“Often, miracles performed in a religion are called magic...”
“And many religions certainly originate in magic, so...”
“But religion and magic are clearly two different things.”
The arguments positively flew around Brannomar’s chamber, with no conclusion. Sana Besti, his twin sister, had joined us. She still presented a macabre figure; her sparkling eyes and pointed nose were surrounded by a towering, untamed mass of hair, and her dress gave the impression of a bundle of rags. She grabbed her morntarch and the three skulls protruding from the dangling threads clattered together. Her small mouth and thin lips, that so resembled her brother’s, were normally pressed together firmly and opened only when she had something meaningful to say. As a sorceress she was tolerated, and she had a clear-cut opinion on everything concerning the ibmanzy.
“They are onkers who summon demons to do their dirty work for them. The human body is not made for this demonic energy.”
We came to the conclusion that the ibmanzy, which had transformed back leaving a pitiful mangled human corpse, had fulfilled its task. The monster, which had dissolved in that terrible way into black slime, had failed. And for that you could only thank Opaz!
The two now knew everything I had learned about the ibmanzies through experience. They promised to find out more. “Whoever is doing these terrible things does not possess a good heart,” said Besti. She gave off the sweet scent of lavender.
What was left of the black slime had been mopped up and taken to her private quarters. She would examine it, but she had no great hope of finding out more from the gunge than we already knew.
New information arose when Lord Jazipur, the right hand of the Kov, arrived with the cadade. They reported that the Yvonnim, a fellow named Lycon the Standard, had been recently hired. A friend of the cadade had highly recommended him. The captain of the guard was stiff and reserved, he was extremely uncomfortable. “Lorgan ti Mindlo it was who highly recommended him, Notor. I did not hesitate to hire him. Tolaar knows that the Yvonnim are reliable people.” He sweated and squirmed in his armor. “By the Holy Golden Sash of Tolaar, I swear that no gold changed hands. Not one coin!”
Brannomar looked at his man. Loyal cadades are worth their weight in gold. He nodded. “I trust you.”
Jazipur, who only knew me as Drajak the Sudden but knew I had played a role in the dispute over the succession to the throne and what I had accomplished, snapped, “I know that Lorgan ti Mindlo. He was seen in the company of Khon the Mak before he fled.”
So that’s what lay behind it. They had tried directly to assassinate Hyr Kov Brannomar in his own palace. The ibmanzy had been a stikitche — undoubtedly sent by Khon the Mak.
Had the attack been successful, there would have been nothing more to fear from the dead Kov Brannomar. Even so... “I’ll take care of the matter,” said Lord Jazipur. He spoke with an ice-cold rage that left no doubt about his intentions.
When I describe these people in the aftermath of the terrible event as calm and reasonable, you must not misunderstand me. They had calmed down slowly. But by the dangling inflamed eyeball and festering hairy nostril of Makki Grodno, they were clearly very distressed. They had suffered a massive shock, by Krun, which had shaken them to their toes!
Then I had an interesting — and I think, sobering — thought. The Dray Prescot who had originally been brought to Kregen would be furiously storming off to prune this Mindlo tidily — and boshli, as they say on Kregen. Today, I just stood there and was much more controlled than all the others put together. And yet the blood that pulsed through my arteries and veins was as young as ever. After the dip in the sacred Pool of Baptism in far Aphrasöe that had assured me a full thousand years of life, my aging process had slowed down. Perhaps Delia’s yearning hope had been realized, and I had acquired some common sense.
Over the next few burs everything gradually returned to business as usual, and Jazipur learned the news concerning Prince Ortyg. He responded with shocked surprise, mingled with reluctant consent. “At least the young pup will be out of the game for a while.”
Jazipur’s men returned and reported that Mindlo was not to be found. It had been impossible to keep the event quiet or to prevent the rumors spreading like wildfire throughout Oxonium. Everyone knew about it. Mindlo, unnerved by his failure, had fled.
We sat down to a meal, and despite the early hour a sip of wine was served — diluted with water, naturally. I did not know what the Kov had told Jazipur about me. In any case, Jazipur looked at me, the simple Paktun, thoughtfully.
“And you will proceed with Khon the Mak in the same manner?” he asked almost gently.
