Kingdoms of the Night (The Far Kingdoms) (27 page)

The scars of war showed us, as we circumnavigated the city, she had not died a natural death. Buildings had been blasted, stone crushed and fused by the city’s besiegers. Idols of their gods and heroes had been toppled. Inside the barren ground of what had once been an arena we looked down and saw some scattered human bones. For this many to have survived the aeons meant there’d been a bleak slaughter that history should well have remembered.

It was frightening to see how the Old Ones — despite all their mythical powers and knowledge — had been humbled. Who had been their enemies? Did they still exist somewhere? And what had been the nature of the wrong the Old Ones had committed, whether real or imaginary, to earn such terrible repayment?

I was roasting those hard nuts in my mind when I heard a hooting erupt from the brush-filled streets below. We all stopped to see, weapons at ready. Another hoot answered the first but it seemed to come from a greater distance.

“Over there!” Janela said.

I swiveled my head just in time to see a glimpse of a brawny, fur-covered arm.

“Some sort of animal,” I guessed.

“Better’n ghosts, my Lord,” Pip said. “If he ’n he’s mates get too close like I can allus fire a warnin’ shot ’tween ’is ooglers.”

His jaw snapped shut with a loud click as a whole chorus of hooting broke out, as if in answer to his boasting.

There was thunder of many wings as frightened birds took flight. The ever-present shrieks of the monkeys suddenly stopped and we were left in silence broken only by the constant buzz of insects.

“Their cries seem to have come from behind us,” Janela said, which might be a threat to an easy retreat if it became necessary.

I pointed to the domes, now only about a fifteen-minute march ahead. “It’s just as easy to keep going, then,” I said.

We moved on but with no gawking and at a quicker pace. Off and on the hooting would resume but always from the rear or to the sides. We didn’t catch another glimpse of our stalkers — if that’s what they were — although sometimes we heard the sound of running feet and crackling brush.

Finally we came to where we would have to leave the relative safety of the walls. Just below and ahead of us was an overgrown park. Beyond the park — perhaps two hundred feet away — were the domes. They sat upon a still towering structure, with broad, broken steps leading to a gaping dark eye of an entrance. The parchment ball, smoke-tail streaming out, dodged across the park. It reached the steps, hovered there for a moment, then flame exploded up and out... and our guide disappeared in a puff of smoke.

We’d reached our destination.

We came down from the wall cautiously, one group guarding the other as we descended.

The heat didn’t lessen as we went on, into the deep shadows of the trees although the sense of danger grew. My nape prickled and my sword hand ached from clutching the grip so tight. But we crossed the park into the courtyard without incident.

Pip and two men went up the steps and checked the interior of the building while we waited in a protective knot at the bottom. They were gone a long time but there was no conversation between us, nor did we marvel at the remains of a strange statue that littered the yard but only looked to see what would make good cover.

Pip hailed us and said all was safe.

Once again, as if mocking him, the hooting erupted. But this time the sound was right on us. We had only time to blink before we were attacked.

They weren’t men, they weren’t beasts — but the worst of both. Gray, shambling figures boiled out of the brush, screaming that eerie war cry. They had huge, hunched shoulders, arms the size of a large man’s torso and slope-browed heads with snarling yellow teeth and blood-red eyes. They were armed with stone-headed axes and thick, knobbed clubs. I heard the Cyralian brothers unleash a volley and four of the creatures died with hoarse cries. But a score or more swarmed over their bodies. Then they were on us. An immense paw reached for me, but I slashed it away with my sword. I heard Janela grunt as she thrust her blade into an attacker. The beasts kept coming, and we retreated up the steps. One monster bounded over the balustrade, and met Otavi’s ax in full-swing.

Wave after hooting wave beat at us and though we somehow turned back each one, the assaults continued with increasing fury and larger numbers. I nearly slipped a half-dozen times on the broken, blood-slick pavement. Once Janela caught me in mid-stumble and as I righted myself red eyes loomed behind her, club upraised. She swiveled before I could cry a warning and cut the creature down.

