THE THIEF OF KALIMAR (Graham Diamond's Arabian Nights Adventures) (50 page)

But doing so would leave the Prince at their mercy, and rather than escape alone Mariana decided to share the Prince’s fate. Forgetting her fear, she grabbed the sword of a fallen priest and played a wheel of flying death all around. Grisly screams rollicked through the air, the brittle crunch of bone against rock drowning out the whistles of furious blades.

The charge slowed and then almost died. The Prince slid between the half-shut door and the stairs. “We held them!” he laughted jubilantly. But his merriment was short-lived. A dying wizard leaped to his knees, crimson eyes burning with hate, and with his last effort, he plunged his dagger, catching the Prince in the small of his back.

The Prince groaned; he forced his way inside, and slammed the iron door shut behind. Fists began to pound; there was the furtive patter of a hundred footsteps racing to reach the landing.

“I’m all right,” wheezed the Prince to the startled girl.

Mariana gasped at the sight of his wound. It was deep—too deep for the Prince to go on.

“We’ve got to take care of you,” she cried.

The Prince shook his head. He grimaced to subdue the rising pain. “I can make it… I promise you. I didn’t come all this way just to die here. Not now …” And then he half collapsed in her arms.

Mariana gazed up the endless flight. She could almost see the clouds scudding before her at a place where the stairway broke out into the open onto a terrace.

The Prince hobbled to his feet, refusing any aid the dancing girl tried to give. Oro looked on in desperation at the looming terrace in the clouds. “We can’t go on!” he wailed.

“And we can’t go back!” snapped the girl. “Listen! Can you hear? They’re breaking down the door! It’s either up or nothing!”

Sweating like a caged animal, Oro pondered his choices—and clearly Mariana was right. No matter how bad the way up might seem, down was worse.

They climbed and climbed, hearing the awful din of the hammers growing increasingly louder. The Prince was breathing haltingly; Mariana’s eyes flooded with tears at the thought of his wound. Why must it have been him? It should have been me! He, of us all, is the only one who can call on the dagger’s powers!

The wind was blowing down the passage with incredible intensity. The closer they came to the terrace, the more difficult the climb became. It was as though the forces of hell itself were pushing them back, making it impossible for them to reach the top.

Suddenly the Prince staggered; his hands went to his wound and he fell on the steps. Sobbing, Mariana knelt beside him. “Get up,” she cried. “We need you! I need you! Speca needs you!”

The Prince looked deeply into her wet, luminous eyes and shook his head slowly. “No, Mariana. I can’t … I can’t make it…”

“You can! You
can!”
she sniffed. “I’ll help you! Oro will help you, too!”

The hunchback bent over the Prince and nodded. “I’ll do anything I can …”

The Prince coughed as he smiled. “You mean well, both of you,” he whispered faintly. “But I could never make it. We haven’t yet climbed a third of the steps …”

The banging still echoed from below; Mariana looked back down the flight to see the door beginning to bend on its hinges. It was only a matter of minutes until the wizards broke through.

Tears streaming down her face, Mariana said, “What are we to do without you? What use are we if you’re gone?”

The Prince too had tears in his eyes. His strength was sapping, and there was so little time for him to explain. He laid a steady hand over Mariana’s, clasping it with all the strength he could draw. “You must do what has to be done,” he told her. “You don’t need me any longer; you can complete our task yourself…”

The frightened girl recoiled. “What are you saying?” She wept, feeling the weakening pulse of her constant friend. “We
need
you! Only you possess the ability to control Blue Fire!”

“Trust in me, Mariana. You’re wrong; the blade can be used by others as easily as I have learned …”

Mariana firmly shook her head. “It … it can’t be,” she replied, almost pleading. “No one else in the world knows the dagger’s secrets and magic. You told me so yourself.”

“Then let me teach you, Mariana. Let me show you what must be done…”

The distraught girl shut her eyes and drew a breath. “Please, don’t ask me,” she said with a shudder. “Only
you
can save Speca. Blue Fire is yours; it is your inherited right.”

The pain was growing; the Prince moved his head agonizingly and tightened his grip on her trembling hand. At the bottom of the landing, meanwhile, the heavy door had all but flown off its massive hinges and they could easily hear the Vizier’s frantic voice above the din shouting for his lackeys to hurry.

