The Warrior's Tale (The Far Kingdoms, Book 2)

by Allan Cole, Chris Bunch

  I stopped, bracing for an attack, or fast retreat, depending on what was the matter. She jabbed a finger at the window. I could see her eyes were wide with amazement; possibly even fear. I realized she wanted me to look outside. I couldn’t — it was too high, coming just to Polillo’s chin. She made a stirrup with her hands; I stepped into it and she lifted me up.

  At first, I didn’t know what I was looking at. Then, terror bloomed as I saw what it wasn’t. The view should’ve been of Orissa sleeping peacefully under the watchful eye of the hilltop Palace of Evocators. Instead, I saw a drear landscape. Across a desolate courtyard were tall, black iron gates. Swooping out from the window I was looking through were high black walls that climbed on either side to frighteningly familiar turrets.

  I nearly gagged as I realized where we were. This was not the Palace of the Evocators — it was a facade, a fake. In fact, we weren’t even in Orissa. Instead, we were high on a nightmare mountain — inside the Archon’s black iron castle.

  I dropped to the floor and sagged against the wall. Polillo was staring at me, wondering what was going on. I had no answer; and even if I had, I was too stunned to speak. Then I heard talons scrape and I jolted up to see the demon rushing at us.

  Polillo and I leaped apart. He howled at being denied an easy kill. He turned toward me, pivoting his massive toad-like body as if he carried no weight at all. Polillo came at his back, but the demon lashed behind him with one of his huge, furred feet, catching her in the chest.

  The blow hurled her clear across the chamber where she slammed into a wall and slumped to the floor. But her attack gave me a breath of advantage and I ducked under his taloned blow and slashed at his belly. The blade bit deep and the demon screamed in pain.

  He leaped back before I could follow through, slashing with his claws at the same time. One talon tip caught my sword with such force that it was ripped from my grasp. He came for me as I scrabbled for my blade. But he moved slowly, blood oozing from the deep wound I’d made. Even so, I was only just scooping up my sword when he came close enough to strike.

  I was off balance and there was no chance to dodge. Still, I tried — twisting awkwardly away; knowing I hadn’t a hope. Before the blow struck I heard a meaty thud and without even a gasp the demon crashed to the floor. I rose to see Polillo standing over him. Her ax was buried in the beast’s skull.

  She put her foot on his body for leverage and drew it out, then used his fur to wipe the ax head.

  Polillo touched her chest where he’d kicked her and winced: “I’m going to throttle the next woman who says she’s jealous of my tits,” she said. “All they do is get in the way.”

  I laughed wildly, not caring how loud it echoed in the steel chamber. Polillo laughed back and we hugged each other. Then we drew apart.

  “I do love you, Polillo,” I giggled.

  “Bet you say that to all the demon whacking girls,” she giggled back.

  The laughter faded. “He knows we’re here,” I said.

  “Good,” Polillo answered, hefting her ax. “Let’s go find the bastard and kill him.”

  We walked boldly to the other entryway, boots echoing loudly against the steel floors. The corridor it opened into was as long and dark as the other, but we whispered fire beads to life and held them high to light the way as we advanced.

  The corridor twisted in wide curves that carried us downward; and the deeper we went, the heavier came the strange machine-like throbbing. Several times I thought I’d glimpsed the shadow of the big cat moving around a bend. Then my sword hand began to burn and I looked at my palm and saw the twin-headed lion scar was swollen and livid with blood.

  We were getting close. We turned one more corner and I saw light ahead.

  I signaled a halt. In a few moments there would be no time to think. The odds on our side were laughably poor — only sword, ax and muscle against the Archon’s magic. And I had no Gamelan beside me with his vast experience of tricks, and trunk of sorcerous powders and vials. In fact, I had no magical implements of any kind.

  Then I remembered Gamelan saying that Janos Greycloak had disdained such things. He said they only helped you focus your thoughts and energies. Well, good for Greycloak, I thought. Good for that back-stabbing, friend-cheating son of a poxed whore.

