The Mad God's Muse (The Eye of the Lion Saga Book 2) (33 page)

Ahmed considered the old
sorcerer a moment, then grinned. “There is no rule against
such.”

Maklin rubbed his hands
together and cackled. “Then what will you bet me,
Southlander?”

Ahmed shook his head and smiled
back. “I am no fool. I will bet you that we will see a good
fight.”

A good fight it was. The two
combatants stripped off their armor and shirts and took their
places. The fighting men, Xanthian and Nihlosian, gathered in a
circle about them and shouted cheers to both combatants, pounding
their shields as the two warriors scrambled in the grass and dirt.
Ahmed stood with Maranath, watching carefully for foul play, but
both men were as scrupulous as they were skilled.

Ahmed found himself truly
fascinated as the battle raged. First one, then the other had and
pressed his advantage. Sandilianus managed to slam Caelwen to the
ground and rained blows to his head and chest. It seemed as if
Caelwen were finished, but with a burst of strength and speed, he
grabbed the Xanthian’s shins and lifted, sending him tumbling
to the ground.

The two rolled about, fists
flying ever more slowly. Before long, both warriors were covered in
blood and dirt, exhausted, and yet they were evenly matched. They
struggled for advantage, trading it back and forth, but neither held
it for long. Soon enough, the blows slowed from blurring to
ponderous, one man slowly crawling to the other, raising a fist like
an anvil, crashing it down, then falling aside in pain at a knee in
the gut or an elbow to the head.

Maranath looked at Ahmed,
asking with his eyes if this were excessive, or whether they should
let it continue. Ahmed nodded agreement. “Enough!” he
shouted.

It took a moment for his
message to sink in. Caelwen and Sandilianus flailed at one another a
few moments more, and Ahmed cried out again, “Stand down! It
is over!”

Maranath walked slowly to the
circle. The men parted to allow him passage. The old sorcerer bent
with painstaking effort, and took an arm from either man. The looked
up at him with confused, punch drunk eyes as he raised both arms and
called out, “Victory!”

Maklin snorted. “Both
victorious means both lost, you know.”

Ariano elbowed him in the ribs.
“Shut up, you old fool.”

As the crowd cheered and
several men from Nihlosian camp began to administer first aid to the
two combatants, Ahmed caught the sorcerer Maranath's eye and
gestured slightly with his head as he moved away from the group:
let's have a word.

The old man seemed to have no
problem understanding the gesture. He disengaged himself seamlessly
and seemingly without intending to, found himself walking alongside
Ahmed.

Ahmed wasted no time with
pleasantries. It seemed his companion would only find such things a
waste of time, and time was precious at the moment. “Sandilianus
tells me you know of Carsogenicus and the prophesy.”

“Aye,” the old man
answered. “You call yourself 'prelate'. I presume you're the
second of the man our hellion empress murdered.”

“I am.”

Maranath was silent a moment,
then heaved a great sigh and said, “You'll want revenge for
that, I'll wager.”

“
Later,
perhaps.”
I don't even know what kind of revenge I
would have on a woman.
With a
man it would be easy: fists or steel, depending on how strong one's
hate was. With a woman? Ahmed had known perhaps ten in his entire
life, and certainly never felt compelled by honor to seek vengeance
on them. He had no experience in such matters.
I suppose I
will ask Sandilianus when I get the chance.
“T
ime
is short. You know why I am here.”

“Indeed.”

“Much knowledge was lost
with Yazid. I am stumbling along almost blind. Tell me you know
more.”

“We do. In fact, I think
we've damn near worked everything out. But this is not the place to
speak of it. Your men can ride horses, yes?”

“They can.”

“Good. Nihlos is a day's
ride from here. If you set out at dawn, you'll reach Nihlos near
dark. We have horses to spare, and I'll have Caelwen join you as a
guide. We'll come to your camp tomorrow night and put out heads
together on how to deal with this prophesy, agreed?”

“That will be
acceptable.” Ahmed almost left it at that, but there was one
more thing, a poisonous, vitriolic acid that had been gnawing at his
guts for the better part of a year, now, and growing ever stronger.
“Do you know Torium?”

Maranath stopped in his tracks
and whipped his head sideways, his brilliant blue eyes smoldering
with emotion. “We do. It figures strongly into what's going
on.”

