“That’s old Oro’s style,” drawled Ledavardis. “Crashing the Emperor’s birthday party! Remember how he broke up Yondrimel’s coronation?”
“No one,” Anigel said grimly, “remembers it more vividly than I. For it was then that you conspired with Orogastus to seize my husband and children.”
The Pirate King looked abashed. “It was not me, but my evil grandmother—may God rot her. And I have already begged your forgiveness for my inadvertent complicity, future Mother-in-Law.”
Anigel said nothing.
Gyorgibo spoke with impatience. “How will we command the Great Viaduct to open for us? When I was kidnapped, the gateway was invisible until Naelore spoke some magic charm that caused it to appear. But I could not hear what she said.”
“I know the words,” Anigel assured them. “Now we must leave this place, taking with us a few weapons from the armory for our friends.”
“And the rest of the prisoners?” Jiri murmured.
Shaking her head, Anigel motioned for the others to precede her. The gate of bars at the prison entry, left open when the sergeant escorted the Queen of Galanar on her visit, slammed shut and locked when Anigel touched it with her amulet. The prisoners left behind immediately began raging and cursing.
As she turned to go, Anigel caught Sergeant Vann’s eye. He sat on the floor of the first cell, helpless to rise without his wooden leg, a sardonic smile on his face. “Smartly done, madam,” said he. “Very smartly done, indeed. But watch out for the she-devil Naelore. Her Imperial Highness doesn’t believe in ghosts.”
The Queen nodded. “Thank you for the warning, Sergeant. And I hope you will enjoy your ruby.”
19
They came down the wide corridor toward the barbican at a clattering gallop, with the headless ghost in the lead. The other eight riders wore long cloaks with hoods that concealed their faces. They brandished lighted torches and wailed like damned souls as they drew up before the tall main gate in the barbican, wheeling their antlered steeds about and making as much commotion as possible. When the bewildered men-at-arms came dashing out of the guardhouse they fell back at the sight of the ghost, which had jumped down from its fronial’s back. The disembodied armor glowed from within like some human-shaped lantern. It waved a decrepit sword, capered and howled and threatened doom and destruction, while its mounted companions rampaged about the forecourt, scattering sparks from their torches.
Before the watch captain could collect himself and give a coherent order, the dancing spectre reached the sally port, a small door in the gate’s left side through which a single rider might pass at a time. A spark of light whisked over the iron locks and the two beams of timber that barred the port, and it flew wide open. The apparition gave a shriek of triumph. Cloaks flying, the fire-bearing troop thundered through the port.
“Doom!” screamed the ghost, catching the reins of its own steed and swinging into the saddle. “Flaming doom to those who follow us!” Then it was off, and the sally port slammed shut by some enchantment and barred itself once again. Nothing the guards could do would force it open, nor could they open the main gate itself.
“Sound the alarm!” cried the watch captain. “Summon the Star Men!” He still had no clear idea of what had happened, but he was a veteran officer and intended to do the proper thing: pass responsibility on to a higher authority.
The people in the castle dithered for some time at the inexplicably impassible gate. Both of the Star Men, along with the castellan, the seneschal, and the other senior servants summoned from the great hall, were fuddled by hours of drinking. Axes were brought to bear, but it was plain that it would take hours to hew through the thick wood. Then the trussed-up hostlers in the stables were discovered (although no one yet thought to inspect the dungeon) and the identity of the ghostly riders became clear.
The calamity served to sober one young Star Man, who finally thought to fetch his own wondrous weapon of the Vanished Ones. It emitted a thin beam of scarlet light capable of melting metal or stone, and sliced through the sally port like a rapier through curds. By then the escapees had gained a precious quarter-hour’s head start.
“Shall—shall we use our Stars to inform the Master?” The sorcerer whose brain was still befogged by liquor spoke privately to his more alert colleague.
“Better wait until we’ve recaptured the hostages,” said the second Guildsman, after a moment’s thought. “We wouldn’t want to worry him needlessly, would we?”
They assembled a party of thirty mounted warriors and set off in pursuit.
