Warlord (7 page)

Bayuan stood up in his saddle and turned, his eyes widening at the sight of the devastation, then narrowing as he realized it was a trick. He was still facing the river when a fierce, earth-shaking battle cry sounded and Arystan’s retreating horsemen suddenly wheeled and attacked, aided by nearly a thousand warriors on foot, previously hidden, rushing fearlessly from the surrounding trees and rocks, their weapons held aloft, their faces full of fury.

The turning of Arystan’s horsemen and the crush of running soldiers from both sides pinned Bayuan’s men against the river. They pulled backed toward the raging waterway, having nowhere else to go, struggling in vain to regain formation.

Most of Bayuan’s cavalry had been crossing at the moment the river unleashed and were now lost. The remaining soldiers were divided on both sides, those in Bayuan’s camp nearly leaderless, as the chieftains had crossed at the head of their units, eager to claim honor and glory on this very easy battlefield. The men and cavalry still in Bayuan’s encampment milled about uncertainly, unsure of what to do. A few tried to cross and were swept away by the still-raging water.

Those on Arystan’s side of the bank were only slightly less confused, some riveted by the horror of the flood as bodies of men and horses continued to churn, blood mixing with water, others unnerved by the sudden change of direction in Arystan’s soldiers who only moments before had been retreating.

Arystan charged through the nervous, stamping ring of horses and soldiers, heading straight for Bayuan who noticed him at the last instant and twisted from his horse, falling to the ground, rolling, and rising easily to his feet. Arystan leapt lightly from his massive horse with surprising grace and agility given his bulky armor and furs. He pulled his wolf skin from his shoulders, tossed it over his horse and sent the animal off into the fray.

Bayuan faced Arystan, holding a long pole arm before him, a tuft of feathers from a rare black swan separating the shaft from a twenty-four inch, wickedly sharp blade, curved on one side and serrated on the other. He wore hides and chain mail and a metal hood over his long, black hair. Arystan held a straight, unserrated, three-foot broadsword high above his head, pointed toward Bayuan.

Bayuan thrust the pole arm at Arystan, testing him, confident that the warrior’s defeat would be as simple the spirits assured him. Arystan did not flinch at Bayuan’s challenge, poised and still, a hungry glint in his black eyes. Bayuan thrust again, trying to intimidate the younger leader. All around them the battle raged, but no one from either side dared intervene or come to the assistance of either man. A circle of sorts cleared around the two combatants, the deference given to engaged leaders.

Arystan abruptly ran toward Bayuan, his sword high in the air, his eyes bloodthirsty.

How foolish a move
, thought Bayuan.
A mistake an inexperienced and too-eager warrior
would make
. Bayuan effortlessly brought the long pole arm back and began to swing it in a wide, low circle, curved blade forward, knowing it would connect with Arystan’s torso.

He would lower his swing if Arystan thought to be clever and roll to catch Bayuan from the ground. The weapon would still check him. Bayuan was prepared for such a tactic.

Arystan continued his run toward Bayuan, unswerving, no hint of change in position. As he neared, he began to lower his body, almost to a running crouch, a fierce snarl fixed on his face.
Ah
, thought Bayuan.
As I suspected, he thinks to roll under my weapon
. But it was too late for such tactics. Bayuan had already accounted for this and the pole arm, still in motion, now whipping through the air toward the front of the general, was low enough so that Arystan could not avoid its contact even while near to the ground. Inches before the blade connected with the approaching warrior, Arystan jumped into the air, springing up toward the startled general and clearing the staff.

Surprise registered in Bayuan’s face as he instinctively feinted to the side to avoid Arystan’s leap, the whites of his eyes flashing around the dark centers. As the general did so, his head flipped back slightly and his armored hood swung loosely with his movements, briefly exposing his neck. Without hesitation, Arystan thrust the sword into the vulnerable flesh, his momentum carrying him forward as he toppled with Bayuan to the ground, the blade driving through the back of the man’s neck where it penetrated several inches into the hard, frozen ground, Bayuan impaled upon it.

