The Warrior Returns: Far Kingdoms #4 (The Far Kingdoms)

by Allan Cole

  “Because you’re an Antero,” he said, gritting his teeth. Not in pain, I noted, but in barely disguised hatred. “You have to come here willingly. Be seduced into it. She said you had some power that prevented it. An ancient power that could only be passed down through many generations.

  “She admitted she was... hurt... the first time she really tried to get at you.”

  I remembered the attack on my dreams while I was in the dungeon armed only with my bit of lizard bone. And I knew now that when I’d slashed into the images of my brother and Omyere I’d wounded Novari. Who’d come to me in the disguise of my loved ones.

  I imagined her pain. And it pleased me.

  “That’s all I know,” Searbe said. “Now. Get me out of here. Like you promised.”

  “As soon as I can, my friend,” I said.

  There was another hard tug on his chain and he was yanked back toward the leaping flames.

  He screamed, fighting to return to the curtain.

  “Please, Lady Antero!” he wailed. “Save me now!”

  “I can’t,” I shouted. “I can’t!”

  The sorcerous fires boiled up more furiously than before and Searbe was dragged back - shrieking in pain and fear - into the mass of tormented souls.

  “I’ll try!” I cried. “I’ll try!”

  Then I was being shaken awake and Zalia was holding me in her powerful arms and I was weeping uncontrollably on her shoulder.

  After I’d recovered I told Zalia all that’d happened. She accepted without question it’d been a real experience, although it took place in a dream or a vision.

  When I was done I said, nicely as I could, “It’s your kingdom he’s speaking of, isn’t it? That’s why your queen - Queen Salimar - sent you on this mission.”

  “Yes it is, Rali,” she said. “And I’m not from this world, if that’s what you’re getting at. My kingdom is on another... plane, is the only word I can think of. We were already under much pressure before she heard of you or Orissa. Now it must be even worse.”

  “Your queen is missing,” I said. “What could be worse than that?”

  Zalia shrugged, seemingly unconcerned. “Not finding her, I guess,” she said, voice light, almost cheery.

  Then, suddenly grim. “We’ve got to get out of here, Rali!”

  “I know,” I said.

  “Novari might launch her attack at any moment.”

  “I know that, too.”

  She slammed her metal hand against the bench. Stone crumbled.

  “I feel like I’m blind in here,” she said. “I don’t know what’s going on! What she’s doing! What she’s thinking!”

  Now it was her turn to weep. They were angry tears. Tears so bitter they’d turn a freshwater lake to salt.

  I held her, comforted her, until she stopped.

  She lay in my arms quite still, oddly light despite her bulk.

  I said, low, “Tell me about your kingdom, Zalia. What sort of land is it?”

  And she murmured, “It’s called Khalilow. And it’s a land where it always seems like summer. Trees and flowers every place you look. People and animals roaming free. The sky is always blue there. The sun always bright.”

  “What of your queen?” I asked. “Is Salimar wise? Is she beautiful?”

  “Perhaps you can see for yourself one day,“ she murmured. “But I’ll tell you this. She lives in a crystal palace with flowing fountains and fruited trees and a library. I remember the library best. It has books - more books than a woman could read in a thousand lifetimes.”

  “I like her already,” I said. “Crystal palaces are nice. So are flowing fountains and fruited trees.

  “But books? Ah, now that’s a treasure I’d give my left...”

  I stopped. Then, with a laugh, “I don’t know exactly what portion of me I’d willingly donate. I can’t remember which side of me has the most remaining.”

  Zalia giggled.

  “Oh, Rali my dear,” she sighed. “If only we’d met... another time.”

  Then she closed her eyes and fell asleep. There was a small smile on her lips. She looked almost… well… pretty.

  And I thought what a pity it was that I could no longer concentrate on our escape.

  It would’ve been nice to have gone to Zalia’s land. Seen palaces and gardens and books and the gracious Salimar. And perhaps even have come to know Zalia better in more pleasing circumstances.

  But escape was no longer at the top of my list.

  Somehow, some way, I had to stop Novari.

  I had to destroy her machine.

  I told Zalia nothing. I felt guilty about it. For I was now certain I could fully trust her.

  But what if I were wrong? The mistake could cost the lives of many Orissans. So I buried the guilt. It was a large graveyard and nearly full but I found a small corner to squeeze in another of my sins.

  First I had to solve the problem of the ugly lumps of metal that enslaved us - the artificial hands.

  I had enough of Novari’s gold dust to do the job but the spell I had in mind was so strong that it was guaranteed to alert Novari’s wizards.

  To avoid discovery I had to have Zalia’s cooperation.

  She shamed me more when I revealed that part of my plan.

  Zalia clapped her hands in delight when I told her, saying, “Finally! You’ve decided to trust me.”

