Reign of the Nightmare Prince

by Mike Phillips

  It took some doing. Spears were landing all around them, bristling from the rooftop like quills, but Lehto managed to regain his footing. They pulled back, going up the slope of the roof until the spears could no longer reach them.

  “Thank you, Captain,” Lehto said, breathing hard.

  “Call me Smitty.” He looked down. “I think we’re sunk.”

  “Not so much.”

  “Yeah?” said Smith, incredulous.

  From his pocket, Lehto produced two grenades. Though the gesture was lost, he grinned, saying, “One for me, one for you.”

  “You’re a good kid, Lehto.”

  Casually pulling the pin from the grenade as if opening a soda can, Smith tossed the grenade over the side of the roof. For all his casual attitude, he was an expert in its use. The high arch of the throw caused the grenade to explode in the middle of the group of warriors when it was only just above their heads.

  “Let’s hit it.”

  Climbing down the side of the building, they made it safely to the ground. With no sign of pursuit, they ran to the guardhouse, finding only three of the others waiting for them.

  “What are you waiting for?” Smith asked angrily.

  “Someone with grenades,” a private spoke up.

  Smith laughed. “Okay, can’t fault you for that reasoning. Ready to go?”

  They all agreed and were off. The outside of the wall was deserted. On some level, Smith had thought he might meet some sort of rearguard, but he was mistaken. Going at a run, they went straight up the mountain road, silent as night. After about a kilometer they turned. The forest behind them was empty.

  “What now?” Private Lehto asked Smith. “What’s the plan, Boss?”

  “Make certain we gave them the slip, then double back. We have to pick up Crenshaw.”

  Captain Smith was keenly aware of the way they watched him. They were uncertain of their futures. They were downright scared.

  “We had a plan if everything went wrong, and it looks like it has.” He went on, saying, “The colony ships will be arriving any time now.”

  One of the men asked, “But we don’t have any gear, no satellites. How do we find them?”

  Smith tapped his forehead with a finger, “Crenshaw and I looked over a few plans before we left. In our line of work, you learn to expect the worst. Well, the worst happened, but we weren’t caught with our pants down, not by a long shot. We find a colony, pretend we’re a group of Planetologists that ran into some problems. Five years tops and we’re back on Earth.”

  “What about the natives?”

  “Once we get away, there’ll be plenty of open space between us and them. This planet is practically deserted now.” Captain Smith looked to his men, “But first things first. We find Crenshaw and, then, we make our escape.”

  Chapter 33

  Beyond the famed works of all the Kasisi in history, it was a sight that defied belief. The front gate of Pakali’s mighty city was thrown down in a tumult of thunder and fire. Broken stone and ash rained from the sky, flung into the heavens like a child playing in the sand.

  Twice had this show of power been made. The MaShaitani roared, brandishing their weapons, rushing toward the ruined gate like the animals they were. The outer defenses, generations of planning and construction, were left undefended. The enemy crossed the abandoned earthworks in a swarm--insects attacking a rival hive.

  It was the end of all things. Either this threat would be conquered, or they would be overthrown.

  Impressed but no longer afraid, Mabetu watched impotently as the attack began. The breech of the outer wall was a sore loss. Though they knew there was no hope of fighting the MaShaitani outside the wall, no matter the pitfalls and snares, King Pakali had hoped the wall of his city would remain a strong defense.

  Now they would have to trust the plan, separating the enemy forces and engaging in small bands, using the very city itself as their best defense. Mabetu saw little hope. He knew Rakam would soon arrive, but the young Kasisi had not discovered a way to defeat these monsters. Neither had he.

  Cries of brave warriors filled the night. The horrible crack of the firespears a reminder of the one-sided nature of the battle. The heroic calls of his people soon turned to agony and fear as they were butchered like livestock.

  Knowing there was little he could do in his present form, Mabetu followed the MaShaitani into the city. Inside his chest where no heart beat, he could feel the strain of his efforts finally taking their toll. He must return to flesh and blood or die. The beat of the drum and the soft voice of Ummi Astolah filled his mind. The Kasisi had sensed his coming, perhaps; or maybe, had sensed him growing weaker.

