EXILED Wizard of Tizare Read online

  “But Falon, the kits—”

  “Everyone must see it, Elezar. Everyone. It’s not some old tale, some superstition that we’re talking about now. Unless the normal life of this city is stopped, and preparations begun, we will all end up inside the bellies of the Eastern Lords ... or as slaves in their new Western empire.”

  “But Lord Rhow—”

  “I’m sure Lord Rhow will agree. At any rate, he’s not here now.”

  Elezar scowled, then withdrew.

  King. That’s going to be a hard one to sell to all these … my subjects.

  Perhaps it was best to let Rhow rule. So what, he thought, if my father was from the royal line of Tizare? I’ve lived my entire life as a hot-tempered highlander.

  And there was something more, wasn’t there? His clansmrem had a saying ... “Dishonor is the stain that lasts forever.” And Falon believed it ...

  They came to the main entrance hall of the palace. By now it was filled not only with Mineir’s guards, but also the staff of the palace, the cooks and chambermaids, the court flunkies and the king’s concubines—the only group that seemed undisturbed by the hour.

  The noise of their excited chatter filled the cavernous room.

  But they all grew silent when they saw the head. Like the ripples in a pond, the silence moved through the crowd, as each palace resident got a good look at just whom their king had been hobnobbing with.

  A few of the more fragile onlookers began coughing and spitting up on the floor.

  Falon, though, was inured to his burden.

  Let them see it, he thought. Look at it, study the creature closely, get scared, and then make ready to fight for the life of your city.

  He strode out the massive twin doors and out into the cold night air. Morning was close and it felt wonderful to leave the sweaty world of the palace for this clean air.

  “Take that flag down,” he ordered one of Rhow’s guards. It was Mineir’s personal flag. The guard brought it down. Falon undid the ropes holding it, and then lashed the rope to the liskash’s head.

  It dangled at an odd angle, pathetic and eerie at the same time.

  Just as well, he thought. Let them walk around it, stroll around, studying it, as its eyes remain open and it drains itself of blood.

  He started pulling the rope up. The head lifted, swung free, a pendulum now as Falon quickly hoisted it up, high, higher than even the palace itself.

  There, he thought. It would catch the first rays of light in the morning ... and the last glow at night.

  Taline came beside him, linking her arm with his. “It’s terrible-looking,” she said. “Like a nightmare….”

  “Yes … let’s hope it scares these mrem before it’s too late.” He pulled her close, enjoying her warmth, her soft fur, so reassuring after holding the scaly head. “Now let’s go tell your father that Tizare needs a new king.”

  •

  “Incredible, absolutely incredible. In a pit, you say?” Rhow poured another goblet of wine. He gestured at Taline and Falon, asking if they wanted any. They both shook their heads.

  “You didn’t, I hope, tell anyone of your claim to the throne?” he asked, arching his eyebrows. “I mean, it wouldn’t do to confuse the citizens ... not yet ... not till—”

  “After the invasion,” Falon added.

  “Precisely. Let’s defend the city. Then,” he stood up and came over to Falon, “we can tell them the wonderful news.”

  Lord Rhow patted Falon’s shoulder and then quickly walked over to a large mural on a side wall. He pressed into the wood, and the mural swung around revealing a map.

  “This,” he said, “is Tizare. I’ll have to assume that Mineir’s troops will cooperate in the city’s defense—”

  “I’m sure they will,” Taline added. “Judging by the look on their faces when they saw the head, they should rally....

  Rhow stroked his whiskers. “Yes, of course. Still, we will lose some who choose to flee the city, make for neighboring villages or the woods, and wait until the battle is over. After he’s rested, I will send Elezar over with a contingent of my best soldiers. He will be able to keep them in line.”

  “What can we do?” Falon asked.

  Rhow pointed at two spots at the back of the map. “The city has two weak points ... here and here. The walls are not as high as they are near the main gate, fewer good positions for archers, and almost no protection for battle catapults, fire machinery, anything heavy to protect us from a siege.

  “I expect that they will attack tonight. And they will, for the benefit of the liskash, have to succeed by dawn, or wait until the next night.”

  Falon walked over to the map. “You want me to take a position back here?”

  Lord Rhow nodded. “Yes—and hold it. I’ll give you a small but experienced group of soldiers. Once the main attack eases, I can send support ... to help you hold your position. It won’t be easy, especially before the Eastern Lords make their intentions known.” He reached out and touched Taline, gently caressing her cheek. “My daughter will stay with me as my first lieutenant. She will keep us in contact. Should I fall in battle, she will take over. You can keep Caissir with you—”

  “And Ashre.”

  “The kit? Are you sure you want him with you?”

  Falon laughed. “I’d like to see us try and keep him out of this. No, he’s proven his worth. A kit in size and age, certainly, but he’s a clever fighter by your side....”

  And more, Falon thought, but he didn’t say anything about the weapons moving across King Mineir’s bedroom floor. And, he was glad to see, neither did Taline.

  “Very well. Now, I suggest you get some rest—till midday, at least—before you start assembling your troops. I’ll start warning the city dwellers, get the able-bodied to help, and the rest of Tizare off the streets and into their homes.

