Authors: Poul Anderson
Parasan lifted a hand. Somehow his thin voice carried:
'You who fight for Taia the beloved, hearken. Hear, though you have heard before, the story of your motherland.
'Mighty were your forebears. They came down from afar, from the cold North, Hyborea of the legends, first as wanderers, then as conquerors, then as settlers. Barbarians, they bore a destiny just the same. For they adored Mitra, and the Sun Lord desired them to bring his clean faith to these realms where flourished beast gods, I human sacrifice, black magic, and all other manner of abominations.
'Some crossed the highlands and entered Keshan. There they founded cities which became great; but presently they languished in that sultry clime, the jungle reclaimed most of what they built, and nothing is left but a rude black kingdom – which, however, stands yet as a bulwark against cruel outsiders.
'Better did the Hyborians fare in these cooler, drier hills. Varanghi led that branch of them to victory. Even over sorceries, heritage of lost races who were not human, did Varanghi prevail. For he bore into battle an ax given him by Mitra's own hand. As long as the wielder was worthy, this weapon made him invincible,
'It became the treasure and the emblem of the dynasty Varanghi begot. Long did his kingdom of Taia flourish, in achievement, wealth, happiness, and the radiance of Mitra. That light was unendurable to dark Stygia. Again and again through centuries, the worshippers of Set strove to overthrow Taia, and ever were they repulsed.
'At last, though, an unworthy heir mounted the throne. He allowed himself to be seduced by Stygian magic and fell in battle. '
'He fell childless, too; your leader Ausar, here beside me, descends from an upright brother. The Stygians overran and annexed Taia. I''or centuries has it groaned beneath their yoke.
'The Ax of Varanghi lay not on the stricken field where the last king died. No living person has seen it since. Yet a holy man prophesied up and down the country that it had been hidden away, to await the coming of a deliverer fit to bear it; and he will be of the old Northern blood. The Stygians captured and crucified the prophet; but they could not kill his words, which live to our own day.
'Often in prayer have the priests of Mitra, at this sacred place, asked him for a sign. He has given dreams and visions, which tell us we must never abandon hope.
'They say nothing about the advent of the liberator. But they do not deny that verse in the prophecy which says that this shall come to pass after a hand of centuries.
'A hand of centuries – five fingers, five hundred years? I know not. But that is indeed how long Taia has been enslaved. Yours may be the generation that sets her free!'
The warriors brandished weapons and roared forth the savage cries of their clans.
The Stygians bound the few prisoners they had taken but did not otherwise abuse any. At dawn, when mists rolled chill off the river, Shuat came on inspection. For a minute or two he regarded the Taians, and they glared defiance at him. The noises of the torrent and of the regiment moving about seemed remote.
'Is this all?' he growled. 'And we scarcely killed more of them than they of us.' To his adjutant: 'I do not abide by a plan that is a failure. We return at once.' His gaze went back and came to rest on Daris. 'Who is the woman?'
'If it please my lord, I helped capture her,' a sergeant said. 'And a hellcat she was.' He leered. 'I and my friends can soon tame her. We'll forego breakfast.'
Daris snarled. Shame seared her.
'No, you idiot,' the commander rapped. 'See that golden disc on her brow. The natives reserve it for their highest-ranking family. I
will not have her hostage or exchange value lessened.' He addressed her. 'Who are you?'
Stygian was not her mother tongue, but like most Taians, Daris had learned it well. She straightened herself, met his eyes, spoke her name, and added, 'I am a daughter of Ausar, rightful king of this country.'
'A-a-ah,' Shuat said. 'Very good. My scheme has paid better than I knew.' Sickened, Daris realized what she had given away.
On his orders, she was separated from her fellows. They bade her a stoic good-bye. They were bound for slavery. Her fate might prove worse.
She was not immediately mistreated. Her guards allowed her to wash – at the end of a leash around her neck. She hated their remarks when she stripped, but cleanliness felt good. She also rinsed her tunic and skirt; they soon dried. Her cuirass and weapons were booty, of course. She shared the men's lentils and walked among them on the march downriver. They tried once or twice to make conversation, but she spoke no word in reply, so they cursed her for a surly she-cur and explained at length what could happen to her later on.