“More than you think, old
man,” Ahmed sighed.

“And what do you mean by
that?”

“This all ends there, for
good or ill. It's like water draining from a tub, a vortex of evil
drawing us all down. Make no mistake: it is our destination, but I
do not know if we survive.”

Maranth raised an eyebrow in
appreciation. “You have visions, yes? Can you read auras?”

“Aye. But not yours. You
all appear gray, like madmen.”

The old sorcerer chuckled at
this. “I think you see ours just fine.”

Ahmed could not tell if the
sorcerer was joking or speaking truth. Either way, it told him
nothing, and time was short. “We might sleep a few hours still
tonight if we start soon. Let's talk to your man about those horses,
and then rest.”

Aiul had no idea how far he had
run, only that his quarry was just out of reach. He was not winded,
but that told him nothing. It seemed he was not even subject to such
a thing anymore. All he had to measure the time was his own sense of
frustration, which had become a loud voice screaming in his ear.

Logrus ran before him, always
just out of reach. Perhaps, were he a different man, Logrus would
have called back taunts or insults, and been caught for his efforts,
but no. Logrus simply ran, doggedly, without distraction, and held
his own. That, perhaps more than anything, irked Aiul beyond reason.
It seemed unfair that, Logrus being superior at so many things, he
should even be near Aiul’s equal in a skill Aiul had actually
trained to perform.

As time passed, though, Aiul
saw the truth. Logrus was not his equal. He was close, but Aiul was
gaining, inch by slow, agonizing inch. Aiul grinned with
anticipation at how he would make Logrus pay for his transgressions.
A distant part of his mind realized that it no longer remembered
exactly what those transgressions were, but that was hardly
important.

Logrus’s cloak fluttered
before Aiul in the icy wind, tantalizing him, but Aiul paid it no
mind. It would likely tear off, perhaps even trip Aiul in the
process. No, he had only one goal: Logrus’s calves. That was
the key to taking a man down with certainty. He judged the distance
as it closed, then, when the moment was right, leapt and clasped his
arms about his quarry’s legs. Both men crashed to the ground
in a spray of snow.

“Now you pay!” Aiul
roared.

Logrus answered with a boot to
Aiul's face. “I have no money.”

Aiul felt as if his brain might
burst at this. Logrus was a fool, a dullard, a literalist, an odious
churl!
This
was
why he needed to be beaten severely!

Aiul let out a wild, mad cry
and surged forward, crawling like a crab, swinging for Logrus’s
head. “Die! Just die!”

It was simply another,
maddening nettle that Logrus should actually answer this, but answer
he did. “No.”

Aiul felt his mind tear away,
like layers of an onion, as rage overtook him, a pure, unreasoning
thing, white hot and warming in the cold. He no longer really
understood what his arms and legs were doing, the odd pumping and
hammering motions they made. He felt as if he were in the midst of
an orgasm, limbs flailing, salty taste in his mouth, sweat on his
skin. Light exploded within his mind, multicolored, bright,
beautiful in its perfect hatred.

Such moments pass, as they
always do, fading to a brief flash in the mind, followed by the drag
of weariness, the urge to lie just a moment and contemplate. Aiul
saw his arm rising for another blow, and then it seemed whatever
demon that possessed him simply fled, leaving him once again in
control of his own body. With a groan, he rolled to the side and
collapsed.

He looked at his companion, his
enemy, with weary eyes, and was shocked to see not a mark on his
face. How could that be? The snow was riddled with droplets of red,
spray from repeated blows, both his own and Logrus’s. They had
fought like animals! It was impossible that Logrus was unharmed!

Aiul lay gasping a moment,
trying to find his breath. At last, he muttered, “Impossible.”

Logrus, despite being unmarked,
was likewise winded. “Possible.”

“Idiot!”

Logrus chuckled briefly. “Elgar
does not approve.” He paused again for breath, then continued.
“He undoes our work.”

Aiul glared across the snow,
slowly accepting the truth of it. He would not be permitted to kill
Logrus. He could no longer remember why it was even important that
he do so, though it definitely was. He felt his face twist into a
scowl of frustration as he lay back on the snow, his breath steaming
out of him in rapid gasps, clouding the air above him. “Fuck
you.”

