The Return of Kavin (19 page)

Then, from overhead, the Sound came.

Later, Hugon tried to call the Sound by some familiar name. A whine, as of a broadsaw a thousand feet long drawn through hard wood by a giant hand? No, not quite. A squealing
howl
, as if a demon as big as a mountain drew a fingernail the size of a ship across a glazed plate as big as a city. That was close, Hugon thought.

Whatever the Sound was, it was not to be borne. Hugon reeled backward, the sword dropping from his fingers; on his shoulder, Fraak squalled, but could not be heard. Zamor dropped his axe, flinging up his hands to cover his ears; Kavin bent, clutching at a rail.

But horrible as the effect on
their own
side, it was much worse against the Mazainians. The iron rank of marines wavered and crumbled; each man fought to find his way back, away from the Sound. Men fell into the
sea,
mouths open in unbearable screams of terror, while others fell and crawled back toward their own deck.

Hugon, staggering, looked up and saw It; the source of the Sound, apparently.

It hung, like a whirling shadow, centered over the galley. It was indistinct; it had too many colors, and yet no
color,
and it spun with such speed that it could hardly be seen at all. Yet, somehow, Hugon had the awful conviction that he saw… eyes, deep within
It
, staring calm and terrible.

The Sound rose higher, louder; it was impossible to hear any other sound, though those open mouths were obviously screaming. But above the Sound, there was indeed another sound.
The voice of Thuramon, faint but clear, speaking to It.

The wizard chanted a line, and then another, in that strange choke-voiced language.

The Thing sank, lowering itself down upon the doomed galley. Hugon lurched forward, pain lancing through his head, and hacked at the boarding bridge; beside him, he saw Zamor’s agony-twisted face, and the axe swinging, up and down. The galley was free, now; but Hugon dared not look, because
It
was there, over the ship.

Abruptly, the Sound began to die. And then it was gone. Hugon sat on the deck, clutching his head, as hearing slowly came back.

Somewhere far away there was a continuous noise of voices; but there was something quite odd about those voices, Hugon thought. Nearer, he heard an occasional groan or curse from those around him; he managed to rise, with some trouble, and stared off toward the galley.

The Thing, whatever it was, was gone, with the voice in which it had cried out.

But the galley turned, slowly, oars trailing. There was no man at its helm.

But men still lived there. Hugon saw a white, mad face, glaring unseeingly toward him from an upper deck; then there was a distant twang. An arrow had been loosed from above; and the man fell out of sight. More arrows flew, from below as well as above, but even at this
distance,
Hugon saw that they were not aimed well, if aimed at all. It seemed as though men were using whatever weapon came to hand, but in the manner of blind men.

He saw a figure fall, now, and then another, into the sea. The cries and screams were those of madmen, meaningless; a voice rose in discordant song, till it stopped with a hideous gurgle.

Kavin was on his feet, and hung onto the railing beside Hugon, staring.

“They’re all mad, yonder,” Hugon said, hoarsely. “Was it…”

“Thuramon,” Kavin said. “He… said that he would use his Art, at the last, if no other way would do. You see now why he hates to use such… weapons.” Kavin’s shoulders shuddered.

“A demon?”
Hugon said.

“Or something worse,” Kavin said.
“Tanit!
Those men! They are not only mad, Hugon!” He stared, wide-eyed.
“They are blind!”

On the galley, farther away now, lines of flame appeared; a madman with a torch ran, screaming faintly. Fire climbed higher, and spread wider.

The Golden Turtle rolled, and moved a little faster, before the wind, leaving the sinking galley far behind.

NINE

“To the Thrice Glorious Sharamash, King of Kings, this, from Harmazz, Commander of the Imperial Army in the South, hastily, hastily, hastily.

“Know, O Emperor, that I have put forth all my strength in fulfilling your commands. Having, at length, been caused to withdraw our force from the pass of Imshag southward and from the castle that commands that pass, I determined that we would also let go hold of the town of Shamgraad, which lies below, and hold only the river crossings. Know, Lord, that my heart was bitter within me, and I abase myself, calling upon your Gloriousness for mercy, because I did this; yet, it was a needful thing.

