Star of Cursrah Page 23

  “I’m glad to see that thing go,” breathed Tafir.

  “It’ll be back,” Gheqet panted. “That’s the first dragon attack since the Great Arrival. Jassan, our invisible air guardian, must have deserted us too. All the genies have left Cursrah to its fate!”

  “What fate?” demanded Tafir.

  “Our fates are to separate, for now.” Numb to horror, Amenstar straightened her clothes and hair. Forcing calm, the samira announced, “I must return to the palace. My family will need me in these trials. You should return home too, and see what your parents plan. They may wish to—to leave Cursrah.” Her voice faltered on the last.

  “Is that wise?” asked Gheqet. “Your family might be, uh—”

  “Uh, miffed that you ran off,” finished Tafir.

  “When are they not?” breezed Amenstar. “They’re an unsmiling bunch. I’ll just talk quickly, pile on apologies, and be forgiven. There is no time to punish me now.”

  In the moon-striped shadows of the alley, Amenstar spoke lightly, but fear gnawed her belly. For the first time she faced the mind-numbing notion that Cursrah might really fall, cease to exist, and be swept from history. The princess couldn’t imagine Cursrah ending any more than the sun winking out, yet it might.

  She remembered the last time she’d rebelled by spoiling her coming-out ball. Her parents’ punishment had been heavy and painful. She shuddered to think of drowning, then shook it off with regal poise.

  “Never fear. We’ll meet again soon. Here, hold still.” Star surprised both men by catching their faces and pecking their lips. She’d never kissed them before, had barely touched them. Gheqet and Tafir were too stunned to respond, and the lovely young lady laughed at their confusion.

  “Take care, please. You’re my best friends, my only friends.” Her voice broke. Before they could see her tears, Star dashed off.

  Panicked citizens ran in all directions, mindless as chickens in the shadow of a hawk. Aloof, Star strode up a short street toward a bridge that gave access to the Palace of the Phoenix. Four glowering guards barred the way. Around the palace, torches glittered redly on the dome’s gold roof, and flickered in reflection in the moat, which had sunk so low slimy rocks jutted from the bottom.

  Almost a peaceful scene, Amenstar thought, but the sparse water spoke of tragedy to come. The princess took a deep breath as she marched up to the guards. Emotions swirled and welled so large in her breast she thought she might choke. If her world ended, what could take its place?

  A spear-wielding sergeant raised a hand and called, “Halt, citizen, no one is—oh! Your Majesty …”

  Star had dropped her scarf. Immediately the guards snapped to attention, but then, as if confused, stamped forward like automatons to surround the small woman.

  Puzzled, Star looked at her human prison and asked, “Sergeant, what’s the meaning—”

  “Samira Amenstar,” interrupted the sergeant, “in the name of the bakkal, I place you under arrest.”

  The royal family’s compound proved as tumultuous as the streets. In wing after sprawling wing, candlelight was as brilliant as the outside night was black. Star trotted to keep up, for the guards evidently had orders to rush her once found. Clerks and maids and junior officials and vizars hurried hither and thither, aimless as Cursrah’s citizens.

  At a corridor intersection, a tall vase had crashed in porcelain splinters, and no servants cleaned it up, so shards crunched underfoot. Somehow this simple, messy lapse worried Star, for all her life the royal mansions had been immaculate. Her heart began to thump so hard her breath came short.

  Rounding a corridor, two guards almost overran Tunkeb. Star’s second sister was a younger but taller edition of their mother. Tunkeb’s head jerked when she beheld the prisoner, then she trotted alongside, happy to needle her worst rival.

  “You’re in terrible trouble, Star!” twittered Tunkeb. “Papa and Mama are furious. They blame you for all our troubles. Vrinda is gone. She’s been the royal administrator since forever, but as soon as a cook reported the water had run out, Vrinda clapped her hands and disappeared in a puff of red smoke that set fire to a tapestry in the west wing—and our elder brothers are dead! They were assassinated by the Hatori, and all your bodyguards are dead. They were—”

  “My bodyguards?” Star skidded to a halt, but the guards simply shoved along, so she trotted again asking, “Why?”