Logrus grunted. “Me? Or
Elgar?”

“Both.”

Logrus nodded to the sky,
contemplating this for a moment, as if choosing his words very
carefully. “Fuck you, too,” he pronounced at last.

Aiul chuckled. Perhaps there
was some humanity to Logrus after all.

Maranath rubbed at his temples,
knowing what came next would be neither quiet nor particularly
pleasant, but there was no avoiding it. For the moment, at least,
things were peaceful. That would change as soon as they landed.

He looked down, watching their
shadows stretching and warping over the moonlit forest beneath,
searching for a clearing that would lend itself to a private
conversation.
Hah! A fight, that's what we'll be having, not a
conversation.

He had at least managed to
convince Maklin that the “conversation” was best held
several miles from the camp. “
They
need their rest, and this isn't going to get hashed out without
shouting.”

Maklin
had responded, “That's on the rest of you! I'm perfectly
capable of having a calm, rational discussion.” The
synchronized eye rolling that followed had set him giggling, though,
and he had abandoned the pose, grabbed the back of Sadrik's shirt,
and shot off into the star-filled night sky. Maranath and Ariano had
followed.

Maranath
felt a bit regretful at not having spoken further with the
Southlander leader.
I should have told him
.
He was not quite certain in his own mind why he had not spoken to
the Southlander about the piece of the Eye the young man wore about
his neck, but he felt fairly certain it had just seemed too damned
big a thing to discuss while taking a leak by the roadside. There
would be plenty of time tomorrow evening to go into the full story
and answer all of the questions.

He
was significantly less conflicted about not telling the other
Meites. It would just be one more thing to fight over, and they had
plenty of that. When it came right down to it, Maranath had yet to
decide if he would include them in the meeting. Ariano's obstinacy
and secrets was beginning to genuinely annoy him, and Maklin's
petulant accusations were likewise grating. In truth, there was no
sense in making solid plans until this was resolved. He wasn't
entirely certain everyone would survive. It wouldn't be the first
time Meites had ended up dead from an argument.
Young
Sadrik knows that all too well.

Maranath glanced to his left at
Sadrik and chuckled at the poorly-concealed terror on the boy's
face.
You can burn and kill just fine, but you're not a
real
Meite until you have the arrogance to leap from a tower and deny the
ground itself.

Ariano
shouted, “There!” and gestured toward a clearing below
as she dropped like a stone. He saw the dirt fly from her impact
just before he heard it, and shook his head in amusement. She would
be forever young at heart, still terribly amused both by her own
power and the thrill of demonstrating it to others.

I'm not so old as that,
either, am I? And the boy could use all the examples he could get,
not to mention it 's amusing to terrorize him.

Maranath
did more than remember gravity. He remembered a force far stronger,
one that sent him hurtling from the sky like a falling star, the
world flashing past him in a blur. The impact would surely have
smashed him into paste if he were a normal human, but he was not,
and never had been. His flesh was made of sterner stuff, a unique
material for which he had no name, save the one he had been given at
birth.

Maranath
was just climbing out of an impressive crater, cackling with Ariano,
when Maklin impacted the ground like a comet with Sadrik's scream
for a tail. Dirt and stones flew in every direction.

“Oh,
shut up you big baby,” Maklin groused once the dust had
settled. “I could have just dropped you, you know, and let you
manage on your own.” He grinned at Maranath and mimed
releasing something from his grip. “Think fast!”

Sadrik,
ashen and shaken, glared at Maklin as Ariano and Maranath chuckled.

He's had enough, though, and
we have places to be.
“Alright,
Maklin, you were practically jumping out of your wrinkled old skin
back there. No need drawing things out.”

Maklin's humor faded quickly at
this. He cleared his throat, a serious expression on his face.
“Obviously, the appearance of a second piece has complicated
matters. We’re dealing with something very serious.”

Ariano, too, was no longer
laughing.
Fun and games over, time for sarcasm and insult, thank
you, come again!
She glowered at Maklin now, her lips curling
into a sneer. “Welcome to last week, you stupid codger! Last
month, even! It’s
your
fault Aiul escaped!”

