by Allan Cole
Safar nodded, stroking his chin. With some surprise, Palimak noted the stubble of a golden beard sprouting from his face. Their ordeal had gone on so long Safar hadn't had a chance to shave.
And once again Palimak wondered about the changed color of his father's hair. Previously, he'd attributed it to bleaching by the sun. Now he wondered why a normally dark-haired person would grow a light-colored beard. It didn't make sense. He glanced at Safar's head and saw that what had once been dark hair, albeit streaked with gold, was now entirely blond.
Like the sudden improvement in Safar's fighting ability, something seemed wrong here. On the other hand, maybe it was only his imagination.
Then his father spoke and the doubts were forgotten. "Let's get His Highness aboard the airship," Safar said. "And we can question him at our leisure."
Everyone agreed with his thinking and so he sent up a green flare to signal Biner.
A half-hour passed and there was no sign of the airship. Frowning, Safar shot off another magical flare.
Again, there was a long, fruitless wait.
Finally, Leiria said, "We'd better get back to the beach the best way we can. Biner's either asleep or in big trouble."
"Biner never sleeps when he's on watch," Safar said. "And neither does Arlain."
"I know," Leiria replied grimly.
A few minutes later they had the barely conscious King Felino tied to a litter and were dragging him along the trail as they retraced their steps through the jungle.
CHAPTER FORTY
GODDESS OF THE HELLS
Queen Clayre paced her cabin, waiting for news from the Hells that her secret plot against Safar and Palimak Timura had succeeded.
From the cabin adjoining hers she heard the muffled sounds of a man moaning in pain. She smiled in pleasure, thinking that in her case the news didn't have to travel very far. Only the door to her suite separated her from one small, particularly nasty corner of the nether world.
Above her came a flurry of barked orders and the slap of bare feet as the sailors raced across the vessel's deck to do the bidding of their officers.
Safar's ship had been spotted and even now her son and his minions were beating windward to catch the Timuras by surprise.
Clayre snorted derisively. She had little faith in her son's ability to bring the Timuras down. Even though the stolen fleet was packed with more than enough soldiers to overwhelm the Kyranians, in her mind Rhodes had failed before when he'd held even better odds.
And then he'd been engaged against the boy wizard, Palimak. Not a sorcerer of Safar Timura's enormous strength and cunning.
Clayre heard more sounds of pain and moved to the cabin door. It was open a crack and she could peek inside. Spreadeagled across her table was a half-naked sailor, his loins covered by cut-off canvas breeches. Bound and gagged, blood streaked his bare torso and legs as if he'd been lashed.
Some invisible force seemed to be tormenting him and he twisted against his bonds, causing the table to shift a few inches. Then he gave a strangled cry and went inert as he fell unconscious.
Excellent, Clayre thought. The spell is working. She turned away from the door and resumed her pacing, reviewing her plan.
After Clayre's first effort with the tree-beasts had failed she'd decided to seek help from a higher power.
By this, she did not mean the Heavenly gods. In her decidedly less than humble opinion the gods were useless things noted for not sticking to their bargain no matter how rich the sacrifice. The deities who ruled the Hells were much more trustworthy.
Charize, her mentor in sorcery, had speculated that the Heavenly gods were asleep and paying no mind to worldly affairs. Charize had postulated that this was the era for monsters and devils like herself.
Moreover, she'd said, there was an excellent opportunity to replace the gods in the minds of humans and demons with more realistic objects of worship.
"The worlds we reside in are quite cruel," Charize had observed. "Pain is the destiny of all living things.
And this pain is not even relieved by death. Note the poor miserable ghosts who wander everywhere, bemoaning their fates.
"As if Fate had ever truly offered anything better. It would be kinder-and more delicious to us-if mortal creatures understood that everlasting pain and disappointment make up their eternal future.
"As I tell all my sisters, your prey's submission is such lovely sauce to be served up with a good, suffering marrow bone."
During Clayre's sessions with the monster queen she'd learned-and gloried in the learning-that during this period of inattentive deities, helpmates such as herself were not only spared misery but also got to feast at the wondrous table of hopelessness.
