Timura Trilogy - The Gods Awaken Part 21

Honey and rose; Lady, oh Lady, surrender.

Surrender. Surrender ... "

Then the volcano erupted and the Kyranians screamed and turned their eyes away as the island peopledied their agonizing deaths.

Thankfully, the scene finally dissolved, giving way to a myriad of bubbling lights of many colors. The music took on a playful note and when the living picture realized itself, they saw an old sea turtle swimming comically over and through rolling waves of dark emerald.

There were a few giggles of relief. Some of the younger men and women cheered loudly for the turtle.

Another s.h.i.+ft in the music occurred as the turtle came to land and painfully climbed onto a black rocky sh.o.r.e. There were birds everywhere, birds of all possible varieties.

A studious young Kyranian made an educated guess and shouted the name of this country: "It's Raptor--the land of the birds!"

Several scholarly men and women in the crowd murmured agreement.

The instruments took on the musical personalities of birds they saw. Some soaring with haunting cries.

Some whistling melodious mating tunes. Some hawking and chattering over rocky nests. And everywhere there was the peep-peep-peep, of new life. Nestlings calling for their mothers and fathers to "feedmeloveme, feedmeloveme, feedmeloveme..."

But just as people were smiling, nodding in empathy at this feathered life, a huge green poisonous cloud swept over Raptor. Enormous ghostbats, shrilling and hungry flew out of the cloud. Followed by shrieking reptiles on leather wings.

Once again the Kyranians had to turn away at the killing horror that was visited upon the land.

This time no one laughed when the turtle paddled frantically away.

Now came the music of forests and rivers. Innocent song of clear-flowing creeks, mossy ponds and flowered paths that wound through an exotic jungle. Sweet pipes carried cooling breezes through the branches of every sort of tree imaginable. Wise oaks, foolish pines, swaying willows and forest giants lifting their aged heads into the very clouds.

They saw all the things the music spoke of and more. The scholarly youth proclaimed the land as Aroborus, the place of the forests. But no one had to hear him to know the answer.

Their attention was riveted on the turtle, pausing just off a gentle, sandy beach. Its blunt head and sad eyes lifted to the skies. Then the Kyranians groaned as the poisonous cloud swept in, bearing all the horrors they'd seen before.

The turtle paddled away, so weak she could barely negotiate the slow-rolling seas.

Now the music took on a hard, desperately driving note. s.h.i.+mmering scene dissolved into s.h.i.+mmering scene, one after the other. But each one had the same subject: the turtle swimming and bobbing on endless seas. Sometimes the water was the deep green that indicated of enormous depths. Sometimes it was bright blue and cheery. And sometimes it was slate-gray and forbidding, with glistening icebergs shot with eerie rainbow colors: layers of purple and pink and green and sapphire-blue.

And always, in the background, was the poisonous cloud sweeping over the endless oceans. Fish turning up white-bellied, dead in its pa.s.sage. Seals and otters and even enormous whales shriveling to the bone as they breathed their last.

Dead birds plummeting from the sky in such numbers that it seemed the heavens had become an aviangraveyard, opening up to rain a torrent of feathered corpses.

Finally, the turtle climbed up on a pebbled beach. It barely had the strength to pull itself from the foaming surf. By now, no one was surprised when they recognized the long, curving sh.o.r.eline. It was the same place where the Kyranians had landed three years before.

Someone--it wasn't the student--voiced the name in a low, drawn-out hiss: Syrapis!

The turtle struggled, using the last of its strength to dig a shallow nest with its flippers. Then it squatted over the hole and began to lay its eggs. Each one membrane-white, turning to ivory as it met the air and fell into the hole. The shadow of an embryo turtle showed through the thin sh.e.l.l.

The turtle covered the eggs as best she could, shoveling pebbles and sand. Then she lifted her head and saw the killing cloud drifting overhead.

A single tear formed, then fell.

And the turtle died.

The music stopped and the fortress wall re-formed itself. Leaving a silence moist and thick and twisted like the rough blankets kicked off in a nightmare that refuses to end. As before, there was no sign of the mural.

All eyes turned to Safar. He thought he'd never seen such haunted looks. Such fearful looks. So much begging and pleading for rescue--for deliverance.

Although not one word was said, the silence was like a shout.

Safar said: "Do you see? Do you finally see?"

And they did.

Safar leaned against the rail, the Nepenthe leaping and bucking under him as it turned and caught the wind for Hadin.

He saw the turtle paddle over a ten-foot wave. Disappear into its trough, then climb the watery incline on the other side.

A light hand touched his shoulder. It was Leiria's.

She watched the turtle's progress with him for awhile. And just as it became a dot on the horizon she whispered, "G.o.ds speed, my friend. G.o.ds speed!"

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR.

THE KING'S SPIES.

