The Last Guardian (32 page)

A
RAKSIS
PUSHED
THE
computations away and stared at the midday sun. He was a frightened man. He had been 427 years old, sick and dying, when Pendarric had first had him summoned to the winter palace at Balacris. But the Sipstrassi had changed his life. The king had healed him, given him back his lost youth. Yet since that time there had been many astrologers, and seventeen had been put to death for causing the king displeasure. It was not that Pendarric did not wish to hear bad omens; rather, he expected the astrologers to be exact in their predictions. However, as all initiates knew, the study of the fates was an art, not a science. Now Araksis faced the same predicament that confronted many of his erstwhile colleagues. He sighed and rose, gathering his parchments.

A doorway appeared in the wall, and he stepped through, holding his head high and pulling his slender shoulders back.

“Well?” said the king.

Araksis spread the parchments on the table before Pendarric. “The stars have moved, sire—or, rather, the world has shifted. There is great difficulty in deciding how this occurred. Some of my colleagues believe that the world—which, as we know, spins around the sun—gradually changed its position. I myself tend toward the theory of a cataclysm that tipped the earth on its axis. We exhausted two stones in an effort to discover the truth.
All we could determine for certain is that the land you showed us was once below the ocean.”

“You are aware of the prophecies of the man Nu-Khasisatra?” asked the king.

“I am, sire. And I thought greatly before bringing this theory to you.”

“He says the earth will topple because of my evil. Are you telling me you concur with his blasphemy?”

“Majesty, I am not a leader or a philosopher; I am a student of the star magic. All I can say on the question you raised is that all the evidence points to Atlantis resting for thousands of years on the seabed. How this will occur I cannot determine, or when. But if Nu-Khasisatra is right, it will happen soon. He said the year’s end would see the doom of Atlantis—that is six days from now.”

“Has there ever been a king with more power than I, Araksis?”

“No, sire. Not in all recorded history.”

“And yet this cataclysm is beyond my control?”

“It would appear so, sire. We have seen the future city of Ad and our own star tower encrusted with seashells and the muck of oceans.”

“Serpiat will be leading his legions through into that world in three days. Then we will see. Is it possible that we can learn from the future and alter the present?”

“There are many questions hidden in the one, sire. The future will tell us what
happened
. But can we change it? In the future the cataclysm has already taken place. If we avert it, then we change the future, and therefore what we have seen cannot exist. Yet we have seen it.”

“What would you advise?”

“Close all the gateways and hold all the city Mother Stones in readiness for any shift in the earth. Focus all the power of Sipstrassi on holding the world in balance.”

“All the world? That would take all the power we have. And what are we without Sipstrassi? Merely men … men
who will decay and die. There must be another way. I will wait for Serpiat’s report.”

“And Sharazad, sire?”

“She is dead … killed by stupidity. Let us hope it is not an omen. What do my stars show?”

Araksis cleared his throat. “There is nothing I can tell you that is not already obvious, sire. This is a time of great stress and greater peril. A journey is indicated from which there is no return.”

“Are you speaking of my death?” stormed the king, drawing a gold-adorned dagger and holding it to the astrologer’s throat.

“I always swore to be truthful, Majesty. I have remained so,” whispered Araksis, staring into the gleaming eyes of the monarch. “I do not know.”

Pendarric hurled the astrologer from him.

“I will not die,” he hissed. “I will survive, and so will my nation. There is no other law in the world than mine. There is no other God but Pendarric!”

Clem Steiner hauled himself up from the bed in the wagon and pulled on his shirt. His chest wound dragged on the stitches and his leg felt numb, but he was healing well. He dressed slowly and climbed over into the driver’s seat. Beth was fixing the traces to the oxen, but she stopped as she saw him.

“Damn if you ain’t as stupid as you look,” she stormed. “Get back and lie down. You break those stitches and I won’t put them back.”

Samuel giggled, and Steiner smiled down at the blond boy. “Don’t she get fired up easy?” Samuel nodded, his eyes flicking to his mother.

