The Gods Awaken

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

Safar stood frozen in the center of the arena as his own son rushed toward him-a spear aimed directly at his heart.

The arena thundered with the shouts of a savage audience urging Palimak to "Kill, kill, kill! Kill Safar Timura!" Underscoring the wild, blood-demanding chorus was the marrow-freezing roar of a mighty lion.

Caught on the horns of a nightmare dilemma, Safar was helpless to act.

The cold, outraged wizard side of him commanded self protection at any cost. Automatically digging for the ultimate, death-dealing spell to cut Palimak down in his tracks.

But in the place where all love dwells another part of him demanded the ultimate parental sacrifice-to die so that his son might live.

And then, from the narrow gulf between death and survival, came yet a third, most desperate voice: Killhim, brother! cried the voice. Kill him or all we worked for together is lost!

Safar had the sudden vision of a world strangling in its own poisons. Of corpses heaped to the heavens.

Of seas turned into barren deserts littered with bleached white bones. Of howling devils fighting to suck out the last bit of marrow from life itself.

And with that vision came the nearly overpowering urge to slay his son. Ghostly commands shot through his body making his nerves and muscles twitch in reflex.

The killing spell flooded into his mind unbidden-numbing his will to resist.

Palimak was almost on him. So close Safar could hear Gundara crying, "Stop, Little Master, stop!"

But the boy ran onward, eyes burning with murderous hate.

The heavy spear blade was only inches from Safar's heart. At the same time his killing spell coiled like a hissing cobra, ready to launch.

He had no doubt which would strike first. In less time than it took for a heart to beat, Palimak would be lying dead at his feet. And Safar would be standing over him, the bitter victor.

A man whose soul would carry the blackest mark of all: the sin of a father who had slain his own son.

But as Asper once wrote: Between thought and action lies a shadow. And in that shadow dwells the true power of choice. Of free will. The only real blessing the gods of creation bestowed on humans and demons alike. A gift to leaven the curse of this too-brief life.

So, at the last possible instant, Safar snatched up this power and used it as a bludgeon to slay the spell-cobra before it could kill his son.

And as he braced for the thrust of the spear blade, he whispered, "I love you, Palimak."

Then a hot, searing shock smashed into his body.

A thousand painful colors exploded in his brain.

He had a brief sensation of falling and then he collided with the ground.

Soft, leafy ground.

The moist smell of humus and rotting things.

Familiar voices murmuring in his ear.

Safar raised his head, bewildered that he was still alive. And he saw that he was back on the jungle trail.

Sergeant Hamyr and the other Kyranian soldiers standing above him.

And a few away was the unconscious body of Palimak, the spear still gripped in his hand.

Leiria saw the red dirt crashing up at her. She twisted in mid-air and tuck rolled to her feet, sword slashing at a blurred claw reaching for her throat.

She felt the sword strike hard iron, then slip and bite into soft flesh. She heard a lion's soul-satisfying roar of pain and danced to the side as another iron claw lashed out at her.

But then her heel slammed against a ridge in the ground and she toppled backward, twisting to keep her sword arm free and falling heavily on her side.

The iron claw rang as Leiria parried the next blow. But her fall had left her in an awkward, indefensible position. She caught a glimpse of her opponent as he rushed in, roaring in delight at his advantage.

From the shoulders down he was human-a near-giant clothed only in a loin cloth, which bulged as if he were equipped like a bull. His bare torso rippled with slabbed muscle. His arms and legs were thick as trees. Heavy iron claws were gripped in each mighty fist, one of which streamed blood from her initial blow.

From the neck up he was a lion. His huge cat's eyes glowed with fury. His powerful, spine-snapping jaws were spiked with whiskers like steel cables. All framed by a bristling yellow mane that fanned out like mighty wings.

As the claw came down she rolled to the side just in time and the hooks buried themselves in earth instead of in her flesh. But her back was exposed and she kept rolling, desperately trying to get out of the lionman's long reach.

Then Leiria heard Jooli's shrill war cry pierce the air, followed by the lionman's howl of surprise, and she exploded to her feet-back still exposed but turning, shifting her sword to her left hand so that she could draw her long-bladed knife.

In fighting position once more, Leiria saw Jooli fling herself to the side to avoid the lionman's charge.

Blood ran down his bare back, gory evidence of Jooli's lunge to rescue Leiria.

Shouting her war cry, Leiria raced to join her friend and soon they had the lionman pinned between them.

Big as he was, fiercely strong as he was, he was no match for the two warrior women. Only his long reach and ferocity kept them from closing in for the kill.

Gradually, they wore him down. First Leiria would lunge, forcing the lion man to face her. But then she would backpedal as he charged, fending off his blows.

At the same time Jooli would dash in and attack his exposed back. And the positions would be reversed, with Jooli backpedaling as Leiria sprinted into striking distance.

The battle raged for an hour before a strangely silent crowd of savages. They only gaped as their king streamed blood from a dozen wounds, his roars growing weaker with each timed attack.

Then the lionman stumbled and went to his knees. At that moment, Leiria thought she had him. She lunged at the lionman, blade aimed like a spear at his exposed neck.

But it was only a feint and he suddenly exploded upward. She still would have had him, would have buried her sword in his chest, but the lionman had escape-not continued battle-in mind.

He dodged to the side, then bounded away, racing for the big double gates at the far side of the arena.

Leiria and Jooli went after him. Although he was amazingly fast for his size, they were faster and were soon closing on him.

As he neared the gate the lionman roared an order. Leiria saw the gates swing open and thought he was going to try to escape outside.