Then we were backing into the building. We made our stand in the corridor, crumbling stone walls shielding us on either side. The Cyralian brothers had dispensed with their bows in such close quarters and were flailing away with their small hand axes. The creatures pressed us but the narrow corridor was working to our advantage and gray corpses made a growing pile on the steps outside.

I heard a bellow and spun to see a leather-armored hulk vault over a fallen statue outside, beyond the gray monsters and run toward us. It was a man — a big bear of a fellow, with a white plaited beard streaming from his chin and long silver hair flowing out from under his helmet. He was being pursued by a dozen beastmen. Shouting defiance he charged into the group attacking us and hacked his way through, then swung around and joined our line.

Although our numbers had only grown by one the beastmen seemed to lose spirit from that moment on. Our new ally’s presence seemed to spark our flagging strength and we waded in, hammering our attackers down with the ease of a clan of giants.

Then they were gone and we were panting for breath, pounding each other on the back, glorying we were still alive. But there was no question the beastmen might return at any time and with a larger force. I issued orders for the men to make ready for any new assault. While Janela slipped away to investigate the temple — for that is what it was — I turned to interrogate our new comrade.

He’d stripped off his armor and flask and was sprawled on the rubble-covered floor, dabbing at a welter of small wounds with a dirty rag he’d pulled from his helmet. He was big, almost fat, with a keg for a chest, a barrel for a belly and a hairy melon for a face. A pelt of tight white curls covered his back and chest.

He looked up as I approached and a grin the size of a ship’s mainmast was hoisted by the braided ropes that made his beard.

“Cap’n Mithraik’s the name, sir,” he said, in a voice formed in deep caverns. “Although I ain’t got a busted pizzle stick to cap’n just now. And if yuz got a drop of strong drink on yer lordly person, Mithraik’s yer man fer life, sir!”

I laughed and handed him the leather-bound flask of brandy I had hanging from my belt.

“It’s the least I can do, Captain Mithraik,” I said. “We were just about done for when you joined us.”

He uncorked the flask, saying: “Looked like yer was doin’ fine, sir.”

Mithraik let liquor flood into his throat. When he was done he shook the flask to see if it was empty, then looked sheepish and handed the flask back. “Sorry for the greedy beast that’s seized me, sir,” he said. “But it’s been many a day since I last wet me pipes with proper drink.”

“No harm done,” I said. “We came well supplied.”

He made another wide grin. “I’m hopin’ yer kindness will continue, sir,” he said. He belched and stretched his arms, tired joints popping like cold fat on a hot hearth stone.

He yawned. “I’m certain yuz got a lot of questions yer’ll want answerin’, sir,” he said. “Seein’ as how I’m a stranger and all. But if yuz don’t mind, sir, I’ll first tuck me up fer a li’l nap. Then yuz can ask away.”

I nodded in sympathy but before I could say another word Mithraik had curled up into a tubby ball and was emitting snores loud enough to rattle the chamber.

Janela came running up. She was so brimming with excitement she gave Mithraik only a cursory glance.

“I think I’ve found what we’re looking for,” she said. “But I’ll need some light and assistance.”

I asked what it was she wanted to show me but she just shook her head and said I needed to see for myself. She dug out a pair of firebeads, whispered the spell that made them glow into life and handed me a set. I bade one of the men watch Mithraik, having little trust for any stranger in these lands, and followed her along the long, dim corridor.

It spilled into a vast, vaulted room, with gigantic shadows dancing on the walls and floors as we moved, firebeads lifted high. More whispering from Janela and the beads glowed brighter still, chasing the shadows back. She pointed to the center of the room and I saw four stone figures posted in a square — all looking inward. They were smaller duplicates of the double-visaged woman\demon guarding the entrance to the harbor. The figures were undamaged by time and our light rippled along their black burnished surfaces. Janela pulled me forward to the place the statues seemed to be guarding.