Arystan rose to his feet from where he straddled the general and pulled his sword roughly from the man’s flesh. Dark blood burbled onto the hard ground, staining Bayuan’s armor and furs. Bayuan’s hand unclasped, slowly releasing the pole arm, the staff rolling from his grasp and stopping a few inches away from his body. The older man’s eyes held Arystan’s gaze, shock still evident, until they dimmed, flickered weakly, and then were vacant, staring sightlessly at the gray sky.

Arystan stood a moment more over his fallen enemy and then threw his head back and gave three hawk-like whistles in succession. Two thousand horsemen across the river swept from both sides of the woods toward the soldiers in the remains of Bayuan’s camp, forcing them against the watercourse. The riders flew the flags of Arystan and shouted cries of “Bayuan has fallen!” This caused unspeakable panic and, although they were outnumbered by those in the encampment, resulted in almost immediate yield and surrender by Bayuan’s demoralized troops.

Upon realizing their leader was dead and the troops in their camp had been taken, and still stunned by the deaths of so many in the river, Bayuan’s army on Arystan’s side of the river quickly surrendered as well.

In the ensuing commotion of victory and defeat, the tending to the injured and the gathering of the dead, no one noticed the tendrils of black mist curling from Bayuan’s open mouth as he lay on his back on the battlefield before his body had been dragged away.

“Yessssss. Yessssss. Join ussssss,” six voices lisped, echoing eerily, words overlapping and repeating, the syllables oddly drawn out.

The mist exited Bayuan’s body and swirled in a spherical pattern the size of a man’s fist.

If someone were to have seen it, it would have appeared to be a blackened bit of smoke, the result of a charred bit of venison burning at the spit over unattended flames. But there was no venison, no fire, and no one watching as the mist rose into the air intact and then was suddenly sucked skyward at an alarming rate of speed.

Sara came to her senses. She was once again lying on the cold stone floor of the chamber, leaning against the coarse wall. The cistern beneath the low circular ring was still glowing softly, casting enough light to gently illuminate the room. Everything seemed to be exactly as she had left it before she peered into the Pool of Desire.

The three skeletons were still there, the woman directly opposite her, the knight slumped against the wall, the man in the cloak face down, his skull loose and bones scattered. The dark shadows scuttling above reminded her that the spiders were ever-present. She gave a small shudder of disgust.

Sara looked down at what she was wearing. The chained, leather outfit had disappeared and she wore her now too-familiar white sundress and sandals with a small bloodstain on the right side where she had wiped her hand when she had cut it on the knight’s sword.

She sat there for a moment, bits of the dreams, or whatever they were, flitting through her mind. Her parents’ perfectly arranged bedroom next to hers, breaking up with John on the sidewalk next to the park, Arystan’s magnificent body flickering in the firelight, the look in his black eyes as his body hovered over hers ready to plunge into her, the sweet ache between her legs yearning for his power, his thrusts that never came.

She sighed and got slowly to her feet, noticing that her underwear was a bit damp. Well that wasn’t to be helped with a man like that, who she had almost had. She closed her eyes, trying to clear her mind. There was another hurdle to face. What had the misty being said? Oh, right.
With unquenchable fire, comes unquenchable thirst
. What exactly was that supposed to mean?

The mist had also told her that no one had ever made it out of the chamber even if they survived the Pools of Fear and Desire. Well, that wasn’t going to happen. She didn’t tell her boyfriend of four years to piss off and then refuse the hottest cock she had ever seen to become a weaponless skeleton in a white dress lying forever underneath a canopy of creepy, eight-legged vermin. No way. Even it had all been a dream.

Sara walked slowly around the room, trying not to peer into the glowing well. She’d had enough for one lifetime of what it had to offer. She examined the floor, walls, and what she could see of the ceiling through the gray mass of webs. As far as she could tell, there were no windows, no holes, no chinks in the stone. The chamber was quiet, except that it did suddenly seem to be getting a bit warmer and brighter. Even in her sleeveless dress, Sara started to feel flushed and lifted the hair from her neck a bit to let her skin cool.

