Marrassa bellowed. Again and again it gave voice to those awesome cries. In each shriek was agony, yet even more than agony. For Marrassa knew the power of That-which-had-been-made-at-the-Beginning. Long had it been hidden away from the sight of men. Long, long had it been secreted in a fountain at Akkuna.
How had this human found it? Aye! Marrassa knew. The god-father had sent this man with the jewel, as the god-father had promised, long ages ago, if Marrassa ever sought freedom from those depths into which he had been hurled. Avalar had promised. Avalar had sent this human to destroy him.
In his agonies, Marrassa still sought to reach Kyrik. He would slay this messenger of the godfather. He would slay him and at least have this measure of revenge.
But—
A golden radiance surrounded the man. Marrassa knew that radiance. It was gift of Illis, gift of Avalar. No eyes but his could see it, yet it existed. And since it did, Marrassa was helpless to harm him.
Lyrrin Odanyor stood rigid, disbelieving. This could not be happening This barbarian had hurled something—what it was, Lyrrin Odanyor did not know—but that thing had shattered on Marrassa, even now its crimson flares were eating his god. His eardrums were being shattered by the screams of the god he worshiped.
Only vaguely was he aware that the people in the temple were screaming in their fear and trying to flee. They blocked one another, they clawed and fought, and some died there on the temple floor.
His eyes were for one thing only: Kyrik. For the barbarian had swung around, was lifting those chains in his hands, and on his face was a fearful smile. He handled those leaden weights as though they had been made from cotton.
Lyrrin Odanyor snatched the gold-hilted dagger at his golden girdle and leaped. He must slay this man who had brought destruction to all his plans. Kyrik must die for having destroyed Marrassa.
Something leaped through the air to meet him. It was round and black and it grew in his eyes until he blotted out the sight of everything else. It thudded into his face, mashed nose and mouth and eyes and broke open his skull. Too late, he knew it for an iron ball.
The high priest fell and never moved. Swinging those chains, those massive balls, Kyrik stepped down off the dais and went to meet the soldiers who came thronging to kill him, swords out and shining in the sunlight. His muscles bulged, his arms were like the Vanes of a great windmill as he whipped the chains about and sent them dancing and darting through the air.
Those leaden balls were irresistible. They thudded into faces, they dropped onto helmets, and where they met arms or legs they snapped bones. Men dropped before them, and when a shield was lifted to ward them off, that shield was dented with such power the shield-bearer went backward off his feet.
Along he stood like an island in the midst of an angry sea. Men came at him in waves, to be broken by the fury of his fighting. The altar was at his back, the temple floor-crowded with soldiers pushing the people aside to get at him—was before him.
He could not hold out much longer. He knew this deep inside him, but because of that knowledge, because he understood that even his great strength must give way before exhaustion, he fought the harder.
And then the very air seemed to be rent apart From above, winged creatures dropped out of that hole in space. They were striped and furred, and their faces were ethereal and catlike, but they bore weapons in their hands and they used those weapons with a fury and a dexterity that felled the ranks of men pressing in against Kyrik.
He knew those beings They were the servitors of Avalar. Illis had spoken of them long ago when he had been a king in Tantagol, before he had been imprisoned as a statue by the wicked rites of Jokaline. All the demon-gods had their servants, and those of the god-father were dangerous indeed.
Kyrik fell back two steps, watching. The soldiers of Ulmaran Dho were no match for such things as these, who flew about, who dipped and darted out of the way of slashing swords to loose their arrows or to stab downward with long, slender spears.
In seconds the way was cleared before the black altar where Kyrik stood. Men lay in rows of bodies, piled this way and that, as death had claimed them. Terror was in the faces of those who lived. They knew they battled forces they could not understand, and they would have turned to flee but that the arrows and lances sought them out no matter which way they turned.
Kyrik moved away from the black altar toward Myrnis.
The girl crouched in the throne, staring witlessly around her. Fear etched its lines on her features. Her numb eyes saw Kyrik coming for her, but she could not move.
Behind and slightly to one side of her, Ulmaran Dho still stood as through bemused. His eyes had watched the slaying of Lyrrin Odanyor, the battle that Kyrik had raged, and the heart of him had exulted.
