The Far Kingdoms Read online

  He emptied the rest of the pouch into the bowl. There was a flash and the pile of coals collapsed in the center, gray and dead. A ghastly howl came from the creature in the chalk prison. The circle was alive with leaping flames. The Favorite gibbered in pain, dancing and jerking about as the fire seared him through. The fire's touch left no mark on his hide, but there was no question he felt it. His howls of anguish were very real. The creature suddenly shrank until he was the size of a pebble, even though his screams resounded as loudly as before. I jumped back as the pebble became dog size, then bulked until the Favorite towered out of the circle that enclosed him; small teeth now big, glistening fangs gnashing in agony. But size was no escape, for the flames leaped even higher, enveloping all but the howl. Prevotant shouted: "Begone!"

  The Favorite was stricken mute, mouth gaping and ghostly through the flames. Silence settled. But I soon heard a ticking, then another. Then it was as if the roof opened and it stormed insects. Whole clouds fell dead from the rafters and walls: Winged things; boring things; crawling things. The thick, dry rain stung my flesh as they fell. I heard another stirring, which became a scurry and a scratch that doubled, then doubled again and the floor became a sea of fur and scales as rats and lizards fled the warehouse. There were cries of alarm and disgust from the men and women scattered about the place.

  "Nothing to fear," the Evocator said in a normal voice. "The spell is perhaps a bit strong, but at least you'll be rid of vermin as well." Before I could answer, he flung up his hands, shouting: "Finit!" A whoosh, and the fire vanished. With a start, I saw the coals in the tripod glow into renewed life.

  The Evocator hauled on the chain, dragging his Favorite across the chalk boundaries. It was normal sized. but still furious from its treatment. "Now, there's a good job done," he said to me, jerking viciously on the chain. "I only need to-" Both of us jumped as the Favorite snarled and shot up to half man-size. It jerked on the chain, and Prevotant yelped as the leash slipped from his grasp, cutting soft flesh.

  "Hear now," he thundered, "what's this all about? Stop it at once." He waddled forward, fist raised. The Favorite snarled again and the snarl became a snap, snap, snapping of hysterical teeth. It cowered as Prevotant approached, but its size did not diminish and its skin flashed with angry colors. The Evocator gave it a furious kick, and that was all the beast would take. It shrieked and leaped over its master. The Evocator whirled, cursing and shouting for it to come back. But the Favorite closed its ears and bounded across the warehouse, like a dog dosed under the tail with pepper oil. A richly-dressed woman screamed and leapt back into the company of her slave retainers. But her scream drew attention and the Favorite veered and shot through them, scattering the woman's slaves and leaving a bloody bite on the woman's arm.

  Prevotant's anger turned to panic. "Come back to daddy," he pleaded in high soprano. "Daddy has some tasty treats... Please come back." But the Favorite ravaged on, shredding bundled goods with its teeth, ripping crates open with its claws. My men tried to pin it in a corner, but it drove them back, growing even larger and charging forward. Then it was ravaging through the cargo again. The chaos must have sharpened my wits, for I saw the damage was minimal, but in that damage was my own escape from the Evocator.

  "Ah, ha!" Prevotant shouted, as it turned and raced back toward us. "No, you'll listen to reason." But it shrank and dodged between us. I saw my chance and quickly tipped the tripod over. The smoking coals tumbled among the crates of wooden toys. Now it was the Evocator's turn for hysteria. He rushed over and began beating at the small flames with the hem of his robe. "Help me," he cried, "or all is lost." He had visions of this warehouse... and then the whole river front... going up in smoke. I strode casually up, gentled him aside, and stamped the fire out.

  I left him there, mumbling stunned apologies, while I fetched the warehouse overseer, got a net, some long sticks and a few husky slaves. It wasn't long before we netted the Favorite, who was now tired and frightened, and brought him to his master. Prevotant looked at me with sheep's eyes. I ignored him, gazing coldly about at the ruin.

  "Please let me set it right," he said.

  I held out my hand. "You can start with my father's gold," I retorted.

  This shocked him. "So much?" It was barely a whisper. But he gave me back the pouch just the same.

