THE THIEF OF KALIMAR (Graham Diamond's Arabian Nights Adventures) (41 page)

“But how did you manage to elude the Druids?” asked Argyle.

“And who are these people you now lead?” added the girl.

Thorhall put out his palms in a patient gesture. “So many questions,” he said. “Sit down, all of you. Everything will be explained to your satisfaction, I promise.”

They took seats upon the smoothed stones of the Hall, which all now realized was fashioned after the meeting place of Aran’s
Sklar.
Thorhall looked to the two young girls at his side. “My daughters will bring us some food,” he said. “You all must be very hungry.”

“Famished,” Mariana admitted, “especially after that long night in your prison.”

“Forgive me. But you see, I had to be certain that you were not an enemy …”

“No need for apologies,” said the haj, feeling his belly growl with hunger. “You did what you had to do, and now let’s let bygones be bygones.”

“Agreed,” chimed in Ramagar, scratching at the raw wound he had received in the morning’s battle. “Needless to say, I hope those wildmen I knocked unconscious won’t hold a grudge …”

Thorhall laughed boisterously. Moments later his two daughters came into the room carrying trays laden with food. It was plain fare, a porridge of herbs mixed with mutton, and a pitcher of berry wine that sweetly rinsed down the salt of the meal. When it was done, Argyle clasped his hand on his friend’s shoulder, and said, “Tell us your tale, Thorhall. Tell us all you can about these Dark Lands. For in truth, my own coming here was no accident. And what you have to say could prove of invaluable import to us all.”

“Very well,” sighed the weary chieftain. With his daughters kneeling at either side, Thorhall began.

“Three ships of Aran had sailed into the Darkness that gloomy night,” he said. “Argyle’s, his bold brother’s, and my own. Once past the dreaded Calling of the Sirens we had hoped to slip easily upon Speca’s shore. Alas, it was not to be. From nowhere came the red glow of Dragon Ships. Our own
knaars
were trimmed and stout—and men of Aran have never been eager to run. It was a brave fight, with Argyle and his brother pinning down one Dragon Ship while my own craft engaged another approaching from the opposite direction. The fight lasted for hours on end, with one side and then the other gaining the upper hand.

“My spirits had never been higher; for innumerable years we had feared these Druid vessels, and now our
knaars
had almost tasted victory. Am I not right, Argyle?”

The lord of Aran nodded glumly. That was indeed as it had been—at least as it had seemed.

“But then,” continued Thorhall in a quiet, almost respectful voice, “matters began to change. We found ourselves in the midst of a terrible maelstrom; the sea had become a whirlpool. I saw from my bow Argyle’s ship reel, pushed back by the sea, helplessly looking on while the Dragon Ship bore down upon his brother’s, tearing that vessel asunder. The cries of drowning men filled my ears until I could no longer bear it. Bold Rhyn, Argyle’s brother, stood at the shattered prow and waved defiant fists at the laughing enemy. Stout and tall he remained, even as arrow after arrow tore through his flesh and his blood washed across the deck. Then the
knaar
was gone; sucked from sight, down, down deep into the black waters. And all around me, men stood in horror. Who among my own crew did not have a brother or a close friend on that stricken ship?”

Here Thorhall was forced to pause; he shuddered at the vivid recollection while Argyle thought of his lost brother and cried. Then he continued.

“But perhaps Rhyn and his men were really the lucky ones. As the battle raged, I saw that my own ship no longer had a chance of winning the fight. Rhyn was gone, and Argyle’s craft was smoldering with fires, too far away to come to my aid. The Dragon Ship steadily pressed on, even as the whirlpool tossed us about in a frenzy. Amid the turbulence we were rammed. My sails sputtered with flames, Druid sea fighters attacked our decks at will. To a man we fought them, hand to hand, our decks a river of dark Druid blood. But their numbers prevailed. Those of us yet alive were shackled and dragged aboard the enemy vessel, our fates to be sealed for all time. I watched with terror as my
knaar
sank, good ship that she was, and I shut my eyes and whispered a farewell to Aran—for I knew I would never see my home or my friends again. My ship was swallowed by the murk to join Rhyn’s. Only Argyle’s remained afloat, yet until this day I had no way of knowing what his fate had been. Although I freely admit I wept as I prayed for his successful escape.”

