Empire of the East Trilogy

by Fred Saberhagen

  Ominor said: “Before you attempt more energetic ways of contributing to my happiness, answer me a question or two; repeat to me how you and the man came to be out there where you were found by my patrol. What went wrong with Abner, and what has become of my chief wizard?” There came a hoarse scream from somewhere not far away, probably from another chamber of the elaborate tent. “They are still asking the same questions of the man who was with you, but it seems he is as witless as he looked. He does nothing but yelp. You may be our only witness, so try to remember things in a little more detail. Exactly where is Wood?”

  “My dread Lord, I will do the best I can.” Charmian had already told of Abner’s fate and Wood’s, leaving out of course her attack on the Constable from behind. She began to repeat the story now, adding such detail as she could remember; still she could not say exactly where it had all happened. She had wandered for two days with the dazed Chup before the Eastern patrol found them. She had no more information about Wood to give the Emperor, who was listening carefully.

  Now and then another mindless outcry drifted in from Chup. In a moment of private thought it occurred to Charmian how enjoyable it would be to watch Chup’s slow destruction, but then in the next moment she realized that she would miss him when he was no more. She recalled feeling a certain joy mixed with her fear on recognizing him as the man forcing his way into her rooms at the caravanserai, and again in the Constable’s tent. Of course Chup might have killed her either time if she had crossed him; but this man here, on whose favor she was counting, might well kill her someday for amusement.

  John Ominor asked her: “When this group of demons, as you put it, came pouring out into the world, was there any one among them notably larger or more impressive than the rest?” He seemed to think the question very important.

  “I think not, dread Lord, if you can accept the opinion of one not well acquainted with demons, or able to view them without fear.”

  “No, of course not,” Ominor mused, as if to himself, “we would have known.” His eye fixed Charmian once more. “And the man with you? He is of the West, you say, and yet you seem to have known him previously?”

  There was no telling how much the Emperor might already know, and Charmian now boldly gave the truth. “He was once of the East, my Lord, and he was once my husband. A deserter and a turncoat. I cannot believe his present madness is a sham; but be that as it may, I would be pleased to see his suffering as well as hear it.”

  Ominor grunted and flicked a glance back over his shoulder. Apparently the signal was relayed and heeded for presently the dismal outcries ceased. A moment more, and two black-garbed torturers came in bringing with them Chup, bound to an iron frame on wheels. He was stripped and bleeding here and there, where patches of skin were missing; but he was not the mangled object Charmian had imagined. His head turned to and fro, eyes glaring wildly.

  Another pair of men had come in, wizards to judge by their dress. Ominor now turned to them. “Try some gentler means of restoring his memory. It could be important. If he knows aught of what was befallen Wood—”

  There came a hail from outside the pavilion. A stir at the entrance, and then Wood himself appeared there. He hurried forward, scarcely glancing at Charmian, made obeisance, and quickly rose. “A word with you, at once, my Lord.”

  Ominor arose promptly and led the way out of the chamber, motioning Wood to come along. Charmian was left to contemplate her husband, now being treated kindly, with a mixture of anger and relief that she did not fully understand.

  Ominor and Wood confronted one another within an inner chamber of black silk, a tent within a tent, guarded round by most dependable powers of secrecy, and filled with a darkness that sometimes could press upon the eye like glaring light.

  Wood got to business at once. “Supreme Lord, I can rouse that man that they are working on out there; it is one of my spells that still oppresses him. Has he any information of importance?”

  “Not since you are here. Where were you?”

  “Mobilizing reserve forces, my lord Emperor. We shall soon have urgent need of them.”

  “And you were struck down in the process? So the woman told me, but I doubted . . . what, who, were you trying to call up?”

  There was a pause. Wood began to answer indirectly. “My Lord, shortly before that I faced Ardneh, and I was weakened thereby. Ardneh is now mightier than we have ever suspected he might become. He may be as strong as—one other, whom we both know of, whose name I have not mentioned—”

  Ominor stood up. “Are you really leading where I think you are? Was that the purpose of the ceremony you had begun?” The secret tent muted sound, but still the anger in his voice was terrible. “Of course; who else could have struck you down like that?”