Let the high priest die! Let the soldiers slay Kyrik.
Then he alone would rule in Alkinoor When the air above Kyrik had opened, when the winged creatures had come flying out of that hole into his world, he had stood frozen with disbelief. Such things could not be happening. It went against everything he had planned.
Not until too late did he realize that those plans were nothing more than dreams. He had never heard of these beings who served the father of gods, Avalar. Yet a corner of his mind suspected. He whirled to flee, but he had waited too long. Kyrik leaped, and the iron balls came with him. Around the throat of Ulmaran Dho Kyrik fastened his fingers, and dragged him back, to fling him past the black altar until he lay almost beside the fallen Adorla Mathandis.
Adorla was stirring, sitting up. She stared around her, saw the dead bodies, the winged beings that drove the soldiers back and back. She looked for Kyrik and saw him.
"Majesty," whispered a voice at her side. She turned, seeing Ulmaran Dho with a quivering hand outstretched. Adorla Mathandis drew back, alarmed.
"Majesty, have mercy. It was not I who did these things, but Lyrrin Odanyor. He—tricked me."
Kyrik grated harsh laughter. "Liar! You knew the truth. You worked together with him. You had your queen abducted and cast aside in Domilik. If I hadn't found her, she'd have died there.""
"No! I knew nothing!" Adorla Mathandis rose to her feet. She was almost naked in the few strips of torn silk she still wore, but she was regal. Regal Her head was high, her eyes cold and scornful.
"Kyrik is in the right of it, Ulmaran Dho. You did not want a queen, you wanted only someone who looked like me, who could sit my throne, who gave the orders you gave her."
Adorla Mathandis waved a contemptuous hand at Myrnis, who still sat huddled on the throne.
“You shall die this day, Ulmaran Dho, and the story of your death shall go down into the ages to come, to frighten other men who seek to steal power from its rightful owners."
Ulmaran Dho snarled. His right hand fell to his golden girdle and lifted out a knife. He rose to hurl himself upon his queen, but he had forgotten Kyrik. "
The warrior-warlock leaped, a leaden ball snaked out, hit the hand that held the knife. The knife fell as Ulmaran Dho screeched in pain.
An instant later, mighty fingers gripped his shoulder and shook him. Like a rat in the grip of a terrier he was shaken, until weakness flowed in him with every heartbeat. When the hand let him go, he fell to the ground, where he groveled, weeping.
"Majesty! Forgive me!" he babbled. They stood in the temple for a long time until they were the only ones left alive. The dead lay across the temple floor, and a hush came into the place until only their breathing could be heard. Then Adorla Mathandis looked at Myrnis. “You shall die with him,” she whispered. “Your screams of agony will echo down the years to deter any other aspirant to queen-hood whose vitals may be gnawed by ambition. Myrnis shuddered. Kyrik stirred, saying, “Na, na, girl. Leave her alone. You, have Ulmaran Dho on whom to take vengeance. This gypsy girl had her memory stolen from her. Can't you see that?"
“Nevertheless, she dies.” Adorla Mathandis turned her back to the black altar and stood there, head high, waiting for her people to come to her. K
yrik brooded at her, scowling, and nibbled at his lip. From the queen, his eyes went to Myrnis, who was sobbing softly to herself.
He said suddenly, "A boon, Queen Adorla Mathandis.”
She turned and smiled at him, and in her eyes was a hunger for the love his great body had brought her. She nodded, smiling.
"Of course, Kyrik. You shall have your boon. The life of your gypsy girl. Isn't that what you would ask? Well, then
"On the day you wed with me and become my king, your Myrnis will be given a thousand gold griffs and set free to go wherever she wishes outside the borders of Alkinoor.
"Isn't that what you wish?" Kyrik said nothing, but he was thinking that the gratitude of queens was much like that of goddesses.
Chapter TWELVE
In time, the people crept back inside the temple, drawn at first by curiosity and then by the sight of their queen in silken rags, standing proudly beside the dead body of Lyrrin Odanyor and the whimpering, weeping Ulmaran Dho. They crept in, they advanced slowly, and when they saw only two women and a big barbarian standing there, they came more swiftly.