"And even if Asper is correct and things do eventually change," Charize had said, "and the gods should ever awaken, they have no loyalty to mortals. After all, corporeal beings are mere playthings to be tormented for the personal enrichment and enjoyment of the gods.
"So there will still be much for us to feast upon. But I think we should eat while the eating is good, and be damned to Asper and the gods. The longer we can delay their return, the better. And perhaps we can even prevent it altogether."
In the meantime, Charize recommended regular sacrifice to the Goddess of the Hells, Lady Lottyr. An unholy deity who had no love for mortal kind and who made it her practice to mix beasts with higher life-forms to achieve her aims. As false prophets of Asper, it was Lottyr's praise that Charize and her sisters had sung during their observances:
" … We take the sin, we take the sin,
Sweet Lady, Lady, Lady.
On our souls, on our souls,
Holy One … "
The Lady Lottyr was the hellish shadow-goddess of her heavenly twin, the Lady Felakia. To whom her human and demon worshipers attributed all good things.
Charize had scoffed at Felakia's goodness. She firmly believed that good, as represented by the Lady Felakia, was only the feeble sister to evil, whose cause Lady Lottyr championed.
"Lord Asper was badly mistaken," she used to tell Clayre. "Because when the gods decided to allow the death of the present world it was only because they preferred the heartier taste of evil to the weak soup that the bones of good make.
"Ultimately, only Lady Lottyr can provide such wonderfully tormented souls. Made more delicious by their misery. All aged by their ethereal corpses being hanged on the butcher hooks of the Hells."
Despite the claims of friendship-and the revelation of many magical secrets-Clayre had never believed that Charize had her best interests at heart.
And so Clayre's emotions had been decidedly mixed when Palimak had killed the monster queen-the worshiper of Lady Lottyr. On the one hand, she'd been freed of Charize and her influences. On the other, Clayre's personal magic was much weakened without Charize's assistance.
Kalasariz had provided some of the answers to her dreams. He'd not only defeated but had digested his enemies. Enormous power was in the offing. Power Clayre was determined to control.
The spymaster had first proposed that he enter her own body. An offer Clayre immediately distrusted and refused.
Let Kalasariz possess her son. She could deal with Rhodes, no matter how much he might be influenced by Kalasariz. She had no doubt Kalasariz and Rhodes were plotting to make her their slave eventually by eating her soul-just as Kalasariz had devoured the demons, Luka and Fari.
Clayre snorted. Let them make their silly plans to betray her!
The main flaw in their plot was that they first had to defeat her enemies. And when the moment came for them to turn against her, she'd be ready. In fact, she was already building the spell to turn the tables on them-as well as widening her contacts in the spirit world.
But it was in the Hells that Clayre had found her greatest source of strength.
The Queen Witch glanced at the slightly open door, smiling at the memory.
The Hell Goddess Lottyr had been more than willing to join her conspiracy. No expensive sacr
ifice had been needed. Only the pledge of Clayre's immortal soul. A thing she did not value and so was eager to turn into coin for her hellish bargain.
And now, while her son's three-ship fleet closed in on the single Kyranian expedition ship, Clayre had already overreached him.
Somewhere in the jungles of Aroborus the Lady Lottyr's sycophant was confronting Safar and Palimak in a magical arena specially constructed for their doom.
Of course, the goddess of the Hells had also warned Clayre the first attempt might fail.
"As a sorcerer," she'd said, "Safar Timura is as close to a miracle as any of us can imagine. Although he is a mere human, his magical abilities are far beyond those of any being I have ever encountered. Even the demon master wizard, Lord Asper, would pale if put beside Lord Timura.
"Our main weapon is that Safar does not yet realize his full power. He's limited by his own imagination.
But each time he tests those limits he overcomes them and gains more confidence and strength.
"I never believed it possible he could escape the otherworld of Hadin Future. But somehow he managed it. And now he is back to bedevil us, with abilities much greater than before."
