The Gods Awaken

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

It was near the end of day when the king's spies brought him the news. Rhodes hurried out to his castle's seaward wall and clambered up onto one of the big ship-killing catapults that defended this portion of his fortress.

According to his spies, Palimak and his party had left the warrens of the Idol of Asper and were now carrying a strange burden to the airship.

The catapult-hewn from the largest timbers in Syrapis-made a difficult climb for a man of Rhodesa€™

bulk and he gasped curses at his underlings. But the curses were really directed at himself for the sloth that had turned his once muscular body into such a wheezing mass of fat.

This was the reason, he thought, that Palimak and the Kyranians had been able to best him. He'd not only allowed his body to become larded, but his mind as well. He'd grown lax-and by example had allowed his subjects to become lax. His own mother had belabored Rhodes when he was a prince for his lazy tendencies.

Barbarian though he might be, Rhodes had a good mind and a natural instinct for strategy, plus an unerring eye for spotting his enemy's weaknesses.

He was also blessed with formidable strength and speed, especially for someone so large. At birth he'd been over fifteen pounds, which would have made for a difficult delivery if his mother had been a normal woman. But she came from a race of overly large people-not quite giants-and Rhodesa€™ entrance to the world through her wide hips and iron womb had been rather routine. If passing a cart horse could ever be called routine.

This combination of superior size and mental acuity had made Rhodes an easy winner over the other petty kings and queens in Syrapis. That was what had made him lazy, he thought. It had been too easy.

And when Palimak and the Kyranians had arrived he had not been prepared for their new forms of warfare.

Rhodes finally reached the top of the catapult and peered over the walls to see what his enemy was up to. Across from him, hovering over the little island that was home to the Idol of Asper, was the airship.

Not for the first time, envy gripped him as he gazed on that remarkable machine.

It was this magical device, he thought, that had been the key to the Kyraniansa€™ many victories over him and his royal Syrapian cousins. If only he had been blessed with such a thing the tale might have had a different ending. The humiliating scene in the courtyard two days before would not have happened.

Instead it would have been Palimak and that bitch warrior woman of his who would have suffered the shame of defeat.

He lapsed momentarily into a reverie in which the two of them were being dragged before his throne to be condemned to the nastiest agonies that Rhodesa€™ best torturers could devise.

Rhodes brought himself up short. No time for imaginary pleasures. He must be stronger than ever before.

He must spy out his enemiesa€™ doings and look for the weakness that might deliver them into his hands.

He saw the tide was turning below. Waves were already beginning to wash over the island. In an hour or so there would be no dry ground. An hour after that the idol itself would disappear beneath the creamy froth of the waves.

He gestured and an aide handed him a spyglass. Rhodes peered through it and made out Palimak directing four soldiers who were swaying up a large, mysterious object. What in the hells was it?

He adjusted the focus, following the object up as it rose in the net that enclosed it. Was it some sort of box? And what was that carving on the lid? Then he realized it was shaped like a coffin. If so, it was a very big coffin indeed. Large enough to hold a man twice Rhodesa€™ size, that was for certain.

Once again he studied the carving on the lid. Just before the coffin came level with his eyes, he realized what the carving was. It was a demon! Not only that, but the demon's face had the same features that were carved into the stone idol.

It was none other than Asper! He was certain of it. Then the coffin rose out of sight and a moment later the airship crew were muscling it over the rails to the deck.

Heart thundering, mind whirling with questions, Rhodes swung his glass back down to the island. Two men were carrying a stretcher down the stairway that descended from the idol's head. On the stretcher was a tall man, dressed in black robes. Rhodes couldn't tell if the man was conscious, but he noted with interest how tenderly his stretcher bearers treated him. A man of importance, no doubt. A man beloved.

This impression was underscored when he saw Palimak and the woman general rush over to the stretcher. Palimak gripped one of the man's hands. While Leiria bent over to kiss him. Then the stretcher was placed in a net, which was swayed up to the airship.

Rhodes followed its progress, then nodded with satisfaction when he saw the dwarf who captained the airship and his first mate, the exotic dragon woman, personally assist the crew in getting the stretcher aboard. Whatever the identity of the man, he was obviously of enormous importance to the Kyranians.

Rhodes had never seen him before, but that in itself didn't mean anything. There were many Kyranians he had no knowledge of. What gnawed at him was that his spies had never brought him word of someone of such obvious importance. Did the Kyranians have a secret leader? Someone of far greater importance than Palimak, whom everyone had been led to believe was the supreme commander of the Kyranians?

