In the Ruins of Amir by Donald Jacob Uitvlugt

Before Roma Æterna was even a dream to trouble the sleep of the sons of Illium, before the Yellow Emperor seated himself above the Han on the dragon throne at Hao, before Karnak’s first mud-brick temple rose above the fertile floodplains of Khem, there was Amir.
Amir of the seven pillars. Amir, the city of dark wines and beautiful women. Amir, home of strange gods and even stranger atheism, whose temples and brothels never closed their doors. Amir, more glorious than mythic Atlantis or fabled Mu.
Yet who among even the most learned sages remembers lost Amir?
* * *
Cale ap Corwin did not mind the worms so much as they wriggled against his calves, writhed against his arms and generally made themselves a nuisance against his bare anatomy. They had not asked for him to intrude himself into their habitation of decaying vegetation, in which he now found himself buried up to the neck. If he had a home, he would certainly have done more to a housebreaker than squirm suggestively against him.
No, Cale did not mind the worms. Nor did he mind the leeches. He had known worse blood-suckers among his human acquaintances. He did not even mind the mosquitoes that decided his exposed head was an all-day tavern and it was happy hour, though he did hope that the anti-malarial potion he had paid dearly for actually worked.
Worms? Leeches? Disease-ridden mosquitoes? No problem. Buried in muck up to his neck? All in a day’s work. Lost in the gods-forsaken jungle? He was Cale the Courageous. He’d survived worse, though at the moment he could not remember exactly when.
That failure of memory could have had more than a little to do with the legions of battalion ants making their slow but inexorable way straight for him.
He had not expected the Kochada to have such a highly developed sense of humor. The more he struggled in the decomposing detritus, the more it closed in around him. His clothes and weapons had been placed only a few paces away, but they may as well have been back in Accalia.
Well, the poisons secreted in the sleeves of his tunic might kill a few hundred of the ants. And it would be fun to watch them try to eat his sword. He doubted even battalion-ant stomach acid could harm blessed Accalian steel.
He would have to look on the bright side. Perhaps he would faint from hunger before the ants reached him. Or maybe die of thirst. In the jungle. Where it hadn’t stopped raining since Mura the Moneylender had dropped him off downriver weeks ago.
“Mura, you son of a whore! You are so haunted! You’ll never sleep again!”
All Cale’s hoarse shouting did was draw the attention of a monkey from the jungle canopy. The beast inspected Cale’s situation for a moment, then gave a series of howls that, if Cale didn’t know monkeys were stupid, he would have sworn was laughter. Then the beast gave a final comment by defecating on the trapped man.
Cale’s curses were enough to back the animal off some distance. Then it let out another series of howling laughs, so intense that it lost hold of its perch. Too late, it realized it was falling straight for the ants. Its limbs flailed, it screeched impotently, it turned beseeching eyes to Cale. And then it hit the ants.
In less than a second, the swarming insects completely hid the beast from Cale’s view. Heart-rending screams echoed among the trees. Then nothing.
“That will teach you to mock your betters,” Cale said with a bravado he did not feel. Soon his skeleton would be joining the smaller one in the wake of the ants’ destruction.
It would be easy, Mura had said. The Kochada had gold and didn’t know what to do with it, and Cale could easily persuade them to part with it for a few shiny beads and worthless trinkets. A win-win situation. The Kochada got something more interesting than that pesky soft metal lying about and Mura would forgive Cale the majority of his past-due debts.
Turned out the Kochada had no gold, and they had taken great offense at the offer of beads and trinkets. Cale’s liaison with the chief elder’s daughter had definitely not helped matters, but that wasn’t entirely his fault. The native dress was just a brief breechclout for both men and women. Practical, given the humid jungle heat, and very fetching on the fairer sex.
“Cale’s life lesson number seventy-six: Sleeping with the wrong girl gets you in the worm pile.”
The trick, of course, was figuring out who was the wrong girl. There was a young lady in Accalia, fancied herself a bit of a sorceress. The things she could do with a levitation spell … Her masters at the Lore Academy certainly had never imagined that incantation used in such a fashion. Or maybe they had, the dirty old bastards.
Levitation. He was no mage. Discipline wasn’t really his style. But at this point, what could it hurt? Vibrant environment that it was, the jungle was literally teeming with mana. All he had to do was concentrate hard enough to collect some of it. That and remember the words of the damned spell.
Cale closed his eyes, took a couple of deep breaths. Spat out mosquitoes. Of course the worms would choose that exact moment to squirm just there. He blocked it out. Opened himself to the life around him, to the power vibrating throughout the jungle. Now, to give that power focus through words, to make the words and act one.
“Artrana. Retu.” Damn. What had been the last word? “Bilo. Artrana retu bilo. Artrana retu bilo!”