She gave that small heed. The anguish of captivity drowned all else. She moved as in an evil dream.
Hard-driving, Shuat brought his troop back to Seyan in three days. This little town of whitewashed mud buildings, at the confluence of the Helu and the Styx, was yet the largest in today's Taia, and the seat of the governor. His palace stood grand on the outskirts, amidst its gardens, close to the military base. Daris was led there and locked in an offside room while Shuat went to report.
A pair of soldiers soon fetched her forth. 'When you enter the presence, be sure to fall prostrate on the floor,' one warned.
Daris bridled. 'What, has the governor given himself royal honours?'
'No, but he is with a wizard-priest of Set.' Dread freighted the man's voice.
During her journey, Daris had recovered her wits. With them had come resolution. There was no sense in dying for the sake of pride; that would not serve her father's cause. No, let her do herself to it. Let her bide her time, ever alert for a chance to escape or at least to kill a few Stygians. Thus when she was ushered into lie great chamber, she made the required abasement, flat on the iced matting.
'Rise,' came sibilant from the far end. 'Draw nigh.'
Meekly, Daris advanced between walls painted with beast-headed human figures. Before her Shuat and corpulent Wenamon sat on stools under the dais of the governor's throne. It was occupied by a shaven-skulled man in a black robe. She was chiefly conscious of his eyes. They smouldered upon her.
'Halt,' he commanded. She obeyed. Silence waxed in the dimness. She felt as if those eyes probed through garb and flesh to her soul.
'Aye,' he said at last, 'there is something dire about the destiny of this maiden. What it is, I cannot see. I must convey her to Khemi for my master to examine closer.'
'When do we suffer the loss of your company, holy Hakketh?' Wenamon asked unctuously
'At once.' The wizard got up. 'Guards, follow me with the girl. You others, have my servants meet me at the wingboat.'
Wenamon and Shuat bowed deeply as he swept past them.
Daris' heart stammered. Sweat broke forth, cold on her skin. To Khemi the Black – for...examination?
She mustered courage. By river, the forbidden city was two thousand or more miles distant, she knew. In weeks of travel, surely she could find a way to a clean death.
The path from the palace did not lead to the civilian docks, but to a closely guarded wharf for war craft. None were there at the moment. Instead, Daris beheld a vessel such as she had never heard of before. Almost fifty feet in length, the hull shimmered dull white, metallic. A high prow bore the image of the head and neck of a sword-beaked reptile, whose folded leathery wings seemed to be modelled along the sides. The hull was open except for a smoothly shaped deckhouse, and revealed no sign of mast or oars. In the stern, on an iron-clawed tripod, was a large crystal globe wherein flickered something like fire, red and blue.
A servile, muscular acolyte, one of several in attendance on way of a ladder moulded into the bulwark, leaving the soldiers to watch in awe. At a word from the magician, a servitor locked a fetter about Daris' ankle, attached to a light chain that in turn was shackled to a ring in the deck. She had reasonable scope for movement, but saw with horror that she would not be able to leap overboard.
Hakketh gestured. The guardsmen cast off. The boat drifted out on the current. Hakketh turned to one of the acolytes. 'Take the first watch,' he directed.
'Yes, my lord.' The man went to stand before the globe. He lifted his hands. 'Zayen,' he intoned, a word in no language that Daris recognised. The fires in the globe strengthened. The wings along the hull extended until they stood straight from it. Silently, the vessel gathered speed as the Stygian raised his arms higher.
Perhaps because he wanted to see how she would react, Hakketh told the woman: 'Know that you ride in the sacred wingboat of Set, the last of its kind in the world. The magical formula of its making was lost when Acheron perished, three thousand years ago.'
Faster the craft went and faster. Wind, deflected by the prow, began to whistle.
Hakketh nodded at the deckhouse. 'You will have a compartment in there, and will be unchained when you wish to use it. You will have food and drink. None will harm you, but if you attempt anything untoward, you will be bound.'
The boat no longer threw up a bow wave. It had risen on the wind it raised to skim the dark surface of the river. The acolyte let his arms drop and simply pointed when he wished a change of direction. Sometimes, spying a possible hazard such as a floating log, he reduced speed by raising his arms again skyward, saying the word 'Aaleth,' and lowering them to a degree commensurate with how fast he wanted to go. Then he would utter 'Memn' and be free to stand as he chose until time to hasten again.
