by Allan Cole
Then his head struck something hard and all became shooting stars of pain against a black, velvety night.
When he came to, Palimak didn't know how long he'd been unconscious. He was lying face down in wet sand, mouth full of grit, hot sun scorching his back, the stone turtle gripped in his right hand.
And the Favorites were jumping up and down on his shoulders, shouting hysterically:
"Get up, Little Master! Get up! Get up! Get up!"
Palimak spat sand and moaned, "I can't. Gods, I hurt all over!"
"You have to get up, Little Master!" Gundara pleaded.
"It's coming, it's coming!" Gundaree cried.
He groaned and forced himself to his knees, brushing sand from his face. Then he heard a furious roar and sudden fear swept away all feelings of pain and weariness.
Hurtling along the beach toward him was an enormous lion's head. Seemingly supported by an invisible body that left no tracks in the sand, the maned head was carried about five feet off the ground.
The lion's eyes were fixed on Palimak and it was roaring in fury, exposing fangs the length and breadth of heavy spear blades.
Palimak needed no further persuasion from the Favorites. He jumped to his feet and ran for the jungle.
A narrow opening through the dense trees seemed to promise safety and he swerved toward it, practically diving through the leafy portal when he reached it.
Palimak stumbled, heard another roar-this one seeming to come practically at his heels-and he recovered, sprinting along the dimly-lit path as fast as his demon-powered muscles would carry him.
The lion was so close that he didn't have time to stop and climb a tree. He ran onward, praying his strength and breath would hold out.
Then he came to a sharp bend in the trail, forced by a great tree surrounded by thick roots that towered many feet above him.
"Stop, Little Master, stop!" the twins shouted in unison. "It's a trap!"
But the lion roared at the same time, its foul breath washing over his shoulders.
Naked fear spurred a panicked leap and in less than a heartbeat he was hurtling past the sharpest part of the path's bend.
There was a burst of colorful lights, then a tingling sensation that shivered up his body from toes to crown. He fell heavily, landing on hard-packed ground.
Palimak remained there, hot sun scorching his bare torso. And he wondered why his heart was beating so hard and why his breath was so labored-as if he'd run a great distance at top speed.
But he had no memory of this, much less of the reason for it.
Many other questions came flooding in. He heard hundreds, possibly thousands of people cheering all around him.
Who were they? And why were they cheering?
There was also this shrill chattering noise in his ears. What was that all about?
And then he felt a stone-hard object in his pocket-jammed between the ground and his upper thigh. For some reason the object was important to him, although he couldn't say why, only that he was relieved it was still there.
Palimak thought, I wonder where I am?
And then came another, most disturbing thought: I wonder who I am?
Confusion mixed with growing alarm. For the life of him, he couldn't think of his name. It didn't help that all those people were shouting and those two hysterical voices chattering alien words in his ear wouldn't stop. He just wished everyone would shut up and give him a chance to figure it out.
Shut up, shut up, shut up, he thought. Odd, how those words seemed so familiar and served to make him feel better. He mouthed them: Shut up, shut up, shut up! It was like a tonic, settling his nerves.
Then a strong hand clutched his. And a deep voice said, "Rise, Honored One."
Palimak let himself be drawn to his feet. He found himself facing a broad, sun-blackened chest. He looked up-then up some more, neck craning back-until he saw a huge lion's head sitting upon on a man's thick, muscular shoulders.
"Good day, honored sir," Palimak said mildly, feeling not one twinge of fear at this oddity. "Who might you be?"
"I am King Felino," the lionman said.
"Very nice to meet you," Palimak replied. Then, frowning, he asked, "Pardon, Majesty, but am I supposed to know you? I hope you don't mind my rude question, but I seem to have lost my memory."
Instead of answering, the lionman handed Palimak a spear. Red ribbons were hung from its haft, looking like streams of blood.
"This is for you, Honored One," King Felino said.
Palimak nodded. "If that's my name," he said, "I quite like it: Honored One. So much better than the only other name I can think of, which is Little Master."