This was a question that had kept me very busy of late, as you can imagine.
I shook my head and pointed out that Khon was still not in a position to recruit an army, and the greater threat was in the north. The loss of her puppet prince Ortyg would not prevent C’Chermina from pursuing her fantasies of conquest.
Brannomar mentioned our earlier conversation in which I had reflected on whether I would be able to stop Khon the Mak in a similar way to Prince Ortyg. He agreed with my opinion that the greater risk was from the north at the moment.
Sana Besti was silent the whole time, as if she were immersed in her own magical world. Once or twice she shook her morntarch briefly. The ribbons, bells and skulls dangling from the top of the bar gave a sinister, menacing sound that echoed through the room.
“What is it, sister?”
She did not reply, but stood up. She paced up and down restlessly.
Her behavior resembled her manner when she had discovered that the wizard of Khon the Mak spied on us in lupu.
Brannomar wanted to say something and I had the impression he was irritated, but Besti suddenly shook the morntarch crazily. She sat in a corner of the chamber, under a window. We all watched.
A hazy round object peeled out of nowhere and slowly began to take shape. Jazipur gasped. The cadade’s fist closed around his sword hilt. Brannomar closed his mouth. The object hovered in the air between the floor and the windowsill.
It was an eye.
It was the size of an orange, pupil and iris clearly recognizable. From its underside, arm-length tentacles grew like the roots of a tree and stretched and coiled around each other again and again slowly and deliberately.
A turquoise haze enveloped the ghostly apparition.
It was not necessary for one of us to blurt out: “We are being spied on!”
Again there came the eerie rustle of a morntarch. The eye blinked. The purple eyelid fell, lifted up and fell again. The morntarch trembled, sending strange sounds through the room.
The old wildness took me. My hand shot with a smooth and instinctive movement over my right shoulder, seized a terchick — and the throwing knife darted through the air like silver lightning.
The blade hit the eye exactly in the center. Nothing stopped its flight. It flew on and crashed clattering against the wall.
At the moment I had intemperately thrown the knife, the eye opened again. It opened wide and stared at me with such vicious intensity — all while the knife whizzed through the air — that ice cold ran down my back. I instinctively lifted my head to meet the challenge. And we stared at each other. For a tiny moment we were isolated from the others, inextricably linked in a personal showdown.
Abruptly, I was aware of the eeriness of what was happening to me. It took only a heartbeat, a heartbeat in which the rest of Kregen ceased to exist.
The bells and skulls of Besti’s staff jingled and clashed against each other. In one of the adjoining corridors a dog let out a piercing howl. The eye rose slowly into the air, and the tentacles uncoiled. The spiritual struggle held me captive in its spell. I stared at the eye.
For maybe half a dozen heartbeats, nothing changed in the tableau.
Then the eye disappeared silently.
No one said a word.
Only after another mouthful of wine — this time with less water — did a stormy Sana Besti demand an explanation.
Her whole demeanor betrayed the struggle between two opposing feelings. There was the pride and satisfaction that it was she who had discovered the occult manifestation first and then banished it. But this gratification was wrestling with the knowledge of what had actually just happened. It was a bad omen for the future of Tolindrin — and this was no mere conjecture, but a simple realization.
In the many disciplines and secrets of the wizards of Kregen there were huge differences when it came to ability and performance. As far as I knew and had seen the Wizards of Loh were by far the most powerful among them. But lately my comrades had been blocked in Balintol. They had indicated that the mysterious Wizard of Balintol could monitor the activities of the Wizards of Loh. I had even been forced to the supposition — by the words that my friends had not said — that their work was hampered or even negated.
Not a pleasant notion.
The late king had banished all sorcerers from Tolindrin — Sana Besti was tolerated. The minor practitioners of the magical arts were tolerated. In my opinion Sana Besti was anything but insignificant, by Krun! Her position as twin sister of the Hyr Kov contributed substantially to her survival — that and her thaumaturgical skill.
Since my arrival in Balintol the reputation of the subcontinent as a place of secrets had vexed me. I had gotten to see very little of this, or at least so I thought. But now that demons transferred across to our plane of existence and the bodies of young people were torn to pieces, I was forced to change this opinion.
