“So!” Osorkon bellowed. “I am a turncoat, am I?”
“I solemnly affirm that you are,” Antar replied. “You and your late sister Sharice conspired in the abduction of me and my children. And now you have led these good men”—and the King gestured to the surrounding throng—“astray with lies and traitorous utterances, preventing them from doing their duty. Them I offer amnesty if they will repudiate you and reaffirm their loyalty to the Two Thrones. But you, Osorkon, must die unless you fall to your knees before me and disavow all that you have done, then submit to my just punishment.”
“Never!”
Antar lifted his sword. “Then I challenge you to single combat before these witnesses, in defense of the honor of the Two Thrones.”
Uttering a bark of defiant laughter, Osorkon clapped on his helmet and closed the visor. Kadiya and the others fell back, leaving the King standing alone to await the customary ceremonial preliminaries to the duel.
But Osorkon was in no mind to observe the rules of chivalry. With an agility that amazed the onlookers, the old general leapt forward, raised his great sword above his head, and swept it down with stunning speed. It was a blow that might have parted the King’s body from crown to crotch—but it clanged instead into the frozen ground as the monarch dodged to one side.
Antar swung around with his own blade, landing a heavy blow on the side of Osorkon’s head. He reeled, falling back beyond the King’s reach. But the heavy steel of his helmet had saved him, and an instant later he recovered and lunged forward. The two men rained blow after parried blow on one another then, striking sparks as their swords met. Pressing an advantage, Osorkon forced the King into a defensive posture, flailing without respite, pursuing Antar halfway around the circle of spectators while Kadiya and her companions watched helplessly from the center.
“Oh, God, do not let him give way!” Kadiya prayed softly. She had let the King’s cloak fall to the ground and now her right hand clutched the pommel of her own sword while her left held tight to her trillium-amber.
Antar’s foot struck a stone embedded in the frozen mud. He pitched backward and the partisans of Osorkon gave a great shout. But in falling, the King kept a firm grip on his sword and swung it well. It caught Osorkon a glancing blow at the place where the steel gorget protecting his neck was weakest. The black-enameled steel gave way and the King’s blade sliced deeply into his foe’s left collarbone. Osorkon gave a hoarse cry. His uplifted sword, which he had been about to swing down in a death-blow, wavered, then fell aside as his left hand lost its grip on the hilt. With a mighty effort, he saved himself from pitching forward onto the downed King and rolled aside in the snow.
Antar sprang to his feet. Blood was streaming from Osorkon’s wound and the King did the honorable thing, granting his opponent a moment’s respite in hope that he might surrender. But the big man on the ground only took a firmer hold of his sword with his good hand and thrust ignominiously at the King’s unarmored legs, narrowly missing him. A shout of disapproval and cries of “Shame!” rose from the crowd.
Osorkon paid them no heed. He pulled himself upright and stood in an expectant crouch, poising his sword low for a second foul blow. But when it came, the King turned it aside, and they two smote and chopped at one another in a fury, again moving some distance. But this time Antar had the advantage and forced his opponent to retreat.
Osorkon’s men now seemed to be cheering equally for him and for the King. When Antar’s sword sliced the upper part of the crest from his foe’s helm, coarse laughter as well as groans of dismay arose from Osorkon’s men. The remaining dangling wings of the ruined heraldic device half blinded the general and he broke away from the combat to rip the helmet from his head and fling it aside. When Antar similarly bared his head, a murmur of appreciation arose even from the four lords who were Osorkon’s confederates.
Trading swift short blows like frenzied blacksmiths, the two now fought near to the great bonfire. Again Osorkon thrust foul, opening a wound on the King’s unarmored thigh. But Antar did not falter in the rhythm of his sword-strokes. The old general’s face wore a tortured grimace now, compounded of fury and fear. He was weakening as the blood continued to flow from his shoulder. His eyes rolled wildly when the two combatants momentarily separated. He flung back his arm, then brought it forward in a terrible scything swoop at the level of the King’s groin. But Antar leapt back safely, whirling his own blade overhead before pressing Osorkon backward toward the fire. The traitor staggered. One unarmored foot came down among the hot coals. He shrieked, attempted a cut at Antar’s head, and missed.
