Kingdoms of the Night (The Far Kingdoms)

by Allan Cole, Chris Bunch

  In short, he said we were being quarantined — not imprisoned like all those unfortunates who were crammed into the caves in the bluffs below us. I saw them when we were taken ashore in Azbaas’ royal barge. The motion in the cave mouths I had noticed earlier proved to be hundreds, if not thousands of felons of the king’s imagination. The cave entrances were barred and I could hear the moans of the prisoners and the curses of the soldiers guarding them as we passed under.

  They gave us several slaves to tend our needs, which rankled me almost more than our forced circumstance. I used my lordly privilege to complain I missed the tender care of my own servants. I was allowed to exchange them for Quatervals and Mithraik — who’d impressed me mightily as a man who could get out of a tight scrape. They were quartered in rooms below us and since they were deemed nothing more than lowly servants they had a bit more freedom of movement in the castle.

  Mithraik immediately proved his worth by pointing out several likely if chancy avenues of escape.

  The most ingenious involved the fireplaces, which we were continuously feeding and stoking to keep off the chill.

  “A seaman’s life ain’t always fresh breezes ’n good salt beef, sir,” he pointed out one day. “Ole Mithraik’s been marooned in town now ’n aga’n. Indeedy I has sir. ’Specially when I was a bare-footed lad with no brains in me head ’n only a willin’ness to climb a mast in any sort of weather to recommend me t’ th’ captain. Spent a bad season as a chimley sweep’s mate with th’ meanest, laziest skipper of th’ broom ’n ash that yuz ever laid eyes on. So I knows a thing, sir — or even three or four ’bout chimleys, I do.”

  I puzzled a moment, then realized that by “chimleys,” he meant chimney — such as the one servicing the large fireplace in the center room.

  “Go on,” I said.

  “Well, sir,” he continued, “thing about chimleys is they gots to get the smoke out, sir. But they also gots to let the air in, if yuz sees what I mean.”

  I didn’t but I had him go on anyway and soon it became quite clear. If more than one fireplace existed, he explained, they usually shared a common shaft that was not only large but constructed in such a way that smoke could easily pass out while the fire drew air in to feed upon.

  “I was outside on’y yesstidy, sir,” he said. “Made ’em let me go t’ market wi’ the quartermaster’s mate so’s I could fetch yuz a proper supper. ’N first thing old Mithraik noticed, sir, was there may be lots a fireplaces in this here castle. But I on’y spied a couple a places where the smoke was comin’ out. Didn’t take much in the way of wits, sir, to see that the fireplaces gotter be connected t’ a shaft big enough to sail a ship through.”

  He was proposing we use that shaft to reach the roof of the castle. From there, we could climb down, work our way to the palisades and through a gate or over the wall, no problem, Mithraik said, with a seaman like himself to aid us, “’though,” he said politely, “I hain’t doubtin’ there’ll be little need t’ help spry folks like you two an’ Quatervals.” From there we could flee into the forests surrounding the city and hide out until danger passed.

  It wasn’t that bad of a plan. However, it meant we’d have to abandon our comrades in the ships.

  Mithraik grinned. “Didn’t figger yuz would, sir,” he said. “Not that kinda skipper, I says to meself. But old Mithraik woulda been neglectin’ his duty, sir, if he didn’t point it out.”

  Just the same, I congratulated him on the keenness of his weather eye and the sharpness of the wit and encouraged him to favor me with any other ideas he came up with.

  Quatervals, on the other hand, proved his worth in bed. He’d impressed a kitchen wench who was round of form and possessed a vivid imagination concerning the delights a stranger from a distant land might be concealing in his breeches. Her sister was a servant in the king’s dining hall, while her mother was one his many cooks.

  He must not have disappointed, for over the days she supplied him with invaluable gossip about what was going on in the house of the good King Azbaas.

  It seemed Azbaas had not learned of our presence until shortly before our arrival. When he did there’d been a flurry of meetings of the king and his advisors with all sorts of late-night sorcery that required the kitchen staff to work long after their normal hours supplying those worthies with refreshment.