“Suit yourself,” said Beth. “If you’re so anxious to be up and moving, climb down and help Mary with the breakfast. We’re leaving in an hour.”

Shannow arrived as the injured man was negotiating the painful climb down. Clem was out of breath by the
time he made it to the ground and clung to the brake, his face chalk-white. Shannow took his arm and helped him to the cook fire. “Always there to rescue me, Shannow. I’m starting to look on you as a mother.”

“I’m surprised you’re alive, Steiner. You must be tougher than I gave you credit for.”

Clem managed a weak grin, then lay back as Shannow sat beside him. “I hope you have purged yourself of the wish to kill me.”

“I have done that,” Steiner answered. “It would be downright bad manners. What was all the commotion during the night?”

“The reptiles were wiped out. Your friend Bull can give you the details.”

A sentry gave out a shout of warning, and Shannow left Steiner and ran to the perimeter. More than a hundred of the bears were moving slowly across the open ground. One man leveled a rifle, but Shannow shouted, “Don’t shoot!” and reluctantly he laid down the weapon. The beasts were of prodigious size, with massive shoulders and hairless snouts. Their arms were out of proportion to their bodies and hung low to the ground before them. Mostly they walked on their hind legs, but occasionally they dropped to all fours. Shannow climbed over the perimeter log and walked out to meet the animals.

“You a crazy man?” shouted Scayse, but Shannow waved him to silence. He walked slowly forward and then stood, his hands hooked in his belt.

Close up, the creatures reminded him of Shir-ran. Though their bodies were bestial and twisted, their eyes were round and humanoid, their faces showing glimpses of past humanity.

“I am Shannow,” he said.

The beasts stopped and squatted down, staring at him. One, larger than the rest, dropped to all fours and moved in. Shannow found his hands itching to grasp the pistol butts, yet he did not. The beast came closer still, then
reared up before him, its taloned arms flashing past his face and coming to rest on his shoulders. The creature’s face was almost touching his own.

“Sha-nnow?” it said.

“Yes. That is my name. You have killed our enemies, and we are grateful.”

A talon touched Shannow’s cheek; the great head shook. “Not enemies, Sha-nnow. Rider brought one to your camp.”

“He is dead,” Shannow said.

“What do you want in the land of the Dianae?”

“We were driven here by the reptiles. Now the wagons will return to the valley beyond the wall. We mean no harm to you—or your people.”

“People, Sha-nnow? Not people. Things. Beasts.” He growled, lifted his talons from Shannow’s shoulders, and squatted on the grass. Shannow sat beside him.

“My name is Kerril, and I can smell their fear,” said the creature, angling his head toward the camp.

“Yes, they are afraid. But then, so am I. Fear is a gift, Kerril. It keeps a man alive.”

“Once I knew fear,” said Kerril. “I knew the fear of becoming a beast; it terrified me. Now I am strong, and I fear nothing … save mirrors or the still water of pools and lakes. But I can drink with my eyes closed. I still dream as a man, Sha-nnow.”

“Why did you come here, Kerril?”

“To kill you all.”

“And will you?”

“I have not decided yet. You have weapons of great power. Many of my people would be struck down—perhaps all. Would that not be wonderful? Would that not be an answer to prayer?”

“If you want to die, Kerril, just say the word. I will oblige you.”

The beast rolled to its back, scratching its shoulders on the grass. Then it reared up, its talons once more touching
Shannow’s cheek, but this time it felt the cold metal of his pistol resting under its chin.

A sound close to laughter came from Kerril’s fanged mouth. “I like you, Sha-nnow. Take your wagons and leave our lands. We do not like to be seen. We do not like grubbing in the ground for insects. We wish to be alone.”

Kerril stood, turned, and ambled away toward the distant woods, his people following him.

Magellas lay on his stomach, watching the scene, enhancing his vision and hearing through the power of the Blood Stone. Beside him Lindian’s cold gaze also rested on the Jerusalem Man.