The old goat strained wearily at the harness, hauling a little cart over the broken pavement. Aboard the cart was a legless beggar dressed in the rags of a soldier. Crying, "Bakshees.h.!.+ Baksheesh for the blessing of the G.o.ds!"

The beggar was moving through the tawdry harbor district of the Syrapian town of Xiap, so his pleas for alms went unheeded. A drunken sailor spat at the beggar when he offered his bowl, a single coin rattling against the battered tin sides. A syphilitic wh.o.r.e mocked his injuries, wondering aloud what else he hadlost besides his legs.

But the scar-faced beggar ignored the insults, switching the goat's flanks to keep moving. And all the while he cried his plaintive, "Bakshees.h.!.+ Baksheesh for the blessing of the G.o.ds!"

He was making his way along a pot-holed freight road that ran alongside the docks. Out in the Bay of Xiap were twelve of the thirteen tall s.h.i.+ps that made up the Kyranian naval force. Several lighters were moving toward the docks, ferrying sailors on liberty to a night of debauchery.

If a suspicious man had been following the beggar he might--just might--have caught the slight jerk of the wounded veteran's head when he noted the missing s.h.i.+p.

And if that same distrustful fellow had stayed close to the cart after that he'd have seen the beggar switch the goat into a quicker pace. Making straight for a seedy waterfront tavern--still rattling his bowl, still crying his cry, but with much less intensity.

The beggar pulled up in front of the tavern, anch.o.r.ed the goat with a rope tied to a heavy stone and hoisted himself off the cart onto knee stumps padded with leather. He had brawny arms and muscular shoulders, so he hopped up onto the porch with ease--bearing his weight on blocks of wood clutched in each fist.

A moment later he was through the door and swinging himself familiarly along a narrow pa.s.sage between the rough, ale-stained tables.

The place was nearly empty and he had no trouble picking out his favorite spot. He grabbed the edge of the bar and swung himself up onto a stool with acrobatic agility.

The laconic barkeep grinned at him through blackened stumps of teeth. "Mornin', Tabusir. Bit early for the grog today, ain'tcha?"

"Thirst don't know th' time o' day, Hazan," Tabusir said. "'Sides, th' pickin's been sweeter'n a wh.o.r.e's smile on payday."

He slapped a silver coin on the bar. "Got this one right off," he said. Tabusir shook his purse. Hazan's eyes glittered at the jingling music of minted coin. "Primed th' pump for six, seven more."

Hazan grew friendlier still, filling a tankard to the brim and planting it before Tabusir. "Yer the luckiest beggar I ever seed," he said in most respectful tones. "Most of the lads get nothin' but empty bellies in these parts."

"It's me charmin' ways," Tabusir laughed. "Plus I spin a good yarn *bout how I lost me legs in th' service of th' good King Rhodes. Fightin' Hanadu's enemies and all."

He shrugged. "Course, it don't hurt that th' yarns be mostly true."

Tabusir rapped the coin on the bar. "Yer lookin' thirsty, too, Hazan. Buy one fer yerself outta this."

Hazan poured one for himself with pleasure. "Yeah, yer sure did yer share, Tabusir," he agreed.

"n.o.body can deny it. Least, not in front of me, they can't. I'd box their ears for insultin' such a good friend."

Tabusir nodded toward the open door--and the harbor waters beyond. "Speakin' of th' enemy,"

he said, "better start waterin' down the ale. Saw a whole mess of *em headin' out from th' fleet."Hazan grinned broadly. "Music to a hard-workin' barkeep's ears," he said. "Lads musta got bonuses, or somethin'."

The barkeep shouted up the stairs to wake the wh.o.r.es and bargirls. Then he turned back to Tabusir. "I wouldn't tell this to n.o.body else, Tabusir," he said in low tones. "But bein' as yer such a good friend ... I ain't that sorry that the Kyranians took over this here port.

"We was sewer-dirt poor when Rhodes was still runnin' things in Xiap. But ever since the blockade, why, times have s.h.i.+ned, they have. Paid all the bills, got a nice line of credit with them tight-fists suppliers.

And I'm even thinkin' of knockin' out some walls and puttin' in more tables."

He nodded at the stairs, where the women were already tromping down, sleepy-eyed and cranky at being awakened so early. "And some more beds, too. Lots more beds!"

Tabusir pounded the bar and laughed as if Hazan had just told the greatest jest. "Ain't that th' truth,"

he said. "Only goes to show that sometimes it pays to lose th' war!"

Hazan joined in the laughter. Then they heard the loud voices approaching and a moment later the first wave of enemy sailors burst into the room. And they kept coming. And coming. Until Hazan and the women were hard pressed to keep up with the various desires of all the l.u.s.ty, thirsty sailors.