  And as I cursed him, and cursed our foul luck, and cursed myself as well for my schoolgirl magical skills, the image of the panther popped into my head. I remembered the fur I’d put in my pocket.

  Polillo must’ve thought I’d gone insane as I grabbed it out and knelt to the floor, muttering to myself as thoughts swirled about in my brain like litter before a windstorm. Then I had it — prayed I had it — and pressed the fur against my scarred palm.

  Daughter of darkness —

  Swift night slayer —

  Hunt with me, now;

  Hunt the two-head beast,

  Who waits in his lair;

  Hunt his black wizard master,

  Where ever he may flee!

  My palm burned hotter, so hot I almost cried out. I opened my hand and saw the fur and the scar had vanished. But my palm still stung and I reflexively licked it to soothe the pain. In an instant, the pain was gone. I rose, my mind clearer than it’s ever been. It was as if I’d drunk from a magical spring of clarity. I started toward the light again, strong and confident.

  I hadn’t gone half-a-dozen steps when sorcery smashed into me like a wave lifting out of an uneasy sea. But I held my ground against the buffeting and struck back with all my will.

  The wave retreated, but I knew it was coming again and in my mind I built a seawall and this time when it roared down on me again, it burst against that wall.

  I laughed crazily and turned to urge Polillo to follow me, to rage with me against the Archon.

  But she just stood there, her face a mask of pain. She croaked at me: “Rali, I —” Another wave of pain gripped her, cutting off the rest. As I went to help she suddenly stiffened, rising to her full height.

  Now, instead of pain, hate mottled her features. She opened her mouth and the Archon’s voice burst from her lips: “Now, you shall die, Antero!”

  Polillo swung her ax at me with all her incredible strength. I fell back. The ax whiskered past and clanged into the metal wall. Such was the force of her blow that it left a huge ragged hole in the steel as she dragged her ax back to swing again.

  “Polillo, don’t!” I screamed, although I knew it wasn’t Polillo who was attacking me.

  I backflipped as the ax came crashing down again, this time splitting the floor. As I came up, I saw an opening as she raised that mighty weapon. Even in Polillo’s hands, an ax is a clumsier weapon than a sword. And I was faster, much faster. I only had to leap inside her guard and run her through.

  All my training and experience screamed at me to strike. But I could not, would not kill my warrior sister. I’d rather die myself. And I almost did as she swung. I ducked under the ax and scrambled away.

  Polillo followed me down the corridor, cursing me in the Archon’s booming voice, striking at me whenever I was in reach. The metal corridor resounded with the death-dealing music of her ax.

  Another opening presented itself and this time I did jump forward, shifting my sword into my other hand. I hammered at her with my fist, putting all the force I could muster into the punch.

  But Polillo’s ribs were like cabled steel and I nearly broke my wrist. She laughed, but it was the Archon’s booming laughter. She lifted me by the back of my neck effortlessly, as if I had no substance at all. I struck out again, not at my friend, but at the laughter, at the Archon.

  I felt bone crack under my knuckles and that mouth — Polillo’s lovely mouth — became a bloody maw. She spit blood and broken teeth at me. She shook me like a pig killing a snake and I was helpless against her berserk rage. Then she flung me away and I was sailing through the air, twisting, desperately fighting to land on my feet.

  But my sword — which I had in a death grip — got in my way
and I fell heavily on my knees.

  Fear drove me to my feet. I’d landed facing the light at the end of the corridor. I could hear her coming after me so I sprinted forward, running as fast I could. But rage made her faster and I knew she was almost on me. Any second and my back would be split by her ax.

  Then I was out of the corridor, nearly blinded by bright light. Just ahead, a rail blocked my way. I dropped to the floor and heard Polillo grunt in surprise. Then she was falling over me and I heard her slam against the rail.

  My head came up and I heard her scream. This time, it wasn’t Archon’s voice, but Polillo’s; my Polillo, screaming in fear. She plunged over the railing and I heard her shout: “Rali!” The shout was cut off. And the only sound I could hear was a great machine, churning, churning, just beyond the rail.

  I groaned up, limped to it and looked down.