Since her last session with Lottyr, Clayre had formulated many questions that hadn't occurred to her when she'd first conjured up Lottyr's presence.
For instance, Kalasariz had told her more about Safar's strange love/hate relationship with Iraj Protarus.
Although the spymaster had not been completely forthcoming, Clayre had surmised that the unknown whereabouts of Iraj Protarus troubled him greatly. And that he was basing all his hopes on finding and overcoming the former king of kings by capturing and killing Safar Timura.
He'd even let slip the magical term that still bound him to Protarus-The Spell of Four. Clayre had done some research on this spell. But there were few magical texts available to someone stuck in such a provincial place as Syrapis.
However, it wasn't hard to figure out that the spell involved shapechanging. And that four participants were required to form that spell. Obviously, Kalasariz had once been one of those four. But he'd managed to break loose and now two of his spell partners had become his slaves. And the fourth, whom he was desperately seeking, could only be King Protarus.
As she paced the cabin, Clayre wondered where the final, most valuable link could be. At this point it was only a matter of curiosity. But if her attempt on Safar and Palimak failed, the question-and its answer-might surge to the forefront.
Who was Iraj Protarus? What were his aims, his goals? And, finally, where was he?
And if found, could Clayre make a bargain with him that would be beneficial to them both?
Her thoughts were broken by renewed moaning from the adjacent cabin. Her heart leaped in anticipation.
Finally! She hurried to the door and slipped inside.
The sailor was a mass of horribly moving color. He was covered with hundreds of butterflies-fixed to him like winged leeches-and he jerked and twitched as their tiny mouths devoured his flesh.
Near the table was a net made of golden strands of silk. Quickly, Clayre picked it up and threw it across the man's body.
There was a single muffled scream, an explosion of intense light, and then Clayre hastily pulled the net away.
Hundreds of bloated butterfly corpses fell to the floor, their wings making a rainbow carpet of death. And the sailor was gone.
In his place was a huge spider-like creature, nearly three feet high. A fabulous form curved out of its throbbing, bulbous body. It had the torso of a beautiful woman, but fixed to that torso were six arms and six heads held aloft by long, graceful throats.
Each lovely face was identical-alabaster skin, high cheekbones and dark, flashing eyes. The mouths were full-lipped and red. And when they parted they displayed sharp white fangs, tipped with emerald drops of poison.
Clayre bowed low. "Greetings, Lady Lottyr, Goddess of the Fires," she said. "And thank you for blessing this worshipful one with your exalted presence. May I be so bold as to ask the news?"
The heads all spoke at once, making a strange chorus of identical voices-all melodious, like royal courtesans skilled in the arts of theater and song.
"The news is neither fair nor foul, sister," said the six voices of Lottyr. "Our first attempt on the wizard, Safar, and the demon boy, Palimak, was only partly successful. We captured them. And engaged them in sorcerous battle."
Clayre was confused. "But that's wonderful news, O Goddess," she said. "If we captured them, then victory is ours. And all our efforts will soon be rewarded."
The six long graceful arms waved in unison, slender hands arcing like posing dancers. "Unfortunately, the Timuras managed to escape, sister," Lottyr said. "And they also captured my slave, King Felino. No doubt they will soon put him to the torture in an attempt to learn our plans."
"Forgive me for suggesting any doubt of your words, My Lady Lottyr," Clayre said, biting back bitter disappointment, "but you said the news was neither fair nor foul. Yet the events you describe seem to have little good in them. Is there something this ignorant one is missing?"
Musical laughter issued from the six mouths of the goddess. Then Lottyr said, "I cautioned you once before, sister, that our first attempt might not entirely succeed."
It was all Clayre could do not to snap. She calmed herself. "You said the Timuras escaped," she said.
"Forgive me, but the only conclusion I can draw from that answer is that we had no success at all."
"Oh, but we did, sister," Lottyr said. "As for their escape, you must share some of the blame. It was, after all, your granddaughter, Queen Jooli, who assisted them."