  Lord Rhow came and led Falon back toward the doors, leaving Taline behind. “If you don’t mind, Falon, I’d like a private word with my daughter. Get your rest … you have served Tizare with bravery, with honor … but there are greater challenges to come.”

  Falon looked at Taline. He had hoped that perhaps—but no, not now, not so soon ... after Paralan. He smiled at her and walked out of the room, his weariness finally washing over him as he made his way to his quarters.

  •

  Rhow shut the door behind his daughter, his smile fading on his face.

  So close! Yet a hundred things could go wrong. Everything must go perfectly, so perfectly, or his years of planning could lead to defeat and worse.

  “Pensive, my lord?”

  “Eh,” Rhow said, turning quickly. “Oh, Plano ... you shouldn’t creep up on me so.”

  Plano sat down in Rhow’s chair, draping one leg casually over an elegantly carved arm. He dug a fistful of berries out of a nearby bowl. “We won’t have long to wait, my lord. Just one more day—assuming you can repel the invasion.”

  Rhow glared at Plano. “And you think I’ll fail?”

  Plano held his palms out. “Not at all. The invaders should be completely surprised that the gates aren’t wide open for them.” He took some more berries. “On the other hand, I’m not sure that Mineir’s army will be as, er, intact as you’d like. Already my scouts report that some of the younger captains have fled the city for the Tulingara Forest.

  Rhow cursed, then spat on the floor. He ran over to the main door to his bedroom.

  “Temper—my lord—”

  Rhow opened the door, startling the guard on duty.

  “An order,” he snapped, “for all of the king’s captains on watch. Anyone found leaving his post is to be tracked down, killed, and displayed in the public square.”

  “And by whose authority should I say—” the guard started.

  “By the authority of Lord Rhow, Acting Regent. And send over a do
zen soldiers armed to their ears.”

  He slammed the door.

  “They’ll wonder,” Plano said, “what gives you the right—”

  Rhow shook his head. “Thanks to Falon, they saw that head. If they’re not running away, they’ll rally behind whoever promised to help them. Besides ... my guards can be very persuasive.”

  Plano tipped his goblet in salute. “And the rest of the plan?”

  A small frown crossed Rhow’s face. “That, my friend, is a bit trickier. Trickier, and more dangerous. But then, much of that will be your department.”

  Plano stood up and came over to Rhow. Once again, Lord Rhow was reminded of the wizard’s great size. Plano was old, and filled with secrets that he shared with no one. Despite his age, he was a fearsome-looking mrem, capable of sudden shifts of mood, from an almost fatherly benevolence, to something dark and terrifying.

  Rhow wanted him gone—now.

  And perhaps later he’d have to do something about his minister. Permanently ...

  After it was all over.

  After he was king.

  He gestured at the door, and after a moment’s pause, Plano put down his goblet, made a slight bow, and walked out.

  So proud ... so confident of himself. And powerful.

  When it was over, Rhow told himself ... yes, when it was over, Plano too must die.

  THE DREAM started out so beautiful, so sweet!

  Falon was with Taline, in a peaceful glen. They lay together, curled close together on great patches of powder moss, luxuriating in the wonderfully soft feel of it and the hot rays of the sun slicing through the leafy roof.

  And for a while, that’s all it was, that peace, that tremendous sense of just being with another, and feeling so wonderful.

  But then she started nudging him, pressing against him, running her hand along his sleek back down to his stublike tail.

  Persistently, and with a trained expertise, she worked on him, touching, caressing, now letting her claws press ever so gently into his fur. Laughing, smiling, until all he could do was turn over, mewling like a newborn while she mounted him.

  A dream ... he knew that’s all it was ... but it was wonderful.

  She blocked the sun, her beautiful eyes in the shadow, barely visible. He reached up for her ... began to caress her breasts.

  She froze.

  Her body went rigid, and in his dream he was still laughing, so slow to catch on. He asked her what was wrong. She put a finger to his lips and craned her head left and right, listening, listening ...

  Until he heard it too.

  They were coming! Liskash, dozens of them, all converging on his sweet spot in the woods.

  Taline shot up, ran for her sword, ran as hard as she could.

  He sat up, reacting slowly to, the threat.

  Then the first ones came lumbering out of the woods. One grabbed Taline before she could reach her sword.

  “No—” he cried out.

  “No ...” he moaned in his hot bedroom, the bed sheets all twisted around his naked body.

  It picked up Taline and ripped her in two as though she were some kit’s cloth doll.

  Then they came for him. Slowly, so slowly that it should have been easy to get away.

  Except that his own movements were even slower. He tried to kneel, then stand ... but he just couldn’t get up fast enough.

  And then they were there. They surrounded him, each of the liskash looking more eager than the next. He started to scream and yell, as they brought their foul-smelling mouths closer and closer....

  He woke up in the dark, his fur matted with sweat.

  He touched himself. I’m here. I’m alive. It was a dream. It didn’t all happen.

  He got up and went to the window. He pulled back the heavy shade.

  There was Tizare below him. He heard the rumble of carts and wagons on the street. And then, in the distance, a line of soldiers marched toward the main gate.

