rationalizations that it was Safar who was the betrayer, not him.
The saintly Safar who claimed that he never wanted anything but to save the world from itself. The lucky Safar, whose encounters with women had always been marked by a deep friendship and love that had always been denied Iraj.
Nerisa, the little thief who had stolen a great treasure for Safar, only to die at Iraj's orders. Methydia, the beautiful witch who had doted on Safar, only to be slain by one of Iraj's soldiers. And then Leiria—fantastic, lovely Leiria—who had once belonged in the literal sense to Iraj. But he'd given her away to Safar on a whim of false friendship and now she loathed her former master and thought only of Safar.
Thoughts of revenge flooded in. He couldn't kill Safar without taking his own life. But he could make him suffer for past wrongs. Just for starters, he'd torment Leiria by seducing the queen, making her think her lover had betrayed her with another. Next he'd seduce Leiria, then cast her out like scraps from the table.
Deep in his nest, Safar also brooded angrily over past wrongs. He too schemed of ways to strike back at Iraj. His anger was so great that he even considered black spells that would burn Protarus to the core. Only the fact that he would suffer too stayed Safar's hand.
Then he realized that Iraj's madness was stirring up a poisonous froth of bodily juices that were affecting him dangerously and might very well drive Safar over the edge as well.
He had to calm down. He had to focus on the tasks ahead—the least important of which was to free himself from Iraj's prison.
And that moment must wait until after he had confronted the Hells awaiting him in the Goddess Lottyr's machine.
* * * *
Gundara said, “It isn't Lord Timura, Little Master!"
And Gundaree added, “Well, it is Lord Timura, but it's not exactly him."
Palimak frowned. “What in the Hells are you two talking about?"
Gundara said, “It's kind of difficult to explain, Little Master. See, somehow Iraj Protarus got inside your father's body. We think he was hiding there and maybe even Lord Timura didn't know. For a while, anyway."
"But then your father went blind,” Gundaree came in, “and he needed King Protarus so that he could see and so your father let him out. And now your father's trapped inside his own body and Protarus is in control of everything!"
"We're just guessing about the blind part,” Gundara added.
"But it's a pretty good guess,” Gundaree said. “Like always."
Palimak considered. Although
what the two Favorites had said was very strange, if you assumed their guess was right many things started to make sense.
Like his own perceptions of wrongness about his father, including the odd change in his hair coloring from dark to streaks of gold. If Iraj, who was a blond, had made himself into a magical parasite inside Safar, might not his presence have influenced his father's hair coloring?
It also explained Safar's bewildering and boorish behavior with Queen Yorlain. Which in turn had wounded his Aunt Leiria. His father would never commit either of those acts.
He nodded, accepting the twins’ theory.
"What should we do about it?” he asked. “Can we come up with some sort of spell to purge Iraj from my father's body?"
"That'd be hard!” Gundara said.
"Really, really hard!” Gundaree put in.
"And even if it worked, we could kill them both,” Gundara added.
Palimak saw his whole world collapsing under him. Everything that was good had turned out to be evil. His own father was trapped inside the body of the murderous Iraj Protarus!
"It would be easier to think of some kind of solution,” Gundara said, “if we had something to eat."
"That's very true, Little Master,” Gundaree said. “Thinking is hungry work."
Absently, Palimak fished sweets from his pocket and fed the Favorites. In his mind, past moments shared with his father were being blown about by gusts of nostalgia.
Palimak's first memory, so vague it might not even be real but a thing made up from tales adults tell their children, was as a baby held in Leiria's arms.
He was looking at his father over Leiria's shoulder. She was mounted on a snorting, ground-pawing warhorse and Palimak was tied in a sling about her back. Thumping against her chain mail as the horse moved. And there was his father, seen for the first time: tall and dark with fiery blue eyes that melted into softness when they settled on his adopted son.
There were a whole host of other memories: The cheese monster; the battles against the Great Wolf, Iraj Protarus; the flight across the badlands; the race through the Machine of Caluz; but especially the long talks late into the night as Safar patiently and gently taught his son the theory and practice of magic.
Then, with a start, he remembered a riddle his father had once posed. He'd said that if either of them could ever answer this riddle from The Book of Asper then many things might become clear.
It was the Riddle of the Two Kings: "Two kings reign in Hadinland./ One's becursed, the other damned./ One is blind, one's benighted./ And who can say which is sighted?..."
"I know it!” Palimak shouted aloud. “I know the answer!"
Gundara covered his fangs with a paw and burped politely. “The answer to what, Little Master?", he asked.
"The Riddle of the Two Kings!” Palimak said. “My father and Iraj Protarus are the two kings!"
"Of course they are,” Gundaree said, brushing crumbs from his tunic.
"Didn't you know that, Little Master?"
"But don't you understand?” Palimak said. “That means we shouldn't do anything. The last thing that ought to happen is for us to interfere."
Gundara yawned. “That's fine with me, Little Master,” he said. “It sounded like a lot of work, anyway."
Gundaree curled up in a little ball. “Wake me when it's time for dinner,” he said to his twin. “All this doing nothing has tired me out."
* * * *
"Thoth cloudth look pretty bad, Biner,” Arlain said.
Biner nodded, brow furrowed in worry. “Ain't that the truth, lass,” he said. “Some kind of blow brewin', that's for certain."
They were hovering hundreds of feet above the Castle of the Two Kings, the volcano barely visible as the clouds swiftly drew a veil over the Demon Moon.
"We're too clo'th to that thing,” Arlain said, indicating the volcano. “If a thtorm whipth up, we could run right thmack into it."