“Concerning the pass of Imshag; the castle overlooking it was held under your hand by the Lord Kazzarashik, cursed be he, with men at arms of his own house as well as men of my own force. Upon the fourth day of the month Imok, the traitorous Kazzarashik caused the gates of the castle to be opened, and those who would prevent this he ordered to be slain. Thereafter, the forces of the rebel lords came up into the pass, and having nothing whereby I could oppose them, I called back such as remained.

“Thereafter, having closed the gates of the town of Shamgraad, I began to cause its defenses to be strengthened. But many of the townsfolk fled; others hid all that they possessed, and none could be brought to work upon the walls (these being much in decay), except unwillingly and with little effect.

“At this time, I caused many of the more loudly speaking spreaders of rebellion among the townsfolk to be taken; these I ordered slain, some by impalement, others by hacking to death, that the manner of their deaths might be instructive to others.

“However, upon the ninth day of Imok, the rebels appeared below the town in great force, and with siege engines, wherefore it appeared to me that the town could not be held. Also, I saw that the hearts of the townsfolk were hardened against your Glorious rule, and that neither words nor deeds could alter them. So I withdrew the Imperial force out of that place, first permitting the houses and goods which remained to be plundered for one day. (Unfortunately, many of your Glorious Majesty’s forces ignored or did not receive my orders, and remained overlong in the town; these were taken upon the entry of the rebels, and doubtless done to death through their unwitting greed.)

“Know, therefore, that I now lie upon the northern bank of the river, together with four thousand men at arms, and one thousand of the Imperial cavalry. Of the Numorian spearmen sent me, I have none, these having fled to the rebels in the night, and of the household riders of the Lord Warden Taramashak, no more than a score or two remain.

“This being my whole force, I am opposed by near upon nine thousand of the rebels, many horsemen among them, well supplied and armed. I have seen that these will come against me within the week, striving to cross the river; should they do so, nothing bars them from the plains toward your Imperial City itself. Yet will I strive against them, most loyally. But it would be well if your Majesty could deign to send much aid, and especially food and beer for the men; many, in greed, desert nightly. Also, there are few horses, which are much needed.

“Let the Thrice Glorious consider the action of the traitor, Kazzarashik; it is said that he possesses two sons dwelling under your Majesty’s just hand, in the City, and these have wives and children of his line. I append to this letter as well the names of others, men of the town of Shamgraad and near it, who now serve the rebels. May the Thrice Glorious hear his servant Harmazz; let not the Imperial clemency soften your heart, but let all who have the blood of rebels, the relatives of these, be taken and publicly given to death, that others may be warned.

“Concerning the letter received from the Imperial Treasury; alas, there is no silver to be had, not so much as an ornament or a single coin, and as far a cartload, it would be as well to ask for the moon. The coins with which I must pay my troops are called of no value by the merchants, and they refuse to receive them, except at sword’s point.

“Once again, Thrice Glorious Emperor… your servant Harmazz, lying now in great peril, yet loyal, will fight to the death. Yet if more soldiers could be sent, horses, and supplies, I can still hold here, where I stand now.”

The messenger reached the city gates in the early morning, his lathered horse thundering through and on toward the Palace.

In the afternoon of the same day, a dozen riders on big horses, lances glittering, galloped to the farther end of the stone bridge that lay at Mazain’s southern gate; the guards, lounging at the inner end, stared at them with dull curiosity. The leading rider drew rein and stood in his stirrups; his brawny arm swung an object the size of a man’s head, and slung it. With a derisive yell, the riders whirled around and fled south, out of sight.

The object was a man’s head; the head of General Harmazz, that rolled to the feet of the gate guards, leaving a dark trail. It grinned up at them, mustached and sardonic, the blank eyes open.

“That fool Harmazz,” the Emperor said when they brought him the news. He walked in the wide gardens below the King’s House, under the trees, with gorgeously robed courtiers about him. Gwynna, on the arm of a leering fop called Orashaz, was close by when the message came, and she watched and listened.

“Well, Paravaz, that solves one question; doesn’t it?” the Emperor said. The Chancellor shrugged.

