by Allan Cole
Beautiful people, ugly-spirited people, all dying under his sword.
Evil as they were—long teeth reaching to suck the life from him—Safar cried out in agony with each killing sword stroke. As if each mortally wounding blow were struck at himself, instead of his enemies.
Yet, to his wonder, it was his enemies who died, not Safar Timura.
And they died so easily. Their flesh was soft, their defenses weak.
And they fell away, fell away, with each stroke of his sword.
And blood—so much blood—was released by his blade.
The dancers didn't shout or scream, but only chanted his name as he killed each one of them.
"Safar, Safar, Safar. Safar, Safar..."
On and on, dying and spouting his name along with their blood.
Then he was stumbling over the bodies Iraj and Palimak had left in their wake. And mortally wounded men and women—so beautifully formed one and all that it made their wounds and impending deaths seem especially abhorrent.
And they all moaned: “Safar, Safar, Safar. Please, Safar!” Until it drove him mad.
What did they want of him? They were his enemies. They were monsters and vampires and all the evil things a mortal could imagine.
But as he slew them they all begged him in voices he could not resist: “Safar, Safar, Safar. Please, Safar."
"Enough!” he shouted. “Enough!"
But it was too late because he and Iraj and Palimak had killed them all.
He shuddered, thinking he was going to become ill—except it was a spiritual, not physical, ailment. And through his sorcerous eye he saw a thousand souls float toward the volcano.
The black clouds grew thicker and seemed to form lips. And then those lips inhaled and he was knocked to the ground by the resulting tornado.
The twister ripped across the island, sucking up the souls of the dead.
On his knees, Safar looked up and saw hundreds upon hundreds of bright souls being carried into the gaping cone of the volcano.
And they were all crying, “Safar, Safar, Safar! Please, please, please, Safar!"
Finally, everyone was dead—the beach littered with corpses. And Safar saw Iraj and Palimak advancing toward King Rhodes.
Queen Yorlain stood in front of him, her face lit up as if she were finding heavenly glory instead of impending death.
She cried, “Safar!"
And Rhodes shouted, “This is the end of it all!"
Then he cut her in two and she fell to the ground, sighing and crying, “Safar, Safar, Safar!"
And her soul was swept away with the others.
The potter's son felt so small and insignificant at being the cause of all these people's deaths. His own soul withered as if it had been dashed by a freezing wave from the cold seas of the far, far north.
Then Rhodes bellowed defiance.
And he stood up, straight and tall and bearded and barbarian-strong. He waved his sword, shouting, “Come to me, little ones! Come to me!"
Safar ran forward, as did Palimak, but Iraj was many steps ahead of them.
But just before Protarus reached his enemy, lightning stabbed from the sky and the earth rumbled and shook under them.
And Rhodes started to transform, growing larger and larger, until he was the size of giant—three times the height of a man.
Safar gaped, but not at Rhodes’ transformation. Because as he grew all his features became a stormy landscape of constantly changing images.
First it became the beautiful, evil face of his mother—Queen Clayre.
Then this changed—bursting apart in a bloody welter—to transform into the grinning demon features of Lord Fari.
And that face twisted and broke and bled to make the royal features of Prince Luka, the demon prince.
Then a shatter of light momentarily obscured the monstrous figure.
And finally, standing before them, waving a mighty sword, was Kalasariz!
Sudden realization of what was happening dawned and Safar shouted a warning to Iraj, who was almost on the giant.
But it was too late.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
THE GODDESS LOTTYR
When Iraj saw the enormous figure of Kalasariz towering over him, he knew he had been well and truly trapped.
He struck out futilely with his blade as Kalasariz’ gigantic hand reached down to pluck him from the ground.
The spymaster held him at eye level, grinning terribly with that thin, cold smile.
"Welcome back, Majesty,” Kalasariz mocked. “Your brothers have sorely missed you."
In the spymaster's eyes Iraj could see the reflections of the faces of Luka and Fari. Flames leaped all around them as they twisted in agony.
"We made a pact once, Majesty,” Kalasariz continued. “Do you recall it?"
Iraj remembered it very well—it was the Spell of Four, which had once bound him to these creatures in a foul bargain. He'd escaped it for a time, but now his grievous error of the past had returned to haunt him.
He wanted to cry out to Safar to save him, but he knew there was nothing his friend could do.
"I feel compelled to tell you, Majesty,” Kalasariz mocked, “that things have changed since we were last together. Then you were the king and we were your slaves. But now it is I, Kalasariz, who shall rule."
Iraj forced laughter. “Don't be a fool, Kalasariz,” he said. “You aren't fit to be king. You don't have the guts, much less the will."
The spymaster's thin smile spread wider. “We shall see, Majesty,” he said. “We shall see. With the Goddess Lottyr supporting me, however, I doubt I'll have much difficulty adapting to my new role."
And with that he drew Iraj toward his mouth, meaning to bite him in two. At the same time, his eyes glowed with magical power as he exerted all his strength to bring Iraj once again under the thrall of the Spell of Four.
Iraj tried to struggle and break free, but the spell slowly spread its force through his body, sucking away his will to resist.