'Three nights and three days will see us in Khemi,' Hakketh finished.
Daris fought not to cry out or weep. Westward, the sun sank behind the hills that had been her home.
V
The Work of the Witch
Near the Crocodile Gate stood the Keep of the Manticore. A huge, nearly cubical pile of dark stone around a central courtyard, it took its name from a figure chiselled above its iron-doored main entrance. Tenures, executions, and vindictive imprisonments had engaged its lower levels for centuries; common dwellers in Khemi shunned its neighbourhood as ill-omened. They did not know that on two higher floors were luxurious apartments, an elegant kitchen, secret access for entertainers who were brought there and back blindfolded, but were well paid for performing. Sometimes the hierarchy had. reasons to make a detention comfortable. They did not on that account leave it unguarded.
Clad in a silken robe, Jehanan, brother of Bêlit, lounged on a couch. Beside him, a door stood open on a balcony where flowering vines grew across trellises to give shade and fragrance. The chamber was large, lavishly furnished, beautifully decorated with gilt arabesques. Inner doors led to a bathroom that was almost as big, for it included a swimming pool, and a small but sybaritic bedroom.
His days here had fleshed him out, restored his full strength, removed the craziness from his eyes. His face was still scarred and battered; but washed, barbered, smiling, it was a face that some women would have found attractive.
Nehekba perched beside him. A film of gown and a few jewels only accentuated her utter femaleness. She smiled and stroked his cheek. 'What happened then, beloved?' she crooned.
'Why -' Jehanan looked puzzled. 'Why do you care? It is a trivial thing from my childhood. I stopped because of realizing I myself do not remember it well.'
'Oh, but I care about everything that ever concerned you,' she said.
He flushed in joy, reached out to lay a hand on her thigh, and said, 'Well, then, as I was telling you, Bêlit and I came back from our jungle venture safe, though muddy and out of breath. Our father was furious at the risk we had taken and was about to punish us. But our mother told him – now what were her words? - she told him he should not punish venturesomeness, for we got it from him and we would have need of it in later life. Better to put us on our honour to be more careful in future. He agreed. Bêlit and I were glad to be spared a paddling... at first. Afterwards, though, having thought further, we joined in a secret wish that he had simply chastised us. For of course we could never break a promise given him.'
'You were a happy family in truth,' Nehekba observed.
'Aye. You should know that, dear Heterka, as much as you have gotten me to recall those years for you.' Jehanan sat straight. He took her by the slim waist with both hands, looked into her eyes, and said, 'I still cannot believe my fortune – from a slave, in such pain always that only exhaustion let me sleep, to beatific lover of the most wonderful woman that ever lived. Why?'
'I have explained. I glimpsed you, your steadfastness in misery, and was enchanted. I could not buy and manumit you, for the law here recognizes no foreign-born freedmen. But I could have you brought to this place, with the idea of making a better arrangement later.'
'Yes, yes, darling, of course. But you are so mysterious that – Oh, no more words for now.' Jehanan gathered her to him and began to kiss her.
Abruptly he winced, let go, dropped his glance, and muttered, 'I fear I need a fresh draught of the potion that frees me of pain. Else I – I will have no manhood in me.'
Nehekba rose. 'I brought some, dear.' She flowed across the room to a purse she had left by the entrance. He stood to watch as she took out a golden vial.
'I will fetch wine to mingle it in, and drink to my love for you, Heterka,' he said.
Her smile turned cruel. 'Trouble yourself not. You have no more need of this.' She unstoppered the vial and emptied it onto the wound.
He howled like a wolf when the jaws of a trap close on it.
'Oh, we will keep you here a while yet,' she taunted. 'We may get a little further use out of you, or amusement.'
'Are you a demon?' he screamed. His big form lurched toward her, fingers held talon-crooked. Those muscles had lost no power in anguish.
Nehekba touched a small mirror at her throat. From it sprang a ray, not of light but of dark. When that struck Jehanan, he crashed down and lay motionless, staring at her in overwhelming horror.