  "And, that's just to start with," I continued. "Once I've tallied the score of this day's work..." I shook my head. "I doubt you have the means for repayment. I'll advise my father to seek recompense from the Council." I only meant to put the fear of the gods in him. I really didn't expect to collect more. I figured the debt my father's bookkeepers would conjure up would keep him humble for years to come. I was about to go into my own dance of "Buts," and "on the other hands," when he raised a finger for silence. He looked about to see if anyone is watching.

  "Perhaps I have something here that will soothe the young gentleman," he said, all oiled charm. He dipped into his robes and plucked something out. He gave me a leer. "You will see it's very special," he said.

  He handed me a card. It was white and bordered in rich red. In the center was the seal of the hetaerae guild: the blatantly naked form of Butala, the harvest goddess, with exaggerated breasts and pudenda. Beneath it, in gold leaf: Melina will dance tonight for her special friends and benefactors.

  I knew who she was, as did every other man in Orissa. Melina was one of perhaps no more than a dozen beautiful women who were at the very top of the pleasure trade. They were all well-spoken and educated in the refinements of civilization. Great men, rich men, handsome men, heroes, wooed them as much for the pleasure of their company as for the pleasures of their flesh. And in that final hot, rutting goddess of a skill, they had no equal. A man would do much for the love of Melina. Especially a very young man with little to offer but his youth.

  I gaped. "How did you come by this?" It was not possible that a man like Prevotant would be asked to join such exalted company, even if he were an Evocator.

  Prevotant dismissed my implied insult with another leer. "Do you really care?"

  I looked at the card again. Butala was no longer alone. Now she reigned over an elaborate orgy. As I stared the naked figures began to move, coupling and uncoupling in more ways than I had ever imagined.

  "I was going to sell it," the Evocator whispered in my ear. "It would bring a fancy price, no doubt."

  I looked at her name again, heat rising, the letters growing larger until they filled my vision. "Melina," came the harsh whisper of the Evocator. "For you?"

  I took the card, forcing a casual air. "Oh, I suppose it might be of interest." I put it in my jerkin.

  "We have agreement, then?" Prevotant asked.

  I hesitated, but felt the card burn at my breast. Already I was in her spell. I had to see this woman for myself. I nodded. Prevotant chose to take the nod as a formal seal, shook my hand and, with much babbling, fled the warehouse with his little fiend chattering on his shoulder. But his leer stayed in my mind after he left, and I felt a little silly for accepting the card. Instead of taking the recovered gold and going straight home to triumph, however, I went to a tavern and drank and gamed with my friends until it grew late. Brandy fumes mixed with youth to blow my first hesitations away. Why should I let river slime like Prevotant affect me one way or another? Besides wasn't he an Evocator? And weren't the Evocator's the bane of the Antero family? Why, if I went, I'd be snapping my fingers under all their noses in the name of my family. Wouldn't I?

  I slipped away from my companions and went out into the night to hire a litter. The slaves carried me away through narrow streets. When they finally set me down, the moon was at her full height. The building the invitation drew me to had nothing to distinguish itself except general shabbiness. In fact, the whole street was a neighborhood of tenements, shops and taverns for the lowest of the free classes. Lizards and pigs fought in mounded rubbish over scraps of offal. I entered the tenement, doubt of a different kind nagging. Inside, the dark was suffoc
ating. I pulled fire beads from my pocket, whispered an enchantment and they glowed into dim life. The interior was more forbidding with this small bit of light. I could see dark forms hunched here and there, and smaller creatures scuttled from my path. But I plunged on, climbing rickety stairs, stepping with care over broken steps and snoring bodies.

  The brandy fumes curling in my brain began to dissipate in this squalor. I eased my rapier in its sheath. This was a place of thieves and witches and I wondered again at my judgment. Then I heard faint sounds of music wafting down the stairs and laughter. On the last landing was an enormous door. Floral incense floated through, pushing aside the tenement's miasma of poverty and too many failed spells. I pulled the chain. Bells chimed. Then footsteps and the door swung open, creaking on its hinges. Light spilled onto the landing and I flung up a hand to shield my eyes.

  "How may I assist you, gentle sir?" came a deep voice. My stylish costume was a badge of class and wealth.

  "I have... an invitation," I said, rubbing my eyes to hasten vision. "I have it here... someplace." I was nervous as I groped for the card in my jerkin.