Tabusir made himself companionable. Buying drinks, telling jokes, nodding in sympathy when the sailors griped about their officers who overworked them without mercy. Most of them said they preferred their previous lives as pirates. Although they allowed the pay in their former careers wasn't as good--and was certainly more chancy.

"But at least a pirate's a free man," one sailor said. "And he's got a say in how the s.h.i.+p's run. But all we do is drill and train and patrol. Like we was in a real navy, or somethin'."

The name that seemed to come up the most was that of Lord Coralean--a name well-known to Tabusir.

And the drunker the sailors got the more they cursed the caravan master. As near as Tabusir could make out, Coralean was generous with his gold, but was entirely too domineering for these men--all criminals who'd fled Coralean's brand of regimentation long ago.

"It's even worse since he cut out the Nepenthe and sent it off on some G.o.dsforsaken mission," said one sailor, who sounded a little more educated than the others. "Now we have more area to patrol and they're working us like slaves."

Although he didn't show it, Tabusir was most interested in this bit of information. It answered the question about the missing s.h.i.+p. He plied the man with more drink and when the fellow tried to hire the services of a pretty wh.o.r.e and came up short of cash, Tabusir kindly made up the difference.

In return, he learned some things that turned those few coppers into a fat purse of gold.

Miser though he was, King Rhodes did not begrudge a single coin of the eventual reward he gave the handsome young spy. Why, it was easily worth half his treasury.

Although he certainly didn't tell Tabusir that when he stood tall and straight before him, delivering his news.

"I confirmed the report in several other taverns," Your Majesty," Tabusir a.s.sured him. "And then I went up the coast to visit some other ports and the story was the same."Kalasariz stirred in his nesting place within the king. Press him some more, the spymaster said to Rhodes. Safar Timura is a very cunning man. It could be one of his tricks.

"My only hesitation," Rhodes said to Tabusir, "is that you seem to have come by this information so easily. This isn't just a leak of the Kyranian plans, but a d.a.m.ned big floodgate you have opened."

Tabusir nodded. "That's a good caution, Your Majesty. And I thought the same thing myself. Which is why I visited those other places, instead of coming directly here. The thing is, Majesty, these sailors have no loyalties. They're for hire to the highest bidder. And no matter what their superiors might say, they don't feel beholden to any master or cause."

Kalasariz mental-whispered: Even so...

Rhodes took the cue. "Even so, the events you described could have been staged for our benefit. And purposely leaked to the sailors."

Tabusir shook his head. "Forgive me, Majesty, but I don't believe so. The story was given out by Lord Coralean that Nepenthe was only a.s.signed a different mission--a mission that still involved the blockade.

The idea was that the Nepenthe would become a roving s.h.i.+p, going wherever the captain thought necessary to stop any supplies or weapons getting through to us.

"However, one of the Nepenthe's crew was badly injured shortly after she took sail. The captain thought the sailor was dying anyway and sent him back."

Kalasariz wasn't satisfied. That's pretty d.a.m.ned humane, of the captain, don't you think, majesty?

Rhodes agreed. "Why didn't the captain just let him die?" he asked Tabusir. "And throw the body over the side. That's what I'd do, rather than risk security."

"So would I, Your Majesty," Tabusir said. "But sailors are very superst.i.tious. Especially this lot. I think the captain didn't want to spook the rest of the crew. Or, maybe it was Coralean. In either case, they thought it best to accept the risk. The injured man looked near as dead. How could they know he'd have a miraculous--and, for them, unlucky--recovery?

"In fact, Majesty, the man was a malingerer and a coward. First, he hears that the Nepenthe is sailing away from Syrapis for parts unknown. Then the Kyranian airs.h.i.+p joins them. Coward though he might be, the man's no fool. It's obvious to him that if the Kyranian land forces are willing to part with the airs.h.i.+p, something desperate--and quite dangerous--must be in the wind.

"So he injures himself--but not that badly--and takes a potion to give him a fever. So he'd look like he was at death's door. It's an old sailor's trick--well-known to this band of criminals.

"Then the moment he's returned to the fleet he takes an antidote. Recovers. And then goes off with his companions to drink and talk like, well ... like a drunken sailor, Majesty!"

Kalasariz mental whispered: Admirable logic!

Rhodes nodded. "Well done!" he said to Tabusir. He took a heavy, gem-encrusted ring from his finger and gave it to the young spy. "Take this to the Treasurer," he said with a wide smile. "And turn it in for whatever it's worth."

Tabusir was well pleased. He dropped to the floor and knocked his head against the pavement, thanking Rhodes profusely. Then he took his leave.But just before the guards escorted him out, he turned back.

"Pardon, Majesty, but there's one other thing..."

"Yes?" Rhodes asked.

"There's a tavern at the port run by a man named Hazan."

"What of him?" Rhodes wanted to know.

"He's a traitor, Majesty," Tabusir said. "And no friend of Hanadu's."