Trembling, he reached into the box.
31
Tolo! By the Bones of Bondanus—the brat was not only alive, but he had also bonded the Three-Headed Monster to himself!
Halted in the midst of pandemonium, with weapons clanging on all sides like the hammers of hell and his guardsmen yelling as they fended off attackers, Orogastus felt his heart sink as he lost Sight of the little Prince. It would be futile to go after Tolo now. Wearing the talisman, he would certainly conceal himself somewhere in the sprawling stable or in one of the adjacent buildings of the courtyard, and no sorcery would be able to pinpoint him. That much of the coronet’s working required no effort on the boy’s part.
But surely he would be unable to command the Three-Headed Monster. He was half-frightened to death. No, Tolo would only hold fast to it—and to the star-box as well, sly little wretch that he was!—and cower in some hidey-hole until the battle was over.
Orogastus knew with sickening certainty that the Three-Headed Monster was lost. But at least the Archimage and her sisters did not have it. Tolo would never turn it over to them. Not after having killed for it. What a grotesque end for the poor Yellow Voice …
All three of his acolytes were gone now, along with the hope that the Star Council might be resurrected and the Cynosure destroyed. But he still had the Burning Eye, and the battle was going very well, and Haramis was proving to be more inept an opponent than he had ever dared to hope.
If he could win this war, there would be time to think of ways to trick the little Prince into surrendering his talisman … time to recruit new followers and initiate them into the Star … time to master the operation of his own talisman and either win Haramis over to his side or destroy her—
“Master!” One of the Tuzameni guards pointed to the western side of the keep. “Listen to the pirates cheering. Something has happened over there!”
“I will scan it with my Sight.” The sorcerer used his talisman to oversee the entire palace courtyard from high in the air. He saw that the invaders had thrown open the main gates of the fortifications, so that overwhelming numbers of them now swarmed about the grounds. Most of the pirate warriors kept back from the massive keep and concentrated on the many other palace buildings, doing more looting than fighting.
Only on the western side where the noise was coming from was any serious attempt being made to penetrate the stronghold. Most of the defenders were concentrated there, before the vulnerable west door. The Raktumian attack against them was being spearheaded by King Ledavardis and his mob of noble cutthroats, and a rather good job they were making of it! The King …
Almighty Bahkup! What did Ledo think he was playing at? Challenging Marshal Owanon to single combat? The young lunatic! He would surely be slain, and the pirate army would dissolve into chaos.
“Quickly!” Orogastus shouted to his bodyguard. “I must reach a high vantage point where I can work my magic.”
“The bakery there has a stout roof with a parapet,” a guardsman said, “and it is beyond the range of the shooters in the keep.”
They pushed and slashed their way to the structure, hewing down even those Raktumians who were not quick enough to get out of their way. The bakery interior was a welter of corpses, moaning wounded, smashed tables and racks, and blood-splattered walls; but the main press of combat had passed it by. The sorcerer found the ladder leading to the roof and climbed it with alacrity, leaving his guards below. From on high, he had a perfect view of the fighting going on around the west door of the keep.
The squat young King of Raktum and the tall Lord Marshal were hacking at each other with a will while knights of both nations now stood with lowered swords, watching and cheering. The teenaged monarch was strong and agile for all his ungraceful shape, but it was plain to the sorcerer that Ledo was outclassed by the older man. Owanon had the King in retreat, backing toward the line of Raktumians. Ledo was certain to be downed at any moment.
Orogastus lifted his talisman with the three-lobed pommel upright. Never before had he dared deliberately attempt what he did now. If he miscommanded, he knew there was a possibility that he himself might die. But the chance had to be taken.
Three-Lobed Burning Eye, smite Owanon unto death.
The three eyes of the pommel opened. From them blazed a tricolor beam—white, green, and gold. It struck the Lord Marshal upon his breastplate and spread over his entire armored form in entwining bright streams. His body was enveloped in glowing smoke. His sword dropped from his hand and he fell at the feet of the astounded King of Raktum. Plates of scorched armor rang on the pavement, together with blackened bones.