Maklin, obviously offended at
being attacked from an unexpected direction, turned and shot shot
her an indignant look. “
My
fault? How in Mei’s name do you get to that lunacy?”

“We had things under
control!”

Maklin waved his arms in the
air and looked about, confused, as if he were the only sane man
alive. “You didn’t bother telling me a thing, knowing
I’m supposed to be the one looking after it! If my showing up
ruined your plans, it’s because you were idiots to begin
with!”

Ariano opened her mouth to
speak, but Maranath waved a hand and said, “It's true. We made
a mistake. We were, I suppose, rather caught up in the excitement.
We’re hardly the first Meites to behave so.”

It took Maklin a moment to
shift his mood, but at last he smiled ruefully. “Aye.”

Sadrik said, a sour look on his
face, “This is, all my cousin’s fault. We shouldn't go
at each other about it. I can think of much more satisfying reasons
to kill the lot of you, after all.”

“Just so!” Maklin
shouted. “I told you we should have put her to death months
ago, and no one listened to me!” He paused a moment as if
replaying Sadrik's words in his mind, then shot the younger man a
dirty look. “Just the first part, I mean, not the rest about
killing us. Fat chance, junior.

Ariano turned to Sadrik with a
scornful look. “I seem to recall having a similar discussion
with you.”

“About me killing you
all?” Sadrik tittered.

“I am
not
amused by such talk. I'm talking about your idiot cousin, the one
only slightly more stupid than you.”

Sadrik’s left eyebrow
rose high on his face. “
You
three voted to return her
to power. She hardly needed to be killed to declaw her.”

Maranath pointed a gnarled
finger at Sadrik, not so much in accusation as to prod at him for
sport. “And who would take the throne, then?”

Sadrik blanched and began
fidgeting, his recent abuse seemingly forgotten at this new topic.
“Well, who would take the throne either way?” he
stammered, looking back and forth at them.

Ariano spat on the ground in
disgust. “Theron, if you hadn’t killed him.”

Sadrik’s pallor vanished,
his cheeks flushing bright pink. “You know full well I never
meant to kill him! Why else help cover it up!”

Ariano gave him a disinterested
shrug. “It seemed a shame to lose two Meites instead of one.
The both of you were fools to go at it as you did. It was wasteful.”

Sadrik ground his teeth and
nodded. “I am well aware of that. Why do you feel the need to
rub my face in it?”

Maranath chuckled softly.
“Practice and repetition, young one.” He gave Sadrik a
wink. “And for amusement, of course. We old coots like
preening.”

Ariano gave Maranath a sour
look. “You wouldn’t know it from your dress.”

Maranath picked at his brown
robe and considered taking up the barb, but thought the better of
it.
It's a distraction, and I've have quite enough of those.
“We
need to make a decision here. What is our goal? To stop Aiul at
whatever dark business he’s up to, or to secure the Eye?”

Maklin stared at Maranath in
disbelief. “To secure the Eye, of course!”

Ariano wrinkled her nose. “It’s
more complicated than you think.”

“Why not uncomplicate
it?” Sadrik asked with a smirk.

Maranath nodded his agreement.
“Quite so. Ariano, my dear, I love you, but you’ve been
holding out on us too long. We can’t make a good decision
without all the pieces before us.”

Maklin eyed her with clear
suspicion. “Yes, do tell.”

Ariano rolled her shoulders,
suddenly reticent and seeming very uncomfortable. “I haven’t
put it all together yet, but I'll tell you this: the Torians did
dark sorcery, darker than anything you can imagine. Secrets men were
never meant to know, much less apply. The Eye reappearing, Aiul,
Southlanders, Elgar’s return, madmen running around setting
fires, it’s all connected. Aiul is key, here! The Eye is
meaningless if we interdict whatever dark purpose Elgar has for it.”

Maranath scowled at her. “And
what
is
that purpose?”

“I don’t know!”
she shouted. “But I am very close to it. I don’t have
all the pieces. I need more time! Will you not trust me just a bit
longer?”

Maklin folded his arms across
his chest and declared, “I will not. You're lying, or at the
very least holding out on us.”

Maranath shook his head
tiredly, ignoring the pleading look Ariano gave him. “You
leave me little choice. Either you don’t know, or you won’t
tell. In either case it is the same.” He turned to Maklin. “We
need to consult with Cruentus.”