“I am going to die, gentle Mariana …”

She suppressed a gasp. “No… no, you’re not…”

His expression was stern now, like an older brother taking her to task. “It is true. Perhaps I have always known this is how it would be. Perhaps the Fates had never intended for me to regain this land…”

A pulse leaped in the hollow of her throat; she pulled her gaze away even as he forced her to look at him.

“There is no time for grief now, girl,” he reprimanded. “A man’s destiny cannot be altered—not even that of a prince. I know now that it was indeed my fate to come home, but only to show you the way. Yes, Mariana. You are the one. Only you can redeem Speca…”

“I won’t listen!” she cried, beside herself with sorrow. “You’ll not die! You’ll not!”

The aged door moaned as it withstood the Druid heavings. Oro stared at the girl in terror. “Mariana! They’ve almost broken in! Hurry, we have to get away!”

“I’ll not leave him here!” she wailed.

The Prince smiled through his pain; his fevered eyes shone with pride in her fierce loyalty. Yes, he had been fortunate to find the companions he did that dark night in Kalimar’s alleys. Blue Fire could know no better or stronger hands—even if Mariana did not yet realize it.

“There is no more time,” he said flatly. “Oro is right; you have to flee, both of you. Take the dagger—take it now.”

Although her sobs threatened to burst forth she held them back and did as he asked. The scabbard was cold, as cold as death itself, and she shivered at the touch.

“This … this is wrong,” she whispered painfully.

“No, Mariana. This is right, the way it was meant to be from the beginning. My people are waiting to be freed. You must not let them down. You cannot fail. Do you understand that?”

She inclined her head slightly.

“Then take the power, and use it well.”

“What… what must I do?” she sniffed.

“Only as little as I myself would have done. Carry the blade to the zenith, to the pinnacle of the Thirty Thousand Steps. And from the Darkness itself you must hurl the blade—as high and as far as you can. Then, and only then, can the world be set free …”

“But how?” she blurted. What good are these things when I cannot call upon the Fire? Only you can touch the scimitar while it glows—you told us that a dozen times”

His smile was faint. “Then we must share the secret…”

Mariana was still shivering as she tightened her hold on the magical blade. And to her amazement she felt it quiver within her grasp with a life force of its own. She stared at the Prince with wide, reddened eyes, and she knew then that he was right. He’d been right all along. Whether he was to live or die, there was no way he could accomplish the task alone. It was up to her to carry the burden of the blade’s awesome power, and the responsibility for the world’s safety.

“How do I call the Fire?” she said at last, resolved to complete what had begun so long before.

With a mighty thud the door rocked against the landing; the clatter of boots and swords resounded against the stone steps.

“Quickly,” said the Prince, drawing her closer. “Hold the scimitar tightly with both hands. Shut your eyes—and say that you believe…”

“That I
believer
”?

“That is the only secret. Trust me, Mariana. Please. Draw all your concentration and repeat it again and again. But say it not falsely, or the cold fires will burn you as readily as they will another. Faith is the secret, Mariana. Have such faith and the blade will do your bidding. Think otherwise, and you shall fail. And the Druids shall win; Evil will triumph over Good …”

Nodding, she clutched the scimitar and pushed away the world around her. Wizards were leaping up the steps, bounding over three at a time, swearing terrible oaths and desperately trying to reach the beleaguered trio.

I believe, she panted. I believe.
1 believe!

Nothing. Nothing happened.

“Hurry, Mariana!” whined Oro.

“Concentrate!” hissed the Prince.

Tears fell; her arm was shaking and her head swimming.
I
believe! I believe! If there are heavens above as surely as there be hell below, then know that I believe!

Frantic, ready to give up, she hung her head and sobbed. But then it happened. Merely another quiver at first, so faint that she was hardly aware of it. The blade was no longer cold, hints of heat were rising along the edges of the scabbard. Then hotter and hotter the blade became until she felt that her hand itself was on fire. Her eyes opened wide and she stared in amazement at the blue aura which shone above her hand.