With the third repetition of the incantation, a pulse of fire blasted from Cale’s body, the flames the sickly green of magefire. The battalion ants vanished in a cloud of acrid smoke, and singed worms and leeches only added to the odor. He had burned a way out of the pile in addition to frying the ants. Cale swallowed, then thanked the gods that his lady friend back in Accalia didn’t stutter.
His clothes were a complete loss; ash like the ants. His sword was untouched, not even warm. He spared a quick glance at the simian skeleton on the empty swath the battalion ants had made on the jungle floor. Cale quickly decided that where the ants had been was likely to be as safe a place as any in the jungle. He set off, brushing off a few last leeches.
He did not know how long he’d been walking when the path curved. Cale looked down the distance he’d traveled and then down the ants’ trail beyond the curve. Both legs ran straight as an arrow’s flight. Battalion ants were notorious for their single-mindedness. What would have caused them to deviate?
In the distance, Cale heard the gurgle of flowing water and that decided the matter. Perhaps fifty paces off the ant trail, the jungle gave way to a grassy sward. No intervening zone. No period of smaller and smaller trees leading up to a clearing. One moment Cale was in the jungle and the next he was walking along a city lawn, for beyond the grass rose the marble and obsidian spires of a city. It seemed easily as large as Accalia, but cleaner than Cale imagined Accalia could ever be. It felt abandoned, but there was an air of expectancy about it too. Like the maiden in the tale, waiting to be awakened by her handsome suitor’s kiss.
“Life lesson number thirteen: Don’t let your imagination get the better of you.”
The sound of water led Cale to a giant fountain just within the city gate. He washed himself, then decided to do some exploring. As he walked the broad streets of the city, Cale saw that it was in worse repair than it seemed from outside the walls. The verdant power of the jungle had begun the slow but inevitable process of reclaiming the land the city stood upon. Fallen trees had broken down sections of the wall. Vines as thick as Cale’s thighs clogged alleyways while thinner vines twined around fluted columns, penetrated windows and doorways. It was a contest that would take centuries, perhaps, but in the end, the jungle would triumph.
Cale’s footsteps echoed softly as he walked. No animal cried as he explored and no leaves rustled. There was no sign of any of the biting insects that had plagued Cale since he’d arrived in the gods-forsaken jungle. Like the battalion ants, every moving creature seemed to shun this place. Cale found himself having to fight off a superstitious prickling along his scalp.
He turned toward the center of the city. Here the vines grew thinner, eventually disappearing altogether. Cale tried the first intact door he found and it crumbled away at the touch of his hand. The third door sagged inward, revealing the shattered jars of what may have once been a wine merchant’s shop. Cale’s footsteps among the shards stirred up dark red dust devils. He left the building and kept exploring.
He paused in the shade of a huge obsidian pillar. The sun had passed its zenith, and the grumbling of Cale’s stomach was growing louder. He would have to leave the city soon in search of game. A good kill and he might have enough food to take him downriver, where he would eventually find a ship heading back to civilization. How he would pay for his passage, he didn’t know. Many captains had uses for strong-backed fellows, but Cale had no wish to be pressed into service as an oarsman.
He turned to look down the broad road he’d been following. Ahead rose another pillar, even taller, constructed of striated black and white bands. More of the ever-present obsidian and white marble, Cale surmised. Perhaps he would explore a little more. No need to leave the city empty-handed.
The next building was a cobbler’s. Many of the wares had wasted away, but among the debris Cale found a pair of serviceable sandals, the sort with straps up the ankles. He tied them on. Nearby was a clothier that had once served a rich clientele back in its day, judging by the quantities of silk, furs and jeweled trim. The fabric here did not crumble at his touch. The silk did not tear at his efforts to rip it. Cale laughed and dressed himself at last, choosing green leggings and an armless tunic of white, decorated at the collar with dark stones. Onyx, perhaps. He marked the door with his sword as he left. He would need more clothes for his trip back to Accalia, and a few of the more extravagant pieces in the shop could go a long way toward his passage.
Not far from the clothier’s was a smithy in such good condition that Cale had to look twice to ensure there wasn’t a fire burning in the furnace. The cold coals were neatly piled and the tools were arranged as though the master of the shop was expected back at any moment.
Judging from the shop’s walls, the master had done a diverse trade. Housewares were stashed in the corner, as though unworthy to share space with the decorative ironworks and weapons that made up the majority of the inventory. Knives and swords shared space with weapons the likes of which Cale had never seen on any of his travels, wicked-looking things with claws and sharp curves. A whole wall was given to … devices of persuasion. Thumbscrews and whips with metal fragments worked into the leather. One device looked like a kitchen tool used to take the zest from a lemon, only larger. Cale imagined it applied to human skin and shuddered.
Cale left the more exotic weapons alone but chose a dagger for himself and a couple braces of throwing knives. A scabbard and belt meant he no longer had to carry his sword drawn, although the blessed blade seemed somehow reluctant to slide into its new home. Perhaps the stiffness of the leather. Or perhaps-
A scream interrupted Cale’s musings. His sword sang from its new sheath, and with dagger drawn in his left hand, he flew out into the city. The echoes of the scream only gave Cale a general direction in which to run. Then the scream sounded again. A woman’s scream. Cale’s sandaled feet flew over the paving stones.