  She sniffled and wiped her eyes. “I knew you’d come around one of these days, Rali,” she said, making me feel lower with every word she uttered. “I kept telling myself you were still suffering from all that’d happened to you. And if I were patient as I could be you’d finally see we had to trust each other.”

  Zalia gave me a sheepish grin. “I have to admit I wasn’t always that patient, Rali,” she said. “I know I’ve said quarrelsome things to you. And I hope you accept my apology.”

  I ducked my head, mumbling, “No apology necessary,” then quickly veered back to the main subject.

  “The problem,” I said, “is that we’ll need more than an hour in the forgeroom. The work will take at least that long. So my question is this - is it possible for us to last two hours?”

  Zalia frowned. “I can’t imagine going that long,” she said. “Each time we leave that chamber I think I’ll die if I have to stay a single minute more.”

  “That’s not my question,” I said. “My question is, can it be done? Do you think you can do it?”

  “I won’t know,” she answered, “until I try.”

  “Are you willing?”

  “By the gods, yes!” she said, eyes blazing. “I’d do anything to get out of here.”

  I took her at her word. Arrangements were made and a few days later we joined a work gang headed for Hellspoint.

  When we exited the mines that day the air was especially sweet, the light clear as I’d ever seen it. I heard shouts from the lake. We all turned to see what was going on, slaves and guards alike.

  Out on the frozen lake bed I saw a golden ship sailing for the docks of Koronos. Soldiers skated in front of the ship, hammering on their shields and chanting a familiar song:

  “Magon is coming -

  The enemy trembles!

  Magon is coming -

  The enemy flees!

  Magon is coming -

  Hearts be glad!”

  Although it was too far away to make out the figures posing on the great ship’s deck I knew Novari was among them. I could smell the perfume of her sorcery drifting on the winds. My memory responded to her magical scent and I could feel her soft succubus caresses on my thighs and breasts. I shuddered. Disgust rose and the feeling became a sickness in the pit of my stomach and I turned away, gagging.

  I felt Zalia’s arm about my shoulder. “What’s wrong, Rali?” she said.

  I shook my head. I couldn’t answer.

  Finally the moment passed and I pulled myself up and wiped my face with the sleeve of my smock. Just then the guards became alarmed that we’d tarried too long and they lashed
us back into line and hurried us down the mountain to Hellspoint.

  As we rounded the bend overlooking the BearTemple its huge bell swung into life, tolling greetings to the arriving King Magon and his consort, Novari. The golden ship was already docking and I saw officials scurrying out of the temple and down the road to hail their king.

  They must not have known their rulers were coming, I thought. Or the bell would’ve already been ringing and there’d be a grand display to welcome Magon and Novari.

  Zalia tugged my sleeve, whispering, “Does this change our plans?”

  I shook my head, no. Actually, I wished I could accelerate them. But I didn’t see how.

  When the forgeroom doors boomed open and the hot stinking air fouled my lungs I forgot all about Novari. I steeled myself as the doors crashed shut, locking us in.

  Now I faced two hours in the bowels of Hellspoint.

  A guard’s whip snaked across my back and he bellowed for me to get to work.

  I plodded toward a stack of golden rods. Every step I took tested my resolve. Within minutes I doubted I’d even be able to survive an hour, much less two.

  Zalia helped stack the rods onto a push cart. We hauled it to the conveyor feeding Novari’s machine.

  I’d noticed before that all of us, guards and slaves included, tried to stay as far away from the machine as possible. The closer you came the more intense the heat and misery became. Our practice was to roll the carts to the far edge of the conveyor, load them on as quickly as possible and then rush away from the sorcerous blast.

  It was the only time in the forgeroom anyone moved at a pace above a slow shamble. There was a narrow passage between the conveyor and the forgeroom walls. No one went down it - we all used the wider apron on the other side. I’d examined it closely, however, and seen the eerie leaping shadows formed by the sorcerous curtain.

  On my last visit I’d tested the depth of those shadows. When no one was looking I’d given an empty cart a hard shove and it’d rolled down the narrow passage and bumped to a stop against the edge of the forge.

  My heart leaped when I saw that the cart was completely hidden by the dancing images cast by the glowing curtain. If Zalia and I crept into those shadows, I thought, no one would see us. We could do anything we liked as long as we remained there.

  But that’d been a mere test. Actually entering the area proved to be a different matter.

  The killing rays pounded us as we approached the conveyor. I looked about, saw no one near and signaled Zalia. Instead of stopping to unload we quickly pushed the cart down the narrow passage and into the shadows.

  Gritting my teeth in pain, I looked to see if anyone had noticed. I saw a guard’s gaze sweep past us without pause and knew we were well hidden.