  “Lord Emperor, hear me out, if you would save the East! I tell you I have faced Ardneh and I know! We must arouse the One whose name should not be said, to fight for us. Or else we perish.”

  “Arouse him,you say? Not simply tap his power?”

  “Yes.” Wood swallowed. “Awaken him enough to send him into battle. Keep reins upon his senses and his will, and send him back below when he has served.”

  There was again a little silence before Ominor said: “You think it will be possible to release the one you speak of, then bottle him again like so much wine?”

  “It is a risk that must be taken, supreme Lord.”

  “You really believe you can do that?” The Emperor’s loud crude voice made it sound as if Wood’s sanity rather than his ability, was in question.

  “Lord, Ardneh had exhausted me before the Other struck me down. Nor could he even then escape our bondage, as you see. Before beginning again I will rest myself, and make thorough preparation. Next time I will have help—”

  “Of course!” Ominor clapped his hands, as if blessed with a sudden happy thought. “To help you we must call upon those same three powers that hovered above the lake, and warded harm from our imperial person, the day that we invited Ardneh to our palace—ah, it seems so long ago. Yes, call them, let them clamp shut their jaws upon all who threaten us, as you swore they were eager to do.”

  Wood hung his head, taking care to indicate nothing but total submission. Ardneh had already driven those three demons from the field, in the cur-pack with the others, as Ominor must understand. Just now was not the time for Wood to say anything more at all.

  Having made his point and inspired what he thought to be sufficient fear, the Emperor was ready to talk business. “Wood, despite the recent record of your failures, I find myself listening to this new plan of yours. But I am not yet convinced. I know, better than you or anyone else, the dangers of what you propose. Do not take another step along that road unless I bid you do so. However.” Wood’s eyes lifted. “However, if what you tell me of Ardneh is true, we may have to take the most desperate steps, and quickly. So rest now, and prepare yourself—are there any preliminary steps remaining?”

  Wood was eager once again. “One more sacrifice, great Lord. I need not promise it will be far more carefully conducted than the last. That is all, and the One we speak of will be reachable for quick summoning, or for quickly being reburied as deep as ever.”

  There was a silent pause. “Go and do it,” said Ominor then abruptly. He stood up, ripped open with his hand the little tent of blackness, and strode out.

  Returning to his private quarters, the Emperor was soon visited by one of his chiefs of technology, and by his Master of the Beasts, who came in lupine form. For once, both brought good news. In recent days the technologists’ Old World devices had detected a steady increase in electromagnetic activity in a certain small area to the north. It seemed to be precisely where the Beast Master’s half-intelligent scouts now reported the scent of two humans, male and female, entering a strange cave. From the same direction had come the winds that had defeated Wood and scattered his demonic horde. In that direction, also, was Duncan’s army tending, as if something were there that the Prince wanted to
defend.

  I have found Ardneh’s life. Ominor did not say the words aloud. But he dismissed his aides and stood alone for some time, looking at the map. Then he summoned his field commanders and demanded from them a faster movement to the north. Such beasts as were already near the objective were to try what could be accomplished by a prompt attack.

  X

  Beast-War

  * * *

  “Ardneh, how long will we be here?” Rolf sat on a chest of Old World tools. His hands were playing nervously with a gripping, twisting device of silvery metal. Catherine, on the other side of the room, lay curled up on the floor as if she hoped to sleep. Not many words had passed between the two of them since their return from the scouting expedition. On hearing their report of paw-prints, Ardneh had urged that at least one of them remain awake and alert at all times; they could not depend upon his being able to warn them of danger, here in his own blind interior.

  Ardneh’s answer to his question now took Rolf by surprise. “The number of days is not now determinable. But almost certainly it will not be as long as a month. By then the outcome of the war will have been decided.”