  “They were executed,” Tunkeb, both shocked and gleeful, reported, “because you sneaked away. Father’s strongest soldiers chopped off their heads in your courtyard. They had to kneel and offer their necks—even M’saba, your rhinaur. They had to stand on a pedestal to chop off her head, and it took four blows. Captain Anhur—they made her watch her troop die, then she was trussed up and flogged to death. They threw all the bodies into your fishpond and the water turned red with blood. You’re in dire straits.…”

  Tears spilling down her cheeks, head roaring, Amenstar heard no more as her escort whisked her into an opulent waiting room adjacent to her parents’ wing. Tunkeb was stopped at the door. Amenstar’s father and mother were in conference with the wizened grand vizar in her heavy turban. The vizar-in-waiting and other clerics stood nearby like a flock of vultures, all in dark brown robes with shaven, branded skulls.

  Star was announced. The bakkal and first sama turned, and their daughter trembled to see their deep-cut frowns.

  The bakkal barked, “Kneel!”

  Before Star could comply, two guards mashed her down so fast her knees smacked the marble floor. More than the shooting pains, Star was frightened by her father’s speaking to her, an unprecedented event. Always Star’s mother had relayed his wishes, for the bakkal communed mainly with gods and ancient ancestors. Perhaps, Amenstar shuddered, she were already counted among the dead.

  “Samira Amenstar, you are exposed as a harbinger of chaos.” The bakkal’s voice was ancient, though he was not an old man, and deep, as if issuing from a tomb. “Calim’s charges have deserted Cursrah. Even now a dragon, unseen for centuries, ravages the marketplace. Our water is cut off and cannot be restored, so our city dies. The grand vizar has ordered the temples shut, for even the gods have abandoned us … even our Mistress of the Moon, who has smiled on Cursrah for eons. Now only Shar will receive us to her bosom, in the unplumbed bowels of the Underdark—”

  “I am sorry—” Star began, but her hair was wrenched from behind, so she shut up.

  “The end of the end has come,” continued the bakkal. “Cursrah embraces death. So too will Cursrah’s royal family, for we are the city’s heart and soul. All of us will die, to one day live again. All but you.”

  In the ominous pause, Star’s teeth chattered. She couldn’t have spoken a word to save her life.

  “For you, Star of Cursrah, Daughter of Disaster, the vizars ready a fate worse than death.…”

  13

  The Year of the Gauntlet

  With a bloodcurdling roar, the she-ogre attacked. Hot to kill, it didn’t stab with the great spear but swung sideways to batter both Amber and Hakiim at once—the humans who’d killed one brother and left the other to die by thunderherders.

  Hakiim jumped blindly over the nearest rubble and landed with a crash and grunt. Amber simply ducked, so low her knees hit her jaw. The sweeping spear ticked against her headscarf. Berserk, facing a hated enemy, the ogre roared and snatched back the spear, this time to stab.

  Amber’s footing was treacherous on skittering pebbles. By the time she dived left or right, that spear would pierce her back and probably erupt out her front, the blade was so long. Unable to dodge, she gasped, bit down on panic, and tried to defend until help arrived.

  Amber snapped her capture staff straight up and down before her chest and face. The ogre stabbed with both hands. By grace and good reflexes, Amber knocked the spear aside so it zipped past her shoulder. As the two staves struck, Amber saw the many scalps flap. Again the ogre jabbed in blind fury, and again Amber coolly smacked the spear to the other side, wher
e it chipped stone. The daughter of pirates couldn’t parry forever. Any second the giant would change tactics. The ogre didn’t even need a weapon, but it could probably kick Amber’s head off her shoulders and would, when its slow-thinking brain grew frustrated enough.

  As if reading her thoughts, the ogre hauled back its spear, paused, then jumped into the cellar pit almost on Amber’s sandaled toes. The alien face was long-jawed, beetle-browed, and shagged like a wolf’s mane. The creature stank like a lion’s cage. Amber squirmed backward, up a crumbling pile of dirt. She was fixated, almost hypnotized, by the cruel, keen spear point as long as her forearm. The she-ogre could drive that clear through Amber’s body and six feet down into dirt. Amber whimpered to think of her scalp added to the dusty string on the spear haft.

  “Ugly! Over here!” Reiver’s voice sounded from out of sight.

  Unused to fighting alone, the ogre hesitated, then tilted on tiptoe to spot the enemy. A lead weight on a chain whirled through the air. With a musical ching! it hit the spear haft and immediately snarled around. The distraction brought Reiver too close, Amber knew, for the garrote chain was short. Still, Amber used the opportunity to scramble up the pit’s slope. Hurriedly she prayed to Anachtyr, god of justice, if such a thing as justice existed for mortals.