The wind smelled of approaching rain and needletree resin, the clouds had thickened, and without a torch Anigel could scarcely see the steep trail zigzagging down the castle hill.
“Holy Flower, give me more light!”
The amulet on its neck-chain shone brighter, and she urged her fronial along in the wake of her torch-bearing companions. As she rode she tore off the old helmet and discarded the steel-studded leather gauntlets that had helped to sustain her ghostly disguise. There was no way, short of stopping and dismounting, that she could free herself of the onerous mail shirt or release the buckles of the greaves that chafed her legs; but a halt now was out of the question. She must ride flat-out as the others were doing, in spite of the growing discomfort, and pray that the amber’s magic had rendered the castle gate impossible to open.
I’m free! she said to herself.
Oddly enough, no exultation warmed her heart. Now that the initial elation of the escape had waned, she found herself becoming dazed and lethargic. Her self-confidence faltered, and the trust in the Black Trillium that had sustained her until now seemed to trickle out of her soul like water draining from a shore pool at ebb tide.
Anigel half lay on the fronial’s broad neck, her hands clutching the reins and the horrible weight of the hauberk’s iron meshes bruising her shoulders through the thin fabric of her gown. The beast jolted and skidded down the rocky track, but its splayed hoofs did not lose their purchase. Around her, the needletree forest covering the slope was a blur of trunks with spindly branches far overhead. She felt chilled and exhausted, and it was no wonder. She had, after all, only awakened that morning from an enchanted sleep of six days—healed, in truth, but nonetheless deficient in bodily strength.
It began to drizzle.
Anigel clicked her tongue at the fronial, telling it to go faster, but the creature’s instincts countermanded her order and it would proceed only at a wary trot. The trail had become too steep for speed, switching constantly back and forth and forcing sharp turns.
The drizzle intensified, becoming a light but steady rain. In minutes Anigel was soaked, for she did not think to put on the military cloak lashed to the saddle behind her. Jouncing, battered, and thoroughly miserable, she gave her mount its head.
Suddenly the fronial squealed and came to a halt. She discovered that she was in the midst of her fellow escapees, several of whom had dismounted and were conferring anxiously. They had paused in the area of burnt snags near the foot of the hill, just above the deadly gas-filled bowl.
Hakit Botal, who was among those standing, spoke in a grating voice to Gyorgibo. “What do you mean, there is a possibility it won’t ignite properly in the rain?”
“I can only tell you what I learned during my months in the dungeon,” the Archduke said. “There have been occasions when rain caused the flammable exhalations to explode, rather than catch fire. The trees would then burst into flame and people were sometimes struck dead by the great concussion, even though they stood well back from the brink.”
“But there’s no other way out!” Ga-Bondies moaned.
“I only wanted you to know the risk,” the Sobranian said.
“I have not come this far only to surrender and return to the dungeon!” Hakit snarled at Gyorgibo. “Are you too cowardly to make the attempt? Then give me the torch!”
“Jumped-up clerk!” Gyorgibo sneered. “You know nothing of the geysers’ peril!”
Ji
ri of Galanar said, “Cease your wrangling, for the love of the Goddess! Here is our leader, and she will say what we are to do. Help the poor lass to dismount and shed that armor. She is drenched to the skin.”
Jiri and King Ledavardis assisted Anigel, putting on her a thick woolen robe and a hooded cloak. When she was warmly attired they all regarded her expectantly.
She said in a dull voice, “Gyorgibo, are you willing to light the gas, even though there is danger?”
“Yes,” he said simply. “All of you mount and make ready.”
The Sobranian drew a short-sword he had taken from the armory, hewed down a scorched sapling, and chopped off its limbs. The resulting pole was twice a man’s height. Gyorgibo then lashed one of the pitch-torches to the end of the pole and set off down the trail on foot, holding the flaming brand before him. “Follow me and bring my steed,” he called, “but stay at least a stone’s throw back.”
The air was still, with only a faint miasmic scent, and the only sounds were the plopping of fronial hooves, the rattle of pebbles, and the whisper of the gentle rain. At length they came to a space that was open and level, devoid of any vegetation. It fell away to the valley floor in a glacis about twenty ells high.