“He handled that well,” said Magellas. “And did you note the speed with which his pistol came into action?”

“Yes,” answered Lindian. “But how did he know the beast would not kill him? Can he read minds? Is he a seer?”

Magellas elbowed himself back from the skyline and stood. “I don’t know, but I would doubt it. The lord, our father, would have warned us of such talent.”

“Would he?” Lindian queried. “He admitted it was a test.”

Magellas shrugged. “We will see during the next three days. Why have you remained with me, Lindian? Why did you not ride off like Rhodaeul?”

The slender warrior smiled. “Perhaps I like your company, Brother.” He walked off toward his horse, leaving Magellas staring after him.

Curiously, he realized, his words had been true: He did like Magellas. The giant had helped him many times when they had been growing in the war pens, when Lindian had been small and weak. And Magellas was easy company, unlike the arrogant Rhodaeul, who was always so sure of victory.

He vaulted into the saddle and grinned at Magellas.

It will be no pleasure to kill you, thought Lindian.

But that was the real secret of the test. Smaller and weaker than the other hunters, Lindian had developed skills of the mind. He had watched and studied, learning the secrets of men. Pendarric loathed Rhodaeul and disliked Magellas. Yet each of them, in his own way, had the talent to succeed the Atlantean king. And that was the doom they carried. For with Sipstrassi a king needed no heirs, and the last talent a man should have developed in Pendarric’s presence was that of charismatic leadership.

No, better to be like me, thought Lindian—efficient, careful, and undeniably loyal. I will make a good satrap of Akkady, he thought.

The two hunters rode together for most of the morning. In the distance they saw lions, and they passed a small deserted settlement of tiny huts that aroused Magellas’ interest. He dismounted and ducked to his knees to enter a doorway. Moments later he emerged. “They must have seen us coming and scampered off to the trees. Fascinating.”

They rode on, guiding their mounts up a steep slope and halting on the crest. The city lay before them.

Lindian disguised the shock he felt, but the breath hissed from Magellas’ throat, turning into a foul obscenity. He studied the wall, the line of the docks, the distant spires of the temple.

“Where is the sea?” he whispered.

Lindian swung in the saddle, his eyes scanning the mountains and valleys. “It is all different. Everything!”

“Then this is not Atlantis, and that … monstrosity … is merely a replica of Ad. But why would anyone build it? Look at the docks. Why?”

“I have no idea, Brother,” said Lindian. “I suggest we complete our mission and return home. We must have passed a score of places where we could waylay Shannow.”

Magellas could not tear his eyes from the city. “Why?” he asked again.

“I am not a seer,” snapped Lindian. “Perhaps the king created it to disturb us. Perhaps this is all some dark game. I do not care, Magellas. I merely want to kill Shannow and return home, that is, if Rhodaeul does not beat us to the quarry.”

At the sound of his enemy’s name, Magellas jerked his gaze from the white-marbled city. “Yes, yes, you are right, my brother. But Rhodaeul’s arrogance is, I think, misplaced this time. You recall the teachings of Locratis? First study your enemy, come to know him, learn of his strengths, and in them you will find his weaknesses. Rhodaeul has come to expect victory.”

“Only because he is skillful,” Lindian pointed out.

“Even so, he is becoming careless. It is the fault of these new weapons. A man can at least see an arrow in flight or hear the hissing of the air it cuts. Not so with these,” he said, drawing the pistol. “I do not like them.”

“Rhodaeul does.”

“Indeed he does. Though when has he faced an enemy as skilled in their use as the man Shannow?”

“You are taking a great risk in allowing Rhodaeul to make the first move. How will you feel if he rides in and kills the Jerusalem Man?”

Magellas chuckled. “I will bid him a fond farewell on his journey to Akkady. However, it is wise when hunting a lion to consider the kill, not where one will place the trophy. There is a stream yonder. I think it is time to locate our brother and watch his progress.”

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