Something about the manner in which Adorla Mathandis eyed them caused them to go to their knees, and like this they crawled. There were those in the crowd who had known Adorla Mathandis since she had been a child, old servitors of her father the king, who had been put out of high office by Lyrrin Odanyor and Ulmaran Dho.
One old man found his voice. "Majesty, we did not know We were told you were in conference many times when we sought to see you."
The old man looked at Myrnis, and his eyes hardened. "We were told that one was the queen. None of us got close enough to speak with her. Your city, your people, have lived in fear.
"You need fear no longer." Adorla Mathandis looked down at them and said, "You, Evlin Dotan and you, Yabeel Than, shall serve as my escorts.
I would go home.
She turned and glanced at Kyrik. "Walk you with me, Kyrik of the Victories." Her eyes touched Myrnis. " And bring that one with you." She glanced at Ulmaran Dho. And him, as well."
Kyrik grunted, but he put a big hand about Myrnis wrist and lifted her bodily off the throne. She would have fallen, her knees were so weak, but he shook her and growled low in his throat. "Stand, girl. You're lucky you aren't dead."
"She said —she was the queen."
"And so she is. I told you, you're nothing but a gypsy girl."
She stared at him, eyes enormous. She almost tried to fight the hand that held her, but she was no match for his iron muscles. She walked beside him, head dropping, stumbling at times.
They came out into the sunlight with the people in the temple flowing behind them, and at sight of Adorla Mathandis, a great roar went up from the assembled thousands who jammed the square and the avenues leading out of it.
Scarves waved, men shouted, women wept. Adorla Mathandis stood smiling, nodding, lifting an arm and waving. Inside herself, she still could not believe that it was over. Marrassa was no more, Lyrrin Odanyor was dead, Ulmaran Dho a prisoner. She was alive, and queen in Alkinoor.
Behind her, Kyrik was scowling. All this was very well, but he himself got nothing out of all this fighting and wizardry. Not that he wanted gold or silver, he had enough of that, back in Tantagol and even in his belt-pouch.
He wanted only one thing. Myrnis. His eyes touched the gypsy girl as she stumble along in her queenly clothes. A grin touched the corners of his mouth. She would look better in rags, because rags showed more of her body.
Kyrik sighed. He would rather face a column of soldiers than Adorla Mathandis, arguing for the life of this woman he loved. He was well aware of royal temperaments. The queen would order Myrnis to be confined in the pits beneath the castle and guarded well.
He did not want to kill innocent warriors, not even to free Myrnis. Yet it would have to be done. He would not leave Alkinoor without her. His eyes touched her again. She had no idea of the thoughts that ran through his head.
She would not want to go with him.
Hmph! Or—would she?
She knew well enough the way Adorla Mathandis felt about her. She had seen death in the eyes that studied her. It would not be an easy death, either.
Kyrik weighed the iron balls he carried in his hands. His first task must be to get free of them, have them knocked off by the palace blacksmith. After that—well, he would have to give this matter some thought. He couldn't just throw Myrnis over a horse and ride off with her.
Once inside the palace, Adorla Mathandis gave orders in a crisp, cool voice. They were to free Kyrik of the iron balls and chains, Myrnis was to be placed under guard, she herself would bathe and dress.
"After that I shall assume the throne. I would hear of what has happened while—I was away."
She turned and walked away, and Kyrik watched her buttocks wriggle. She was a queen, in truth, now. Her experiences had hardened her, made her appreciate the easy life she could have.
Kyrik sighed. He liked Adorla Mathandis. If it were not for Myrnis....
His eyes touched the girl as they led her away. She seemed smaller, somehow, in the royal robes. There was despair in the round of her shoulders, in her down-hung head. He wondered if she would live or die, here in Alkinoor, and if she lived, whether she would ever remember him.
The palace blacksmith took off the balls and chains riveted to Kyrik's wrist, in a glum silence. He merely shook his head and did not answer Kyrik's questions. As the last wrist-let fell away, the warlock-warrior began to understand his reticence.
