The Centaur (50 page)

“Now, take care of the horses and don’t forget to check the furnace,” Nicole gave him instructions. “And I told Bari he could rely on you while I’m away.”

Bari snorted and turned back into the house.

Galipoli nodded solemnly and then watched them set off across the meadow. He squinted into the growing mist as he caught the movement of something else which seemed to be following after them. The Captain ran down the steps and across the drive, but there was nothing to be seen. He bent and touched the dead grass and then smelled his fingers. Something had passed here and recently.

Behold upon the mountains the feet of him

that bringeth good tidings

“You would do well to answer my questions, worm!” Galipoli leaned into Bari’s bloodied face once more. The captain had wasted no time in taking the young one prisoner when the others had gone.

Bari raised his head slightly and blinked in confusion. He’d not heard the last question. He had been preoccupied with suffering great pain at the time.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t hear the question, sir.” The former Emperor was lost. His head swam and his ears rang. Blood ran from his nose and dripped onto the floor at his feet. The Captain was apparently holding him up, or at least he thought so, since he didn’t feel he could have accomplished it himself. Nicole’s words rang in his ears like a silly nursery rhyme. Call him ‘sir’. Call him ‘sir’. “Sir, I don’t know what you want.”

“You are an imbecile.” Galipoli let go of him and he fell none too gracefully onto the floor of the laboratory. “You will answer my questions. And don’t think of calling for help. My soldiers think you went with them.”

Bari now wished it was so. He should have listened to Mr. Dambretti. Sir Dambretti. Trust. Trust your betters. Socrates kicked him again, and he banged his head on a brick oven under Sir Ramsay’s lab table. Dust fell into his hair, and then he was yanked back out and up and slammed against the table. A new pain assaulted him where the old wooden table dug into his back.

“Now tell me where your grandfather would hide from me.” The Captain was back in his face. Very close.

“Why would my grandfather hide from you?” Bari asked as blood from a previous injury trickled into his right eye, leaving him half blind in the light of the lamp. “He could stamp you out easily enough. He is the Mighty Djinni. Have you not heard of the Mighty Djinni? Adalune Kadif?”

“What?” The crazed captain’s face contorted in rage. “Who? I am talking about your grandfather! The one who built this place. The one who stole my sword from me.”

“Ahhhh. You mean Sir Ramsay. Sir Ramsay is
not
my grandfather… at least not this Sir Ramsay. This Sir Ramsay is my uncle.” Bari’s baffled brain tried to understand. For his troubles he was thrown across the room. He had to believe Captain Galipoli was no longer a simple Fox officer, but something much more formidable.

“Enough of that gibberish!” Galipoli rushed at him again and this time he picked him up and set him down on one of the heavy lab stools. He tied his hands behind his back and his feet to the rungs of the stool. “You will talk. When you are ready to tell me where your grandfather has gone, call me. My word is
Barkanassetma. Say the word and release yourself.”

Bari frowned and tried to blink away the blood that clouded his vision. The captain backed away toward the door, and Bari realized he had placed the stool inside the open pit wherein his grandfather Adar had built his coal fires and forged his magnificent weapons. He could see the bellows and the anvil to his left. Already, he could feel the heat rising up from the glowing coals. One of the stool’s legs shifted and he screamed. He would be burned alive!

“Wait!!” Bari shouted. “I can’t say that! What was it?!”

The stool tilted and he smelled wood burning. Smoke drifted up in front of his face.

“Barkanassetma!” He screamed the word as one of the legs burst into flames. “Barkanassetma!”

But the word did not have the desired effects. No one came to save him. Instead, he watched as the flames engulfed the chair. Strangely enough, he felt no pain as the fire climbed up his legs and the scene before his eyes wavered through the heat. He felt only as if he were melting and then floating and then a jolt before he was rolling head over heels down a steep incline, yelping and shouting for help all the way to the bottom. When he landed on his back, knocking the wind from his lungs, he lay motionless, looking up at a velvet sky full of stars. He was not in the lab anymore.

“Hallooooo!” A voice drifted down to his ringing ears.

Bari struggled to a sitting position and felt of his swollen nose. He’d not been treated so badly since his grandfather, Lemarik, had gotten hold of him after one of his first run-ins with the ‘family’. He looked at the blood on his hand in the starlight and then checked the rest of his body for cuts and bruises and scrapes. A cool wind brushed his face as he tried to get his bearings.

“Hallooooo!” The same voice called to him and he looked up the rather steep slope that he had just recently descended. A tall figure in a light-colored robe resembling a monk’s clothing waved to him from the summit.

“
Halloooo, yourself!” Bari shouted back as he got to his feet and then had to use his hands to help scrabble back up the hill.

When he reached the summit, he was shocked to find that it was not a hill at all, but a mound, artificially constructed. When he looked back, he realized that his tumble had been stopped by an upright stone pillar. The entire mound was surrounded by a ring of tremendous stones. Beyond the stones was a shimmering ring of water that reflected the moonlight and starlight as if made of quicksilver. He was helped up the last few feet by a strong hand and then he was facing a very wizened-face man with a ring of white hair around the summit of his pate. A very fitting topper for the mound.

“Who are you?” Bari asked him at once. “How did I get here?”

“You called me, sir,” the enigmatic figure answered. “Do you not remember? You called me.”

“I did?” Bari frowned and then his brain kicked in. “Oh, yes! Of course, I called you, but the fall has taken my wits completely, I’m afraid. I had been about to call one of the powers…” He scratched his head and frowned up at the stars. “I can’t seem to remember who I was calling or why. Can you tell me, kind sir?”

