THE THIEF OF KALIMAR (Graham Diamond's Arabian Nights Adventures) (37 page)

By this time fully a third of Captain Osari’s men had been either wounded or killed; the situation was growing grimmer with each passing second.

As fire arrows sparked above, Ramagar pulled Mariana away from the fray, shielding her with his body so they could steal a minute together. He was certain that the way events were turning for the worse they would soon find themselves parted. Although he dreaded to think about it, he knew that Mariana must not be taken captive; he shivered when he recalled grim tales the Prince had recounted. Mariana must not fall into Druid hands.

As the girl stood meek and frightened in his arms, Ramagar looked again at the Dragon Ship, bearing down faster and faster, and resolved to do what he must. The first grappling chains had been hurled from the enemy deck, although one had fallen short and the second had been cleaved loose by a single swing of mighty Argyle’s ax. But the end was near; they could not hope to hold out much longer.

Mariana gazed into the thief’s eyes and locked them in love. She put a hand to his face and touched him tenderly; Ramagar swallowed to clear the thickness in his throat. “It seems to be the end,” he whispered.

Mariana sighed, closing her eyes, and tried to smile bravely. “I love you, thief,” she said.

He put one hand on her shoulder and let the other secretly slip toward his knife. “If—if the worst happens, you know what I must do,” he told her.

The girl nodded slowly. “I know. Then there is no chance?”

He shook his head; she sniffed and drew a deep breath. Terrible screaming was coming from behind; Ramagar’s dark eyes drifted to the Dragon Ship, now so close that he could almost touch its steel-plated prow. He could hear commands for boarding being issued by Druid officers, see the looks of horror etched on the races of Cenulamian sailors still holding their positions. Only minutes remained before the ship would be overrun and taken. As for himself, it was a small matter. He would fight to the end, of course, dying beside his good friends. Death did not frighten him, nor even capture and torture, at least not as long as he knew that Mariana would not be made to suffer. His own pain was of absolutely no consequence; life without the dancing girl was meaningless anyway.

Mariana threw her arms around him and kissed him. She shut her eyes and tasted the salt of her tears upon her lips. “We almost made it, didn’t we?” she whispered.

The thief of Kalimar held back a sob. It was true; they had come so close, so close to having a life together. He wanted to say something to her, something to explain the way he felt—had always felt—but the words would not come.

She put a hand to his lips. “If you must do it, Ramagar,” she said, “do it now. Swiftly. Don’t make me wait…”

His hand clutched the hilt of his knife and he drew it from the sheath. He raised it, trembling, poised to plunge the blade deep into her heart. Mariana pressed herself closer, clinging to him like a frightened child while the madness of battle filled her ears.

“I love you, Mariana,” he cried. “Remember that, even now. I love you more than life—”

“Land ahoy!” came the croaking cry.

The girl opened her eyes and wrenched herself away, staring out into the blackness; Ramagar spun and let the knife fall to the deck. Beyond the railing of the forecastle they could both make out a dim, swelling form beyond the mist, far beyond the glow of the Dragon Ship, well away from the treacherous reefs. And there was the sound of surf crashing upon a shore.

“Land!” gasped the girl. Ramagar took her hand and looked on in absolute amazement.

“We’ve reached Speca!” cried the Prince, leaping down from the bridge, ducking his head to avoid whistling projectiles as he ran.

But all around them sailors were still staggering and falling under the assault of Druid arrows. The Dragon Ship had moved in with a vengeance, the chains so close that each link of steel could be discerned. Then suddenly the
Vulture
lurched, nearly sending all aboard flying over the side. Two massive triangular rocks poked up mere meters from the railing. The ship strained to right itself, and turning sharply upwind headed toward the land. The Dragon Ship stayed close, like a dog snapping at an intruder’s heels.

There was a loud crunching noise, then a soft grinding that sounded like a moan. “We’ve struck!” shouted Ramagar, positive that the
Vulture
was now aground and totally helpless against the onslaught.

“Gates of hell!” came the haj’s voice rising above the din. “Not us, man! Them! It’s the Dragon Ship! Look!”

It was then that Mariana saw a sight she would never for get. The Dragon Ship had come to a total stop, and was sinking like a leaden weight.