  Not wanting to give up, thinking even in defeat there may be some part for him to play, Mabetu returned to Pakali’s house. He saw his body, the weight of years upon him, stretched out on the floor like a corpse.

  Still singing, Ummi Astolah must had seen a shadow, for the old Kasisi put a hand to Mabetu’s cheek. A bloom of heat remained, but he felt the nose and mouth for breath anyway.

  Fearful he might be too late, Mabetu reclaimed his body. He had not known what he expected, that there must be some trick to making his return; but in the end like many things, it did not live up to the reputation.

  Settled back into his physical form, Mabetu opened his eyes and called out in a resounding voice, “I ain’t dead, yet.”

  Ummi Astolah was shocked. He jerked back in surprise.

  “Got you!” Having had his joke, Mabetu promptly passed out.

  * * *

  “Awake, awake my friend,” the calming voice of Ummi Astolah said.

  Opening his eyes, Mabetu found himself looking into the night sky. The air was fresh in his lungs. He felt some rough platform beneath him. The crack of the enemy weapons assaulted his ears.

  “Where am I?”

  “The garden courtyard.”

  “How long has it been?”

  “Only the Almighty marks time in the Long Night.”

  “So you don’t know?”

  “I’ve much to think about, not the least keeping you alive.”

  “For all the good you did. My head is pounding like a drum.”

  “Good, then you are not dead after all. Get up, we have work to do. Pakali has left, gone to battle. We have our own part to play.”

  “But my head,” said Mabetu.

  “You did too much, though I can’t blame you.” Ummi Astolah uncorked a bottle and set it to Mabetu’s lips. “Drink this.”

  Doing as he was told, Mabetu spat out the liquid, saying, “You’re trying to get me drunk?”

  “Why not? Have another, and then you and I will see if we can’t kill a few MaShaitani.”

  “They are not demons, my friend.”

  “No?”

  “Not in the least. They are thieves and brigands, one and all. They are the worst kind of scum imaginable. Yes, they have ways that are strange to us, far beyond what we can understand, but they are not magical beings. They only have machines, like Pakali and his foolish mills. You will see.”

  “I take strength from your words. Let us go. You have slept too long, and I am restless.”

  “What about the guards?” Mabetu fortified himself with another draft of the liquid.

  “What do kings know? They are little more than children.”

  “You will get no argument from me on that score, but he left orders with his household troops not to let us leave this place.”

  Ummi Astolah stood, stretching his back. “Let me take care of the guards.” He held out a hand to Mabetu.

  “Really?”

  Indicating his hand, he said, “Come and see.”

  Smiling, Mabetu took his hand, rising shakily to his feet. The drink Ummi Astolah had given him was potent. He felt little pain. “I do believe that is the most intelligent thing you have ever said to me.”

  “No, it’s just the first time you have listened.”

  “Fair enough, and now I will listen more
often.”

  “Your things are under the bench. Would you like a bite to eat? I have some wonderful jerked meat. It will keep my drink from reaching your head too soon.”

  “Too late for that,” Mabetu said, making himself ready. “That really is wonderful stuff, you know.”

  They walked out of the courtyard, finding their way to a little used side door. Everywhere, people were nervous. Most of Pakali’s personal guard, all but the Champions who would be protecting their king, was left behind to his household. All preparations had been made. There was nothing left to do but wait. They sat or stood in silence, listening anxiously, making pleas to the Almighty.

  “Stop,” said the guard at the door. “Pakali told everyone. Wise though you may be, honored Mabetu, you are too old for battle and should know better. If any are to let you leave this place, their lives will be forfeit, or worse.”

  “An empty threat, don’t you think?” said Mabetu dryly.

  “I will carry out my orders until my last breath.”

  “And such loyalty will not be unrewarded,” said Ummi Astolah in a smooth voice.