The woman’s cries led him to a large building near the base of one of the obsidian pillars. Cale was within in a moment, the open gate letting into a large hall. Inside, he found the source of the screams.
The woman was tall, perhaps as tall as Cale, with long black hair pulled from an oval face by a golden diadem. Her skin was as fair as marble, and she was clad in a diaphanous gown of pale green drapery that gave tantalizing hints of her shape beneath.
The monster attacking her was as hideous as she was beautiful, if such a thing were possible. The limbs were desiccated and gangly, as if it could walk on all four as easily as two. The skin was like leather stained deep brown and hung from its twisted bones in loose folds. Drool foamed from an open mouth with teeth like daggers’ points. It had hold of the trailing edge of the woman’s gown and was trying to drag her toward its great jaws.
Cale launched himself toward the creature with a shout. It wheeled to face its new opponent, claws trailing shreds of green gauze. It fended off Cale’s first blow with a forearm. The sword rang out as if he had struck rock. The blade caught halfway through the limb, and the monster grinned at Cale. No mirth was in its beady red eyes. No blood flowed from the wound in its limb.
The woman shouted something to Cale in a language he didn’t understand, but her face and gestures made the meaning clear. Kill it! needed little translation.
Cale could read the cunning in the beast’s uncanny eyes. It planned to make an easy meal of the woman after dealing with the more substantial threat; Cale.
But Cale planned on frustrating the beast on both counts. He was able to pull his sword at last from its limb. It seemed to suffer no ill effect from the wound, if a black emptiness that refused to bleed could truly be called a wound. Jaws snapped and joints creaked. The creature’s saliva hissed and burned where it flecked Cale’s skin.
For all its skin-and-bone appearance, it threw itself against Cale with such force that the swordsman had to give ground or be bowled over. The woman continued to cry out in her strange tongue, but whether she was cheering Cale on or cursing the creature’s ancestry, Cale had no idea.
Cale was tempted to try the fire spell again, but, unlike the ants, Cale doubted the monster would give him time to collect the necessary mana. Besides, the room seemed to have very little mana about to be gathered. And with Cale’s luck, this time the levitation spell would probably work the way it was intended, rather than setting his enemies aflame in a flash of good fortune.
The monster pressed Cale backwards until his back pushed against the curved outer wall of the hall. Cale was tiring, and the beast knew it. It lunged again and again, turning Cale to the side. As he circled to the left, he almost brained himself on one of the torch sconces.
In a flash of inspiration, Cale threw his dagger at the beast’s throat, drew the torch from the wall and thrust the flame at the creature. The paper-dry skin caught fire, and the beast howled. But it proved to be a cry of surprise and anger, not pain. Sharp teeth dripped acid in a predator’s grin wreathed with fire.
The monster launched itself at Cale with renewed vigor. Heat blazed off the monster, close enough to singe the hairs on Cale’s arms. It was time for something desperate. Cale dropped his guard and the beast lunged.
With a cry, Cale thrust upward as the beast came for his throat. His sword entered its mouth and down its gullet smooth like a sword-swallower at the Accalia Fair. Surprise lit the monster’s eyes right before it exploded. Flaming pieces of desiccated flesh showered everywhere, twitched, then finally laid still.
In an instant, the woman was there. She paused to brush chunks of the creature from Cale’s tunic, then embraced him. The physical sign of gratitude was much more welcome than the flood of words in the strange language that crashed upon his ears.
“I’m sorry,” Cale said. “I don’t understand you.”
She broke the embrace, looking hurt and puzzled. A question, to which Cale shook his head. He pointed to his ears.
“I have no idea what you’re saying.”
She laughed, then took hold of Cale’s hand with both of hers. She pressed it against her breast. Cale gave a hopeful smile.
“Daeva.”
Cale’s smile widened. “Daeva. Your name is Daeva.”
The woman laughed like a little girl and clapped her hands. Then she offered one of her hands to him. He repeated her gestures, pressing her palm against his chest. He could feel the heat of it through his tunic.
“Cale.”
“Cale.” The woman frowned as she practiced the unfamiliar name. The accent had a peculiar lilt to it that sent a small shiver up Cale’s spine. He never knew his name could be so … exotic. “Cale.”
The woman ran her hands up and down Cale’s broad arms and took a breath as though about to ask a question, then laughed once more. She pantomimed a person lathering himself up and then washing off. Cale nodded.
“A bath would feel nice right about now.”
Daeva led Cale through a series of passageways to a room that seemed carved from living rock. The floor was inlaid with even more marble and obsidian and sloped downward to a pool that was only partially hidden by the steam rising from its surface.