  It had turned nasty and hot.

  Enough sleep, Falon told himself. There would be plenty of time for sleep later.

  He dressed in battle kilt and armor, as he listened to the sounds of Tizare making ready for a siege from the East.

  •

  Surprisingly enough, panic didn’t break out through the entire city. Rhow’s guards showed up at Mineir’s castle with his detailed orders. And the king’s soldiers, quite used to taking orders; fell into line. A few of the more inexperienced captains had already left, heading west under cover of night. But the rest seemed impressed with Rhow’s order that anyone running away would be killed.

  The able-bodied mrem, and she-mrem without kits, set about building barricades in the crucial street of Tizare, while others less able, or less inclined, sought the refuge and peace of The Flying Copper Inn.

  Soldiers, from both Rhow’s service and Mineir’s, took up positions on the walls of Tizare. The heavy war machines, most of them never before used in actual fighting, were wheeled out, tested, and made ready for the great battle to come.

  By midday Lord Rhow began visiting the different fortified positions, and he was more than pleased to see Mineir’s captains come to him to present their reports.

  Everyone checked the sky as they worked. As the sun went down they worked with redoubled speed, constructing more barricades, running more tests on the battle machinery, always watching the sky.

  Then, just as the light took on the late-afternoon glow, scouts from the eastern hills brought the report all were waiting for:

  The invaders were moving.

  •

  Falon hurried through the halls of Rhow’s palace.

  “But surely we have some time for a bite, perhaps some Southern fish, It’s a delicacy that I never—”

  Falon’s answer was to pick up his pace.

  Ashre was already ahead of him, skipping ahead, totally excited.

  Let him enjoy this, Falon thought. These last few moments of expectation. Before the truth becomes clear.

  But who am I kidding? he thought. What do I know of war? A few border skirmishes with other highlander clans, and that was about it. And no one had died during those frays.

  This would be much worse.

  “At least,” Caissir wheedled, “let me run down to the cook and pick up a small parcel of food. It’s going to be a very long night,” he said in all seriousness.

  Falon grinned. “Very well, then. But hurry, and meet us in Rhow’s weapons room.”

  Caissir trotted away, in the other direction. Ashre came running back to Falon.

  “Falon, can I arm myself too? You know how handy I can be.”

  “I wouldn’t let you go out there without weapons, Ash. Just don’t weigh yourself down with too much metal. Your speed and size are great advantages.” He paused, studying the small kit. “Ash, do you think if you were in great danger—like the last time—that you would just, you know, vanish?”

  The kit’s face made a grimace, as he thought about the question.

  “I ... I don’t know.” Then, with a wide grin, “I sure hope so.”

  “Me, too.” Falon laughed. He reached the spiral steps leading down to the weapons room, and Falon hurried. He was eager to get to the wall, while it was still light. “Tell me,” Falon said, on the way down, “do you have any feelings about the siege?”

  “No,” Ash said quickly. “And that’s funny. I mean, with all that’s going to happen I should have lots of feelings, little warnings of dangers to come.” Falon reached the bottom and turned to face Ashre. “But there’s nothing now.” The kit tilted his head. “Maybe I don’t have that power anymore.”

  “Or maybe we’re not in any danger. Wouldn’t that be a nice idea?”

  But Ashre’s face told him that the kit didn’t think that was a likely prospect.

  There was plen
ty of danger headed their way—but something was stopping Ashre from sensing any of it.

  It was an advantage that Falon would rather not do without.

  “Help yourself,” Falon said to the kit, gesturing at the room filled with weapons.

  Ashre ran over and picked up a gracefully curved short sword, one of a kind, hanging alone on the wall.

  “This,” he said, giving it a few test swings in the air. Falon walked over and looked at the blade. It was not one of Rhow’s weapons. It matched none of the other swords. He noticed some inscriptions on it—a strange language, unlike anything he’d ever seen.

  “I’d say what you have here is a captured weapon, Ash. Perhaps from some liskash.”

  “Good. Then I’ll use it to kill as many as I can.”

  Falon looked at the barrels filled with swords, lances, and pikes. “Here,” he said, selecting a good-size sword. It had a sharp gleaming edge to it and, though it was heavy, Falon felt he could manage to wield it effectively.

  I want all the cutting power I can get, he thought.

  “And throat armor,” he said, turning to Ash .

  “But it’s uncomfortable.”

  “And it can save your furry head. Over there, and take the thickest you can find.”

  Then Falon strapped a short sword and a pair of small daggers to his side. He too put on throat armor, annoyed at the way it pressed into his pelt. Still, it could save his life should any liskash try the throat-squeezing trick again.

  Ashre selected another small dagger.

  “Ready?” Falon asked.

  Ashre nodded.

  “Then let’s—”

  “Wait ... I’ve got us some food,” Caissir called out, waddling down the spiral stone staircase.

  “You had just better select some weapons—and quickly,” Falon urged.

  “Weapons ...” Caissir said, surveying the room with disgust.

  Falon and Ashre watched with great amusement as Caissir clumsily tried first this blade, than that one.