  Across the room, Catherine’s head came up, her face turned in Rolf’s direction.

  Rolf opened his mouth, closed it, tried again. “It will be over?“ was all that he could find to say at last.

  “The next major battle will decide the war,” Ardneh replied matter-of-factly. “And it will be fought here, within the month, though the war will not end entirely for another year or two.”

  “Ardneh... fought here?”

  “Around me and over me. I must bring the strongest of the enemy to me, and break them here, if they are to be broken at all. And Duncan must come with his army, to be ready to strike again when I have done my utmost.”

  Catherine asked: “And what are Rolf and I to do?”

  “There will be much. Physical repairs and rearrangements to be made, things I cannot do for myself, enough work to keep two humans busy until the issue is decided. Rolf has great natural skill in technology; also he is familiar enough with me not to be greatly awed by my presence. Therefore I decided that he should be the one to bring me the heart of the power lamp.”

  Catherine put out a slender hand, to touch a giant piece of hardware. “I have no great skill with things like these.”

  “More than you know,” Ardneh’s voice assured her. “You will be of help with the machinery. But your chief value to my plan, the reason I brought you here, lies elsewhere, in the future. I see it dimly, but cannot explain. You have powers that you know not of. Powers of life, that build the world.”

  “Magic? No, I cannot...”

  “Not magic. Not un-magic, either. All. Reality.”

  Her eyes turned to Rolf, as if beseeching him for help. It was a moment of openness between them, such as they had not shared since rejoining Ardneh. But though Rolf’s heart went out to that look, he had no other help to give.

  Ardneh gave them no time to brood any more, but announced that the integration of the power source that they had brought was now complete. He led them now to other rooms and began to show them some of the tasks they must accomplish. There were interlocking nests of metal and glass to be opened, disassembled, moved, put together again in new configurations. There were long cables, like multi-headed snakes, to be unpacked, tested, and installed. The outward shapes of the machinery were not very complex, but still some practice time was necessary. Rolf’s fingers soon got the feel of what was wanted; Catherine, less in tune with technical matters, increasingly limited her help to unpacking, fetching, and carrying, taking up tools only when necessary.

  That night in the ruined dormitory, sleep would not come to Rolf. He tossed about for a while, looking again and again at the motionless, cloak-covered form on the far side of the room. Finally he sat up. “Ardneh.”

  It seemed a long time before an answer came. “What is it?”

  “Catherine is under a spell of the Lady Char-mian’s.” The figure on the far side of the room was still apparently asleep. “If you could counteract it, both of us would be grateful.”

  This time the pause was longer still. Then the voice above Rolf said: “I am aware of the spell. To counteract it would be difficult, because of the source of power that was tapped to make it. And to counteract it does not seem essential.”

  “Our lives here would be much easier if—”

  Calm, inflexible, Ardneh’s voice overrode his. “At this moment many lives in the West are more difficult than yours. And there are greater dangers to you than this discomfort that you speak of. I am too busy to even discuss the matter now. Another may help you where I cannot.”

  Another? Who? But there would be no use in trying to ask; Rolf could feel that Ardneh’s presence had departed. Despite himself, despite his awareness of the legless, armless, dying who were far worse off, he half-willingly nursed a sullen anger.

  Catherine was still asleep—or still wanted him to think she was. He tried once more to get to sleep himself, but it was hopeless. Getting up, he groped his way through dark but now partially familiar corridors, to the chill cave air of the tunnel and at last to the warmth of summer night outside. For a time he stood cautiously just inside the tunnel mouth, his ears sorting out the natural activities of the prairie night as he heard them through the murmur of the stream. Then he climbed the little hill above the entrance to the cave, and sat in the grass to contemplate the stars.

  “Whooo, Roolf.”

  The great bird was almost within reach of his hand before his eyes could find it in the night. “Strijeef! It’s good to see you again. How are you? What news?”

  The bird spoke briefly of reptiles recently slain, and personal perils avoided; and then of the march of great armies, how both East and West were converging on this northern land. “Each day the great battle that is to come grows nearer. All in Duncan’s army speak of it.”