During an awkward conversation Besti told us her belief that the eye was not sent by Khon the Mak’s new Wizard of Loh. He was just another bungler, with much to learn. I agreed. When the Wizards of Loh want to watch something from afar, they put themselves into Lupu — which is done in various ways — and snoop around. Sometimes they use a signomant, a device that was placed at the target of the observation. I had never seen a disembodied eye — at least as far as I could remember.
Besti said — and she emphasized her uncertainty — that in her opinion there had been a manifestation of the illusionist who ruled Winlan, San W’Watchun, in the eye.
The Divine Lady of Belschutz came immediately to mind when I saw how the audience reacted to Besti’s opinion. They were horrified. The emergence of the ibmanzies had driven fear deep into their bones, and this had increased with the materialization of the eye; this third shock gave them the balance.
At these events, there had not been a fight with gleaming blades and spurting blood; nonetheless it had been a struggle, and indeed a clever and diabolical struggle. A struggle that could cost us our lives.
Brannomar’s First Pallan Lord Jazipur said: “It could well be that the wizard’s attention was drawn to the manifestation of the ibmanzy.” His dark face, clearly of Xuntalese blood, took on a determined expression. “W’Watchun wants to learn as much as possible about the demons. He...”
“That means,” broke in Brannomar angrily, “he was here earlier, with certainty. How long has he been watching us?”
“We’ll probably never know, brother.”
“Aye, by Tolaar! To Sicce with the criminal!”
I, Dray Prescot, determined to abstain from comment.
As I had realized, this W’Watchun had gained power and eliminated many other magicians of Balintol. His Kharrna was now of a downright grotesque size. Winlan had segregated itself. It was ruled by a powerful warrior caste that held the existing slaves from the other half of the population under a knout of iron. A few foreign merchants were permitted into the country but their activities were strictly monitored. Farms, factories and roads were in the hands of slaves who possessed the necessary knowledge. But if a slave overseer failed to bring in the prescribed harvest the warriors just gave the order to make him a head shorter and installed a new overseer. Those overseers would try very hard to avoid this fate.
A wizard must have a very powerful kharrna to ascend to such a high position in a warrior society. The warriors lived according to a very complicated and precise code. They were a proud and choleric bunch who despised foreigners. That was, as has been suggested, one of the reasons they had surrounded their country with the famous wall.
A cynic would have suspected that the wall served to prevent people from escaping from such a disagreeable nation.
Of course, it was entirely possible that the damned insubstantial spy eye was not sent by the sorcerer W’Watchun, by Krun!
Maybe my Opaz-cursed Dokerty friends from Prebaya were on my trail. Maybe their demonology gave them power to send a spy eye after me. But how would they know I was here? Could they follow me around through a terrible plane of existence from another dimension? In the religions of Balintol there were many strange ideas, which elsewhere on Kregen would have been called magic.
Well, by the loathsome liver and dwindling eyesight of Makki Grodno! I had a job to do in Caneldrin, and that is exactly where I would go as soon as I had worked out what needed to be done in Oxonium. By Djan, yes!
Some time later, after our conversation was exhausted under the peaceful moons hovering over our heads and two excellent meals had found their way into our stomachs, we went to bed. Brannomar showed me to an available chamber. In the early hours of the morning I awoke to a sound at the door. With sword in hand, I looked out.
In the light of the samphron-oil lamps I was greeted by a sight that forced an involuntary groan from my lips. Four black-skinned men from Xuntal tried to overpower a light-skinned man who pranced around vigorously, and how the soldier cursed as he tried to avoid being cut with their swords. All five men were in uniform and armor and were obviously in the guard of the Hyr Kov — presumably they had been reassigned to guard me.
My muscles tensed as I prepared myself to go between them fast and deadly and save this poor devil from these thugs.
I paused. I took a deep breath. From what I already knew, I attempted to identify friend from foe. Maybe... At that moment a blow with the broad side of a braxter sent the cursing man to the floor. The black-skinned assailant stepped back and shouted, “Do not hurt him! The Hikdar will take care of the blintz!”
A curtain gaped open and a small Fristle fifi staggered out and collapsed into the arms of the Xuntalese men. Her face swelled in an ugly way already. Her threadbare dress was torn, her body covered in blood. Her tail with its bright red tassel dragged across the floor.
