“All right, cease digging! We have raised enough. Put aside your picks and shovels, lads. You have done what men may do, and done it well. All you can do now is await the outcome of a battle we can’t help in. Back to Sonul with you, and abide there. If Susha favors us, and your Theba too, we shall return to you with Captain Tiana and Princess Jiltha.”
He broke off, gnawing his lip. There was more he wished to say. Especially he wished to give his rogues his blessing, for he feared he would never see them again. He’d have been speaking to empty air. Despite their labors, the pirates needed no second order to speed back into Sonul. A sudden thought struck Caranga then, and he laughed.
“With my sweet sea rovers loose on the city,” he muttered, “the next generation of Sonul will have some fight in their spirits!”
His smile faded when he glanced over to the wizard’s tent, some yards away. It had been a normal enough large, dun-hued tent they’d raised. Now, depending on how the sun struck it, Pyre’s field abode might appear a great block of ice or a raging fire. He wondered if the illusion had some purpose or if that damned arrogant “wizard of wizards” just loved his drama almost as much as he loved himself. Caranga paced over to it — ice, just now, though it emitted no cold — while he scratched one muscled ham. Bardon stood waiting for him, just outside the tent, wearing dirty white tunic and the quilted, leather-faced jack normally worn under his good coat of linked chain. Just now the mail was nowhere in view and the half-sleeved undercoat hung open, laces dangling as if defeated by the sun.
It’s well he’s here, Caranga thought. There are things a man says to his friends before the final silence, and that’s never seemed more nigh.
“Bardon … there are two things I want to say to you and the first is an apology. Drood knows how many times I was short o’ temper over something that had nothing to do with you, but I spoke harshly to you because you were handy. Wait a moment; the second is to thank you, Bardon. You’ve been a loyal friend through many a stormy voyage. By Susha’s circumcision, you are as goodly a white man as ever I sailed with.”
The second mate looked surprised, then emotionally affected. Slowly his long lean arm came out so that his hand lay on the great round of Caranga’s shoulder, and Bardon’s fingers tightened a bit.
“Thanks, Caranga. I hear you. I understand. But — I doubt the time for last farewells is to hand.” He looked solemn a moment, then grinned. “Shall we?”
They entered the tent, with Caranga reflecting on this new Bardon. These last days the skinny fellow had acted with a strength and confidence Caranga had never seen in him before. He even looked cheery — not just un-mopey, but cheery, which made him seem bigger. When a list of all my faults is drawn up it shall include the fact that I sheltered that whelp too much! Just a skinny white boy with good blood and a brain worth protecting from combat I thought. Dung and cess! Pyre , for all he used him so ruthlessly, gave him something important to do — and by the Back and Susha’s backside, he did it!
Thus thinking, Caranga entered the tent and faced the wizard.
Pyre stood staring, brows coolly arched and tiny close-mowed beard at rest. Arms behind his back. Looking longer if not quite so thin without his black robe. This one was just as long, so that only his toes showed, but it was white, and it showed no wrinkle or sign of soil. On his chest, at the end of a slim chain of dark base metal, hung a strange sigil. In two halves. A coiled, nasty looking serpent of green jade, broken.
There was shock for Caranga in seeing signs of strain on the face of the mightiest of wizards. The brooding sorcerer so far from his keep called Ice was able to see their future, and evidently what he saw was not cheering.
Nevertheless he spoke crisply — and with his usual arrogance. “I called you here to apprise you of our situation. The information will likely be of small value to you, true. But it would be a useless vanity for me to withhold it and Pyre is without vanity.”
Oh, of course, Bardon mused. Just as Caranga is without fear. And just as I am twelve feet tall and have wings.
“For good or ill,” Pyre went on, “we are about to wage the last battle of the ancient Shadow War. If we succeed, there will be nothing left of the enemy save a few outposts of the slowly dying, places such as Sonul was. If we fail here and Sarsis returns, then he shall indeed have the power to make all the world warmer. Tropical! The children of the Snake shall again be masters of the earth.”