He grimaced. "I keep hearing that name in my head. a€?Little Master, Little Mastera€™ these voices keep saying. And I do wish they'd stop."
Palimak looked around and noted he was in a broad arena made of hard-packed red earth. Surrounding the arena were hundreds of half-naked people. Faces painted with gaudy colors, teeth filed to points.
And they were all shouting: "Kill, kill, kill, kill!" as they slammed their spear butts against the ground.
Palimak looked at his own spear, then at the lionman. "Am I supposed to kill somebody with this?" he asked.
"It is your duty, Honored One," King Felino answered. "You must save your people."
Palimak nodded. "That's a pretty good reason," he said. "First sensible one I've heard all day."
Then he wrinkled his brow. "A little earlier somebody advised me to jump and although that seemed like a terrible idea at the moment, I did it anyway. And I guess it must've worked out. Because here I am, ready to do my duty and all."
Just then the voices in his ear rang louder and this time he could make out the words: "It's a trap, Little Master! A trap!"
Reflexively he glanced around the arena. "I don't see a trap," he said to the voices. Then, to the lionman,
"Do you see one?"
"It is time, Honored One," King Felino said.
"That's good," Palimak said. "Because I'm starting to get tired of just standing here and doing nothing but listen to these crazy voices."
Again, he scanned the arena. "If you don't mind me asking, Majesty," he said, "exactly who and where is this person I'm supposed to kill?"
The lionman lifted his long, brawny arm, pointing. "There," he said.
Obediently, Palimak looked where the lionman pointed. At first he didn't see anything except empty arena.
Then, in the center, there was a burst of bright light. Followed by an enormous swarm of colorful butterflies exploding out of nothingness.
Puzzled, he thought, I don't see anything but butterflies and they hardly seem worth killing.
And the voices in his ear jabbered, "It's a trap, Little Master. A trap!"
"Oh, shut up with your trap," Palimak said, getting really irritated. "Can't you see I'm busy looking for somebody to kill?"
At that moment a man popped out of thin air and plunged to the ground. He remained there for a moment, as if recovering from shock.
The crowd's shouts grew louder: "Kill, kill, kill!"
"There's the villain, Honored One!" King Felino thundered. "The black-hearted enemy of your people-Safar Timura!"
Then he roared his lion's roar, quickening instant hate in Palimak's heart.
As the enemy rose to his feet, Palimak lifted the spear and charged.
And Palimak thought, Die, damn you! Die, Safar Timura!
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
WITCHCRAFT
Ordering Jooli and the others to remain in place, Leiria rushed back along the trail to the point where they'd seen Safar vanish.
She cursed herself as a fool for not remaining at Safar's side at all times, no matter what the circumstances. Leiria had watched him come around the bend, then pause as if something was troubling him. She'd even called to him to say there was nothing to worry about.
Then-right before her eyes-he'd mysteriously disappeared. There'd been no disturbance or hint whatsoe
ver that something was going to happen. He'd just vanished into thin air.
Now, bared sword ready, Leiria was determined to take on a whole army if necessary to wrest Safar from the clutches of whatever threatened him.
But when she came to the place where she'd last seen him there was no sign of what had occurred.
Cautiously, she retraced Safar's steps-the prints of which were mingled with hers and the others-about a hundred feet back down the trail. Still nothing. She returned to the bend where they'd lost sight of him and examined the area more closely.
The only thing she found were the scattered bodies of scores of dead butterflies. This was quite puzzling.
As far as Leiria could recall she hadn't seen a single butterfly since they'd entered the jungle. More determined then ever, she once again retraced the trail. Studying every inch of the ground for some sign of Safar.
Meanwhile, Sergeant Hamyr had stumbled on a new mystery.
"Look here, Your Highness," he called to Jooli. "Young Lord Palimak's footprints ain't here no more!"
Jooli strode over to Hamyr who crouched, studying the ground. He looked up at her, bewildered.