  “So says Ardneh, also. Have you a message for me from Duncan?”

  From his courier’s pouch Strijeef’s nimble talons brought out a small roll of paper, which he tossed to Rolf with a flirt of his murderous beak. “Yoouuu are promoted to captain, and the woman Ctherine is formally enrolled as warrant officer. And there is one more bit of news, that I bring of my oown sight. Large four-legged beasts are coming here, loong before either army. A pack of beasts I doo not know, and they will be here before daylight.”

  It had rained during the night, and in the dismal morning the west prairie smelled more of autumn than of summer. The army of the East was striking camp, preparing for another day of northward march. From the earliest light Charmian had been outside her tent, keeping an alert eye on the tent where Wood had rested. And now at last she saw him emerge from it, wearing a soft, rich robe.

  Once more a circular space, set apart from other camp activities, had been made ready for the chief wizard’s intended work. In the middle of that space Chup had been left waiting through the night, still bound to his iron frame, and guarded by two soldiers.

  Wood had paused, just outside his tent, in conference with other wizards. Charmian took the opportunity to approach the waiting victim. Grabbing Chup’s long hair, she turned his face around to hers. He snarled, but there was no recognition in the scarcely-human sound. His eyes were those of a trapped beast.

  Once she had yearned to tear those eyes out with her nails. Now she had the chance to do so. But somehow the desire had fled.

  Wood was approaching now, followed by two assistants, as silent and somber as their master. At a flicker of the chief wizard’s eyes toward her, Charmian darted out of the circle. Just past its edge, she paused, alone and watching as before.

  As soon as a few preliminaries were out of the way, Wood came closer to the victim on his iron frame. The wizard raised and spread his empty hands. For this sacrifice he must use nothing so direct as a knife. Subtle and bloodless must be the draining of this victim’s life. Its energies were needed as solvents and lubricants, to melt th
e seals and oil the hinges of the dungeon door through which Orcus must eventually pass if it was finally decided to free him. Wood began to work now with his most subtle arts, to extract the energies of Chup’s life without the use of material weapons. Proceeding slowly and carefully, Wood ignored, or at least he did not stop to savor, the reactions of the victim whose mind must be made clear so he could understand what was happening to him. The essential oil of despair must be added to those of fear and pain. Chup, regaining his wits at last, strained at his iron bonds, and looked up with a new and understanding horror at the man who was beginning to kill him.

  Wood had killed in ritual so often than now it seemed no more important to him than the cracking of an egg. While his voice chanted, and his hands gestured, his mind held steady to the useful working image. Once more in imagination he had descended to the nethermost dungeon. Now he stood there like an artisan, a workman lubricating a lock, an intricate tremendous lock that held a massive door, a door securely sealed and barred, whose key had been put so far away that it had been forgotten. Another terrible ceremony would be needed for the recovery of that key, but that was for another day.

  On the other side of the door, Wood knew, the monster moved (aye, he could feel and hear it through the door), the utter beast, a slouching, slimy and wall-bulging weight, that slid against the door, and turned within its tiny cell and padded on along the tiny circle it must walk. It was fully awakened now. He felt its foul breath issuing... enough. When he envisioned demons breathing, more than enough. The workman’s image was the one that he must keep in mind. He must oil the unopenable hinges, and the lock, and make them ready to be used. Now, twist and squeeze the oily rag (whose name was Chup) to get the solvent and the lubricant. Probe deeply now into the lock and clear the sealing force from all the parts...

  Incredibly, the workman’s hand upon the door was seized, by something from the other side. Wood’s hand went dead as ice. A numbing shock flew all along his arm. He tried to step back from the door, to pull away. When that effort failed he sought to tear his mind out of the image at once, terrible though the dangers were in doing so. But still his hand was held. He could only gape in horrified disbelief as the monster, having been somehow granted some kind of fingerhold within the lock, proceeded to make good use of it, applying his full strength.