“Your pardon,” Bardon interrupted, “but — we three? We seem a slender peg to hang the world on. Are there no others to aid us? This Voomundo Caranga speaks of, perhaps. Or the good Sulun Mighty, or even your enemy Ekron? In view of the grave danger to all humankind, surely you and he can agree to a truce as fellow men interested in our survival — even if the truce is but temporary.”
Pyre shook his head wearily. “The answer to all your so hopeful questions is … no. True, I helped Voomundo’s soul to return to his body, but it had been away too long. It is not a viable separation, you see. He has the peace of death. As for Sulun Tha, we are fortunate he has decided to remain neutral, rather than help Sarsis who has much right on his side. Ekron … Ekron is a mystery. He is a man only in outer shape. His soul is that of a toad and the victory of Sarsis would be to his advantage. I have arranged for him to be busy elsewhere, but I read in the stars that some magicking of his is a danger to Sarsis. I dare not probe this mystery lest I warn Sarsis of the danger.”
“But Sulun Tha is a man,” Caranga rumbled. “Even if Sarsis has some ancient claim to the world, why does not Sulun Tha see that his means are evil?”
“Sarsis drinks blood and he has allies who relish the eating of men’s souls and delight in the sacrifice of virgins. In contrast to these mundane character faults, I have committed a truly cosmic evil. The Eyes of Sarsis are considered indestructible, for no creature, man, demon, or god may harm them. There exists no power, spell or means to destroy them. Therefore I did the unspeakable. I bargained with the non-beings. You and I and Sarsis and they that dwell in the gulf of night and the demons in the lower bowels of Hell all share a common property; existence. The non-beings do not exist but are nonetheless very effective for the working of evil.
“A being may cause destruction to fill his belly or to satisfy a thirst of vengeance; to display arrogant power, or any of a host of reasons. The non-beings, the others … these love destruction for its own sake. They are the essence of evil. To traffic with them is dangerous to all that live, yet through them I have gained the means to destroy the Eyes of Sarsis. Unfortunately this means can only be used when the Eyes are helpless, drained of blood and power until they are exhausted. Certain aspects of that power may not be renewed by drinking blood. Much has happened to force the Eyes to spend their power, so that now they are weaker than at any time since they gained the Jewels of Ullatara. I have gathered all the strength I could. There were many who owed me debts and are paying by service in this fight. It will be a close thing. At the end of the battle either I or Sarsis will be close to exhaustion and the other entirely spent.”
Pyre paced two steps, turned back.
“If I prevail, well and good. If I fail, there is yet some faint hope: the danger to Sarsis from Ekron’s magic. Caranga, I have told you what you must do. Bardon, you are now Commander of the Star and Sword of Avan. Back in Sonul you proved your instincts were more accurate than my instructions. Therefore I can give you no instructions, only tell you your limits. Attend me.
“Avoid any direct attack upon the Eyes of Sarsis. No creature with blood can stand against them, do you understand? The minions of the Eyes are deadly foes, but you have some hope against them. I have made such preparations for defeat as I may. Now we shall test my plans for victory.”
Pyre turned and with a robed rustle moved to a large table covered with sand. “This is the field of our battle.” His left hand swept over the sand and it rose beneath his hand to form a mound in the shape of a coiled snake.
“This is the Mound of the Great Snak
e. It is some two hundred feet high — and several miles in total length. If all goes well, it shall remain merely a pile of earth. At the head of the mound is the Altar of Sacrifice.” He put in place a small block of smooth black stone. Then from under his robes — which had been hanging perfectly straight — he produced a model of a lovely building whose walls were a lacework of marble and ivory. This he placed close to the black stone.
“The Temple of Cignas. It is filled with the bodies of men Cignas turned to stone by eating their souls.” He placed a many-headed snake beside the temple: “Cignas.” Next Pyre added the figure of a snake, green, a foot long with sparkling topaz eyes. “Sarsis is yet some distance from the temple, approximately here.” A dozen smaller snakes, less than an inch: “The minions of Sarsis.”
Now Pyre produced three small human shapes: a male and female figure, each in armor and a female figure wearing a chaplet. These he placed close to the Sarsis figure.