Three-Lobed Burning Eye, blast open that door!
Again the ray flashed forth, this time dazzling white, striking the iron-bound gonda planking of the heavy portal. The metal turned incandescent and the wood burst into roaring flame. An instant later the door dissolved in a cascade of black cinders. The Raktumian warriors gaped, not believing their eyes. But King Ledavardis screamed jubilantly: “Forward!” The men gave a shout and surged toward the narrow entry.
His heart soaring with exultation, Orogastus turned and brandished the wondrous weapon at the main door on the north side of the fortress.
Three-Lobed Burning Eye, now blast this door!
Again the beam of light lanced out, and the wide main entrance to Zotopanion Keep lay wide open before the invading horde.
Haramis! the sorcerer cried. Haramis, surrender! I can command my talisman to kill! I have killed the Lord Marshal of Laboruwenda and I will kill anyone else who opposes me! Order the keep defenders to lay down their arms. Order Queen Anigel to come forth and submit to King Ledavardis. If you do this, I will spare the lives of everyone in Derorguila. If you refuse, they will all be slain. Haramis, surrender!
There was a movement in a window at the topmost level at the front of the keep. With his own naked eyes, Orogastus beheld a distant figure clothed in white. She said:
No.
Burning fury fountained up within him. Damn her to the deepest of the ten hells! She herself would be the next to die!
He lifted the talisman … then cried out as the Sight of her face filled his mind. He could not give the command.
Damn her! Damn her! He did not love, could not possibly love her! He hated her from the very depths of his being, with all his heart and soul and strength. Why then did he feel enchained to her—drawn to her irresistibly, fatally?
“I will be free of you!” he groaned aloud. He obliterated her face and filled his mind only with the image of the magical pointless sword.
Three-Lobed Burning Eye, I … I command you to smite Haramis unto … unto death!
Wrong! He had done it wrong, faltering in resolution, betrayed by that personal flaw he detested so fiercely. Betrayed by love.
He felt the rage of self-hate burning inside of him merge with a tricolored ray. It lashed out at her, and when it reached the window opening, it fragmented into a thousand glittering, ringing fragments, as though it had turned to solid crystalline ice or a mass of refulgent diamonds. In his own gloved hands, the talisman was burning hot. He dropped it with a cry of agony and it clanged onto the parapet at his feet and lay there, dark and dead and eyeless. His silver leather gloves were smoking. He ripped them off and cast them away with an oath.
The figure at the window was unhurt. She seemed to magnify and hover not two ells before him, tall and lovely, with a face sad but full of determination. One slender hand held the wand called the Three-Winged Circle.
I must go to the aid of my people, Star Man. Then I will come to you and we will finish this.
Unwilling to waste her uncertain energies by transporting herself to the ground floor of the fortress, Haramis now ran down eight flights of stairs to where the fighting was going on inside the keep. But by the time she reached the second level, so many invaders had poured in through the two open doors that the great hall below was a riot of combat, with the stone floor flowing with blood and the antagonist
s so crowded they could hardly swing their swords.
Anigel and young Princess Janeel had taken refuge in a heavily guarded strongroom adjacent to the ornate presence chamber on the keep’s second level and were secure enough for the moment. Kadiya had found Nikalon only slightly injured. She and the Crown Prince were now hurrying to the sanctuary via the backstairs.
Haramis made her way onto a minstrel’s balcony above the main entrance to the great hall, hoping to use her magic to reclose the two doorways. But each time she materialized a new barricade, the sorcerer outside blasted it open again. Finally, she was so exhausted by the futile efforts that she was forced to hold off.
I am really unequal to him in magical strength, she said to herself. For all my training, he is the stronger enchanter. We are unable to kill one another with magic, but he is certain to win this war. Lords of the Air! How will it end?