The King’s sword was a gory blur. With both hands he swept it from right to left, severing Lord Osorkon’s head.
“Antar!” screamed Kadiya in joyous triumph. “Antar! Antar!”
A dark fountain of blood poured forth as the general’s body tumbled into the mass of flames. The onlooking army groaned. Balanikar and the other loyalist knights joined Kadiya’s continuing chant of the King’s name. And then, one by one, the erstwhile traitors joined in. Soon they were almost all cheering at the top of their lungs, shouting the two syllables over and over until the air rang.
Antar stood still, his blade lowered to the scarlet, trampled mud. Then he turned his back on the newly fueled bonfire and walked slowly to where the four friends of the dead general stood gaping. The King sheathed his sword and lifted his hand.
The encircling army fell stone silent.
Antar looked upon the quartet with a face that was stern but without rancor. “Soratik, Vitar, Pomizel, Nunkaleyn … I offer you amnesty if you will follow me faithfully now and fight in the defense of Derorguila and the Two Thrones.”
The four of them dropped to their knees. Soratik, the eldest, said: “Great King, I pledge to follow you faithfully till death.”
“And I,” said the three others as one man. Once again, a thunderous cheer went up from the onlooking knights and men-at-arms.
Kadiya found herself grinning, and she took hold of her amulet and whispered: “Hara! Tell Anigel the good news!”
I have already done so, and she is on her way here with the children and the others.
Kadiya strode forward then, followed by the other loyal knights, to deliver her felicitations to the victorious King. Antar was already giving the command to break camp and march to Derorguila, and the reprieved traitor-lords hastened to call their officers and obey.
In a small grove of trees behind the late Osorkon’s pavilion, the Archimage let herself become visible once more. Her work here was done, and she had already told Queen Anigel that she must go elsewhere for a time. Taking hold of her talisman, she saw what she knew she must see: an armada of more than sixty Raktumian warships, led by fourteen huge triremes, streaking down the Strait of Dera toward the entrance to Derorguila harbor. They had undoubtedly broken from cover the moment that King Antar began his contest with Osorkon.
“Show me Orogastus,” she said.
This time he was waiting for her, and she gasped at the realization that his mind’s eye saw her as well as she descried him.
“My talismans are reluctant teachers, for some reason,” he said to her, smiling. “But I am an extremely able student! No longer will you be able to have Sight of me without my knowing it, my dear Haramis. Now when you spy upon me, I will also be able to observe you! Soon I hope to be able to neutralize your protective aura as well so that you will nevermore be hidden from me. What a pleasure it will be then to communicate with you and see your beloved countenance again without hindrance.”
“You have launched your assault upon the city,” she stated baldly.
“I would halt it in an instant if you would come to me and engage in a quiet discussion. I know you now have the power to travel anywhere through magic.”
“When I come to you,” she said slowly, “it will be for our final confrontation, and a combat as mortal as that of King Antar and the late traitor, Osorkon.”
“Fought with talismans instead of lo
ngswords?” The sorcerer laughed, shaking his head in fond condescension. “Ah, Haramis. Why do you trouble yourself with the petty conflicts of the lowly? You and I are not such as they! We are destined to live for thousands of years and see kingdom after kingdom arise, prosper for its tiny moment, then give way to another. Do you understand what that means? Can you even conceive of the life you will lead as Archimage? It will be desperately lonely, in spite of the great power that you will wield. But you do not have to be all alone—nor does the governance of the World of the Three Moons have to be your solitary burden. Come to me, beloved! Let me tell you of the amazing things these two talismans have revealed to me, things your poor earthbound sisters never dreamt of! And we can—”
“No!” She cut him off with the sick realization that once again she was on the verge of being mesmerized. “You are as smooth and beguiling a liar as ever, Orogastus. But you betray your own ignorance even as you tempt me. I will foil your invasion of Derorguila. And then we will see whose magic is the stronger.”