Cale grinned at the sight of the hot spring and stepped toward it only to have Daeva hold him back. She looked at him gravely, then began to undress him. Scabbard and tunic placed carefully on the floor, the woman knelt and removed his leggings. Cale had not known one could be so warm and yet shiver.
Daeva next guided his hand to a pin hidden near her shoulder. He pulled it, and her gown pooled around her kneeling form. Cale’s breath caught in his throat. The woman was a rare beauty. She smiled at his reaction, a coy, eager, enticing smile. She walked into the water and then turned, beckoned him to join her.
He did.
They rested afterwards in the warm, effervescent water, Daeva reclining on Cale’s chest. The woman let out a contented sigh.
“That was very nice. It’s been a long time for me, my Cale.”
Cale started as he realized he understood her. Underneath, he still heard the foreign words, but they now made sense to him.
“How?”
Daeva laid a silencing finger against his lips. “You joined yourself to me, sharing all that you are. I am now able to … make myself understood to you, and you to me.”
Cale was not sure he liked a woman inside his head, no matter how beautiful. He backed away from her slowly. She laughed.
“So stalwart a warrior as yourself should not be afraid, my Cale. I needed to take from you to work my magic, but I will not do so again without your permission.” She spread her arms open wide. “Come, let me reward you properly for saving my life.”
Cale nodded slowly but did not draw any closer. “What was that thing?”
Daeva looked down at the waters of the spring. “It was, in another age, my…” Her magic hesitated before supplying the word. “… husband. Had he claimed me … I shudder to think of my fate.”
There were tears in her eyes when she looked up at Cale and before he realized it he was in her arms, losing himself in her embrace.
* * *
Cale woke on sheets of black silk. He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt such luxury against his body. It didn’t matter so much that he couldn’t remember how he’d gotten into the bed. Perhaps he would roll on his side and sleep some more.
“Good morrow, my lord.”
Daeva strode into the room and opened the curtains. Sunlight shone through her diaphanous gown, revealing the form beneath. Perhaps Cale was not so sleepy after all.
“Good morning.” He rose and embraced her from behind, nuzzled against her neck. Daeva laughed her silver laugh.
“Your ardor is … delicious, my lord, but you must dress. I wish to show you our city.”
Cale pulled her closer to his body. “A shame my clothes are all down by the pool. I hope you won’t let me be naked all by myself.”
Daeva turned, a smile on her face, but a darker emotion in her eyes. She rested a hand against Cale’s cheek. “Soon, my lord. I would gladly partake of you all day, but there is something we must do. I have laid out garments for you.”
Cale looked where she indicated and saw his sword lain upon silk garments of black and white. Another sleeveless tunic with patterns of dark gems that glittered like diamonds, black leggings that caressed his skin and sandals that massaged his feet as he put them on. Daeva watched him hungrily as he dressed but did not assist him.
Cale nodded his thanks as he buckled on his swordbelt of supple black leather. “Why do you keep calling me ‘my lord’?”
Daeva gave him the sort of smile a mother might give a slow child. “You have slain my former husband and have united with me. By the laws of the gods and the city, we are husband and wife.”
By the look on her face, Cale knew she could see his surprise. Not his city. Not his gods. Not his laws. But he knew enough to keep his mouth shut. Never argue with a woman who thinks she’s married to you. Cale’s life lesson number four.
“Show me the city.”
“Our city, my lord.”
Cale gave what he hoped was a noncommittal nod. Daeva smiled and twined her arm around his, almost as though she expected him to bolt the second they were outside. Such mistrust did not bode well for the future of their relationship, even if her suspicion had been right.
And so Cale learned the history of Amir from the lips of its last princess. Daeva took him to the great white walls of the city with their gleaming black porticoes. She told him how they had endured a thousand sieges, how a thousand armies had perished hurling themselves against the ramparts. Cale saw the cracks in the wall where the jungle was forcing its way through and said nothing.
Daeva took him to a market square, one of dozens around the city, she said. Vendors from around the world had come to Amir with exotic wares animal, vegetable and mineral. Beer from Kish, wine from Lemuria, pears from the Adriatic and diamonds from the depths of Africa. Strange glowing fishes from the depths of the oceans and grey spotted cats from the rooftop of the world. If one had the money, anything could be bought and sold in Amir; including human lives. Men, women and children. Laborers, house slaves, pleasure slaves. Men of every race and tribe and color. Amir laid claim to all.
The market was now empty of all but dust. The wares in the shops were decaying or gone. Of the slaves, there was no sign at all. Never before had Cale found the lack of a graveyard so disturbing.
Next Daeva took him to one of the great stadiums of gleaming marble. She told Cale of the gladiatorial contests in which mighty warriors once emerged from great black gates and attempted to spill each other’s blood on the brilliant white sand. Daeva’s eyes had an unsettling glow as she spoke, as though the people and events she described were not merely memories for her, but living realities she saw wherever she turned. When Cale looked, all he saw was a crumbling stadium and grey sand.