So it came about. The cursing guard had tried to violate the Fristle girl and the Xuntalese had intervened to stop him. I sighed. All my experiences of the Xuntalese had shown that these black-skinned folk were a decent people, and to be honest — Opaz is my witness — this is probably why I had not intervened immediately.
The Hikdar arrived. He was a Ranstak and had the hooded eyes and compressed facial features of his race. He was very forceful, and had his sword tail sticking up. The villain was hurried away at a run. The Fifi was carried away gently in strong black arms. So it was not necessary that I intervene. Thankfully, I went back to bed.
And yet, by the Mother Diocaster, all things considered I could draw a lesson, an important lesson, by Zair!
Originally I had intended to limit my time in Oxonium, but one thing led to another, and so I was held up almost a whole sennight. I learned very little about my friends.
Tiri remained in Farinsee, where she was putting the finishing touches to her magical powers. Fweygo, my Kregoinye comrade, had probably fallen into an adventure somewhere on the orders of the Star Lords. Princess Nandisha and her entourage were holed up in a country estate.
One thought was sobering: When would C’Chermina attack Tolindrin?
We had long discussions, looking for the best way to ward off the demonic ibmanzies. Sana Besti checked the area continuously for the presence of spying eyes. No more were found. Throughout this entire time, I could almost feel the hot breath of the Everoinye on my neck.
As much as I would have enjoyed going down into the runnels between the hills, there was just not enough time for it. I wondered how it likely went for my friends, the gang members of Nagzalla’s Nasty Neemus. You could wager a gold rhok that they were still going about their business. Whatever that villainy might be, by Krun! When I finally boarded my lifter — after observing the fantamyrrh — and headed north, I felt relief in my heart.
I had relieved the Vallian embassy of a considerable sum in gold and jewels and was quite confident that we could bring Dagert on my side with it. When I reached The Zorca’s Heart, the famous inn in Umrigg that basked in the glow of the sun, a single message was all that was waiting for me, of course.
Dagert of Paylen had written only that he had savored to the last drop the loan of the pay of a simple cadade and had resigned from my service. He and Palfrey were gone. I was not surprised. Also, I knew — by Djan Kadjiryon, I knew it! — that I would meet this charming villain and his evilly exploited servant Palfrey again. That was as sure as Zim and Genodras rising every morning over Kregen. The only question was: in what villainy would he be involved?
I took a quick meal, drank at a gulp and flew on to Prebaya.
I put the flier in the lifterdrome, grumbled about the exorbitant fees and made my way to pay Lady Quensella a visit. She received me immediately. When she greeted me, her face had more color than usual. Her appearance gained from it and she had lost some of her aloofness.
“Well, Drajak. I am... pleased... to see you. Have you returned to command my Juruk again?”
I controlled myself, because I had decided not to take a chance on a Prescot smile, and told her that was impossible. She looked at me, speechless. “In the apartments of the regent there has been an incident,” I continued. “Granumin, the first Pallan, was murdered.”
She looked at me calmly and now completely under control.
“And?”
I must admit that I was just trying to satisfy my own curiosity. The whole affair was finished. If I was right in my assumption, would she admit it? To a simple cadade?
“Schrepims do not make good stikitches, my lady. Presumably, only someone in a desperate position would rely on them.”
“I think so too.”
Her chest rose and fell, making the blue sensil move and adopt all the colors of the rainbow. We were alone. I just hoped she would not do something stupid, something she would later regret.
There was absolutely no doubt that there was a tension between us. That this tension only emanated from her filled me with compassion. Her lips were moist. Onker that I am, I made a daring foray.
“Now the deed is done, my lady, you will be safe from further attacks?”
She raised her head. “Does that mean, do you think I...?” she began, then paused, licked her moist lips and shook her head. “No, Drajak. You are right. Why should I deny it? The blintz deserved what he got. Poor Sinkie! Naghan ti Indrin also got what he so much deserved. The matter is settled.”
“Queyd-arn-tung!” No more need be said on the subject.
She smiled. The topic of conversation changed. She offered wine, palines and miscils because it would be a few burs until the next meal. I inquired about the new pallan, M’Marmor.