She abolished the vision of him and stood trembling, bracing herself against the trunk of a slender young gonda-tree. In the encampment, tents were being struck and the sharp voices of sergeants giving orders rose above the racket of an army preparing to march.
As Haramis recovered her equanimity she chanced to look up at the tree branches, sagging and splintered from the unaccustomed weight of snow. Leaves that had been lush and green a sennight ago creaked gently in the newly risen wind, frozen stiff and enveloped in a pall of ice.
Did Orogastus even realize what was happening?
Did he have any notion that the world was out of balance and teetering toward catastrophe?
No, she told herself. He could not know. Very likely he dismisses the earthquakes and volcanic eruptions as natural, and considers the calamitous weather to be his own doing. Commander of the Storm! He had so styled himself twelve years ago and doubtless did it still.
Oh yes, certain of the ship-propelling gales were undoubtedly of his conjuring, and so were the waterspouts and the smaller tempests that had furthered his crimes down south. But he could never have commanded the deadly frost that had descended upon Labornok, nor the fresh advance of the Conquering Ice.
“Talisman,” she whispered, “can I stop it?”
The answer seemed forever in coming. The branches of the little trees were in full motion now, and the snow that had clung to them was fast dislodged by the wind, forming a whirling white cloud like a blizzard low to the ground. Haramis shivered in spite of the magic that warmed her. Would the talisman even deign to answer? Did it even know if it were possible to stop the Conquering Ice?
The Three in One may stop it … if they act in time. But the time is fast running out.
27
In the dream, Prince Tolivar was home again in Derorguila. The King and Queen took him on an informal visit to the royal menagerie in Guila River Park, and for once, Niki and Jan weren’t along to spoil things. It was a gorgeous Dry Time day with little white clouds frolicking in the blue sky, and Tolo had his mother and father all to himself.
At first, he had a very jolly time at the zoo in his dream. Instead of scolding him for running about and making noise, and telling him how princes had to set a good example, his parents were especially kind and attentive. They laughed when he tossed sweet biscuits to the big shaggy raffins to encourage them to beg. Their smiles were indulgent when he teased the horiks so they would bellow and gnash their long ivory teeth. He had great fun frightening the graceful shangars, causing them to leap about their enclosure in a very entertaining manner.
And then Tolo decided it would be even more amusing to wake up the evil-tempered looru, who came from deep in the swamps of Ruwenda and were said to drink people’s blood. (In the zoo they had to make do with qubar soup.) He picked up a handy stick and ran to rattle the bars of their big cage.
What a noise the stick made! There were twenty or so of the ugly looru in captivity, the largest with a wingspread of over two ells. Tolo’s sudden commotion caused the sleepers to fall from their perches and flap about, screeching insanely. The mass of infuriated creatures flung themselves again and again at the cage front, making a terrible din and trying to seize him with their clawed limbs. He darted back, laughing, and picked up a stone to throw.
And then the bars broke.
First one dark-bodied flier and then another escaped, until the whole swarm was at large, their eyes blazing red and their cruel long-toothed beaks open wide, seeking prey. Tolo flung himself beneath a handy bush, covering his ears from the sound of their awful whistling cries, hoping they wouldn’t find him.
The looru paid no attention to him at all. Instead, the swarm dived on the helpless King and Queen, burying them in a mass of claw-edged leathery wings and foul-smelling furry bodies. The sky turned black in an instant. Lightning flashed and deafening peals of thunder made the ground shake. Tolo heard screams—who was screaming?—and suddenly his bushy refuge was whisked away from him, torn up by the roots! He cowered, waiting for the looru to rend his flesh from his bones. When nothing happened, he dared to look up.
His aunt the Archimage towered above him. She seemed to be at least ten ells high. Her face was lit by lightnings and she wore a terrible expression of anger. “Your poor parents have perished through your fault! Now you will pay the price for your villainy!”
“No!” Tolo wailed. “I didn’t mean to do it!”
“Wicked!” the Archimage thundered. “Evil!” She reached down for him with one enormous hand.