  Amber squawked as the ogre’s mighty hand snagged her tunic hem. Worn and weakened cloth tore, but not before Amber was yanked backward. Squawling, she tumbled a few feet and fetched against the ogre’s bare legs and great dirty feet.

  The giant was barely slowed by Reiver’s attack. Snapping its wrists, the she-ogre wrenched the chain from the thief’s hand. Amber had the inane thought that Reiver had lost his clever garrote chain for nothing, as the ogre back-stepped to stamp Amber flat as a cockroach.

  Amber thrilled as, between the ogre’s legs, she saw Hakiim leap down into the pit with his scimitar shining. Gritting his teeth, using two hands, the rug merchant’s son slung the wide blade and slammed the ogre squarely behind the knee.

  The frantic chop would have felled a small tree, and here it severed twin tendons in the giant’s muscle-corded leg. Hamstrung, the she-ogre toppled backward so hard Hakiim had to jump aside or be squashed. The ogre cursed and gargled as it flung out a hand and crashed on rubble and dirt.

  “Hang on!” Popping up like a gopher, Reiver grabbed Amber’s shoulders with both hands and yanked her from the pit. Clutching her capture staff, Amber was dumped on her butt in the dust.

  Vaulting from the pit, Hakiim almost jumped atop her.

  “Sorry,” he breathed. “Let’s go!”

  Suddenly, Reiver spun and hopped into the pit.

  Amber shrilled, “No, Reiver, come on!”

  In seconds, a musical jangle sounded and Reiver dashed around a pile of rubble.

  “Now I’m ready,” the thief said.

  The three ran. Amber thought it idiotic to risk life and limb with a furious if crippled ogre just to regain a chain and weight, but she saved her breath for running. Twisting around fallen walls and broken masonry, the three dashed for the tallest, thickest ruins, simply hoping to hide.

  Panting, jogging, Amber marveled that the sister ogre had outwitted them, hiding just as Reiver had warned by the waterhole, patiently waiting for revenge. Amber wondered where the White Flame’s band lurked. Had the she-ogre scouted ahead, so the other raiders didn’t know its whereabouts? Did they track the fugitives even now?

  Another morbid thought intruded. The miserable she-ogre now lay in an abandoned cellar pit, crippled for life, alone, its brothers dead. Oddly, Amber felt a sting of pity. Yes, the giant carried scalps ripped from human victims, and Amber guessed the she-ogre had shown those victims no sympathy. Still, the idea gave the young woman no satisfaction, just a dose of sadness that thinking beings must fight and prey upon each other like animals, here in the harsh desert, or in the mountains, or anywhere else.

  Reiver suddenly veered behind a low wall. Hakiim and Amber scooted and crawled to a bite in the wall. Reiver pointed, and the others squinted against noontime glare. Ruins stretched on and on, but nothing moved.

  “What?” asked Amber.

  “Bandits.”

  “Are you sure?” Hakiim asked, trying to keep his head down and peek at the same time.

  Reiver didn’t even answer. Slithering, he signaled them around a corner. Huffing, lying almost flat, and trying to calm her heart’s pounding, Amber peered at their surroundings. Nothing but rubble and wreckage, she thought, buildings collapsed centuries ago. Why did they look so familiar?

  Bidding them to stay, Reiver scurried like a rat to the far corner, laid flat, and peeked. After a moment, he waggled a finger to move up. Amber balked, then stayed glued when Hakiim nudged her. Ahead, Reiver hissed impatiently. Puckering her brow, Amber tried to remember—what? She’d never been here before.

  Reiver hissed again. His fingers signaled feet approaching and surrounding them. Hakiim cleared his throat.

  Barely knowing why, Amber pointed north and whispered, “There … we’ll be safe there!”

  Heads swiveled. North was more of the same, knee-high ruins and scattered slabs, yet Amber shook her head stubbornly. She’d go only there. Biting curses, Reiver slithered north. In seconds, he waved them up to a corner.

  Skittering on hands and knees, skulking through broken arches, rocky litter, and pockets of dust, the trio finally settled inside a long rectangle of shattered walls. Nearby, a knee high tiled wall outlined a smaller rectangle.