Standing in the shadows above the carnage, she watched the valiant, outnumbered Laboruwendians try to stave off the enemy forces pushing up the grand staircase toward the throne room and the Queen. The stairs were opposite the main entrance of the hall and had been one of the palace’s most famous features—an expanse of white marble twice as wide at the bottom as at the top, carpeted with scarlet and ornamented with golden banisters and silver-gilt lamp-standards. At solemn court functions the stairs were lit by thousands of candles and formed a promenade for gorgeously dressed men and women. Now they were a stage for butchery, running with blood.
The palace defenders were concentrated there, directed by Penapat the Lord Chamberlain. The heavyset nobleman bounded from one side of the broad stairs to the other, shouting commands. As one group of knights fell vanquished another pressed down the stairs from the anteroom of the presence chamber, fighting to the death to defend their Queen.
Poor souls, Haramis thought. They still have hopes that I can turn this monstrous throng away, and then King Antar will arrive and win the day. But they are doomed … doomed. Ah, God! If I could only think properly!
As she tried to recover, Haramis gave what aid she could to the crucial defenders on the staircase. In her weakened state, she was able to deflect enemy sword-strokes from this man or that, but she could not protect all of them. One by one the knights at the forefront of the affray succumbed. The advancing enemy threw their bodies and those of their slain comrades over the banisters onto growing heaps of dead men down below.
King Ledavardis of Raktum, slightly wounded in his sword arm and no longer able to take the field himself, surveyed the battle from the safety of an alcove at the right of the stairs. Hedged round with armed protectors, he now urged his men on with a mighty shout:
“The Queen! The Queen! She is up there in the throne room at the head of the stairs! Half the loot of Derorguila to the man who takes Queen Anigel!”
The pirates responded with a thunderous roar and a renewed surge of bodies. There were over nine hundred men in the great hall and three quarters of them were Raktumians. A fresh lot of Laboruwendian knights came forth from the anteroom at Penapat’s command and arrayed themselves in a position to charge.
Haramis touched her talisman. She saw that Kadiya and Nikalon had reached the strongroom behind the thrones safely. Antar and his army had arrived at the postern gate at long last, but it was now securely held by a huge force of the enemy. The King would be forced to march around the perimeter of the fortress to the break in the wall, where he would inevitably meet the right flank of the pirates and be fought to a standstill. His plan to reinforce the keep defenders had failed.
“Oh, God, it is hopeless!” Haramis was now near to weeping from grief and frustration. “I do not even have the strength to take Anigel and Kadi and the children to safety … Iriane! Iriane! Is there nothing you can do?”
A froth of blue bubbles materialized beside her on the balcony with commendable swiftness, and the Archimage of the Sea stepped forth from the midst of them. Iriane frowned as she looked down upon the insane tumult in the hall, and she shook her head.
“There are so many of them, and all in a frenzy of blood-lust. We could try new illusions, but I seriously doubt that the ruffians would be distracted. What you really need are more fighters on your side.”
“King Antar cannot get into the palace compound from the south. The pirates hold the postern gate. It would be useless for me to try to transport him and his knights here a few at a time, even if I had the strength to do so … which I do not.”
“Well, I can’t do that particular trick at all,” Iriane admitted. “I am only capable of transporting myself.” She pursed her cyan lips and narrowed her indigo-shadowed eyes in thought. “Hmm. Fighters … fighters. You know, my dear, we Archimages were not always at the mercy of the ungodly. Back in the old days, when the Star first threatened the world, we had the Sentinels of the Mortal Dictum as the ultimate defense. They could take the lives of those rational beings who persisted in evil aggression.”
“But only the entire Archimagical College could order the sindona out,” Haramis retorted bitterly. “The Teacher in the Place of Knowledge told me so. And those ancient Archimages are long gone safely beyond.”
Slowly, Iriane shook her head. “The College still exists. Only three members are required for its functioning. You and I and—”
“Denby!” Haramis broke in, fresh hope electrifying her. “But would he?” Without waiting for Iriane’s reply, she threw back her head and cried out at the top of her lungs: “Denby! Help us! Let us have the sindona!”