“Everyone's afraid, he said suddenly. The man glanced up at him and nodded. Kyrik smiled faintly. “It wasn't your fault. Nobody's fault but Lyrrin Odanyor's and Ulmaran Dho's. Queen Adorla understand that."
"She will want vengeance."
"Oh, I don't think so. The ones who got her out of Alkinoor are the ones she wants punished, and they're dead. Now she'll want only to take the throne and be a queen in truth."
The man smiled faintly, gathering up his tools. “I hope you're right. Just say a word for us common people, that's all I ask.”
He went out of the little room and Kyrik came off the table, moving about to ease the ache of his wearied muscles. He stood a moment, thinking.
Adorla Mathandis wanted him to be her king. She also intended punishing Myrnis. He had no intention of giving her either of those desires. But he was alone, without friends or resources.
He moved from the room and walked down the corridor. The palace was in a ferment, but it was a quiet ferment. Men huddled here and there, not knowing quite what to do, dreading the summons that would bring them to the throne room.
He found the ramp that led to the lower levels and walked along it. In time he came to an open doorway and saw weapons hung on the walls, with cloaks and mail shirts. He paused to enter that room, to lift off two hooded cloaks from the wooden pegs on which they hung.
Carrying the cloaks, he went down into the dungeons.
There were no guards here. Those guards were fearful men, they would be huddled together, wondering and debating what they ought to do. If he was ever to find Myrnis and get her out of here, now was the time.
He walked through the dungeons until he came to the cell where he and Adorla Mathandis had been imprisoned. He stood by the bars and peered inside.
Myrnis lay in a crumpled heap on one of the cots, moaning softly. His eyes ran up her legs, to a swell of breast tumbling half out of the thin shift which they had left to cover her nakedness.
"If you want to get out of here, you'll have to do better than that."
She lifted her tear-wet face, stared at him. "You! Isn't it enough that your woman has her throne? Must you come and torment me even more? Isn't she satisfied?"
"She is, but I'm not." His voice changed, snapped with authority. "Get off that pallet and get over here. Or do you want me to come in there and get you?"
He took a dagger out of its scabbard and began to prick at the lock. These were old locks, patterned after those which
were still in Tantagol. In a moment the lock clicked, and he swung the door open.
Myrnis came out fearfully. Kyrik grinned and tossed her the smaller of the hooded cloaks. "Put that on. Nobody’ll know you if you keep your head and face covered. Now come along."
He brought her trotting behind his long strides, up the ramp and along a corridor. He followed that corridor until it carried him to a courtyard. The courtyard was empty.
It was easy enough to find the royal stables and to select two powerful stallions, and to saddle and bridle them. He waited until the girl was mounted, then put his war-boot in a stirrup and swung up into the kak. He led the way out of the courtyard and along a cobbled avenue to the wall gate. No one guarded it, it was a simple matter to open it and close it behind them after they were on the Outer Street.
He walked the horses away from the palace, down back alleys and roads where old buildings leaned toward one another. Even the city was quiet, fearful, as though holding its breath. Queen Adorla Mathandis had come back. The true queen sat on her throne once more
Would she want vengeance? Everyone in Alkinoor City waited to find out. Tomorrow everything would be back to normal. They would know by then that the queen sought no vengeance on her people. They would want to do all they could to make her happy and content. Tomorrow, there would be no chance to ride out of this city and away across the countryside.
They must do it today.
Kyrik showed no hesitation. He sat his saddle with his cowl about his head, as though against the wind which swept landward off the great lake, formed where the rivers Thrumm and Hister flowed together. Behind him came Myrnis, draped in the dull gray of the hooded cloak.
Guards stood at the open city gates, but they were an indecisive lot. They came to halt Kyrik, to question him, but he merely grinned at them and winked.
"My woman and are leaving Alkinoor. I don't want to be caught up in any of the changes that may come."
The guards captain grinned weakly. "Lucky you. Did you see anything that went on in that temple? I heard some barbarian swordsman killed a lot of the foreign guards, and that devils came out of the sky to kill the rest."
Kyrik and the Lost Queen Page 13
