EXILED Wizard of Tizare

by Matthew J. Costello

  He climbed up one set of stairs, and then ran down a long hallway, before coming to the doors that led to the king’s bedroom.

  “Ready?” he asked Rhow’s mrem, before pushing the heavy doors open.

  Still panting, they nodded.

  “Here we go then—”

  And he pulled out his claw sword, a nasty weapon if there ever was one, and threw open the doors.

  He ran in, fast as he could, spinning around, ready to kill whoever got in his way—

  Then he froze.

  “Welcome. We hadn’t planned on your arrival. Poor security. Still, you’re more than welcome to join your friends....

  For a moment all Falon could do was look around this enormous waiting room, looking at Caissir, Paralan,

  Taline, and just a couple of Rhow’s mrem. They were kneeling on the ground, with their throats held up high, exposed....

  The traditional position of total surrender.

  The king stood up.

  He was a plump thing, whose bushy fur had lost whatever luster it once had. The king was chewing on a meat bone as if this were a party.

  “You can drop your weapon, friend,” the king said between chews. “And best be fast about it. My soldiers aren’t pleased about the damage you’ve done to their compatriots.

  Mineir turned away, and Falon looked at Taline. She was just barely able to see him, so high was her throat held. But she made a small nod.

  There was no way Falon could take on this small army that Mineir had in the room.

  He let his sword fall to the ground, feeling disgraced. Then the others followed suit.

  The king signaled to a few of his guards and they hurried over, scooping up the weapons.

  The king sat down, and smiled at Falon. He extended one long finger, and pointed down.

  “If you don’t mind ...”

  Falon felt a blade jab rudely at the base of his tail—another insult—and he knelt on the stone floor.

  “Good. Now we can get on with our business.” The king called over a functionary of his court and whispered some instructions. The functionary hurried away.

  “I’ve invited someone to join us. But first—” He made a signal to one of his captains. The captain barked out some orders and the bulk of the small army left, leaving behind a handful of guards, their swords out, ready to jab at the invaders.

  The last of the soldiers filed out, and Falon watched one of the guards go over and bolt the doors behind them.

  Mineir doesn’t want his army to see who’s coming. These guards, the ones left behind, must be special ... trusted.

  A heavy curtain rustled, off to the side, and finally parted. A door opened.

  At first Falon saw nothing.

  But then he heard the sound—the strange swishing of something dragging on the stone—and became aware of a ripe, pungent smell unlike any he had ever sniffed.

  Then it was there, lumbering through the doorway, blinking in the bright candlelight of the room.

  He heard one of Rhow’s mrem moan.

  Paralan lowered his neck, his eyes blazing. Taline reached out, touching him, warning him. One of the guards poked her in the back and she yelped.

  Falon kept looking at it.

  So the old tales are true! This liskash was like something created by the old tale tellers in his village. Its skin was a shimmering, almost greenish hue, with clear scaly plates all over its body. With every step it stuck its tongue out as if tasting the air!

  Its sick-looking yellow eyes scanned the group of prisoners.

  Then it spoke.

  “K’laagh, senei fraal, speite, Mineir.”

  The king laughed.

  “Our friend is curious, and I am too, as to who sent you charming folk.” Mineir scanned the group. “Who’d like to be first?”

  “I’d rather give my throat to the jaws of a Rar,” Paralan hissed.

  The king arched his eyebrows. One of his guards gave Paralan a jab.

  From the sound of the yell Falon knew that it did more than poke the brave mrem.

  “Now, I hope we don’t have any more outbursts. Time is, as they say, wasting ...”

  “Milaash, k’laagh mitei.”

  The king shook his head doubtfully, but a small smile on his lips told Falon that he was enjoying this whole scene.

  “Oh, I don’t know, my Eastern friend,” Mineir said, looking at the liskash. “I had hoped that they would be more cooperative than that.” He returned his gaze to the group. “Surely one of you will have the sense to talk ... before it’s too late.”

  Falon felt one of Rhow’s guards stir behind him.

  “If you say a word—one word—I will personally kill you,” he whispered.

  The king stood up, and went to the liskash. The creature rested a hand on the king’s shoulder.

  How could he stand it? Falon wondered. It made him want to throw up.

  “Well,” said Mineir, turning to them, a big smile on his face. “My friend and I have, in the interest of speed, come up with a little inducement to encourage you to talk with us ... tell us who the madmrem is that sent you. Was it the King of Ar, perhaps, or some merchant?” He looked at Taline. “Or is it someone important in Tizare?”

  Everyone remained quiet.

  How long ... how long before we’re dead? And how will we die? Falon wondered.

  And what is it like to die?

  Falon licked his lips, almost ready to say the name himself.

  The king shook his head. “Very well, then.” Mineir nodded to the liskash. The creature turned around, its tail leaving a slimy trail on the floor. It pulled back the curtain again, and opened the doors. Then Falon heard it working some kind of crank, or pulley. The sound of heavy machinery filled the chamber.

  “My friend has brought his own ... entourage with him. Just a few, well-hidden soldiers from the great army that comes tomorrow, ready to claim this city, Tizare, the first jewel in the Eastern Lords’ crown.”