  “They’re still burnin’ the oil lamps late, my Lord,” Quatervals said. “Seems the king is mightily impressed with himself. Figures he’s got a rare opportunity in us. But he ain’t quite sure what yet.”

  “If it’s ransom he wants,” I said, “I’ll promise him enough to buy his whole army as well as our parole and then we’ll see what surprises we can work up for Lord Modin and my errant son.”

  Quatervals shook his head. “Don’t know about that, my Lord,” he said. But it seems to me it’ll take more’n gold coin for the likes of King Azbaas.”

  I knew that as well but I had decades of merchant’s tricks up my sleeve that had sweetened the view of many a gimlet-eyed prince.

  It was from Quatervals we learned Azbaas’ antecedents. As well as the history of his capitol, Kahdja.

  Like Queen Badryia had said, the king had once been one of many shamans who served the scattered tribes that made up the Epheznuns. But it wasn’t Azbaas who had first unified those tribes.

  “He was chief shaman to the biggest, strongest tribe,” Quatervals said. “King of that group was a greedy sort who trusted nobody, but nobody, except Azbaas. Azbaas, bein’ no fool, and havin’ lots of practice takin’ out all the other shamans to get so high, played on that king like he was a temple drum. Kept him suspicious of everybody. Any smart fellas who caught the king’s eye was branded as traitors, an’ it’s said Azbaas took personal pleasure seein’ they was punished for their ways.”

  In a series of wars the prince that Azbaas served carved a kingdom for himself. But shortly after the savage ceremonies he staged to mark his assumption to the throne the king went mad and became such a useless, gibbering hulk that he had no means to defend himself when Azbaas led a revolt and had the king put to death. From there it was an easy if bloody reach to the crown.

  Quatervals shook his head. “It’s no secret he made a bargain with a demon to drive that poor fella mad,” he said. “And it was that demon’s idol I saw in the ravine.”

  I turned to Janela. “In my experience,” I said, “a wizard who makes a bargain with a demon usually loses more than he gains.”

  Janela nodded. “Especially one who is lured into dining on human flesh.”

  I asked her what she meant and she said: “The wizard is led to believe he’s consuming the strength of his enemies. Actually, he weakens himself — and his people if they are made to follow suit, and their hunger grows with each passing day. The end result can only be madness and chaos. It is only the demon who gains power.”

  “That may be so,” I said, glumly. “But at the moment we are at Azbaas’ mercy. We don’t have time to await his eventual demise.”

  Janela didn’t answer. She just busied herself sorting the contents of her purse as if that work were the most important and absorbing thing in the world.

  Later however, when Quatervals and Mithraik had returned to their quarters, she said: “We won’t have to wait much longer to confront the king. He’s been probing us since our arrival but I’ve blocked his every effort.” She smiled. “Right now we have a very frustrated, supremely curious wizard-king. And unless I’ve gone soft-headed he’ll be summoning us soon.”

  She lifted up the drawstring bag that contained the stone box we found on the island. “It’s time we prepared ourselves for such an encounter,” she said.

  I eyed the small box as she drew it out, shivering in memory of my experience. “I thought you were worried about the source of its power,” I said. “Or have you unraveled its purpose?”

  “No, I haven’t,” she said. “My instincts now say it is a force for good. Good for us, that is. But that could be a trap. A spel
l to lull us into thinking all is well. However, the sorcery used to make this talisman — which is what I believe it is — was so strong I can use it to magnify my own magic, without fear of tripping such a trap.”

  She set the box between us. I stared at it, lips dry with a sudden desire to open it. The feeling vanished as Janela anointed me with a sweet-smelling oil — dabbing my temples and the pulse point of each wrist. She did the same for herself, then dribbled oil on the box until it filled the carving of the dancing girl. She lit the oil and a blue flame shimmered, taking on the wavering form of the maid. My skin warmed where Janela had daubed me with oil — but not unpleasantly so. Janela chanted:

  She who dances

  In the demon hall;

  And never falters

  Or loses grace;

  Never ages

  Or tires

  Or weeps.