Instead, she heard bellows of rage and she dug her heels in to stop her headlong charge, shouting a warning to Jooli at the same time.

Both women halted, moving together for protection. Jooli had time to say, "What in the hells?!" and then six strange figures burst through the open gates to join their king.

They were nearly as tall as he, but with broader shoulders and wider backs. From the neck down they were men. But above they sported the mighty horned heads of fighting bulls. They were all armed with huge spiked clubs as thick as a ship's main mast.

The bullmen fanned out around their king. Then, with him in the center, they advanced-their bellows echoing across the arena.

Suddenly, the crowd came to life. They cheered wildly, then took up the chant:

"Kill them! Kill, kill, kill!"

Jooli said, "Looks like we're in for a long fight, sister."

Leiria smiled, then said, "On my signal, we go for the king, agreed?"

"Agreed!"

And so Leiria gave the signal and they charged.

Safar forced a brandy-laced potion through Palimak's lips and he came awake, choking and sputtering.

When his son had caught his breath, Safar gave him the flask and he took a long swallow.

Palimak closed his eyes and shuddered as the restorative did its work. When he opened them again relief flooded Safar's veins as he saw sanity had returned.

The young man was pale and shaken from his ordeal. Then, with a start, reality took hold.

He embraced his father, saying, "Thank the gods you found me!"

Moved by the sight of father and son reunited, the soldiers scraped the ground with their boots. Sergeant Hamyr wiped away a tear with a battle-hardened hand.

Then Palimak drew back. "I had a terrible dream, father," the young man said. "I was in this arena. And a man with a lion's head gave me a spear. And you were on the other side of the arena and the lionman-"

"It wasn't a dream, son," Safar broke in. "But never mind that. We have things to do. And they have to be done in a hurry."

Palimak was horrified. "Do you mean it was real?" he asked, voice quivering. "Did I really try to-"

Once again, Safar interrupted. "Please, son," he said. "It wasn't your fault. And we can discuss the whole thing later and I'll prove to you that it wasn't. Just take my word for it right now. All right?"

Palimak nodded weakly. "All right," he said.

"We have to get back to that arena immediately," Safar said. "Leiria and Jooli are in grave danger. Do you understand what I'm telling you?"

Again, Palimak nodded. "I understand," he said.

Safar helped him to his feet. He motioned to Hamyr who stepped in to belt a sword about Palimak's waist. Then he gave him a tunic and a spare pair of boots which the young man hastily pulled on.

"Are you hungry?" Safar asked when he was dressed.

Palimak shook his head. "I couldn't eat," he said. "I'd get sick to my stomach." He motioned at the flask, grinning weakly. "But maybe some more of that."

Safar gave the brandy to him and he drank it down. When he was done he drew in a deep breath, then squared his shoulders.

"I'm fine now," he said.

Safar turned to the soldiers. "Leave your packs here," he said. "Just take your weapons. And the moment we get there, don't stop to think. Or look around and wonder where in the hells you are. Just fight, all right?"

The men all said they understood.

However, Sergeant Hamyr made bold to ask, "Pardon, Lord Timura, but can you tell us exactly who we'll be fightin'?"

Safar chuckled. "The enemy," he said.

Hamyr nodded, smiling. "Ah, the enemy. That's good to know. Thanks, me lord."

"You're welcome, sergeant," Safar said.

Then he led them down the path to a large black patch that had been burned into the ground by Jooli's spell.

It hadn't taken him more than a few minutes to figure what she'd done and he was quite impressed with her feat. Her action had not only saved him and Palimak, but had also pointed the way for Safar to work some magic of his own.

The spell she'd cast had also weakened the witch's portal so much that he'd be able to return to the arena with Palimak and the entire squad of soldiers. Plus Leiria and Jooli would be able to remain with them, adding two excellent swords to the fight.

Especially Leiria's blade, he thought fondly. She's worth half an army all by herself.

Meanwhile, Palimak was studying Jooli's magical spoor. Gundaree and Gundara also whispered interesting hints in his ear.

After a moment he turned to Safar, saying, "I see how the spell goes together, father. Let me help you."

Safar clapped him on the back. "Sure you can, son. The more we can put behind this, the better," he said.

Palimak raised a hand. "Wait a minute," he said. "Gundaree and Gundara have a suggestion." Palimak said.

He bent his head, listening. Then he grinned. "It's a pretty good trick," he said to Safar. "Something that'll really put a curl in that damned King Felino's mane!"

Safar chuckled, recalling just how evil the minds of the two little Favorites could be. "Wonderful," he said. "The only caution is that I'd rather capture him if we can. I want to find out what's behind all this."

Palimak nodded agreement and Safar got to work setting up the spell. Using his silver witch's-dagger he scratched a pentagram in the ashes. In the center he sketched a lion's face.

He stepped back, raised his arms and spreading them wide, concentrated on his goal. As he did this he felt Palimak's power, backed up by Gundaree and Gundara's energies, flow into him.

And he chanted:

"To fly and fly and grace the skies

In numbers even gods could not add.

We conjure a thing to bedevil a king

And drive a foolish man mad."

Then he clapped his hands together and thousands of butterflies burst up from the pentagram, flying free and high into the towering trees.

"Arm yourselves," Safar shouted, drawing his sword.

Blades scraped from their sheaths and suddenly the jungle vanished.

And they all found themselves standing in the center of a huge arena, a battle raging not far away.

While all around them a thunderous crowd chanted its bloody anthem:

"Kill, kill, kill!"