Daeva led him onward, back toward the heart of the city. The longer Cale stayed, the more he got the impression Amir was like an ancient harlot, applying cosmetics that fooled no one. Even the ghost of her beauty was fading.
At last Cale could not help but voice the question burning inside him. “What happened? Famine, plague, war? And how did you alone survive?”
Daeva looked at him as though his words came from a distance. She frowned, displeased to have been awoken from a happy dream. But she gripped Cale’s arm all the tighter. “I will tell you soon. At the heart of the city.”
She led him to a cluster of buildings near one of the great obsidian pillars. “One of the six temple districts,” she said, then added with a smile. “And the districts dedicated to holy prostitution.”
Six princes had reigned in Amir, and six princesses with them. Lord and judge and priest united in each. Each under the patronage of a particular god or goddess. And on the high feast days, he or she became that deity.
“And who was your patron?”
Daeva’s smile had no sweetness. “Nemaaha. Goddess of love and war and death.”
Cale pondered her answer as they neared the center of Amir. They were approaching the pillar at the city’s heart. High it rose, higher than any building or structure Cale had ever seen. Black and white swirled up from its base, engaged in an eternal conflict that reached the clouds. Cale could not see the top of the pillar.
“The Pillar of Ordune.” Awe and even fear colored Daeva’s whisper.
“Ordune?” The name echoed oddly in the still air.
Daeva nodded. “Ordune came to us before ever there was an Amir. Ordune raised my brothers and sisters and I on high. So high. But at what a cost. And what a fall …”
She shivered. Cale almost felt compelled to draw her near and comfort her. Almost. “Ordune is your high god then?”
A bitter laugh. “Ordune is no god. Imagine the eagle pinioned with the rainbow. Imagine the phoenix, new-born from the sun. Imagine the griffin, fierce and glorious. Imagine power and hunger without end. Do thus, and you will have a mere inkling of Ordune. But for all its might, it is only a creature.”
The speech had brought the pair to the base of the pillar. It was wider around than the great hall in which Cale had met Daeva and her beast-husband. She pressed her hand on a certain point on the pillar; her lips moved, and with the grating of stone upon stone; an entrance opened for them.
“What do we here, Daeva?”
A coy smile. “We solemnize our union before Ordune. Amir will have a new prince.”
Cale nodded. As they paused in an antechamber, the door sealed shut behind them and the walls glowed with a pale green light, giving everything a twilight cast.
Daeva produced a golden goblet and decanter. As she undid the stopper, the pungent smell of a spiced wine filled the room; then she filled the goblet with a liquid so dark a red that it was almost black.
“Let us drink, my lord, to ready ourselves to enter Ordune’s presence.”
Daeva took hold of the goblet and lifted it to her lips, then passed it to Cale. He copied her gestures exactly, then set the vessel down and wiped his lips with the back of his hand.
“And now…?”
“Now we await Ordune’s summons.”
Cale could feel his pulse throbbing. The light from the antechamber walls dimmed and a haze filled the room. Cale felt more than heard the low thrumming. He couldn’t make out any words, but Daeva had her eyes closed and was concentrating as though listening. She trembled, and in spite of his suspicions, Cale again had the urge to wrap his arms around her.
“Come.” Daeva’s eyes snapped open. There was a fire in them Cale did not understand. “Ordune awaits.”
With another grinding sound, a door slid open at the far end of the chamber. Daeva took hold of Cale’s arm once more and let him through a short, rounded corridor into the great room beyond. It took Cale’s eyes a moment to adjust to the dim light. When they did, his mouth dropped open at what he saw.
The room resembled nothing so much as a giant cavern carved out of the center of the pillar, going up and up until Cale grew dizzy. There seemed to be no ceiling, only a distant blackness like a hole in the sky. The walls of the immense structure may have been the white and black of the outside, or may have been a sandstone red, but in the dim light, they appeared grey. It was like stepping into the hollow of a giant bone.
“I have brought him as promised, Ordune. I ask that you bless our union and fulfill the ancient compact.”
Two black orbs appeared on the wall several body lengths above Cale’s head. Daeva’s description of Ordune had in no way prepared Cale for what he saw. If the being existed at all, he’d expected a great eagle or buzzard. Save for having wings, Ordune hardly seemed a bird at all.
It seemed carved out of the rock, the same dull color, the same immense age. Its body was enormous, larger than an elephant or the great sea creatures Cale had seen on his journeys. It was drawn out and flattened, with a stumpy tail and a long neck, and from its back fell two wings, unfeathered membranes, slack like the sails of a becalmed ship.
It did not fly down from its perch but rather crawled and slithered down, more serpent than bird. Its head was like the head of a spear. It cawed once, an echoing cry that sent shivers up Cale’s spine. Its jaws were full of sharp teeth.
The creature caught sight of Cale and locked gazes with the man. Cale screamed.