  “Will these accommodations suffice, milady?” Reiver’s sarcasm dripped venom like a cobra. “We dived headlong into trouble again. The bandits know we’re here.”

  Muzzy-headed, Amber battled a dream. What had prompted her to come here? There was no place to hide, unless they slithered under rocks like snakes.

  Hakiim stiffened, and whispered, “Deny the dragons, look!”

  Amber gawked. Along the tile wall paced a cat, tall, lanky, and dead. Yellow fur had scuffed off its tanned leather hide. Skin shrunken around the skull curled lips from sharp fangs, forming a perpetual leer. It had no eyes, just haunted hollow sockets, yet the cat pranced on tiptoe as if hunting undead rats. Ignoring the three humans, the zombie cat stopped and dropped its muzzle over the tiled wall. Skinny hindquarters wriggled, then a paw batted at some invisible treat. Frustrated, the dead cat shrugged and strolled across the courtyard and out of sight. Amber knew where they were.

  “This was Star’s courtyard,” she whispered. “That rectangle was her goldfish pool. The cat stopped for a drink and tried to steal a fish.”

  Worried about bandits, Hakiim yet recalled one detail of Amber’s story and hooked a thumb over his shoulder.

  “So this big ruin was her bedroom?” he asked. “Her private wing?”

  Foggy, suspended between two ages, Amber rolled to peer into the rubble. A twinge pinged her heart as she surveyed rock and dust. In her mind she’d seen the princess’s opulent chambers with their gilt and paint, brilliant frescoes and mosaics, tapestries and rugs, and Star’s exotic pets: the saluqis, parrots, the delicate winged cat.

  “Yes,” she said finally, “these were her rooms. That crypt cat was her ocelot.”

  “Then there’s a secret passage down to the tunnels,” Hakiim said. “Watch for us, Reive. We’ll try to find the hole.”

  Slithering over the wall, Amber closed her eyes to recall the wing’s layout, then nudged Hakiim left. Crawling, Amber prayed they didn’t awaken any adders, who loved ruins for their cool crevices and sunning spots. Pausing at a hollow in the floor, Amber brushed dust off a fallen wall. Colored chips sparkled to show a hippo’s foot shod with a sandal.

  “Khises, the half man, half hippo hero,” she whispered. “Love of Ilmater—does anyone in today’s world know of Khises except me?”

  “Does anyone know where the damned shaft is?” Hakiim asked as he shifted shattered slabs. “Whatsher-name sneaked down to the cellars from here, true?”

  Shaking off reverie and forgotten hero
es, Amber helped her friend tug and poke until the crumbled mosaic revealed a square downshaft. Rubble filled the shaft and proved solid when Hakiim kicked with his heel.

  “Ibrandul haul them to the Seventh Hell,” he cursed. “They filled in the tunnel.”

  Another hiss made Amber peek over the wall. Reiver twirled his finger around his throat, their signal for “the noose tightens.”

  Hakiim and Amber scooted over lumps and bumps. Through a gap in a wall Amber saw a black robe flit by, then another. Surrounded, with no place to hide, Amber whimpered to think what the White Flame and her cruel bandits would do. Last time they’d almost scorched the skin from her face. Now they had even more reason to hate her.

  Lacking any better plan, Reiver led them across the courtyard and over the tiled parapet. The pool was packed with dried mud, with only a foot of space behind the wall. With no choice, the fugitives lay flat on their bellies in one corner and wished themselves invisible.

  Close by Reiver’s ear, Amber whispered, “Do the bandits know for sure we’re here?”

  “They know. Hush.” Unable to lift his head, the thief listened carefully.

  Hakiim asked, “Do we fight or surrender?”

  A patter of sandals on stone warned that bandits converged on their hideout. Amber’s heart thudded painfully, and her hands itched to grab her capture noose, to leap and fight or run. If the bandits simply stabbed straight down—

  A crackling, crumpling, and thumping resounded, not outside the pool, but within it. Startled by the noise, Amber glimpsed a black-clad bandit who aimed a crossbow at her, then froze and stared. His bearded mouth dropped open, and red-rimmed eyes flew wide.

  Amber looked to the pool’s center. Petrified mud split with long cracks as something pushed from underneath. Mounds crumbled and tumbled as if giant flowers thrust upward for sunlight. One huge mound spanned a dozen feet, and dust squirted as a monster humped up, flexed broad shoulders, and burst free.