Then he heard Safar whispering to him. Not from without, but from deep within. As if he were once again coiled in Iraj's breast.
And Safar said, I'm here, my friend! Together, we can fight him!
A fierce surge of energy burst through Iraj's veins and just as Kalasariz's maw spread wide to kill him, Protarus thrust his sword inward and then up with all his strength.
The blade speared through the roof of the spymaster's mouth and then plunged into his brain.
Kalasariz bellowed in agony, ripping Iraj away with his giant's hand and dashing him to the ground.
A red curtain of pain swept over Iraj. More pain than he had ever felt in his life.
Then the pain vanished and Iraj found himself sitting in the cave of Alisarrian The Conqueror. He was with Safar and they were boys again, swearing never-ending friendship and taking the blood oath.
"Someday I will be king of kings,” he told Safar, “and you will be the greatest wizard in history. We'll make a better world before we're done, Safar. A better world for all."
Safar smiled agreement and started to answer. But suddenly he seemed quite distant and he started to fade away. He spoke, but Iraj couldn't hear what he was saying and he became quite frightened.
"Speak louder, brother!” Iraj shouted. “I can't hear you!"
Then once again, Safar spoke from within him. And he said, quite clearly, Farewell, brother mine. A great dream awaits us. And the sooner we get started, the sooner that dream will begin.
The words made Iraj feel quite peaceful. And he was content.
"Farewell, brother,” he replied. “Farewell, my friend. Until we meet again."
And then the cave vanished and Iraj dreamed of horses—a great wild herd flying across the plains.
He sailed with them, moving at breathtaking speed, the air full of fresh spring currents, the horizon a joyous creation of blue skies meeting lush green earth.
On and on he sailed. Skimming just above the fabulous herd.
> Flying toward horizons that would never end.
* * * *
"It's not over yet, father, is it?” Palimak said.And Safar looked up from his friend's crushed and lifeless body to meet his son's eyes.
Palimak's demon face didn't seem strange to Safar. It was as if that face had always been there, waiting to get out. And now that Palimak had transformed into his true self, Safar only loved him the more.
"You're right, son,” he replied. “It isn't."
Then they both heard two horses whinny in the distance. Their eyes rose to see Khysmet standing on a hill. Beside him was the black mare. Her saddle was empty and there was no sign of the Spirit Rider.
"Let's go, son,” Safar said, suddenly realizing what they had to do next.
He whistled and the two magnificent animals raced down the hillside. A moment later they were both mounted—Safar on Khysmet, Palimak on the mare—and riding up the side of the volcano.
Soon they came to the ridge overlooking the Valley of the Two Kings. But it was the valley of the ancients, not the place they'd left a few hours before. And instead of being ravaged by storm, it had been destroyed by a great army. Farmhouses were still ablaze. The lake was filled with the charred corpses of men and animals.
And in the center was the fabulous golden Castle of the Two Kings, flames engulfing the domed palaces.
Only the great Keep remained unscathed, still standing defiant against what must have been a very long siege.
Surrounding the castle was a strange army consisting of thousands of soldiers. Half were human and half were demon. Some were mounted—horses for the human cavalry, big catlike beasts for the demons—while others were on foot or manning huge siege engines.
At the gate of the Castle Keep was a knot of soldiers, wielding a great battering ram. Flying over them was the Banner of Asper—the twin-headed snake with wings.
Palimak gaped at the scene. “Father!” he said. “Nothing's moving."
Safar nodded he too had noticed the strangeness. Not one soldier or beast moved. Even the flames licking at the buildings were still. In fact, the entire scene looked like a gigantic frieze of a long-ago battle from a war museum.
And the only sound was the thunder and grinding of the Hells Machine. And the only movement was the thick cloud of smoke issuing from the rumbling volcano.
"Come on, son,” was all Safar said.
And the two rode down the broad avenue that led to the castle.
On either side of them lifelike statues of soldiers stared blankly at them as they passed.
The two moved through that eerie, frozen army for what seemed like an eternity.
Safar expected one of the demon or human soldiers suddenly to come alive at any minute and challenge them. But nothing and no one moved all the way to the gates.
The only change as they approached was the increasing loudness of the deadly machine.
Finally they were crossing the bridge and approaching the main gate where the soldiers with the battering ram were posed in mid-hammer. On one side of them was the planted banner of Asper. On the other was a huge, mounted demon.
Safar stared at the demon commander for a moment. Only mildly surprised that it was Asper, himself who was leading the attack.
Understanding dawned for Palimak and he said, “It's an illusion, isn't it, father? Just like in Caluz."
"Something like that,” Safar replied. Then, “Are you ready, son?"
Palimak squared his young shoulders and grinned a brave demon smile. “Ready, father."
Safar drew his silver witch's-dagger and chanted this spell:
"If the world by Heaven's decree
Should become a hell for thee and me;
Where devils wear the gods’ raiment
And None dare answer our lament;
Look for me by Asper's Gate,
Knock on the doors and meet thy Fate.”
Then he returned the dagger to its sheath in his sleeve and drew his sword. Palimak followed suit.
Safar shouted, “Open!"
And that single word boomed across the valley, drowning out even the sound of the Hells Machine:
"OPEN!"