Was this fellow, the object of such respect and affection, the secret power behind Palimak's throne? The reason why one so young could perform so many remarkable feats of warfare and magic? If so, what had happened to the mystery man? Why was he in the stretcher, obviously ailing or injured?

A spark of hope flared in Rhodesa€™ chest. If his suspicions were correct-and the man was their secret leader, then his weakened state might weaken the Kyranians as well.

He lowered the spyglass and quickly clambered back down the catapult. Excitement made the return trip much easier. Rhodes needed advice to take advantage of this vulnerability-assuming that's what it was.

And the best person who could provide it was his mother, Clayre, the beautiful witch queen of Hanadu.

Later, Rhodes would berate himself for not tarrying a bit longer on his catapult perch. If he had, he'd have seen his daughter, Jooli, unfettered and armed, making her way out of the idol's entrance and hurrying down the stairs. And he might have wondered why the Kyranians were allowing their hostage such freedom.

Aboard the airship, so many tears of joy flowed at Safar's miraculous return that they would have filled an ocean.

"He'th alive!" Arlain sobbed, smoky rings issuing from her dragon's mouth. "Thafar hath come back to uth!"

Biner honked emotion into a kerchief, then knuckled moisture from his eyes. "Methydia would be so happy," he said, "to see the dear lad with us again."

Renor and Sinch, mere striplings when the exodus from Kyrania had begun but full-grown young men now, knelt by the stretcher, crying unashamedly.

"If only Dario could be here," Renor said. "He always insisted Lord Timura was still alive." Dario, dead two years now, had been the grizzled warrior who had trained and drilled all the young men of Kyrania.

Soon all the other crewmembers and soldiers were kneeling around the stretcher, sobbing prayers of thanks to the Lady Felakia-goddess patron of Kyrania-for returning Safar to them.

In the background, Elgy and Rabix piped music, while Kairo did a little dance of happiness, tossing his head from one hand to the other.

Leiria and Palimak clutched each other, sobbing uncontrollably.

During all this, Safar was quite still. Eyes closed, breath coming in little gasps. Oblivious to everything around him.

Then a breeze came up, making the airship's lines buzz. Leiria shivered, feeling the sudden cold, and broke out of the cocoon of happiness.

"Let's get him into the cabin," she said. "Before we make him sick with all our affection."

She and Palimak picked up either end of the stretcher and carried Safar into the luxurious main cabin that had once been the quarters of Methydia, the long-dead witch who had created the airship and circus.

And who had been Safar's lover.

Jooli, a total stranger to Kyranian affairs, watched from the outskirts of the little crowd, wondering about this man who was the cause of so much love and unashamed emotion.

The only thing she was sure of was that whoever he might be, the fellow was an immensely powerful wizard. Even unconscious, exhausted and ailing, the magical rays radiating from him were so intense that her own sorcerous abilities were nearly overcome.

He must be a good man, she thought, otherwise these people would not be so overjoyed. If he were a tyrant-like her father-they might have abased themselves, but only out of fear. Except, powerless as he now was, they would have been more likely to have cut his throat before he regained cruel consciousness.

An act Jooli had seriously contemplated herself upon occasion, when she'd come upon her father in a drunken stupor.

Then, just as the stretcher disappeared into the cabin she caught a strange eddy in the magical waves the man gave off. It was something not so good and not so kind and certainly not worthy of adulation. She tried to sniff it out, locate its source. It seemed to come from the mysterious wizard. But for some reason she couldn't fathom, it was also apart from him.

Something … not evil … not exactly that, at any rate. But redolent of fiery ambition and greedy hunger.

Then she lost the scent and by the time the cabin door closed Jooli wondered if it had been her imagination. Nothing more than a cynical reaction to all that outpouring of love.

She sniffed the air one more time and found nothing amiss. Jooli shrugged. Yes, that was it. Only her imagination.

A moment later Biner thundered orders and the crew rushed to the lines and the engines.

Then Biner cried, "Put some muscle into it, lads! The folks at home will want to hear this glad news!

Safar Timura is with us again! By the gods, from here on out it'll be, a€?Damn everything but the circus!"

And the airship swept away on chilly winds, heading for the new kingdom of Kyrania.

The place Safar had spun into a dream for his people so long ago.

Rhodes tromped down many long flights of stairs to his mother's chambers.