  Polillo’s body lay broken across a huge toothed gearwheel, part of a monstrous mechanism.

  Suspended below her was Orissa!

  It was night and I could see the full moon hanging over the city as she slept. I could see the Hall of Magistrates, and the big public square with all the statues of our heroes. There was the Great Amphitheater, with its many rows of stone seats cascading down to the floor of the arena. Beyond were the docks and the river flowing quietly to the sea.

  Then I saw the whole scene was slowly revolving and I jolted back, realizing I was looking at an immense simulacrum of the city. An image in miniature, revolving, floating over a strange machine that looked like a metal grist wheel turned flat and driven by those huge meshing gears.

  As I goggled at the strange device it dawned on me that this was the doom machine we’d feared so long. The Archon had finally gained power enough to build it, and when Gamelan had foiled him in that last battle, the Lycanthian sorcerer had transported me inside it. Everything from the Orissan ship that’d picked us up after the battle, to the lifeless parade that’d greeted us on our arrival was nothing more than an elaborate spell.

  Then I noted all the imperfections in the image he’d made of Orissa. Buildings were missing, streets dead-ended where they shouldn’t, and everything outside the city’s walls was a blank. Well, not all.

  I could see the road leading to Amalric’s villa, with woods and brush sketched about it. As I looked, I realized the Archon’s unfamiliarity with my city had resulted in more than just physical imperfections. He’d made Jinnah a Chief Magistrate because that was the enemy he knew — the commander who fought him, however badly, at Lycanth. He also didn’t know Malaren was my friend, which was why the automaton who posed as Malaren behaved so oddly.

  Finally, there was the greatest oddity of all — the love of my family. He wouldn’t have known how Porcemus and the others truly felt about me. Among the Anteros who live, it is Amalric alone who loves me, and I him. I flushed in shame for the weakness that let those creatures take me in.

  I’d wanted my family’s acceptance so much, I never questioned if their display of affection was false.

  Gears suddenly shrieked in protest and the machine jerked to a halt as Polillo’s broken body caught in the huge teeth.

  I felt a presence and looked up, shielding my eyes against the bright light glaring down from the vaulted iron ceiling. I was standing on a catwalk that circled the edge of the yawning pit that held the Archon’s doom machine. On the other side of that pit, an open door beckoned. I moved toward it and my boot bumped against something.

  I looked at my feet and saw Polillo’s ax. I sheathed my sword and picked it up. It was heavy, but as I shifted my grip, my fingers curled into the grooves worn by Polillo’s fist. I felt the ax lighten until it was no more a burden to me than it was my friends.

  I whispered to it: “Avenge us, sister.”

  I circled to the door and when I came to it I didn’t hesitate, but strode into the room. The Archon was waiting.

  He was standing by a window and I could see from the bleak view that we were in the iron castle’s main turret. His eyes glowed and his lips made a rictus grin through his beard, exposing his long yellow teeth. But this time there was no laughter; there was no curse; there was no obscene mocking of my sex; no pointing with a twisted finger and shouting — begone!

  I should’ve been frightened, I should’ve cowered before this mighty sorcerer. Instead, I let my eyes sweep past him, feeling bold, strong. The turret room was a black wizard’s clutter of skulls, demon talons, bottled human parts, and small stone figurines of creatures in pain. It was hot and smelled of sewage and rotting things. There was sinuous motion beside me, but I didn’t leap back with alarm.

  I knew what it was and I looked calmly down to find the panther crouched next to me. She hissed at the Archon.

  I scratched behind her ears and looked up at our enemy. “It’s over,” I said.

  Hefting the ax, I stepped forward, the panther moving with me. The Archon made a motion and the air shimmered in front of us; and I came up against an invisible wall. But its surface was yielding and I pushed at it with a spell of my own. It yielded more, then stiffened as the Archon intensified his magic. But I knew it was only a matter of time before it gave.

  “Whose demon are you?” he rasped.

  I was surprised. “Demon? I’m no demon.”

