Kingdoms of the Night (The Far Kingdoms) (66 page)

Others of our company should be trickling home soon, although I cannot say as yet who and how many they may be. But I’ve told everyone to seek you out when they return to Orissa and you would see their lives are made comfortable and that they get credit for the grand part they played in history.

You may have drawn the conclusion in reading thus far that I don’t expect to return myself. If so, you are correct.

These words — added to the journal you have already received — are my parting gift to the world.

A world I shall soon leave.

* * * *

When last I wrote the demons were at our door. And I was scribbling hastily lest some crucial detail be left out. As far as I can tell I was successful. But much followed that will open even the most skeptical eyes to the greatness of Janela’s achievements.

And how much more can still be achieved.

* * * *

I thought I had seen every twist in every road Fate could possibly scratch out. I thought I had been flung as high as any giant could manage and borne to depths as low as the Dark Seeker can carry us and still hold life.

So much for an old man’s arrogance.

We were bathed and dressed in our best when the demons came. I chose a military look to show my defiance, although there might also have been a phantom motive involved — such as literally girding my loins for the coming ordeal.

Janela wore a scarlet tunic over black leggings and her favorite boots. And in her hat was a graceful, blood-red feather to match her tunic.

When she put on her jewelry she held back two bracelets. These went to Quatervals and Kele.

“There’s a spell on them that will hide you when the demons arrive,” she said. “When I signal think only of darkness. Concentrate on the night and all the shadowy things that night holds and the demons won’t see you when they enter. Not only that, but their thoughts will be turned away whenever they attempt to think of you. So your absence from our ranks will not be missed.”

They put them on as she directed but the whole time she talked they hung their heads and mumbled their replies — as if they were ashamed.

“If these are our final moments together,” I said, “can’t you manage cheerier faces? Do you want my last thoughts of you to be those sour and wrinkly gourds I see clinging to the end of your necks?”

Quatervals grumbled and Kele muttered as my first attempt missed its mark by many lengths.

So I uncorked the last bottle of Orissan brandy we had brought with us and poured all around.

“Try a little of this magic,” I said. “If you drink enough you’ll be as blind as the demons.”

A good administrator must lead by example so I drained my cup and filled it again to the brim. Janela laughed and followed suit.

Very grudgingly, first Quatervals and then Kele drank.

“Drink, drink,” I urged, gently pushing at the bottom of Quatervals’ cup until the last drop had flowed between his lips.

“Here, now,” Kele warned. “I’ll be me own rudder.” And she too drank to the dregs.

I sloshed more brandy around, saying, “I know you’re both thinking we’ve come all this way together, so we should continue until the end, and somehow you are abandoning us even though you know your mission is more important than all our lives combined.”

I chuckled. “But the fact the matter is you’re not likely to make it either so what’s the point in feeling so guilty?”

Quatervals brightened. He took a healthy drink. “That’s quite true, my Lord,” he said. “Chances are we’ll be picked up faster’n a green legate can piss his britches in his maiden fight.”

He looked at Kele. “They’ll probably torture us first,” he said. “For makin’ ’em go to so much bother.”

Kele smiled, encouraged by this bleak picture. “’N even if they don’t catch us,” she said, “what do yer thinks our chances are of ever makin’ it all the way back to Orissa?”

Quatervals nodded. “By the gods, you’re right!” he said. “Don’t know what we’re so worried about. The journey’ll kill us if the demons don’t.”

He finished his drink and held out his cup for a refill. Which I did. Quatervals was positively beaming.

“Thank’ee, my Lord,” he said, “for pointin’ out how hopeless our situation is. I’m feelin’ much better now.”

“Not so quick wi’ tha’ bottle, me Lord,” Kele said, knocking aside Quatervals’ cup with her own. “I’m a delicate lass as yer know ’n I must get me proper share so’s I don’t shriek or faint.”

Quatervals snorted. “You mean passed out.” Another snort. “Delicate lass, my arse!”