For a moment there was silence then came a grumbling and a groan, followed by a loud shriek of protesting hinges. And then the gate swung slowly inward, unleashing a blast of intense heat and foul air.
Safar sensed what was coming and shouted to Palimak, “Steady!"
A score of hellish creatures rushed out at them, each more terrible than the other. Some of them looked like the monsters Queen Charize had ruled—pale as death with enormous bat wings and long fangs. Others were like the tree creatures who had attacked them at sea, with dozens of limbs bearing snapping teeth.
But the warning to Palimak wasn't necessary, because Gundara and Gundaree had already armed their master.
"Ghosts!” they cried. “Nothing but ghosts. You've already killed them once, Little Master!"
So, like his father, Palimak held perfectly still, letting the creatures swirl all around him, threatening with fangs and teeth until they dissolved into nothingness.
Both Khysmet and the black mare seemed not to notice the spirit-world attack and only flicked their tails as if a few flies were troubling them.
Safar signaled and he and Palimak flicked their reins and entered the Castle Keep.
But now there was no royal grand palace entry to greet them. Even the magical wind rose was gone. Instead, they found themselves in the dim, steamy recesses of the Hells Machine. Iron grating beneath them, the horse's hooves clacking across the metal. Huge gears twice the size of a miller's grindstone turning this way and that with no apparent order or purpose. Wide chain belts, thick with old grease, thundering above them.
Flames and steam shot through the grates as they moved deeper into the interior, following the narrow avenue toward a dim light.
Palimak felt grimy—oily sweat gathering under his arms and streaming down his sides.
Gundara cried, “She's waiting, Little Master!"
To which Gundaree added, “Just at the light! Be ready!"
Palimak didn't need to ask who they meant. He knew!
Safar led them toward the light, which grew brighter with every step the horses took. Khysmet snorted at the steam and shook his head, great drops of sweat streaming from his mane.
Safar patted the stallion, comforting himself as much as the horse.
Then there was one more long blast of steam and they were through.
And he found himself in a vast chamber flooded with a strange red light that cast no shadows.
At the far end of the chamber was the Lady Lottyr. Her six hands waved gracefully, shooting out long sparks of magic. Driving the huge machine with their incredible power.
Her lush body moved rhythmically to music only she seemed to hear. The movements reminded Safar of the harvest dance he'd suffered through when he was spellbound.
And her six heads snaked in and out on long, slender necks that somehow made an eye-pleasing whole where they met her shoulders.
She was the size of a tall woman and backed by a miniature of the Demon Moon, which was symmetrically twice her length and breadth. Small black clouds swirled across the red face of the moon, making the goddess seem as if she were floating with them, although she always remained in the center.
A red gossamer gown, thin as spider's silk, draped her body—displaying all her substantial charms in an alluring light.
Despite himself, Safar felt heat stab at his loins. He heard Palimak's sharp intake of breath and knew that his son was also affected.
Khysmet snorted and moved closer to the mare who whinnied, then shied teasingly away. But not too far, Safar noticed. Not very far at all.
The whole atmosphere reeked of seduction.
And then, from a distance, Safar heard beautiful voices lifting in song: "Surrender, oh, surrender."
The goddess laughed, her tones silky and promising impossible things.
She
said, “That's all I ask, Safar. Surrender and all I have shall be yours."
Then she turned to Palimak, saying, “You can have me, too, boy. I know that is your utmost desire, is it not?"
Palimak was shocked both by her offer and his body's unaccustomed reaction to the goddess. He didn't know what to say, or how to respond.
Safar felt like he was back in Coralean's harem, with one beauty after the other displayed to him. Especially the lovely courtesan, Astarias, who had so beguiled him in his youth.
And he kept hearing that spell song:
"Her hair is night,
Her lips the moon;
Surrender. Oh, surrender.
Her eyes are stars,
Her heart the sun;
Surrender. Oh, surrender.
Her breasts are honey,
Her sex a rose;
Surrender. Oh, surrender.
Night and moon. Stars and Sun.
Honey and rose;
Lady, oh Lady, surrender.
Surrender. Surrender ... “
So powerful was her presence that for a moment he nearly succumbed. Nearly threw himself at her feet, begging her favor.
Then he fought back, thinking of Nerisa, his little thief of Walaria. And Methydia, a woman above all women who taught him all he truly knew about love, life and magic.
Ah, yes, and then there was Leiria. Lovely, lovely Leiria. Who would throw herself in front of a phalanx of charging chariots to save him.
Who needed this woman?
This goddess from the Hells?
All these thoughts—from seduction to hesitation to rejection—flashed through his mind in a split second. Although it seemed like an agonizing—and most tempting—eternity.
Safar formed a spell, a spell above all spells to cast her off. And these were the words he chanted to the unseen, far-away Leiria. It was song she'd taught him when they were lovers:
"Lovers when parted
From what they love,
Have no temptations
Or troubles to bear.
Outside might be temptation,
Inside only love.
There can be no wanting
For what is not there."
And suddenly the lust ran out of the atmosphere like a flood unleashed and the Lady Lottyr's spell was shattered.
