THE THIEF OF KALIMAR (Graham Diamond's Arabian Nights Adventures) (44 page)

“We’ll have to jump some pretty wide chasms,” mumbled the haj.

Ramagar and Homer exchanged bemused glances and smiled. “In the Jandari jumping roofs is not much easier,” observed Homer. “We can do it with no trouble.”

“Perhaps you can,” conceded the haj, rubbing his chin. “But what about the rest of us?”

“Using rope,” said the thief with a wink. “Homer will jump first, lash our line on the other side. Those who can’t make the leap can ford the chasms hand over hand, one at a time…”

“Sounds like a tricky exploit,” said Argyle.

“But the only chance of escape open to us. Now what do you say?”

The Prince wiped his face and shook off excess water with a flip of his hand. “It’s not exactly the way we planned, but …” He looked at the thief and grinned. “Lead on, Ramagar. The sooner we get away from here, the better.”

The haj and Homer helped Thorhall to stand. Mariana had been busily dressing his wounds, and with the bleeding now stopped, the Aranian was slowly coming back to his senses.

Argyle stoutly lifted his ax and stood side by side with Ramagar. “We’ll go first together,” he grunted.

Then both men took a few cautious steps out from the overhanging ledge and stood with held breath. A carrion spied them immediately and sailed in low. Mighty Argyle tilted his weapon and raised it high; the blade still dripped with blood, and at first sight of the cumbersome ax the carrion flapped its black-feathered wings and darted upward in a beeline.

Argyle laughed. Then he and Ramagar began to slink carefully, measuring their footing on the slippery wet stones, until they had covered the distance from the open space and reached the shelter of the overhanging ledge on the higher landing.

“Come on!” cried the thief, beckoning frantically, and one by one everyone stealthily crossed, under the watchful eyes of wary Death-Stalkers.

It took nearly an hour for them to inch their way along the new ledge. Pelting rain made it almost impossible to see anything; the incessant cackle of the carrion and the mocking wind reverberated in their ears. Still, they were making progress, away from the crest where Thorhall had fallen, and up along the only route leading to their destination.

Mariana sucked in air and held it as the first in a series of crevices was reached. Ramagar knelt down and with narrowed eyes expertly examined the length of the jump, taking special note not to peer below into the chasm, where a fall of a hundred meters led to a pile of jagged rock.

Homer nodded as the thief signaled, and then Ramagar leaped, stumbling to the other side. “Not so bad,” he called back, hands cupped over his mouth. “We should all make it without the line.”

Argyle swallowed hard and pushed his body forward; for a man his size the jump proved to be little more than a stride. For Oro, though, it was a very different matter. The hunchback stepped a few paces backward, closed his eyes, and charged forward with all his speed. His spindly legs knocked together as he tumbled across and shook as he landed roughly on his knees. Mariana shut her eyes; then she, too, made the leap, eager to reach the thief’s waiting arms. Thorhall clung fiercely to the haj’s back, and together the two of them crossed the chasm with surprising ease. Homer watched as the Prince jumped, then he himself danced gleefully across, thinking this leap a piece of pie compared to many he had been forced to make back home.

Above, the carrion were watching still. Darting this way and that, several times they had almost dived to the chasm. None had missed a single step the adventurers had taken, and now they formed as eager as ever waiting for the first, inevitable mistake.

Below them, the intrepid band pressed onward, protected by the bluff above. As they trod, an occasional carrion zoomed in close by, but as before, the sight of Argyle and his menacing ax deterred any sneak attack.

Thunderclouds scudded directly above; the deluge became awesome. All along the heights lightning rippled, crashing into peaks and cliffs and shattering rock into powder. Frequently, the roll of the thunder itself proved devastating enough to make the ledges quiver. Here and there, chunks of slate and chalk actually did slide, and Mariana could only gulp with fear when the tumbling rock smashed below.

“It can’t be very much farther until the descent begins,” said Argyle.

“Let’s hope it’s soon,” rejoined the haj, putting a hand to Thorhall’s brow while the injured man leaned heavily against him. “He’s burning up with fever.”

Ramagar searched the skies and slowly cast his gaze to the peak ahead. It was a craggy bluff, filled with dangerous shale and loosened boulders. The way over it was precarious, the ledges narrow and badly spaced. It would be the most difficult climb yet, and at the end of it, he could see another chasm, this one at least three times the length of the last.