"They were here, plain as day, a couple of minutes ago," he said, making a wide circle with his finger to surround an empty spot on the path.
He tapped the center with heavy emphasis. "Right damned here, they were," he said.
"And there were others, too," he continued, pointing down the trail ahead. "But those bastards ain't there, either! You saw them, right? Or has some son of a flea-bitten goat snuck up to steal my wits?"
Grim-faced, Jooli absorbed the news. "Yes, I saw them," she said. "Unless my wits have been stolen as well."
"Where'n the hells did they go, then, Your Highness?" he asked, voice pleading. "Nothing but damn, rotted jungle trash far as the eye can see!"
"Let me take a look, sergeant," Jooli said, motioning Hamyr aside. "And then maybe I can answer the question for both of us."
Sergeant Hamyr made room and Jooli crouched before the circle he'd scratched in the leaves. She fumbled in her witch's pouch, which hung from her belt, and found a small oilcloth packet, marked with magical symbols.
Jooli opened it and sprinkled a small quantity of purple dust into one palm. Then she blew gently across her open hand, the dust streaming out to settle on the circle.
"There it is! Right where it was before!" Sergeant Hamyr exclaimed as Palimak's distinctive footprint faded into view, thinly painted purple by the magical dust.
It remained there a moment, the dust stirring into motion as if bringing the footprint to life. Then it vanished, dust and all.
"It's gone again, by damn!" Sergeant Hamyr cursed. He looked at Jooli, scratching his head. "Do you know what in the hells is happening, Your Highness?" he asked.
Jooli nodded, face grave. "It's a false trail, sergeant," she said. "Laid by witchcraft."
Sergeant Hamyr was aghast. "You mean some wrinkle-teated witch played us the fool?" he said.
Then he reddened as he remembered Jooli's abilities and made a hasty apology. "Beggina€™ your pardon, highness," he said. "I guess I stuffed my boot in my mouth, heel and all!"
"No apology necessary, sergeant," Jooli said. Despite the circumstances, she couldn't help smiling.
"Although I can't speak for the witch, who may or may not possess a wrinkled bosom. As a matter of fact, this witch could be a wrinkle-teated he, instead of a she."
The sergeant goggled. "I thought a witch was just a wizard in female dress," he said.
The other men had gathered around and were listening in. Although this was hardly the moment for a general discussion on gender sorcery, Jooli noted that their interest was taking their minds off their current problems.
So she said, "The difference is in power, plus the source of the magic. Witches generally get their power solely from nature and make greater use of plants, animal matter and talismans. Wizards rely somewhat on nature, but they can also draw energy from the spirit world."
She shrugged. "Generally speaking, this makes wizards like Safar and Palimak much more powerful than witches. But not always. And not in all cases."
Jooli gestured, taking in the surrounding jungle. "In this place a witch would be very strong indeed."
She started to explain that the jungle was full of animal spirits and magical plant life, but decided not to.
No sense frightening them so much they'd need a change of breeches the next time an ape hooted.
"Anyway, that's the theory," Jooli said, rather weakly.
Just then Leiria strode up, interrupting the conversation. Jooli's immediate reaction was relief that she'd be able to avoid some uncomfortable questions. But when she saw Leiria's expression all the worry returned.
"No sign of Safar?" Jooli asked, praying that her guess was wide of the mark.
Leiria shook her head-so much for the power of prayer.
"Not a trace," she said. "I couldn't find a clue about what happened."
She hesitated, frowning. "Except for one small thing. And maybe I'm just a drowning woman grabbing at straws. But I did find some dead butterflies on the trail. Hundreds of them. At the very spot where he vanished."
Sergeant Hammer said, "That don't seem right. Ain't seen a butterfly since we walked into this godsforsaken forest. And I got pretty sharp eyes."
He turned to the other soldiers. "How about you men? Seen any butterflies lately?" All the soldiers said they hadn't.
Jooli's eyes lit up with excitement at Leiria's news. "Show me," she said to her friend.