“I mean, you’ve nagged like an old marketwife to send more men and arms to this fool’s army,” the Emperor said, grinning. “It seems he couldn’t keep what he already had…
nor
even his head.” The Emperor giggled. “Where’s the head, messenger?
At the south gate?
Have it
brought,
I’d love to see it… unless it smells. Does it smell? I can’t bear smells.”

Orashaz, beside Gwynna, looked down at her, simperingly solicitous.

“If my lady is unable to bear such a sight… of course, we men are of stronger mold,” he began, twirling his long mustache.

Men?
Gwynna thought. Ha, boy, I know of men that could have you for breakfast and call for a second helping. But she lowered her eyelashes delicately, and looked uncertain.

“Violent matters are so…
violent,”
she said. “But if the Great Emperor desires to look upon anything, even something not usually entertaining, why, it becomes enlustered merely by his looking thereon, does it not?”

Sharamash heard, and beamed at her.

It is amazing, Gwynna thought; I can say these
things,
and neither vomit nor laugh, and more amazing, they even sound as though I meant them. Had I not been born of proper lineage, I might have made
a great
career acting on a stage. She smiled, thinking of it.

“My lady is amused?
A thought, perhaps?”
Orashaz asked.

“Oh.” Gwynna looked up. “I… recalled a joke, told at the theatre.”

“Ah?” Orashaz leered slightly. It was doubtless a bawdy joke, he thought, considering that there was little on the stage in Mazain of late that was otherwise. Perhaps the lady was beginning to yield a little, Orashaz thought, and eyed her. A beauty, a widow, and a rich widow… what more could a man require, except a little less stout resistance. But, he considered, no woman could be long near
himself
without sooner or later melting; it was but natural, poor creatures, moths to his flame. He leered again, and laid a hand on her bare shoulder; but somehow she managed to slip away from it, to his surprise.

Paravaz was speaking in a low, urgent voice; his words, to Gwynna’s ears were nearly inaudible, but what she could hear sounded even
more dour
than the Chancellor usually did.

“… at the very gates, even in the…” she caught. But the Emperor merely sniggered, and turned away.

“… so little of real interest in the theatres,” Orashaz was saying. “Though I hear a company has been sponsored by a certain noble, whose name escapes
me…
they intend to revive some of the comedies of Gerovan the Elder.” He rolled his eyes upward.
“The great classics!
Ah, my lady, you must not think of me as merely one who cultivates the body to the exclusion of the mind…”

“I would never have imagined such a thing,” Gwynna said sweetly. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the Emperor’s queer look in her direction; an unreadable look, she thought. In any but a madman, she would have been able to guess at his thoughts, but of late, no one knew what the Thrice Glorious was thinking. None would have dared to ask, either; the Emperor was becoming stranger in his whims with every day.

“A woman with a certain amount of wit,” the Emperor said, suddenly; he was definitely looking at her, she realized.
“And quite pretty, too.”
He nodded, grinning. “You do know you are good to look at, don’t you, Lady Gwynna?”

She turned toward him and smiled, slowly, saying nothing.

“Even wise enough to keep silence,” the Emperor said, and uttered his odd chuckle. “I have too many wives already, Lady Gwynna. I cannot offer you that honor, alas. But…” He stared at her. “The Lord of Night speaks to me, you know. He says that I shall become a god, like himself, and live always. Would you like that for yourself, Lady Gwynna?”

“I… am not sure, your Majesty,” she said. “Life is good, but for a woman, to grow old…”

“The Lord of Night has promised me youth, as well,” the Emperor said. “But to all who do not serve him, when he comes, he promises only night and darkness, forever. When His gate is opened, terrible things will happen, you know.” He giggled. “All my enemies will know, too. But I will try to keep my friends, my true friends. Not you, Paravaz, you
old croaking
vulture.” And he glared at the Chancellor, who remained impassive.

The Emperor returned his eyes to Gwynna’s.
“So many will die when the Gate is opened.
There should be a few women kept alive, don’t you think?”

“A woman alive is much preferred to one that’s dead, your Majesty,” Gwynna said, a little daringly.
“By most men, at least.”