“I didn’t mean to do it!” Tolo was up and running for his life.
“Stop!” Her voice was a stunning drumbeat. “Stop!”
Fleeing, he looked over his shoulder. She was coming—taller than the trees!—each footstep making the earth shake. She lifted her magical talisman, staring at him through the silvery circle. He saw one enormous magnified Eye, and it got bigger and bigger until it was the only thing in the world, and he was going to fall into it and die.
“Stop! Stop!”
“No! I didn’t mean it! Noooo—”
He awoke with his own howls echoing in his ears.
But no looru. No mother and father torn to pieces. No gigantic angry Archimage. He was safe in his little cabin on the flagship of King Ledavardis of Raktum. It had only been a dream.
Nevertheless the incessant loud crashes of thunder continued, and so did the bloodcurdling, many-throated scream of the flying predators. He even heard the rattling noise his stick had made—
Stop! Stop!
—and the monstrously amplified voice of the Archimage.
The little Prince jumped from his bunk, ran to the cabin port-light, opened it, and pulled up a stool so he could see outside.
The fog was gone. It was still nighttime. Continuous explosions of brilliant multicolored light filled the sky and reflected on a black sea crowded with ships. Some of them were pirate galleys, and they were firing the magical weapons of Orogastus, soaring globes of white and green and scarlet and gold that detonated like ball-lightning when they struck one or another of the defending ships, which carried on their sails the Black Trillium and Three Golden Swords of Laboruwenda. The defenders used catapults to fling fiery bombards at the invaders, and these made huge orange arcs as they sailed through the air.
From both antagonists came continual flights of iron crossbow-darts. The darts had small whistles attached and as they flew they made the eerie screaming noise he had mistaken for looru cries. As Tolo watched, openmouthed, a volley of darts struck the Raktumian flagship’s hull with a sound like rattling hailstones.
Stop! Stop this conflict! Sailors of Raktum, beware! Turn back, or your fate will be a terrible one!
The thundering words of Aunt Haramis rang out across the water … and another supernatural voice replied—that of the Master, Orogastus!
Are you tiring of your futile actions, Archimage? Yes, I can see that you are. The constant use of magical powers drains the so
ul of the practitioner, and now you resort to lies in a foolish attempt to turn away our brave warriors. But we will not be deterred!
Prince Tolivar thought he might still be dreaming, so fantastic was the scene out on the water. Not a single one of the flaming missiles from the defenders struck the pirate ships. Sorcery stopped the gobs of fiery pitch a hundred ells short of their targets, and they bounced as if hitting an invisible wall before falling harmlessly into the sea. Crossbow bolts did hit the flagship and the other Raktumian vessels, and so did rocks lobbed by the defender’s catapults. Evidently the magic that fended off the burning pitch was ineffective against iron or stone, or perhaps the Master could concentrate only on one danger at a time.
The effect of the weapons of the Vanished Ones on the Laboruwendian ships was much more devastating. Tolo clearly saw a globe of shimmering green fire waft from a pirate craft toward a target, only to veer away from its intended victim as though deflected at the last minute by the Archimage. But moments later the same Laboruwendian vessel was hit by a cloud of searing white sparks coming from another direction, racing through the air like a flock of close-flying griss-birds. The sparks set a hundred fires in the luckless warship’s rigging, and soon it, like many of its fellows, was a mass of flames.
Tolo realized that Aunt Haramis was trying to shield the Laboruwendians, but she was not doing a very successful job of it.
The ships from Derorguila were greatly outnumbered and mostly propelled by sails alone. With the winds light and erratic (were the Archimage and Orogastus fighting each other for control of them?) the Laboruwendian navy was at the mercy of the oar-driven pirate galleys. Ship after ship of the defenders was rammed broadside by the Raktumians and sunk, or struck by the meteoric weaponry of the Vanished Ones and consumed in fire. Some vessels managed to escape destruction thanks to the intervention of the Archimage, but she seemed unable to weave a spell powerful enough to continuously shield them all.