“Faith, Mariana!” cried the dying Prince. “You almost have it! Don’t give up now!”

A desire to throw the blade away came over her, an urging that she almost could not suppress. But she knew this to be the Evil of the Druids playing at the corners of her mind; she knew this was their desperate attempt to wrest from her the strongest force of good the world possessed.

“I believe!” she shouted raising the scimitar high in the air and shaking it at the charging priests.
“I do believe!”

And the dagger burst into flame, glorious flame that rose and swelled, and bathed the unholy stairwell in its brilliant light.

The first ranks were upon her; the front wizards drew back in horror while the flame intensified and rose with the blowing wind. Screams of agony swept the steps as a finger of fire touched the lead priest. All at once his dark garments were ablaze, his hair a torch, his flesh blackening into ash. He fell back, back, back, his soul doomed to everlasting torment, and the fires fanning from his corpse spread over the faces and garments of his companions, drowning them in an ocean of searing blue tongues.

“Run!” cried the Prince with his last breath. “Run while you can!”

“Must I still leave you?” she wept, staring down at the man who had touched her life and changed it forever.

There were tears in the Prince’s eyes as he said, “Yes, Mariana. Leave me. Leave me now, to be consumed together with those I came to destroy…”

The dancing girl nodded with understanding; she knelt beside her fallen friend and kissed him softly with a kiss that would bridge the realms of heaven and earth. Then she stood, her eyes no longer wet, but dark and fiery. While the dying wizards twisted and cavorted, she could see other sorcerers break into the entrance below. And among the mutes and assassins came the Grand Vizier himself, spreading magic potions into the air to counteract the roaring blue flames.

“Goodbye, my friend,” she whispered. And without looking back she and Oro left the Prince behind, running as fast as their feet would carry them toward the pinnacle of the tower.

The wind was blowing harder as they reached the terrace. Mariana held on for dear life at the banister, fearfully looking out at the whirling clouds above and the miniature walled city spread below. Ten thousand steps they had climbed; there were twenty thousand to go. And she knew that the Vizier and his liege would do everything in their power to stop her before the heights of the tower could be reached.

Oro’s feet pattered across the stone of the terrace; he glanced down and gulped. Gathering in the plaza were cohorts of fierce Druid soldiers, some taking up firing positions along the turrets of the high walls, others dashing inside the tower itself, helping the king to give chase to the intruders.

The force of the wind nearly pushed Mariana off as she groped across the narrow balcony and reached the twisting steps that curled up along the outer wall.

“We’ll never make it!” cried Oro, shading his eyes and gauging the terrible heights into which they must ascend.

“We’ve got to try!” rejoined Mariana. And with her wizard’s robes blowing wildly behind, she began the treacherous climb.

Scant moments later she heard a flurry below. The Vizier and his liege, accompanied by a handful of brutish mutes, had reached the open landing. Still sprinkling his potions, the Vizier bounded like a demon possessed from one end of the terrace to the other, urging his henchmen to hurry then-climb.

The glow of Blue Fire sent great dancing shadows over the grim walls as Mariana carried the bright scimitar upward, step after step, turn after turn, never glancing back.

From the walls over the citadel, a hundred meters below, a symphony of arrows whistled. Ducking and scrambling, Mariana and Oro dashed this way and that, hugging the wall while shafts bounced off the metal steps at their feet.

And still the Vizier followed.

To her dismay, Mariana saw that the incline of the stairs ahead became even steeper, as they continued their revolving ascent. Black shadows loomed ahead; there was another landing somewhere above—but the route to reach it was even more hazardous than the one they were on now.

Lashing gusts swept all around; the shadows grew closer. They had almost reached the second terrace, almost gained twenty thousand steps. A horrid shriek filled the air; both the dancing girl and the hunchback stared up in fear. Coming from the dense mists of Darkness raced a pair of carrion, vicious and wild, Death-Stalkers as heinous and foul as any they had yet encountered.

Trying to fend them off while still on the steps would be almost impossible. With a sudden burst of energy Mariana yanked at Oro and half dived to reach the landing’s precarious safety.

Oro screamed as he hit the smooth floor. The first bird swept its huge, pointed talons above Oro’s head and nearly store it from his neck.