Clayre gritted her teeth. Be damned to that girl! "I'm sorry to hear that, goddess," she said. "And you were correct in saying I am at fault when it comes to Jooli. I should have killed that child long ago."
More laughter from the goddess. "Do not despair, sister," Lottyr said. "You'll have your chance to rectify that soon enough."
She paused, graceful arms waving, then she said. "Also, the man we used for the sacrifice wasn't satisfactory. He was too weak to bear the pain long enough."
Again, Clayre was stricken with guilt. Something she was quite unaccustomed to. The sailor had been suffering from some illness and she'd used the excuse of treating him so there'd be no suspicions of her intent.
"Next time I'll make certain the victim is quite healthy, Lady," Clayre vowed.
"Excellent," the goddess said. "Also try to find someone younger. Virility is the spice of life, you know.
And of death."
"I'll do that as well, Lady," Clayre promised with a smile. "As a matter of fact, I've had my eye on some of the younger men in the crew for my own purposes."
"Lovely," the goddess said, giggling musically. "Then we can share."
"Pardon, Lady," Clayre said, when the giggling subsided. "But you said we did meet with some success in this encounter. What might that be?"
"The most important thing," the goddess replied, "is that I found the answers to several questions I believe you were thinking of asking me."
Clayre's eyebrows rose. "Yes?"
"To begin with," said the goddess, "I've learned the whereabouts of a certain king. His name is Iraj Protarus."
Clayre clapped her hands in delight. "That's wonderful news, my goddess," she said. "Wonderful news, indeed!"
An hour later, secure in her new-found knowledge, Queen Clayre sent for her son.
King Rhodes tromped into her cabin, full of protests and bluster. "By the gods, mother," he thundered,
"have you lost all your senses? You know damned well I'm getting ready for battle! And yet you insist on interrupting me."
"Oh, the battle," she said, suppressing a yawn. "I'd forgotten about that."
"How could you forget?" Rhodes fumed. "This is the chance we've been waiting for ever since we left home!"
Clayre ignored his anger. She waved a hand airily. "Have you managed to catch up to Safar Timu
ra's ship yet?"
Rhodes thrust a thick finger at her port window. "It's just over the horizon. We're going to heave to for the night, ready our defenses, then attack at dawn."
"How clever of you, my son," Clayre said. "Or should I say, how clever of Kalasariz. You couldn't have done this on your own, the gods know."
Rhodes, thanks to some mental prodding by Kalasariz, kept himself from exploding. He sighed heavily.
"What is it you want, mother?" he asked.
"Nothing much," Clayre said. "Just the loan of one of your younger sailors to help me with a little task here. A nice handsome lad would be best. Someone with a good, virile physique."
Rhodes glared at his mother. "Since when did you start thinking I was your whoremaster?" he demanded.
"Get your own bedmate and be damned!"
Clayre smiled, quite unmoved by his words. "If you continue to insult me, son," she said, "I won't lift a finger to help you during the battle. Without my magic things might not go so well as you wish."
Once again Kalasariz had to surge forth to keep Rhodes from losing his temper.
Finally, after an intense internal debate with the spymaster, the king said to Clayre, "Very well, mother. I'll get you your lad. He'll be here within the hour."
As he turned to go, Clayre said, "Oh, by the by. I mentioned that I needed this boy on loan?"
"What of it?"
"I misspoke," Clayre replied with a shrug. "When I'm done with this fellow I fear they'll be nothing left to return."
"Whatever you say, mother," Rhodes growled.
As he exited, he made sure to slam the door.
"Such a temper," Clayre said to herself. "Just like his father."
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
BATTLE FOR THE NEPENTHE
Queen Clayre should have had more faith in her son. Although he was no mighty wizard like Safar, he was a skilled general and a cunning adversary.
He hadn't wasted a moment of those many weeks at sea pursuing Safar and Palimak. His men were trained to the highest degree of readiness. And, after consulting with Kalasariz about Esmirian weapons and tactics, he'd come up with several tricks to stack the odds even more in his favor.