Without warning, a large black spider plopped from the ceiling and landed next to her.

She jumped back. Shit. The spider was as tall as her knees and she could probably wrap her arms around its body. It clucked its mandibles together, staring intently at her with its red eyes. Sara’s eyes scanned the room for something with which to defend herself. She could use a weapon from one of the skeletons but had an odd feeling that something might happen if she did that that would be worse than facing the arachnids.

She was backing up to where she had first awoken when her heel caught something where the floor met the wall. She looked behind her. It glinted. It was the short sword she had used to escape from the yurt. Her hand flew to her neck and she pulled the chain out from the bosom of her sundress, staring at the opal swinging from the two ends of the necklace.

So, she had brought something back with her from both dreams. The mist had said that she would have to face a final challenge.
To escape from this chamber, you must use
what you have acquired on your journeys through the pools
. Sara had no idea whether facing a spider was the final challenge, but she thrust the ring back into her dress and grabbed the black handle of the blade. Right now, a sword, rather than jewelry, seemed to be the better choice with which to try.

There was another juicy plunk and a second spider landed across the room from her. The first spider had not come any closer. It didn’t look as if it planned to attack her; in fact, it seemed nervous, rubbing its mandibles together in what Sara thought was a worried fashion. Then a third and a fourth dropped from the ceiling and began scurrying about the chamber. Sara gripped the hilt of the sword with both hands, swinging the blade slowly back in forth in the ruddy light as she took in the new abundance of creatures joining her.

She had a sudden, horrible thought that if the spiders were falling to the floor, there might be a round, black body poised to drop onto her head, directly above her. She raised her head very slowly, almost too terrified to check. Instead of a spider, fire met her eyes, what looked to be the beginnings of an inferno, already blazing overhead. The deep blue of her eyes reflected flames dancing through the jumble of webs, burning through the silvered cords. Black shapes scuttled furiously through the chaos as long filaments loosed and arced through the air, some of the creatures clinging to the ends as they slammed into stone walls and fell dazed to the floor.

The entire ceiling seemed be lowering, a white roof sinking, as if the chamber were becoming squatter. With a start, Sara realized the flames were burning the last vestiges of the strands which bound the main web to the walls. A large chunk of web in the center of the room broke free first, falling into the pool and sinking, golden droplets splashing over the floor in its wake.

The fire appeared to be creeping down the walls. The cloak of the skeleton which held the staff was now ablaze at the bottom. This must be some sort of magical fire, Sara thought, burning down stone with no apparent fuel. But it was hot as a real fire and she was sweating, her skin reddish, her dress clinging to her, discomfort tightening her throat.

The entire webbing was sagging further, flames still licking up and down the strands, bits of charred fibers floating through the air like cinereal snow. She could almost reach up and touch the mass with her arm outstretched. It looked sticky. If it collapsed on her, she would surely be trapped in it and die as the fire consumed her.

Sara looked again toward the pool in the center of the chamber and groaned. It looked as if entering it again would be her only option. She ran to the cistern and peered in. She could see the web which had fallen in earlier far below in the water. It seemed to be rustling, as if with a current. She had no idea what she might face in there.

It was growing almost unbearably hot in the chamber. A spider fell close behind her.

Sara brushed at her back as she felt its furry legs clutching at her hair and neck, trying to use her body to check its own descent. All around her, agitated arachnids clicked their mandibles, darting about furiously, trying to find a means of escape.

Sara looked back at the pool. She was going to die if she didn’t jump in. The cistern was narrow, just wide enough for a person and she would have to go in headfirst if she wanted to see where she was going. She took a deep breath, put the sword in first, and then tipped over, following it down into the water.

Sara swam strongly down a long, straight shaft which seemed to have no end. The water was pleasantly warm and a soft light suffused the stone passage. Finally, she saw a wall ahead of her and realized that the shaft took a bend. She was a good swimmer and could hold her breath a long time, but hoped that the tunnel would end soon, especially if she had to use her energy to maneuver through twists and turns.