She made her salon in the deepest reaches of the castle. Past the grain and wine stores, paltry now after the series of losing battles with Palimak Timura. Below the furthest dungeons where Rhodes imprisoned men and women who opposed his reign but who were too important in kill outright. Beneath the realm of the royal torturers, who gleefully plied rack and hot pincers in his majesty's service.

Below the treasury-which Rhodes loved even more than his harem. The treasury was guarded by his best and most loyal soldiers, who were paid three times the normal rate to ensure that loyalty.

Here he had experienced both his highest joys and deepest despair. Shuddering in pleasure during those times when he had heaped rich ransom and tribute chests into its crowded recesses. Weeping like a mourning woman as his wars with Palimak drained it to a puny thing, with only a few chests of jewels and gold left.

Only yesterday he'd deposited the two sacks of gold Palimak had given him to sweeten the treaty and to gain his favor for the Kyranian expedition into the Idol of Asper. When he'd added the fat coins to his store it had eased his humiliation a little bit. It had even given him slight hope that someday the tables might be turned: Palimak defeated, gold and gems once more flooding into the chamber.

As Rhodes walked past the treasury, guards snapping to and saluting, he had a moment of regret that he couldn't tarry there and run Palimak's gold through his fingers. Imagining that each coin was a piece of flesh wrested from Prince Timura's body.

Scores of torches lit the marble receiving area marking the entrance to his mother's apartments. The walls were decorated with enormous murals-pastorals extolling the many beauties of Syrapis.

On their surface the compositions radiated peace and harmony with nature. But if one looked closer there were little horrors in each mural that changed their whole meaning. A seascape, with Syrapisa€™

most picturesque shore in the foreground. A burning ship in the far background, a winged monster scooping up sailors from the sea and devouring them. A vineyard, where handsome lads and pretty maids played lusty games beneath ripe grape clusters, drunk with the joy of the harvest wine. In the distant corner, a demon king leading his fiends in an unspeakable orgy of torture of those same lads and maids.

Rhodes thought they were quite nice, although he was wise enough not to have similar murals in his own chambers. Beauty, apparently, was in the eye of the beholder. And what Rhodes beheld and loved would have given nightmares to even his cruelest soldiers.

The chief of the witch queen's eunuch guard greeted him, twitching his head in a perfunctory bow and asking him to wait while Rhodes was announced to his mother. The eunuchs were all enormous men-the chief guard was almost as large as Rhodes-thick slabs of muscle beneath even thicker slabs of fat.

Except their muscles were diligently exercised, whereas Rhodes had done nothing at all for a long time except eat, drink and shed tears over his starving treasury.

When he was granted permission to enter, Rhodes walked into his mother's salon with some trepidation.

Mighty ruler of Hanadu though he might be, his mother was a powerful influence over him. She wasn't exactly the power behind the throne, but what she wanted she generally got. And her son lived in fear for her favor. Something he had been out of for a long time now. Specifically, since he'd lost his first battle with Palimak.

Queen Clayre had been his father's third wife-taken to seal an alliance. Big as she was, she was perfectly constructed in proportion: long shapely legs and arms, a marvelous bosom and an hour-glass form. When Princess Clayre had wed his father that beauty-flowing out of such a large package-had made her a rather exotic bride and his father couldn't get enough of her in their early days. At least, this was what Rhodesa€™ mother frequently told him, as her body slaves gathered round to make her up and clothe her in robes which fairly flowed over a still near-perfect form.

Rhodes doubted that she exaggerated very much. To this day Queen Clayre was considered one of the most beautiful women in Syrapis. She was also renowned for her lusty appetites and took young lovers frequently and casually. She was quite discrete, however, surrounding herself and her ladies in waiting with eunuch guards whose loyalties were fierce and unquestioning.

It was one of those guards who greeted the king as he entered the chamber. He was quickly turned over to the chief eunuch who led Rhodes into her presence. He didn't announce the king, instead putting a finger to his lips to ask the queen's son for silence. Rhodes looked across the ornate chamber and saw his mother bent over her spelltable that was littered with ancient scrolls which were piled next to little jars filled with magical potions and powders.

Only the center of the table was clear. Although Rhodes couldn't actually see, what was there, he knew very well what it contained. Set into the table was a large area with tiles of pure gold, all encrusted with gems and arranged to form a pentagram.

Clayre seemed to be studying one of the parchments, glancing once in a while at the pentagram, then nodding as if to confirm her speculations.

She was dressed in the finest robes, all decorated with the magical symbols that declared her the High Priestess of Charize. Around her neck was a many-layered necklace made of black pearls. Some years before, six men working from tide to tide-day in and day out-had shortened their lives by many years to gather the pearly parts that made up his mother's necklace.