When nothing happened, she called his name again, wild with desperation. “Denby! Archimage of the Sky! Dark Lord of the Firmament! You pretend to be aloof, but I know you have been watching from above. I know you have been involved in this from the beginning, long before my sisters and I were born. Help us!” She grasped Iriane’s cool blue hand. “We, your fellow-Archimages, entreat you in the name of the Triune!”
The terrible sight and sounds of the battle softened and dwindled away. Haramis saw Three Moons, full and silvery gold against a serene and star-spangled sky. They were not small, as the Moons had always seemed to be when she saw them sailing overhead, but large enough so that their globes almost filled her vision.
One of them seemed to have the face of an old, old man. His wizened brow was knit in an attitude of annoyed perplexity.
“Denby!” Haramis exclaimed. “Remember your sacred office and help us to summon the sindona!”
The land and the sea are not my charge, said the Moon peevishly.
“You are an Archimage,” Haramis said. “You belong to the College. Iriane and I make this most solemn demand of you!”
Oh. Well! I suppose I must, if you put it like that … but it won’t solve things permanently, you know!
The Man in the Moon and his two inanimate counterparts vanished.
“Look!” Iriane crowed joyfully. “Oh, look!”
A phalanx of fifty pale ivory statues had appeared on the grand staircase just behind the row of faltering defenders. They were far taller than men, and wore glittering crossed belts on their breasts, and iridescent crown-helms. Each one carried a golden skull tucked under its left arm. They marched slowly down the bloodied staircase in remorseless order, five abreast, and the dumfounded Laboruwendians fell over themselves scrambling out of the way.
Those warriors of the invasion force who had caught sight of the descending Sentinels of the Mortal Dictum—and this included most who were fighting within the great hall—ceased their clamor and contention and stared at the odd spectacle in startled wonderment. For a moment the hall was nearly silent.
Warriors of Raktum. Warriors of Tuzamen. Lay down your arms in the name of the College of Archimages.
The voice was very soft, almost maternal, and it came from the air and not from the motionless lips of the sindona.
For an instant the pirates were too petrified with surprise to act. Then a scarlet-smeared Tuzameni warlord in the front rank of those at the foot of the stairs brandished his wavy-edged swo
rd and yelled in a coarse voice: “I’ll be damned if I surrender to a pack o’ naked spooks!”
One of the leading sindona looked down upon him, lifted its arm, and pointed.
The knight vanished in a puff of smoke. A polished white skull bounced to the floor where he had stood and rolled about on the gory flagstones. A murmur of awe and fear went up from the men nearby.
But the invaders did not yet understand what was happening. As the sentinels continued down the stairs numbers of the emboldened foe just ahead of them began to attack, hewing at the moving statues with swords and battle-axes and spike-studded flails. The iron bounced harmlessly from the smooth ivory bodies. Crowned heads turned and fingers pointed. A cascade of death’s-heads went clattering and bouncing down into the mob.
A quick-witted bravo cried out: “It’s only a trick, lads! They’re phantoms cooked up by the Archimage! Pay ’em no mind!”
A howl of relief and fury went up from the pirates as they pressed their attack with fresh vigor. But moments later the ranks of sindona reached the floor of the great hall and fanned out among the fighters, pointing their deadly fingers at one foeman after another. The skulls multiplied, and the invaders who survived could not help but crush them under their mailed feet. It slowly came home to them that their comrades were dying on all sides in quiet little wisps of smoke. Many Raktumians ceased fighting and began to look about for a way to escape.
The sindona were quite invulnerable to human weaponry. With their majestic, carven faces calm and gently smiling, they did their necessary work.
The more intelligent among the invaders now moaned in growing terror and sidled toward one of the crowded doors, causing the Raktumian leaders and the Tuzameni warlords to cry out: “Nay, men! Those things are only illusions! Forward! Do not fear! To the throne room and the Queen!”
In his alcove, the Goblin Kinglet was about to echo these courageous sentiments when he caught sight of a woman in white standing on the musicians’ gallery high above the main entrance of the hall. It was the Archimage Haramis and she was looking directly at him. He heard her voice as though she stood only an arm’s length away.