Ariano jumped with alarm, her
eyes wide in what looked for all the world like genuine fear. “What?
That's madness! We can’t afford the delay!”
Maklin is
right. She's hiding something, and unless I miss my guess, Cruentus
knows something about it.

Maklin nodded his agreement as
he said, “The dragon is the only one who actually witnessed
things. If there are any answers, he will have them.”

“Or Tasinal,”
Maranath noted. He stared pointedly at Ariano, who was looking ever
more miserable and trapped.

She shook her head, defeated.
“I told you, I don’t know how to find him. He found me.”

Sadrik’s eyes grew wide
as he suddenly understood their meaning. “He
lives
?
How?”

Maranath grimaced, not
particularly wanting to go down this path, but seeing no way out.
“He does, though the semantics could be argued. It’s
unseemly.”

Sadrik slapped both hands
against the sides of his head as if his brain were about to escape
the confines of his skull. “It’s
impossible
!”

“Apparently not,”
Ariano sighed.

“But
how
?”

Maranath felt his temper
rising. This was no time to play twenty questions. “By
deciding otherwise, just like flying or setting things on fire.”

Sadrik stammered unintelligibly
for a moment, trying to absorb the implications, as Maklin aped him
in mockery. At last, he said, “Did he look – ? Well, I
mean, was he – ?”

Ariano rolled her eyes. “He
was thin, and a bit pale, but he was no corpse. He damned well
propositioned me, even as he took me to the woodshed.”

Maranath stared at her a moment
in shock, struggling not to laugh. “You never told me that!
Did you take him up on it?”

Ariano looked at the ground,
her cheeks burning. “Submit to the stronger, we always say.”

Maranath and Maklin burst into
peals of laughter as Sadrik looked on in shock and horror, and
Ariano's face turned a brighter shade of red.

At last, Maranath wiped tears
of mirth from his eyes and said, as seriously as he could manage, “I
suppose that settles that question, but he's of no concern to us at
the moment. Are we resolved?”

Ariano, near tears now,
continued to stare at her feet. “It seems you are.”

“You keep too many
secrets. If you would tell us the whole tale, perhaps we would
choose otherwise.”

Ariano sighed again, defeated.
“There are too many gaps. You would still want to go, and
Cruentus will demand the tale from me anyway. I might as well tell
it only once.”

Maranath waited a moment, to
see if things were really settled, or if they were just pausing for
breath, but it seemed over. Ariano was muted, Sadrik in a state of
shock, and Maklin was twirling his hands in “hurry up”
gestures. “Alright then, let's go. I intend to sleep in my own
bed tonight.”

Sandilianus struck flint to
steel as he bent over the makings of a fire and breakfast. Sparks
flew, and a tiny wisp of smoke curled from his kindling. He blew
softly, and flame sprouted. “They are strange people,”
he opined. “But there is honor in them, after all.”

Ahmed and his men had managed
perhaps three hours of sleep, less than he would have preferred, but
better than none, certainly. Good food would help the lack of sleep,
as would the coffee the Nihlosians had brought. Ahmed placed his
open palms near the flame, savoring the warmth of the burgeoning
fire. “Aye. Perhaps we truly are no longer at war with them.”

Sandilianus shrugged. “That
is for The Prince to decide.”

“Do not be naive.”

The veteran frowned at him,
obviously offended. “A strong word from a boy who has seen
little of the world.”

“Even so, it is the right
word. You apply it to me often enough, eh? We are Philip’s
eyes and ears. It is for us to decide. It always has been.”

Sandilianus prodded at the
fire, his expression thoughtful. “It is for you to decide,
then. I fight wars. I do not know about beginning them, ending them.
Or avoiding them.”

“Nor do I.”

Sandilianus registered surprise
at this, and beneath that emotion, a bit of anger. “Ilaweh is
with you.”

Ahmed waved the thought aside.
“Ilaweh is with all men.”

Sandilianus shook his head in
amusement, and offered Ahmed a look that was now familiar, one that
said a lesson was in the making. “Ilaweh speaks to you in ways
he does not speak to others, Ahmed. You have vision the rest of us
do not share. We can but defer to that vision.”