“Yer arse is what I’ll be puttin’ me boot up,” Kele said, “if yer continue t’ question me sensitive nature.”

“Children, children!” I admonished. “Is this how you’re going to behave on the way back?”

Quatervals and Kele looked at each other, then laughed.

“Too right, my Lord,” Quatervals said. “How else’r we supposed to stave off boredom?”

Kele nodded in agreement. “Fer a lubber,” she said, “he ain’t bad in a quarrel. Given a century or three, might even make a sailor out’er him.”

Quatervals bristled. “Never,” he said. “I hate water. And I hate fish even more.”

“There yer go, then,” Kele said with relish. “Yer half way there already.”

* * * *

Earlier, while Janela was dressing, I’d seen the pouch containing the stone talisman dangling from her neck. After she’d pulled on her tunic, covering it, she’d studied herself in the mirror, patting and tugging until the outline of the talisman couldn’t be seen.

“A last-minute plan developing, perchance?” I’d asked.

“I wish I could say yes, my love. But I have nothing in mind that might save us.”

“Then why are you bringing the box along?”

“I thought of all the weapons we could have smuggled in and hide about our persons,” she’d said. “On the far off hope that we might be able to inflict a wound or two before they killed us.”

“I’ve considered the same,” I’d replied. “But I couldn’t see what use it would be — even if we could manage it. Considering the stakes what’s a scratch or two on a demon’s hide? I think I’d rather keep my dignity and not go out flailing like an hysterical old fool.”

Then I’d eyed her. “You still haven’t told me why you’re bringing along the box.”

“An off-chance, really,” she’d said. “The more I’ve studied it the more certain I am that the box the Queen’s witch created increases the power of spells. How greatly, I’m not so certain.

“Still, it occurred to me that when Ba’land is performing whatever sorcery he has in mind, if we are very, very fortunate — so fortunate all the gods would have to be favoring us in unison — he might choose a spell I can use against him. We’ll still die. But there’s a slim chance we might do him damage as well.”

“From your lips,” I’d said, “directly to the ears of Te-Date.”

“That, my dearest Amalric, is exactly what I’d had in mind.”

* * * *

When the demon soldiers led us away we had no idea where they were taking us. I couldn’t imagine they’d slaughter us at the Amphitheater in front of the whole population. No matter that Ba’land held the King’s life ransom, the anger such an action would cause would certainly spark a great riot.

As we were marched along I prayed King Ba’land would do something so foolish. There was no way he and his soldiers could halt the furious mob.

The possibility of such a revenge diminished the instant they prodded us out of the palace. Instead of heading toward the amphitheater they turned us toward the path Janela and I had taken the day we found the ghostly court chamber.

The rest of our party was waiting — heavily guarded — in a park and as we came up they hailed us, calling our names and Quatervals’ and Kele’s as well; evidence enough Janela’s spell was working.

Our comrades defied the demon guards and crowded around us, some laughing, some crying angry tears, some cursing the fates for marooning us on such foul shores of circumstance.

“T’ think of alla coin I pissed away on sacrifices, my Lord,” Pip complained, “’N this is me payment fer it! Wish’t yer’d writ somethin’ in yer journal warnin’ me family ’bout it. Tell ’em how much a waste it be. Why, they been tithin’ ten percent of all they steal fer long as I c’n ’member. And what good’s it do, I ask yer?”

“Watch your blasphemin’, Pip.” Otavi warned. “There’s others about might not feel th’ same. “N the gods might mistake your black soul for one’a ours.”

“No chance’a that,” Pip said, gloomy. “They’ve marked me in their sights right square, they have.”

He gave me a shaggy-toothed grin. “Mayhaps I could cling t’ your Lordship’s sleeve when we finally go,” he said. “Sure t’ be more riches where yer head’n than what’s laid on for poor Pip.”

“Cling away,” I said. “But be warned. There’s some who say that in the afterlife the quarters for the rich are hovels while the poor are treated as onto kings and queens.”