  Mabetu looked up at him. “I thought you were going to take care of the guard. Is this the best you can do?”

  No,” said the smooth voice, silken, like rocks in a creek bed, like ice, like fabric woven by the most skilled maidens. “The young man here is only doing his duty, what he was told to do.”

  “Yes,” said the guard, though he had lost his edge. Listening, he seemed to go into a dream. “I must do as the king commands. I must protect you from yourselves.”

  “And so we shall listen to every word you say. Open the door and keep us safe, let us do as you command.”

  To Mabetu’s astonishment, the guard did that very thing. He turned, fit a key into the lock, removed two thick metal bars from their brackets and opened the door.

  “Close and lock it behind us,” Ummi Astolah said as he slipped by. “You have done well. Be proud, my son.”

  Mabetu followed. “Handy trick, that.”

  * * *

  Just a few streets away from Pakali’s house they found the battle. MaShaitani, no more than five, had collected in a small square and were attacking one of the houses. Arrows flew from every window. A spear came down from the roof and glanced off the flawless armor, sticking ineffectually into the ground. But the efforts of the people defending the house did little but prolong the inevitable.

  Like a dance, the MaShaitani took it in turn getting closer and closer to the house. Taking refuge under a low window that had been badly damaged, one of the Shaitani brought what looked to be a black ball out of his pack and tossed it into the building. A moment later there was a crack louder than a firespear and the door and windows were blown outward in a terrible flash. Quick as lightning, the MaShaitani rushed into the building.

  “That’s enough,” Mabetu said.

  Looking for an opportunity to help, he and Ummi Astolah had taken cover behind the corner of a building. Like many other Kasisi, using his gift of fire required Mabetu to have something to burn. The armor would not light, but he found some tinder beneath. It was enough.

  Without thinking, Mabetu stepped around the corner of the building. He was angry. His feelings fueled his power, driving the forces within, becoming a raging torrent. Before the first Shaitani could enter the house, fire licked the inside of the armor, bursting out like the sun. He screamed in agony. Surprised by his success, Mabetu looked back at a grinning Ummi Astolah.

  “We make a good team, you and I,” said the Kasisi, smiling. “I have no talent in fire, nor do I have a warrior gift. So I must do the best with what the Almighty has given me.”

  “And well given,” said Mabetu. “What a blessing you are.”

  Mabetu turned back to the battle. Invoking fire with his gift, the help of Ummi Astolah magnifying what he could do tenfold, the other MaShaitani were soon aflame.

  A small band of warriors appeared from an alleyway on the far side of the house. The warriors saw what was happening and moved in. Taking advantage of the confusion, they attacked. The hindmost Shaitani took a spear under the throat, convulsing on the end like a rabbit. The others were soon stripped of their armor and defeated.

  A scream of triumph arose from the house. An old woman ran outside, locking her arms around the first warrior she came to in a wild embrace. The warriors laughed at their friend, but shared the joy.

  “Back into the house, old woman, the danger has yet to pass,” shouted Mabetu. He waved his hand to the warriors, beckoning them to follow. “This way, there is much to do. The time for celebration has not yet come.”

  * * *

  Through the city they went, Mabetu and Ummi Astolah, gathering soldiers with them as they engaged the enemy. Using fire and the might of spears, they killed every Shaitani they met. Sticking to the outskirts, making small strikes, they knew they had no hope against the main force. They were sorely tired. Even with their combined powers, they were growing weak.

  Then something happened. There was a terrible scream, like all the women in the city cried out in pain. Even though the flash was blocks away, they had to cover their ears. There was a terrible explosion, and a building toppled.

  Warriors were everywhere. Everything was chaos. They had come upon the heart of the battle. Mabetu thought he even saw Pakali leading a charge down a broad street. The sound of the enemy weapons was deafening. Then, everything stopped.

  “Did you hear that?” said Ummi Astolah, putting a hand on Mabetu’s shoulder.

  “No, I hear nothing. What is it?”

  “Just my point.”