  The demon’s lust

  Will be our power;

  The demon’s heart

  Enclosed by stone.

  The fire flickered out and the mild warmth on my skin vanished.

  “Are you sure the spell worked?” I asked. “I felt almost nothing.”

  Janela laughed. “Are you one who thinks the best medicine is the most foul tasting? Or has the most unpleasant affect on the body?” I must have looked confused for she patted my hand. “That spell was necessarily mild so we don’t warn the king — and especially his demon friend.”

  Janela returned the box to its pouch and tucked it into her purse. “It also has a double purpose,” she continued. I’ve grown quite interested, you see, in the king’s demon.”

  “Why is that?” I asked.

  “I sense he is a very raw, very primitive force,” she said. “He reminds me of the demon Lord Elam your sister encountered in the Western seas. He claimed to have been summoned by a wizard, if you recall, and when the wizard was slain by his enemies Elam was unable to return to his own sphere.”

  “I hear doubt in your tone,” I said.

  “I had doubts when I first read it,” Janela replied. “Nothing can be truly lost. Forgotten, perhaps. Misdirected. Beyond reach. Or even barred. But not lost. When a sorcerer wants a thing she imagines its placement, its home. She might use a chant to heighten her imagination and magical elixirs or objects to magnify her power. My great grandfather believed in order above all else — that there were basic laws governing all things — in this world as well as the spheres where demons such as Elam dwell.

  “There are wizards, as you know, who doubt those spheres exist. But your sister proved that part of Janos’ theories when she pursued the Archon into the ethers. She described several different worlds she passed through during her final chase.

  “She was quite careful in her account to separate her opinions from the facts. In her description of Elam, for example, she made certain we knew that it was Chahar, the demon’s Favorite, who said her master was lost. Rali had no other evidence beyond that simpleton’s word.”

  “What do you think happened?” I asked.

  “I believe Elam was an outcast,” she said. “Otherwise how could such a powerful demon come under a wizard’s thrall? I believe he was barred by his own kind from returning to his natural home.”

  “Do you mean he was so evil — even for a demon — that he was exiled?” I asked.

  Janela chuckled. “I mean nothing of the kind,” she said. “I part company with my great grandfather on the issue of good and evil. Both states exist — and demons are definitely evil. Of this I have no doubt. But there is no doubt that many demons have a common purpose, and an orderly view on how to achieve that purpose.”

  “Such as those who oppose us?” I asked.

  “Exactly,” she said. “We must never doubt the keenness of the intellects of our enemies. Because they are evil they are likely to consider means of defeating us we’d be loathe to think of. They are great seducers, great carnivores of human weakness. They also have whole legions of lesser spirits at their command. Many, however, have yet to come under their rule. Which is why we can sometimes bend those wild demons to our own purposes. Or make a bargain — like Azbaas has — with a powerful creature who has either defied his masters or has yet to come to their attention.”

  “Elam was such a demon?” I asked.

  “So I believe,” Janela said. “And he was exiled — not lost — in punishment for his defiance. King Azbaas’ demon, however, has too little power — and intelligence — to be an Elam. He’s not an outcast but a savage, forgotten force in this long-abandoned region.”

  “What do you plan?” I asked.

  “It isn’t necessarily a plan,” she said. “Call it a notion, my dear Amalric, nothing more.”

  I was going to press her but before I could the door to our chamber was flung open and Fizain stepped inside.

  “I’m most sorry to inconvenience you, my Lord and my Lady,” he said. “But you must make haste to prepare yourself. For you have been honored with a summons from the King.”

  * * * *

  They put Janela and me in a large gilded chair borne by eight brawny slaves. Quatervals and Mithraik trotted behind as we raced through the city under heavy guard. Fizain sat stiff and tall in a similar chair, which led the way. It was midday and the city was oddly empty and silent. Doors hung open and windows were unbarred and the only sign of life we saw were a few dogs and maimed beggars lolling in the alleys. The marketplaces were empty as well but their stalls were heaped with goods as if merchants and customers had fled. The main street ended at large wooden gates which were flung open at Fizain’s shout and we emerged at the rear of the city, trotting along a broad road paved with rough timbers. The road wound through heavy forest for an hour or more. The slaves slowed as we came to a steep hill but cracking whips and vicious curses spurred them into a faster pace.