In an instant every thought, every memory, every emotion was ripped from Cale, as though someone had stabbed into his mind and extracted his essence with a hook. The weight that was Ordune battered him, a lightning bolt shaking the earth. In that instant, Cale saw everything.
He saw Ordune when the world was young, feeding off the great serpents and reptiles that ruled the earth. He saw the shifting stars and great cataclysm that brought the reign of the terrible lizards to an end. He felt the great hunger and loneliness that closed Ordune in, until it slept for a time, hibernating in a great cylinder of stone.
Cale knew the dreams and nightmares of æons upon æons, saw the dreams reach out to the new rulers of the earth; men. Religions rose from the dreams Ordune inspired; wars were fought in its name. Both priest and warrior spilled blood against its pillar, and Ordune smiled in its sleep.
At last, six princes and six princesses claimed the pillar for their own. They erected their palaces around it and offered their children to the beast. This pleased Ordune, and he showed these Twelve the hidden way into its presence. Here oaths were sworn and compacts were made. If the Twelve fed Ordune life and renewed these compacts every hundredth year, it would ensure that their lives and rule never ended.
So rose Amir on the blood of man. At first, only infants and the infirm met their ends on altars hidden throughout the city, but as the city grew, so grew the Twelve’s hunger for power and Ordune’s thirst for blood. Conquering armies waged war on Amir’s neighbors, and the somnolent Ordune grew fat on the blood of captives. The Twelve prospered until there was no one left to conquer.
The blood spilled in the gladiatorial games and the punishment pits satiated Ordune, but not for long. New rites of blood were introduced in the city’s temples, but it was still not enough. In the two hundred years Amir held sway over the world; fifty thousand men, women and children lost their lives every day. And still it was not enough.
Throughout this time, the Twelve had prospered with the city. Ordune’s magic kept them young and beautiful. The Twelve ruled, though they maintained the fiction of passing their office to heirs that bore a striking resemblance to the originals. As their power grew, there arose elaborate, labyrinthine games of status and rank between them. No deception was too devious, no violence out of bounds, save for taking the life of one of the Twelve, for they did not know but the death of one would upset the magic that gave them eternal youth.
As the power of the Twelve grew, their appetites grew as well. They gave themselves over to every passion. They amassed untold wealth for themselves. They gave into unnatural lusts, and when the lovers they procured weren’t enough, they coupled and uncoupled among themselves. They exercised absolute power of life and death over their people, until even free men were sacrificed to the insatiable hunger of the sleeping Ordune. In all ways, they acted as though they were gods.
But the Twelve were not gods. Tired of being the victims of rites, they neither understood nor benefited from; the slaves and freemen of Amir rose at last against the Twelve. While the princes and princesses feasted together, the mob struck. Chaos ensued, and so great was the slaughter that even Ordune had his fill of blood. Three of the Twelve died in the melee, and a dagger was at Daeva’s throat when an ear-splitting, earth-shattering cry rocked the city. Ordune cried out in his disturbed sleep, and the mob fled in terror.
But the damage could not be undone. The sacrifices to Ordune continued, drawn from the ranks of the Twelve’s faithful followers that remained. Those ranks diminished quickly, and the Twelve resorted to seizing anyone passing by, perhaps lured by rumors of the fallen city’s wealth. Humanity withdrew from the region, and Amir became a shunned, then a forgotten place. Even the beasts did not come near it willingly.
When the time came to renew the compact with Ordune, the nine remaining members of the Twelve appeared before the creature with trepidation. It had scarcely opened its eyes when it knew all. Its long neck snaked out, and the Twelve became eight.
The next few centuries were desperate ones for the remaining citizens of Amir. The schemes of the Twelve intensified, breaking the minds of some until they became like beasts. Every century Ordune awoke, and every century the Twelve were one less, until only Daeva and the thing that had been her mate and brother were left. And now he was dead, and the time to renew the compact had come again.
All this was impressed on Cale’s mind in an instant, the pain of it almost more than he could bear. Finally, it stopped. Ordune looked at Cale with hungry black eyes. And then it lunged.
Cale waited, leapt to the side, and the spearpoint of Ordune’s head crashed into the wall behind him. The chamber shook, and grey flecks fell from the walls. Ordune was motionless for a long while but at last shook off its daze. It looked at Daeva with hatred in its accusing eyes.
“It wasn’t me! I gave him the wine of sacrifice!”
Cale smiled. “You gave me the wine, lady. But when I saw you only pretended to drink, I did the same.”
Daeva let out a crazed scream and threw herself at him. Cale was not so gallant that he would not fight a woman, but the fury of Daeva’s attack made it impossible for him to draw his sword. She clawed him and bit him until Cale struck her with his fist, knocking her unconscious.
Cale laid Daeva gently on the floor, then drew his sword and turned to face Ordune. Images flashed in Cale’s mind: himself standing on a mountain of jewels, beautiful women clinging to him, the rulers of nations groveling at his feet.