Cautioning the others not to approach, Gyorgibo crept to the rim of the basin on his hands and knees, then dipped the torch-pole downward.
A deafening crackle shook the ground, followed by a slow, sonorous whoomph.
The first ignition was a blue-white flare. This bloomed into a flattened, glowing ball of dazzling orange-red that expanded just below the drop-off. As the Archduke scuttled back to the others, who were keeping control of their panicked mounts with difficulty, a loud hissing commenced, punctuated by many smaller explosions. Narrow veins of azure fire like branched lightning raced out across the basin in all directions, traveling at a height of about five ells. The fiery network thickened and turned to a sheet of golden luminescence that entirely filled the depression. A moment later countless flaming geysers erupted into life, and the incandescent mist faded away.
The Eternal Prince and Eternal Princess burst into applause.
“Wait for a few minutes,” Gyorgibo commanded, grinning in relieved satisfaction, “until sweet air replaces the noxious effluvium. Then we can descend via that ramp.”
The fronials calmed, as did their riders. Anigel murmured shaky thanks to King Ledavardis for having held the head of her mount when it threatened to bolt. He said, “With your permission, future Mother-in-Law, I will ride beside you and see to your safety as we cross this inferno.”
Anigel said, “I welcome your help, for I confess I am tired unto death.” She did not speak of her pregnancy, but wondered anxiously how the three babes fared. She had not felt their movement since long before dinner.
“Forward!” shouted Gyorgibo. He and his steed plunged down the ramp into the basin of fiery fountains. He had lost his torch and Anigel had none; but the others held their brands high and set off after him. When they reached the flat, cindery floor of the depression they were able to move at a rapid trot.
The Queen entrusted herself to the Pirate King’s care, clinging to the horn of her saddle while he held her reins. On either hand the pillars of fire rose among outcropping rocks, their flames reflected in the rain-dotted bog pools. It was a scene of appalling beauty. The geysers were both large and small, ranging in size from barely knee-high to over ten ells tall. All of them pulsated in an irregular manner, erupting with showers of sparks, then falling again to burn more quietly. Now and again one would be entirely deprived of its gaseous flow and dwindle to extinction; but shortly there would be a small explosion as it was relit by a stray spark, and the geyser would flame anew.
Because Anigel did not have to concentrate on guiding a skittish fronial, she thought to look over her shoulder after they had gone a half league or so. Hakit Botal was riding behind her. In back of the President of Okamis loomed the forested eminence and Castle Conflagrant itself, painted luridly by the fires.
Moving swiftly down the hillside trail was a line of twinkling orange sparks.
“Look, oh, look!” the Queen cried. “They are coming after us!”
King Ledavardis growled a piratical oath.
Hakit said, “Whip up your steeds!”
But this was not so easily accomplished. In daylight, they would have seen the winding trail easily; but at night, with deceptive shadows everywhere and the fountains of flame bedazzling their eyes, they came near to losing the way several times, and the fronials were always crashing into one another as the confused riders sawed on the reins.
Gyorgibo finally shouted, “It’s no good! We must slow down, at least until we are out of this damned basin.”
The train of pursuers, who were presumably familiar with the trail, closed in steadily. Then it began to rain much harder, and all around them, the flaming geysers began to diminish and die.
“What shall we do?” Duumvir Ga-Bondies shrieked. “The vapors will suffocate us!”
Gyorgibo called out, “They are heavier than air. We can continue in safety for a while, so long as the heads of our fronials and ourselves are above it. Extinguish all torches! We dare not take a chance of reigniting the gas. Queen Anigel, ride in front with me and let the glow of your magical amber serve as a guide … Now, press on!”
They splashed along as best they could, keeping their eyes riveted upon the single small light at the head of the file. The pounding rain and a mist that began to materialize above the bog pools soon made it impossible to discern the pursuers. The contours of the basin grew more and more indistinct as the flaming geysers continued to die. At last only two yellowish-blue fires remained, glowing exiguously among the tall rocks in the swirling mist. When these blinked out the fleeing hostages were in darkness, save for the small, steady gleam of Queen Anigel’s amulet.