“She’s struck the reefs and can’t keep afloat!” cried a jubilant Captain Osari. “Just look at her! She can’t float!”

Slowly, painfully slowly, the monster ship had begun to tilt. Mariana could clearly see her sailors rushing about frantically, their red eyes flaming, panic-stricken as they realized what bad happened.

Osari had proved the master. He had purposely taken the larger vessel on a chase through the least navigable channel available, hoping against all hope that the massive craft would run aground somewhere along the way. And that was exactly what had happened. The Dragon Ship’s awesome bulk had hit a canyon of hidden rock beneath the waterline, shattering its hull. For all of its speed, for all of its terrible war machines, the ship had proved vulnerable after all. Now she was floundering, taking on water like a bloated barrel, leaking it like a sieve, while her frame cracked and broke before her crew’s astonished eyes.

“Trim the sails!” called Osari to his stunned sailors. The
Vulture
lurched forward, zigging and zagging between the reefs, cleanly pulling away from the stranded vessel. Osari laughed boisterously while grim Night-Watchers stared and shook angry fists.

Soon all that could be seen of the indestructible Druid ship was its quivering red glow; that would finally be extinguished when the boat slipped beneath the murky waters.

Captain Osari came bounding from the bridge, a delighted grin on his face.

“Incredible!” wheezed the haj, scratching his head in wonder. “A minute more and we’d have been done for!”

Osari chuckled good-naturedly. “A sailor never gives up, my friend. Especially a mariner from the North. Eh, Argyle?” And he winked at the dour lord of Aran.

“Never mind,” chided Mariana, recalling just how close to death they had all come. “You didn’t look so confident ten minutes ago.”

“Well, maybe not,” conceded the captain with a shrug. “Still, it was a merry fight while it lasted.” His eyes crinkled with his mirth while he glanced behind at the dimming glow. Then suddenly his smile had faded, replaced by a frown. “It’s not going to be very long before another Dragon Ship heads this way on patrol,” he said. “And next time we might not be as fortunate.”

Ramagar set his gaze toward land. “Then we’d better get a move on,” he said.

The Prince nodded gloomily and stuck out his hand to the captain. “You have more than fulfilled your part of the bargain,” he said. “We are grateful. But there isn’t much time to spare …”

“Aye,” Osari replied thoughtfully. “We’d best be quick.” And he shouted for his men to ready one of the skiffs.

“What will you do after we leave?” asked Mariana.

The mariner smiled. “Run back into the mist as fast as we can, I should think. The same way we came in, if possible.”

The haj furrowed his brow. “And you’ll wait for our signal?”

“Precisely as we discussed. You have my word on it. We’ll stand in these waters as long as we can, waiting for your beacon. Then we’ll come to shore and get you out,” he looked to Argyle, “perhaps with a fleet of Aran’s ships behind.”

“Once the black clouds begin to swirl, Aran will know of your success,” Argyle told them all. “And my people won’t let you down. You can count on that as well…”

“Good,” said the Prince, and after a few words of parting he made his way toward the skiff, where supplies were already being loaded.

Mariana stood on her toes and kissed Captain Osari warmly. “Goodbyes are too tearful,” she said. “So for now, good friend, farewell. We’ll meet again soon.”

The sailor flushed and grinned. “I’m certain of it, Mariana. Good luck.” He pinched her cheek, and turning to Ramagar, took the thief’s hand with a powerful grasp. “Take good care of her, my friend. She’s priceless.”

Ramagar smiled, hiding his sorrow at the parting. “I will. And take good care of yourself. We’ll have need of your services again.”

Captain Osari’s own smile deepened. “I hope so. Now hurry, time is pressing.”

The Prince and Homer had already taken their places on the farthest of roughly hewn slat benches; the haj lent a hand to Mariana, and with his arm around her sat down on the second. Just as Ramagar was about to take his own place a hand grasped firm hold of his shoulder. It was Argyle.

“I am coming also,” said the burly lord of Aran.

The tiny band of adventurers stared at him with surprise. “But your part of the bargain is done,” said Mariana. “You have successfully guided us to shore. Now isn’t your wish to return to Aran?”

The sea warrior smiled thinly. “Aran needs me far less than you, my friends. And I think perhaps I can be of special value.” He fondled the handle of his great ax.