“In addition to Tiana and Jiltha, the Eyes have captured a Northish barbarian, one Bjaine. The Ceremony of Return requires a matched pair of warriors, male and female, and a royal virgin. If all goes as the Eyes plan, tonight at moonrise Jiltha will be borne to the altar. At the same time Tiana and Bjaine will be taken to the Temple of Cignas. In the Temple they will be made Bearers of the Eyes, vampires whose blood is in turn drunk by the Eyes. Then Tiana and Bjaine will go to the altar, where … But there is no need to detail this uncleanness!” Pyre looked at the other two men with his hawkish dark eyes under setose brows.
“At the end, all three will have died horribly and Sarsis will have returned to the world.” He continued to stare for a time before turning back to his sprawling model. “We are here, just above an ancient tribal burial grounds.” Pyre placed a replica of the tent.
“Well we know,” Caranga said. “My lads have unearthed many and many of those long dead these past few days.”
“Aye,” the wizard said. “Let this represent them all.”
Pyre placed a single figure flat on its back on the sand. Caranga looked with revulsion at the figure. He knew it was only carved wood but the resemblance was uncanny. Most of the corpses they had exhumed were not decayed but dried: the flesh shriveled and hardened until it was like wood.
“These are the other pieces with which I shall wage this war.” From within his robes the wizard drew a set of symbols and images. These he placed beside the table of sand rather than on it. A tiny likeness of a hawk; a bird of crystal; a miniature chariot. Another snake identical to the twelve minions of Sarsis. Three long blocks of ice, and an ugly little stone. A little white wisp of cotton. Caranga had often seen the final figure, pictured on charts; it was the head of a frost giant blowing a cold wind.
The wizard lifted the tiny hawk, pushed it onto the table of sand.
“The game begins. Attack on a minor piece.”
Game? Bardon thoght. What sort of silly — oh, Ap’s Beard!
The hawk-figure came to life! It flew across the table, passing over the model of the tent. As it did, Caranga heard a thunder of flapping wings and a mighty chorus of strident cawing. If he could believe his ears, thousand of hawks had passed above their heads, screaming their war cries. The tiny hawk approached the snake figures. Singling out the one farthest from the Sarsis effigy, it attacked. Its prey was suddenly alive, fighting viciously. The fight was brief. The hawk swiftly gained the advantage — and then Sarsis struck. Nothing remained of the hawk but a few scattered feathers, barely large enough to see. Had there been doubt in the minds of the two pirates, none remained now; this “game” was real; this was the battle!
“Ahhh,” murmured Pyre. “Sarsis spends his power recklessly. He should have sacrificed that minion. Either he is trying to bluff me or his reserves are greater than I calculated. We shall see.” Pyre placed the frost giant figurehead on the table. “The minions of Sarsis cannot long endure the Cold Wind, for their blood has no warmth.”
Caranga was suddenly aware of a freezing blowing without. The cold permeated the walls of the tent. At first the table of sand had appeared an ominous children’s game. Now he realized that fearsome forces were being invoked. Everything here had its counterpart in reality. When a figure here was moved, it came alive and guided its living original, forced it into action.
“Wizard — could this not destroy Tiana and Jiltha, rather than save them?”
Pyre did not seem to hear. He placed the cotton on the board. It changed, rose, becoming a floating cloud. The cloud grew, spread, and moved slowly toward Sarsis. It was clear that there were complex figures moving in the cloud but they changed too fast, baffling Caranga’s eye.
“They that dwell above the earth aid us,” Pyre said, and lifted the ugly stone.
Bardon saw the subtle change: while before the darkish stone had borne a blurred resemblance to a living thing, now it was clearly a horror unlike any creature that had ever walked the earth. He did not place the stone on the surface, but pushed it into the sand from the side of the table.
“They that dwell beneath the earth also join the battle ”
He laid the three long narrow blocks of ice on the table. They began to crawl like worms … no, Caranga saw; not quite like worms. For as they traveled, they grew longer and they plowed up the sand. They slid, huge and ponderous. Outside the tent distant rumblings sounded and the ground trembled continually. Sorcerous glaciers bore down upon Sarsis!