"Maybe we'd better get to ground,” Biner said.
He turned to shout orders to the crew, but just then he saw—or thought he saw—movement along the rim of the valley.
"Take a look there, lass,” he said to Arlain, pointing at the deeper shadow where the road came over the rise. “Do you see somethin’ on yon road?"
Arlain's dragon eyes were sharper even than the proverbial eagle's. This was only one of many reasons for her incredible acrobatic skills. In a darkened tent she could see a thin guy wire as if it were broad daylight. A fire breather, her vision was also unaffected by sudden flashes of the pyrotechnics the circus used to wow the crowds.
She turned her head to where Biner was pointing, dragon's tongue flickering between pearly teeth as she concentrated.
Many miles away, Queen Clayre's litter was being carried over the rise by her slaves. Careful as they'd been to obscure the gilded ornamentation with lampblack, a small speck of blackening had been knocked off when one of her slaves had brushed against it.
Just then, lightning from the gathering storm flared in the sky, reflecting off the exposed gilding. It was only a tiny spark of light, but it was more than enough for Arlain.
She not only saw the reflected light, it helped pinpoint the entire shadowy column coming over the rise.
"Tholdierth!” Arlain hissed. “Lot'th of them!"
Instantly, Biner roared orders to the crew, commanding them to fly over the approaching enemy. And as the airship turned about, he issued other orders to prepare for bombardment.
Meanwhile, Arlain shot off a red flare to warn Safar. But a strong wind suddenly blew up, casting it far away.
Biner grabbed the wheel, steadying it against the buffeting. But he'd no sooner steadied the craft then another heavy gust hit, driving the nose off course.
He started to curse the vagaries of nature, but then a squall hit full force, drenching him with what seemed like tons of water.
The wheel broke free from his strong hands, spinning wildly, and the airship was whipped about until the heavy winds were hitting it square on.
There were pings! as cables broke, lashing out with deadly force in every direction.
No one was hurt, but two of the cables snaked up to pierce a balloon and air squealed out as the airbags quickly deflated.
"Get her down!” Biner roared to his crew. “Get her down before she crashes!"
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
SECRETS UNMASKED
When the first spear of lightning struck, Tabusir saw its reflection flash from Clayre's litter and raced to intercept her.
The queen gave him a terrible look as he ran up, so he aped surprise and made a hasty bow as if he'd accidentally stumbled into her presence. Using his sleeve, he quickly smeared lampblack over the bare spot to dull the glitter.
Fortunately, the queen was busy with some task. He caught a brief glimpse of her head bending low over a golden table, then the litter moved past.
When she was gone, he looked up into the darkening heavens and saw the airship swinging swiftly around. The cause of its movements was so obvious that even an apprentice spy would have known that Rhodes’ troops had been spotted and the king's surprise attack was now no longer much of a surprise.
Rhodes was about a hundred yards away and Tabusir sprinted forward to warn him. But he'd taken no more then six steps when he heard Clayre shout something in a mysterious language.
The shout was followed by a sudden blast of wind blowing from nowhere. It was so strong that it knocked Tabusir to his knees.
But his heart was full of glee as he looked up and saw the airship spinning out of control. Then it steadied and began a hasty descent to the ground.
The air became still and the silence was as thick as the gathering clouds. Then a whole dragon's nest of lightning snaked from sky to ground in a series of crack, crack, cracks! Soon came the shock wave of rolling thunder, so powerful that it felt like a physical blow.
Another long silence set in, only to be broken by Rhodes’ roared orders as he drove his men forward. He was so bus
y that Tabusir had to wait a full hour before he could approach with the news that they'd been discovered.
By then all the men and siege engines were in place and Rhodes only shrugged after he'd heard Tabusir out.
"It doesn't matter now,” he said. “All we have to do is wait out my mother's storm, then attack."
And with those words a heavy rain began to fall. Then a steady, driving wind whipped into the valley and Rhodes and his soldiers huddled on the ground, drawing oil-skins over their heads.
Tabusir crouched beside the king, the wind-driven rain hammering against his waterproof hood.
The mud and the storm should have made him miserable. Instead, his excitement grew hour by hour, as he eagerly awaited Clayre's promise of a peaceful dawn.
* * * *
Safar and Iraj were also not that surprised when Biner stomped in out of the storm with his news.
"Arlain spotted a column of troops comin’ over the rise, lad,” Biner said. “She thinks it's that devil King Rhodes. But I don't know. Seems unlikely to me, since we haven't heard one peep out of him for weeks."
Then he stomped his boots and shook himself like a great shaggy dog, spattering water all over the castle's royal chamber.
Iraj started to take offense at his behavior, but Safar hissed a warning that this was a friend of his and Iraj quickly turned an imperious frown of disapproval into a warm smile.
With Safar coaching him, Iraj replied, “We've never doubted Arlain's eyes before, Biner. We'd be fools to start now."
Biner nodded. “Aye, you're right about that, lad,” he said. “Nothing we can do to about it now, though. The storm's so fierce not even a giant could stand upright under those winds. We covered the airship as best as we could and we'll just have to hope that the wind lets up enough for us to get outside and keep the fires goin’ in the engines."
Iraj poured a goblet of brandy for the ringmaster, saying, “This storm isn't natural, my friend. There's enough magic stink in it to rival a Walarian offal ditch. I think the tempest is the work of Queen Clayre. That's why it's so powerful. And when morning comes we'll find ourselves surrounded by Rhodes’ entire army."