“You will be of invaluable service,” said the Prince, as he stood to make a place for the Aranian to sit. “Come, Argyle, share our company and our fortunes.”

Argyle grinned, and tossing his cloak behind with a quick turn of his hand, sat and took hold of the oars.

The skiff was silently lowered into the dark, forebidding waters. Slowly Argyle rowed them away from the
Vulture.
From his post Captain Osari watched until they had disappeared. Then with a deep sigh he turned his back and made ready to sail. His heart was with them in that leaky skiff, his heart and all his thoughts. But the knowledge of what they must face, the trials they would surely endure, made him certain that he would never see any of them again.

18

A small, half-moon-shaped inlet loomed straight ahead as Argyle’s strong strokes swiftly took them to shore. High cliffs hung menacingly on one side; deadened stumps of what had once been mighty and proud trees dotted the low, sharply slanting hills on the other.

There was no grass growing anywhere, only clumps of weed and moss, twisted and colorless, that had somehow managed to grow without benefit of sunlight. Beyond the inlet a broad sweep of mountains fanned one end of the horizon to the other, beautiful mountains, high and stoic, capped with thin layers of snow near the summits. But in the pervasive gloom of the Eternal Dark the mountains seemed to sag, as though they had been weighted down by the burden of night, never to breathe again, never to feel their soil enriched by the warmth of the sun. They stood dormant in a land without color.

The sky itself was a canvas of darkness. Low-hanging clouds, thick and threatening, varying in shades from gray to charcoal, scudded rapidly across the peaks and down into the valleys. And above them were more clouds, equally as heavy, equally as depressing. The overall sight was one of total gloom, so depressing that even the Prince cringed as his gaze swept the rugged scape. It was a place like no other, destitute and forlorn, with the only sound that of the wind, a low and mournful howl creeping down from distant dales, crying, begging to see the light of day just once more. It was a grim and unhappy land, and it tore at the hearts of the strangers about to set foot on its soil.

The sea wind still had a bite to it, although the inlet’s protection sharply curtailed its ferocity. Mariana sucked in her breath as the skiff grated against an arc of sand at the base of the hills. Her breasts rose and fell rapidly as with a mixture of excitement and fear she stared up at the racing banks of black clouds hurrying inland. From the distance came a low rumble of thunder, and she knew that their landing would soon be marred by rain.

While Argyle silently drew in the oars, the Prince leaped from the boat and secured her fragile line beneath a rock. Then one by one they all got up and looked about.

“Any idea where we are?” asked the thief.

Argyle’s eyes narrowed; he stared hard beyond the broad, barren fields set on a long plain nestled between the hills and the mountains. “Speca’s walls will be found to the east,” he grunted.

“And the palace of the Druid king?” asked the girl.

“We shall come to it soon enough. The Devil’s Tower can be sighted from leagues away.”

The haj cleared his throat. “What, may I ask, is the Devil’s Tower?”

“I can answer that,” said the Prince. “Long ago the Specian kings built a temple in reverence to the Fates. Unfinished at the time of Speca’s demise, the tower had already risen to heights undreamed of by the world’s architects. Fully completed, it would have been a monument so colossal that the highest mountain would have seemed small by comparison …”

Mariana, blew the air out of her mouth in contemplation of such an awesome structure. “It would rise right into the sky itself!” she exclaimed in wonder.

The Prince nodded darkly. “Yes, and into the black clouds themselves. Into the Eternal Dark.”

The dancing girl shivered. “Let’s stay as far away from that as we can,” she said.

The Prince shook his head. “If I am right,” he told them all, “then the Devil’s Tower is precisely the place we must find. For there may rest our only chance of dispelling the night.”

Ramagar sighed. “Well, wherever we have to go, there’s no point in staying here.” He put out the palm of his hand and a raindrop splashed. “Come on, let’s collect our gear.”

Homer leaned over the side of the skiff to pick up the bundles of blankets and provisions.

“AH-CHOO!”

Mariana heard the sneeze. Looking at Homer, she said, “Bless you!”

The youth stared back at her, perplexed. “But I didn’t sneeze,” he protested.

Mariana smiled. “Of course you did. I heard you.”

Homer shook his head. “It wasn’t me …”

The girl looked sharply at her companions, and one by one they all shook their heads.