“… Cave … Cave …” mumbled Thorhall in his delirium.

“What’s that you say?” asked the haj. But the Aranian had passed out again, and Burlu was forced to slap him to revive him. Thorhall rolled his eyes briefly, trying his best to focus on the intent faces around him, and straining to get the words from his lips. But again he fell into his stupor before having given his thought.

“What do you suppose he’s been trying to tell us?” said Mariana as the haj let the limp body down and pulled a face. Shrugging, he replied, “I think it was something about caves—”

“Caves?” repeated Ramagar. And the thief looked about inquisitively. “Maybe there’s one near here. A shelter …”

“Or a hidden shaft to take us down off the heights,” added Argyle. “Remember, Thorhall’s been a fugitive for almost half a lifetime. He must have learned the secrets of this valley very well just to have led us as far as he did.”

The Prince shaded his eyes from the rain and strained his neck away from the ledge to get a better glimpse of the next peak. He stared for a long moment and then nudged the thief in the ribs. “What do you make of that?” he asked.

“What?”

“There. Can you see it?”

Ramagar focused on the craggy bluffs, cursing under his breath as the wind drove the rain more harshly against his flesh. His glance swept from rim to rim, studying the angular formations and observing the many shadowed crevices leading on an upward spiral. But then something caught his attention. Up from the ridge, set away beyond a pinnacle of jagged rock shaped curiously like the head of a demon, he could see a dark hole in the side of the mountain, a grotto of some kind beside the natural rampart.

“That must be it,” whispered the thief. Argyle nodded solemnly, and with his ax tightly clenched led the way, his powerful form so well sheathed in its envelope of sinewy flesh and muscle that he might have seemed a deity himself as he boldly strode toward the open.

Everyone else huddled closely together as lightning crashed. A huge carrion suddenly descended, its silhouette flashing before them. The adventurers recoiled in fear as the bird wildly flapped its black-feathered wings and projected its talons. A shudder shook Mariana’s soul; Argyle’s blade glinted in the instant of light, and she heard the monstrous bird wail as its vitals were ripped by the cut. And then the lightning struck again, this time smashing with heavenly fury against the very ledge on which they stood.

Screams, terrible screams, filled the air. Mariana reeled and tumbled, her eyes catching fleeting glimpses of flying rock and diving carrion obliterating the sky above her. She was rolling now, rolling and clumsily banging into stone and boulders, sliding downward endlessly into a dark abyss. A dozen times she cried out her lover’s name, a dozen times to be drowned out by the terrific claps of thunder and the shrieking of unholy birds.

The world was spinning madly, the wind pounding, and the rain curdling. And suddenly she had stopped, bruised and pain-wracked as she hit forcefully against an unknown object. Her eyelids were too heavy to keep open; slowly soft black lashes closed on her cheeks and all consciousness was lost. It was the end, she knew. The sudden and brutal end that had been somehow always expected.

21

The rain had stopped. That was all Ramagar was aware of as he came around, that and the awful ache in his injured shoulder. Gradually he lifted himself to his knees and put his hands to his head. The dizziness eased, and he was able to remember who and where he was. But what had happened took a good deal longer to reconstruct.

The ledge was still there, at least most of it. Enormous chunks both before and behind gave grim evidence of the charge of electricity that had struck. Staring expressionlessly, he looked to the sky. The birds were gone. Great swirling clouds hung above his head, and he knew that day was past. This was the middle of Specian night.

A gurgling groan caught his attention. Peering to the edge of the cliff, he saw the haj. Burlu had been tossed to the very precipice of a lightning-caused chasm, and even as he groaned one arm and one leg were dangling limply over the side. Ramagar cleared his thoughts and pulled him to safety.

“What… what happened?” wheezed the haj.

The thief shook his head. “I don’t… I don’t know—”

The haj propped himself on his elbow and grabbed Ramagar by the collar. “The girl, man!” he panted. “Where’s Mariana? Is she safe?”

Ramagar gulped, his heart beating wildly. He jumped to his feet and frantically looked about. It was then that he caught sight of Homer and Argyle lying sprawled and gasping for air, and Thorhall prostrate and unconscious. But of Mariana or the Prince there was no sign at all.

Burlu put his hands to his face and wailed. “She’s gone!” And he peered down into the dark abyss, his mind flooding with the image of Mariana lying smashed and lifeless somewhere upon the rocks below.