“Of course, of course.” The man nodded and shook back his robe revealing a shining undergarment of silvery mail. “These things happen. You must be a rather experienced sorcerer. To bring me here is quite an accomplishment. I am Asar and I am the Master’s military advisor. My specialty is armor, sir and all things military. You are going to war, I presume? You would wish armor for your warriors?” His face lit up. “It has been ages and ages long, since I have been called upon to practice my art. It is a pleasure to serve you, sir.”

“Wonderful.” Bari nodded and took a good look around. He had not been to the underworld, but he had heard many stories. There was no doubt in his mind that he had accidentally landed himself in an enchanted land. “Yes, well, I am thinking of a small war,” he said and held up two fingers very close together.

“I see,” Asar held his chin in one hand. “How small? How many warriors?”

“Only myself,” Bari said sadly.

Asar’s
expression changed and then he laughed.

“You are engaging in a duel, not a war, but that is not a problem. I can think small as well as large. What is your pick of weapons, sir?”

“I prefer the broadsword, dagger and darts. Close combat.”

“Of course! What other kind is there?” The specter walked around Bari, studying his build and size. “I think I know exactly what you need. Do you know what weapons your opponent will wield?”

“Uh, no, not really,” Bari shrugged. He had no idea what the Captain had in mind or more precisely, what had gotten into the Captain’s mind. “It might be most anything.”

“Then we must prepare you for everything and anything,” Asar said with finality. “Come this way, sir and let us get started.”

Bari followed the power of Marduk down the slope more carefully. Anything was better than being burned alive, and if the good Captain decided to pay him another call, he would at least be ready for him… or so he thought.

((((((((((((()))))))))))))

Lucifer stepped onto the hood of the abandoned Mercedes sedan and then climbed the windshield to the roof. The metal bowed slightly under his new gravity. He shaded his eyes against the morning sun and looked to the northeast where the flood was still flowing from the ruined city. He was alone now and the loss of his band grieved him severely, but it had been a fair exchange. They had served him well and it had been he who fell from Grace, not they. His new skin chafed under the heavy material of his robe, and he knew he would have to find lighter garments soon. He would have to take up the habits of Uriel and the others who lived in this material universe as a part of it. A dust devil kicked up near the highway and swept toward him. At first, he ignored it as he scanned the horizon for signs of anyone who might be lingering around the old city, but when the swirling sand struck his face, blinding him, he shrieked involuntarily and grabbed at his eyes in wonder. The sudden movements caused him to fall from his slippery perch, and he landed on the ground on his back, the pain astounding him.

He picked himself up, rubbed his eyes and blinked them clear in time to see the dirt and debris all over his crimson mantle. His form was no longer immune to pain and grit and grime. He would feel it and wear it, but he would be exempt from many things that plagued mankind in general. Disease would not affect him. Old age would pass him by, but accidents and injuries would make his life miserable if he was not careful. What he needed was a teacher and his first thought had been Uriel, but Uriel would not cooperate. He knew this already. A quick look through the car revealed nothing of use and he was forced to set out across the desert. He was in trouble already and he had only just arrived. No water. No food.

As he walked, he removed the crown from his head and made a makeshift bag for his weapons from his mantel which he slung over his back. The dry wind blew grit into his face and found himself crying for all that he had lost. Being left in the desert was no doubt Meredith’s idea as she had been extremely upset to learn that he had left Michael and Galen to fend for themselves, but he’d not meant any harm by it. In fact, he had thought to set them free from their duty. He’d given no thought to their safety and therein had been his crime. Now he would learn the lesson and it would be well taught. The sun rose higher behind him and he could soon feel the burn on his exposed neck. He shifted his bundle and covered his head and neck with part of the silken cloth. A line of abandoned military vehicles snaked across the horizon in front of him. There he hoped to find something of use for his journey. They were further away than he had at first imagined, but after an hour and a half, trudging through the rock-strewn plain, he came upon the first vehicle.

The troop carrier was stripped clean. It creaked slightly under his weight as he inspected the cab and the bed. It rolled slowly away from him when he jumped out. He turned and watched it in fascination as it bumped into a smaller, open-air vehicle with a machine gun mounted on the rear. The troop carrier pushed against the Jeep and stopped. The wind howled through the lost convoy and made chills run up his spine. A new sensation for him.

“Hello?! Is anyone here?!” He shouted hopefully and then changed languages several times very rapidly as he walked down the line of trucks, cars, Jeeps, ATVs, troop carriers, flatbeds and box vans. Some were empty. Others were stacked with boxes and crates without markings. Always there were two or three samples of what was inside the vans and supply trucks, lying beside the road, broken open. Most of the contents appeared to be ammunition and shells for the big guns attached to several of the vehicles. Some of the ammunition was gone from the crates and there were many footprints in the dirt around the vehicles, showing that the soldiers had abandoned them on foot at some point. Lucifer often stopped and looked out across the wasteland in the direction taken by the soldiers. They all seemed to lead the same way and so, he decided, when he set out he would follow their lead. When he reached the front of the column, he stopped and turned back again. He would work his way up the leeward side where the vehicles offered a bit of shade and respite against the blowing dirt.

About midway through the derelicts, he found what he was looking for. Two trucks in good condition, their contents barely touched by the fleeing army. Plastic containers full of drinking water, packets of freeze-dried food and several canvass bags full of personal items, no doubt belonging to one or more of the drivers.

He dug through the bags until he came up with a fairly fine uniform for himself and after a few wrong turns, he managed to shed the dirty crimson apparel he’d worn for thousands of years for a refit of desert camouflage dungarees, brown tee shirt, overshirt with many useful compartments for storage. He kept his own boots, but donned a pair of green socks to help insulate his now sensitive soles from the indestructible leather. All in all, he thought himself well turned out and looking a bit less conspicuous in the barren landscape. He found a cap, attached a scarf to the bib and put it on backwards to protect his neck.