“A nice fantasy,” Cale said. “But at what cost? A cursed land even vermin won’t inhabit? A lonely death, forgotten by the world? Life lesson number one: Everything has a price.”
With that, Cale lunged at Ordune. The creature awkwardly sidestepped the stroke, but Cale’s blessed blade passed through the membrane of the creature’s left wing. It cried out, shaking the pillar, more in anger, it seemed, than pain.
With that, the battle began in earnest.
Never before had Cale fought an opponent ten times his size. He had agility on his side, as Ordune moved slowly at first, the lethargy of a century telling in its motions. Cale landed a few more strokes to the wings until they hung from their framework in tatters, but these wounds seemed only to awaken it to new fury.
Cale found himself more and more on the defensive, Ordune using its head to herd Cale in the direction it wanted. The long neck lashed out. Cale parried. The blunt snout hit the flat of Cale’s sword, sending a numbing shock up the Cale’s arm.
Magic was not an option. Even if Cale had been a better mage, he knew now why it wouldn’t work here. Any mana in the area had long ago been absorbed into Ordune’s hunger or the machinations of the Twelve.
Another lunge. Cale dodged, but not quickly enough. Ordune’s snout knocked him to the floor, teeth snapping inches from Cale’s tunic. He kicked out, landing a hit on the beast’s nose. As Ordune shook off the blow, Cale jumped to his feet and backed away.
Ordune let out another great, echoing cry that shook down stone from the pillar. It flapped its wings, the long tatters snapping like sails in a high wind.
With a primal scream, Ordune launched itself at Cale again, this time accompanying its physical attack with a powerful mental burst. The countless æons of Ordune’s life pressed in on Cale, its numberless triumphs. Cale saw it feasting on dragons, men, the Twelve. He was an insignificant speck to Ordune’s hunger, a momentary morsel.
But he was Cale ap Corwin, Cale the Courageous. Tired, injured, and angry, Cale somersaulted into Ordune’s attack, slashing with his sword as he rolled under its belly. Ordune cried out as its head smashed into the wall. The pillar shook to its foundation. Falling stones landed on Ordune even as Cale dove out of the way.
Cale regained his footing, black ichor dripping down his blade. If the gods were kind, it would be over. But Cale knew of no kind gods. Ordune’s head shot from the debris, sending rock flying in its wake. The black eyes had turned red. As Ordune shook the rest of the stone off, Cale watched the wound he had given the creature start to knit itself together.
From the floor, Daeva moaned. Cale thought for a moment that she was reviving, but then a swirling blue energy passed over her body. She twitched violently, as though having a seizure. Ordune’s connection with the Twelve worked both ways, it seemed. It was feeding off her.
Cale contemplated running her through with his sword, then cursed. He wasn’t above killing a woman. But one that laid helpless on the floor? No. Not even one that had betrayed him.
“All that napping has made you fat and lazy, Ordune. You can’t even hunt live prey any more.”
Ordune screamed in Cale’s mind and impressed an image of an even larger version of itself, sleek and smooth as fine leather, eating dragons whole, stomping humans under a single clawed foot, bathing in blood until it was stained rust red.
Cale fell to his knees. Trying to stand was like struggling against the ocean. His limbs trembled as he rose. Ordune closed in fast. With a grunt of effort, Cale thrust upward with his sword.
The point found the soft spot just behind Ordune’s jaw, went up through the mouth and came out the other side. The creature screamed out in pain and tore the sword from Cale’s grasp, but it was already too late. Black blood dripped down the sword blade, to the hilt, onto the floor. After causing pain for untold ages, Ordune finally knew pain itself.
It shook its head, trying to dislodge the sword. It took wing, as if it could fly away from the pain, but its flight was erratic, crashing into the sides of the pillar before its tattered wings took the creature up beyond the range of Cale’s vision.
Flight, of course, brought no release. Ordune cried out again. A crack echoed down from the distance, and then a great chunk of stone landed with a crash. Another crack, and Cale knew Ordune was crashing against the inside walls of the pillar. A trembling shook the entire tower, and another chunk of masonry landed at Cale’s feet.
Cale had no wish to be crushed alive as Ordune brought its pillar down upon itself, but the doorway he had entered through was still sealed shut. Cale dodged another piece of falling debris and desperately scanned the floor. Ordune’s cries deafened him, disoriented him. But at last he spied Daeva’s unconscious form on the floor.
Bits of pillar rained down constantly, making Cale’s course erratic. He scooped Daeva’s body from the floor and rolled forward just as a chunk of pillar twice Cale’s size landed where she had been resting. Cale crouched in its shadow, reasoning that like lightning, the falling stones would not strike the same place twice.
Then again, Mura the Moneylender claimed to have been hit by lightning seven times. Cale had to work fast.
Cale tapped the woman’s face, and when that did not suffice to wake her, he slapped her, first gently, then hard enough to elicit a moan.