Leiria led them all back to the place where Safar had been seen last. She took the precaution of posting the men on both sides of the curving trail so they couldn't be taken unaware.
Jooli, meanwhile, was studying the heaps of dead butterflies. After she got over the surprise of their numbers, the first thing she noticed was the amazing variety of colors.
In her experience, butterfly swarms were always composed of the same shade. And if there weredifferences, they were so minor that they went almost unnoticed.
She started to sort them by color-reds, blues, greens and so on. Which was when she came upon her second discovery. No two seemed to be quite the same! Butterflies that were mainly blue might have touches of orange, or purple or red. While those that were red might be tinged or spotted with green, or brown or yellow.
And the more the she tried to break down the colors further, the more it became apparent that each individual butterfly was startlingly different from the others.
"If I hadn't seen it with my own eyes, I wouldn't have believed it possible," Leiria said after Jooli had demonstrated her discovery.
"It isn't," Jooli said. "Except through magic."
"Surely either you or Safar would have noticed if someone had cast a spell," Leiria said. "Safar's always told me that he can, well, feel it happening. Like the hackles going up on the back of his neck, or something."
Jooli nodded agreement, saying, "When Safar and I first entered the jungle we both cast spells to alert us to sorcerous danger."
She sighed. "Except we both agreed that since we didn't know what we were up against, the spells might not do us much good."
Jooli grimaced. "But this was a complete failure!" she went on. "I've never experienced anything like that!"
"Apparently, neither had Safar," Leiria said. "And yet it happened."
As the hopelessness of the situation sank its barbs deeper into them, Leiria was overcome by angry frustration. "By all that's holy," she said, "when I find out who is responsible for this, I'll spill their guts on the ground and serve up them up on a platter!"
"There's a slim chance," Jooli said, "that I might be able to grant your wish."
"How?" Leiria asked.
"By recreating the spell," Jooli said.
Leiria eyes burned with fury. "Then do it!" she demanded. "Show me this villain's face!"
"That's exactly my intention," Jooli said.
And she immediately
got busy with her preparations.
First, she swept all the butterflies into a large pile. Then she spread her cloak out on the ground and upended her witch's pouch so that she could sort through the contents. As she worked, Leiria paced next to her like an angry she cat.
To calm her friend, and also to relieve her own tension, Jooli talked while she worked.
"When I was a girl learning the basics of magic from my grandmother," she said, "the whole thing seemed like such a huge, complex mystery that it was a long time before I could do even the simplest spell."
Jooli smiled, reflecting. "But my grandmother was a very patient woman," she said. "And an excellent teacher. Strange, isn't it? That even someone as evil as she is could still have good qualities?"
Leiria snorted. "Reminds me of a certain king I used to know," she said. "Iraj Protarus! King of Kings.
Brutal lord of all he surveyed. And yet, he was a dreamer once. A man of good intentions, I think. And sometimes he could be quite gentle and forgiving."
She sighed. "It was greed that changed him. Not greed for money, but for power. And a man who thinks like that can't understand others might not want the same thing. That's why he ended up hating Safar so much. He couldn't believe that Safar-who in many ways had once shared his vision-had never ceased being a dreamer."
Jooli laughed. "Similar to my grandmother," she said, "but not quite the same. I think she caught the greed disease while still in her mother's womb."
Leiria shuddered. "It almost makes me feel sorry for her," she said.
Jooli looked up at her. "Don't," she said. "That's another thing she's good at. Making people feel sorry for her so she can gain the upper hand."
Then she returned to her work, choosing certain little packets and vials and putting them aside.
"Anyway, I was talking about the complexity of magic," she said. "What my grandmother taught was that witchcraft was really quite simple and logical. Almost childishly so. In fact, sometimes it helps to think like a child and not let adult narrow-mindedness infect you."
She got out a small cup and started measuring various powders and liquids into it. "The first thing I learned was to truly imagine a thing. Which isn't that difficult for a young girl. It was easy to imagine a favorite doll in every detail. Or a sweet I particularly liked.