“The Khibil believes he can now decide everything.” She pushed a yellow paline between her red lips, chewed and swallowed. “If T’Tolaar thinks his time has come, he will very likely meet an unpleasant end.”
The double initial did not escape me but I said nothing.
Everything here was rather nice; I had satisfied my curiosity and would have to say goodbye in a dignified manner. But there was still something that rankled me. And since Dray Prescot is a get-onker, I heard myself say: “Be that as it may, my lady, that business with the schrepims was excessive. I think of the guards who were killed, the servants, the...”
This put her in a rage, her arrogance was revealed. Now she was quite the noble lady, to the painted toenails. “You dare to question my actions? You, who I made the captain of my guard and who let me down so?”
“I have not let you down,” I snapped, “as you know perfectly well!”
No sooner had I said this than I had the uncomfortable vision of summoned guards taking off my head, but something else entirely occurred — she broke down. She slumped in her chair. With one hand she clutched at her throat, with the other she reached out to me a rosy invitation.
“Oh, Drajak, Drajak! How little you understand!”
I stood there like a fool. I understood, by Krun, I understood only too well. I tried to find the right words to extricate myself from a situation that could only have an ugly end. I was too slow by dwaburs. She jumped up and literally threw herself on me. She clung tightly to me, covered my face with kisses, sobbed.
Her blue sensil robe slid from her shoulders. Her hair came loose. She wrapped her arms around my waist and fell groaning to the ground, where she clung to my legs.
By the pustule covered and fearsomely extensive anatomy of the Divine Lady of Belschutz! By all the disease-ridden disfigurements of Makki Grodno! She did not let go. She clung on firmly for a long bur, wept, wailed and uttered barely intelligible words to herself, which resulted in a sobbed declaration of mortal passion and everlasting love. This embarrassing spectacle had to stop.
Even in that moment I could not bring myself to slap her face to bring her to her senses. She clung so desperately that I almost fell. I took her in my arms, gently broke her grip on my legs and placed her on the chair. I drew her dress up to cover her and caught hold of her clutching hands, forcing them to her sides. Then I took a quick step back.
“Drajak! Please! Please!”
I must confess I felt like the most villainous rogue on all of Kregen, who had escaped the gallows until now.
“My lady, I have to go now. I’ll let your servants know. Best you calm yourself again. There can be nothing between us.”
“Nothing! Nothing! Oh, Drajak...”
My Val! And then, thank Opaz, the magnificent image of Delia rose before my mind’s eye, to give me courage and to guide me.
“You have my respect and loyalty. Please do not make me go back on that. You...”
“Respect! Loyalty!” She was trembling, her eyes looking wildly through the strands of hair that hung over her forehead. Her robe slid down again. “I don’t care about that! I want your love, your passion — I want you!”
“Then, my lady, we must part. But I will remember you for all time with a feeling that comes very close to affection.” I was clever enough not to say to her that I was sorry for her or that she had my sympathy. I managed a few words of consolation and realized that at that moment it was impossible for her to see reason. She would get over it. At least I hoped so.
She panted, as if she had run a dwabur with a full water jar on her head without stopping. She brushed back her hair. She talked wildly: Didn’t I consider her pretty? Or did I find her ugly — compared with her twin sister, the regent C’Chermina? That shocked me.
If the little lady had it in her noble head that I had fallen for her sister, I was really in a bind!
I said, “I do not know the Regent. If you’ll excuse me, I must go.”
If she did not believe me, if her jealousy of her sister took on such proportions, she was quite capable of giving the command to give me an unpleasant time before she decapitated me, by Krun!
Someone banged loudly on the door.
Quensella looked around wildly, as if waking from a dream. She gave me a last piercing look, jumped up from the chair and ran to a hidden alcove behind a curtain. “I’m not done with you yet, Drajak. You will not be able to reject me forever!” she called back over her shoulder.
The knock was repeated, the door opened, and Tral the Strict waddled into the chamber. He knew that I had visited Quensella. “Where is my lady?” he demanded.
I pushed past him, stepped through the open door and told him that she had retired and was asking for her servants.
By all the saints and demons on Kregen! That was a bad experience. I would not like to have to go through it before breakfast again, no, by the purple eyes and cherry red lips of the Princess Luciliah Debliah of the mystical woods!