“Ordune is dying. We need a way out of here. Now.”
Daeva moaned again, attempted to roll away. Cale forced her head back toward him.
“Sleep later. Escape now.”
Daeva’s dark eyes flickered open at last. Her head lolled from side to side. Cale couldn’t tell if she was trying to orient herself or if something was wrong with her neck. She stretched out a trembling hand.
“There. You can see the outline of the trigger mechanism.”
Cale frowned as his eyes followed where she pointed. The place was clear enough, that wasn’t the problem. The problem was the pillar falling down all around them. Ordune’s cries of pain had grown so loud that they were damaging the structure as much as its thrashing. Stone fell like missiles from a catapult. The ground quaked.
Cale looked down at the woman in his arms. Cursing himself for a fool, he knew he couldn’t leave her.
“We’re going to run for it.”
Daeva looked with wide eyes at the chaos around them. Cale wasn’t sure she’d understood him, but at last she nodded.
“On three, then. One. Two.”
Cale darted forward just before a jagged assemblage of stone fell where they had been a moment ago. He didn’t have time to think, only to act as he wove and dodged to the spot Daeva had indicated. He pressed down on the release stone.
Nothing.
Cale’s accusing eyes frowned at Daeva.
“There has to be something more. In addition to the stone.”
Daeva looked up into the dizzying heights of the pillar. “You must say the words, ‘Ordune still lives.’”
A wry, involuntary smile twisted Cale’s lips, but he said the required words while pressing the stone. A scraping of stone that set Cale’s teeth on edge. Slowly, too slowly, the stone panel slid back, revealing a dark corridor beyond.
The grating of the door seemed to remind Ordune that it was not alone in its misery. It opened its maw to release a piercing scream. It dove at the pair.
Daeva screamed, and Cale shoved her through an opening just large enough for her slender frame. He was just behind her, and that was when the door jammed fast, with Cale’s broad shoulders wedged in the opening.
He looked out into the corridor at Daeva. The last remaining princess of Amir rose to her feet and studied Cale for an eternity that in reality could only have been a moment. Emotions that Cale could hardly read swirled and battled in her eyes. For a moment, it looked like she might strike him, might attempt to pull him to safety. Then she turned, opened the far door, and fled.
Cale braced himself, knowing Ordune was close. Waiting until the strain almost made him snap, he finally kicked out, both feet landing on Ordune’s maimed snout. The force of Ordune’s dive was enough to propel Cale into the antechamber. An awkward somersault and the man was outside as well. There was no sign of Daeva.
Cale managed a weak smile. Lacerations stained his garments, but he was going to survive. “Cale’s life lesson number ten: Any adventure you can walk away from was a good one.” He attempted to rise, but his trembling legs refused to support his weight. Crawling away wasn’t so bad either, he decided. Or maybe he would just rest here for a bit.
Jaws snapped inches from his heels. Somehow Ordune had snaked its neck through the opening. Its body couldn’t make it through, and the door was slowly closing on its neck. The creature was trapped.
Cale rolled and pushed himself up to his knees. He crawled to the creature’s head and pulled his sword from the jaw that still held it. Ordune’s eyes were a dull grey now. It was dying and knew it. Cale almost felt sorry for the strange being.
Almost.
Cale looked at the suffering creature and then at his sword. He shook his head.
“You fed off the misery of who knows how many. Thousands? Millions?” He paused, then spoke again, his voice like gravel. “Die slow, Ordune. Die slow.”
Hatred colored the creature’s eyes for a moment. A last struggle to free itself, a last mental sending that overwhelmed Cale. Loneliness. Hunger. The black, bitter emptiness of æons. All alone. Cale staggered backwards, overwhelmed by the void.
A final scream. A great crack. In a thunderous crash of noise and dust, Ordune brought the pillar down upon itself. The mental pressure on Cale’s soul ceased.
After a long moment, Cale coughed. Using his sword as a crutch, he rose to his feet. A weary strength slowly returned to his limbs.
Amir seemed somehow smaller with the central pillar gone. The entire city had aged, centuries passing in a matter of minutes. Cale had no doubt the jungle would soon swallow Amir.
On his way out, Cale came upon a shriveled thing crawling on the ground in what had once been an elegant gown. It bore an uncanny resemblance to the man-thing he had slain on his first arrival to the city. Daeva.
The husk that had been a woman looked up at Cale with dry, beseeching eyes. He no longer understood her croaking, her magic gone with the passing of Ordune. Cale gave her what mercy he could; a quick, painless death.
The years were quickly catching up with the city. Timbers warped and sagging, clothing rotted away. Cale selected a few goblets, loaded them with gems enough to buy him passage to Accalia with enough left over to pay off Mura the Moneylender.
Mura. It put a smile on Cale’s face; the thought of the words he would have with the moneylender when he returned to Accalia.
“Cale’s life lesson number seventy-seven: You can only cheat death for so long.” He began to whistle as he limped into the jungle.