“Look,” Janela said, raising her beads higher still.

In an area about twenty feet wide and a similar measure in length was a pentagram carved into the stone. Within the pentagram were all kinds of strange symbols and drawings and what may have been words in an unknown tongue. Deeply etched within the border they made was a picture of a dancing girl — graceful arms raised high, one hand holding a feather, the other a veil.

My mind reeled. “It’s the same maiden Janos carried,” I said.

“And mine,” Janela said, holding up the silver necklace she’d first shown me in the villa.

Actually it was closer to hers, since it showed a court scene similar to the one displayed when my touch had brought Janela’s talisman to life. There was the monarch and his queen, seated on twin thrones. There were the courtiers — among them were the strange visitors. And yes, there were the demon king leering at the girl. Except now he stood beside the royal thrones. There were other differences, the most marked of which was the aging of the monarchs. The king’s face and body had thickened and lines of worry creased his features. The still-beautiful queen had aged as well, more matronly now, and she looked pensive, brooding, as if she had suffered many wrongs.

Only the dancer appeared unchanged.

The demon king appeared more arrogant than ever, his talons stretching toward the dancing girl, so close he could almost touch her; so close, I could imagine her flesh crawling in fear.

I shuddered. “I hope you’re not thinking of casting some sort of spell,” I said, “to bring this scene alive.”

“I could, Amalric,” Janela said. “But I won’t. Black magic has been worked here. That is the purpose of the pentagram. I wouldn’t care to see what kind of demon it’s meant to contain.”

“Why would the Old Ones do such a thing?” I asked.

“They didn’t,” Janela said. “The original scene is theirs, I’m sure. But the pentagram was carved about it later.”

“The ones who destroyed this city?” I ventured.

Janela nodded. “The very ones,” she said. Then she said, “I don’t need sorcery for it to serve our purpose.”

She showed me one corner of the stone carving. At first all I saw were curving lines and odd-shaped forms. Then I realized it was an ornate map — a map of this region... and beyond, into our familiar worlds.

I could identify Orissa and the peninsula Lycanth once sat upon. From that area of familiarity I could trace the path to Irayas or turn to see the route Rali had taken in her great western voyage. There were other areas I could recognize but many more I couldn’t and it was all done in such detail that I hated the man or demon who’d carved this map with such easy familiarity. He knew a world time — or something else — had stolen from me and my kind.

But that was not what had Janela excited. The map also showed the eastern sea we’d just sailed, the benighted coast we stood upon, and beyond that—

“... The Kingdoms of the Night,” Janela breathed, putting words to my thoughts.

It wasn’t exactly that but the map certainly seemed to indicate the way. I saw a river curving up from the harbor, winding through many miles of wilderness. It ended in a great lake. Beyond the lake was a road that climbed into high mountains, snaking toward a symbol like a clenched hand, which could only be the Fist Of The Gods. The road cut across that formation and then ran straight as an arrow to the miniature towers of a palace — our goal. I whispered a prayer to Te-Date that my wishes were not playing me false.

Janela said something, bumping me into awareness.

“Pardon?” I said.

“I want to make a copy,” she answered. “Help me light the carving, if you please.”

She gave me her beads and I held both sets high so she could see. Janela took a small, linen-wrapped object from her purse. When she’d removed the wrapping I saw it was a charcoal stick which she rubbed over the portion of the map we needed. She worked carefully, making sure all the etched lines were filled with blackening. The entire charcoal stub was used by the time she was done. Then she spread out the bit of linen that had contained the stick.

She smiled at me. “Well, only a little bit of magic, perhaps,” she said.

Janela folded the linen into a square, then squared it again, until it was quite small. She pressed it between her palms, whispered a spell then undid it. The linen bundle unfolded and unfolded... and unfolded — until it was large enough to cover the map. She laid it across the blackened area, pressed it tight then rubbed the cloth with the haft of her knife. Once again she took her time so every spot got its due.