As if heaven itself were teasing them, the rain promptly ceased.
Her mount was being towed along by Archduke Gyorgibo, but Anigel was past caring whether she lived or died. Her heart was too downcast and her mind too spent and desolate for her to pray a miracle. They were going to be caught. She knew that the failure was her fault, and the deaths of her companions would burden her soul as she passed beyond. Then a whiff of tarry odor came to her, bringing a sudden hint of nausea. The poison vapors! Making a great effort, she drew upright in the saddle and opened her eyes. The amber’s glow shone on a blanket of thick fog reaching to the chests of their steeds. It would not be long now …
“They’re nearly upon us!” Hakit Botal cried.
Anigel heard pounding hooves but there was nothing to be seen. The pursuers from the castle had also doused their torches. She whispered, “Lords of the Air, receive us.”
“We’re almost to the opposite side,” Ledavardis said. “I see the scarp. Faster! Kick the ribs of your animals! We must get up the embankment before the foemen reach us.”
“He’s right,” Gyorgibo shouted. “There is still a chance!”
Anigel felt her mount’s gait quicken. Then they were stumbling up a muddy slope, emerging from the lethal miasma as if from a lake. The crags of the basin’s rim rose against a sky full of broken clouds. One of the moons peeped out, silvering the uncanny landscape.
Gyorgibo was no longer in the lead. He came galloping back down the rocky trail, screaming at the others to hasten for their lives. As he passed he gave each fronial a sharp blow on the flank with the flat of his sword. The beasts squealed, shook their racks of antlers, and lurched forward, scrambling up onto the area of sooty rimrock forming the safe zone above the gases.
The pursuers were now clearly visible, armored troopers plowing through the mist on animals that seemed legless, resembling bizarre boats rather than war fronials. Two Star Men on white chargers came abreast in the vanguard. One of them gave an indistinct shout and lifted to his shoulder the weapon that had cut through the castle gate.
Gyorgibo wheeled his mount about and beat his way frantically up the ramp.
“Beware! Get back!” he cried to the other hostages. Reaching the rim he reined in abruptly, causing his fronial to rear high, and flung his sword into the basin.
The rusty steel blade circled end over end as it fell, ringing out as it hit the rocks below.
Nothing happened, and the Sobranian uttered a curse of despair. “I thought it would spark and ignite the vapors, but now—”
Anigel clearly heard the laughter of the Star Man who held the weapon. He and his mount, leading the others, had not quite reached the base of the ramp when he triggered the beam of magical red fire.
A shattering blast nearly tore the hostage rulers from their saddles.
For a moment Anigel was deafened and she came near to fainting. Her fronial staggered, then recovered from its first shock and began to buck and caracole from pain and terror. She clung to the beast’s headstall with a death grip and managed to stay on its back until she recovered. Below the ledge a vast gold-and-blue conflagration blazed, and mingled with its bonfire crackle were agonized human screams. After a brief time the voices ceased, the all-encompassing glare diminished, and the basin was once again filled with flaming geysers.
For many minutes the fugitives from Castle Conflagrant could do nothing except work at calming their hysterical mounts. Miraculously, no one had been thrown, and at length all nine of them were able to draw together in a group at the top of the ramp and gaze down upon the basin floor.
Along the lower track lay shapeless black mounds. Thin plumes of smoke rose from them, tinged red by the flickering geysers.
“Great Goddess have mercy,” Queen Jiri whispered, staring at the scene transfixed. “They did it to themselves.”
No one else spoke. After a few minutes they turned their mounts and slowly rode away.
20
Kadiya came last of all through the viaduct and quickly deactivated it. After the stillness of the Oda River woodland, the ear-numbing cacophony of the Sobranian jungle struck her like a blow. Her comrades who had preceded her were gathered in an incredulous huddle beneath one of the great spreading nest-trees, shocked by the raucous shrieks, hoots, squawks, and dissonant trills and whistles assaulting their ears.