  When we came to the top I looked down and saw our destination. Spread out in a barren valley was an immense wooden amphitheater. In the center of the amphitheater was a huge red and yellow pavilion, its sides drawn up to let in the breeze. Beside that pavilion — and towering over it — was a massive statue of a demon. Janela nudged me but said nothing. The idol had the body of a crouching dog but it’s head was more human. Like the much smaller idol Quatervals had seen, the statue seemed to also serve as an oven. Black smoke poured out its eye holes and flame sheeted from it’s stone mouth.

  When we reached the amphitheater, gates were again flung open at Fizain’s command. Whips cracked but this time to slow the pace. We trotted onto the field, moving toward the pavilion. All around us the stands were packed with what seemed to be every citizen of Kahdja. They were silent and except for an errant child or two there was no motion in the crowd except heads swiveling to watch our progress.

  As we passed the idol it belched foul smoke and flame and my eyes burned and I found it difficult to breath. My will weakened and I felt small and unworthy to come into the presence of such majesty as King Azbaas.

  Janela’s hand flashed under my nose and I shuddered in drafts of sweet air tinged with the scent of pine. I felt strong and confident again. I also had the measure of this king. Such trickery, in my experience, is used by princes who have much to fear, and if you don’t keep them under your feet they will be at your throat. There is no in between.

  I whispered to Janela: “Follow my lead.”

  She whispered back: “Keep me close, so I can help.”

  Fizain barked orders and the chair came to a halt in front of a high platform. Without being asked, Janela and I slid out of the chairs. Fizain looked surprised as I ignored him and motioned imperiously to Quatervals and Mithraik to join us.

  I brushed past Fizain and mounted the platform steps as if it were I who ruled here.

  Azbaas sat upon a barbaric throne made from the bones of mighty forest animals. Their skins were his cushions and their fierce heads his decorative vanity. The king was a big man whose golden robe had consumed the feathers of a wondrous bird and it pained me to think such a c
reature should be slaughtered for this purpose. Pride made him leave his torso bare and his muscles rippled under a sheen of red paint. Rings hung from the skin of his flesh, as did the tiny bejeweled skulls of fanged animals. He had the head of a big forest cat for a crown, its canines leering down over his brow.

  I paid no mind to this savage display, only drawing myself up higher, treading more heavily on the platform boards, my face a haughty mask.

  When the king saw me he hid his amazement well — betrayed only by a flickering glance at Fizain.

  His black-painted eyes narrowed as he peered at us. His lips sneered into a smile.

  He nearly got the better of me when he spoke, for his voice was magically amplified and his words boomed across the massive amphitheater.

  “It was gracious of you to come so quickly, Lord Antero,” he said. “I hope my hasty summons didn’t inconvenience you.”

  He snickered as if it were a jest. Fizain and his other aides jerked into life like marionettes and guffawed loudly at their master’s humor.

  Janela plucked at my sleeve and I made my most courtly leg, bowing with exaggerated flourish. I felt wetness as Janela pressed something into my palm. As I came up I rubbed it against my lips. It was a small, oily pebble and I popped it into my mouth.

  When I spoke my voice was his equal. “I was only slightly put out, your Majesty,” I said. “I was engaged in a game of naughts and crosses with my wizard.” I nodded at Janela. “For a change I was winning.”

  I heard Fizain and the other courtiers hiss surpass at my sorcerous parry. Mithraik whispered: “He’ll get us killed!” And Quatervals said: “Quiet, fool!” He laughed as loudly as the aides who’d jollied the king.

  Once again Azbaas was forced to hide amazement. “Naughts and crosses?” he chortled. “I think we have better amusements than that to offer, Lord Antero.”