  Everything had gone silent. A long moment extended the silence. Still nothing happened, no sound of firespears, no sound of battle.

  A call arose. It was a warrior’s cry, shrill and defiant. The call was taken up in a fevered pitch. Revenge had begun.

  “Come, this way,” said Mabetu desperately. He was looking around like a child who had lost his mother, frantic in a way that was unlike him.

  “Where are you taking us?” Ummi Astolah finally asked.

  “Rakam needs us.”

  “Say no more.”

  * * *

  The building was in ruin. Perhaps once one of the grandest in the entire city, it was now a heap of broken rubble. Mabetu had been invited to feast there once. It had been a dull evening. The owner, a rich nobleman with a mine and several farms, was not very interesting. The man kept going on about his machines, his crops, his lands.

  By the end, Mabetu was ready to swear off city living once and for all. He would have engineered an escape, setting something on fire, but the man was unexpectedly called off for some business reason.

  Now the man’s house was in ruin. Mabetu spared him only a thought as he approached. Rakam was in there somewhere, and he was dying.

  “Not so fast. The MaShaitani remain,” Ummi Astolah said. “It will do your grandson no good if we are killed before we find him.”

  “But I can feel his life draining away.”

  “Let us hurry, then, but allow these fine young men to protect us. They cannot watch you like a mother and be ready to engage the enemy.”

  The number of warriors had swollen to over a hundred. The men spread out when they came to the ruined house, checking surrounding buildings, taking up defended positions.

  Mabetu didn’t wait. Unable to control himself, desperate to find Rakam, he ran to the rubble heap and began climbing over the stones. Instead of protesting, Ummi Astolah motioned to the warriors to follow and joined him.

  “Listen, do you hear?” said Mabetu, digging furiously. “Someone’s down there.”

  “I hear him, keep going,” said Ummi Astolah, helping Mabetu to move a large stone.

  A few of the warriors stood guard while others pulled the exhausted old men out of the way. They were young and strong, and the digging went much faster than before. Soon a body was revealed.

  “Not Rakam,” Mabetu said anxiously.

  “Fait
h,” replied Ummi Astolah. “This young man needs our help also.”

  “As you say, it is true,” conceded Mabetu. “Pull him out of there, but easy. He is on the verge of death.”

  “Not so bad as that, father,” said the warrior gratefully. “You have rescued me in time. Are the MaShaitani gone?”

  “Not yet, brave one,” Mabetu said, beginning his examination. “You are right. Your ribs are broken, and you are badly battered. But you will live.”

  Closing his eyes, Mabetu summoned his most powerful talent. Ummi Astolah placed and hand on his shoulder, giving him strength.

  “I am a healer, not a warrior. My true destiny was revealed to me ages ago when I was a young priest on my Jaribu. I must do what the Almighty has put me here to do. A Kasisi should remember his place and the proper use of his talents beyond all else.”

  To the warrior, Mabetu said, “How’s that, young man?”

  The warrior stood, rubbing his limbs, marveling at how good he felt. “Wonderful, father, wonderful. I feel I could kill a Shaitani if only I had but a spear in my hand.”

  “Over here,” someone shouted form nearby. “I’ve found them.”

  “Them?” said Mabetu, but he didn’t wait to puzzle out the answer. He went to the voice as quickly as he dared over the unstable ground. “I’m coming.”

  Having fallen into a larger chamber, Rakam and two others were lying beneath what looked to be a miniature battlement. The warriors were already beginning to pull them out. Mabetu tried to help, but they frowned at him and gently suggested he save his strength for healing.

  Soon the first warrior was freed from the wreckage. A bone was sticking out of his arm, and he was bleeding from the mouth. Mabetu straightened the arm and wrapped it in bandages, using the shaft of a spear as a frame. As before, Mabetu and Ummi Astolah healed him.

  Ummi Astolah was showing the strain. “Please, I beg you,” he said, “Mabetu, not so much. I’m nearly exhausted. We must save our strength for Rakam and the others. Try to use a little less power.”