  Paralan spat on the floor, and the king shot him an angry glance. But he recovered his composure quickly.

  “Yes, just a small band to keep my friend here company.” He turned slowly. “Unfortunately ... they require an unusual diet....”

  Mineir snapped his fingers and one of the guards jabbed at the back of one of Rhow’s mrem.

  “What?” he stammered.

  “Up,” the guard hissed.

  “That’s right, this way,” the king said, indicating the doorway. “You see, there’s a pit there .... nice and dark and cool, their preferred environment. One by one,” he said lightheartedly, “you’ll be pushed into it. One. By. One. Until one of you tells me who sent you,” he snarled.

  He waved his hand.

  “No,” Rhow’s mrem said. “No, I—I—” Falon saw him look down at him. “I—”

  “Talk and I’ll kill you!” Paralan yelled, and once again the guard drew blood from him.

  The king waited a moment, standing next to the liskash, dwarfed by it. He waited to see if he’d speak.

  Then he shook his head. “Very well, then,” he said with disgust, and he signaled the liskash to throw the mrem into the pit.

  “No,” the mrem blubbered, clawing at the walls while the liskash took firm hold of him and pulled him along. “No!”

  Then, in a Hash, the mrem disappeared, into the darkness, his scream echoing strangely as he fell down.

  Everyone was silent then, for a moment. And they heard other sounds ... the biting, the crunching, the terrible sounds of eating.

  Caissir was blubbering, crying out loud. Elezar stood close to him, his fists clenched, his face grim.

  “Come, come,” the king said. “There’s no need for us to go through this anymore. No need at all.” He walked over and patted Caissir’s head, which only made the mrem h
owl that much louder.

  The king looked at Falon.

  “Yes ... you shall be next. Perhaps if you were gone, everyone might lose some of their ... stubbornness.”

  The guard behind Falon poked at him, signaling him to get up.

  Falon got to his feet and marched dully over to the liskash.

  “There’s still time,” the king suggested.

  “No, there isn’t,” Falon answered.

  Another poke, and he took a step closer to the liskash. He could smell the pit now, the foul, almost sewerlike odor.

  And the eager sound of swishing, scaly bodies. So eager for the next course.

  So this is how I regain my honor....

  Falon had to smile at that.

  It was an expensive way to regain status in the community of his fellow mrem.

  One word would save him.

  Rhow.

  He shook his head.

  The liskash grabbed him,

  Taline called out to him. “Falon!”

  Caissir’s gentle crying never ended.

  “Take him,” the king said, waving his hand in the direction of the pit.

  The liskash dragged him roughly into the darkness....

  THE CREATURE’S clawlike hand felt slimy, squeezing his shoulder.

  It could rip me in two in a moment, Falon thought.

  The pit was just ahead, and now the sounds and smells of it were nearly overpowering. Such a stench, it made him gag as he dully shuffled, following the liskash’s lead.

  “There’s still time,” Mineir said. “Just one name ...” Falon turned, and shook his head, disgusted with the bogus king, and disgusted with himself for getting into such a spot.

  What did it feel like to be eaten, he wondered....

  Some forlorn creature from down below cried out, eagerly, a guttural, hungry sound.

  The liskash gave him a push.

  Falon started to turn back to the pit.

  And in mid turn, he saw something very interesting.

  Two small eyes, staring down at him from the farthest corner of the massive room. The eyes stared, then winked.

  By the All-Mother, he thought. It was Ash! Neatly wedged into a corner of the room, hidden in the shadows. How he was holding on, with just the thick wall molding for support, was incredible.

  “Perhaps,” Falon said quickly, “I should reconsider my stubbornness.” He took a step back to Mineir. A small smile of victory began to bloom on the king’s face. “Yes, what are these mrem, or even this city to me. I’m a highlander and—” another step “—you know how independent we can be.”

  Taline’s face registered total shock, as she shook her head slowly, left and right.

  “I’ll tell you who sent us. What do I care?”

  The liskash lumbered behind Falon, puffing hard to keep up with him.

  “Yes ... then tell us—Who?—Who?”

  “None other than—”

  Falon looked back up to Ash.

  All right, my little orphan. Make your move now. If you have one….

  And Ashre responded to his unspoken order.

  The liskash was the first to see Falon looking up. He turned his great green head, his tongue flapping curiously, and stared up at the corner. He cried out something in his own language.

  Then Ash’s dagger flew through the air. So fast, Falon couldn’t tell who the intended target was, not until it plunged into the liskash, smoothly into its shoulder.

  It screamed out, and Mineir’s guards all looked about for the attacker.

  “Falon!” Ash called out, and then he threw a claw sword down to him, a throw of perfect precision and arc. Falon caught it handily, and faced the wounded liskash.

  And as he turned, he saw something that had Mineir and his guards frozen, terrified. The cache of weapons taken from the invaders started sliding noisily across the stone floor, each sword coming to a stop before one of them.

  “Now!” Paralan screamed, standing, scooping up his weapon.

  The liskash opened its mouth and started towards Falon.