As Rhodes dutifully waited for his mother's attention, he saw sparkling red lights leap from one strand of the necklace to the next and back again, as if the pearls were alive with some inner force. Which, of course, they were, since Queen Clayre was a powerful witch.

Rhodes worried at a hang nail, thinking about his mother. Daughter of a minor king, she should have had little influence over his father's court. But she had proved to be a genius at harem intrigue. Within a few years of her only son's birth she'd removed her two rivals.

One by hired assassination-or, at least, that was what palace rumor said. Rhodes knew for a fact that his mother had used magic, plus her feminine charms, to work her will on one of her rival's sons. And it was that son who had slain his own mother, then committed suicide after he'd come out of his trance and seen what he had done.

The other rival she'd killed herself, smothering the woman with a pillow while the rest of the harem watched. Even the big eunuchs guarding the harem didn't dare interfere, because by then everyone feared his mother.

The two murders had made Rhodes crown prince, although this claim was disputed by his half-brothers and half-sisters who had been borne by his father's other two wives. But Rhodesa€™ mother worked hard to ensure his succession.

She put together a salon that welcomed the best athletes of the time. And she spent her money freely to buy the wisest scholar-slaves available in Syrapis. These athletes and scholars Rhodes teachers for his body and mind throughout his young years. And their wise words were backed up by his mother, who taught her son everything she knew about court politics.

At six, Rhodes could lift the fifty-pound stone shot that was favored for the mobile catapults. At eleven, he'd stalked his twenty-year-old half-brother-and his main rival to the throne-from one trysting place to another. His rival had a weakness-a fatal weakness as it turned out-for other men's wives. As a matter of fact, Rhodes had finally caught his brother at the very seaward wall he'd perched upon to spy on Palimak.

Just to the right of the base of the catapult was a little alcove. A sheltered altar to some minor god, whose name no one could remember. It was also a favorite meeting place for lovers.

As Rhodes waited nervously, he thought about that fateful day. Drawing strength from the memory. He grinned as the image rose up of the honey-tongued weakling who had opposed him so long ago. The mother of Rhodesa€™ princely rival had been an ambitious second wife. She'd named her son Stokalo after the legendary Syrapian prince who had been banished by his cruel father but who had eventually returned from the sea to win back his rightful throne.

Stokalo was strong, but not so strong as Rhodes. He had an agile mind, a mind schooled in warfare by Rhodesa€™ father, who favored Stokalo even after the life had been choked out of Stokalo's mother by the offending pillow. But he was not so smart as Rhodes, who as a boy used to humiliate him in games of chess.

Rhodes thought of that day when his sibling, angry over a defeat, had laid himself wide open for elimination. He'd sent a message to his most recent lover-the young wife of a great general. The message said that they were to meet at the seaward wall where the fun would commence. Naturally, a spy who favored Rhodes had gotten a glimpse of that message and had passed on the news.

So the thirteen-year-old Rhodes had raced to the alcove ahead of the sinful couple. Lurked in the shadows until Stokalo was fully engaged-his lover pinned against the wall, gown hoisted above her hips-and then had crept up behind them.

A meaty hand grasped his brother's neck and a heavy knee jammed into his backbone, breaking it as easily as if it had been a twig in a drought forest. The woman had been too panicked to scream and had only moaned, cowering against the wall, as Rhodes lifted up his brother's dead body up and hurled it over the side.

He had thought about killing the woman on the spot-eliminating the only witness to the murder. Instead, he'd given her a chance to live or die and she'd chosen the wiser course.

First, by servicing the young Prince Rhodes. Second, by claiming that she'd inadvertently witnessed Stokalo's suicide while taking an evening stroll to catch the air.

Rhodes stirred a finger in his dirty beard, aroused by the memories of the means he'd finally used to eliminate Stokalo's former lover not many months later.

But before he could relax into that treasured memory, his mother coughed. He glanced up, starting when he saw her beckoning him.

As he approached, she said, "I have news, my son. Both fair and foul."

Her eyes were glowing, full of witchy power-making her appear even more beautiful than usual. "The foul news," she went on, "is that Queen Charize is dead. Slain by Palimak Timura."

As that disaster smacked him in the gut, Clayre waved it away as if it were nothing. Chortling in her rich, deep, earthy voice.

"The fair news," she said, "is that I've found someone better to replace her. Several someones, actually.

"And what they hate, above all things, is anyone named Timura!"