  My eyes suddenly adjusted. My heart lumped into my throat when I saw the enormous black spider perched across my greeter's face. It had an obscene, bulbous body, with jagged bands for legs and huge red eyes that stared back at me. The spider spoke. "Welcome, gentle sir."

  I buried panic. The spider was an elaborate tattoo, a totem. My greeter was a tall, skeletal man, with a long, narrow face and pale skin that rarely saw sunlight. He wore rich, brocaded clothing with the red waist sash of a Procurer - a manager licensed by the hetaerae guild.

  "The hour is late," the man said. "But you are most fortunate. Melina has yet to dance." He motioned. "This way, if you please." I entered a broad, well-lighted foyer, carpeted with thick, colorful rugs from the Western lands. The music and laughter were louder. The man looked over his shoulder. "My name is Leego, young sir. If there is any way I can assist you this evening, you have only to mention my name to a slave."

  I found voice: "That is most kind of you, Leego," I said. "May Butala always smile upon you."

  Leego nodded, then flung wide two large doors. "Greetings to our new guest," he bellowed. Feminine shrieks of pleasure and laughter met his announcement. I was surrounded by a dozen of the most beauteous creatures I had ever seen, all quite naked. Now, I was not an inexperienced youth. I'd played tickle and slap-a-belly with many a pert, young household servant and tumbled in the hay with female cousins at my father's farms. In recent years, I'd disport myself with enough tavern wenches and half-coin hetaerae to worry my father that I was poised for self ruin. But I had never, ever been confronted with so much lusciously available flesh. Each woman seemed lovelier than the next. One was tall and shorn of all hair. She had legs and arms long enough to wrap around any man's girth. Another had flowing blonde hair and was small enough to twirl into any imagined position. Some were lush, others slender. And they all giggled and pressed themselves against me, burying me in jiggling flesh and tugging me deeper into the room.

  Someone asked my name. "Amalric," I croaked. "Of the Antero family." I heard a buzzing as my name was whispered around the room and then I found myself sprawled among thick, perfumed pillows, a goblet in my hand filled with heady spirits and a naked woman to tempt me with candied delicacies from a silver tray. Fearing any moment someone would shout fraud and drive me out of this paradise, I peered about, trying to behave as if this experience was trifling.

  No one was paying me the slightest attention. There were about twenty other men in attendance. Rich men, important men, older men, laughing and talking amongst themselves. Like me, they were lying on thick, richly brocaded pillows and tended by Melina's naked servants. The room was large with vaulted ceilings, and was pleasingly lit. Soft music stirred the silken curtains that covered an arched entryway to one side. Beside the entryway was a large, golden statue of Butala. Her form was more slender than the traditional image, more inviting of caresses. Rugs from the Western lands covered the floor. I had never seen weavers' art like these. Erotic figures curled and blended together. The walls were ablaze with murals depicting wild orgies in every imaginable setting, from forest glens to the pleasure rooms of the gods and goddesses. A heady incense burned in a copper brazier. It produced the thick red smoke wealthy hetaerae used to inflame a man's imagination. For me it was entirely unnecessary. My imagination was already as white hot as a swordsmith's furnace. The woman into whose charge I had been given lifted a slice of honeyed peach to my lips. I obediently opened my mouth.

  Then I saw Melina... and my mouth snapped shut. I have already described her great beauty, her charm, her intelligence and her skills. But those are poor weak words, which cannot begin to illuminate the sensuous creature I saw that first time. She lounged across a low, gilded couch on the far side of the room. The couch was raised on a rug-covered pallet. Unlike her slave girls, she was fully clothed - maddeningly so. She wore translucent pantaloons the color of hearth coals and a sheer blouse of the same shade, with a form-fitting sleeveless jerkin over it. It was vermilion and picked out in gold. The buttons were of rare, worked stones. Her feet were bare and quite small, with red painted nails and gold anklets. Her hands were slender, with long, delicate fingers tipped in red. Each finger bore a glittering ring. Expensive bracelets jangled at her wrists. Long black hair tumbled to the curve of her waist. She toyed with it as she listened to a plump man sitting on the floor next to the couch. He was middle-aged and dressed like a wealthy merchant. A half-dozen other men were also favored enough to sit close to Melina.