Pip snorted. “Beggin’ your pardon, my Lord, but I never smelt such a foul wind since th’ last time my dear granny tucked away a plate’a bad beans. The rich stay rich, I warrant, no matter where th’ gods takes ’em.”

I laughed, clapped him on the back and said he was speaking nonsense. Although I knew what he said must be true. If there was an afterlife, I thought, why would justice be any different there? Power loves the powerful. It only follows that the gods must love the rich.

Why else would more villains succeed than fail?

The guards were impatient and prodded us into line with their spears, then herded us off with Janela and myself in the lead.

I was shocked when we came to the place where our picnic had been prepared. An immense raw hole had been gouged into the earth where the tavern had once stood. a wide tunnel that led down into the ruins of the Old Palace. Surly Tyrenian workman were clearing away the last of the debris as we approached, snarling under the lash of demon soldiers urging them to make haste.

The magical tree gave me a greater shock. It was ax-scarred and lines had been thrown around it and men were working winches trying to rip it out of the ground. The earth groaned and water from the underground spring showered up along its roots to run down a swiftly deepening path in the center of the tunnel.

“They been at it near two weeks,” Pip whispered to me. “First wit’ axes ’n saws. But that darlin’ tree turned the blades away — ev’n when the demons themselves went at it. Now they’re tryin’ a new one, they is. Pull ’er down if they can’t cut ’er down.”

Pip cackled. A little louder perhaps than he ought. “Don’t look like that’s workin’ either.”

A guard growled at him and jabbed him with his spear. Pip slapped at it.

“Get away from me, ya shit breath lizard,” he said. “Or ole Pip’ll put his fist up yer wobblies.”

Two more guards joined the first and Pip gave up with a smile, falling behind us again. “Allus pickin’ on th’ little guy, they is,” he said.

We trooped into the tunnel.

It was eerie. Sorcerous light sputtered and flickered as if power were being drained away. Water dripped from the ceiling and sides and it was difficult to dodge the stream in the center, much less keep our footing in the heavily-trodden mud.

Janela hissed for my attention.

“Drink some water,” she whispered. “Tell the others to do the same.”

Without breaking strike, she bent down, scooped up a palmful and quickly swallowed the muddy brew. I followed suit, signaling Pip and the others to do the same.

Despite the mud the water was as delicious as ever. I felt a surge of energy. I seemed to walk taller now, with firmer stride and clearer eye. I heard mutterings of similar reactions from the men and women in our company.

I nudged Janela. “A plan?” I whispered.

She shook her head, whispering back, “Just do what you can to delay the inevitable.”

With those mysterious words still ghosting about my brain we were brought into the ancient court chamber of King Farsun.

Enormous though the chamber was the crowd inside was densely packed and the air was hot from all their bodies and thick with the moisture of their breath. On one side, hemmed tight to the walls by demons, were Tyrenian officials and representatives of the high born families. On the other were the soldiers Ba’land had condemned to be sacrificed. They were shackled, with chains running from their hands and feet to broad metal belts welded about their waist.

Standing in front of them were their generals, Emerle and Thrade. They were not chained, and stood as stiff and proud as they could in front of their men. When I looked close I could see them twist their lips to the side to mutter words of encouragement.

Above us we heard the groaning and creaking of the machines struggling with the stubborn tree. Below I could hear the rush of the underground spring. Its flow had increased to a torrent from being disturbed.

There was a clear area running from the dancer’s platform to the twin thrones. As we moved toward it demons hissed orders — shoving Janela and me forward while forcing our company away from us. Some of them called good-bye but we couldn’t turn to make our own farewells.

We were brought up short at the platform. Steps climbed to the thrones. A bright light flared and I had to shield my eyes to look. I could see King Ignati seated in one throne, Prince Solaros in the other. The light lessened somewhat and I could see Ignati’s features had been squeezed by despair. Flesh drooped from his jowls and his eyes were tunneled from pain and fatigue.