Thorhall stopped, and there was a long silence, not broken until Mariana said, “What happened to you when you were captured?”

Thorhall winced. “A destiny that I hope no one of you will ever have to share. Drugged by strange herbs, we were carried ashore in our sleep and brought to the walled citadel where once the noble kings of Speca governed in majesty. Kings yet rule from there, but never has the world known blacker ones. For the injured or ill among us, it was a slow and painful death; the Druid magicians used them for experiments in casting new spells. As for the rest of us, we were sent to the mines, to the darkest pits imaginable, where sightlessly we toiled sixteen hours a day, digging with spade and ax, loading for our masters unimaginable wealth, gold and diamonds, rubies and silver, marble from the quarries, each day adding more and more bounty to the overflowing storehouses and vaults of the Druid king. Our own shelters were hovels; we slept beside filth, forced to endure our fate side by side with the once proud Specian people …”

The Prince swallowed to remove the lump in his throat. “And what has happened to the people?” he asked in a weak voice.

Thorhall frowned. “They suffer more than any race deserves. The men are beasts of burden under the taskmasters’ whips, their bodies poisoned by an unknown spell that keeps them docile and submissive. They have no will, they have no minds of their own. The Druids have taken everything—including their sanity. They live in a trance, a perpetual dream world where they know nothing save Druid commands.

“As for the women, they are chattel. Druid lords and masters use them as they will. Only at breeding time are they permitted to be brought to the men…”

Mariana squirmed uneasily, the image of such a life making her mind reel.

Ramagar leaned forward. “Tell me, Thorhall,” he said, “is there an explanation to this ‘poison’ that keeps the people in bondage?”

“It is believed that the poison is spread through the very air itself,” Thorhall replied gloomily. “Spawned somewhere in the vile citadel, thrown to the sky, and borne by the winds across the length and breadth of Speca—the farther away from the source you travel, the less potent the effects.”

“If that is so,” said Mariana thoughtfully, “then why aren’t you yourself affected? Or even us, for that matter.”

“Ah, but to some extent we all are,” countered the chieftain. “I myself was far more affected while I was still in bondage.”

“How did you ever manage to escape from those pits?” asked Argyle.

“Another long tale, old friend. I was in bondage for more than two full years, down in the bowels of the earth and never once coming into the light of day. My mind, and those of my companions, had already begun to warp; my thoughts became blurred, at times I no longer could remember who I was. In such a dreadful state I knew that life was hardly worth the living. Yes, better to be dead like Rhyn and the others than to endure any more. While I yet held onto some sanity I and a few others plotted our escape, not caring what tortures we would endure should our plan fail and we be caught.

“With the edge of a sharpened rock I little by little loosened the shackles around my legs, careful to work only during the sleep periods when no one would notice. In the black of the pits I feigned sudden illness—the fits, we call them—where men mindlessly convulse. When the overseer came to see, I slit his throat and robbed his corpse of his keys. Swiftly I released my companions from bondage and broke the shackles of the poor Specians as well. Then I donned the overseer’s clothes and made my way toward the top, behind me an entire gang of mindless slaves ready to follow any shouted command.

“My ploy worked well; the chain bosses, seeing my uniform, let me pass, and right up to the surface we marched. There things became more difficult. Druid guards spotted me at once; I ordered the slaves to run and a melee began. From everywhere came the guards, dashing hither and yon to round up their work gangs. But during the fray my companions and I slipped out toward the hills—the faraway steppes where fugitives have managed to hide and keep away from danger.

“For weeks we were hunted like animals; one night we were set upon by a large patrol. In the fight all of my companions were slain; I wrenched the blade from a fallen Druid, and like a savage I fought them off. With neither wit nor reason, I fled the scene with my life, scrambling for shelter in these very hills. So barren, so desolate, a place where safety is sometimes found but only at the expense of human contact.