  I hated every man in that room. I could see each only pretended interest in his companion's conversation. The laughter was false, the talk chattering bravado. In reality all they could think of was Melina. Their eyes kept flickering toward her, greedy, devouring. The naked flesh of those lovely slaves was nothing to them. Just as it had become nothing to me. I only had eyes for the flash of those gold limbs beneath the sheer material of Melina's costume, the red-tipped breasts and the red-glint of henna between those silken thighs. The nakedness of her women intensified my desire to glimpse more - much more - of Melina.

  Then my heart stopped. The hatred was forgotten. Melina idly lifted her eyes. They met mine. I felt as if I had been struck by a heavy, padded club. I had never in my life seen such dark mystery. Those eyes were slightly bored when they first met mine. Then I saw - or prayed I saw - a spark of interest. Full, hennaed lips parted. A pink tongue flicked across them. She looked me up and down. Leego came forward to refill her goblet, and I saw her whisper and point. She was pointing at me!

  I thought my heart would burst at such good fortune. Then I began to worry. Had I somehow become ugly? Had I been cursed with warty features by some witch hiding on the awful staircase? Had a bat shit in my hair? I reflexively touched my head and realized what had caught her interest. It was my hair. In those days, before the winter of age, my hair was as bright as an Evocator's torch. I was one of the very few men and women in Orissa with red hair. Until this moment it had mostly served as a source of humor to my friends, as had the pale skin that displayed my every emotion. Leego whispered. My name, I supposed. She laughed. I felt my skin turn the color of my hair. I was mortified, sure once again my hair had transformed me into a jest.

  To cover my embarrassment, I turned to the slave girl and accepted the peach slice. My mouth was so dry I could hardly chew, much less swallow. Then the music stopped as did the chattering voices of the men. I heard the sweet sound of strings being plucked. I turned back to see Melina had raised herself into a sitting position. In her soft lap was a lute. Her lovely fingers touched strings and the most melodious sound emerged. But it was nothing compared to her rich voice when she lifted it in song.

  Melina sang a tale of long ago. It was the story of a young courtesan, sold into the guild by her impoverished family. The girl fell in love with a handsome captain, off to the wars. He promised he would make her his wife when he returne
d. But he died in battle. The young hetaera grows in beauty and her skills are acclaimed. Many men come to her doorstep with rich gifts and richer promises. She gives herself to them, as is her duty, and accepts their gifts. But there is not one she can ever love. For there is that secret place only the handsome captain had ever touched. A place where no other man would ever be permitted to venture.

  When the song was done I could barely hear the applause of the others. I felt tears scalding my cheeks. I ached for Melina and the torment she must be suffering. For I immediately made her the heroine of that song. And I burned with the need to comfort her and take the place of that handsome captain. As did every other man in the room.

  Melina, as I have said, was wonderfully skilled.

  Her charming smile of thanks singled each of us out. She leaned forward as if to speak and the room was silent. Instead, a graceful arm stretched out. A perfect finger pointed at Butala. An old woman, draped in a rich red robe, emerged from the curtained entryway beside the statue. She wore a golden tasseled sash about her waist. It was one of the hetaerae guild's Evocators.

  "Greetings, my lords," she said in a voice oddly youthful for such withered cheeks. "All praise Butala."

  "All praise Butala," we responded in the traditional return chant. "May our loins be strong, and the wombs of our women fertile and deep."

  I glanced over my shoulder and saw with great disappointment Melina was gone. The Evocator's words brought me back: "You gentlemen will be pleased to know I have just cast the bones, and the omens are favorable tonight will be a most special evening. Butala is pleased with the worthiness and piety of the gathering. She has signaled to me she will permit Melina to reveal a sacred dance few have been fortunate enough to witness."

  "All praise Butala," we all chanted. The voices of the other men were as thick as mine. The Evocator slapped her hands together. The statue of Butala moved. A graceful swivel of the torso, arms splaying wide, head going back. A rich, colored liquid spurted from the statue's breasts. Two slave women ankled forward, burnished hips swaying. They caught the liquid in a large golden bowl. In a few moments it was brimming and the twin fountains stopped. The women passed among us, offering the bowl to each man. When it came to me, I obediently bent my head, smelling a thick, pleasing musky odor. I drank. It went down smooth and sweet, lighting a warm fire in my belly. The warmth spread and I felt my blood stir and all my senses snap into full, clear life.