  “You are to me,” he said. “You are the bitch ferret who destroyed my kingdom. You killed my brother and you’ve hunted me, no matter where I fled.”

  From his dark view, I suppose he was right. I pushed harder against the wall, felt it shudder. The panther snarled in pleasure. A little more time and I’d be through.

  The Archon laughed, his confidence returning. “I’m not done yet, Antero,” he said. “You know you are weak against my powers. It’s only a trick of your blood that gives you talent. A seed carried forward by your mother, who turned her back on our art. There can be no greatness in such magic.”

  It was my turn to laugh. “Then why do you fear me?” I said. “How was such a poor weak thing able to foil you?”

  “The only mistake I made was when I cursed you,” the Archon said. “You were about to slay me and I thought the curse would be my only revenge. But as I died I saw another way and escaped into this world. But that damned curse has kept you chained to me. Kept me from winning the greatest dream any wizard could have — the power of the gods themselves.”

  I sneered at him. “You think you could be a god?”

  “I am one now, bitch ferret,” the Archon said. “My battles with you have only made me stronger. I ate your misery. I drank the blood of your dead. And I consumed my slain allies, as well. You would have been wiser to turn back, Antero. You should have heeded the fear I struck in your dreams. You have made me suffer, it is true. But I’ve made you suffer more. I’ve killed all your soldiers. I’ve slain all your friends. I turned the last friend you shall ever have against you. And as she died, I sipped her fear; I nearly grew drunk on her betrayal.”

  “She didn’t betray me, sorcerer,” I said. “You possessed her. It was you, not Polillo who tried to kill me.”

  The Archon’s laughter mocked me. “A hair’s difference,” he said. “Is it enough to really comfort you?”

  Actually, it did. Polillo was no Greycloak, who turned on my brother. She’d been loyal to the end. I grinned at him and he could see the truth in that grin. He frowned. It hurt him, not to be of hurt to me.

  The panther growled as I probed the Archon’s defenses, but this time he fought harder, forcing us to retreat a few steps before I managed equilibrium.

  The Archon took strength from this. “I admit you have distressed me, bitch ferret,” he said. “I’ve pondered long on what it is about the Anteros that gives me such trouble. That some force is behind your family — especially you — I do not question. That panther, I have no doubt, is his emissary. How else could you have succeeded so long? How else could you have lived? But know this, Rali Antero — whose mother was Emilie. Know that whoever champions you, does it for his purpose, and his purpo
se alone. He cannot keep you safe much longer.

  “Know that I only need to accomplish your death to mount the god’s throne I have all but won. When you die, so will Orissa. The machine is set and needs only your blood to oil its works to complete its purpose. With Orissa’s fall, the Far Kingdoms will be next. Soon all the known world will be mine. And with that temporal power, the worlds I have entered escaping death will fall before me as well.”

  I was only half-listening to his mad babble. As he spoke I remembered Gamelan’s musings, built on Greycloak’s theorems. “Magic consumes power, Rali,” Gamelan had said. “Just as mill wheel needs an ox to turn it. And the ox needs grain to feed it. And the grain needs seed, which consumes the power of the sun to grow. And only the gods know what fires the sun. But even its power may not be endless. And the more that is drawn from it, the less may be its heat.”

  If this was true, I thought, it’d explain why the Archon stood before me in a weaker, mortal form, instead of a almighty specter in the sky. All his force was being used to contain the odd reality — if that was what it could be called — we stood in. From this turret room, to the iron castle itself, to the false Orissa that waited to be ground up by the doom machine. And the machine itself must be greedily devouring the most power of all.

  I stroked the panther and she purred most fearfully. “What happens, sorcerer,” I said, “when my sister and I finally burst through your wall? You know it’s going to happen. You know you’re weakening, while we’re getting stronger.”

  The panther snarled and the Archon’s eyes flickered. I hoped it was fear.

  I raised up the ax. “Do you dare face me in that form, sorcerer?” I said.

  I swung the ax with all my strength. There was a sound like a potter’s furnace exploding. The shimmer of the wall glowed white hot, then vanished. I stepped forward, the panther at my side.