“The first and second ice worms attack Sarsis on right and left flank,” Pyre said, almost whispering. “The cloud holds the center while the third glacier attacks the Mound of the Snake. Sarsis will not enjoy having several miles of ice plow through his ancient body.”
The pieces were moving as Pyre described. The large snake struck at one of the ice worms, partially smashing it. The damage was obviously trivial. The worms continued to advance. Lashing, striking, the snake rained blows to right and left, breaking ice without halting the worm’s advance. The cloud swept forward. Caranga knew it was easy to imagine the figure of a brave romance in a shapeless cloud, but here was no imagination. The cloud was a mighty host of armed chivalry, charging to battle. It struck the snake, and tiny bleeding pin pricks appeared on the coiled body.
The earth beneath the serpent trembled. The Temple of Cignas quivered, its foundations undermined. A hole appeared beside the black stone altar and hideous hands reached out to pull the altar down. The snake smote the ground as a smith pounds upon his anvil. The earth beneath it proved unstable and it was being pulled down. Another charge of the cloud dotted the green body with more scarlet. Unhalted, the ice worms were closing in from right and left and the third worm was nearing the mound.
Pyre lifted the crystal bird. “The immortal phoenix, eternal enemy of the Snake.” He opened his hands. The glittering figurine did not fall.
It flew low across the table. Its shining wings were an incandescent rainbow and where they touched, the sand was melted to glass. “Sarsis will expect a rescue attempt and I shall not disappoint him.” He placed the tiny chariot on the table and Caranga watched it speed across the sand. The earth opened beneath two of the minions and they vanished.
“A turncoat is always useful.” Pyre lifted his own tiny snake to place it among the minions. It was impossible to discern which was which. The crystal bird approached from the snake’s rear. It struck, sinking its talons deep into the back of that reptilian neck. There it clung, beating the snake’s body with its burning wings. The third ice worm was slowly grinding through the mound.
The frost giant’s head had moved closer. Its breath was spraying everything with glittering ice. The serpent’s attempt to sweep the burning wings through that cloud failed; the cloud had shifted its attack to the snake’s tail and was cutting pieces out of it. Meanwhile the snake’s midsection had been pulled under the ground.
The chariot, wheels a flashing blur, was nearing the prisoners. One of the minions stood close by and for an instant it appeared to be helping the prisoners. The snake struck, smashi
ng the chariot to fragments and devouring the minion in a single gulp.
The searing wings had touched much of the green body, darkening it. Caranga’s nostrils twitched. Could he be smelling burning flesh? The emerald serpent beat the back of its head against the ground in a futile effort to dislodge its crystal attacker. Coils heaved and rolled and dust puffed. Then the beating wings came too close to the fanged jaws.
The snake bit into the burning wing and held. Smoke issued from its mouth and, distinctly strong now, the odor of burning flesh. Despite what must have been agony, the serpent tightened its grip as it strove to pull the phoenix from its perch. The bird’s claws did not relax their grip. A twisting pitch of the serpentine body slammed the bird against the earth, and again. When it was at last wrenched loose, its talons tore loose gobbets of the snake’s flesh.
The fanged jaws flashed and sank into the bird’s body.
“Uh!” Caranga squinted against a burst of flame and light and — nothing remained of the crystal bird save a minute diamond, egg-shaped.
The reptilian victory was achieved at considerable cost. Sections of the tail attacked by the cloud were bleeding profusely and scarcely moved, as if hamstrung. More of the snake’s body had been dragged into the ground. The first and second ice worms were much closer, with plain intent to crush the serpent between them. Already the third of their number was making a ruin of the mound. The frost giant’s breath struck the snake so that the blood of its wounds visibly froze.
Pyre surveyed the scene thoughtfully.
“If there is a time,” he said, and his voice rasped throatily, “it is now. The warriors of my army have slept long and long, resting for this their greatest battle. Now my soul goes forth to them, that the long dead may rise and fight. I leave you.”
The Eyes of Sarsis Page 19