  My skin felt like it was being flayed by the blast and my ears were howling with the song of rushing blood. Breathing was difficult. I had to force my ribs to heave in and out to drag in each stinking breath of air. My limbs felt like jelly and my heart was an open wound that hot pokers were being thrust into.

  I heard Zalia groan, saw her face turn so pale she looked like a bloodless night creature. I motioned for Zalia to squat beside me. She nodded, gulping air like a fish, and crouched.

  I slipped a bundle from my smock and rolled it open on the floor. It contained the hollowed out tube and a small pile of Novari’s dust. Zalia tapped my shoulder for attention and passed me a short blunt file we’d stolen from the quarries.

  I gripped one of the conveyor legs with my metal hand - the left one - locking it into place. With my right hand I began to file at the bolts holding it to my stump. Each motion was an agony, a slow death. I ground away relentlessly, like a miserable clockwork toy.

  It was frightening how quickly I tired. Zalia took over, grunting with effort as she sawed at the bolts. Soon she sagged back, gasping, unable to go on. I resumed cutting. Although I nearly despaired when I saw how little headway we’d made.

  I had to continue. The only safe place to remove the hand was in the sorcerous shadow of the great forge.

  No wizard, no combination of wizards, no matter how powerful or numerous, could sense what I was doing beneath that deadly blanket.

  I got one bolt off and was cutting through the last thread of the second when the shift changed.

  We saw the other slaves exit and a new group being driven in.

  An hour had passed.

  And there was an hour more to go.

  I cursed time, I cursed myself, I cursed Novari and all the people I could think of to hate. And from that anger I drew strength enough to go on.

  No one would miss us. The guards were too tired from their own, much briefer shifts and never made a final count until the day ended and we were led back to our warrens.

  After all, who in their right mind would stay in the forgeroom longer than necessary? There was no reason to suspect someone would deliberately linger behind, forgoing the badly-need rest period.

  I yanked my stump out of the metal hand, leaving the thing still gripped to the conveyor leg.

  I held the stump in front of me. It was an ugly sight, but I was too numb from the sorcerous assault to be appalled by what’d been done to me.

  I closed my good eye, shifted my “view” to what I now thought of as my ethereye and saw the ghost fingers float up.

  They seemed firmer than before, enhanced by being in the presence of so much sorcery. I mentally ordered the ghost fingers to spread and flex and they did all I asked. Just as when they were alive.

  I opened my eye, got the bone tube and knelt over the pile of gold dust. I sucked up some dust into the tube then closed my good eye again so I could see the ghost fingers. In the Otherworlds the tube was transparent and I could see the transformed gold glittering inside.

  I blew gently, coating the fingers with dust.

  The dust adhered to them, forming a golden shadow of a hand.

  When I filled the tube again I noticed its real world outline was beginning to take shape. It appeared like a hazy cloud that seemed to form fingers and nails and even a palm with a familiar lifeline when I turned the ghost hand over.

  I tried to move it.

  Nothing happened.

  But I was heartened and I continued on, filling the tube and emptying it three times before I was done - coating the living flesh above the ghost hand so the bolt holes were covered and all blended in nicely with my wrist so you couldn’t see where one stopped and the other began.

  Under my living eye, however, it didn’t look so fine. Instead of smooth gold, my left hand appeared like a mottled, grainy golden glove. It still refused to obey me except in the Otherworlds. In that place it moved, but in the real world it was a dead lump at the end of my wrist. It was so light, however, I could barely feel it.

  I had an elegant spell all worked out. Artful words about the light beyond the sinister, or some such.

  But when I went to whisper them my mind was so numb from the beating I was taking that all the words remained frozen fast.

  Instead I growled, “Be a hand, damn you! Be a hand!”

  It was enough.

  I felt a surge of energy and the hammering of the furnace suddenly seemed more bearable.

  My whole left side felt incredibly powerful and when I looked at my new hand it seemed like such a slender golden marvel that amazement jolted me out of my stupor.

  I made to clench my fist and the fingers moved smoothly, without hesitation. I spread them apart, turned them this way and that and if it weren’t for the strength and shimmer of golden material I wouldn’t have been able to tell it apart from the one I’d lost.

  I looked up at Zalia, who nodded and did her best to smile.

  A heavy burden fell from my shoulders and I felt free for the first time in what seemed like ages. The furnace was still an agony, still sucking away my life. But I didn’t care. By the gods, if I died now at least I’d be free of Novari’s slave spell.

  I grabbed Zalia’s metal hand and began saw
ing at the bolts.

  I had power enough now to make a cutting spell to aid the file and in a short time I had it off and was blowing gold dust over her own ghost hand.

  This time I didn’t bother trying to remember the words of the spell and simply commanded the hand to be a hand, dammit, and Zalia was free as well.