“Few men can survive this place; when I came, some eighteen years ago, its only inhabitants were semicrazed nomads—wildmen you call them—plus the odd fugitive, hiding out in the canyons, eating nothing but weed to sustain him. A curious existence, to say the least. Half insane myself, I stumbled upon an old blind man and his daughter, who also had managed to escape bondage. The girl became my wife; this place our home. From time to time other nomads wandered by and stayed. I organized them as best I could, showed them that even soil such as this could be tilled to some extent, and tried to make the beginnings of a new civilization. Because of our isolation, we knew we were fairly safe from Druid intrusion. Even the fierce devilish birds called Death-Stalkers have never come upon us. And over the years we have developed as you see: a tiny village of sorts, living off our meager gardens and the few beasts that still roam these hills. Until yesterday,” and here he smiled at Mariana, “this place had never been found. It was sheer chance that you strayed from your path and came upon our shrubs, a chance that could have cost you your lives had my orders to my men been to kill on sight rather than to take prisoners.”

“I see,” said Argyle, sadly reflecting on the harsh life his childhood friend had been forced to lead. “Then because we are all now some safe distance from the source of the poison, those here are barely affected.”

“Something like that,” agreed Thorhall. “Although as I said, the closer you trespass …”

Mariana frowned. It was this very source she and her band hoped to locate. “By what process or spell do these Druid magicians manage to spread the poison?” she asked.

Thorhall could provide no ready answer. “As I said, they scatter it in the sky. Probably from some very high place.”

“The Devil’s Tower?” asked the Prince looking up.

Thorhall stared at the bedraggled young man oddly. “Perhaps,” he agreed. “What of it?”

“My good man,” replied the Prince, “we are here for that very purpose. To rid Speca of its poisons—all its poisons.”

Thorhall stared at him as though he were a madman. “But what are you saying? No power can defeat them! Many have tried, from the Specian kings of old down to my own foolish venture twenty years ago. There is nothing to be done. Nothing.”

“My companions feel otherwise,” said Argyle to his astounded friend. He put his hand to Thorhall’s shoulder, saying simply, “Perhaps it’s time for us to tell you our own story.”

So the Prince began, sparing no detail, recounting the long series of adventures the band had encountered since leaving Kalimar.

“So you see,” said Argyle when the Prince had finished, “we are not to be deterred. The information you can provide is of tremendous value. Any small detail might give us the very clues we are looking for.”

Mariana leaned forward, a worried look furrowing her brows and the soft features of her face. “Is there anything else you can think of? Anything that might have been overlooked?”

Thorhall shrugged. “I can’t think of a thing,” he admitted. “But even if I knew more, what then? All right, so you will have the knowledge of how the poison is spread. Then what? What powers have you to destroy it? What magic of your own?”

Thorhall’s cynicism was easy to understand; after all he had been through, it did seem a hopeless task. But the Prince made the chieftain’s eyes widen in wonder. Placing a hand inside his dirtied shirt he pulled out the glittering scimitar.

“We have no magic,” he said. “But we do have this. Do you know what it is?”

Thorhall’s breath swept from his chest. His eyes studied the dazzling scabbard, focusing at last on the tiny inscribed runes—the telltale engraver’s mark of which there could be no doubt.

“The Blade of the Throne,” he whispered.

Ramagar nodded severely. “The only one in the world. Blue Fire, my friend Thorhall. Blue Fire—our only advantage—and hope—in finding a way to defeat the enemy.”

“It cannot be so!” gasped the chieftain.

Argyle looked him straight in the eye. “I have seen the blade burn myself,” he said. “At the
Sklar,
where all men could bear witness. Both the blade and the man who carries it are authentic. The Prince of Speca has come to claim the throne that is rightfully his—and Aran has committed herself to help.”

“You mean—?”

Ramagar nodded. “The
Sklar
has agreed; once we find the way to disperse the Darkness her ships will enter the Black Waters. Already her fleet masses and waits from the moment. Every
knaar,
every Clan, every sea warrior has made this promise.”

“The evil of Speca spreads daily,” added Mariana. “Soon the Darkness will reach Aran itself, and your fair land will also be overtaken. There is not much time left.” She leaned in closer, forcing the hesitant chieftain to meet her gaze. “We must act now, Thorhall. Don’t hold back on us. In the name of Rhyn and all those others whose memory you hold dear, avenge them if you can. Tell us everything you know and help us to save the North from the coming holocaust.”

Thorhall could find no words; he lowered his head and shut his eyes, slowly rocking back and forth as he contemplated his course of action.