  “Not now, you slimy bastard!” Falon said, and he took his strongest swing with his claw sword. The creature saw it coming and tried to duck. But it was too slow, too tired, perhaps, and Falon screamed even louder as the claw-shaped blade dug into the tough scaly flesh.

  And the creature stopped.

  He pulled it out for another agonizing blow while the liskash flailed, ineffectually, with its claws.

  Mineir’s guards formed a wall to protect him. But the odds were almost equal now, and with Paralan and Elezar fighting, the king didn’t have a chance.

  The liskash reached out and hooked Falon around the throat. It squeezed, quickly and with tremendous power.

  Falon’s arm went limp. All air was cut off and it felt like the liskash was going to squeeze his throat through his fingers like so much dough.

  And then Ash was there, his short sword poking the great creature, quickly sliding in, drawing blood.

  Still the liskash held on, and Falon gave one last look around, searching for help.

  “No,” Ashre cried with each jab.

  Falon felt himself beginning to black out. Still so tight! The claw just kept squeezing, squeezing....

  He saw Paralan,

  Hacking his way past a pair of Mineir’s guards, leaping across the stone floor of the great room, coming right up to the liskash.

  And the hate that burned in his eyes made Paralan look almost as terrifying as the liskash.

  “For my wife, my kits!” he screamed as he brought his great blade back. Then he struck home.

  The blade sliced through the creature’s neck easily. For a moment the head rested there, looking only confused, the filmy yellow eyes blinking, the tongue still wagging out.

  Then it toppled over, landing with a dull thud on the stones.

  Slowly, the creature’s claw released Falon, and he sputtered, trying to breathe in the wonderful air.

  “Thank ... you ...” Falon coughed.

  “Paralan!” Ash screamed.

  “Eh?” Paralan said, turning.

  It was the king himself, a curved delicate dagger held high.

  Ashre ran toward him.

  Too late.

  The king brought his blade down hard, right into Paralan’s chest. The once-disgraced officer, the farmer, their brave friend reached up to the blade, as if feeling the wound. Then he fell to his knees.

  The king’s guards were dead, scattered on the floor by Taline, Caissir, and the others like so many unwanted carcasses.

  “Traitor ...” Falon hissed, leaping at Mineir with his claw sword, and he cut the king down.

  “It’s over,” Taline said, walking over to him. She knelt down beside Paralan. “Over ...” she said quietly, resting Paralan’s head in her lap. Ashre came beside her, knelt down, and leaned against her.

  “He saved my life ...” Falon said.

  “The way he fought he saved all our lives,” Caissir said.

  Falon looked over at the wizard. He too was covered with enormous splotches of blood. You have come a long way, Falon thought. He walked over to Ashre and Taline.

  “And I thought I told you to stay in Lord Rhow’s castle,” Falon said, letting his hand rest on Ashre’s head.

  “I couldn’t,” the kit said, quietly. “I ... I knew that you would need me.”

  Falon gave him a gentle smile.

  “And that we did, Ash. That we did ....

  Then Falon walked over to the head of the liskash, posed at some strange angle. “Except Taline’s wrong, I’m afraid. It’s not over. This,” he said, giving the head a kick, “can only mean that it’s just begun.”

  He bent over and picked up the heavy head.

  •

  None
of them knew what to expect once they opened the doors and attempted to leave Mineir’s palace.

  Falon went first, the head held none too steadily in his arms. Behind him, Taline walked with Ash, her arm draped over the kit’s shoulder. He heard her talking to him, soothingly, of Paralan and his great bravery.

  The first guards drew their swords.

  Falon held the head before them. “The false king is dead,” he said, with an authority that surprised him. “And his friend from the East is also dead.” He held the head up high. “I suggest you make sure any other such guests are killed. Then, you’d best begin preparing for a siege.”

  They hesitated for a few moments, looking at Falon, then the head, then Falon again. Slowly, they lowered their swords.

  They hurried past Falon’s party, into the royal chambers.

  “You’ll find a whole pit of the monsters!” Caissir called out to them as they passed. “Just use your noses—you won’t be able to miss it.”

  Falon led them on. When he spoke, his voice had a rough, raspy sound, as if the liskash had damaged his vocal cords. His fur still carried the matted-down imprint of the creature’s claw.

  More guards appeared.

  Some even tried to force Falon to stand his ground.

  But the bloody head, eyes still open, spoke volumes.

  It tapped into a deep, almost primeval fear in all mrem.

  The liskash are coming to get you, the old nayas would sing out to the overly playful kits in the village nursery. They’re coming to get you....

  And here, Falon had proof that it was all true. They were coming ... to this city. And soon.

  But such problems he’d be able to turn over to Lord Rhow. He would surely have plans for resisting the invasion.

  Elezar, who had been staying towards the rear, keeping watch, came strutting up to Falon. His blood-splattered fur made him look like a ghastly painter.

  “What are your plans, Falon, once we get outside?”

  Falon knew exactly what he was going to do.

  Tizare was a city of pleasure and wealth. If the citizens were to be ready to repel a full-scale attack from the East, they needed to be shocked.

  “This head will be placed on the highest flagpole in the central courtyard.”