Ramagar crumpled to his knees in disbelief. “Maybe she’s still here somewhere,” he said, clinging to hope against all reason.

The haj sadly shook his head. “Where? Where could she be?” And he glanced back and forth across the ledge. It was then that Argyle roused from his own blows. He managed to stand, and groggily made his way toward his two distraught companions.

“The lightning,” he mumbled, fingertips to his temples. “It must have hit directly above us and scared the carrion off—”

“Aye,” agreed the haj. “And more than that, my friend.” He moved away from the others and picked up a piece of dark cloth, squeezing it in his hand and putting it against his breast. That it had belonged to Mariana there was no doubt.

“She’s gone,” the haj whispered. “She and the Prince, both. Oro as well. When the ledge gave way they must have fallen.” He gestured to the chasm and the littered path downward. “And I fear we’ll never find any of them—”

“You can’t be sure!” snapped Ramagar. “Maybe they didn’t all die. Maybe they’re only injured, and waiting for us to find them…”

Argyle sighed. “We must look and be certain,” he agreed.

“I’ll not leave this damned valley until I am!” Ramagar bellowed. “I’ll seek a lifetime, if need be. I’ll spend my days searching until one way or another we find her. I don’t care if we never—”

Argyle put his arm around the troubled thief and nodded with emotion. “We will find them, friend,” he said. “And I give my word not to stop trying. We owe them both at least that much.”

The haj stirred, bitterly glancing around at the grotesque scape. “The Druids will pay for this,” he promised in deep anger. “Woe be unto those responsible for her untimely death. Though I shall certainly die in the effort, I vow to find this Druid king and single-handedly squeeze the life out of him.” He clutched harder at the torn shred of cloth. “My granddaughter’s blood is on his hands—and I shan’t rest until I have avenged her death.”

A cupped hand poured droplets of sweet water between her open lips. Mariana coughed, then swallowed. Her eyes forced themselves open and she waited long moments for some recognition to come.

“Are you all right?” It was a soft and soothing voice. The Prince’s voice.

Unable to talk, she nodded. She drew a long breath and dispelled foggy images playing at the edges of her mind. Clearing her throat, she whispered, “Where are we? What happened?”

“We fell,” replied the Prince. “But we were very fortunate. We seem to have tumbled back down the way we came. It could have been worse; we might have been thrown off into the chasms.”

A simple turn of the head assured her that he was right. On either side were the bogs, just as before they attained the heights. Only now, they were not on the path; indeed they must be far from it, for the white mist swirled about them everywhere. And suddenly Mariana felt very frightened. “Where are the others?” she gasped.

The Prince put a gentle hand to her brow. “Back up there,” he replied. “Where we left them. Safe and sound, I’m sure.”

A small laugh from behind broke into the conversation. Oro stepped from the fog, a hand rubbing at the bruises on his crooked shoulder. “You really expect to find them alive?” he said caustically, his brow furrowing in a sharp downward slant. “Have you forgotten those birds, eh? Likely as not the carrion have whisked everyone away and into the hands of the Druids.”

“I won’t believe it!” cried the girl.

Oro snickered. “Oh, no?”

Ignoring the irritating hunchback, the Prince tried to smile. “Don’t listen to him, Mariana. He’s only trying to confuse you while he plans a way to wrestle the dagger from me. Ramagar’s as safe as we are, I promise. They’re all safe, and probably looking for us at this very moment.”

The dancing girl sat up. “Maybe we can find them first,” she said hopefully. “Maybe we can meet them on the heights—”

The Prince frowned. “Perhaps,” he sighed. “But…”

Something was bothering him, she saw, something that suddenly made her feel very cold and alone, as if her companion were a stranger again and no longer a friend. “What’s the matter?” she asked, shaken, forcing his reluctant eyes to meet her own.

The Prince took her hand and held it firmly. “Listen to me, Mariana,” he said. “For now, at least for a while, we have to forget about the others …”

Mariana was aghast.
“Forget?
What are you talking about?”

The Prince leaned in closer and lowered his voice to a harsh whisper. “By my reckoning there are only two days left until Moon Time. Two days until the wizards will have to seed the clouds for another month. We can’t allow that ritual to take place. We have to stop it, and stop it now. Free Speca while there’s time. Our allies are waiting, but they won’t hold still much longer. Aran’s ships can’t be asked to wait another month. There is too much danger.”